#a dilemma.... for another day...... (i have today and tomorrow off from work i could easily be doing it Right Now. but the Energy)

[munch-mumbles]

as soon as i actually make refs for my ocs its over for my wallet

[copperbadge]

The stoner with ADHD's dilemma: take an edible and have a rad afternoon, or take an Adderall and have a slightly less rad but way more productive afternoon? Can't do both!

Today has gone well, but not quite optimally. I did get a lot of things done that needed doing, but not everything I had hoped.

I went to the library and did some digital tidying-up, which was the reason I reserved a study room there, but I didn't get to polish off the last few replies to various book and short story crit on AO3. From there I went to Christkindlemarket to get some souvenir mugs for my parents, but did not get a) lunch or b) the chance to shop for gifts for people, because it was an opening-weekend madhouse. It's close enough I can walk there on a long weekday lunch, so that's fine, but not having gifts for some of my friends is making me agitated.

(While at the library I did finally go through my shopping spreadsheet and I only need to buy physical gifts for a few people, so the worry is greatly lessened.)

Went to Target and DID get the cashews I required, DID NOT find a single other grocery item I was looking for. I was supposed to stop at the hardware store after Target and buy some custom-color wall paint but I couldn't handle the idea of talking to the Paint Guy. Like, painting is another agitation-inducing problem right now, but I could handle having the paint and maybe even using it, I just couldn't bring myself to talk to someone about it first.

Now that I'm home I'm supposed to hang up a shelf and do some tidying for the catsitter, but instead I packed for my trip to Texas on Tuesday and now I'm on the sofa with Dearborn, surfing Tumblr. Packing is something I love doing and will often do days ahead of time, so it's less a chore than it is a delightful task that I know most people think is a chore and so it's my excuse not to do chores.

But you know, this is why it's rough to have tasks lined up that don't easily align with timing one's work for the day. I've definitely done at least two hours of work today! It just doesn't feel like it. And I remind myself that nobody will die if the shelf gets hung tomorrow or if my next book isn't published until January, and if nothing I needed to buy gets bought until my next paycheck, that might be better anyway.

[fates-theysband]

won't you stay with me, my darling?

FALSE ALARM I AM BACK BABY!!!

anyway uh. this is the thing ive been working on for two damb weeks. anyway herein lies uno reverse cards, getting dunked on by one's work buddies, and a. uh. um. [turns and runs out of the room]

--

The setting sun came as a relief. Fate’s office was quiet for the first time all day–all meetings with management concluded, all calls returned, all profiles received, reviewed, and filed away. The only thing he had left to do was wait for one brief meeting that could very well be hours away. Plenty of time to think, and nothing to interrupt him.

All the better, because while his office may have been quiet (save for the occasional soft rustling of Lady Pawdington adjusting her position on his lap) his mind was not. He was all at once paralyzed with indecision, sick with dread, vibrating with anxiety, and yet giddy with excitement. It was all too much, and he considered fabricating an excuse to leave early, to retire to his quarters and at least agonize about this in a more comfortable setting.

“No,” he murmured under his breath as he recalled what sight awaited him there, resting his forehead against one hand and using the other to gently scratch Lady’s head. He’d worry the velvet right off that little box on his bedside table if he spent another night turning it over in his hands, pondering the right time or if he even should.

Maybe he’d discuss it with someone else once this last meeting was finished. He just had to wait for–

“Uh, Fate?”

The sudden sound snapped him out of his ruminations, and he looked up at the source. A small figure in an oversized robe, with cat ears and gleaming yellow eyes. Spawn #89. Rico Chatte.

“Forgive me,” Fate responded, sitting up straighter in his desk and attempting to compose himself. “I didn’t expect you to arrive quite so early. Let’s go over your conduct for today.”

“Uhhhhh-huh,” they responded, raising an eyebrow suspiciously but pressing no further. “Sure. Let’s hear it.”

He rifled through the stack of profiles he’d left on his desk for this meeting. As usual, the correct ratio of life to death, although, as expected if not appreciated, they’d completely ignored everything else he’d asked of them for this batch. But that wasn’t a cause for termination, and he was in no mood to nettle them for it tonight, so he let it slide. “As I’ve come to expect from you, everything is in order. Nothing else to really say, so, unless you have any questions for me, I believe we can conclude this meeting.”

There was a silence as the two parties stared each other down, Fate silently willing Rico to leave as they seemed to be attempting to puzzle something out. The whole scene put him in mind of the moment right before a duel, that long few seconds before both opponents draw their weapons and attack.

“Okay, spill it. You’re acting weirder than usual. What’s going on?” Rico’s question pierced the silence like a hole punch, and their tone poked just as many holes in what Fate had thought was a perfect facade of nonchalance.

The keeper of world order scoffed dismissively at the feline reaper’s accusation. “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing going on. I’m simply…pondering something. Nothing you need to worry about.” Silently, he cursed himself for the slight hesitation.

“Are you kidding me?” Rico leaned forward, resting one hand on Fate’s desk and regarding him with narrowed eyes and alert ears. “The entire time I’ve worked here, the main thing I have ever needed to worry about is you pondering things. If you are pondering something, I need to know what it is as soon as possible for my own mental health.”

“The dilemma currently troubling me is not one I would consider it appropriate to ask an employee’s advice on,” Fate responded, more sharply than he intended. He cleared his throat, taking a breath to compose himself. “I apologize for the outburst. It’s a…personal matter, is all. Not to worry, I’ll figure it out on my own time. See you tomorrow.”

Rico made no move to leave, although their expression changed from accusatory to confused. “A ‘personal matter’? What, are you and Charlie having relationship issues or something? They make it seem like everything’s fine, but…”

“That is none of your business,” Fate hurriedly cut Rico off before they could say anything further. Of all the people in the Office for his beloved to have as a close friend… “And, actually, it’s quite the opposite,” he added, quietly, glancing aside and feeling his face warm slightly.

“‘Quite the opposite’, huh?” Rico said, looking (appropriately) like the cat that ate the canary. “Thinking of taking a big step?”

There was no denying it now. Fate sighed and turned back to face his subordinate. “If you breathe a word of this, especially to Charlemagne, the consequences will be dire,” he warned.

“Yeah, yeah, my lips are sealed, I’ve kept a lid on juicier stuff than this,” Rico waved away the warning, rolling their eyes. “Let’s hear it.”

“Lately I have been wondering if I should…” he paused to swallow, trying not to choke on what came next. “...ask them to marry me.”

The silence descended on the room again, both parties seeming in deep contemplation. The reaper spoke first once again. “Honestly, I think you should go for it.”

The encouragement came as a pleasant surprise. “Is that so?” Fate responded.

“Yeah,” Rico confirmed. “They talk about you like you hung the moon. It drives me nuts. I can’t mention you in conversation around them without hearing about this or that sooooo cute and charming thing you did last time they saw you.”

Fate turned bright red at that revelation. “I…I had no idea they spoke of me that way.”

“They do. Frequently. I’d put a lot of darksouls on them saying yes if you popped the question. And I have.”

“It heartens me to hear that. I appreciate the encouragement. Although I do wish to warn you that office betting pools are against–”

Rico cut him off as they began backing away from his desk toward the door. “Hey, won’t do it again, I think you letting this one slide is a fair trade, I’ll get out of your hair now, go get ‘em, tiger!” They gave a final thumbs up before slipping through the door entirely, closing it behind them and leaving Fate alone in his office.

He glanced down at Lady Pawdington, who was in turn looking curiously up at him, and ran a hand over her head once again. Now if only he could think of a good place…

–

Inventory day at the Emporium was usually a lively occasion, or at least as lively as that dusty old hall could get. But today Charlie wasn’t much in the mood for banter. Too much to think about. Instead they contented themself with the calming rhythm of unpacking and repacking desk widgets, outfits, and visages into storage boxes, only faintly noticing the sounds of their employer softly humming and jotting down names and quantities.

The thoughts were burning a hole in their mind. They were itching to tell someone, but if this somehow got back to him…well, it probably wouldn’t be a disaster, but it’d definitely take the wind out of their sails (heh) to know the surprise was spoiled. And as much as they wanted to tell everyone lest they explode from having to keep their anticipation inside, there was another part that wanted to keep this fully secret, to give nobody else the satisfaction of knowing. All the same, though…a bit of advice would not go amiss. This was not something they could afford to mess up.

They decided to chance it. “Hey, Mortimer?” they asked, glancing over at the skeletal pirate sitting a few paces away. “Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

“I’d be disappointed if ye were to ask me a normal one!” Mortimer quipped in response. “Fire away.”

“So, you’re pretty worldly, right? Lot of life experience? Probably have seen just about everything?” Charlie began, twisting in their seat so the two were facing each other.

Mortimer buffed their nails (or where their nails would be, if they still had flesh) on their shirt in mock dismissiveness. “Not to toot me own horn, of course, but aye, you could say ol’ Mortimer’s weathered just about every storm there is.”

“Good, good. I’ve got a little hypothetical for you,” Charlie continued, entwining their fingers and resting their chin on them. “So, let’s say, for the sake of argument, you have this friend. And your friend has been…courting someone for a long time.”

“Aye,” Mortimer responded, sitting forward on their stool. “Don’t suppose me friend and their love interest correspond to anybody I’d know in real life, do they?” Skeletons weren’t the most expressive bunch, and yet it was somehow clear they were smirking knowingly.

“You can think that, if it helps you contextualize it,” Charlie responded with a shrug. “The point is, your friend comes to you one day with a dilemma. They would like to propose to their beloved, but they aren’t sure about a few things.”

“Well,” Mortimer put a hand to their chin in thought. “I’ve received me fair share of marriage proposals, and given a few of ‘em, so I’m happy to give ye–er, sorry, this hypothetical friend yer askin’ on behalf of –some nuggets of wisdom.”

“Great! So they’re not overly worried about the possibility of being rejected–it’d hurt for sure, but no need to count their chickens in either direction here. But I don’t–THEY don’t,” Charlie hurriedly corrected themself, “have much experience with this sort of thing. They’ve only really seen it in stories. They don’t really have the time or resources for anything big or showy, but…would it really be enough to just drop to one knee and ask?”

Mortimer seemed to ponder for a moment, before answering, “If I know the captain–and I’d say I do, I did plunder their wardrobe, after all–they’d probably rather ye do that than make a big show of it. I can picture the old sea dog keelin’ over on the spot if ye so much as asked ‘em in public!” They punctuated the statement with a guffaw.

Charlie couldn’t help but laugh in response. “You’re probably right. Wouldn’t be much of an occasion if that happened,” they joked. “I’m just nervous, I guess. You probably understand how it is.”

“Aye, that I do,” Mortimer replied. “But with the way they are around ye…well, I’ve been thinkin’ about what I’d say in me speech at yer reception for a long time.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you,” Charlie said with a shake of the head and a small chuckle. 

“Ol’ Mortimer can always tell which way the wind’s gonna blow,” the quartermaster boasted.

“I guess so.” More quietly, they continued, “You’re not gonna tell anybody, are you?”

“Nay, never,” Mortimer responded. “But I’d better get to hear how they reacted.”

“You’ll be the first to know. Swear to it.”

–

The silence in the top-floor office almost seemed to hum with anticipatory energy. Or, the sole being occupying it mused to himself, perhaps that was just projection, an attempt to reduce the weight on his mind by unfurling it and laying it across the entire room.

He’d made special preparations for tonight–no chance anyone could interrupt, no chance anything could interfere. Just him, his beloved, and the view from his office window–the night sky combined with the lights from Cosmopolis City below looked uniquely stunning tonight. Hopefully it was a romantic enough setting to warrant a proposal–anything else he could think of had felt too contrived, too obvious, too much. 

Fate glanced uneasily from the window to the clock on the wall. Charlie should be arriving any moment now. They’d reacted unexpectedly when he’d asked them to meet him in his office after they finished their shift–they seemed to noticeably relax, as though something had been worrying them and he’d just given them carte blanche to forget it entirely. Then they’d said, “I’ll see you then. Can’t wait,” kissed him, and headed back into the Emporium. That had only been a few hours ago, but it felt so long ago, and the sentiment they’d expressed–can’t wait–was one he shared.

Faintly, from the small entryway just outside his office, he heard the unmistakable ding of the elevator pull him back into the moment. Adjusting the box in his pocket one more time for good measure, he took a deep breath and then strode toward the door.

–

The elevator whirred toward the top of the building, announcing with faint tones every floor it passed. Charlie still retained their floor visibility clearance, despite everything, and they wished more fervently than ever before that they hadn’t. The building was far too tall, the wait far too agonizing. It was by no means uncommon for Fate to ask them to meet him in his office once they finished their shift, but the way he’d carried himself…they’d seen him that nervous exactly once before, and it was when the two of them met for their first date.

The memory brought a smile to their face. He’d been a little late–only by a few minutes, although he’d apologized profusely nonetheless and was clearly distressed that he hadn’t been able to make the exact time. They’d wasted no time forgiving him, their worries that he would stand them up or that they’d misinterpreted his intentions fading away. They could tell whatever worries he’d had were quelled in that moment too, and the only memory of that night they treasured more than the sight of his brow unfurrowing and his lips slowly curling into a subtle smile was the goodbye.

The two of them had been standing in the elevator outside the Emporium, preparing to go their separate ways for the night. Fate was asking, with a level of verbosity typical of one who hadn’t had much experience navigating romance, if they’d like to go out with him again sometime, and Charlie, still giddy about even getting to go out with him this time, had cut him off with an impulsive kiss and a delighted “Yes!!!”

