#This chapter reminded me of that Taylor Swift song that goes like

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. “You don’t miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall.”

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

“Notable achievements.”

“Take me with you when you go back to the Wall,” Jon said in a sudden rush. “Father will give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will.”

Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. “The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon.”

“I am almost a man grown,” Jon protested. “I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children.”

“That’s true enough,” Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon’s cup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow.

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

“A conquest that lasted a summer,” his uncle pointed out. “Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn’t a game.” He took another sip of wine. “Also,” he said, wiping his mouth, “Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?”

“I forget nothing,” Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. “I want to serve in the Night’s Watch, Uncle.”

In fandom, we often talk about Jon’s antics in his first AGOT chapter - e.g., boasting about being the better swordsman than Robb, his admiration of Daeron I, his insistence that he is a man and not a boy - as evidence of his immaturity. And there’s nothing wrong with that interpretation at all - I for one think that it’s very valid - but I rarely ever see this exchange with Benjen put in its full context; more specificallyy, the full context of what’s happening this entire chapter (and honestly what’s being going on in Jon’s life up to that point).

Because there’s something so…depressing and tragic about a fourteen year old boy desperately trying to grow up faster than is necessary because once he is a man, then there must be a place for him in this world. Because this exchange with Benjen is not happening in a vacuum. It arises out of the situation where the delineation between Jon’s social status and that of his siblings has been made ever more clear: his siblings get to sit at the high table with the visiting royal family whereas Jon has to sit with the squires far away from familiar company. But more importantly, he is a Snow and his siblings are Starks. They have a place of belonging (afforded to them by their Stark name) whereas he does’t (because he’s a bastard).

So Jon has to nurse his wounds with the belief that despite his bastardy, there has to be something he can do to belong. And what can he do, except grow up and be a man? At…fourteen years old?

So even though Robb can sit among royalty, Jon can still hold a sword just as well (in fact better) and ride a horse. He can be great too, not because of his name but because of his ability; but I do have to quibble with Benson’s (seemingly) sarcastic response to Jon’s answers here. Are you even bothering to actually listen to what Jon is saying, Uncle Ben?

And I have to admit that it makes me quite angry that the notion of bastards growing up faster than trueborns is not at all challenged among the characters. Do bastards actually grow up faster, or are they forced to fend for themselves faster than trueborns naturally would, just like Jon is in this chapter? It certainly doesn’t help that Benjen agrees with he statement, despite literally contradicting it just some few minutes earlier (by saying that Jon is just a boy and thus too young to make any life decisions for himself - like joining the Watch).

And as I was pondering on this, I realized that Jon really has been getting contradictory “advice” all his life: he’s a bastard so he has to grow up faster and cut his childhood short so he can make use of himself, but he’s actually a boy so his abilities and desires to advance are only a boy’s delusions, but then he has to join the watch and be a man and do a man’s job (and make a man’s sacrifices as Luwin would put it 🙄), but then he’s still a boy at the end of it all.

Given all this emotional and mental whiplash, Jon is actually quite well adjusted. I couldn’t imagine having to be pulled into 1000 different directions because at the heart of it the question is: is he a man or is he a boy? And what can he do, boy or man that he is, because he’s still a bastard?

I think this chapter shows that no one really bothered to sit Jon down and tell him that it’s okay to be a child, and that he doesn’t have to age far beyond his years because there’ll be someone to look out for him.

Worse yet, this chapter shows a young boy desperate to find a place for himself in the world, because no one else bothered to do so.

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 8 (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, this chapter contains mature content)

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

☆warnings: peach, curses, luxury, impostor syndrome, alcohol, jungkook's family, they are so gone for each other my dude, explicit content: hickeys, dom!Jungkook, big dick!Jungkook, jerking off, oral sex (male receiving), exhibitionism (sort of but not really), protected sex, Jungkook is a teasing hoe, marking, ass slapping, praising, clit play

☆word count: 13.5k

☆a/n: NEW YOOOORK!!! My second favourite chapter of this series bc it's just so asjgsrjgsabfgo but I'll let you guys be the judge of that haha enjoy reading <3 and thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

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

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Friday, March 8th 

The sun is high in the sky, the snow melting on the side of the road, and Jungkook’s car is eating the miles towards New York, the music you’ve been listening to since you’ve left loud yet enjoyable.

Or maybe what’s truly enjoyable is the smile on Jungkook’s face whenever you meet his gaze while you’re bolting a duet, singing over the music.

Scratch that, you’ve been enjoying yourself because you’re with Jungkook. It doesn’t matter what you’d be doing - as long as it’s with Jungkook, you know you’d have fun. Even as his car slows down almost to a halt as you near the city and face its traffic, it doesn’t deter you.

No, Jungkook’s wide grin and his hand on your thigh keeps your mind far too occupied to be able to produce anything other than serotonin, and you think you deserve it. Especially after the uncertainty of the last few weeks, you deserve this moment with Jungkook.

This moment, away from reminders of Taehyung and of how you know this relationship is bound to explode in your face one day.

You shove that thought away as Jungkook’s giggle fills the car, and you glance at him, smiling brightly.

“You’re not really going to put some Taylor Swift on,” Jungkook complains, yet it’s at odds with the amused light in his eyes.

“I sure am,” you reply, and the song Welcome to New York starts playing. 

You know it by heart, and Jungkook watches you in awe as you sing. If you weren’t rational, you’d assume he’s looking at you with heart-shaped eyes, but you know better than that.

You’re just his fake girlfriend for the weekend. Nothing more. 

Nothing more than the fact that you will meet his entire family, including his extended family, tomorrow. He doesn’t seem like he cares, and you’ve been trying to pretend that you don’t care either, but it is making you feel anxious.

You’ve never had a boyfriend that you’ve met the family of before. Or actually, you’ve never had a boyfriend whatsoever.

Jungkook knows his way in the city. You’re not surprised - he grew up here, and he told you he usually spends his summers back home as well to work and make enough money for the year. What you’re surprised about is that the streets down which he starts driving once you’re passed the traffic and into the city proper look expensive, exuding wealth that you could only ever wish to know.

It only increases when he parks his car in the underground parking garage of a huge skyscraper which apparently holds condos and the like.

At least that’s what he says. 

“Leave your bag in the car,” Jungkook tells you as you’re about to fetch your duffel bag from the backseat. 

You cock an eyebrow in question. “Aren’t we here?”

He smiles mischievously, eyes shining in the white neon light of the underground garage. “I’m taking you shopping.”

“Why?” you burst out, looking down at yourself. “Are my clothes not good enough?”

He walks around the car, pulling you away from the car door by the hand before he shuts it behind you, leaning against it. 

“Trust me, peach, your clothes are perfect for me,” he says. “But I much prefer you without the clothes on.”

He winks, and you punch him in the shoulder, cheeks flaming.

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble.

“You like it.”

“I don’t.”

He smiles as you fake-glare at him, until you both start laughing. He extends a hand for you to take, and you let him engulf your small hand with his large one as he pulls you towards the elevator.

“Seriously though, I’ll get you a nice dress for tomorrow night,” Jungkook says as you reach the elevator, and he presses the call button. “Not that I don’t trust what you’ve brought,” he quickly adds before you could say anything. “More as a thank you for doing this for me.”

You narrow your eyes at him, yet you nod your head. Because who would say no to free clothes?

Certainly not you.

Jungkook pulls you behind him in the elevator when the doors slide open, and then presses on the ground floor. Once you get off, he’s quick to guide you down a hallway that looks straight out of a fancy hotel - marble floors reflecting the light of the sconces on the walls, abstract paintings at regular intervals on the wall to the left, over dark oak tables with white flowers in crystal vases. 

The hallway even smells expensive, and you throw a curious glance to Jungkook.

“Where are we?” you ask, unable to help yourself.

He glances at you over his shoulder, winking at you. “Home.”

“This is what you call home?” you ask, thinking about the small apartment you grew up in on the poor side of the city you hail from.

He shrugs. “I feel more at home back in college, but yeah, I grew up here.”

“Jungkook,” you say, tugging on his hand to stop him, but he’s determined, his steps unfaltering.

You grumble under your breath, yet you follow him out into the early evening setting sun, the doors of the building golden. You don’t ask the questions that are burning in your mind - what do his parents do for a living? Why didn’t he mention he was rich?

Why does he live in that small, old apartment with you and Taehyung if he can afford so much more?

The questions spin in your head like they are a tornado of thoughts, and they only increase in speed as he pulls you to an Yves Saint Laurent store, pushing the door open as if he owns the place.

Could he…?

“Jeon Jungkook!” a middle-aged lady greets him, her face lighting up as you come into view. “We haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Hey, Mrs Smith,” Jungkook answers. “Meet my girlfriend.”

He tugs on your hand, forcing you to step out from behind him, and you blush as the lady appears. She’s tall, though you believe it might be because she’s wearing stilettos, and her skirt and blazer combo makes her look like a businesswoman. 

The nametag on the blazer is a clear indication that she isn’t, though. No, she visibly works here.

“Hello,” you awkwardly say, not knowing what else to say as she looks you up and down.

“Are you here for a new wardrobe?” she asks, the question directed towards Jungkook as if what you’re wearing is the ugliest outfit anyone has ever come up with before.

You try to not take offense, yet you find yourself momentarily clenching your jaw as Jungkook replies, “No, just for a dress for Junghyun’s engagement party.”

Mrs Smith nods, and she motions towards what looks like a small scene in front of multiple mirrors. It’s the kind of thing you’ve seen before in period pieces, where the seamstresses take the ladies’ measurement. So you’re not entirely surprised when Mrs Smith pulls out a measuring tape from a hidden pocket in her blazer, and you let her do her work, your eyes on Jungkook as he watches with an amused smile on his lips.

“You could have warned me,” you say, and Mrs Smith looks up towards you, the frown on her features convincing you to shut up until she’s done.

Jungkook only laughs, saying, “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

He does. He certainly does, and though it’s pissing you off, there’s something endearing about the way he’s watching from that couch, the small smile on his lips softening his features. 

You fall silent as Mrs Smith keeps working, and soon she’s sauntering off, the sound of her stilettos click-clacking slowly fading. You immediately climb off from the little scene, storming towards Jungkook.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Does it change anything?”

“It doesn’t.” You look around, not quite believing that you’re standing in a designer store. “But then it does.”

He pouts, the expression so adorable you feel like leaning in and kissing him. It’s startling, and before you can do anything, Mrs Smith comes back with a light blue dress she wants you to try on. You follow the lady to the dressing room, and Jungkook offers you a wink as you glance at him over your shoulder.

Mrs Smith leads you into the room, and it’s way too large for just a dressing room. She leaves the dress on a hook against a wall, in front of a tall standing mirror, and you thank her as she gets out, gently shutting the door behind her.

Which leaves you alone with your thoughts, and with the fact that Jungkook wants to buy you a designer dress. 

You take a look at the dress. It’s beautiful, the colour eerily similar to that of a summer sky, yet maybe somewhat a little paler. You step towards it, searching for a tag, but you can’t find any. The softness of the fabric is a clear indication that it is probably worth more than everything you own combined together, and you anxiously take off your clothes to put it on.

One look in the mirror makes you feel like a princess. Like you’re the one someone might write a story about, or sing a song to. Even though your hair is a mess and you’re not wearing any makeup, you feel more beautiful than you’ve ever felt before.

The dress hugs your curves perfectly, enhancing them in all the right places. It looks like it was tailor-made for you, and for a moment you believe you’re in love.

You really do think you’re in love when you shyly step out of the dressing room for Mrs Smith to finish zipping the dress up, and Jungkook looks up from his phone to look at you.

The smirk on his lips slowly dies down, and his gaze doesn’t move from you as you step closer. You don’t think he’s blinking, or even breathing, and you truly feel like the most beautiful woman in the world right now.

“Do you like the dress?” a female voice to your left says, but you can’t look away from Jungkook.

You’re entranced, and it seems that he is too. Like you’re the center of the universe, or maybe that’s him - it’s hard to tell.

“We’ll take it,” Jungkook says after a moment, and he gets up. 

Towering over you, he tilts your head back with a finger on your chin, and you gulp as your gazes connect.

“On the family tab?” Mrs Smith asks. 

“Yes.”

“How much is the dress?” you can’t help but query, turning your head towards Mrs Smith.

She regards you with an eyebrow cocked, before glancing at Jungkook. “10,350 dollars, miss.”

Your mouth falls open as she walks away, and you immediately look back towards Jungkook.

“No,” is all that you say.

He flicks your nose. “Don’t cause a scene, peach.”

“I’m not causing a scene,” you say through gritted teeth. “This dress is worth more than a year of my share of the rent.”

“And? Your point?”

You roll your eyes, folding your arms on your chest. “I’m not letting you buy this.”

“Well too bad for you, it’s already paid for.”

He winks at you again, and then plops back down on the couch, his smirk widening into a grin that makes butterflies come to life in your stomach.

It’s a feeling you don’t like, so you turn your back on him, heading back to the dressing room. With new respect for the dress, you slowly take it off, treating it reverently. Once it’s safely back on the hanger, you put your clothes back on, hands shaking a little at the enormity of what Jungkook just did.

Though, to him, it doesn’t seem like it was a lot. Indeed, when you get out of the dressing room, leaving the dress behind because you don’t dare touch it again, Jungkook springs up from the couch, offering you his hand.

And even though you feel like maybe you don’t really know anything about him, you take his hand. His fingers close around yours, gently, and he offers you a smile that makes you warm like spring days, when the world is coming back to life.

And as you walk behind him, you think maybe, maybe this weekend is a great opportunity to get to know him better. To get to know the man that hides behind the cocky behaviour, the one you’ve seen on multiple occasions already.

Though it should scare you, the thought only makes you hold onto Jungkook’s fingers a little tighter. He reciprocates, and it’s with a heart beating wildly that he waits with you for Mrs Smith to bring the dress over, safely hidden in a dress bag. Jungkook takes it for you, and then he pulls you behind him.

You’re soon swallowed by the New York city bustling crowd, though Jungkook is a lighthouse in the storm and you feel safe.

You feel safe with him, and that, more than anything, scares you.

*****

“You’re shitting me,” is all you say when Jungkook leads you into his room, once you’re back at the condominium in which he grew up.

You’d gathered enough information to know that he was rich. But you didn’t think he was rich rich - the condo he grew up in is on the two highest levels of the skyscraper, with an unparalleled view of Central Park that’s making you feel like you’re a bird soaring in the sky.

Jungkook laughs behind you as he shuts the door, dropping your duffel bag and his next to it. You’ve been carrying the dress up, treating it like the treasure that it is, and Jungkook gently takes it from your hand as he walks away, disappearing in what you can only assume is his walk-in wardrobe. 

He pops back out a few seconds later, minus the dress bag, and he offers you a smile that’s even more blinding than the city view. “No, I’m not,” he says.

You chuckle, cheeks burning for a reason you don’t quite understand, and then you scan his room. It’s cold, empty, void of the quality that makes his room back at the apartment feel like his. This room is impersonal, the kind of room you’d see in interior design magazines, with the black bed covers and equally as dark walls. Light comes from behind the bed frame, yet the true beauty of the room is that of the city, and you take it in as you step closer to the floor-to-ceiling window that is the wall at the foot of the bed.

“I can’t believe it,” you murmur. “This is so beautiful.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

You slowly nod, glancing towards Jungkook. “I can’t believe you chose to live in that shitty apartment with Tae when this is what you were accustomed to.”

He shrugs, not answering anything, as he instead heads to where he left the duffel bags so that he can carry them into the walk-in. You follow him then, curious to see what the rest of his bedroom looks like.

The walk-in is empty, save for a corner that holds a couple of suits you imagine to be from different designer brands. You notice a few dress shirts over there too, but your gaze focuses on the PC setup that’s in between two walls of shelves.

Finally, something that feels like Jungkook.

You walk towards it, rolling the chair back so that you can sit in it. Jungkook drops your duffel bag on the shelf behind you, and you turn your chair so that you can face him.

“You want to play?” he asks.

“What games do you have?”

He leans towards you, and you catch a whiff of his cologne as he turns the PC on. 

“Honestly I don’t remember what’s downloaded on the PC,” he truthfully replies. “Just check out my Steam account.”

And then he’s walking towards the other side of the walk-in, heading towards what you can only assume is the bathroom. You spring up from the chair, and it rolls behind you from the sudden motion as you jog to the bathroom.

You’re not surprised to see just how expensive the bathroom looks. Black tiles cover the floor, and they climb the walls of the walk-in shower next to which a wide-standing cabinet with glass doors is. A proper look at the shower shows that it’s one with multiple shower heads, and you already know the shower you’ll take later will be heavenly, clearly the best you’ll ever take in your life. Jungkook leans on the counter, folding his arm on his chest as he watches you taking everything in, your gaze wide from awe.

“You don’t even have a bath,” you comment, and Jungkook bursts out laughing.

“I never needed one. But if you want to take a bath, there’s one in the bigger bathroom on this level.”

“Isn’t it connected to like… your parents’ room or something?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Yeah, but my parents haven’t stayed here since I was five,” he reveals. “They prefer staying at hotels.”

You furrow your brow. “They have such a nice condo and they don’t even enjoy it?”

Another shrug of Jungkook tells you that he, too, doesn’t understand his parents. 

“If you want, I can give you a tour of the whole place,” Jungkook suggests after a beat of silence.

Your eyes light up, and you nod forcefully. “Yes. Please, I’d love to.”

He laughs at your enthusiasm, before motioning towards the toilet. “I do have to go to the bathroom first, if you’ll excuse me.”

Cheeks burning, you mumble an apology that makes him laugh as you step out of the bathroom, and he gently closes the door behind you. Embarrassed, you make your way back to the gaming setup, and you watch the landscape picture of the welcome screen. Pressing on enter reveals that Jungkook doesn’t have a password for the computer, and a moment later his Steam library appears in front of your eyes.

Obviously he’s got every game you can imagine, and you don’t have time to go through the whole library before he’s out, ready to give you the tour. And the rest of the condo is just as impressive as Jungkook’s bedroom is, though the whole thing feels… empty. Void of life. Which, you assume it is considering his parents don’t live here most of the time, and his brother owns a city house with his fiancée. 

Your favourite part ends up being the kitchen, even though you don’t cook. But who wouldn’t like the beauty of the marble counters, of the white cupboards and of the impressive glass chandelier that hangs over the long dinner table?

You end up sitting on a stool at the island, watching Jungkook as he moves through the kitchen. He finds instant noodles in the pantry, and he comes out of it with a wide grin on his lips.

“Found dinner,” he says.

You laugh. “You’ve got such a nice kitchen and all you’ll cook are some instant noodles?”  

He narrows his gaze at you. “You have a problem against instant noodles?”

You snort, shrugging your shoulders. “No.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but he drops it, focusing on making food for the two of you. It takes a few minutes, but he’s soon sitting next to you, two bowls of noodles wafting steam in front of you. It smells good, if not a bit spicy, and you grab the chopsticks he put out for you.

“Thanks for the food,” you tell him, flashing a grin to him that makes his features soften in a far too dangerous way for you.

So you look away, cheeks dusting in pink, and you start eating. Though the noodles are indeed spicy, you endure the burn, finding that you actually enjoy it a little bit. Maybe because it’s distracting you from the thought that you’re with your brother’s best friend - you ought to stop thinking about it anyway.

Here, Jungkook isn’t Taehyung’s best friend. Here, he’s just Jungkook, and you’re just you.

Saturday March 9th

You feel like an impostor. 

The venue for the engagement party is luxurious, nestled on the top floors of one of the many skyscrapers of Manhattan. The people in attendance are all dressed to the nines, as if trying to impress. 

Or you’re just impressed because you’ve never seen so many designer clothes in such a place before. 

The floor is made of shiny marble, the ceiling high. A huge, glass chandelier hangs from it, and multiple columns are decorated with shiny golden garlands. In one corner, in front of tall windows overlooking New York City, a photobooth is set up, but you’ve remained clear of it so far.

You and Jungkook are both aware that you can’t risk having pictures of you taken. Not when they could easily be found by Taehyung, or by other people from back at college.

Like Ria, who questioned you for hours when you said you were going to spend the weekend in New York…

You know you’ll be grilled when you get home, but you push that thought aside, much like you’ve been putting all thoughts of your regular life aside. Jungkook has been making it easy - his smile and laughter, ever so constant yesterday evening, has been grounding, and though he does seem anxious right now, he’s remained by your side, making sure to put you at ease.

You haven’t met his parents or brother yet, but he’s introduced to some cousins that approached you, some of them surprisingly only speaking Korean. Jungkook bridged the gap between you and them, translating when needed, and they have now moved to the refreshment table, adorned with a pyramid of champagne glasses you’ve imagined toppling over at least fifteen times since you’ve arrived.

You really do feel like an impostor at the sight of all the easy luxury. Of the Louboutin high heels, the Louis Vuitton purses, the expensive suits and dresses everyone is wearing. The vast room smells rich, and it truly isn’t your crowd.

“Smile, peach,” Jungkook says, nudging you with his elbow.

Your gaze slides to him, and as it’s been doing since you finished getting ready earlier, your breath catches in your throat. There’s just something about the pale pants and the light blue dress shirt he’s wearing that makes him seem even more attractive than you’ve always found him. Maybe it’s the way the fabric stretches on his chest, revealing his hard-earned muscles. Or maybe it’s the vulnerability in his gaze.

He doesn’t seem more comfortable than you in this crowd.

“You smile,” you throw back at him, and he immediately does, a low laugh shaking through him.

“Do you want something to drink?”

You look down at yourself, wincing. “I’m afraid I’ll ruin the dress.”

“So you’re just going to stand still the whole evening because you’re afraid to ruin your clothes?” he teases.

You clench your jaw, rolling your eyes. “Precisely.”

“Loosen up, peach,” Jungkook insists, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes you think maybe he needs you to.

Maybe he truly does need your support at this fancy party. So you find yourself accepting to get drinks, and you’re almost done with the first glass when Jungkook tenses next to you, freezing like a deer in headlights. 

His doe eyes are on the doors, and you look in the direction to see an older woman and man walking in, the woman’s hand on her husband’s arm. You see a little bit of Jungkook in them - the woman’s eyes are Jungkook’s, and the man has the same nose and lips - so you immediately know that they are Jungkook’s parents.

The woman scans the room, and her eyes stop on you. In the distance it’s hard to tell if she looks happy to see her son - she barely even reacts, though she tugs her husband in your direction. You glance to Jungkook, but he really does seem frozen.

“Are you okay?” you ask, resting a hand on his arm.

He startles, toying with his piercings with his tongue before nodding curtly. “All good.”

You look towards his parents, and they’ve already crossed half of the room.

“Is that…” you trail off, knowing how rhetorical the question is.

“Yep.”

“What should I do?” you ask, tugging on his arm.

His eyes snap to you, and they’re void of the warmth you usually recognize in them. They’re like chips of ice - empty, cold, and something aches in your chest.

“Just be yourself.”

You offer him a small smile. His gaze is quick to drop to it, and you see the moment it warms. You see the moment he realizes he’s not alone, not right now, even though this is all but a subterfuge.

You’re not his girlfriend, but you’ll sure as hell try to be the best friend you can be for him right now.

“Jungkook,” his mother says as she stops in front of you, and your gaze slides to her.

She looks regal, standing ramrod straight with a steely look on her face. She spares you a quick glance, cocking an eyebrow before resuming her attention on Jungkook.

“Mother,” Jungkook replies in the same cold, formal tone.

“Glad to see you came around and decided to come.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, but he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. “I wanted to introduce Y/n to the family.”

Heart beating out of your chest, you look up to Jungkook, observing the firm set of his jaw. He seems determined, like a man going into battle, and you wonder if that is what it is.

If Jungkook brought you here to rile his family up.

His mother finally truly takes you in, her eyes skimming over you. “I don’t think we know each other,” she says, and there is so much contempt in her voice you furrow your brow.

“I don’t think so,” you answer, trying to sound as polite as you possibly can. You bow your head, meeting her gaze when you straighten. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jungkook’s father pats his wife’s hand. She lets him go, almost reluctantly, and he walks away, heading to a group of men that seem far too happy to see him.

You wonder if you should take offence to him walking away when you just tried to introduce yourself, though the way Jungkook is staring at his mother lets you know that the true opponent of this battle is the woman in front of you, and not the man that just left.

“Likewise,” she replies, and this time she doesn’t hide the contempt from her voice at all. It drips to her features, and she scrunches up her nose in disgust, looking down at the high heels you’re wearing.

A simple pair of high heels you’ve bought for your high school prom, that you’ve been reusing whenever you have the occasion.

“Nice shoes,” Jungkook’s mother says, and you can tell that she means it as an insult. 

You clench your jaw, cocking an eyebrow as you get ready to reply, but Jungkook intervenes with a stern, “Mother.”

“You thought dressing her up in a nice dress would make us forget that she’s not from our class?”

The insult is stark, and you widen your gaze as your heart rate spikes, your blood heating up in your veins.

“Excuse me?” you let out, unable to resist.

Jungkook’s mother meets your gaze. “At least she’s got a tongue on her.”

“And I’ll ask you to make a fucking effort for once,” Jungkook spits.

She frowns. “Do not curse, boy. It doesn’t suit you.”

He laughs, a short, dry sound that makes the hair dress on your arms. She clenches her jaw, a muscle feathering under the skin, and you wonder where Jungkook learned to be warm. Where he learned to smile like he’s lighter than a feather, like he’s never known any atrocities. Because standing here, you realize just how cold his upbringing must have been like.

And it’s strange. The little boy in the picture on his bedside table was all smiles, eyes crinkling with joy. You’d assumed the picture had been taken by his parents, but now that you’ve met his mother, you highly doubt she’s ever been the source of a smile on Jungkook’s lips.

While you’ve been thinking, Jungkook and his mother were stuck in a staring contest, a battle of will that Jungkook wins. Indeed, his mother sighs deeply and then turns towards you again.

“Where do you come from?” she asks.

You gulp under the scrutiny of her gaze, yet give her the answer.

“What do your parents do for a living?”

You tense, for that is an answer that even Jungkook doesn’t know. 

“My mother is a nurse,” you reply. You feel Jungkook’s curious gaze on your profile, but you resist glancing at him. “And I do not know my father.”

Jungkook’s mother blinks once, and then she focuses on her son. “Junghyun will be happy you came.”

She leaves without saying another word, and you’re left staring at her retreating form, wondering if it’s just you or if she’s the rudest person you’ve ever met.

“I apologize for this,” Jungkook says, and his arm drops from your shoulder.

You immediately miss it.

“I think I’m starting to get why you wanted me to come with you,” you say, and you finally meet his gaze.

He’s slightly pouting, lips barely jutting out, yet there’s something endearing about the expression on his features. “I honestly didn’t think she would be flat-out rude like that.” He downs what’s left of the champagne in his flute and then puts it down on the tray of a server as she walks past. “I promise we can go home as soon as Junghyun shows up and sees that I came.”

“We can stay longer too,” you reassure him. “I can handle the aristocracy.”

The frown on his features melts, and he lets out a small laugh. “The aristocracy?”

You nod. “Yeah. Because obviously we aren’t from the same class.”

“Fuck, peach,” he grumbles, shaking his head, yet there’s an amused sparkle in his gaze that makes you feel warm all of a sudden.

It’s like you forget all about his mother, and about his avoidant father. It soon becomes clear that he is avoiding Jungkook, not you, and you feel bad for the man beside you. 

He deserves a family that treats him better than the one he has, or so you believe. And it’s not like you know them at all - the dynamic is just off, and it’s unlike what you’ve personally known growing up.

If you forget about the fact that you don’t have a father and that your mother worked so much while you were growing up that you barely saw her.

Junghyun and his fiancée show up an hour later, fashionably late. You and Jungkook have been drinking more, and you feel buzzed from the alcohol, warmth swimming through your body. It’s only amplified every time you meet Jungkook’s gaze, every time he tugs you a little closer, and you think you’ll be drunk by the end of the evening, just because of him.

He’s inebriating after all.

Junghyun notices his brother across the space, and unlike his parents, his face breaks into a large grin, one that resembles that of Jungkook, and he immediately makes his way towards you. He’s much more relaxed than his parents, with an easy going vibe to him, and the way Jungkook relaxes makes you think that Junghyun, contrary to his parents, is not an asshole.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Junghyun says as he stops in front of you, immediately pulling Jungkook into a tight embrace.

Jungkook beams under the attention of his older brother. “I thought it’d be a good surprise.”

“It sure is,” Junghyun agrees as he pulls away. His eyes slide to you, and you offer him a tentative smile that he easily reciprocates. “And you are?”

“My girlfriend,” Jungkook says before you have time to say your name. “From college.”

Junghyun nods, meeting your gaze again. “Nice to meet you.”

You echo the sentiment as his fiancée - Nara - stops next to Junghyun, politely greeting Jungkook. 

You end up speaking with the pair for a little while. They both are a lot more welcoming than Jungkook’s parents, and Jungkook seems to be vibrating with happiness by the time they have to move away, needing to greet the other guests in the room. Meanwhile the sun has set outside, and you take a moment to admire the view as Jungkook goes to grab a refill for you both.

“I must admit he has a lot of nerves to bring you here,” a voice says next to you, and you turn to notice his mother, her arms folded on her chest.

Though your heart skips a painful, anxious beat in your chest, you only face the world outside again. “And why is that?”

She scoffs. “He’s technically engaged to someone.”

The world stops turning, and you glance at his mother. She sports a small, wicked smile, like she knows Jungkook didn’t tell you.

“What do you mean?” you can’t help but ask, your hands turning clammy.

She shrugs. “His father and I have discussed it with another family. We’ve deemed it better if they marry.”

“Does he even know her?” you spit.

She chuckles condescendingly. “Look at you. You really think you fit in our world? Your mother clearly hasn’t raised you for it.”

You fully face Jungkook’s mother, nails digging in your palms as you clench your fists. “I’ll have you know that my mother raised me well, and raised me to know privilege where it is. Just because you happened to be born rich doesn’t make you any better.”

Her gaze widens, and you see Jungkook walking back towards you, two glasses of champagne in hands. He notices his mother, a muscle feathering under the skin of his jaw, and you don’t care to stay next to her before you start heading his way.

You meet in the middle of the room, and you wonder if your vision has grown blurry. You only understand your eyes have filled with tears when Jungkook curses under his breath, glaring at his mother over your head.

“What did she tell you?” he asks, voice gentle.

You shrug. “Nothing,” you lie, blinking the tears away.

But she didn’t tell you nothing, did she? 

“I’m really sorry,” he apologizes. “She’s…”

“It’s whatever,” you insist, interrupting him. “I just want to spend time with you.”

You just want to spend time with him because you’ve learned he’s technically engaged, if his mother wasn’t lying.

Does he even know it?

You successfully blink your tears away as Jungkook hands you a champagne glass, which you down in one long gulp.

“I’m flattered, peach,” he teases.

The champagne bubbles down your throat, and you swallow with a scrunch of your nose. When you’ve finished the glass, you hand it back to Jungkook, who takes it with one eyebrow cocked. He looks like he wants to say something, but then his brother starts to speak with a mic. The room ushers to silence, forcing everyone to listen to the speech. Jungkook’s frowning, eyes still on you, but after a few seconds he turns to look at his brother.

You wish you’d be able to listen to the speech, to focus on it, but all you can do is keep on blinking back the tears from snapping at Jungkook’s mother.

Here’s to making bad first impressions. 

And it’s not like it truly matters - you’re not even Jungkook’s real girlfriend. You’re just a friend, someone he brought along as a shield from his family. 

Or so you’re starting to realize. You can’t even blame him. If your mother was remotely similar to his, you’d always make sure to go home with someone to support you. 

The least you can do is be that for Jungkook.

When Junghyun finishes his speech, his fiancée moves closer to him, and they share a sweet embrace that looks a little too practiced for it to be genuine. Or it might just be you - if it had been you in their position, you’re pretty sure you would have wanted to kiss your fiancé stupid. But then again, you reckon it might be improper in this social class.

Jungkook’s mother might have a point - you really weren’t raised to know how to act around rich people.

Except Jungkook, that is, but that’s because you didn’t know he was rich before yesterday, and you doubt he cares anyway.

“Are you hungry?” Jungkook asks as servers start walking around with different appetizers, all of them looking far fancier than anything you’ve eaten in your life.

“Huh,” you let out as one of the servers stops next to you. “What’s this?” 

“Crab cakes,” the server answers, flashing you a quick, polite smile.

You glance at Jungkook. “I’m allergic to seafood.”

He snorts, and then wraps an arm around your shoulder. “Let’s go find something that doesn’t have seafood in it.”

You end up finding small vegetarian burgers, and though they are barely bite-size, you enjoy a couple of them despite their dryness. It’s not enough to satiate your hunger, and especially not enough for Jungkook, so when he suggests going out to a restaurant nearby, you jump on the occasion to say yes.

“Then wait for me here,” Jungkook indicates, and to your surprise he kisses your forehead before slipping away, heading towards where you can see his brother and father conversing. While he speaks to them, probably explaining that you’re going to go eat somewhere else, you admire the view again.  Cars zoom down in the streets below, each and every one of them carrying a different person with their own little life.

You feel small so high over the city. It’s sobering, and you feel like your mind is clearing from the buzz of the alcohol, from the remnants of the guilt you had for snapping at Jungkook’s mother. 

You glance over your shoulder, eyeing Jungkook as he stands as if frozen, his brother speaking in his ear. Junghyun slides his gaze to you, and you offer him a tentative smile that the man ignores. You’d even think that his eyes harden, but it’s hard to tell in the distance. Especially as he pulls away from Jungkook, claps his shoulder once and then walks away, his father in tow.

Jungkook doesn’t move for a few seconds, and you wonder what it is that Junghyun said. Because the moment Jungkook turns and you see the look on his face, you know it must have been something harsh.

Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. It’s so vulnerable, so different from his usual cocky persona that you immediately make your way towards him.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Jungkook just blinks looking at you, his eyes shining from unshed tears. You grab his hand, squeezing once, forgetting all about his mother being an asshole to you. No, all there is right now is Jungkook, and you want to make sure he finishes this evening with a smile on his face.

He deserves it after all.

“Hey, so where’s that restaurant you mentioned?” you query, switching tactics. 

Jungkook keeps looking at you for a few seconds, but he soon blinks a couple of times more, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

He pulls you behind him in the crowd, and you don’t know what look he has on his face, but people literally jump out of the way. He’s walking quickly, and you struggle to follow him, but you know he needs to leave.

You’ve seen the sorrow in his gaze, and you don’t blame him for wanting to get away. Indeed, you just want to flee in the night too, and you’re thankful the moment the elevator doors slide to a close after you’ve retrieved your coats, and you’re finally left in a quiet silence of just you and him.

Jungkook looks at you, gaze heavy, and a second later he’s on you, hands cupping your cheeks as he backs you into the wall. You startle, yet you’re quick to melt in his touch, to kiss him back with the same intensity he offers you.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, and you let him in, moaning softly as he drives his knee between your legs.

You didn’t expect him to kiss you. Especially not when nothing happened last night, some sort of awkwardness lingering in the air from being in his childhood room. But he kisses you languidly, all tongue and lips, his piercings pressing indents in your lower lip, and warmth pools at your core as the elevator goes down and down.

Anyone could walk in and catch you kissing, yet it doesn’t deter Jungkook, and neither does it deter you. Indeed, it only spurs you more, and your hands drop to his waist so that you can pull him closer.

The moment ends when the door slides open to reveal the ground floor, and Jungkook steps away from you, eyes dark with lust and shadows you don’t want to interpret. He smooths his shirt, offers you a tight-lipped smile that makes your heart clench in your chest, and then he’s walking out.

You’re quick to follow him, cheeks burning as someone at the reception eyes the two of you. You ignore them, hoping they can’t see how your lips are swollen from the kiss, and you all but have to jog to catch up with Jungkook by the time he reaches the doors.

He holds it open for you, yet you can’t meet his gaze as you step outside. Not when the engagement party was such a shitshow, not after he kissed you like that only to leave without saying anything.

The bustle of the New York City life engulfs you as you step out on the street, Jungkook in tow. To your surprise, his large hands close around yours, and you glance up to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry about…” he trails off, motioning over his shoulder.

You purse your lips. “About kissing me?”

The shadows partially lift in his gaze, warmth replacing them. “I’m not sorry about that at all,” he teases. “But I meant, about my family.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him, squeezing his hand. “I’m happy I could be there with you.”

He remains silent for a few seconds of you holding each other’s gaze on the sidewalk, and then he cracks a smile, though it doesn’t entirely reach his eyes. “What would I do without you, mmh?”

You laugh, and it sounds truer than it feels. “What would you do indeed?” you tease.

He chuckles, pulling you closer so that he can hug you. You wonder who needs it the most - him, or you? Because the second his arms wrap around you, you snake yours around his waist, hiding your face in his chest. He smells good - like Dior Sauvage, you think - and for a moment you just want to stay right here, in his arms.

Until his stomach grumbles, a low rumble against your cheek that makes you burst out laughing.

“Someone’s hungry,” you tease, looking up at him.

He meets your gaze, nodding once. “Peach, I’m fucking starving.”

That makes you laugh even more, lifting the heaviness of the atmosphere somehow, and it’s with a smile tickling your lips that you make your way to the restaurant - a kebab place on the first floor of another skyscraper. You eat your fill, laughing around with Jungkook, doing your best to keep the shadows out of his gaze.

But they never fully lift, and you’re not close enough to him to ask what his brother told him that upset him so much. 

Mostly, you’re not close enough to ask him if he’s truly supposed to marry someone, or if his mother just said that to scare you off. It’s like walking a tightrope, and you’re one wrong move from falling to your death.

Yesterday, you would have said that Jungkook would catch you but today, the haunted look that creeps up on his gaze once in a while makes you think that perhaps he wouldn’t catch you at all. And though it saddens you, you don’t say anything.

You’ll have a better occasion later. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself as Jungkook loosely holds your hand after the restaurant, while you walk around aimlessly. He’s telling you stories about growing up, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he occasionally falls eerily silent, you’d think that he’s happy right now. He looks the part, beaming at you whenever your gazes connect, and it’s too easy to reciprocate.

You think it’s a good thing - you’re comfortable with Jungkook, even if the whole engagement party was weird. It only gets better when you near a club, and Jungkook stops with a mischievous look in his eyes that finally looks a lot more like the Jungkook that you know from college.

“Do you want to go clubbing?” he says.

You snort. “It’s not even nine pm.”

“And?” he presses.

“You want to go clubbing this early?”

He shrugs, grabbing your hand again to pull you towards the doorman. “We can sit and chat before the party starts.”

As a matter of fact, the party is already started inside the club. Indeed, it’s like you step in an alternate universe the moment you walk in, the crowd thick as they sway to the beat. You only understand that it’s a concert of some famous DJ when you’re stopped at the coat check because you don’t have any tickets.

To your luck, the girl informs you that there are a few tickets left, and you insist on paying since Jungkook bought you the overpriced dress you’re wearing.

The one you’ll likely ruin while partying.

The thought sobers you a little, up until Jungkook, buzzing with excitement, pulls you towards the bar after you’ve left your coats at the coat check.

“This is going to be fun,” he says over the loud music. 

You nod, though your mind is lingering somewhere back at the engagement party. “Are you okay?” you can’t help but ask.

Jungkook falls serious, clenching his jaw once. “It’s about my family, isn’t it?”

“Yes and no,” you say, worrying at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Tonight has been… weird.”

It’s unfortunately your turn to order, as the barman stops in front of you, and Jungkook quickly orders two gin and tonic for you both before resuming his attention on you.

“I know,” he agrees. “Family events are always weird around here.” He winces, shrugging his shoulders. “And if you want to speak about it, we can tomorrow. But right now I really just want to have a nice evening with you.”