The slight jolt of the elevator halting, followed by the whir of the opening doors, cut off the reminiscing. They patted the ring box in their pocket (logically, they knew it hadn’t gone anywhere, but with how many different trains of thought they had chugging in different directions, it felt important to ensure that they hadn’t forgotten the thing entirely), and made their way toward the door. They knocked once, heard Fate respond “come in” from the other side, and pulled the door open.

There he was, standing on the other side, hands behind his back, wearing a nervous smile. The moonlight shining through the windows illuminated him beautifully, and as he extended his hand to take theirs, Charlie found themself reminded of a romance novel. Two lovers, alone under a beautiful night sky, about to pledge their eternal devotion to one another.

Or, well, they hoped that last part was true and not just wishful thinking.

Fate pressed a kiss to their hand. “Good evening, my love,” he said, in that gentle tone they could only hope he reserved for them alone. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

“I could say the same for you,” Charlie replied, feeling their face warm and chuckling shyly. “Nobody better to spend such a beautiful night with. Although…the night sky’s not exactly the most beautiful thing I see right now,” they teased.

It never failed. Fate blushed harder than Charlie had ever seen before and his composure, while not completely gone, was clearly shaken. “Well…it’s interesting that you should mention the night sky,” he murmured, and though his glasses still concealed his eyes it was clear he was having trouble looking at them. “I thought it might create a…a suitable atmosphere.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. Surely he wasn’t also…they asked, “A suitable atmosphere for what?”

“There is…something I need to ask you. Something I have wanted to ask you for quite a long time.” He released their hand and reached into his pocket.

The anticipation was killing them. “And that is?” 

The silence as Fate lowered himself to one knee was as agonizing as it was brief. Charlie watched with a quiet excitement threatening to burst forth prematurely as he revealed what was in his hands: a small velvet box, which he opened to reveal a ring.

“Charlemagne, will you marry me?”

The excitement, no longer premature, burst forth immediately. Through delighted giggles, Charlie answered, “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I just have something to show you. You’re not going to believe this,” and fumbled in their pocket for a moment, pulling out their own ring box. Popping it open, they continued, “Fate, will you marry me?”

The two of them remained like that for a moment, staring at each other, in awe at what had just happened. Fate spoke first. “I…believe we both have our answers, don’t we?” He rose to his feet, and Charlie wasted no time throwing themself into his arms, nearly knocking the both of them to the floor.

“I love you,” they sobbed joyfully, burying their face in his chest and squeezing him tighter, desperate to get as close as they possibly could. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

Softly, Fate replied, “And I love you. Eternity is a long time, but I can think of no one better to have by my side throughout it.”

Charlie broke the embrace, pulling back just enough to reach up and pull Fate into a kiss. Eternity may be a long time, but they could happily spend all of it in this moment.

[duhragonball]

Neon Genesis Evangelion 23

"Heads up, NERV, becuase the 16th Angel is going to bring you down! That's right, you may have defeated all those other Angels, but I'm even stronger than all of them put together! I'm like a laser rope or something, and I've got creepy powers that let me burrow under people's skin or whatever. Oh, and those big guns your Evas use? Big deal! Those don't work on me! Now, take your best shot, humans, because it's the only chance you're gonna... wait."

"Kid, are you okay? Uh... don't you want to shoot at me or something?"

"Ma'am, I think the red one's having some kind of problem, maybe you could send out... Ma'am? Hello?"

"Uh... maybe I should come back tomorrow? Is that okay? Yeah, we'll pick this up some other time. Uh... sorry about... whatever just happened. Yeesh."

So Asuka is doing... well, I wouldn't call it "okay", but she's playing video games all day and spending every night at her friends' house. I mean, there's probably worse ways to cope with everything she's been through.

The SEELE group is mad at Gendo Ikari for several reasons, but most recently he lost the Lance of Longius during the most recent Angel battle, and they seem to think it's extremely important to their future plans. Gendo argues that the top priority of NERV is to destroy the Angels, and the Lance was the only way to do that. But they don't see it that way. During this little conference, another Angel is sighted over Tokyo-3, so Gendo excuses himself to deal with that. Meanwhile, SEELE openly worries that Gendo will betray them soon.

Let me try to summarize what I know about these guys. They seem to have something called the "Dead Sea Scrolls", which apparently allows them to predict certain future events. It occurred to me today that the name "Dead Sea Scrolls" may be a reference to the site of Second Impact, since Admiral Clownshoes once compared the waters of post-Impact Antarcica as a literal "dead sea".

Anyway, the SEELE plan apparently is their agenda to guide humanity beyond the dangers predicted in the Dead Sea Scrolls. The NERV Agency is charged with executing that plan, and SEELE also seems to believe that the Lance of Longius is critical to their success. They also think there should be at least eight Eva Units active.

But Gendo Ikari can barely keep three Evas in the field at the same time, and he seems to think that the only one he absolutely needs is Unit 01. So SEELE is mad about the destruction of Units 03 and 04, and the Lance being chucked into outer space, but Gendo Ikari considers this acceptable losses.

SEELE's dilemma is that they don't like or trust Gendo, but they have no alternative but to let him run the show. He's the only one who can, and yet they seem adamant that they understand the situation better than he does. Recently, they tried to turn Admiral Clownshoes against Gendo, but nothing came of it, so now they need another pawn to use against him. This turns out to be Ritsuko Akagi, so seems to be a better choice, since she actually knows more about what's going on.

So with the 16th Angel headed their way, the only one ready to fight it is Rei in Unit 00. Shinji is set up in Unit 01, but Gendo doesn't want to use him because no one is sure what might happen after that latest incident where Unit 01 went berserk and ate an Angel. As for Unit 02, Asuka suits up one more time to pilot it, but her sync rating has declined to the point where she literally can't operate the Eva anymore. Gendo orders it launched for use as a decoy, but it can't even step off the elevator when it reaches the surface. This doesn't help Asuka's morale at all.

Anyway, I think that's a really cool screenshot of Rei up there. I don't know, she just looks really sharp.

The Angel goes right for Rei, who grab it, but her gun is ineffective, and the Angel sends some sort of creepy veins into her Eva, and then into her own body.

Like Shinji from before, she experiences some sort of vision of another being, which appears in her form. Once again, I can't tell if this is the Angel or her own Eva. It offers to merge with her, and she refuses.

She snaps out of it and realizes that she was the one crying over her loneliness, and not the other she encountered in her mind. I think the Angel's effect on her is supposed to be intensely painful, but Rei's so stoic and unexpressive that she just isn't letting on.

With no other options, Gendo deploys Shinji to assist, but Rei doesn't want to put him at risk, so she activates some sort of self-destruct on her Eva. She refuses to abandon the Eva, because she needs to stay with it to maintain its AT field. I'm not sure why the self-destruct would work, since Rei already shot the Angel at point-blank range with no effect, but it does destroy the target, so I guess she knows what she's doing.

Ritsuko leads a recovery mission and they find the entry plug from Unit 00, but there doesn't seem to be any evidence of survivors.

Afterward, Misato tries to comfort Shinji but he refuses any affection from her, as it his wont. Then Misato gets a phone call...

And Rei's alive! Suspiciously, she has all the same injuries she had when she debuted in Episode 1, but I don't know if that's supposed to mean anything. Shinji thanks Rei for sacrificing Unit 00 to save him from the Angel's powers, but she has no memory of doing that.

Shinji doesn't understand, and she replies that it's "probably because I'm the third one." Hoo-boy.

At her home, Rei... well, a Rei, I suppose... she finds that broken pair of glasses from the time Gendo rescued her from the entry plug. She had kept them as a momento of that day, but now Rei... this Rei... grips them tightly, as though trying to crush them. Then she stops, and starts crying, and she doesn't know why.

Rei's apparent survival does raise some awkward questions. Admiral Clownshoes warns that this might cause problems with SEELE, and Gendo says he's bypassed this by sending them "an alternative."

That is, apparently, Ritsuko, who has been brought before SEELE to answer their questions in Rei's place. This is sort of like when SEELE questioned Misato a while back, because they wanted to talk to Shinji, and Misato refused to allow it because of his poor mental state. Well, this time Ritsuko is standing in for Rei, probably because Gendo didn't want SEELE to learn more about Rei.

And for some reason, Ritsuko appears to be nude for this interview? I mean, she could be wearing some strapless dress or something. I don't know what the point of this is. Anyway, she acts cool about it until SEELE informs her that Gendo was the one who put her here on the hot seat in Rei's place.

Meanwhile, Misato finally opens that little capsule Kaji gave her the last time they had sex, and it contains a little microchip. His voice mail to her said that he had sent her the same information at least thirty-six ways, but he knew most of them wouldn't make it. Presumably, this was the one that got through. I had wondered why Misato hadn't bothered to follow up on Kaji's investigation of NERV's secrets, and it looks like she's been too busy grieving over him to get to this point. So it looks like she's finally ready. Maybe Rei's miraculous survival was what tipped the scales.

Later, Ritsuko calls Shinji and takes him down to the bowels of NERV headquarters, but Misato shows up to meet them and pulls a gun on Ritsuko. Misato wants to see the secret for herself, and Ritsuko agrees, if Shinji can come along. Misato's fine with that, so off they go.

She takes them to a room that looks a lot like Rei's apartment, and Ritsuko explains that Rei grew up in that room. Then she shows them a chamber full of failed Eva models, including the one Shinji's mom was working on when she died. Apparently Shinji doesn't remember that he saw her die, but Ritsuko tells him he was there when it happened.

Then she takes them to the room where Rei would soak in that tube full of Tang. As I thought, this is how they made the Dummy Plug, but it's more than just recording Rei's brain patterns.

All around the room is a big tank full of Reis. I kind of saw this coming, but still, this is pretty creepy.

What's extra creepy is how they all open their eyes and smile at Shinji when he says their name. Ritsuko explain what they are and what they're for, but I don't really get it. Let me just transcribe the subtitles:

"Right, this is the production factory. These are all dummies. They are also replacement parts for Rei. Man found God, and they tried to pick him up. For that Man was punished! That was fifteen years ago, and the God they found disappeared. Then Man tried to resurrect God with his own hands, and created Adam. From Adam, Man created what resembles God, Himself. That is Eva! We put supposedly mindless human souls in Eva. All the souls were salvaged souls. Rei is the only container that can hold the souls. The souls are born only in Rei. The Room of Guaf is empty. These are empty containers. They have no souls. So, I want to destroy them because I hate them."

Ritsuko triggers some sort of destruct mechanism that causes the Rei bodies to disintegrate. As they die (?), Ritsuko explains that she was willing to endure any humiliation for Gendo Ikari, but in the end, he would always prefer "these dolls" over her.

And she knew it would be this way, because she was there when her mother tried to win Gendo's heart, and ended up destroying herself because she couldn't win over Rei. I guess Ritsuko also had the hots for Gendo? She might be speaking in a more platonic sense, I don't know. The point is that all her years of loyal service to Gendo are meaningless, and he'll sell her out to protect Rei in a heartbeat.

That's what she realized in the SEELE conference, so I'm not clear on what exactly went on there. Did they punish her for the loss of Unit 00? Was that why Gendo sent her in Rei's place? Is that why Ritsuko was nude? In any event, Ritsuko's finally decided she's had enough, so she's turning on Gendo, at least as far as destroying all the spare Reis and showing Misato and Shinji all the super secret stuff.

The thing is, does that even matter? I mean, Gendo's no dummy. He probably betrayed Ritsuko this way knowing she would turn on him like this. For all we know, this is part of his plan. Maybe that's why Ritsuko starts crying, and why she pleads for Misato to kill her.

Misato declines to shoot Ritsuko, and considers that the tragedy of this whole project lies in its people, including herself.

So... yeah. NERV has been mass-producing Rei for years, and I think it's reasonable to assume Rei is at least partially based on Yui Ikari. I'm not sure that Gendo is like, in love with the clones or something. The Akagis may have been frustrated that he likes Rei more than them, but I think it's more of a situation where Gendo is too fixated on his work to love any woman, even a woman who helps him with his work. And the work is embodied by Rei so that's why he gets along so well with Rei. I guess.

The next episode looks forward to the final battle against the 17th Angel, which is supposed to be the last one, but apparently they still haven't finished Episode 24, since the preview is all rough sketches and animation layouts. I guess we'll see what we see...

[detective-ki]

Her Devil

Translated from 太太的恶魔

Chapter 4

The moment he opened his eyes, tears slid down Yoshida's cheeks. He sat up and turned off the alarm. It was already 11:30. Outside the window, the sky was washed with bright blue. Sunlight poured in and cut out haphazard shadow on the ground.

Yoshida didn't know why he was crying. He attempted to remember the dream, but his mind was shut down. He couldn't recall anything about yesterday either - what day is today? Memory shattered into a series of indecipherable code.

The phone rang, the jazz ringtone ironically cheerful. Yoshida stared blankly at the word on the screen: “Boss". Fortunately, he understood the meaning of the word. Suddenly Yoshida realized it was time for him to answer the call; his boss is not a man of patience.

"Yoshida, did you just get up? It took you a good minute to pick up the phone.”

Yoshida returned a distinctly nasal "hmm," his voice muffled like a summer night before a rainstorm. A current of memory rushed in, and his stagnant mind finally kicked into gear. He blinked hard, carefully checking his memory.