He looks hopeful, lips jutting out in the trace of a pout, and his doe eyes hold so much softness you find yourself folding immediately.

He’s right - you want to have a nice evening with him too, and forget the shitshow that the engagement party was.

“Well then,” you say, offering him a corner smile that hints at mischief. “I hope you’re ready to party.”

He brightens, like the stars shining when there’s no light pollution. “Damn right, peach.”

The barman puts your drinks on the bar, and Jungkook hands you your glass. You grab the lime on the rim of the glass, squeezing it in the drink properly before dropping it amongst the ice cubes. Jungkook watches you, mirroring you after a few seconds.

“To partying,” you say, raising your glass.

Jungkook echoes, clinking his glass with yours and you both drink, the alcohol fresh and cold on your tongue. 

You linger by the bar long enough to finish your first drinks, talking about everything and nothing. By the time you’re taking your last sip, Jungkook is reminiscing about a party last semester, where Taehyung had tried hitting on a girl only to get rejected.

“He complained about it for weeks,” you remember. “Even though he was sleeping with…” You frown, unable to remember the girl’s name. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Jungkook laughs. “Tae fucks around too much to remember everyone, I know.”

“As if you’re any better,” you tease, pushing him playfully.

He pouts, eyebrows bunching together as his doe eyes narrow. “I’m better now.”

“Are you?”

He moves closer to you, and your heart trips on itself in your chest as he rests his large hand on your waist, pulling you closer. “I definitely am.”

You don’t know who makes the move first. You just know that a second later, you’re cupping Jungkook’s cheeks, and his lips are on yours again. This time, he tastes of gin and lime, and a swipe of his tongue on your lower lip makes you sigh, your hands sliding to the back of his head to get lost in his soft hair. His hand rests flat on your back, as if to keep you from stepping away.

Like you would.

You don’t ever want to step away from Jungkook. Tonight, you think it doesn’t matter that he’s Taehyung’s best friend. It doesn’t matter that he is supposedly engaged to someone else. Right now, it feels like he’s yours - you’re foolish enough to believe that he is.

“Let’s dance,” Jungkook murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours.

“Let’s grab something else to drink first.”

You grab Jungkook’s hand, pulling him closer to the bar again. He follows, his thumb soothingly rubbing circles on the back of your hand, and he doesn’t let go when you lean against the bar, attracting the barman’s attention.

“Are you up for some Jager bombs?” you suggest.

He smirks, looking downright devilish with the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I’d never say no to Jager Bombs.”

That’s how you find yourself downing two shots each, and you’re getting pretty tipsy by the time the show starts, and Jungkook pulls you onto the dancefloor. You dance and dance, the atmosphere electric, Jungkook’s laugh so contagious you think you might have caught a happy disease. Because you can’t stop smiling, you can’t stop laughing. 

It’s like the engagement party never happened and frankly, it’s what you needed. 

Jungkook pulls you closer in the middle of the crowd, kissing you languidly. You’re quick to kiss him back, to push your tongue in his mouth the moment his lips part to allow entry. He grunts in the kiss, in the intensity that takes on the two of you even though you’re in public.

You want him so bad. You’ve always wanted him badly, but right now it’s making your blood sing in your veins.

But the evening is young still, and so you return to dancing, your back pressed against Jungkook. You sway your hips to the beat of the music, and he guides your motions, head hanging low. He occasionally presses soft kisses on the side of your face, and your eyes flutter shut in contentment.

If you’d die right now, you think you’d die happy.

“Peach,” Jungkook whispers.

Your eyes flutter open as you glance at him. The intensity in his gaze makes you feel smaller than a speck of dust. “What?”

“Should we go home?” he asks.

You glance towards the scene, where the DJ is clearly in the middle of his set. “The show’s not over yet.”

“I know.” He nips at your jaw, and you tilt your head to the side to allow him access to your neck. He’s quick to press an open-mouthed kiss there.

You turn in his hold, finding his lips again. This kiss is hotter, like fire blazing bright, and you, too, want to head home. You want to get lost in him, in this moment of him being yours out in public like this.

“Fuck, JK,” you whisper when you pull away, breathing raggedly.

“What?”

“Kissing you like this, where anyone can see…” you trail off, glancing at the crowd.

Nobody is paying you any attention, yet you feel like you’re the center of the universe right now. Or maybe that’s Jungkook - he’s the center of your universe.

“It’s turning me on,” you finish in a breathy sentence meant just for him.

“Peach,” he says, voice low and husky. It ignites even more warmth inside of you, and you think you’re about to melt in his touch. “Then I’ll bring you here more often. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine, mmh?”

That you’re mine. You like the sound of those words in his mouth far too much, even though part of you wants to reply that you’re your own self, and don’t belong to anyone.

Perhaps you want to belong to him, and that in and of itself is a far too dangerous thought. But New York shines tonight, and you feel infinite.

You are infinite, as long as he’s by your side.

You stay for the rest of the DJ’s set, despite you both wanting to go home. Jungkook is touchy, yet respectfully so as you dance, never really touching you where you want him, but his hands lingering near every fiery spot in your body. The Uber ride home is spent in tense silence, as is the walk up to the elevators of his building.

He holds your hand through it all, refusing to let go, and you like it.

You like everything about this moment, right now. Like you’ve stepped into an alternate universe where you really are his, and you pray you’ll never have to leave.

The elevator doors slide open, and Jungkook pulls you in. You’re disappointed when you notice a middle-aged woman already riding the elevator from the underground parking lot, and Jungkook politely nods to her as he presses the button for the highest floor.

Fortunately, the woman gets off on the eighth floor, and you’re left alone with Jungkook. He’s quick to spring into action, pushing you back against the wall so that he can steal a languid kiss of tongues and lips, of getting lost in him until you fully lose touch with reality.

“Fuck,” you breathe as Jungkook leaves a trail of hot kisses from your jaw to your neck. 

He sucks a hickey below your ear, and you can’t help but moan lightly as you drag your hands through his hair, leaving it dishevelled.

The doors of the elevator slide open, and Jungkook startles, taking a step back from you. One glance down reveals the proof of his attraction for you, and you really are aflame, burning from the inside out.

“I need to take a shower,” you say. 

A cold, cold shower, before you combust irreparably.

“Okay,” Jungkook lets out, and he grabs your hand again to pull you to the door. 

You don’t know how he does it, but he refrains from kissing you when you’re in. You’d expected him to jump on you - you practically wanted him to - but Jungkook, ever so the gentleman, only leads you inside and to his room. 

You take in the city skyline, the beauty of being so high you feel like you’re flying. The city sparkles, lights shining on and on, and you glance at Jungkook.

His eyes shine with undiluted lust and another emotion you can’t quite put your finger on. You just know it’s ten thousand times better than the shadows that had lingered in his gaze after the engagement party, and you want to cling to it.

“Do you want to take a shower with me?” you suggest as he helps you out of your coat.

“Want me to wash your hair?” he teases, flicking your nose.

He’s your Jungkook again, and an excited thrill goes through you. 

“Yes,” you say, smirking. “Maybe if you’re nice I’ll wash your back.”

He narrows his gaze, though his lips curve upwards. “I’m always nice.” He puts your coat away in the walk-in wardrobe, emerging without his own coat, too.

“Are you?”

You let out a yelp as he bends to pick you up bridal style. “Always,” he says, pecking your cheek once as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you grumble as he carries you to the bathroom, putting you down on the counter. 

“I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not even a little bit sorry,” he teases, and he steals a quick kiss on your lips before stepping away from you to turn on the shower.

You watch him as he does so - he’s beautiful, with his dishevelled hair and big doe eyes he casts on you as he glances over his shoulder. He’s still smiling, his features so soft you can’t help but smile back, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“How hot do you want the shower to be?” he asks.

You smirk. “What kind of hot are you talking about?”

He rolls his eyes, though his light laugh fills the air. “Water temperature, dummy.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “Just put it how you like it.”

He nods, and he does so, adjusting the settings until the multiple shower heads are on, and steam soon starts to waft out of the shower.

Jungkook walks back to you, toying with his piercings. You scan his features, lingering on his eyebrow piercing, and then spread your thighs so that he can step between your legs. He does so, wrapping his arms around your middle, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

He picks you up, putting you down on the floor. “Gotta get you out of your dress, mmh?”

Your heart once again hitches in your chest, and goosebumps rise on your arms as Jungkook lightly brushes his fingers up your skin.

“Turn around, peach,” he tells you.

You obey, and you watch yourself in the mirror as Jungkook unzips your dress. There’s something so intimate about the moment that your pulse skyrockets, butterflies making a mess of your stomach.

Jungkook finishes unzipping the dress, and he pushes it off your shoulders, pressing a kiss on the naked skin he’s revealed on the back of your shoulder. You feel apprehensive, like he hasn’t seen you naked before, and you gulp as he lets go of the dress, and it falls to the floor to pool around your ankles.

“You know,” Jungkook breathes as you shiver, the air colder than you expect. Your nipples perk on your chest, and Jungkook is quick to wrap his arms around you so that he can tease the sensitive buds with his fingers. “Every time I see you, you get more beautiful.”

“Jk…” you breathe out, cheeks burning under the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s true,” he insists. He turns you around, his eyes lost in yours. “There’s something about you…” he trails off.

He never finishes the sentence as you stand on your tiptoe, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt. Your mouths collide, and you sigh against the plump softness of him, kissing him softly, tenderly. He kisses you back just as softly, his hands holding you by the waist.

“Peach…” he sighs.

Your eyes flutter open to find him already looking at you, and you do feel like the most beautiful woman in the world when he looks at you like that.

“I think you’re supposed to undress too,” you whisper.

He chuckles softly, taking a step back from you. “Wanna help?”

You gulp again, your throat feeling dry, yet you raise trembling hands in the space between you so that you can reach for the buttons of his shirt. You focus on the task at hand, on every inch of honey skin revealed by the buttons coming undone. Jungkook’s intense gaze doesn’t leave your face as you undress him, and soon you’re pushing his shirt off him, resting your hands flat on his chest.

His heart is racing under your palms, the only indication that this is affecting him just as badly as it’s affecting you.

You meet his gaze as he takes charge of taking off his pants, and soon they’re on the floor with your dress and his shirt, and you both stand in your underwear, gazes embracing.

“I’m so going to take my time with you tonight,” he breathes, cupping your cheek. His thumb gently swipes at your skin, and you instinctively lean your head into his palm.

“Yeah?” you let out.

He tilts your head back with a finger under your chin, and then he’s kissing you again, as if to prove it to you with actions rather than words. “Definitely,” he says the second he pulls away. And then his hands go down your body, slowly, finding the hem of your panties. “Can I take this off?”

You nod, and he drops to his knees. Your eyes widen, yet he only busies himself with taking your underwear off, helping you step out of it once it’s around your ankles. He gets up again after, and he pushes his boxers down.

You’ve been avoiding looking at the obvious bulge in his underwear, but his dick stands proud and tall the second you glance down, already leaking precum. 

He’s been wanting you badly, and it shows.

“Shit, Jungkook,” you breathe.

“I know,” he lets out. “I’m fucking hard for you.” He chuckles, and grabs your face to force you to meet his gaze again. “From the mess I saw in your panties, I know you’re already soaked for me too.” He pecks your lips, and then your forehead. “But shower first, right?”

You kiss again, and this time he sucks your lower lip into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth.

“Shower first,” you repeat the second you pull away.

He smirks, winking at you, and then he walks over to the shower, leaving you there with your heart beating out of your chest. You take a deep breath, trying to tame the wild beats, and soon enough you follow Jungkook, right when he steps in the shower. He holds the glass door open for you, closing it behind you once you’re in, hot water splashing you.

You face Jungkook, and he looks at you with his head tilted to the side, a smirk playing on the corners of his lips.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he answers. “Pass me the soap?”

You nod, gulping, and you look away from him to find the soap. You grab it, handing it to Jungkook, and he gently takes it out of your hands.

“Turn around,” he tells you for the second time tonight. “I’ll wash your back.”

“Shouldn’t you start with my hair?” you ask.

He chuckles. “So bossy. Wet your hair then.”

You obey, and soon enough Jungkook is rubbing shampoo on your scalp, and your eyes flutter shut as you relax into the touch. He rinses your hair when he’s done, and then takes care of the conditioner.

“You like being pampered, don’t you?” he teases.

“Only if you’re the one pampering me,” you fire back. 

He laughs, and he presses a soft kiss on your forehead again. “Then I guess I need to pamper you more.”

You’re falling. You know exactly what’s happening, and you wonder if he feels it too.

“Let me take care of you,” you say once Jungkook is done with washing your hair.

He smiles down at you, nodding once. “Okay.”

And so you wash him, cleaning his back first. You teasingly rub his ass, and Jungkook throws you a glare over his shoulder that makes you burst out laughing. Once you’re done he turns around, and you gently rub his chest, a smile still curving your lips upwards as you fall in comfortable silence.

He isn’t so hard anymore. Yet, when your hands get lower on his abdomen, his dick twitches, and he’s quick to get hard again. You cock an eyebrow, looking up at him.

“I barely touch you and this is how you react?” you tease.

He grabs your jaw, his grip firm. “And now you’ll clean my dick too, won’t you?”

You blush, nodding once as he lets go of your jaw to cup your cheek instead. You wrap a hand around the base of his dick, and then you stroke him once. His lips part, and he pulls on his piercings before looking down at himself. 

“Let me…” he trails off, and you nod, stepping away from him to let him clean himself. You quickly wash yourself as he does so, cheeks burning so much you wouldn’t be surprised if you were purple.

Once you’re both cleaned, you face Jungkook again, and he offers you a soft smile. Unable to resist, you look down at his dick, reaching for him again.

“Now that you’re clean…” you let out, and you smirk. “Maybe I can actually take care of you?”

You don’t know where the courage comes from, but you’re not going to waste it. Indeed, you immediately drop to your knees, and Jungkook redirects the shower heads away from your face.

“Yeah?” he lets out. “You want to suck me?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip, and then you jerk him off once, eyes moving to his dick. It’s pretty, though not as hard as he was earlier, and you tentatively swirl your tongue around his tip, before sucking on it lightly.

Jungkook curses under his breath, leaning a hand against the wall as if looking for support. “Don’t be shy,” he says.

You smirk again, and this time you drag your tongue on the side of his dick, from base to top, before wrapping your lips around him again. You hollow your cheeks as you take most of him in your mouth, and Jungkook moans softly when he hits the back of your throat.

“Shit…” he lets out.

You suck harder as you pull almost all the way off, and then you truly get to work, eyes fluttering shut as you suck him, jerking him off in time with the motions of your head. Jungkook holds your head, letting you set the rhythm you feel comfortable with, and soon you’re moaning on his dick, the vibrations making him curse.

You take him all the way in, looking up at him despite the tears blinding your gaze. He’s got his head thrown back, lips parted as he breathes heavily, chest moving rapidly. You wonder if you’d be able to make him come like this, and you suck harder, holding in the gag reflex that’s threatening to interrupt your ministrations on him.

“Peach,” he moans, and then he pulls out of your mouth.

A string of spit connects his tip to your lips, and you’re quick to lick at it, to taste the precum that’s dripping from his slit.

“That feels good?” you ask.

He nods. “Way too much,” he replies, chuckling breathlessly. “I’m going to fall in love with your mouth if you keep sucking me like that.”

You don’t need more to spur you into action, and you go back to sucking him, pouring everything you have in the action. His dick gets harder and harder in your mouth, and you know he has to be close. So you tentatively tease his balls with your free hand, and he moans as you squeeze lightly.

“Peach,” he lets out, and it sounds whiny. “Stop. I want to fuck you now.”

You pull out, offering him an innocent pout as you keep jerking him off quickly. “You don’t think you’d be able to go for round two?”

He chuckles, slightly shaking his head. “Not when I drank. And I really just want to make you feel good too.”

Only for that reason do you let him pull you up to your feet, and you reluctantly let go of his dick as he pushes you against the tile wall, mouth immediately finding yours in a ravaging kiss. You moan as he pushes his tongue in your mouth, and you go back to jerking him off, unable to keep your hands off him.

He hisses as he pulls away from the kiss, and then he glances towards his discarded pants on the floor beyond the glass door of the shower. “I have condoms in there,” he reveals, and then he meets your gaze again. “But you deserve better than to be fucked in a shower, mmh?”

You gulp, nodding once as he steals another quick kiss on your lips, and then he turns off the shower. You stand in the steam for a few seconds, holding each other’s gaze, and then Jungkook pulls you out of the shower, wrapping a towel around you. 

You’re quick to dry yourself, lust and desire clouding your mind, and you don’t hesitate when Jungkook grabs your hand, pulling you towards his bedroom. The walk-in is cold as you step out of the bathroom, but you busy yourself with watching the strong muscles of his back, and the tattoos on his arm. It’s distracting enough, and soon Jungkook turns to face you again, kissing you deeply before pulling away.

“Do you want me to close the curtains?” he asks as he steps away from you, enough so that your eyes fall to his erection.

“You think people can see us?” you let out, casting a quick glance towards the tall windows, and the city beyond.

“Maybe, if they’re looking up here,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s never bothered me, but I’ve never been with anyone in this bed, so…”

Your gaze widens. “You’ve never fucked here?”

You think it’s blush creeping on his cheeks as he scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve never brought a girl here at all.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry what?”

He winks at you, eyes going down your frame. They stop on your perked nipples, and he toys with his piercings.

“You’re the first girl who’s ever come here,” he says. “The first one I’ll fuck in this bed. And maybe I do want the city to see me fucking you. I want them to see how beautiful you are when you come.”

You’re speechless as he strolls towards you, and his mouth collides with yours, his lips moving like he’s a starved man against yours. He pushes you towards the bed, and you fall on it the second the back of your legs hit it. He looks at you, wetting his lips, and then winks.

“I’ll be right back.”

He disappears back into the walk-in, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him as he retrieves a condom from his wallet. He inspects the tinfoil package on the way back, making sure that the condom is safe to use, and then he rips it open, pulling the condom out.

He puts it on, rolling it down his dick as you watch with your heart beating wildly again as it knows what’s to come.

No one has ever fucked you as good as Jungkook, and you can tell he won’t disappoint tonight either. No, the intensity in his gaze can’t be mistaken, and the second he kneels between your legs you spread your thighs wide open, offering yourself on a silver platter.

“Already?” he teases, and he strokes himself slowly. “I thought you’d need a little bit of foreplay before.”

“Trust me,” you let out. “I’m already wet enough for you to rearrange my guts.”

He smirks, and he moves closer, close enough to rub his dick on your folds. “You are.” He says it like he’s surprised, but the second he starts rubbing his dick on your clit you’re gone, unable to form logical thoughts. “So you want me to fuck you? To rearrange your guts?”

“Jungkook,” is all you can reply.

He teases your folds again, pushes in just enough for his tip to part them. “Tell me what you want, peach.”

“I want you,” you say, and you don’t care how whiny you sound.

You feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you into oblivion.

“Where?” he asks, and he pulls away to rub his dick on your clit again.

You clench your jaw, reaching for his dick, but Jungkook is quick to grab your hand with his free one, pinning your wrist over your head.

“Be nice, mmh?” he says in your ear, and then he straightens.

“I want you inside of me, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” He pushes in, though he stops when just his tip is in. “Like this?”

“Fuck, stop teasing,” you grumble.

Jungkook laughs, and a second later he slams home, his dick splitting you open as he pushes almost all of himself inside of you. You moan, your eyes fluttering shut, and he barely gives you time to adjust before he grabs your waist, and he starts pounding you, setting an unforgiving pace.

His thrusts are quick and hard, and you see stars almost immediately, your walls clenching around him. It doesn’t slow him down, only makes him readjust himself until he hits a better angle, and you moan loudly as he drags against the sweetest spot inside of you.

“Jungkook,” you moan.

He bends down, slowing just long enough to lean on his elbow, and then he holds your shoulders as he jackhammers into you again, so hard his bed bangs into the wall repeatedly.