”New mission is coming up. Investigate Mrs. Chow's workplace tomorrow at seven p.m. I got in touch with the manager of the studio and he assured that all the staff would leave by six thirty. He would wait for you, so be on time like you always do. Mrs. Chow's workplace is the third desk from the left by the window. Focus on her desk, but you'd better expand the scope to the whole studio."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Yoshida paced to the window and pressed his forehead against the cold window pane. The worries were back: the work, the melancholy, the dilemma, Mrs. Chow. For a moment he wanted to hide back in the vacuum of amnesia, to block out all the noise and forget the worries. But he immediately dismissed the thought. Another voice sneaked in with a rustle of electric current.

"Yoshida, if you don't make any progress in the next mission, you don't have to work for Mrs. Chow anymore. We would take the most direct approach to find out her devil. Take your chance."

The phone was hung up, the words still swirling. The most direct approach. Whether to put Mrs. Chow in danger or not, Yoshida had no right to decide. The organization had already offered him the answer, and the plan was unstoppable. The organization has always been like that. They make decisions, while I bear the consequences. Yoshida thought bitterly. He wanted to sigh but rather bursted into a cold laugh.

He turned around, the tear stains on his pillowcase reminding him of the unreasonable cry. There was no doubt that the frustration had been exacerbated and perhaps complicated by a brief period of memory loss. Yoshida was unsure of the relationship between frustration and amnesia; all he knew was that remembering too well was painful.

The sun had moved from the window to the center of the room. All the furniture - the wrinkled sheets, the glass table, the wooden chairs - were turned into sculptures. The diffused noontime sunlight gave them wonderful shadows. In this moment, the desperate room regained its harmony and integrity.

So this is the power of the moment. Yoshida smiled. He paused the mind game and contemplated the room in front of him for a while. The moment was simple and touching, and he was right in the middle of it: a few pieces of furniture and a ray of sunlight; the very presence of objects was beautiful enough. In this moment, the desperate Yoshida found peace.

Time never rests, and the fleeting moment escaped between Yoshida's fingers like sand. He lit a cigarette. The heads of the organization were serious about their words, and tomorrow’s investigation was his last chance. Yoshida only got one shot. He could not allow his failure to drag Mrs. Chow down with him. Whether she was involved with a devil was no longer important. What mattered was that she revealed the magic of real world to Yoshida, so he could appreciate every second in his life. He owed this simple but wonderful joy to Mrs. Chow.

"Go for it but don't mess with the power supply or the model on the table. Remember to close the door when you leave."

The manager pushed open the glass door and the incandescent lights automatically came on. The studio was a chaos. A dozen workstations were tightly packed around a long table, on which the unfinished model was half-buried by wooden panels of various shapes. A giant laser cutter dominated the corner, and the debris was piled into a mountain on the floor. The architects design fancy skyscrapers and mansions in this plain, if slightly shabby, place.

Yoshida thanked the manager and walked straight to Mrs. Chow's workstation, the smell of Fougère perfume wafting vaguely. The first thing that caught his eyes was the partition filled with notes and photos. Yoshida took out his camera and notebook but didn't know where to start. Most of the notes and photos were related to architecture, which was of little use to him in his investigation, unless her devil was the “devil of architecture". Yoshida doubt the existence of this devil. So far he had not heard of anyone fearing architecture.

Nevertheless, he read the poetic sentences Mrs. Chow had written, studying the pictures of some random windows and spiral staircases. She roams in her daydreams a lot. Yoshida admitted his curiosity was getting the better of him, even beyond the sense of urgency in the mission. He wanted to get to know Mrs. Chow - her as an interesting individual rather than as an object of surveillance. She restrained his opportunities in painless conversations at the dining table, except for confessing that story of her student days. There was a doorway with a gap that could be interpreted either as half-opened or half-closed. Yoshida chose the former and broke into Mrs. Chow's world.

Three photographs placed side-by-side caught Yoshida's attention. The contents were identical. With her back to the courtyard, Mrs. Chow was sitting under a colonnade on the second floor of a European-style building. Even the shadow cast by the Collins columns were inclined at the same angel. The difference lied in the color and resolution: the photo on the left was in black and white, with yellowed and worn edges; the middle one was in color but blurry; the one on the right looked up to date. There was no date on the photos. Only a note pinned to the side provided context:

"Taken yesterday, today and tomorrow, at Chiesa di Santa Maria della Pace. Architecture is my anchor."

Chiesa di Santa Maria della Pace. The name was somewhat familiar. Yoshida pondered for a moment and remembered that it was a convent in Rome. Due to the lack of time at which the photos were taken, Yoshida could only guess at what caused the differences in those three photographs: software processing, differences in equipment and printing methods, or simply traces of time. The first possibility makes the most sense and is the most conservative explanation. Yoshida did not rush to draw a conclusion, because the second possibility also makes sense. Mrs. Chow, who seems interested in photography, might have collected film and some old camera models. The three photos might be the result of a photographic experiment.

The last possibility is almost zero. If the wear and stain on the black-and-white photos were formed over time, then the first photo should be at least a few decades old. No way, Yoshida heard himself mutter. Mrs. Chow looks young, both in reality and the photo. Sometimes she looks too young to be addressed as "Mrs.". How could she have lived in the era of black and white photographs?

Yoshida stared at her face in the picture. Outlined with lipstick, her lips gathered a faint smile. She is a secret, and she knows secrets. The studio was so quiet that only the ticking of the clock reminded Yoshida of the time budget. He quickly made notes about the photos and glanced over the desk. Compared to the partition, the desk was empty, except for a charging cable and an ashtray. Yoshida then pulled open the drawer under the table. He checked the objects inside the drawer one by one and found out that they were no more than ordinary. Disappointment brewed until he touched the leather cover of a notebook.

[letstrywritingmaybe]

Still reeling from the high of checking another thing off my bucket list, again I know no one here cares but baby me is so happy for present time me. My attachment to sports is something no one can truly understand cause I can’t explain it. But it’s important to me and I love every minute of it even if I cry about it. Anyways, writing wise I’ve done nothing. But at least I’ll be posting Valentine’s Day events on time and I’ll update midnights too, I could do it early since I’m in such a great mood… in celebration of me going to the Super Bowl I guess and pre valentine! Which means I should probably work on Question…? today

Update: I slept way too much and I have a headache now, but I wrote about 1.8k for midnights which should count for something. Adding to this to say Question…? Is completed at 2.2k I swear there’s a theme of me writing longer chapters for heavier shinshi moments but they’re my ship okay. If I can stay up for another hour ish I’ll update tonight, if not then I’ll shoot for tomorrow night. Cause then it’ll be all valentines event stuff! I’m still so jazzed about that! I get to bake too! But I’ll need to run to the store since everyone’s been eating all of my kisses, ah well, it’s my favorite holiday I can get more

Update 2: I took some pain pills and had to stay up so I posted midnight rain, but also in the process I started to write the fake dating fic too and I’m now reminded of my dilemma with the rating cause I don’t want anything crazy which means I stay at T but there are moments where I flirt with the lines and that can be dangerous…

Unrelated musings: I sometimes think about posting my random musings/ partially written fics on ao3 just so I don’t keep the thoughts to myself but I have too many WIPs going on. Plus I really don’t think anyone would vibe with it so there’s no point sharing. I know this is fiction and all but I have a hard time suspending beliefs sometimes and it shows. Point in all of this is that I’m tired of reading fics where he’s like perfect especially during their first time together. Lately an idea has been haunting me and I think about writing it every single day now… I saw a similar fic that I hope the author continues cause we’ve not seen a fic like that yet in this fandom! But anyways, let him be bad at things. Cause he’s far from perfect and I hate that we have to keep pretending he’s always right

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

wouldn't change a thing. ( gregory house x reader )

gif belongs to me

You met when you were assigned to the nurses' desk in the clinic, and you had witnessed House drawing attention by shouting about Cuddy's breasts. You suppressed a smile, holding out a patient's file to him.

He sent you a wink before heading to an examination room. From then on, his clinic hours increased, and he often voiced his latest dilemma when you tried to get him to see another patient after pressure from Cuddy. She found that House would listen to you more than anyone else, although only sometimes. Still, a noticeable difference was that she had assigned you to be his babysitter when he was doing clinic hours.

If you had to ask yourself when your feelings for House began, you would say it was when he would come in and give you a compliment that wasn't sexualized but sweet and sincere. Or you would say it was from the moment you met him, with the cheeky wink he sent your way.

Ever since he had woken up after getting shot, you hadn't seen him at all, but Wilson kept you informed on his condition. The ketamine treatment was successful so far, and when you saw House enter the hospital, drenched in sweat from jogging to work, you were thrilled that his leg was improving.

You had spoken in weeks when he returned to the clinic duty. Instinctively you looked at the doors when they opened, surprised to see House enter, standing at his full height and with no cane in his hand. 

"Oh, great oracle, what do you got for me today?" He grinned.

You smiled brightly, refraining from hugging him as you handed him a case file. "Exam room one. It's a six on the interesting rating."

He raised his eyebrows jokingly, and you giggled as you watched him walk to exam room one. "We can talk about it over drinks."

It took a moment before you realized what he had said, and your laughter stopped when you realized he was serious. "A drink? Us?"

"Well, I drink. You drink." He said, walking over to you. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, "When?"

"How about tomorrow night?" 

You nodded, words failing you. House smiled before heading into exam room one.

Despite your nerves, the date ended well, and your relationship has been hot and heavy since that night. Most nights were spent at his apartment tangled in his sheets, and he had suggested moving in together. So what went wrong?

You knew he was trying to put distance between you, and you were worried about what you had done to make him do so. 

It was a delicate situation. You knew he probably had a million things on his mind or making a bucket list now that he could walk again. You weren't immune to his usual sass, although you had received an apology once when he had raised his voice at you during a stressful case.

You decided after two cancelled dates and limited talking at work. You were finding out why.

He was sitting behind his desk when you entered, and when he looked up at you, you could see a trace of regret, and it almost looked like he wanted to see you.

The speech you had practiced all day died on your tongue as you stormed to his desk, and when your lips parted to speak, all you could say was, "Why do you hate me?"

"I don't hate you." He said incredulously.

"So what did I do? Why have you been avoiding me?"

He sighed, breaking eye contact. You moved closer, looking at him pleadingly, knowing something was bothering him, and you weren't leaving until you got him to open up.

"Well, tell me what I didn't do." You smiled softly. "I thought we were fine." You sat on the edge of his desk, "Talk to me."

"The pain's back."

You frowned, "The ketamine wore off?"

"Yeah, that's why I have this." He picked up his cane. "Shocker, I know. It turns out it's not a fashion accessory."

You weren't fazed by his sarcasm, reaching out to comfort him. "I'm sorry. I'm sure we'll find something else for you to try."

"There won't be anything else." He raised his voice, exhaling forcefully when he saw your shoulders deflate. "This is it."

"What does your leg have to do with pushing me away?" You asked.

"Don't you get it? It changes everything." He said. "No more jogging together, no steamy wall sex. I can't even carry you to bed to have sex." 

"So...this is about sex." You stated slowly.

"Well, not all of it." He said. "I didn't want you to get disappointed when you realized the treatment was wearing off. Or be on the receiving end of mine."

You shook your head, moving closer. "You think I said yes to a drink because you got the use of your leg back? Greg, I could care less if you had two legs or one. I fell in love with the grumpy, miserable side of you long before we went jogging together. Will I miss speaking that extra time with you? Probably. But I'm glad that you're alive and those bullet wounds weren't fatal. I'll spend every day loving you if you'll let me."

He looked down, and you stepped between his legs, placing your hands on his cheeks as you leaned down to kiss him. His hands caressed your back as you slowly sat on his lap, smiling into the kiss.

When you pulled apart for air, he murmured, "I'm sorry for anything I say when..." he trailed off when you placed a finger on his lips.

"I wouldn't change you for the world." And he knew you meant it.

His lips met yours passionately, and you knew that the days to come would get harder, but you wouldn't let him push you away again. You wanted to be there when the pain was at its worst and when it was just a slight tingle. You would take the brunt of his anger and know he didn't mean it. But most of all, you would remember just how much you cared about each other, knowing that love would get you through it all.

[cjsinkythoughts]

His Only Contact

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1014

Warnings: Falcon and the Winter Soldier Spoilers!!!! A little angst, a little fluff, no cursing (I think)

A/N: This is a quick thing I wrote because I can’t sleep after watching that episode. I have so many ideas. I might continue this, too (just like everything else I write because I’m incapable of writing one-shots), but I’ll probably just write a few drabbles here and there when new episodes come out. I also added HBC’s Lucky in Love prompt for Day 19 in here, which is Odds.

FATWS SERIES MASTERLIST

Find my Day 14 Prompt here - Spring Forwards - and my Day 18 Prompt here - Ocean Eyes, Cherry Lips, Ivory Keys

AGAIN: SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

Shooting up. Greedily sucking in air. Sweat sliding down skin. Adrenaline rushing through veins. Wide eyes darting around the room.

Another night. Another nightmare. He was starting to think he’d never get another restful sleep.

The floor was hard beneath him, far better than the soft, malleable mattress he had in his practically empty room. The TV was on, as it always was, the soft glow making his eyes squint. The apartment was silent except for his pants, empty except for his shuddering form. He’s shirt was off - he didn’t like it sticking to him, it was too constricting, and he always ran hot anyways - his sheets tangled with his legs.

Reaching over to the small couch besides him, his hand slid over the cushions until he found what he was looking for.

He flipped open the small phone, going straight to the Contact page. He only had one in this phone. This phone no one knew about except them two. Not Sam, not his therapist. No one.

He quickly dialed the number, leaning back against the couch and letting out a puff of air. Finally, after a few rings, an exhausted voice came through, hoarse with sleep.

“Hello?”

“Hey…it’s me.”

“Oh. Hey. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, no. Everything’s…I’m…we just haven’t talked in a while.”

“I know. I’ve been meaning to call, but-”

“No, no. I get it. What you’re doing is important.”

“You’re important, too, Buck.”

Bucky took a breath, a small nod moving his head. “Uh, so, how’s the search? Found anything yet?”

“No. I’m in Edinburgh right now. They met here right before the whole thing in Wakanda…I thought she might come back.”

“No such luck?”

“No…you know what she did. What she’s capable of. The odds of finding her…” He heard her sigh and a frown etched onto his features. She sounded tired, but she spoke before he could bring it up. “What about you? How’re you doing?”

“I dunno, honestly.”

“Yeah. Okay, that’s fair. How’s therapy going with what’s-her-face?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s basically the same every session. ‘Are you having nightmares?’ ‘Are you making amends?’ ‘Are you following the three rules?’ ‘This is part of your pardon.’ Yadda yadda yadda.”

“Is it helping at all, at least?”

“I guess. The amends thing gives me something to do if nothing else.”

“Are you following the rules, though?”

“No one will know if I don’t.” The giggle she gives makes him brighten up. “I got lunch with Yori again on Wednesday.”

“Oh? How was that?”

“Fine. Good, even. I guess. I dunno. He set me up on a date with the girl who works behind the counter at Izzy.”

“OOooo! Fun! Is she pretty?”

“As a picture.”

“What did you do?”

“Played Battleship and drank. A lot in my case. Not that it did much...”

“James-”

“No, no! Not like that! She made it into a drinking game! I was losing.”

“You?”

“I’m a super soldier assassin. I don’t have x-ray vision.”

“Okay, okay. What went down after Battleship?”

“I, uh…I ran out on her.”

“Oh no. Why? What happened?”

“She, uh…she started talking about how nice it is for me to spend time with Yori and his son…I went to tell him, you know. I looked him in the eye and opened my mouth…but I saw a picture. Of his son.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Buck. You know that. It wasn’t you.”

He didn’t feel like arguing with her, so he just agreed. “Yeah. I guess.”

He could feel her suspicion through the phone, but luckily she decided not to pursue the topic. She always seemed to know what to say and when. “Did you have a good time at least? While you were there I mean?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I was - I was really awkward, I think. I dunno. It’s been a while.”

“But it’s better than online dating. I told you that was a bad idea.”

“You were also the one who told me to jump in head first.”

“Not on the internet. You psycho. There’s really whack jobs out there.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Hey!” He chuckled at her faux-offended tone, picturing her hand over her heart mockingly. “That hurt!”

“Kidding. You know I love you.”

“As long as you know I love you back…have you talked to Sam lately?”

“Uh…no. Not…not recently. How is he?”

“He’s fine. We just talked earlier. He’s in Louisiana right now with his sister. He’s got some family dilemma he’s trying to fix. He, uh, he gave the shield up earlier this week. Apparently the new Smithsonian exhibit is pretty good. Maybe we’ll check it out sometime…what do think?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Sometime. Are-are you coming back soon?”

“I was planning to. I really don’t think I’ve got any chance of finding Wanda at the moment. Or Vision for that matter. I still can’t believe SWORD didn’t contact us. I’m so pissed.”

“I know. Maybe it’s good you didn’t get informed, though. We all know how you get when it comes to the team.”

“The Avengers are my family, Bucky. I’m loyal to a fault, you know that.”

“Yeah. I do. I think Steve rubbed off on you after all those years.”

“You think?”

“Definitely.”

They fell into a comfortable, contemplative silence, Bucky’s eyes watching the screen of the TV still glowing from across the room. “What if I dropped by tomorrow? Is that too soon?”

“Tomorrow as in today? It’s one o’clock here.”

“It’s five here. So tomorrow as in tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“Either one would be fine, but yeah. Get some rest. Call me when you have your flight information.”

“Okay. You get some rest, too. Or, at least, try to. You sound tired.”

“You know I don’t sleep well without you.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow. Promise. Then we can stay in all day and you can catch up on sleep.”

“How long will you be here?”

“As long as you need me, James. Good night.”

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

Bucky hesitated, before shaking his head. “G’night, doll. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Buckaroo.”

[1kook]

BORN SINNER III

→ MASTERLIST

summary; Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you. warnings; virgin jungkook, timid jungkook, church boy jk, a LOT of religious themes/discussion, catholic guilt, fear of sinning, mentions of masturbation, heavy doubts, a little paranoia/fear of being outcasted, jk has a crush, confessions, making out, boob lover jk has his boobs touched, groping/petting, light praise, very brief/light choking, jk is horny like 75% of the time, positive character development <3 rating; m (18+) wc; 9.5k

banner; as always, by @jamaisjoons​ !! ty ty ty!! <3333

notes; i have to apologize for delaying this update for so long. truth is, it was difficult to write the next part bc i felt like i had trapped myself in pt2-- jk wasn't showing ANY progress & i started to really hate his character. LUCKILY, with the help of my amazing editor n wife @kigurumu​ *audience cheers* i was able to put him back on the right track towards redemption! (& even more painful angst in the future!) sadly, that means that this part doesn't include any explicit smut, you'll see why. still, I'm very proud of how much i was able to build his character in this part and i hope you enjoy it!!! lemme know what u think <3

in the future, i will try my best to make sure the chapters aren’t so spaced out. again, i am so so sorry about taking so long to update this series

He gets your text the following Tuesday morning. 

Now, Jungkook has never been one to be overly invested in his cell phone; he uses it as much as he needs to, just checks his emails, takes some photos, and sends texts when necessary. But you had set up a particularly unique ringtone for yourself the other day, had sweetly asked for his phone as he laid against your chest. His skin had felt warm and the slightest bit sweaty, his body pressed so closely against you that he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. “Did you have fun?” you asked, fingers combing back his hair. He had hummed, eyes fluttering shut to the faint tapping of your fingers across the keyboard. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember the soft beating of your heart beneath his ear, the leg you had hooked around his waist to pull him closer. The memory makes him shiver. 

It’s a high-pitched bell sound that alerts him of your messages now, completely unlike the classic default tone he had set for everyone else. 

From the other side of his room, Jungkook immediately pauses to look at it, the lit up screen glaring back at him from its idle place on his bedside table. He always leaves it there in the mornings, beside his rosary and the picture of his family, as he gets ready for work. 

He knows exactly who it’s from— after all, that’s what you wanted when you stylized your ringtone —which is why his hand trembles in excitement as he unlocks his phone. 

[❤️]: picnic tomorrow? 🥰

[❤️]: after my last class of course

Jungkook’s first thought is that this was a date, his first one with you since he had met you. His heartbeat hammers at the thought, at the mere suggestion that the two of you would be able to spend more time together this week outside of your usual weekend… acts. Additionally, if you’re asking him on a date, then surely it means you view Jungkook as a potential suitor, just as he does you? Do you want to maybe date Jungkook? Jungkook certainly wants to date you— in fact, if he starts gathering his courage now, he might be able to properly ask you out tomorrow. 

Jungkook’s second thought is of that guilty, gross feeling that’s been gnawing at his insides for three days now, and how it was inevitably going to get worse when he saw you again. 

He had lied to you, Jungkook recalls, sinking down against his mattress, shirt half buttoned, as he stares at the screen. He had lied to your face during a critical moment, had felt that seed of doubt in his chest blossom more than ever. And not only had Jungkook lied to you, but he had lied to you about his feelings toward you. How could he ever hope to hold you close, to date you, when he couldn’t even be honest with you?

The memory of your curious gaze presents itself at the forefront of his mind, the soft sound of your laughter ringing in his ears. 

You had been so sweet to him despite his blunder, had cupped his face and kissed him on the lips when he dropped you off outside your apartment. “Not today,” you crooned, unbuckling yourself as Jungkook’s eyes trailed over your throat— ignoring your cross —and down your chest. “I have schoolwork to catch up on. But soon, okay?” Another sweet peck had left him trailing after your touch, your finger bopping the tip of his nose playfully. “Call me when you get home.”

And because he was so terribly, irrevocably smitten with you, Jungkook had done as you said and called you. He’d called you and then had whimpered against his sheets as you generously talked him through another sinful deed. You had softly sighed his name over the line, told him he was handsome and that you missed him. That you wanted him in your mouth—

And of course, he had felt… something afterwards. 

This is where his dilemma begins: Jungkook had felt something afterwards, and he’s not sure if it had been entirely good or bad. The longer Jungkook stays around you, hangs out with you, does things with you— the more he can feel parts inside of himself change. Because after the phone call, Jungkook had felt two distinct emotions within himself, both of which were up for questioning. 

First, there was that one feeling he was becoming all too familiar with, the crushing guilt that would consume him following any sexual interaction with you or himself for that matter. Why was he like this? Why did he indulge himself in such heinous pleasures when he knew, knew better than anyone, what committing such acts meant for the future of his soul? He was practically dooming himself the way he was now, but Jungkook just didn’t understand— why did something so bad feel so good?

But alongside that gnawing guilt was this tiny, weirdly pleasant satisfaction, a gratification that superseded the relief felt by an orgasm. It was this oddly serene feeling that settled over Jungkook in the moments following a climax, the soft brush of your hands through his hair, the low lilt of your voice. They made him feel like he was floating on the softest of clouds, kissed and pampered by its wispy tendrils. It made something inside of Jungkook feel different, new. Good. 

(In the back of his mind, Jungkook realizes he’s always felt that way. At the height of his pleasure, at the faintest brush of your hands against his. It was a staple of your presence, one that made Jungkook feel like he was walking on air.)

From whatever angle he looked at it, it just didn’t make sense. They were contrasting emotions; while one made him feel godawful, the other one practically made him transcend. The fact they could coincide, exist all at once, had Jungkook’s brain folding in on itself as he tried to figure out why. They kept him up the last few nights, eyes blankly staring up at his ceiling following his evening prayers. Mulling over everything he’s ever learned and been told, always circling it back to your beautiful presence in his life. 

He knows sex in itself is not bad— after all, that was how the beautiful process of life came to be —but years upon years of studying his religion, cultivating his faith, had all led him to the same conclusion: premarital sex was wrong. And for the past few weeks, well. That’s all Jungkook had been doing with you. 

It seems like every time you meet, you’re dead set on pleasuring him, turning Jungkook into a shivering, teary-eyed mess while you grinned from above. That confused him too— as far as Jungkook knew, the whole point of sex was to chase after your own pleasure, something you admittedly did not do. It was always Jungkook’s pleasure, Jungkook’s enjoyment that you wanted, covering him in languid kisses and long caresses until he was inevitably shooting his hot cum all over your lap and into your hands. 

You had told him it was okay, that he should never feel bad for enjoying himself. But, to return back to his original dilemma, he doesn’t quite know if he can trust your word. 

You’re a liar, that much Jungkook can look past his rose-tinted glasses to admit. While you may not have lied to him (or at least, Jungkook wants to believe you haven’t), the fact still stands that you are quite willing to deceive others in order to get what you want. He already knows you aren’t the biggest believer of the Church yourself, that you frequently brush off your religious duties in order to fulfill your own desires— the aforementioned sexual cravings probably the biggest one —so, quite frankly, Jungkook is untrusting of the rest of your practices. Were you lying to him, telling him all was well, just for your own benefit? Just because you wanted to drag him along on your lustful adventures? He wasn’t sure, and as much as he wanted to trust you wouldn’t, there’s a shred of doubt that plagues him. 

But still. 

Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you.

He taps his phone against his chin, brain a frenzied mess. 

If Jungkook really wanted to pursue this relationship with you, he needed to be honest with himself and with you. Did it bother him that you were so flippant with the Church, the one he himself feels so devoted to? Yes and no. Jungkook has never been one to impress his beliefs on others, and truthfully, he would not be the slightest bit bothered if you don’t believe in the same things he does. Would there be some awkwardness in your relationship? Certainly, but at least Jungkook would know the real you from the very beginning. 

But to him, posing as an avid follower when you really aren’t rubs part of him the wrong way. He’s slightly put off by that aspect of you, and justifiably felt that anyone would feel such a way if someone were to use something they love as mere leverage for their own personal gain. And to make matters worse, now that he’s been made aware, it weighs down heavily on his conscience. 

Part of Jungkook, as selfish as it may be, wishes you had never revealed your secrets to him. He may have been left in the dark a total fool, but at the very least he would have been a happy fool. Would he still feel guilt about all the sexual deeds he’s partaken in with you? Sure, but at least he would only have himself to blame. The way things are now, he’s unsure who really needs to be condemned. 

Realistically, it is Jungkook’s fault. He knows how you are and even more, he knows you would never proposition him for any such sexual deed if he told you no, if he simply denied you. But he doesn’t tell you no, and that’s the problem: Jungkook really likes you as you are now, questionable behavior be damned. He likes you when you make him cry and when you pinch his cheeks and when you snake your hand down his pants. 

He still thinks you’re amazing, gets this fluttery feeling when you look at him with that sparkling gaze of yours. Your laughter makes him smile, even if you’re not laughing at something he said, because the sound is just so comforting, warm and soothing, makes his entire body relax when you chuckle. You have this gentle touch, these delicate hands that carefully comb his hair back for him in the car sometimes, tracing the side of his face softly. Your smile makes him dizzy, makes him want to cup your face in his hands and kiss you breathless. And, of course, he can’t complain about your… other talents when he’s only been on the beneficial receiving end of said talents. That aforementioned satisfaction, as small as it may be and as difficult as it was to admit to, was something Jungkook has begun to look forward to on the occasions that you meet. 