There’s no one to hear you fucking here. And he knows it - it’s like he’s keen on rearranging your guts, and you’re a whining, moaning mess as he fucks you hard. You hold onto his back, nails digging in his skin and Jungkook grunts in your ears as his pace never falters.

You know he’s got good stamina, but tonight feels different, like he’ll fuck you until the sun rises.

“Shit, peach,” Jungkook lets out, and he pulls out of you so suddenly you’re left gasping for air.

“Wh-” you start, but he flips you over, repositioning himself so that he can push inside of you again. 

He doesn’t move right away, instead massaging your ass cheeks as your walls clench around his dick, begging for more. He slaps your ass, not hard enough to hurt but enough to sting, and you clutch the bed sheets, pushing your hips back into him.

“You want some control, mmh?” he asks, and he pulls back just enough to allow you more movement.

It doesn’t take you long before you take advantage of it, fucking yourself back on him, rolling your hips when he hits your cervix. 

“You’re so big,” you let out on a whine. “So deep.”

“And you take me so well, peach.” He slaps your ass again, massaging the sting away. “Like your pussy was made for me.”

“It was,” you reply right away.

Jungkook thrusts once, and you rock forward on the bed from the intensity of his motion. Luckily for you, he was holding your waist, and so his dick doesn’t leave you empty.

“Good girl,” he says, so low it sounds like a growl, and then he’s back to pounding inside of you, and you’re a mess, trying to hold yourself together as you clutch the sheets.

Jungkook leans on one hand, snapping his hips into you again and again, and he wraps his free hand under you, blindly searching for your clit. The second he touches the sensitive bundle of nerves you moan loudly again, and he doesn’t need more to start rubbing figures on you, quick circles that send you into orbit so fast you barely realize your orgasm has hit you until you come down from the high, legs shaking as your vision keeps going in and out of focus.

Jungkook stops moving for a few seconds, bending down to press a feathersoft kiss on the side of your face. “You came hard,” he states.

“Holy fuck,” is all you can reply.

“One day, I want to feel you come on my dick without a condom on,” he says, and then he’s fucking you again, though this time he’s clearly chasing his own high.

Yet it feels good, far too good, and you come again - did you actually stop coming in the first place - as he rams his hips into yours. Jungkook milks it out of you, whispering filthy praises to you all along, and once he’s sure you’ve calmed down, he pulls out, flipping you on your back again.

He steals a kiss on your lips as he pushes in again, and this time he fucks you slower, deeper, lips never leaving yours. You lose trembling hands in his hair, run them along his back, and you wrap your legs around his waist for him to fuck you deeper. He doesn’t disappoint, and you take all of him in you as he pushes in, and then pulls almost all the way out.

“I’ll fall in love with your pussy,” Jungkook whispers against you. 

He rests his forehead against yours, and your heart fills with far too many emotions - none you can voice. 

“JK…”

“Peach,” he answers in the same tone, and then he kisses you again. The second he breaks from the kiss he straightens, going back to kneeling between your legs. “Now be nice and let me come, mmh?”

“Come for me.”

“On it.”

You don’t know when he comes. All you know is that you’re swimming in far too much bliss when he starts fucking you hard again, and you lose touch with your body. It’s like you’re floating somewhere close to the ceiling, or maybe amongst the stars up above. You’re floating, and Jungkook grunts and curses as he fucks you, his motions growing sloppier, and soon he stills deep inside of you, hands holding your waist as he releases loads and loads of cum in the condom.

You wish he’d come inside of you so you’d feel it drip out of you when he pulls out. It’s a dirty thought to have, yet you can’t help it - not when you’re literally swimming in ecstasy, feeling like you’re buzzing.

Jungkook lies down next to you, resting a hand on your stomach as you try to regain your breath. It takes you a while - long enough for him to kiss the side of your face and promise he’ll be back as he disappears in the bathroom - but you do come down from the high, the bedroom and the city beyond the windows finally coming back into focus.

It’s raining. You didn’t realize it before, but raindrops are racing each other on the window, and you get lost admiring the view as Jungkook cleans himself in the bathroom.

He comes back with a wet washcloth for you to clean yourself, and you thank him as he offers it to you. You know you have to go pee before you sleep though, so you brave the walk to the bathroom, legs feeling like jelly under you. You manage to make it to the bathroom and back, and Jungkook welcomes you back into bed with a tired smile on his lips.

“Come here,” he says, and he opens his arms for you to nestle in his embrace.

You do so, pushing one leg between his as you wrap one arm around his waist.

“Feeling okay?” Jungkook asks.

“I think I’ll need weeks to recover,” you tease, and Jungkook’s answering laugh makes you feel like you’re the luckiest girl in the universe.

“Does that mean I can’t fuck you for a few weeks?” he asks, and you hear the pout in his voice.

It makes you smile against him.

“Mmmh,” you let out. “Nah, I want you to fuck me like this again tomorrow.”

He laughs again, and his arms tighten around you. “Then we better get a good night of sleep. We need to drive back home tomorrow.”

Back home. Together. Because, even if he’s Taehyung’s best friend, which you’ve conveniently forgotten all weekend, he’s also your roommate.

You share a home, and you think there’s beauty in that thought.

You yawn, nuzzling your face in his chest. “I don’t know about you but I’ll sleep like a rock.”

“And snore?”

“I don’t snore,” you answer, frowning slightly.

Jungkook chuckles and then kisses the top of your head. “You snore a little. Not as much as me though.”

“Tell me about it,” you complain, even though his soft snores had acted like white noise yesterday, helping you fall asleep despite the unfamiliar environment.

He yawns, pulling even closer. “Peach?”

You hum in answer.

“Thank you for this weekend,” he whispers. “I don’t know how I would have done it without you.”

“Jungkook…” you trail off, wanting to argue.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “You’re…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, and you pull away just enough so that you can look up at his face. “I’m what?”

“You’re you,” he answers, as if that explains anything.

And when you see the softness clinging to his gaze, you think maybe it does.

Prev | Chapter 8.5 | Next

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[anonymityisfunwriter]

Hits Different

"I trace the evidence, make it make some sense, why the wound is still bleedin', you were the one that I loved, don't need another metaphor, it's simple enough..."

Part of Inspired by Taylor Swift Series 'You're Losing Me' Chapter List Part 1

“I love you!”

“No, I love you!” you slur, leaning across the table to emphasize your point to Wanda.

“No, no, I love you," she furiously shakes her head, slurring back to you. "And you know what? If you and Bucky can’t figure this out, then - then love is a lie.”

Nat cringes at Wanda's bold statement, trying to grab her hand to pull her away from the conversation, “Wanda-“

Wanda drunkenly shoos away Nat's hand, slamming her glass down on the table so hard you're shocked it doesn't break in her hand, “No, it’s a lie! They are perfect for each other, Nat. Love is a lie!”

You fervently nod, your intoxicated mind wholeheartedly agreeing with Wanda, “Love is a lie!”

"You are both in long term, loving relationships, and you're both very, very drunk right now," Nat reasons, though it clearly goes in one ear and out the other.

Wanda leans over the table, grabbing your hands across the table, "You and Bucky are perfect together-"

"We're supposed to be getting her mind off of Bucky, not reminding her about him," Nat pointedly remarks, widening her eyes at Wanda, who doesn't seem to notice her faux pas.

"Bucky," you whimper, it was the first time you'd tasted his name in over a month. You so carefully avoided saying his name in your separation, saying it seems to open the floodgates, "I miss him."

Nat's mouth twists to the side, she gently coos, "I know you do, but -"

"We used to dance to this song all the time," you shout over the music, steamrolling over Nat's attempt to console you. You point to the speaker above you, "This was our song."

"You used to dance together?" Wanda blubbers. She turns to Natasha with wide, desperate eyes, "Nat, they used to dance together!"

Nat remorsefully sighs, regretting the moment she decided that she would stay at least mostly sober tonight, "I know, but right now, they-"

"We don't dance together anymore. He doesn't love me anymore," you brokenly whisper, tears welling in your eyes. 

"That's not true!" Nat insists. "Please don't cry. If you cry, Wanda -"

"Love is a lie," Wanda sniffles, mascara tears welling under her eyes. 

Nat groans, rubbing her temples. Even in the dim bar light, you can see the exasperation in her eyes as clear as day. 

You understand Nat's frustration with you. You never don't cry anymore. These days it seems like you're always crying, at every bar, at every club. This isn't the first time you've absolutely demolished the upbeat atmosphere of a night out with your sadness. 

It was contagious, and you wouldn't be surprised if you soon stopped receiving invitations.

He made a permanent mess of you. 

"I should get another drink," you announce, harshly planting your hands on the table. 

Natasha grips your hand, keeping you from taking off, "Not a chance, unless that drink is water."

You squeeze her hand, pulling her close to you, "I'll get custody of you guys, right? I know you have to work with him and you knew him first, but you're my friends too, right?"

"Of course we're your friends," Nat promises. 

"Maybe I can get you guys on the weekend," you mutter.

"I don't think we need to worry about custody agreements just yet, alright?" Nat tries to assuage your concerns, she drops your hand, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze, "If I'm being honest, I still think you can work things out. He loves you."

"I thought that too," you softly cry. You wipe away the tears, your face heating up with a terrible combination of alcohol, misery, and embarrassment. "I need some air."

"I'll go with you," Nat tells you, stopping you before you can leave. 

"What about Wanda?" you ask, stumbling as you stand up from the both you'd occupied all night. Nat looks down at Wanda, Wanda's head slumped against Nat's shoulder, still crying her eyes out. "I just need air. I'll be fine. Pinkie promise."

"If you're not back in 5 minutes, I'm going to come find you."

"Scout's honor!" you exclaim. 

"You were never a Girl Scout," Natasha yells after you. 

You weave your way through the crowds of people. No one seems to notice how desperately you want to escape this bar, and tonight, you're not above pushing and shoving. 

When you finally make your way outside, you notice that the cool night does nothing to soothe the ache in your heart and the knotted feeling in the pit of your stomach. You prop yourself up against the brick wall and take the deepest breath you possibly can. 

"Tough night?" the bouncer asks. 

"Tough month," you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself to protect yourself from the frosty night. 

"Whoever he is, he's an idiot," the bouncer offers. "Doesn't know what he lost."

You sniffle, wiping away the tears on your cheeks, "Thank you, Mr. Bouncer."

You didn't believe the bouncer.

Not when you could still see it so clearly in your mind. 

Bucky, just like you, knew exactly what he'd lost.

There is no washing your hands of something that was still staining every inch of your skin, like a wine stained dress you couldn't wear anymore.

You'd memorized every aspect of Bucky. There was not a part of him you didn't know. Just like there wasn't a single part of you that he hadn't touched. You think of the little wrinkles in the corner of his eyes, the scruff he'd always wake with, the slope of his nose, you knew every piece of him. And you knew it by heart. 

It all appears in flashes, little snippets of memories that you never wanted to let go of. And you think of him, of the way he used to look at you, the way he used to hold you, of what you shared - and you picture him sharing that with someone else.

You're not quite sure if it's the copious amounts of liquor in your veins or the image of the love of your life finding a new, better, greater love. Waves of nausea wash over you so quickly that it overwhelms you.

You clap a hand over your mouth, biting back the bile burning in your esophagus.

It's no use as you rush forward to the curb, throwing up all over the street. Each time you picture him in love with other girls is another dry heave on the street. 

"I'm gonna go grab your friends," the bouncer says, though you barely hear him as you remain doubled over the curb. 

"Thank you," you hear Nat say only a minute or so later, jogging out to the curb. She grabs your hair with one hand, rubbing soft, soothing circles over your spine with the other, "I think now's a good time to call it a night."

"I'm sorry," you whimper. "I didn't mean to ruin the night."

"You didn't," Nat states, though even in your drunken state, you can tell she's lying. "I promise it's fine. We understand."

You look up at her hopefully, tears freely flowing down your cheeks, "You do?"

"We do." She stands up, flagging down a taxi cab driving down the street. "We just need to get you home and in bed."

"Okay," you sniffle as the taxi pulls up. "Home sounds good."

She unsubtly ushers you into the taxi, "Come on, let's get you in the cab."

"Wait, I left my jacket inside!" you abruptly exclaim, popping back out of the cab.

Nat sighs, clearly a little frustrated with dealing with you and Wanda. She stops you from getting out with a firm hand on your shoulder, "I'll go grab it. You stay here while I go get Wanda, alright?"

You obediently nod, "Okay."

She turns back with a threatening expression like she can see the scheming lurking in your eyes, "I mean it! No running off."

"I wouldn't dream of it," you drunkenly promise. "Cross my heart!"

Nat narrows her eyes at you, trying to determine the sincerity in your eyes. She sticks out an admonishing finger, "I'll be right back."

You keep nodding as she backs away from the curb, not breaking eye contact with you until she reaches the door. You shut the car door the moment that Nat enters the bar. "Can we go now?"

The taxi driver looks back at you with a vaguely concerned expression, though you get the sense that it's less for your safety and more for the fact that you're drunk in his backseat, "What about your friends?"

"I'll text them on the way."

He purses his lips in clear displeasure, debating if this ride was worth the cab fare.

"Can you just take me home?" you quietly plead with the taxi driver. "Please?"

The driver sighs in concession after a moment, "You wanna tell me where home is?"

You prattle off your address. He looks back at you one last time, he sighs, nods, and drives off, "Just don't throw up in my back seat."

"I wouldn't dream of it," you mutter. 

You lean your head against the window of the cab, watching as the streets pass you by. Each flickering street light, each traffic light, every intersection is just a little bit closer to where your heart still resided. 

By the time the cab comes to a stop in front of your old apartment, some of your intoxication has faded.

Just not sober enough to stop you from doing something stupid.

You pay the driver, collect your things, and hop out of the cab. 

You stumble your way into the apartment building, up the elevator, down the hall.

After fussing with the keys in your bag, it takes you far longer than you'd care to admit to get the door unlocked. 

You fling open the door, stumbling into the dark apartment. 

"Hello?" you call into the darkness. 

No response.

"Hello?" you over-enunciate. 

No response again.

You stumble on, your hand clumsily feeling for the light switch against the wall. You victoriously chuckle when the room is finally illuminated. 

What you find is not something that you're ready to bear witness to. 

There is no life here. No warmth. No light. Everything you once loved is gone. He is gone. Everything is exactly as you left it, and yet, it is all gone. 

The room is sobering. Both mentally and physically. And you're not ready to be sober just yet.

You stumble around to the liquor cabinet, skipping over the bottles of wine and champagne and straight to Bucky's expensive bottle of whiskey.

You know it's stupid. You know it's a decision you will regret when you wake up with the worst hangover of your life.

You know that, but in this moment, you swear you can feel sobriety slowing creeping up on you, and you can't bring yourself to face this emotional gravesite with a clear head. 

Not bothering with a glass, you put the bottle of Bucky's whiskey up to your lips. You take a long pull of a liquor you don't even like, and continue wandering through your home. 

It vaguely occurs to you that this isn't really your home anymore. You hadn't lived here since you'd left a month ago. You'd only been brave enough to sneak in once to get more clothes under the absolute certainty that Bucky was away on a mission. 

Even though you had a key, even though you'd picked out every piece of furniture, even with your name on the lease, this wasn't your home anymore. 

You shakily suck in a breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. 

You drag your leadened feet through the apartment, trailing your fingertips over the cool class of pictures frames filled with better days. You keep rummaging through the apartment, hoping to trace the evidence back to where things went wrong.

It didn't make sense. 

When did it go wrong? When was love not enough? And when did you stop dancing with him?

You loved dancing with him. You'd always believed in fairytales in secret. You treated it as your most sacred wish, your most secret desire. Before him, you'd let that wish go, you'd given up. And when you found him, you were certain that this was your fairytale ending. You couldn't believe you'd found someone so perfect, someone who made you believe again.

You loved him so much. He was all you wanted. And it still wasn't enough.

He was it for you, you were sure. There would be no one else. No one else could compare. You'd already given your heart away with no intention of ever asking for it back. 

If he wasn't the one for you, why did it hurt this much? Why did freedom taste this bitter? 

You look out on the window sill filled with your houseplants, it fills you with an irrational joy that he hadn't let them die. 

You trailed through the artifacts of a great, life altering love, a love meant for the ages. A love that died young. 

You stop at Bucky's old baseball cap, remembering all the times he wore it early in your relationship to avoid being recognized in public. Compared to now, those days were so easy.

It was so bright, so full of love. You'd jumped without ever looking down. This was it, this is what awaited you in the pit of heartbreak.

You wipe away the tears, the hat still firmly in your grasp. You can't pull yourself together enough to recognize that you were crying over a hat.

Instead, you allow him to make a mess of you again. You slump down in the center of the floor, hat in one hand, bottle of whiskey in the other. 

You clutch the hat to your chest, choked sobs rack through your entire body. You hold the hat like it's the last piece of him you still have - mostly because it is the last piece of him you have.  

Before you can descend any further into your emotional breakdown, you hear a key turning in the door down the hallway. 

You lean your head against the wall, looking to the empty hallway. 

Is that his key in the door?

You were the only two that had keys to this apartment. It was a choice you made together. This was your place, not for anyone else. No one else would ever know this sanctuary like the two of you did.

Is it him?

You reconcile that maybe he gave the key to Steve, who gave it to Nat, who was here to take you away.

You didn't want to be taken away. 

"Baby?" You hear his voice echo from the door. Heavy footsteps thump down the empty hallway. "Doll? Baby, are you here? Can you please- "

His voice stops when he sees you slumped against the wall, bottle beside you, his old baseball hat in hand. You blink. Once. Twice. Three times, entirely convinced that this is a mirage after being deprived of your great love for so long. 

He stands before you for a moment. A lull in the mirage, you tell yourself. His wide, heartbroken eyes hold you captive, becoming more real with every step towards you. 

You don't say anything as he kneels before you. His ocean blue eyes are just as you remember. His familiar scent eases the pain for a moment. You swear you can feel the warmth rolling off of him. You can't help the softness that appears in your bloodshot, puffy eyes. 

"Hey," he whispers. He can't stop himself, his hand grazes your cheek, almost checking if this is real. "You were crying."

It was all one hell of a mirage.

You smile at him, a sense of ease and relief settles over you.

You wonder if it'll be okay now. If everything would finally be okay. 

He gently cradles you in his arms, lifting you up in one fluid motion. He knows he could've slung an arm around his shoulder instead of holding you in such an intimate way, but this feels right.

It feels right to have you back in his arms one last time. 

This time he knows it's the last time, he's sure you're not going to give him another chance, this time, he can cherish it, memorize the feeling of your warmth, of your touch. It gives him something to hold onto for the rest of his life. If he can't hold on to you, he'll hold onto the memory of you. 

"You used to believe in good. You used to believe in me," you softly cry into his chest.

Your breath dances across his collarbone, he memorizes that feeling too.

He gently kisses the top of your head, murmuring softly, "I still do. Always have, always will."

Part 3

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez@ludicbouquetfromearth@matchat3a@famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff@valoraxx@blue786sworld@buckyandgeraltsupremacy@geminigengar@ansaturn@ecolle@lexhalstead3@ybflkmj@mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112@thegirlnextdoorssister@toomanyfanficsbruh@moonlightreader649@breathtaking-cynthia@mirikusashes@beans-and-toast@niyahcoca@katiechikin@elxvrr@antiheroxsblog@infamouslyclumsy@krissydclayton93@buckysbarne@deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic@whitexwolfxx310

[callmedaleelah]

hihi!!! I love how you write so much, and the story au pinnacle (sorry I've been totally binging your blog and the way you write kei is chefs kiss)

I know it's still going but omg the toxic traits of the mom reminds me of my mom (tiger parent but unlucky for her I was rebellious) and I love how you write about the anxiety and fear (reader) goes through and how protective kei gets

I can't wait to see/read more of your writing and thank you for posting your work!

hiii 🥹✨ thanks for your appreciation, i’m glad people like my writings 🫶🏻

maybe i’ll get you guys informed about the things in pinnacle au series so people won’t be confused 😊🐭

- the mother i try to write here has some toxic traits, but i also want her to believe that she’s a genuine and good mom herself. so that’s why at first, she’s gonna be sweet and caring. she’s the type of mom that’s trying to figure everything out for her child, so that’s why she really wants you to succeed in university with the major she chose for you.