But his inability to overlook his own beliefs and your confusing nature brings about a great strife within Jungkook. It’s the reason he hesitates outside the church after dropping you off, his car running as he glares at his steering wheel. Everything in him says to go inside and confess to his sins, relieve himself of this overwhelming sense of guilt and shame to the closest person to his Lord. 

But he’s scared. 

Scared that, despite the oath of confidentiality, word will get out. His fellow brothers in faith will hear about what he’s done and call him out for his lecherousness. But even worse, he’s scared of what will happen to you. Would Jungkook’s life be over if he were thrown out of his beloved church? As dramatic as he may be, no. But he recognized that there were different standards to which men were held in this society, that an act of desire by him would not ruin his name the same way it would you. 

And Jungkook didn’t want that. He wanted to keep you safe. Wanted you to be happy and smiling, regardless of how conflicted it made him, because he likes you. He likes you so much, despite the fact he has yet to uncover the true extent of your character. 

But the cloud of mystery is partially what intrigues him, has him pondering over your very existence instead of getting ready for work as he is now. He’s terribly enamored, thinks about you and prays for you every night. So maybe Jungkook is still the fool, because he still daydreams about you when he knows he shouldn’t. 

His phone buzzes in his hand—

[❤️]: i miss you bunny ☹️

—and his decision is made. 

Tuesday passes by in a blur and before he knows it, it’s Wednesday afternoon and you’re texting him the location of one of the parks in the city. You had told him not to worry about the food because you would bring it. Jungkook’s only job was bringing the picnic blanket, a huge checkered thing he had spent all morning rifling through three stores for. He wants to impress you, desperately so, that he’s even wearing a nicer outfit today, darker tones unlike his normal warm palette because he had heard a woman at his job say men look cooler in dark colors. 

Suffice to say, he sticks out like a sore thumb at the park, the stark black of his jeans contrasting with the vibrant green of the neatly cut grass. Jungkook has half the mind to feel self-conscious about it, but then you’re calling his name from a couple meters away and his breath leaves his lungs. 

“Hi,” you greet, the handle of your wicker basket held tightly between two hands; Jungkook rushes to relieve you of the weight. “Did you wait long?” you ask, rewarding his gentlemanly behavior with a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth that kick-starts his heart back into action and has his face burning up. 

In all honesty, you have never dressed very modestly— not that you had to, nor that there was anything remotely wrong with that. Jungkook has spent many a mass service fighting the urge to glance down the front of your dresses and tops, ignoring the cleavage you liked to show off now and then. But apparently, what Jungkook had seen up until now was your version of dressing modestly. The dress you show up with today, an off day where there are no church ladies to impress and no unspoken dress codes to follow, makes his brain short circuit. The thin, thin, straps that hold it up giving him an all access view to the broad expanse of your shoulders and chest and collarbones and boobs—

“No!” Jungkook rushes to reassure you, fighting down the blush that threatens to travel further down his neck when you carefully straighten out the collar of his shirt for him. “I- I, um, just got here.” 

You beam at the news. “I bought cheesecake,” you tell him, looping your arm through his as you tug him along. “I hope it hasn’t melted yet!”

By the time the two of you settle at a suitable spot near the lake, the cheesecake hasn’t melted. It’s still cold and solid, tastes like heaven on Jungkook’s tongue, and you laugh when his eyes light up. You look gorgeous like this, nestled against the checkered picnic blanket with a glass bottle of sparkling water in your hand, sandals just beside the edge of the blanket. There’s the faint chime of a bicycle bell somewhere to his left and the chatter of birds as they flock over the pond. Wonderful sights that would normally take his breath away and make him marvel at their beauty, but when you smile at him so gingerly like that, all Jungkook can think about is you. 

He watches you slip a strawberry past your lips. “Tell me about yourself,” you hum, seemingly out of the blue, wiping the corner of your mouth with one careful finger. “Other than, like, church stuff,” you tease. 

As you lean forward for another one, Jungkook’s brain stutters for a moment, eyes focused on the curves of your boobs as they naturally follow the movements of your upper body until he’s dizzy. “Huh?” he says, and you snort. “Oh— me, right, yes um—“

“Your favorite color?” you suggest, tugging the skirt of your dress tighter around your legs. It’s not cold, but there’s a slight breeze that keeps rolling over the two of you, pushing your floral scent over Jungkook and fluttering through his hair. “Right now, all I know is that you like cheesecake because you ate three slices at the bazaar the other week,” you chuckle.

It’s such a basic question, the bare minimum of knowing a person. But when you look at Jungkook like that, blinking those long lashes at him, it makes him forget his answer. “Um… Red,” he murmurs, watching you tug off the stem of the strawberry in your hands. “And white.”

You nod, and then you’re stretching a hand outward to offer him the aforementioned strawberry. When he doesn’t open his mouth right away, you silently demonstrate first, until Jungkook is slowly parting his lips and accepting your strawberry. The flavor bursts on his tongue, sweet and sticky, coating the very tips of your fingers when you don’t pull away fast enough. Jungkook averts his gaze when you pop them between your own lips and suck them clean. 

“Red and white,” you repeat, unaware of the lustful images that flicker through Jungkook’s mind, the way his eyes unconsciously drop to the front of your dress, at the crevice between your breasts that he remembers oh so well, the tight suction around his cock as you— “They make pink, which is my favorite color.” He desperately clears his mind of the memories that flash before his eyes. 

It’s a pretty color, fit for a pretty girl. Jungkook keeps the thought to himself as he watches you sift through the contents of your basket. It’s the perfect compliment to give you, he knows it’d make you happy, but his valor disappears when you throw him a soft grin and he’s transported back to a more recent memory, the memory in the car instead. 

A bad influence, he had called you, had watched your eyes well up with an emotion he had never seen on you before. Sadness? Disappointment? Disgust? He wasn’t sure, all Jungkook could really remember was the acidity on your tongue when you had repeated the words back to him, the ghost of your touch when you had abruptly pulled away from him, shut him out. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so closed off before, not even when he had first met you and you were parading around with that staged shyness. 

And even when Jungkook had corrected himself afterwards (read: lied to you to cover his tracks), the emotion had lingered. Even when you had playfully brushed him off, he had caught your reflection in the window beside you as he drove to your place. The sullen look on your normally happy face, lips down-turned, eyes lowered. A look he had put there. 

And now he’s watching you carefully rip apart bread to throw at the birds with a tender smile. A cloud moves and suddenly the sun is beating down on your little picnic again, casting a beautiful glow across your skin that renders him breathless for the shortest moment, trapped by the sheer beauty you exude. You’re absolutely ethereal, and yet he had questioned you. Your morals, your character, everything. 

“__?” he says before he can stop himself. 

You hum, “yes, bunny?” before pausing your little feeding task to glance back over at him. When you look at Jungkook like this, meet his gaze straight on, he doesn’t see an ounce of ingenuity in your eyes. It might be Jungkook’s lovesick heart speaking, but he can’t imagine you ever lying to him. He looks away first, frowning at the various fruits sprawled between the two of you. 

You care about him, that much Jungkook wants to believe. And his beliefs are confirmed, when your voice drops an octave lower, becomes softer, as you murmur, “is everything alright?” The fruits are carefully set aside, breaking the wall between the two of you until you can shuffle forward, your knees bumping against his. Hands reach for his, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his skin. 

Before you can repeat your inquiry a second time, Jungkook finds himself asking, “do you like me?” 

Jungkook’s sudden inquiry makes your cheeks heat up just the slightest, your startled inhale barely contained. 

It’s like a scene straight out of a teenage romcom— a confession in a park, your hearts bared for each other. But it’s a little awkward, you have to admit, unintentionally giving Jungkook’s soft hand a nervous squeeze as his question rolls over in your mind. 

Duh, you want to say. But there’s something about the look in Jungkook’s eye— the eyes he very purposefully turns towards your hands, the hair he had let loose today providing him ample protection from your gaze —that has you pausing, carefully considering your next words. 

You had hoped by now that it was obvious, that Jungkook understood how much he meant to you, and didn’t require some dorky confession in the park. Partially because, well. This wasn’t your usual role. Usually, it was the guy confessing to you, raving about all your redeeming qualities in an effort to win you over. But with Jungkook, all you know about relationships is flipped upside down, forcing you to play a position you’ve never played before. 

Jungkook wasn’t like you; he was soft and sentimental, practically wore his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. And it was a massive heart, filled with so much love and adoration for the world around him, that you felt bad when he wore such sullen expressions on his face.

Expressions like the one he has now, lips pressed together tightly as he misreads your silence. He has honest eyes, a dark toffee color that sends tingles down your spine when he looks your way. They glimmer with a sort of innocence for the world, a thin sparkle that makes him look like a prince sometimes. He was devastatingly handsome, and now he was upset. “Um— it’s okay,” he stammers, trying to move the conversation along. But his eyes flicker around nervously, anxiously. Like your silence has left a burn mark on him, painful and delicate to the touch. 

His comment isn’t completely unexpected. How very on-brand for big-hearted Jungkook to try to save you from an uncomfortable interaction, even if it was caused by him. “Um…” he murmurs, “it’s okay. If you don’t, uh. Like me?”

It sounds flimsy, even to you. 

“No, no,” you rush to correct, your ability to speak slowly coming back to you only after the fact. “I do,” you admit, nerves on edge at this rather foreign situation. “I… like you a lot, Jungkook.”

You shouldn’t be surprised by his reaction. Jungkook blinks slowly, like his brain is still processing the information, and then, ever so artfully, goes up in metaphorical flames. “O- Oh,” he stutters, reaching a free hand up to press his knuckles against his face. The rosy hue that had first blossomed over his cheeks has now started crawling down his neck now, up his ears. It’s terribly endearing. “I— um. I didn’t know,” Jungkook rambles, and it’s so cute, so sweet, how a simple confession from you renders him this flustered.

His face emanates a warmth tangible even on your own skin, lips cutely quirking to the side as he fights off a bashful smile and the raging blush your words bring about. It certainly is a sight to see. His hair tickles his eyebrow, swept out of its usually neat style, but it makes him look all the more gorgeous. “Cute,” you chuckle, feeling the slightest bit shy at such a warm response from Jungkook. You sit back, giving him the space he needs, and turn your attention up at the big blue sky instead. “Really? I thought it was obvious,” you hum.

Part of you actually feels really awkward; as you said before, everything is so brand new with him.  With Jungkook, he flips everything around for you, makes you actually admit to your emotions as opposed to simply going along with his. It’s a nice change of pace, as difficult as it may be, and the results are rather… cute as well. (He bites down a smile, but the action makes his normally soft cheeks look more pronounced than usual.) 

“Because, I, um. Me too,” he says, voice wavering. He clears his throat and tries to meet your gaze under his fringe, but doesn’t last more than a second before he’s pointedly glancing at the picnic blanket beneath the two of you. “I’m— I like you too,” he admits, ears tinted a bright red. You figured as much but it was always nice to hear, especially from someone like Jungkook. “A lot.”

“Thanks,” you smile, placing a hand on his thigh. 

His lips pull into a shy smile, aimed at your knees because he can never look you in the eye when you shower him in praise and other gooey, mushy feelings. It’s the same in the car or against your front door— he always manages to give your hand a tight squeeze, maybe even a kiss if he’s feeling brave. But the second you try to tell him you’ve had fun or that you’ll miss him, it’s like all his courage fades away, leaving him a blushing, smiley mess.

He was cute like that. Despite being so kind and caring, it was like Jungkook’s entire being stopped functioning when those types of gestures were aimed at him. So you relished those moments, looked forward to them with a fluttery feeling in your heart that couldn’t be tamed. 

Today, he throws you for a loop. Just as that proud, giddy smile appears, cheeks and ears a pretty pink, it fades away. The excitement from your mutual confessions seems to remind Jungkook of something else, something less warm, that has him quietly mumbling, “I’m sorry.” 

It’s confusing, to say the least. Just a moment prior, he had been pursing his lips in a silly attempt to hold back a smile. Now he’s staring at the ground with a rather pensive look, his apology sitting heavy in his throat. “What for?” you tentatively ask after one long beat. It had been so sudden. In your mind, there isn’t a single reason for Jungkook to be apologizing to you, especially so out of the blue. There is, however, an inkling of fear brought upon by what can only be classified as insecurity; you had just confessed your feelings for each other, why was he sorry about that? 

Jungkook exhales, a quiet sound that is nearly lost among the bustling noises of the park. If you hadn’t been sitting so close, maybe you wouldn’t have heard it at all. “I just,” he huffs, pointedly glaring at some random spot of grass beside you. His features look sharper than ever now, jawline defined, brows narrowed together. It’s a rather misplaced realization, but Jungkook looks absolutely gorgeous with distress painting his face. “I was… being selfish before.”

In the few weeks you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize Jungkook was many things. First and foremost, he’s an absolute gentleman. Raised on manners and compassion, looking after others everywhere he went. He was caring and sweet, loved this world and the people in it so much. Soft-spoken but straightforward. He was dreamy, disgustingly so. 

But selfish? It definitely sounds like something Jeon Jungkook is not. 

Before you can interrogate him even further, it seems like Jungkook is dead set on getting through this alone. “I- I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes downcast. Noticing his wavering confidence, you resign yourself to listening, hand giving him a reassuring squeeze. Finally, after a short moment, Jungkook murmurs, “...in the car.” You tilt your head to the side curiously, waiting for him to go on. “I said, um. Something rude.” 

It takes a moment for the memory to load, and when it finally clicks into place and begins rolling, you find yourself muttering a faint, “ah.” 

If it’s what you think it is, he’s talking about last weekend outside of the church. That terribly awkward encounter that had left a sour taste in your mouth afterwards. A bad influence, you recall him saying, the memory of his voice looped in your mind the entire drive to your place. 

In all honesty, it had stung a little. While you were aware that Jungkook had an ongoing mental battle, you hadn’t realized your role was that big in it. It’s the reason you had sent him home that day, made up a lie about schoolwork just to give him some space. It’s nothing new, everyone’s had someone think badly of them before; gossipy classmates, rivals, maybe even random strangers on the street. But it felt different when it was coming from someone as sweet as Jungkook, so polite and righteous, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Like he was stating a fact, not an opinion. 

It was a slip-up on Jungkook’s end, that much you could tell. Because he had been frantic to correct himself afterwards, had looked at you with these fearful eyes, like one wrong move and you’d slip from between his hands. Luckily, you weren’t that sensitive— definitely not as sensitive as him, at least —and such a comment had been practically meaningless moments later. 

Still, in those few moments where it was meaningful (read: the short period it took for Jungkook to get home and call you, the words looping around your brain until the harsh ring of your cell phone finally interrupted), it had left you wondering. Have you been pushing him too far, asking for too much? The way you saw it, you always gave Jungkook room to object to any of your advances. You know he’s trapped in his thoughts more often than not, but you pay attention to him, you really do. You make sure to take his reactions into account, try to offer solutions where possible. But, for the briefest moment, all of those efforts had felt fruitless that day in the car. 

What you say next is not a complete lie; sure, Jungkook’s comment had hurt for a bit, but here he was now apologizing for it. That was a good sign… right? “It’s okay,” you brush off, patting his cheek softly, hoping with every fiber in your being that it really was okay.

Your voice is gentle, soothing his doubts. Just moments prior, Jungkook had felt like he was asking for too much, especially when your feelings toward him were up in the air. But your earnest confession soothed the ache in his heart. It’s all he’s wanted these past few months, to belong in your heart like you do his. 

But the guilt from before, the tumultuous feelings he’s been harboring towards you since the weekend, dampens his excitement. From your confession alone, it doesn’t seem like you questioned Jungkook. You weren’t put off by who he was, what he loved. So why couldn’t Jungkook be like you, think like you?

“I’m still sorry,” he says again, feeling like a broken record when he catches this sympathetic smile on your face. The scraps of eloquence he had gathered while originally apologizing seem to fade away, leave him a stuttering mess when he tries again. “That was— I shouldn’t have said—“

“Hey,” you cut off, placing a hand against his cheek. It stops his fidgeting, forces him to meet your gaze head on. There’s a smile on your face but something inside of Jungkook says it doesn’t feel real. “I like you, Jungkook.” 

And it’s true and genuine, your words so honest it pains him to think he had ever thought otherwise. And you’re still smiling, even after being hit with the implication that Jungkook questioned your character and maybe that’s what hurts the most. That you still try to put on an easygoing expression for him after he’s said something hurtful. It’s the car all over again, that blank look in your eyes when he had spoken carelessly. 

Before he can apologize for the umpteenth time, you’re shaking your head softly, smiling anew. But this time, he can’t tell if it’s real or not. “I brought orange juice,” you say, expertly moving the conversation along. And just as Jungkook has been thinking for weeks now, it’s like you know him so well. You know when things make him anxious or uncomfortable, know just how to help him out. 

There’s a feeling of guilt that blossoms in his chest, but this time it’s different. 

It’s not the usual sticky gross feeling of before, the one that has him staying up at night repenting for all his wrongdoings. It’s a personal kind of guilt that comes along with the frank realization that, while you have been learning and adapting to being around Jungkook, he has not been doing the same for you. 

Though you may be a little playful at times, you don’t tease him for who he is, don’t stomp all over his beliefs as much as he deluded himself into thinking you do. (That whole, faux-believer thing was a different circumstance.) Like with the cross in his house the other day. As much as Jungkook wanted to believe what you had done was evil, he had, quite honestly, enjoyed himself afterwards. There wasn’t that heavy discomfort sitting on his chest anymore, that sense of shame lingering as you’d kissed his body and let him caress yours too, in the safety of your eyes only. It was enjoyable and fun, had felt exhilarating to be so intimate with you. 

And instead of being thankful for your mindful efforts, he had questioned your sincerity. 

The picnic goes by in a flash. Jungkook is sad he can’t enjoy it to the fullest, his brain filled with clamorous thoughts that circled around to torture him every few minutes. Still, the entire date feels like a dream, vibrant and beautiful, leaving him in a daze. He doesn’t want to wake up. 

By the time you suggest wrapping up, the sun is setting over the horizon, the windows and lights of the buildings around you slowly flickering to life like a sea of tiny stars. He feels weak in the knees as he helps you pack everything back in your basket. “All set,” you smile, walking beside him, knuckles brushing against his until you fulfill Jungkook’s wordless wish and slip your hand into his. 

Jungkook agrees, hoping his hand isn’t sweaty and that you mean what you say. “I- I liked the food,” he remembers to mention, the fact that you had so carefully and lovingly prepared all this not entirely lost on him. His compliment, as simple as it may be, has you beaming at him as you exit through the park’s front gates. His car is parked along the street, the sleek vehicle coming into view as you round the street corner, hands still fastened. “Um,” he mumbles, pausing beside it. You turn to face him, eyes clear and content. 

All good things come to an end, he supposes, reluctantly letting go of your hand when you tug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” you say, stepping up close, chest pressed against his. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes going wide when you nuzzle against his neck. Your hands slip around his waist. They wrap around him perfectly, make Jungkook feel like he was made for you. 

By the time he’s springing into action, jerkily raising his free hand up to your back, you’re stepping away. “Call me when you get home,” you wink, sending shivers down his spine when he remembers what happened the last time you said that. 

But Jungkook doesn’t think he can wait that long. 

You’re slipping further and further away, fingertips just barely brushing against his forearm, when Jungkook jolts into action. “How are you, um—“ he stammers, feels too big for his shoes when you tilt your head curiously. And then, “d- do you need a ride?” he mumbles, cheeks warm. 

It’s a feeble attempt at asking what he really wants. Offering you a ride home, while not a bad idea considering it was late and you had taken the bus here, is nowhere near what Jungkook really wants. What he wants is standing before him, thin spaghetti strap slipping down their shoulder, eyes sensually half-lidded and you know this too— because, again, you know Jungkook so well, know what he wants even if he can’t say it —as you step into his bubble again, peer up at him with your arms held behind your back. 

“A ride home?” you ask, blinking your long lashes in a way that robs him of his breath. And he can see that switch flick on inside of you, watches that pure and innocent gleam in your eyes slowly become replaced with something mischievous. Jungkook nods dumbly. “I’d love that.”

Jungkook blinks. “Great,” he chokes out, neatly dropping the wicker basket in his hands. In a way, it brings him back down to reality, lets him snap away from your hypnotizing gaze as he reaches for the keys in his pocket. “Let me— I just have to— yeah,” he stammers, clicking the button on his car keys one too many times, has it perkily beeping. Your lips press together into an amused smile, the last thing Jungkook sees before ripping himself away from you and yanking the back door open. 

He nearly throws the basket in like a madman, glassware be damned. It’s his last shred of rationality that tells him not to, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge as he steps up to the edge of the sidewalk and carefully places it on the floor behind the passenger’s seat. 

When Jungkook rises back up, there is a hand that brushes against his forearm, a gentle touch that has him throwing a curious glance your way. He’s not expecting to be so entranced by the dreamy look in your eyes, feet glued to the ground as you trail your hand down, catching his wrist between your fingers. You’re standing so close, making Jungkook feel like he’s trapped between you and his own car. His entire body is on edge when you lean in, placing a soft kiss against the very corner of his mouth. It leaves a tingling sensation, and accompanied with the growing warmth beneath his skin, feels like he’s been burned. “I had fun,” you murmur, voice low. It sends a shock of electricity down his spine, a wave of exhilaration that has him fully turning to face you as you eventually step away, that same playful grin on your features again. 

A surge of confidence and greed overcomes him, has him stepping forward into your space despite the nervousness that builds within him. There’s a hint of surprise in your eyes that you quickly mask, placating his bumbling nerves with a delicate hand placed over his heart. He can’t breathe when you lean in, softly humming, “kiss me?” 

Jungkook’s lower lip wobbles. “O- Okay,” he concedes, voice but an airy whisper that is soon swallowed up. You taste like fruit and orange juice, remnants of your picnic clinging to your lips as you slowly consume Jungkook’s entire attention with this soft brush alone. It’s a rather short affair, one that ends all too soon when you pull away with a soft sigh against his lips. 

Your smile is so pretty when you angle it at him, has him taking one jerky step backwards. His back hits the car, feels trapped. But he isn’t scared, doesn’t find himself anxiously awaiting your next move. “Good boy,” you purr, reaching one graceful hand forward, playfully tugging at his tie, wrapping it around your knuckles as you use it as leverage to pull him close again. 

You’re just so pretty, Jungkook has always thought so. From the moment he first met you until now, there is something about you—a glint in your eyes, a quirk to your lips—that has had him under your spell for weeks now. 

Had Jungkook seriously despised you and your ethics, perhaps this feeling would have gone away. But the fact of the matter is that you make Jungkook’s heart hammer dangerously in his chest, a shot of adrenaline through his veins when you look at him with those low-lidded eyes, touch him with those experienced hands. He wants you so bad, even after all he’s learned, all he’s seen. He wants you over him and under him, pressed against him from head to toe. He wants and he wants, and he knows it’s bad to want so much, to be so greedy. But with you around, Jungkook finds himself giving into that greed, clutching at it like a lifeline. “We can, um—,” he stammers, placing one uncertain hand against the top of the door frame beside him. You raise your brows, egging him on yet patiently waiting all at once. 

Your gaze is so strong, and it’s in moments like these that Jungkook feels that feeling crawl up his throat. A serpentine gaze, a sticky sweet tongue. Everything he’s ever known says it’s wrong, but his heart and your confession says otherwise. He looks away, throws a bashful glance at the plush leather seats behind him. “In… inside?”  

And the offer has you positively beaming before him, that same flirtatious shimmer in your irises doubling at the words that roll off his tongue. “Oh my,” you swoon playfully, stepping back to, Jungkook assumes, allow him to get in. 

He plops down, feels like he would break out in a sweat if the evening temperature wasn’t so cool. The car’s interior blends into the shadows, his clothing practically indiscernible against the dark shade of the seats. A stark contrast to the pretty floral dress that suddenly spills itself over his lap when you climb in, the door tugged shut beside the two of you. All is silent, your thighs over his, hands on his shoulders. “Hi, bunny,” you murmur, lips pulled into a smirk, provocative yet playful, like you know something that Jungkook doesn’t. 

Jungkook’s throat feels dry but he still manages to gulp. He’s drowning in your perfume and your body lotion, in the faint smell of the outdoors clinging to your clothes and your hair, the absolutely heavenly scent of just you in your entirety. “Hi,” he whispers back, voice lost beneath the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. And his quiet greeting is rewarded with two soft hands that crawl up his neck, cupping his face in their palms. 

“You were so sweet today,” you purr, nose nudging against his when you finally lean in, pressing your breasts against Jungkook. A tiny gasp catches in his throat, his hands instinctively going to your waist. “Can I kiss you again?” 

Jungkook has never wanted anything more. “Please,” he exhales, feeling like he’ll explode if you don’t kiss him soon. You take his request in stride, jut your face forward just the slightest bit until your mouth is pressed firmly against his, the movement of your lips a practiced rhythm that he just can’t seem to master. He still tries his best, puckers his lips when he feels it’s right, tilts his head when you urge him with a soft nudge. He tries his best and hopes it’s enough. 

By now, Jungkook has come to understand that there is a pattern to your kisses. You always start off slow and relaxed, mouth languidly moving against his as you lure him across a tightrope of anticipation. They gradually become more intense, pulling out whimpers and sighs from Jungkook that he had never known were possible. It’s a carefully crafted art form, the tongue that slides out from between your pillowy lips, dips into his own mouth with a giggly pant. “Good boy,” you hum in between, hands burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Always so good.”

Jungkook shudders when you eventually part, can’t catch his breath fast enough before you’re reaching for the buttons on the front of his shirt, easily undoing the casual tie too. “Relax,” you tell him, bypassing his lips for the warm expanse of skin just below. You kiss over his chin, down his neck, as your hands crawl beneath his shirt and around his naked waist. 

He’s ticklish, and when you brush against his ribs, he unwillingly releases a sharp huff of laughter. It’s followed by a wide-eyed look of embarrassment, cheeks a warm hue when you lean back in surprise at this new bit of information. “I— sorry,” he blurts out, because he doesn’t know proper make-out etiquette, doesn’t know anything really, except what you’ve shown him. 

But the sound makes you snort, looking at him with this gaze that drips with honey. “So cute,” you tell him, placing a chaste kiss against his lips, before disappearing back down to lavish his throat with filthier kisses. And with you laving your tongue across his skin, biting at every inch available, Jungkook is left to fuzzily stare over the crystal clear windshield. He’s struck with the faint realization that if someone were to look hard enough, they would see him through the tinted glass as he fell apart into the hands of a pretty girl. 