- the father will slowly be revealed throughout the story, so you can try to guess from now on how he would be.

- i kinda get inspired from normal people—how connell is having a severe anxiety after he moved in to a new life all by himself and how he struggled to adapt and cope with everything even tho he was a really good person and have a really good life back then. that’s also things i really want to highlight for the main character which i write as second person pov. i believe everyone experience the same things with varying severity.

- and the main character is also a clever person. i think most consider smart people to be those with strong intelligence and the ability to make use of it. whereas clever people are witty and know how to work around difficult situations in ways not ordinarily thought of.

- and i don’t know if people noticed it or not but in every chapter i wrote, i quote a line from taylor swift’ song.

so yeah, those are some i want people to know about pinnacle au series. i’ll be even busier from now cause uni is just started today (i’ll start to regret getting a double degree but yeah). and i have a part time job too so yeah 🫠

[petruchio]

IME, very few people seem to like speak now but it will always be special to me because it’s the first CD I ever bought for myself and the first album I ever listened to start to finish (that I can remember.) So part of me is 11 when I listen to it <3

im a speak now stan until i die!! similarly it was the first taylor release i remember staying up for, and i'll never forget listening to mean for the first time on my little ipod nano on release night :') speak now is one of the albums that i have played to DEATH and yet i can still listen to it front to back and be like yeah this is it baby. it also just reminds me of being 10/11 and wanting to BE taylor swift, to wear princess dresses and sparkles and sing about heartbreak and boys and rain... idk speak now to me will always just be the most Taylor Swift Taylor Swift album -- it just has everything i love on it.

side note but one of my fav songs and i think one of her most brilliant songs that doesn't get enough love is the story of us... like guys that song is SO clever -- obviously the little spoken interludes are so fun -- "next chapter" "the end" -- but there's so many fun little lyrical turns in that song... like "lately i don't even know what page you're on"?? ITS SO GOOD. "i'm DYING to know is it KILLING you like its KILLING me?" BRILLIANT. and also, it goes by so fast, but it has so many fun opposites: "standing alone in a crowded room" "my place was the spot next to you... searching the room for an empty seat" "i've never heard silence quite this loud" -- they just add to the intensity of the song, and the way the melody flip flops around so frantically on top of the lyrics -- it just adds to this unstable feeling the whole way through -- like you're switching from one intense feeling to another the whole way through (also on the melody note, i love the descending line on "it all broke down" -- again, it's so CLEVER!)

i know speak now doesn't get the love it deserves and i think it's bc at the time it was just seen as, like, "the follow up to that smash hit fearless" but i actually would argue speak now has aged even better than fearless in places -- the production is a little ... much at times but it is SUCH a witty creative album both musically and lyrically and i just LOVE IT. ugh here's my speak now essay from a while ago if you feel like reading it

[tojiscrack]

HERE I AM ONCE AGAIN!!!(feeling lost but now and then)

anyways!!

THE NEW CHAPTER WAS SO AMAZINGLY BEAUTIFUL YET SO AMAZINGLY CHAOTIC AT THE SAME TIME

FIRST OF ALL, SUKUNA MAKES AN APPEARANCE?!?! THE FACT THAT HE CAME INTO A STORY BC THEY DECIDED TO USE A OUJIA BOARD IS SO FUNNY TO ME. ALSO THEM DESTROYING THE CAFE???? I WAS TRYING SO HARD TO NOT LAUGH WHILE I WAS READING IT AT 12AM

SECONDLY, NATAILIA IS AN ICON FOR TAKING CARE OF MORBID MANDY!!! HUAK TUAH GIRL 2.0

AND LASTLY, SAVING THE BEST FOR LAST,,, THE DANCING!!!!!! HIM REACHING HIS HAND OUT AND THEN SAYING IT WAS Y/N WHO ASKED TO DANCE BC HE WAS EMBARRASSED. Y/N UNKNOWINGLY GETTING JEALOUS AFTER HEARING MEGUMI WAS DANCING WITH ANOTHER GIRL!!! FURTHER PROVING MY POINT THAT YAIL BY TAYLOR SWIFT IS THEIR SONG!!!!

IT ALSO REMINDS ME OF THAT ONE TIKTOK SOUND WHERE ITS GOES

"And there she was, holding hands with Bryce. My Bryce!"

"Less than 20 feet away from me was Juli. My Juli."

LIKE ITS LITERALLY THEM😭😭😭😭

ANYWAYS THATS ALL I HAD TO SAY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS BLESSING OF A CHAPTER IT WAS SO GOOD😝😝🫶🫶

liar, liar masterlist here:

HIIII, i wait for these analytical messages every time and you never disappoint!

amazingly beautiful + amazingly chaotic is correct. that’s exactly the vibe i was going for 🫡

i hate sukuna was a PASSION, y’know. like a PASSION. i do NAWT fw that four armed tarantula THING, but he’s literally such a menace, it’s the perfect addition to the story 😭 he can take spot no.2 for menace (y/n’s sitting at no.1 on the podium). i’m so glad it was funny enough for you to mention it!

HUAK TUAH — DKMMM 😭 mandy is based on a real life person. do with that info what you will (i hate herrrrr). stan natalia for giving her what she deserved.

yeah, according to megumi, he never asked her to dance (which, yk, isn’t a complete lie. he never ASKED her to dance). he tells everyone that she forced him (and everyone collectively believes him over her bc of her heinous reputation of lying).

that’s an interesting take you’ve got there. i kinda wrote y/n’s reaction to be more of a surprised one than a jealous one. like, ‘my childhood best friend megumi fushiguro who-hates-it-when-the-sun-shines-a-little-too-bright-and-absolutely-detests-watching-couples-do-PDA-in-front-of-him is dancing with someone?’ type of reaction. i mean, her first thought after that was to try and embarrass him (getting yuji to record it) quite like her reaction to hana liking him during middle school. but i like hearing alternative points, it makes writing more fun 🤭

oh they’ll get their flipped moment. they will.

they won’t.

will they? 👀

TYSM FOR YOUR SUPER KIND LONG BEAUTIFUL ANALYSIS. I NEED TO HEAD BACK TO STUDYING ‘CAUSE THIS WAS TOO GOOD AND I’M GETTING DISTRACTED BUT I’LL ADD MY RANDOM COMMENTS IN THE TAGS LATER, LOVE YOUUUU ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[cervidame]

Omg I was just commenting on chapter fifteen and I forgot to mention that while reading this latest chapter I listened to “hopelessly devoted to you” from grease on repeat because I felt like it was just SO Theo. Like he really is hopelessly devoted to Eloise lol. Some other songs I’ve been listening to that reminded me of genesis are “something stupid” by frank sinatra (feels more like theloise’s final meeting before genesis, really), “everybody loves somebody” by dean martin (specifically the backing track for Theo’s 200-word poetry-quote descriptor of Eloise lol), and “can’t take my eyes off of you” by frankie valli (really just Theo at all times when around Eloise). Not sure if this was the vibe you were going for but it’s what I’ve been listening to lately and I couldn’t help but think of them in your universe!

omg those are perfect vibes!! especially love a bit of dean martin 💖 my playlist for writing genesis basically goes: til i hear you sing - love never dies to be apart - becoming jane soundtrack illicit affairs - taylor swift i hear a symphony - cody fry valentine - laufey rewrite the stars - the greatest showman look back - north & south soundtrack je te laisserai des mots - patrick watson our song - anne-marie & niall horan we can’t be friends (wait for your love) - ariana grande out of the woods - ryan adams (taylor swift cover) sunkissed - khai dreams dawn - pride & prejudice soundtrack

[lucysarah-c]

Hello! how are you doing?

I was thinking, do you know the song “Labour” by Paris Paloma? i hope you do, if you don’t, please read the lyrics. It reminds me SO MUCH of y/n from holy ground… it’s like the song was written for her (for all women obviously) but it’s too accurate lmao…

Also, thank you for writing such an amazing fic that I revisit some scenes every night before i go to sleep.

You’re GREAT.

Hi dear! How are you? Are you having a nice day/night? I didn't know this song and I'd to check it out, I do thank the recomendation because this artist seem right on my alley. I'm not being biased because one of the lyrics videos I found was an edit of Allicen Hightower and I ADORE house of the dragon. I'll rampage a bit, if you allow me to <3

The part where she mentions all the jobs ugh chef kiss! for my Yn had always been the queen in Erwin's chess board, she can move to all the directions, she can fill up any role he needs her to.. but sacrificing the queen is always a risky decision in chess. I've said it multiple times but the song "tolerate it" by Taylor Swift is one that inspired a lot her relationship with Erwin. I'm not saying that Erwin is the only bad guy in the story haha sometimes Levi say some stuff that if a guy say it to me nowadays, he would leave with my 5 fingers marked on his face. It's hard for me to find a middle ground, something that's enjoyable to read but not sugar coated or romantized, like "all dudes are misogynist except Levi". The last chapter? chapter 17? Levi saying that "she's not a woman yet" haha I was writting that scene thinking "man and their cocks, they think that only that is the transition to adulthood for us,"

And about the song, it's marvelouse. When I was creating the character of YN for the story (since its a story that revolves more around the society of paradise over titans) I felt that my main idea was that I didn't want to fall into the "physically strong, doesn't care about society, rebel, powerful, etc" reader. I had 3 main ideas to create her character:

Rage, female rage. I hate the idea that when women are angry with a man they just let s single tear run down their eyes and look at you with doe eyes and walk away silently because they already suffer it all and now you'll have to live with their uncomfortable silence. no. NO. I wanted her to be messy, I wanted her to be vengeable, to be full of rage, to scream, to shout, to cry messily, to do an scene, to be a "hysterical drama little bitch" in the eyes of everybody. Basically to be a woman so tired of her pasiveness that once she's done, she doens't want peace. She aims for your heart and blood.

Her sorority. Yn learned the hard way that putting women against women for a man is never worth it. She's well aware that the only person who will suffer the consequences of she speaking up is Marie and Marie's child. She doesn't care about Marie but her loyalty to what she believed is right to other women is what make her protect her. So she's like "I may be seen as a hysterical little bitch in the eyes of everybody but Erwin would have to suffer the public judgement of being unable to control me, he will never have the comfort of my silence,"

The Madonna/whore complex. Yn is in a limbo where she feels she's never winning, she's a pure little angel who can't deseire anything... her man cheats because she's not pleasing him, you know, men search outside what they don't get in home (sarcasm). OR she's a whore who opens her legs to anyone.

I'm so thankful that you think it sounds like YN from HG and also thank you for your sweet words, it's so nice from you <3 Honestly, I'm always surprised when people recomend me songs that remind them of YN from Hg. In my mind Holy Ground is a story I write for myself because me and other 4 people read, therefore it always make my day that someone like you even goes back to read some scenes. OMG, I just don't know what to say aside from Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

[jimmyjrsmusoems]

Imma be real selfish with this one heh heh--

What songs would your preferred Baby Steps playlist have on it (and not just for chapter 15 lol)? 👀

ahhhhhh thank you for the ask (and your patience!)

i thought long and hard about these and i'm going to try and keep them chronological but some of them are just based on vibes lol

would've, could've, should've - taylor swift

"i can't let this go, i fight with you in my sleep, the wound won't close, i keep on waiting for a sign, i regret you all the time"

this song gives me big tina x jordan vibes

clean - taylor swift

"rain came pouring down when i was drowning, that's when i could finally breathe. and by morning, gone was any trace of you, i think i am finally clean."

this song reminds me so much of chapter 5 (i want this to be spoiler free but of course you know why!)

boys will be bugs - cavetown

"i just turned 14, and i think this year i'm gonna be mean - don't mess with me, i'm a big boy now, and i'm very scary. i punch my walls, stay out at night, and i do karate. don't message me 'cause i won't reply, i wanna make you cry - ain't that how it's s'posed to be? though it isn't me"

this song gives me big jimmy jr. vibes but specifically before chapter 8 lol

new year's day - taylor swift

"don't read the last page, but i stay when it's hard, or it's wrong, or we're making mistakes. i want your midnights - but i'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year's day"

i don't think this one needs an explanation lol :)

second single bed - katie gregson-macleod

"i don't wanna be, i don't wanna be your girlfriend. i just wanna feel like you want me to be"

idk this is one of those pure vibes songs

the story of us - taylor swift

"i don't know what to say since the twist of fate, when it all broke down, and the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now"

we have already talked about this one but !!!!! chapter 15 vibes for sure

bonus : better than revenge - taylor swift

"the story starts when it was hot and it was summer and i had it all, i had him right there where i wanted him. she came along, got him alone, and let's hear the applause - she took him faster than you can say sabotage"

another chapter 15 song but i literally had to listen to it the minute i finished reading it for the first time lmao

thank you again for asking!!!! i'm sure i will have more to add as the story goes on :)

[virgyvandijk]

Fave TS songs from each album?

hmmmm ok bear with me because i'm not a diehard swifty and i am mostly a later years girly (and im still incredibly emo) AND midnights is all a bit of me (this list is very midnights heavy) which you'll soon see but here's a list:

taylor swift

i don't actually listen to anything off this lmfao

fearless

you belong with me (but does it count if it's the punk goes pop cover??)

speak now

speak now electric touch (tv)

red

i knew you were trouble

1989

blank space wildest dreams (this is my fave ts song ever)

reputation

getaway car

lover

me! (i actually really like this song lmfao i know it's controversial but it's an easy listen) lover

folklore

cardigan (this song reminds me of starting my job and basically a whole chapter in my life bc it was out at the same time) betty august

evermore

champagne problems evermore marjorie

midnights

lavender haze anti-hero bejelewed karma bigger than the whole sky (2nd fave song) paris

[farfromstrange]

AHHH I got the notification while I was sitting in the movie theater and I was like ‘Good God I need to get out ASAP’

I knew you’d put out another beautiful piece, and this time I’m not crying, I’m kind of… hopeful? I don’t know if it’s the right word. Now my wounds are mending here.

This was so, so, so beautiful! And I loved to see Reader’s POV again this time. You write so beautifully, it’s like I’m in that character. She is me.

I CAUGHT MORE REFERENCES THIS TIME and idk if some of them were intentional, but I’ve got some thoughts again…

(I always screenshot and then make sure I copy all the passages that I find exceptionally beautiful or that hold Taylor references, but with you it’s ALWAYS the whole fucking poem I feel like I have to recite back to you because it’s SO beautiful, everything from top to bottom, and I can’t point out all of my favorite parts because then it would just be this fic in it’s entirety)

The tear in your chest had only just stopped bleeding, the skin around it still an angry and irritated shade of healing, and eventually time would seal it closed for good.

Ugh, I love how you describe this emotional pain like an actual wound because most people don’t realize that emotional pain is a wound, too. It just doesn’t show from the outside.

Labyrinth is a song that has always reminded me of a thought process. And you wrote this chapter just the same.

It’s like getting over the pain but also finding your back to the person you live through the labyrinth you’ve been stuck in. And I love how you capture the essence of the songs you choose every damn time. Like, I am just amazed by how well it fits with the song but it’s also an entirely different piece. It’s yours. It’s a poem. You paint a world with your words the same way Taylor does. Again, she would be so proud of you for the way you describe feelings and the words you use to do so.

And I’d also like to add that this fear of the pain coming back if you choose to go back to the person who hurt you really, really sucks and you described it perfectly. Like I said, it’s a thought process.

He was trying so hard to balance on that tightrope between self-deprecation and hopeless charm. Performing a one man circus at his own expense, just to conjure an eclipse of your smile.

The last part references to ‘you would break your back to make me break a smile’ right? It reminded me of it, at least. That Matt would do anything to feel or hear your smile (because he can’t see it, obviously).

He reached into the cavern of his chest and produced his own jewel to replace what of yours he had broken.

And this reminded me of ‘I thought the plane was going down, how’d you turn it back around?’

It was yours to keep, or yours to lose.

I see what you did there, Court. I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE! It’s So It Goes… isn’t it? Ugh, reputation has always been my favorite album of hers.

But it also fits in this context because ‘all the pieces fall right into place’.

Could he turn this all around?

Once again Labyrinth reference.

He couldn't promise a fairytale, but he would get his knuckles bloody for a happy ending.

Ah yes, the bloody knuckles. Not only is it a Matt thing and how he shows his devotion to the people he cares about and how he fights for what he believes is right and has been from the beginning, it is also a reference. All I’m gonna say is folklore and exile (Exile always breaks my heart, by the way).

Only once you were out of the woods and back in his arms did you feel like you could breathe.

Alexa, Play Out Of The Woods by Taylor Swift. But omg this passage was so fucking beautiful I can’t– it’s like this moment of relief when Reader is finally back in his arms because you say ‘out of the woods’ when someone has survived something, and I think that’s beautiful.

but your broken parts were finally mending.

THAT IS KING OF MY HEART ISNT IT? IT HAS TO BE! I love how much Reputation is in here. I don’t know if I’m on the wrong track, but it can’t be a coincidence I keep hearing the songs in my head…

This love was yours, it was golden like daylight.

Hello Daylight, nice to see you here, too. Golden like daylight. Love isn’t blue or maroon anymore or midnight blue, it’s finally golden like daylight and that makes my heart a little happier than the tears you made me cry last time.

Anyway, I’m sorry for this long ass reblog but I had a lot to unpack here. This was amazing, Court. Just beautiful. Thank you so much for writing this and blessing me with it!

track four: labyrinth

big city, wrong choices ☾ meet me at midnight [coming 6/30]

The pain was only this unbearable because the wound was still so fresh. 

The tear in your chest had only just stopped bleeding, the skin around it still an angry and irritated shade of healing, and eventually time would seal it closed for good. 

Right?

Or would it just continue to rip open all over again every time you thought about how he pulled your body closer into his every night through the crest of his subconscious? Or how in the depths of twilight, he would fend off the interruptions of dawn and the outside world for just five more minutes in the cozy haven underneath the covers with you?

Would it start to bleed again as you felt the phantom burn of his plush lips against your forehead, and the caress of his fingers carding through your hair, dripping vows of affection into your ear?

Would that vacancy in your chest echo forever without him there to fill that gaping void? 

Would you be healing from his catastrophic wound for the rest of your life? 

Uh oh.

Or would you give in to his plea for clemency as he begged at his knees? Could you be brave enough to dismiss your own warnings about history repeating itself, throw caution to the wind, and dance with the Devil again?

He was trying so hard to balance on that tightrope between self-deprecation and hopeless charm. Performing a one man circus at his own expense, just to conjure an eclipse of your smile. 

He reached into the cavern of his chest and produced his own jewel to replace what of yours he had broken. It was cracked and worn from being passed through so many hands over the years, being held together by nothing more than a divine miracle, but the pieces that were missing had been forged with remnants of your own. Your name was permanently etched onto the surface for anyone to see. 

It was yours to keep, or yours to lose. 

Oh no.

Could he turn this all around? Were there more chapters to be written that could transform this story from an endless nightmare to a daydream with crystal skies? 

He stood in front of you, void of pride, an endless flow of apologies streaming from his lips. He couldn’t promise a fairytale, but he would get his knuckles bloody for a happy ending. 

Could you forgive him?

Unbeknownst to him, you had already skipped to the last page. 

You knew you stayed. 

How could you not?

He was the one you had always been waiting for.

Oh.

His velvet voice guided you through the labyrinth of the heartbreak he had handcrafted. He guided you back to him, back home. Only once you were out of the woods and back in his arms did you feel like you could breathe. The passionate bruise of the careless affair had maimed you both, but your broken parts were finally mending. 

This love was yours, it was golden like daylight.

And it was worth the fight.

tags: @farfromstrange @danzer8705 @yarrystyleeza

[lapetitechatonne]

Masterlist of Fandom Playlists

as a neurodivergent person, i literally can’t write if the vibes of what i’m listening to isn’t on point, so i thought i’d share a few of my fandom playlists down below! some of them are specific to fics, others are certain relationships, some are purely vibes. i’ve included links to all of them, just click on the title. welcome to the chaos that is my mind.

also yes they do all have sailor moon screencaps for the playlist image, it brings me much joy and it will never stop.

there was an idea

this one is just vibes tm. songs that i listen to when i’m picturing fights or action. i named it after the avengers because i liked the way it sounded, and i generally like the mcu’s music choices.

it's angst hours baby

these songs just put me in the mood to ruin someone's life.

i've learned to love falling

this one is a Dick Grayson character playlist. i just wanted to add some songs that remind me of him/his vibes. think abba, Britney Spears, and a little bit of punk pop.

i'm the most cutest girl in the world

a Paulina Sanchez playlist!!! i love her so much and i realized i didn't have many 'bad bitch' playlists, so it felt fitting. this is a lot of female artists, mostly pop and rap. however, i have thought about adding some 'bubblegrunge.' thoughts?

i’ve been bamboozled (into loving you)

an Anger Management (Jazz Fenton/Jason Todd) playlist <3 basically a lot of the songs that remind me of their relationship or that i think fit their vibes.

👑Space Princess💫

a Space Princess (Dani Phantom/Mar’i Grayson) playlist, because i am so soft for them. it’s a soft sapphic playlist that’s just as lovely as my favorite girls

🌟Shooting Star💘

i will admit, this one started off as Dani Phantom/Lian Harper, but at some point became more of a sapphic modern disco playlist, and i ended up switching it to Dani Phantom/Mar'i Grayson/Lian Harper because i thought it fit better. it still have light, fun vibes that i associate with them though.

beauty and the BEAST

okay this one is out there. it's for a rather dark fic with explicit material, so the playlist reflects that. It's grungy and sexy and it portrays the Dick Grayson/Dark Danny Phanton (Dan) relationship i want to write.

👑 Crowns & Clowns 💗

now we’re getting into the fic specific playlists. this playlist is a BIG spoiler for my fic “The Princess and the Outlaws” so listen at your own risk. basically all the chapter titles for that fic are different Taylor Swift songs and they’re on that playlist. past those songs, we get into more vibes territory. this playlist in particular has a few different sections since it deals with the polycule Jazz Fenton/Jason Todd/Roy Harper/Koriand’r. the first section being chapter titles obviously, the next being songs about their relationship, then songs they would sing to/about their partners, then a girl power section because Kori and Jazz kick ass, and lastly non-romantic songs that give off their group vibes.

*squints* is that a unicorn?🦄

this is a collaborative playlist with @gremlin-bot, @half-dead-ham, and @bewitched-forest based on our Patrol Partners fic, Weltschmerz. it's all over the place, but it's so fun and honestly scratches my brain the right way. one of my favorite to write and listen to by far.

👻A Fright of Robins🌃

this playlist is specifically for my fic "hitting pitch black streets with pink clad heart beats." it's mostly Panic at the Disco, Fall Out Boy, and Matt Maeson right now, but i want to add some more to it eventually. fun fact, i named the playlist after the Phantom term "Fright," which relates to a ghosts pack or family.

Bellflower Manor

this playlist goes along with a fic i'm cowriting called "Brides, Birds, and Batshit Family Matters." if you know, you know.

forgotten kids

this is a grungier Dani/Lian playlist for a fic i'm planning "Urban Legends are Warnings from the Dead." it's meant to be a bit spooky, a bit grungy, a bit hopeful---because what is Gotham if not full of hope?

Gotham Academy

this playlist is also specific to my fic “Wisteria” which is a dp/dc dark academia au. it’s a mixture between dark academia, dark forest, investigation, spooky, magical, grungy, gay vibes. it’s doing a lot right now, and i might go back and edit it sometime some.

❤️‍🔥let me show you power💋♟

this. playlist. okay, so it’s specific to the dp/dc leverage au i’m working on but bare with me. it’s punk, punk pop, angry feminine, anti-hero vibes. it’s about manipulation and being alluring, and falling in love somewhere along the way. i rather like this one as you can tell lol.

it's not bullying if it's tim

firstly, the name is a joke based off of this one post i saw that i thought was hilarious where people were saying "bullying is bad except for when it's Tim Drake." this playlist is for my Soulless fic which heavily leans towards Tim Drake Whump, hence the name. the fic is still heavily in the works but the playlist is on point.

alt universe 

so, this playlist was actually made for a fic i started a long time ago “See the Light.” i’m not currently working on it, but i really like the concept so i’ll probably revisit it one day. it’s alternative, dark vibes, very much so focusing on the dark parts of the fic. it’s probably one of my favorite playlists i’ve every made, the songs just hit in or out of context.

🕊prettybird🌷

this playlist was made specifically for my very indulgent Batfam/Charmed (1998) au. it’s based on the main pairing of the fic, Dick Grayson/Melinda Halliwell. it’s a lot of love songs, pinning and accidently falling in love vibes, as well as a generous amount of ABBA. 

🌹midnight❤

okay this one was also made for a a very self indulgent Charmed next gen fic. it's Henry Mitchels/OFC and it'll probably never get posted, but i think the playlist if fire so here you go. very pop love songs vibes.

[mysticalgalaxysstuff]

okay i was just thinking about this for lana….. what did your mc do post the chapter 10 kiss (a la the rejection shsjs) ….. what was the next day and the plane ride back like?

Ohhh Mal ❤❤❤

This question is a constant reminder for me to sit and write that Miami fic which I have been delaying for months asjksjkvjksgjkv so I have this scenario of what happened after the kiss and the next day...

So you know after the kiss when Ethan moves to another room and shuts the door, Marissa is DEVASTATED 😔 but then she tries to move past it and decides to go to sleep BUT there is a problem. For the life of her, she is not able to find the zip of her dress and is having trouble unzipping it. Like have you seen that dress with all that cape asksksksjkak. That dress was made in a way only Ethan could take it off. Did I just quote Taylor Swift's song's Dress lmao? After a lot of fiddling, she decides to ask for Ethan's help. So when she goes to knock on the door, at that very moment, Ethan opens the door. Oops coincidence 🤭 Both are staring at each other and then fumbling to even make a proper conversation when Ethan asks her to go first. She tells him about the situation to which he (a bit hesitant at first) complies. Then cue ✨sexual tension✨

Once Ethan is able to locate the zip and able to unzip the dress, he briefly pauses for a minute, mesmerized before Marissa breaks his reverie by asking him what he wanted. He is confused because his brain went somewhere else while Marissa was asking him why he came to other side of the room. For his luggage. When he has some sanity returning back to him, he takes his luggage and moves back to sleep on the couch. A sleepless night.

The next morning, Marissa who is not an early riser, gets up early to have breakfast with Ines & Zaid. Ethan arrives a bit late, exchanging pleasantries with everyone at the table, when Marissa trying to act like nothing happened last night and to show nothing was awkward between them in front of her senior residents, asks him if he slept well. He didn't. The sofa wasn't big enough when it comes to his height. Of course, he lies. Ines clowns him that he must have slept very well because he was the last one to arrive for breakfast. 😬🤭

The rest of day is awkward as hell, Marissa tries not to ignore him because she has to deal with him sooner or later here or at least at the hospital, for Naveen's sake.

They actually go to the beach in the evening to diffuse the tension between them, which for the moment, does goes back to normal just like they were before the kiss happened. But then these two caught in the moment, were again going to kiss each other, before they got interrupted. The moment between them gone, but the tension back. 😩

The flight back home was yet again awkward as hell. The whole flight back, Marissa "was listening" to music with earphones on, whereas Ethan "was reading" the novel he had brought with him 🙁

[pagesfromthevoid]

ok but going back to "a fucking duck" series, I had a couple questions (btw, adoring the series so far! love how you incorporate the batfamily some way): one, is there anyone in the batfamily that would slightly go soft over adrian being with Y/N? like I know Bruce is probably like whatever about it despite adrian not exactly liking him but what about other members?

speaking of the batfamily, who's closest with Y/N/crossfire? I've always wondered that.

also, depending how long u plan to make the series, would we probably be seeing crossfire (Y/N) doing other types of missions or hanging out with other members outside of peacemaker? like maybe the titans, hanging out with one of her brothers for a day or something like that.

would potentially make a playlist for the series? I think it would be pretty neat to do so.

and lastly, how long do u plan to make the series? it's genuinely really good so far, fav adrian series at the moment. 😊

1. Oh hm. So I haven’t read too deeply into the comics, I just know the lore from passing experiences (I’ve read a handful here and there). I honestly think Jason would be the one to —not necessarily be soft, but he’d like Adrian, I think.

2. It was Jason —hence her reasoning to go after the Joker and kill him. But second to Jason would be Dick, I think. I mention she called him to tell him about Adrian (it’s how Bruce knew) when she goes home and gets drunk after finding out about Adrian being Vigilante

3. I didn’t plan to make this a super long series, but I definitely would love to write more about her and her experiences with the 11th Street Kids. Maybe just a running series of one shot and interactions with everyone when I wrap up the main story

4. I have considered it but I struggle to find songs that remind me of Adrian! Though, one specific song that gets stuck in my head is Stay Stay Stay by Taylor Swift. Between the fact that we know Adrian is a Swiftie and the whole song is just very much something I can see happening between her and Adrian (come on. She would totally throw things at him when mad and he’d totally just find it funny and wear a helmet to talk to her) —it’s cute lol.

5. I planned on just running through the show episodes, honestly! Adding details and the reader as best I can. I didn’t plan to make this a super drawn out series like the other one I’m doing —this wasn’t even supposed to be anything more than a few chapters but I get carried away sometimes. But a few drabbles on her life with the team and her brothers would be fun!

[in-superbloom]

did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? (a.i.)

right where you left me: prologue

pairing: ashton irwin x olivia jones (oc)

warnings: uhh a kinda grieving theme i guess? but no deaths. it has a sad tone overall, but nothing major (in this chapter hehe). foul language because i can't help myself. the tiniest mention of alcohol, but as a memory. think i should probably warn you that this contains a very sad ash. also not much dialogues. this is mainly for explanation and introduction, but very important for the story. if you find anything else that might be triggering, please let me know so i can add it here !!

author's note: oof okay. so. this is the prologue of a series very very dear to my heart that i've been working on for what it feels like my whole life but really it's been just a few months. but i'm in love with the story (which rarely happens with my own writing) so i hope you can enjoy it too !! this is also my very first time posting a fic since 2013 so pls keep that in mind <3 no i am not shaking as type this ofc not also: although i have the full story ready in my head, this is the only chapter that's written. i wanted to wait until i had at least a few ready before posting this but i'm too anxious for that lmao just saying this bc it will take a good while until i have any more chapters, so <3 (p.s.: i went over this thing a million times since may so if you find any errors pls look away, i'm not fixing this thing anymore. thanks <3)

another note: anna from the future here to say that i completely forgot about the playlist i made for the story lmao here it is in case you're interested k thanks bye <3

credits: title is from taylor swift's song right where you left me. model in the picture: paola locatelli. banner by me.

i also wanted to take a minute to thank some really nice friends that i've made here over these past few months & that i'm extremely grateful for @wastelandcth @suchalonelysunflower @littledrummerangie i cannot thank you babes enough for inspiring me the way that you do & for letting me yell about this to you && for encouraging me so much 🥺 i'll never be able to explain just how much this means to me, so i'll have to settle for saying thank you at any change that i can get <3 i love you all 💜 also gem my baby, thank you for the inspo with the banner 💚

@bluesdelis look babe i did it 😌 you know how grateful i am for you & for you letting me have a breakdown every week about my writing for the past 8 years so let's not dive into that or else i will write something bigger than this prologue jsjsjdjd love you 🖤

i hope you all have a good reading and a nice day ♡

let me know what are your thoughts about the fic ! ♡

word count: 4.1k

☆☆☆

Cold. That was the first thing that Olivia’s brain processed.

Still with her eyes closed, she buried herself more into the duvet, while her arm blindly reached for the furnace in human form that she calls boyfriend. However, as soon as her arm was only met with cold sheets, her eyes shot open.

Blinking the sleep away, she sat up on the bed, searching for the infamous red clock resting on Ashton’s bedside table that was supposed to look like a vintage alarm clock. Olivia had ordered it online at an auction website a couple of years back, as a gift for his 23rd birthday, since it was something he had mentioned multiple times prior that he was looking for, but still hadn't found. But when it finally came in (two weeks after the due date), it looked nothing like the picture she saw on the website. Feeling beyond frustrated, she wanted to send it back immediately and ask for a refund and maybe leave a not so polite review on the seller's page. But Ashton stopped her right away, laughing like the situation was absolutely hilarious to him, while saying, 'I like it, it’s quirky'. So, the clock stayed and found a home right next to him in their room.

Some days, however, she would wake up at some ungodly hour because of the blaring noise of the only ringtone the clock had. But whatever annoyance she could feel towards the object, it always vanished as soon as she felt Ashton's lips gently touching her face in a good morning kiss before he would get up to start his day, leaving her to catch some more hours of well deserved sleep.

As the furthest from a morning person as a touring musician could possibly be, Olivia had always feared that living under the same roof as Ashton would turn her into an early bird like him, but she's thankful that it never happened (not that he needs to know about that).

When she sees the red clock, she smiles at the sudden but welcome memories of them flooding her foggy brain, but frowns slightly when she realizes it reads 12:13 pm. Ashton rarely lets her sleep past 10 am.

Gathering all her strength and will, she rises up from the bed, smoothly picking up a grey wool sweatshirt from the chair (way too baggy on her slim body, but it smells like him), pulling it over her head and relishing on the soft material warming up her body. Making her way to the door and calmly going down the stairs, she can’t help but stop for a minute to admire the picture frames on their walls, one in particular catches her attention – probably one of the most prized pictures and memories they had. It felt older than it actually is, but it was around 4 years ago, she's sure – a little while after the two of them met. The picture was of their group of friends that still remains the same: Ashton and his best friend, Luke; Olivia, her best friend, Calum and their old hometown friend, turned into Calum’s new friend at college, turned into everyone’s friend, Michael; and her then newly band members, Suki, Eli and Ravi. Together, their group was the life of the party through all their college years, and it showed by the big smiles and drinks in hands they all had in the picture. It was a very special night, the first time Olivia’s little band played for the public – for a small audience sure, but it was a wonderful night nonetheless. What a long road it had been since that night.

Her nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by a shiver that went through her whole body, and it made her realize how oddly cold the whole house was, not only their bedroom. Which, granted, it was November in New York and the weather was just getting colder, but that’s exactly why Ashton always made sure to keep the house warm enough. As much as she loved the chilly season, the warm weather always reminded him of his hometown, and who was she to deny him that?

The smell of fresh made coffee could be sensed even before she reached the kitchen. Arriving there, the curly haired woman still found no signs of her boyfriend, so she went straight after the coffee maker pot sitting on the far left corner of the cream marble counter. Smiling softly at the tons of memories of Ashton's sleepy figure making their favorite beverage, she reached for a coffee mug on the cupboard on top of the counter and poured the remainder of the hot liquid on it (it's her favorite mug, if she must choose – it was a gift from a fan, and it had printed on it a collage of the pictures of her and Ashton that were posted on social media through their first year of relationship).

Moving to the glass doors that lead to the mini garden they cultivate, she didn't have to open them to spot the 6-feet-tall man sitting on a bench outside, looking oddly small in his oversized clothes, coffee mug tightly held between strong hands. Something about his figure made Olivia frown, however: he was staring with an unwavering look at her small but eye-catching pot of yellow daffodils that were almost as much of a pet to them as Stitch at this point. Sensing that there’s something definitely off about his semblance, she made a mental note to talk to him and find out what’s wrong later. So she goes back to the kitchen, knowing that he might need this quiet and private moment for himself.

She lost count of the minutes that went by (couldn't have been more than five) before she hears the garden's door opening and closing, and then his bare feet are dragging his brawny body to her. Except, he goes over to the sink, walking right through her, not showing any sign that he even saw her hunched figure over the counter table in the middle of the room.

Alright, someone's in a mood.

Olivia tries to swallow the annoyance already bubbling inside her – he knows how much she hates to be ignored, no matter how mad he might be – by trying to think of what she can say that won't piss him off. This is always a hard feat to accomplish when Ashton gets in these moods, but there’s a reason for them to work so well together.

“I missed my favorite body heater when I woke up,” she says in her best sweet voice, knowing how quickly his resolve crumbles when he hears that voice.

Still, no reaction.

That settles a worry at the pit of her stomach, because Ashton is never like this. Even when he's not in the mood to talk, he always gives some kind of reaction to her words; it doesn't matter how small, just enough to make her feel acknowledged.

When he's finished washing his mug and the few scattered dishes across the sink – she noticed that he already had lunch, if the lone plate in the drying rack is anything to go by –, he dries his hand in a towel, turns around and throws it on top of the same counter Olivia was leaning up against. Once again, he walks away not even sparing her a look.

Indignant, she leaves the now empty coffee mug on top of the table and follows him as he walks up the stairs, any determination to not aggravate his mood now well gone.

“Hey! In case you didn't notice, I'm right here. Whatever got you in this sour mood, I'm certainly not to blame, so can you stop being a child now and talk to me?!”

Ashton just keeps walking – more like sluggishly dragging his body – until he reaches their bedroom and suddenly stops just merely two feet inside the room, looking around with vacant eyes; like he was expecting to see something that wasn't there.

“Okay, that's really mature of you. Are you planning on ignoring me all day then?” Olivia questions exasperated, staring angrily at the back of his neck, where the condor tattoo lives – her favorite of his, but that sight doesn't bring her any peace today like it usually does.

Her glare only breaks when she hears the familiar sound of dog tags swaying on her right side. Shifting her gaze to the direction of the sound, Olivia notices Stitch, their small, black & white French bulldog – who she thought was outside in the garden – slowly trudging his way from around the bed until he stops at Ashton's feet, looking up at one of his humans with sad eyes. That realization only makes the worry in her stomach grow uncomfortably.

“Hi buddy,” Ashton's voice cracks a bit from the lack of use, but he smiles softly at the sweet dog, and crouches down to pet him.

Olivia can't help but gasp as she notices three things all at once that leave her overwhelmed: first, how she didn't even notice Stitch was in the room when she woke up – which never ever happens, in fact, most days he wakes her up whenever he deems her bedtime as finished and can't ever contain his excitement when she finally gets up; second, how the windows blinds are closed, which, again, rarely occurs under their roof, not if Ashton can help it. And third, how sad and melancholic the whole scene in front of her is – how sad and melancholic Ashton is. Pointless to say by now – that's also a very rare occasion.

A chill creeps up Olivia's spine, putting her body into high alert and also serving as a reminder of how everything looks out of place today. Trying to keep her head from spiraling down way too soon, she wraps her arms around herself and crouches down beside her two favorite boys, trying once more.

“Ash? Can you hear me?” even with her throat closing, she softly asks, purposefully putting her face in Ashton's point of view. Her only answer is the low whispers he's letting out to Stitch, while cradling the tiny dog in his arms, spreading gentle kisses on his head.

“I know, bud, I know. I miss her too,” is the only whisper she could understand and immediately wishes she hadn't. The weak wail that comes from Stitch's throat seems to fit perfectly with how the three of them feel.

Ashton then looks up and for a couple of seconds, and Olivia can swear he’s staring right into her eyes. But when he shows no reaction, she knows he’s just staring ahead and not at her, with that look that says there’s too much going on inside his head. She feels the urge to embrace him and get him to talk about whatever is on his mind, so they can share that weight like they always do, but when Ashton gets up from the ground and settles on the bed with Stitch, Olivia can physically feel the crack in her heart caused by the feeling she’s left with.

While Ashton is pulling the duvet over him and the dog, with clearly no intentions of getting up anytime soon, Olivia stands up on her feet with a new-found determination – she needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

This nightmare had to be just that, right? Nothing but a very vivid dream – she's had those before. Scary sure, but they always go away, and soon enough she's back into Ashton's arms, with Stitch jumping on the bed ready to lick their faces off. She just needs to wake herself up from whatever fucked up dream this is – right?