The soft smack of your lips against his skin is sensual, makes every hair on his body stand stiff. Your lips trail down the column of his neck, placing a bruising kiss at the juncture where it meets the rest of his body. “Oh,” he sighs, eyelids fluttering when a hand squeezes at his chest, thumb against his nipple. 

Another muffled giggle pressed against the base of his neck, and when Jungkook focuses his eyes again, he catches his own gaze in the rearview mirror. 

The sight of him is… weird to say the least. 

Even in the dark, his lips look thoroughly debauched, puffier and redder than usual, slick with saliva that isn’t entirely his. He doesn’t tell himself to, but his mirrored counterpart peeks his tongue out, runs it along his top lip sinfully. Startled by his own appearance, Jungkook jolts in place, feeling you shift in his lap with a soft little whine. “Bunny,” you frown, and Jungkook watches your side profile in the tiny mirror as you sit back up, press your lips against his ear. “Sit still for me,” you tell him, hand slithering up his chest, around his throat. Over his Adam’s apple, squeezing just the slightest. It’s not tight, but it knocks the air out of his lungs when he sees the action mirrored back at him on the reflective surface. 

That familiar guilt sticks in his throat, evident when your hand slips away and he swallows harshly, the protrusion just beneath his skin bobbing up and down. 

In the back of Jungkook’s mind, he can recall the religious story that surrounded this bodily feature; a sin and the consequence. A garden and a fruit, a beautiful woman by his side. 

Your hand creeps down between your bodies, palming over his quickly fattening cock, and Jungkook swears he sees stars, a strained whimper escaping from his lips that you giggle at. “Oh my,” he huffs, clutching at the skirt of your dress. You nuzzle close again, pressing a tender kiss against the side of his neck. 

Your hands are so soft and sweet, brushing over his cock like you’re simply caressing him out of adoration and not because you want him to cum, staining his seats and your dress. Either way, Jungkook can’t even begin to imagine what you must be thinking; before the date and his confession, he had been afraid that you would discard him. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t what you wanted, maybe he wasn’t what you needed. You were so confident in yourself and your actions, a stark contrast to Jungkook and his constant uncertainty, his fear of doing the wrong thing plaguing him at all hours of the day. 

Even now, with your hands expertly tugging his zipper down, he finds himself going back to that story. That apple in the garden, the consequences it had hailed. Never mind the fact you’re on top of him, claiming to like him, with your hands touching every inch of his skin. He keeps looping back to that Biblical verse instead, thinks about it when your fingers meanly let the elastic band of his briefs snap against his skin. “Ouch,” he flinches, voice a soft whine. He turns too quickly and too suddenly, nose bumping against yours because you’re still so close. 

You smile, puckering your lips for the lightest of kisses. It’s the little things like that that make Jungkook’s entire thought process stall, distantly aware of the fact that it’s, like always, you leading the majority of your encounters once again. Even during your picnic, it had been you who had practically held his hand as you navigated through basic information, asked for his favorite color and his favorite drink. Had it not been for your own proactive tendencies, Jungkook fears he would have never known your favorite color was pink or your favorite day of the week was Thursday. 

It’s a fact that makes him pause, jaw tightening as he once again realizes how little effort he was putting into knowing you. For someone who claimed to like you a lot, he rarely did the work to prove it. Even now, he’s too unsure of who he is and who you are to indulge you properly, instead watching you lead the scene as usual. Before he can stop himself, a sigh is escaping his lips. 

It must convey his emotions perfectly, because it’s enough to make your wandering hands pause by his waist. “Everything okay?” you ask, always knowing what he’s feeling. And it sucks that he couldn’t say the same for himself. 

“N— Yes,” he rushes to say, looking up at you with round eyes, the moonlight painting half of your face a paler color than usual, the other side shrouded in darkness. It makes your eyes look darker, makes Jungkook gulp loudly when you turn those inquisitive eyes on him. 

His answer doesn’t seem to convince you, and it’s with little to no hesitation that you sit back. It puts a distance between the two of you that Jungkook can’t say he’s a fan of. “Jungkook,” you say, voice stern yet warm, one hand reaching up to brush your knuckles against his cheek. “Tell me what’s bothering you?” 

It makes Jungkook nervous. He knows he thinks too much. Part of him fears that oversharing with you will drive you away, put you even farther than you are now. Maybe next time it’ll be a room’s length away, a football field’s length away. And he doesn’t want that; he wants to hold you close, he really does. But there are traditions he carries and beliefs he holds dearly that make it hard for him to do so, as much as it pains him. 

The only reason he knows he’s frowning is because you press your pointer finger against the corner of his mouth. You lean in close, nose bumping against his. It sends your scent billowing over him, makes him dizzy when he becomes aware of the hand he’s got on your bare thigh, the rumpled skirt of your dress pushed away. “Talk to me, bunny,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to kiss him, a fact that Jungkook feels both grateful and disheartened by. “Please?”

And he can’t deny you, not when you ask so nicely. You have this metaphorical grip on Jungkook, a tight hold around his throat that has made him act impulsively these past few weeks, desperate to be with you, to please you. Even now, despite how much he wants to withhold his thoughts, he finds himself quietly admitting them instead. “I want to know you,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eye. You don’t push him to. “I really, um. I like you, __. A lot.” It’s a repetition of his earlier confession. And still, it makes him nervous. A thumb brushes against his cheekbone, encouraging him to meet your solemn gaze even if it means being a blushing mess afterwards. “Before we, uh, do… things.” 

His words may be choppy and incoherent, but you understand him all the same. “You want to go out some more,” you clarify, removing your hand from his cheek. The phantom trail of your fingertips on his skin remains, feels colder when you lean away to allow him some more space. 

Jungkook nods quickly, hoping this rush of adrenaline might help him through this. He bites down on his lower lip, carefully analyzing your expression for any signs of disbelief or disgust. But all he sees is understanding, a cool expression that makes Jungkook’s heart thunder. “I…,” he says, glancing down at where he’s still got his hand on your naked skin. Something inside of him tells him to rub his thumb across it, an action he doesn’t think through until he hears a sharp inhale, watches goosebumps rise over the skin. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out, snatching his hand away before he can do something else of a similar sort. “I- I just—“ said hand now waves around wildly beside him “—I really like you, as a, um— uh. A person. And I—“ and this is where he becomes aware of his unbuttoned shirt and the way you’ve got your pretty pussy pressed against his thigh now “—I, um. I want to know me— I mean, you —better? More? Like—“

His embarrassing babbling is cut off with a gentle kiss to his lips. No tongue, no saliva. Just soft lips against his, a delicate hand against his shoulders. When you pull away, Jungkook unconsciously trails after the touch, eyes half-lidded and in a daze when you place a palm on his chest. “I got it,” you say, lips quirking into a tiny smile. “I want to know more about you too, bunny,” you admit, reaching for the front of his shirt. He watches on with flushed cheeks as you slowly button it up for him, finishing it off with a playful tap against the underside of his chin. 

You glance out of the window thoughtfully. Jungkook is suddenly reminded of how pretty you are, your skin practically glimmering under the pale moonlight. It catches on your necklace, a thin chain with a cross on the end. If he focuses his eyes behind you, his own reflection stares back once more. Jungkook’s entire body threatens to lock up tightly, but a single kiss on the cheek from you interrupts the process. “Do you wanna date?” you ask, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

Jungkook can’t agree fast enough. “I— yes,” he gasps, leaning forward too suddenly. It makes you flinch back in surprise, back pressing up against the driver’s seat behind you in surprise. You wouldn’t have fallen or anything, but Jungkook reacts like it was a serious possibility anyway, grasping at your waist and pulling you snug against him, soft thighs sandwiching his tiny waist. “Oh, God,” he frets, immediately moving to release you. 

But you catch him with two arms thrown around his neck, pulling Jungkook close to you for another kiss. Deeper and… meaningful, your satiny lips carefully slotted against his. While it surprises him at first, Jungkook finds himself melting into it soon enough. This was okay, he tells himself, and for the first time in a few weeks, he finds himself believing it. 

It was just kissing— intimate yet appropriate kissing —between two people who were seeing each other. Him, properly seeing you. His heart threatens to burst out of its cage for a second. It’s the first time since he’s met you that he can fully say he hadn’t felt nervous about his actions, hadn’t felt like he was committing some grave sin for chasing after your touch. It was just a kiss, simple and sweet, making both of you smile bashfully when you eventually pull away. There was no lying and no guilt, no tears and no stress. 

It felt good.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[17caratssi]

Wonwoo! Will you stay

Jeon Wonwoo! A short series pt one | two | three | four

Lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub! It was so close AHHH! That was a bold move! I can't believe he didn't throw me off!!

You're over the moon for the rest of the day. You have been under the weather for some days, and your parents are worried about it. Seeing you like this, they feel at ease.

You begin to anticipate tomorrow. Will your relationship with Wonwoo turn for the better? This is what makes school exciting!

However, Wonwoo feigns ignorance whenever you try to have a conversation with him. It goes on for another two days, and he still has nothing to say to you.

Not to mention, Somi and Umji also avoid talking about him during the break. They never answer your questions regarding Wonwoo, and it put you into a dispiriting mood again.

In the aftermath, you lose concentration during the computer class. In fact, your head is full of him. Your two best friends give you hints about Wonwoo's matter, but they're just superficial.

My mind is a mess.

After the class, you block Wonwoo's seatmate's path and begin questioning- more like interrogating.

"Tell me, is there any problem Wonwoo is having these days?"

Kihyun averts from your scrutiny. He refuses to talk.

"Come on, tell me," you persuade him into confessing. As a seatmate, he must know a tiny bit about Wonwoo. "I won't tell him that it's you who said to me. Sounds good?"

"He's not stupid,"

That's very true. Hmm...

"I will bear the responsibility. Just spill it," you convince him. This time, you're sure you'll get to the matter.

Kihyun sighs.

"A few third-year students have been picking up fights with him. I think Wonwoo was triggered by something they said. By the way, I remind you of a thing,"

"You shouldn't be near to him. You know that he's a scholarship boy, right? There's an unspoken rule here in Sejong High..."

That's your wake-up call. No wonder Wonwoo calls you 'stuck-up rich kid', and now you realize that you might've looked down on him, unintentionally.

He was right. I'm a stuck-up rich kid with no shame.

Although Kihyun tells you all that, you're still on the surface. What has possibly put him off at that time? You want to know more.

As you walk to the cafeteria, Somi and Umji are busy talking about the former's boyfriend.

"My boyfriend's birthday is coming but I don't know what to give him," Somi sounds helpless as she snakes her arms around yours and Umji's.

You don't put your focus on her, so you don't reply.

Umji thinks for a while before sharing her idea. "Your boyfriend is rich enough to buy everything so what if you bake him something? That'd be rather special- at least for me,"

They never stop afterwards. It amuses you that the two has yet to have their topics exhausted. They keep going on!

After getting the snack, the three of you is about to return to class but is stopped by the crowd. They run toward the field.

"The new kid is fighting with a senior!"

"Damn, he's got gut!"

Somi and Umji simultaneously peek at your expression. "Wonwoo? Hey Y/N! Oh my god, don't tell me-"

"Wait for us, Y/N!"

Half of the first-year students watch the fray. Some are cheering for the guy senior, and you panic.

Your imagination runs wild. As much as you hate seeing a fight erupts, you hope Wonwoo isn't the one receiving the senior's blow!

Your small frame slips easily through the throng, and the situation shocks you.

Umji manages to catch you while Somi's being pulled away by her boyfriend. "We better go now!" she gives you a quick pull but you're not moving an inch. She frantically observes the situation and heaves a sigh at the sight of the security.

"WHAT ALL OF YOU DOING HERE?" The security runs faster to the crowd and breaks off the fight. Wonwoo huffs and puffs; showing his dissatisfaction toward the guy he had punched.

The senior has a gang; they help him up. Wonwoo is the one left unattended since he's alone. You watch him from the side and is on the horns of a dilemma.

You know it's no good if you go help Wonwoo now with all the attention directed to him.

Out of the blue, one of the seniors speaks up. "Apologize to Juwon and we'll act nothing happened just now," It's obvious he's intended to embarrass Wonwoo in front of many students.

He smirks when his words hit the target. Mutterings are loud in the air as the audiences express their opinions.

"Wonwoo, don't apologize!" you yell. Your voice was loud enough for the circle to pay heed to you. You cower as a response and Umji slaps your arm.

The senior snickers and voices out again."Boy, you better give in to him. His father is a person you couldn't afford to offend,"

Juwon slouches against his friend and finally says something at his friends. "If he doesn't want to admit defeat, we can take this matter to the teachers. Let's see if this parasite can win against me," he sneers.

The involved parties are eventually called to the office. You insist to accompany Wonwoo and he has nothing to say about it.

"I'm on your side, Wonwoo! Don't be scared of them. If anything happens, I'll protect you!" your fingers clench and you look up to Wonwoo who's quiet since the row had ended. Little did you know, he takes a quick glance right after you turn your head.

'Just what this meek creature can do...'

-

The time in the office feels tedious. Wonwoo hates the rich kids that are only good at blabbering and settle everything with their parent's standings.

"I won't call my parents just for this trivial matter but I have one condition,"

The teachers think the senior makes a great deal with Wonwoo, and since they don't want to be visited by the superior parents they push him to seize the offer.

You and Wonwoo leave the place as soon as they agreed with the deal. Wonwoo remains silent.

"They're so childish! That's more like punishment," you huff with your arms crossed. You can't believe the senior wants Wonwoo to be the ball boy for the basketball club.