She's running down the stairs this time, frantically in search of something, of what exactly, she doesn’t know – but she knows she needs an answer. The more she looks for something, the more desperate she gets, not knowing what to look for. Then suddenly, something catches her eyes.

The white and blue calendar that's held up by magnets on the side of the fridge. She knows their calendar is red and yellow. They got it from their favorite flower market. Slowly, as if scared of what it might be there – “It's just a calendar, for fucks sake” – she approaches the damn thing. Upon inspection, she deems it as a normal calendar – she really doesn't know what she was expecting – until.

She knows what's wrong with it now.

It's November. She knows it, because the Asian and last leg of her first world tour is about to begin November 21st, eleven days from today. Right after Mike's birthday, she knows this.

Then why does the calendar say today is January 14th?

☆ ☆ ☆

Ashton woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up, frightening the little Frenchie that was asleep right next to him on the bed. Trying to make sense of his surroundings, he roughly rubbed his face to get some sleep off of it and soon reached for the dog that was staring at him with sleepy but sad eyes. Ashton is sure Stitch understands far more than a dog is supposed to understand about their current situation.

The room is covered in shadows, almost pitch black, but he can see the sunlight even through the thick dark grey blinds covering up the windows. Ashton knows he won't be able to sleep again at that moment, so he gets up from the bed – much slower than he used to. His heartbeat is still out of control because of the nightmare that woke him up, but he can't bother to pay attention to it when Stitch is softly wailing beside him. Ashton lets out a ghost of a smile when the dog rests his head on his right upper thigh, looking up at him with an expression Ashton knows all too well.

“C'mon you little ravenous creature, let's feed you,” the bulldog excitedly jumps to the ground, already running his way down the stairs, not even waiting for Ashton to get up.

That gets a real smile out of him, but it vanishes as soon as he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It reads 5:13 am, nothing out of the ordinary for him. But that small and inoffensive clock, with its red paint peeling off, holds a lot of memories for him. Memories that two months ago would bring joy to his heart, but now he almost wants to throw the object across the room.

It was a stupid thing, really. He had been wanting a vintage alarm clock and Olivia got one for his birthday. But the product they received was definitely not the one she bought, and if he's being honest, he didn't like it as much as he made out to. But seeing her so excited in the weeks before it arrived, and how disappointed she was when it did, he couldn't help but try his best to make her smile that luminous smile again. It's part of his nature by now.

That's also the reason why he lets her think that he doesn't notice when she wakes up at some ungodly hour (her words, not his) along with him, because of the annoying and only sound the alarm clock is able to produce. He always leaves soft kisses in every inch of bare skin he can find on her sleeping figure, so she goes back to the dream land and doesn't wake up before 10 am. No one wants to deal with that kind of bad humor, not even him.

As much as he likes being a morning person and absolutely enjoys her company in the mornings, he knows she'll take any and every extra hour of sleep she can get before starting the day. And that's why he loves that she's so stubborn that his early bird tendencies never got to her – he knows she feared that this would happen when they moved in together, but he met her like this, fell for her like this. He wouldn't change a single thing about her.

Ashton drags himself out of the bed, wincing slightly at how cold the wooden floors are under his bare feet. He doesn't bother putting some socks on, or a sweater – the cold weather in the house is uncharacteristically comforting to him. Nothing feels warm without her anyway.

While descending the stairs, he mentally curses himself for not being strong enough to look past the picture frames on the wall. One in particular catches his eyes – a picture from the night of Olivia's first concert with her band. The memories of that night are still painfully vivid in his mind: the laughter among their group that eventually infected everyone at the pub, Suki and Luke's first kiss and the silly smile that didn't leave his best friend's face all night, the standing ovation Olivia got after her three-songs set, and her captivating and breathtaking smile that made him realize right then and there, while watching her sway to the music, that he was definitely falling in love with her and there was nothing he could do to stop it – not that he wanted to.

So many memories held up on that wall, in the relatively short time since they met, that he can't help but wonder if that's all they'll get in this lifetime.

Ashton is abruptly taken out of his thoughts by Stitch's barks coming from the bottom of the stairs. He quickly jogs down the few steps left and goes straight after the dog's food in the kitchen's cabinet. After Stitch starts to happily devour his breakfast, Ashton goes to make his coffee, doing enough for two people like he always does, since Calum drops by most days for a chat or to drop Duke before going to work. Although all three of them know he just can't bother to make food for himself in the morning, while Ashton is the group's elected chef. Ashton always says he just needs a boyfriend – Olivia says Calum already has one who makes him breakfast every day.

He grabs an apple from the fridge and makes his way outside to their garden. Even though a lot of their memories took place there, the garden is the only space in the house where he doesn't feel like suffocating all the time. At least here, he can breathe some fresh air and look at the sky when he's feeling overwhelmed – which is basically all he's been doing for about a month now.

Yet, a lot of the garden has Olivia's name written all over.

He remembers vividly the day she came home after spending two weeks in LA doing some pocket shows, with a pack of daffodil seeds and the largest smile. She excitedly told him that a friend gifted it to her when she mentioned the little garden they were planning to build together at their new house. The friend told Olivia that daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, so as the good lover of symbolism that she is, Olivia loved the idea of having those flowers to symbolize their new beginning.

Ashton, on the other hand, wasn't a fan of the flowers at first – he just didn't see the appeal to them. But nonetheless, he indulged her, letting Olivia plant the seeds near the bench they used to sit during the quiet and unrushed afternoons, so they could admire the sunset, and she could happily look at the daffodils.

Pointless to say – the damn flowers grew on him.

Now, however, looking at them without Olivia and her contagious joy next to him, they were back to be as dull as they were before, if not more so.

Still lost inside his head without any sense of how much time went by since he sat down, Ashton doesn't hear the front door closing, and doesn't notice that he's no longer the only person inside the house until someone sits next to him on the bench. Yet, he doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement to them.

A few minutes go by before either of them speaks up.

“Luke said you didn't go to see her yesterday,” Calum starts softly, not wanting to disturb the calmness of the morning.

Ashton takes a few seconds to respond, “No point in doing that.” The black haired man licks his lips while thinking carefully about his next words.

“You know staying inside this house all day by yourself won't help either,” Calum turns his head to his left and takes a good look at Ashton's uncharacteristically hunched over figure, and immediately thinks that anyone can tell this man is not himself anymore. His second thought is that Olivia would hate seeing him like this.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do? Move on with my life like nothing happened? Like I'm not slowly and painfully losing the love of my life? Just because it’s easy for you doesn't mean it's easy for me.”

Calum closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows Ashton doesn't mean it, it's the anger and frustration talking. He knows it. Doesn't make it sting any less.

“I'm not telling you to move on with your life, because that's far from what I'm doing, and I certainly don't expect you to do it. I'm just saying you need to occupy your mind or else–”

“I'll go insane? Think it's a bit too late for that,” Ashton interrupts with a bitter tone that doesn't belong to his usual chirpy voice.

“You know it's not,” Calum sighs and drinks the rest of his coffee, moving his body slightly, so he's facing the blonde man, “I got a job interview for you at that school you talked about so much last summer, the principal said you can go any day this week. I went ahead and sent her your resume as well as explained everything that she needs to know about Olivia, so you don't have to. You just gotta put on some decent clothes and show up.” he sees Ashton's face softening a little and takes it as a victory. A few beats go by and then, “Maybe take a shower too. That's gonna make you feel better.” Calum leans in closer to his friend's personal space and takes a sniff, causing Ashton to deflect from him slightly, but not to push him away – another small win.

“Definitely take a shower, you stink. When was the last time your hair saw shampoo?”

“Fuck off,” is Ashton's only reply to the younger man's inquest. But Calum can see a smile creeping up on the blonde's face, which brings out a smile of his own.

“I'll send you all the details later today,” he checks the hour on the watch on his wrist and gets up, “Just please, Ash, go. I can't lose you too.”

Calum gently lays a hand on Ashton's shoulder and squeezes a little. The man doesn't look up, but gives a curt nod to his friend, who's satisfied enough. Calum stops on the threshold of the garden glass doors to give some kisses to Stitch – who came to make Ashton company as soon as he finished his food –, and then he puts the coffee mug on the dishwater. And soon enough, he's on his way out of the door. But not before snatching a tangerine from the fridge.

Ashton is left by himself once again. As he hears the sound of the front door closing, he thinks that this might be his life from now on. Just him and Stitch, trying their hardest to make it through another miserable day without the love of their lives. While everyone else comes by just to make sure he's still breathing. Breathing, maybe, but alive?

Swallowing the tears, he looks up at the sky. It's a deep, beautiful mix of orange, pink and blue, but he knows that it won't last long and soon the rain will be pouring down. He thinks about how much Olivia loves the rain.

God, he needs to pull himself together. She would hate to see him like this. Maybe he should take Calum's offer after all, he really needs to occupy his mind.

Making a mental note to thank Calum later, and also to apologize for how rude he was to him this morning, Ashton slowly gets up from the bench to put his mug on the sink and makes his way to the living room, with the small dog loyally following his every step. He puts on some cartoon that for once doesn't remind him of her (she always lovingly made fun of him for still watching those) and cuddles with Stitch on the couch. He can take a shower later.

Not half an hour goes by, he falls asleep and has a good dream for a change. He dreams of the days he spent with Olivia in the Philippines last February, right before her first world tour started. Some of the most magical days of their lives – surrounded by delicious food, a whole new culture to learn about and the warmth of the sun. Infinite counted days full of love and passion, where they were the only people in the world.

Even his subconscious knows to hold on to that brief moment of happiness, because he might never live that again.

[weezlywrites]

we could call it even (2/?)

“Peter could only be hers in Queens; over time, as she visited less often, he became less hers. She decided that it was better that way." To quote Taylor Swift, "it always leads to you in my hometown."

chapter 2 brought to you by the cranberries. linger is a great song, just ignore the cheating vibes and focus on the yearning ones. 

wanna catch up? one. 

- 

two.

do you have to let it linger?

---

             She wakes slowly, the realization that she’s not somewhere she’s used to coming in drips. She’s naked, and exhausted, and a little hungover. But she doesn’t feel jumpy, and she’s warm, and the pillow smells familiar.

             There’s a body beside her and a hand on her back, softly tracing over her skin, and just as the night before comes into her mind he stops. She keeps her eyes closed for a few moments, and he doesn’t move again. Then Peter leans over and presses a kiss to her temple. She hears and feels the dip and rise of the bed as he gets up. She continues to feign sleep as she hears him fumble with clothes.

             “I’ll make coffee,” he says quietly. “Come out whenever you’re ready.”

             Damn him. Of course he knew she was awake.

             So she opens her eyes and glances over to the door and sees him. Hair mussed from sleep, and he’s wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a stretched out, faded white shirt, and he’s beautiful. How many times has she lived this exact moment? Waking up with Peter, seeing him sleepy eyed and tousled, drinking coffee with him in silence while they wake up properly?

             “Thanks,” she says softly. He smiles and goes.

             She lays there a few moments more. Takes in the room that she hadn’t really paid attention to last night.

             It’s pretty sparse. There’s the bed she’s in, and a rickety chest of drawers. A laundry basket, a bedside table with a lamp. A stack of books – science textbooks mixed with comics and novels, all secondhand – and a few plants in the windowsill. Something about seeing them, and thinking of Peter tending them, makes her heart clench.

             Michelle gets up and finds her underwear, and finds sweats and a shirt from Peter’s clothes. She makes a stop at the bathroom before facing him, splashes water on her face and reminds herself that it’s Peter. No reason to be weird. It’s been a while, but it’s still him, and them. No big deal.

             (It’s not like they saw each other for the first time in four years and immediately fell into bed again. God, it’s like he’s a habit she can’t shake. Every trip home a fucking relapse.)

             There’s a mug waiting for her on the counter, and Peter is on the couch, coffee in one hand and phone in the other. She grabs her mug and sits at the opposite end from him, pointedly making sure they’re nowhere near touching. She sips her coffee and sighs in contentment. Whatever his faults, he makes good coffee.

             “Sleep ok?” he asks.

             “Yeah. You?”

             He nods. Looks at her. She lets herself hold his gaze.

             “Wasn’t sure you’d still be here when I woke up,” he says. She can’t tell if he’s trying to pick a fight or not. She decides to play it like he’s not.

             “Thought you had work this morning.” Okay, maybe she’s not not looking for a fight. He raises an eyebrow. “Or were you making that up?”

             “Wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

             “Kinda failed there,” she says with a playful smirk. “This isn’t home.”

             She was going for humor. A joke. But his eyes darken and he looks down at his coffee.

             “Yeah, no shit,” he mutters. She doesn’t know how to respond to that. Is he talking about his place not being her home? Or the city? What, exactly, is he pissed about?

             “I would’ve been fine on my own,” she tells him, suddenly defensive, trying to keep this from spiraling. He snorts.  

             “Yeah, that’s you all around right?”

             “Fuck you, Peter Parker,” she snaps, jumping up. She needs to leave. She feels like a rubber band, pulled taut and ready to break. “I’m not the one – ”

             He’s standing up now too, coffees forgotten.

             “Oh no? What about last – “

             “You broke up with me!” she exclaims. “You’re the fucking martyr, savior complex – ”

             “You came here, and let me tell you I – four years, MJ. Four years. You did that.”

             “That’s who we are! We see each other, we sleep together, we go our separate ways, it was the same – ”

             “It was not the same, Em, and you know it. You were hurting – ”

             “Don’t tell me what I felt!”

             “It was different, and you came to me and you just fucking left, MJ, you were gone, and I had no idea if you were okay.”

             He’s breathing hard, like he’s just run up the stairs, and he looks so hurt. She crosses her arms, suddenly cold, trying not to think about that night and that morning and all the feelings that swirled – still swirl, if she lets herself linger on it – and she looks down at his bare feet and her bare feet. It isn’t his to be hurt about.  

             “It’s Michelle now,” she says finally, because it’s the only thing she can think of to say. And he keeps calling her MJ, or, God, Em, and it’s too familiar. She needs distance.

             “Sorry, I don’t know Michelle. I know MJ. Seems like she’s gone.”

             He looks so fucking sad, and pissed, and she feels so fucking shattered.

             “What happened to you, Peter?”

             It’s not what she meant to say but it’s what she says. Something in him seems to break, and she can see him visibly deflate. He sinks onto the couch. She stays standing.

             “Why are you here?” he asks.

             “I asked you first.”

             He gives her a small smile. She returns it. She wants to crawl into his lap and kiss it better, smooth out the worry in his forehead, soothe the tension in his shoulders.

             “Can we start the morning over?” he asks, burying his face in his hands. “I didn’t – I don’t want to fight with you.”

             “Me neither.”

             (But maybe they need to.)

             Silence.

             He looks up at her again, less anguished than before, but his eyes are still a little red, that red they get when he’s trying not to cry. He offers her a small smile. A peace offering. She returns it.

             “So. How’d you sleep?” he asks. She takes a step closer, and instinctively he opens his legs for her to stand between them. Leans back so he can look up at her easier. This is a mistake. She should leave. She shouldn’t have let him draw her into – this, whatever this is. But it’s just so easy.

             “Pretty fucking well,” she admits. He smiles wider at that. She lets her hands go to his hair, running them through, and his hands are on her waist now. “You?”

             “Yeah,” he agrees. He pulls her down so she’s straddling him, her hands running along his jaw now, his hands slipping under her borrowed shirt to rub circles on her back. She meets his eye and he looks so – so uniquely Peter.

             “Why do we always end up here?” she whispers.

             “Can’t help it,” he answers.

             “It doesn’t feel like it’s been four years,” she admits. This is the closest she’ll let herself get to anything approaching an apology.

             “It’s ‘cause it’s us.” His eyes are so soft, so open. This must be what Flash meant – like you’re the fucking sun. She’s not sure they won’t both burn up. Fuck, she loves him, and fuck if he doesn’t look at her like he loves her, too.

             She wishes that could be enough. Wishes that could mean something.

             Instead of saying anything, she kisses him.

 ---

               Peter was her first, and sure, teenage love or not, sex isn’t always great at the beginning. But Peter was raised by feminists and he loved and respected her, so her first experiences weren’t actually bad. As they hooked up in college, they got better. They knew each other so well in so many other ways, that it translated to good sex. They wanted it to be good for each other.

             When she says that Peter ruined her – which she doesn’t, but not because it isn’t true – it’s not because he’s the best sex she’s ever had or anything. She finds those kinds of statements kind of facile. She didn’t fall into Peter’s bed over and over again because the sex was just too amazing to miss out on. The sex was good, but it was good because –

It wasn’t technique so much as it was familiarity. It’s great sex in the sense that it’s sex with someone she knows, someone she trusts, someone she loves who she knew loved her. Yes, he knew what she liked and he wanted it to be good for her, but a hook up could be attentive and check those boxes. In terms of straight up pleasure, sex with Peter was just sex with someone who cared about her getting off, too. So the him ruining her – the reason they kept coming back to each other – it was something else.  

             Sleeping with Peter, fooling around with Peter, is like that moment when you first wake up, comfy and warm and cozy in the blankets, still clinging to sleep, and knowing you can cling to sleep, you can snuggle into the covers more and stay cocooned. When you feel safe and sleepy and know you can drift off again and it’s okay, you don’t need to be anywhere, you can relax, you can let yourself fall asleep again. That’s what it feels like when she’s with him.

             So it’s not the sex. (Not just the sex.) It’s Peter.

             Which, honestly? Is so much fucking worse.

 ---

               She feels boneless, tired and content, and all she wants to do is go back to sleep.

             “How are you always so cold?” Peter teases, pulling her closer and grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch and covering them. She snuggles into his chest.

             “I don’t know, how are you a fucking furnace?”

             He laughs.

             “At least we balance out,” he says, kissing her hair.

             “God, can you imagine if we both ran hot?”

             “We’d never be able to cuddle.”

             “Just constantly naked and not touching.”

             “Hey now, I could get on board with the naked thing.”

             She swats his chest. He grabs her hand and twines their hands.

             She loves him like this. After sex, when he’s sleepy and a little silly and so affectionate. Looking at her like she hung the goddamn moon.

             They stay like that for a little, and she’s almost drifted off when Peter’s phone buzzes. They both jump, and he quickly grabs it.

             “Tell Michelle to call her sister,” she hears Betty say in lieu of greeting. Michelle curses and jumps up, running to Peter’s room and fishing for her phone. Yep. Missed texts and calls. Growing increasingly frantic.

             Peter appears in the doorway, pants on, off the phone. Running a hand through his hair and looking guilty.

             “Betty said she just talked to her, said your phone was on silent and you were on your way home.”

             She hates that Betty lied for her.

             “I should go.”

             He nods.

             She gets dressed in her own clothes. She’s trying to come up with a story for Gina, trying to ignore his eyes on her, so in her own head that she barely notices when he comes up to her with her coat in his hands.  

             “Sorry,” she breathes.

             “It’s fine.”

             They stand awkwardly. They’ve had sex, but somehow a hug feels too intimate now. Whatever moment they’d had on the couch – gone. But god she wants to hug him.

             “I’ll see you around?” she says, a little unsure.

             “Yeah?” He seems surprised.

             She nods.

             He leans in and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. She wants to turn her head and kiss him for real, but she doesn’t. She needs to leave. For a lot of reasons.

             “It’s good to see you again,” he whispers.

             She just nods, unable to speak, and rushes out.

             Fuck.

---

               “Auntie Shelley!”

             Jesse runs and jumps at her, and she reacts just quick enough to catch him and spin him around as she walks into the apartment.

             “Hey there little man, what’s up?”

             “It’s almost Christmas and you’re here!” he exclaims. She knows kids grow up fast or whatever, and it’s been a while, but fuck, her nephew is a boy now. When did that happen? Shouldn’t he still be a toddler? She’s missed –

             “I know, can you believe it?” She hugs him again, squeezing until he giggles, and it’s the best sound. It almost drowns out the guilt. Almost.

             “Barely.”

             Gina stands in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed, and Michelle knows that look. She puts Jesse down and smiles at her sister.

             “Good to be home,” she says. Her sister smirks.

             “Mmhm.”

             Michelle turns back to her nephew.

             “So what’s the plan, my man?”

---

               (Michelle never figured her sister would want kids. After their mom took off, she practically raised Michelle – not because their dad was a deadbeat, he was amazing – but a girl needs a mom, and Dad worked a lot to keep the apartment and the food on the table and the presents under the tree. And Gina loved her sister, so she stepped in and helped take care of her.

             Nine years was a shit age difference, but Michelle was old enough now to know how much it must’ve sucked for Gina, to have to babysit and help with homework and make dinner and do all the things that a parent’s supposed to do while also juggling her own shit and personal life. By the time Michelle was in high school, Gina was finally starting to live her own life – apparently having deemed Michelle old enough to fend for herself – and it didn’t take long for her to find a boyfriend, and then a husband. Louis was nice enough, Michelle thought.

             Jesse was a surprise. More surprising was Louis’ death when Jesse was only 11 months old. Gina, once again, picking up the slack. Michelle knows her sister, knows she loves Jesse more than anything, but sometimes she wonders if she ever regrets how things turned out.

             That was when Gina and Jesse moved in with their dad – Gina, a widow and not even 30, and baby Jesse, barely walking but smiley enough to brighten up every room he crawled into. And it was hard, but Dad had started to slow down a bit by that point. His girls were grown; he could afford to pass up the overtime, afford to take a vacation. He focused on being a doting grandfather, on badgering Michelle about school, on getting Gina to take the leap and go to nursing school like she’d been talking about for years. It was hard, but it was good, too.

             The heart attack was the biggest surprise of them all.)

 ---

               “So how’s Peter?” Gina asked later that afternoon – after they’d had lunch and made Christmas cookies and Jesse had fallen asleep on the couch. They were in the kitchen cleaning up, and Michelle felt like a teenager again.

             She resented the shit out of it.

             “Fine, I guess. I saw him last night.”

             Gina raises an eyebrow.

             “What?”

             “You’re really gonna stand there and tell me you were at Betty’s for some girl’s night, and that’s why you neglected to come home or answer any of my calls and texts? You’re really gonna pretend that you weren’t with him?”

             Michelle feels her face flush and she focuses on scrubbing the plate in her hand. Gina sighs.

             “Nothing happened,” Michelle lies.

             “Jesse’s really excited to see you, and I’d like him to actually, you know, see you. Just promise me you’re not going to disappear on us.”

             “It was one night and you guys weren’t even here.”

             “I’m not talking about that.”

             “No?”

             “When the last time you came home?”

             “I’ve been busy.”

             “Mmhmm.”

             “I’m not disappearing.”

             “You’d better not.”

             “I won’t.”

             They continue washing and drying in silence. Then:

             “So how is he?”

             Michelle sighs.

 ---

               Betty had been far less gentle in her interrogation than Gina. First, texts –

             Call me

             What happened?

             You owe me details, Michelle

             Don’t make me ask Ned what Peter’s saying

             Michelle

             Fine, I’ll ask Peter myself.

             Finally Michelle responds.

             Peter wouldn’t say anything

             So you admit something happened

             Betty.

             I don’t understand what your guys’ problem is  

Ask him.

             Wait, please don’t.

             You’re two of my closest friends, and you’re being stupid and I don’t know why

             This is just how we are, ok? It’s fine

             Are you though?

             What happened with Miles? I liked him

             Me too.

             I ended it

             I figured

             He was talking, like, marriage.

             Yikes

             I’m just not there yet

             Not with him

             Look, just be careful, okay?

             With Peter

             I don’t want to see either of you hurt.

             I know.

---

               She’s curled up on the couch – her bed for the trip, her own former room now Jesse’s –and she’s feeling stupid and sad and she’s thinking of what Betty said and what Gina said and, despite it being the very thing they’d probably tell her not to do, she texts Peter, because of course she does.

             Gina says hi.

             It takes a few minutes before he responds.

             Does she?

             Yep.

             He’s typing. Stops.

             A minute passes. Two.

             We made cookies today, she offers, because she’s feeling stupid and this is what she does, isn’t it? Being home brings out the – it’s like muscle memory, reaching out to him.

             Nana’s snickerdoodles?

             She smiles. He always did love those cookies, the recipe passed down from her father’s mother, who Michelle only vaguely remembers, who died when she was 7 but left behind a tin of recipes that Gina and Michelle have practically memorized with how much they make them.

             Obviously.

             What I wouldn’t give for a cookie right now

             She smirks.

             Maybe if you’re good

             Are you saying that santa delivers cookies? I thought he ate them

             That’s literally the point of santa. Bringing good boys and girls whatever they want. Even cookies

             santa doesn’t deliver to jews, m, I thought we went over this

             She smiles wider.

             My bad.

             She pauses. They’re already flirting. They already had sex. What could she possibly be holding back for?

             But I do

             She thinks about following it up with an emoji, but stops herself. God, why is she flirting with him? Aren’t they supposed to be mad at each other?

             She’s still in her head when his response comes through –

             You know where I live

             Her heart is racing, blood flowing into her cheeks. God, what is she, in high school? Blushing as she texts a boy?

             I do indeed

             A pause. She imagines him curled up in bed – probably shirtless, because he’s his own furnace – staring at his phone and waiting, or possibly thinking up a response.

             Any plans tomorrow?

             I could be free

             She smiles.

             (This is a fucking mistake.)

 ---

               It’s Saturday, but Gina has a shift at the hospital so after grabbing coffee and catching up one on one with Betty, Michelle heads back to the apartment to babysit Jesse. She decides to take him to the Museum of Natural History, and he holds her hand while they wander the exhibits and she loves this kid, she really does, and he’s such a stranger to her in some ways but she can see her sister in him so clearly that the whiplash is almost giving her a headache.

             At six years old, Jesse remembers her, but she’s only ever been the fun aunt of sporadic visits. She is the aunt of Disneyland trips and Facetime calls and expensive presents to make up for her absence. He is the nephew of photos that hang on her fridge and hand drawn thank you cards. She has been a steady presence in his life as a long distance relative, and on days like today, she wishes she were more of a hands on aunt. But that would require a lot of things to be different, not the least of which being her address.

             But they have a good day, as out of her depth as she feels at times. She holds his hand and tells him bits of trivia, and buys him a hot cocoa, and they ride the subway back to the apartment and he leans against her and smiles up at her and tells her she’s his best auntie, and her heart clenches because if he had literally anyone else to compare her to, she knows she probably wouldn’t even be in the top five.

             They get back to the apartment and Michelle puts on the TV and Jesse pulls out crayons and paper and starts to draw. She smiles.

             “Whatcha drawing?” she asks.

             “Spider-Man,” he says.

             “Oh yeah?”

             “He’s my favorite.”

             Michelle smiles.

             Spider-Man is still something of a hero in Queens. She’d never paid much attention back in high school, and throughout college she only heard about him when her dad or someone mentioned it. In California, people find out she’s from New York and ask her if she’s ever met Spider-Man, and she rolls her eyes because no, it’s a big city, he’s not everywhere.

             But apparently he’s still out there, because here’s her nephew, drawing him among skyscrapers.

             He’s still drawing when Gina gets home. Michelle goes to the kitchen, fills a Tupperware with cookies, and grabs her jacket.

             “I’m gonna run out for a bit, okay?”

             Gina takes note of the cookies and smirks.

             “Where are you going?” Jesse asks.

             “Special delivery,” she tells him, holding up the cookies. “My friend loves these.”

             “He loves something,” Gina murmurs.

             Michelle ignores her.

 ---

               “Fuck.”

             He collapses on top of her, and she sighs, rubbing her hands along his back and kissing his hair, sweaty and sated. He kisses her collarbone and nuzzles into her neck, pulling out but not rolling off of her, not yet.

             She loves the weight of him like this. She remembers telling him as much once, and he’d smiled and started talking about weighted blankets, and how some people felt calmer with them, and slept better, and maybe he should buy her a weighted blanket for Hanukkah so she wouldn’t miss him. And she’d sighed and said it wasn’t the same, and she wishes she could bring him back in her suitcase, how that would be the best Hanukkah present. And they’d both gone quiet then, and never brought it up again.

             But now, she lets herself enjoy the moment, the feel of him on top of her, his skin and his breath against her neck and the curls she runs her hands through. She lets out another sigh, then reluctantly pushes him off.

             “MJ,” he whines, wrapping his arms around her and not letting her go.

             “Peter, I’m not about to get a UTI,” she laughs, and he sighs dramatically and rolls off, watching her as she gets up and pads down the hall to his bathroom.

             It’s so easy, she thinks. So easy to just – fall back into things with him. It should scare her – it does scare her. How easily she could just pick up her life and move back into his, how easily she could fit herself here. This part has never been the problem. It’s the everything else – the jobs and the responsibilities – that’s what’s always gotten in their way. But fuck, sometimes she wishes she could just – stay. And as much as she knows – knows – how much she would hate it (him) if he ever asked her to, there’s a part of her that’s never gotten over the hurt that he hasn’t. Won’t.

             By the time she gets back to the bedroom he’s put on his briefs again and he’s eating a cookie from the Tupperware she brought. He smiles sleepily at her, the look on his face so blissed out she laughs.

             “I can’t tell if you’re smiling like that because of the sex or the cookies,” she teases, climbing under the covers next to him, not bothering to get dressed yet. He takes another bite.

             “Why can’t it be both?” he asks, mouth full of cookie, and she goes to hit him on the chest but he catches her hand. He’s smiling and she knows she’s smiling like an idiot, too, and he holds out the remainder of the cookie and she lets him feed it to her, and when he kisses her he tastes like cinnamon.

             He pulls back and snuggles down into the bed with her, throwing his arm over her and lazily drawing patterns on her side.

             “Hi,” he says softly.

             “Hi.” She smirks. “Happy Hanukkah.”

             He laughs.

             “You’re a little late.”

             “It’s the thought that counts, right?”

             “Yeah.”

             She kisses him, even though it makes the moment – already so intimate, so domestic – even more.

             When he pulls back he smiles, but she can see his mind going, can see the shift as he starts getting in his head like she is, and he’s still running his fingers along her skin but it feels tentative now.

             “Are we gonna talk about this?” he asks.

             “I don’t know. I feel like we should.”

             “Yeah.” He pauses. “I don’t want to, though.”

             “No?”

             “I’m afraid if we talk about it, we’ll stop.”

             Her heart clenches.

             I don’t know how to quit you, she thinks, the line coming to her out of nowhere. She hasn’t even seen that movie in years, but fuck if it isn’t true.

             “I miss you,” he whispers.

             Her eyes well up.

             (He isn’t allowed to miss her. Not when he did this to them.)

             “Why didn’t you –”

             He doesn’t let her ask the question. He kisses her instead, and it’s deep and slow and it’s like he apologizing and telling her he loves her all at once. When she breaks the kiss she starts to ask again but he stops her, eyes boring into her.

             “Can we – can we just – not tonight? Please?” he asks. Her heart aches and she can feel the anger welling up but she doesn’t want to fight either, she wants to just pretend and let him hold her and fall asleep here with him, pretend they aren’t complicated.

             “Okay,” she says finally. He sighs and pulls her closer. They shift until he’s on his back and she’s curled up on his side, resting her head on his chest.

             “Do you wanna stay?” he asks softly.

             What a loaded question.

             She doesn’t answer. Instead, she leans over him to grab her phone and texts Gina that she’ll be back in the morning. Then she turns her phone off and resumes her place, and Peter presses a kiss to her hair, and she closes her eyes and breathes deep and tells herself she can have this one more night. Then they can talk. But just –

             Just let them have this.

 ---

               Peter’s not in bed when she wakes up, but she can hear him in the living room. She gets up, gets dressed, and finds him in a suit and tie, drinking coffee and grabbing papers and shoving them in a backpack. He smiles when he sees her, and her heart does a little flutter at that.

             “Morning,” he greets.

             “Morning.”

             “There’s coffee.”

             “Thanks.”

             “I’ve gotta run, I’m sorry – ”

             “That’s okay,” she says, approaching him. He looks at her like he’s waiting for something so she leans in and kisses him, just a short sweet thing.

             “There’s coffee, and bagels, and I left the spare key on the counter so you can lock up when you leave, and we’ll – ”

             “Okay,” she says. He smiles again, still a little unsure.

             “I have to go.”

             “You’ve said.”

             “I don’t want to.”

             She smiles and kisses him again.

             “Go get ‘em, tiger,” she teases, and he smiles, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a bit.

             “I’ll see you later?”

             “I’ll text you,” she says. He nods, and she realizes, for perhaps the first time, that he’s afraid she’ll disappear.

             She’s not sure that’s entirely fair of him, but she shoves it away.

             He kisses her this time, lingering just a second long enough that she knows he’d stay home if she asked, which is why she doesn’t. He grabs his coat and shoots her another smile on his way out the door, and then he’s gone.

             And she’s alone with her thoughts, in his apartment.

 ---

                She knows she should just get dressed and leave, but she can’t help it. She lets herself linger in his apartment – the most grown up place he’s ever lived. Gone are the shoebox studios and roommates; this is a one bedroom, with a real kitchen, a real bathroom – hell, this apartment has more than one room. Furniture, not just cardboard boxes.

             And yet, it’s still so Peter, in its simultaneous sparseness and mess.

             She helps herself to a bagel and looks through the cabinets – clearly thrift store bowls and plates, worn pots and pans. It would seem he survives on ramen and take out, if the state of the cupboards is any indication.

             But there are pictures on the walls – pictures of his aunt and uncle, him and Ned, a group photo of their friend group from college.

             Her heart clenches when she sees his parents’ ketubah hanging on the wall next to a framed photo of him with them. She knows the picture: he can’t be more than 4 years old, but he’s smiling and his hair is so curly and light, and his mother is tickling him and his dad is looking at them like he’s never seen a more perfect sight. It’s a beautiful picture. She knows Peter barely has any photos of his parents, but of all of them, this is his favorite. She has to agree.

             She’s never seen the ketubah before, though, and she wonders when he found it – if it had always been tucked away in his room, at May’s and at the series of places he lived after. Or maybe May found it recently and gave it to him. Michelle had seen May and Ben’s – it hung in the hallway of May’s apartment next to a photo from their wedding, and Michelle remembers how she’d look at it, try out the words on her tongue. May and Ben hadn’t been super observant, and most people didn’t even realize Peter was Jewish, but spending as much time with him as she did taught her a lot she hadn’t known. She knew the basics from the number of bar and bat mitzvahs she went to in middle school, but the details she learned from Peter. Holidays and phrases and traditions – and things like the ketubah, a marriage contract. May had explained it to her, seeing Michelle’s immediate frown. Yes, it had deeply patriarchal roots. But over time, it had evolved so where it was, or could be, more egalitarian. Like a written record of vows. Michelle had liked May and Ben’s.

She looks at this one now, Peter’s own parents’ ketubah. Like May and Ben’s, it was in Hebrew and English. She remembers Peter attempting to read some of May and Ben’s once, his religious school Hebrew rusty as he tripped over the sounds, cheeks turning red as he struggled. But it was beautiful even still.

               The groom, Raviv Parker, son of Binyamin and Rachael Parker, and the bride, Miriam Reinburg, daughter of David and Ruth Reinburg, entered into the covenant of marriage before God and these witnesses and said to each other: “I betroth you to me forever. I betroth you to me in everlasting faithfulness. In the spirit of the Jewish tradition, I will be your loving friend as you are mine. Set me as a seal upon your heart, like the seal upon your hand, for love is stronger than death. And I will cherish you, honor you, uphold and sustain you in all truth and sincerity. I will respect you and the divine image within you. I take you to be mine in love and tenderness. May my love for you last forever. May we be consecrated, one to the other, by these rings. Let our hearts be united in faith and hope. May our hearts beat as one in times of gladness as in times of sadness. Let our home be built on Torah and loving-kindness. May our home be rich with wisdom and reverence.” This ketubah has been witnessed and signed according to the laws and traditions that began with Abraham and Sarah and continued through Moses and the people of Israel. It is valid and binding.

               She didn’t even realize she was crying until a tear rolled down her cheek.

 ---

               Her own parents were – well, let’s just say there were no pictures of her parents looking as happy as Peter’s did in the one on his wall. And she knows that’s not fair, because Richard and Mary Parker died in a car accident when Peter was seven so they never had a chance to grow old together or, you know, decide not to. They were forever immortalized in the few photos and memories Peter had, in the stories May shared. Peter had photos and stories and a beautiful ketubah to remind him that his parents had loved each other; had these things left behind as a testament to the home they had built for him to grow up in. They would always be happily married, frozen in time when everything was good and perfect, all the more tragic because of it. Michelle, though, had a lifetime of experiences with her parents. It was different.

             Michelle came from a loving father and a mother who hadn’t really wanted the life she’d been dealt, and decided to go out and chase the one she wanted when Michelle was only six. Alice Watson had gotten pregnant young with Gina; had struggled as a single mom until she met Wade Jones. And he was a good man. He loved Gina, treated her like his daughter, even after he and Alice had their own child – Michelle. And Michelle supposes they must’ve been happy for at least a little while. She’s seen old pictures. There are a couple that feature both of them; there are a few with smiles that seem sincere.

             But Wade was stubborn, the kind of man who liked what he liked and didn’t see the need to fix what wasn’t broken. He wore the same work boots, the same jeans, the same coat, buying what he’d already had when one wore out. He was a simple man. If he saw a Travel Channel special, he figured he’d all but visited the place, no need to make the actual trip. And Alice was restless. She had wanted things for her life, but having a baby at 18 had forced her to shelve her own wants and desires. She liked Wade because he was stable. He liked Alice because she was spontaneous. In the end, though, they wanted different things. She wanted different things. The life they might’ve had, had things been different, never came to pass.

             When Michelle was six, her father sat her down and told her that Mom was going away for a little while, and she could still call her, and she wasn’t going forever, but she wasn’t going to live with them anymore.

             Michelle was older when she found out the truth: her mother had found someone else, someone new and adventurous and exciting, and they had packed up and left for South America, to go backpacking and traveling. Alice’s calls were few and far between, but at the beginning she had sent postcards. At the beginning, she had tried. And Wade never spoke ill of her. And Gina never spoke of her at all. And Michelle waited for the cards and the calls until one day she realized that they weren’t her mother; that her mother as she’d known her had all but died when Michelle was six. Mom was gone. Alice was like a flaky aunt: family, and important, but, more often than not, absent.  

             Peter had parents who had vowed faithfulness, to cherish and honor and respect; who promised to be loving friends. Michelle had parents who used to yell and stew; a mother who left and a father who died.

             (Michelle was older when she realized just how shitty it had been of her mother to leave – not just her, but Gina. Of course her dad considered Gina his own, but she wasn’t. It had been Gina and mom for years before Michelle’s dad entered the picture; and then Michelle had arrived; and then Mom had left. Abandoned Gina. Sometimes Michelle thinks she hates her mom more for leaving Gina than for leaving her.)

---

               Michelle has decided she’s done snooping. She’s too sad to linger any longer. Going back to her sister’s won’t necessarily help, but neither would staying here, in Peter’s space, reminded of him and them and the way she used to look at the photos of Ben and May and read their own ketubah and imagine Peter’s one day – maybe even with her. The naïve thoughts of a teenager in the throes of first love. Her heart aches just thinking about it, about her 17-year-old self.

             She’s getting dressed, trying to will the memories away, when she notices the drawer on his bedside table is open, just a crack, and she’s too damn curious for her own good. So she slides it open, just a bit more. Just to peek inside. See if there’s anything more exciting than condoms.

             And there isn’t, really. A box of condoms, his old glasses, a book. But there’s another picture. It’s framed, like sometimes it sits on the table, and sometimes it doesn’t.

             It’s them, her and him. Probably 17. Neither of them are looking at the camera; they’re looking at each other, smiling widely. She remembers when it was taken, how happy they’d been, how easy and uncomplicated it was, back when it felt like anything was possible if he was next to her, smiling at her.

             She puts it back and closes the drawer.

             (The room feels like it’s closing in on her.)