"Why do you like to intervene?"

"Huh?" you stutter. This is the first time you get to hear his voice today.

"To be honest, I don't know,' you shrug. Your body and mind seem to be unallied when it comes to him. Even the latter warns you to not get entangled with other's business, the former just ignores and go with it.

"By the way, don't you think the senior is more stuck-up than me?" You ask excitedly as you lean to him and wait for his response. You want to change the impression he has about you.

Wonwoo takes in the view in front of him as he faces your question. Surprisingly, he feels less irritated by it.

He slows down his walking pace as he takes notice of yours. Wonwoo holds his hands at his back and fakes a thought.

After enjoying the hopefulness in your eyes, he gives the answer. "It seems like it," he says.

Due to the revelation from Wonwoo himself, you cover your mouth in excitement. Wonwoo watches as you turn tomato from his word and walks ahead.

In a hurry, you ask. "So you'll naturally sign up with the basketball club?" He raises his shoulder slightly and then nods.

Your heart soars louder and unintentionally, it echoes across the hallway. "Got it! I'm coming too!"

Since then, your life has revolved around Wonwoo. Occasionally, he would ask for personal spaces, and even though his changes are almost negligible, you don't mind.

Being around him the whole day is fun. You get to know his habits, his favourite food and drink, or basically all about him. Not, you do seem like an ordinary girl chasing after a guy.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, feels like he has a friend. He ghosts you daily, but your presence fills a spot next to him.

The two of you get accepted into the basketball club. Every Tuesday, Wonwoo will stay at school for two hours to be the ball boy. Not that everyone tries to be silent about it, but there's this girl who keeps waiting for the guy.

She's pretty, and her hair compliments her exquisite, doll-like features.

She never pays attention to other guys as if her eyes are glued to the ball boy. The green-eyed seniors want to embarrass Wonwoo even more because of that.

"Hey ball boy, the bottles are empty. Refill them!" the senior who took Wonwo's punches shouts. You quickly get up and help Wonwoo. "Let me help!"

Wonwoo lets you take 2 bottles as he carries the other 6. "Go home after we go back,"

"Why? I want to stay with you,"

Wonwoo has no idea whether you intended to flirt with him or casually announced that, but surely, he is flustered.

He regains composure and gives a response.

"What a dimwit," the seniors are gawking at you, and you overlook that?

He wishes he could deliver that very sentence, but he may sound jealous. Well, I'm not.

"I'm here to protect you, didn't I say that before? So, stop pushing me away cuz I won't leave you."

You don't realize that your attendance by Wonwoo's side just creates another problem for him. His workload increases by tenfold due to the green-eyed seniors.

Once the game is over, Wonwoo fulfils his duty and cleans the court. In the meantime, you listen to songs on the bench.

Wonwoo has done a lot of work and this is one nothing to him. He finishes just when everyone exits the place. He thinks that you might have returned home. You aren't there when he checks out the place you've been sitting at.

Only when he walks out the hall that he accidentally eavesdrops on the conversation between you and the seniors.

He could guess the topic and he looks at the corner. If he steps just a bit forward, they will see him. And he does that.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he then presents himself.

"Just say no if you don't want to be his girlfriend. Don't waste your time,"

Enlightened, you turn the senior down and run to Wonwoo. You complain at how bad his proposal was and Wonwoo chuckles.

"What do you do at the weekend?" as you wait for your chauffeur, you build a conversation with him.

Wonwoo isn't a person to be so friendly with someone. He thinks for a while as he contemplates to answer the question.

"Study in the library,"

Wonwoo is a smart student, and his answer doesn't come off as a surprise to you. "I've never been to a library before. I meant in this area but which one do you frequent?"

There are only two libraries in the area, and Wonwoo has only been to the small one since it's closer.

"Ooh, OK then." swiftly, you take a note of it. Just right after that, you see your family car drifts into the parking lot. "Oh! My car's here. I have to go now." you wave at him in a distance and shout. "Don't stay too long under the sunlight! Bye-bye!" then you disappear into the car.

When you arrive at the library on Saturday, you quickly scan the area for him. Lucky you the place is just up to your energy to find him.

You stride from one isle to another. It's probably the physics section when you find a familiar back.

"Hey," you whisper from the back. Wonwoo is so immersed in his reading and you bet he wouldn't have noticed you if you hadn't appeared before him after that call.

With a cheeky smile, you say. "Let's go out,"

He examines the surroundings and realizes that you come alone. "What are you doing here?" his volume is practically below scolding to avoid making a fuss in the quiet place.

"You ask too much! Come on," You jog to his side and help him pack his stuff.

"I only ask once, and I did not agree to you,"

Not bringing too many necessities, you wind up less than a minute. "Shh... Just come with me, will you?"

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

If you like this story, you might as well check out the others here !

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 55

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 2,953

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Testing Boundaries

When you arrived at the kitchen a few hours later for dinner prep, you were surprised to find Ben conspicuously absent. At first you worried that he was afraid to show his face after being caught with Simon last night, but the staff member named Andrew informed you that he had temporarily stepped out when one of Negan’s men came in and said he needed Ben’s assistance with something. When Andrew verified the man’s identity as “the big smiley one with the mustache”, you had a feeling you knew just what kind of “assistance” had been needed. You weren’t even upset about it, because truth be told, Ben deserved some breaks from the kitchen. And you had a feeling that Simon possessed just enough carefree attitude and allure to make sure Ben got them. 

With the rest of the staff busy at their various tasks, and without Ben there as a distraction, you quickly became consumed with thoughts of your earlier conversation with Maria. She had made it seem as though Amber had been subdued, at least temporarily, and the rest of the wives weren’t in an uproar over the lack of attention from Negan, but the fact that a conversation about you had occurred at all put you a bit on edge. It was now obvious to the wives that you were the reason for Negan’s change in behavior, and you wondered how long it would take for that to leak to the rest of the community. And when that happened, people were sure to wonder and speculate, right? Hell, you had a bunch of questions still, and you were the one personally involved in the situation! 

By the time the first round of food was exiting the kitchen and being served to hungry patrons, your brain was starting to ache from how much that padlocked box of unanswered questions was jumping around, screaming to be opened and explored. You knew it couldn’t be ignored for much longer, but were terrified of what you might find if you let it loose. You already knew you were developing an emotional attachment to Negan, but if you opened that padlock and really took a look at the items inside, you might realize just how strong the emotions waiting to be uncovered really were. Hell, you had almost stupidly blurted some of what you were feeling out in the woods yesterday, and had barely caught yourself in time. 

Besides, the scariest part of opening that box wasn’t just looking at your own emotions and asking the tough questions, it was then also having to see what his responses would be.

Well the unknown is almost worse, so it’s time to suck it up and have a serious conversation with him about where all of this is going. Ask him about if he’s keeping his wives, admit you know he hasn’t been sleeping with them, and see what he says. Worst case scenario he laughs in your face, sends you away, and never speaks to you again. Easy peasy. 

Just as you were about to work up to a full internal panic attack at the thought of discussing it with him, the doors to the kitchen swung open, and Ben appeared. To anyone else he’d probably look the same as usual, but as he headed in your direction you could see a slight flush to his cheeks and a couple pieces of hair that were suspiciously more disheveled than usual. 

“I’m so sorry for missing prep,” he said by way of greeting, looking a bit tense, as if unsure how you’d treat him after the previous evening.

“Don’t apologize for things if you don’t actually regret them,” you teased with a smirk and playful shake of your head, voice low enough so that only he could hear. 

He choked on a laugh, shoulders visibly relaxing when he realized that nothing had changed between the two of you, and there was zero need for formality or awkwardness. 

Nudging you with his shoulder, he said, “Thanks.” It was one simple word, but the slightly shaky and whispered tone let you know how much emotion was behind it. 

A surge of protectiveness surged in you. If it hadn’t been apparent before how willing you were to Ricardo death-stab anyone who tried to make fun of or harm Ben, it definitely was now. He was one of the sweetest humans you had ever met, and Simon better treat him right or else he’d be dealing with you and your pointy sidekick.

“So, uh, what kind of ‘assistance’ did he need your help with?” You tried for cool and casual, but couldn’t totally hide a teasing grin.

“Oh, nothing much. He just needed a bit of a hand with something, if you know what I mean.” 

At the look of surprise on your face, he started laughing loud enough to draw a few curious gazes from the others. “Besides that, he was letting me know he wouldn’t be around for a day or two.”

Brows furrowing, you asked, “Is Negan sending him back to an outpost?”

“No, he’s joining the supply run tomorrow.” 

At this, you jolted with a different kind of surprise. “They’re going on a run tomorrow?”

“Yea, but I think it was a spur of the moment decision. He didn’t give me any details, but I got the sense that it hadn’t been planned in advance.” 

You nodded, “That makes sense.” If Negan had planned this run before today, he’d have most likely told you...right? 

“I’m sure he’d have told you if he knew,” Ben said, as if he were reading your thoughts. 

“Yea, you’re probably right,” you said, deciding to make that the one thing you didn’t need to overanalyze to death. Instead, you felt a pang in knowing that he wouldn’t be here for a couple of days. You had really been enjoying all this one-on-one time with him, even though it was unrealistic to expect it to last forever. 

You wanted to ask Ben more questions about Simon, but didn’t want to risk any other staff overhearing. Vowing to sit him down outside the kitchen and get all the details in the near future, you refocused on serving dinner. Both brain and body were kept busy for the next few hours with making sure everyone got a serving of food, including the staff and yourself, and then helping with the clean-up. 

It wasn’t until you were back upstairs, lounging in your own bed, that you returned to the dilemma of what to do next. Originally, you had planned to start a conversation with Negan about the wife situation, but now you didn’t think the timing was right. If he was going on a run tomorrow then he needed a clear head and to focus on staying safe, not be preoccupied with your concerns and questions. Especially since you didn’t know if asking about the wives would lead to an argument, and you definitely didn’t want to be on bad terms when he left.

Seeing him tonight and trying to act like your brain hadn’t been a whirlwind of confusing thoughts all day sounded exhausting as hell. But not seeing him and then something potentially happening to him on the run…

You had stood from the bed and headed towards the door before the thought could even finish itself. Nope, there was no way you weren’t gonna go see him, even if it was just for a little bit before returning to your own room for the night. Your watch said it was almost 8:30, so you had a little time before he’d probably be winding down for the night, since chances were good they’d leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow. 

No community members paid you much attention when you headed to the stairwell, but when you got to the top and entered the hall leading to Negan’s room, your stomach dropped at the sight of a small group of Saviors walking down the hall in your direction.

You guessed that they were the group going on the run tomorrow, and had just come from a meeting in one of the unoccupied rooms on this floor. While you were unsure whether to turn around and hightail it back downstairs, your subconscious kept marching forward, no fucks to give that you could be accused of trespassing on a level where community members weren’t supposed to wander. 

When they got closer, you saw a couple of the Saviors give furrowed looks, and one even opened his mouth as if to reprimand you.

“Hey, you can’t just be-“

He was interrupted when another man clapped a large hand on his shoulder, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. Relief flooded through you at the sight of Simon.

“Now now, Ryan. Don’t you know that this little lady here gets a free pass? Negan’s orders, so don't forget.”

Face instantly becoming less hostile, the man gave a nod of understanding and a quick, “Apologies, Miss,” as they passed. Simon gave a signature wink and grin, and you forced a smile in return, brain still preoccupied with his words.

Had Negan really told them that you were to be allowed up here? If so, did that mean he didn’t care if they knew you and him were...whatever you were? Your subconscious was now skipping with glee rather than marching, and your brain gave an exasperated sigh and glared at you while tossing yet another question into the padlocked box.

Arriving at Negan’s door, you gave a soft knock and then opened it at his muffled, “Come in.” He was sitting at his desk with those nerdy, yet also sexy as hell, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he shuffled through a stack of papers.

He looked up, and your heart rate accelerated when he smiled in welcome and said, “Hey, doll.”

“Hey, yourself,” you replied, smiling back. 

He pulled off the glasses (lord, why was that move so damn attractive?!) before rubbing at his tired eyes. Pushing the chair back a bit, he gave you a slow once over before clapping a hand to his knee expectantly.

Unlike when he had last made the gesture, the evening you ate lasagna together, this time you didn’t hesitate. Rounding the desk, you settled onto his warm lap and tilted your head back with a satisfied hum when he placed a possessive kiss on your lips. 

Glancing at the papers strewn across the polished wooden surface, you saw that they were full of lists and numbers, most likely of supplies. He nuzzled at the side of your neck, the friction from his beard causing a little shudder to go down your spine. Your brain rattled the padlocked box in annoyance, narrowly avoiding the tomato thrown at it by your subconscious. 

The reminder helped you refocus on how you had earlier decided not to have sex with him tonight. Not with all the questions and uncertainty floating around your head, and especially not when he needed to be well-rested and undistracted, in preparation for the run. But then the self-doubt creeped in and whispered, What if he decides to go find comfort elsewhere, if you won’t give it to him? He’s already had you and the chase is over, so what makes you think he’ll stay if you backtrack into more platonic interactions?

Your brain picked up the tomato and chucked it at the self-doubt, while the subconscious screamed in excitement at the prospect of a food fight. You tried to ignore all of them and refocus on Negan. Besides, while a risky move, you couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction would be when denied sex, something you bet he never had worried about with his wives.

“I heard you’re going on a run tomorrow,” you stated, trying not to let all of the conflicting emotions racing through you bleed into your tone.

Giving a sigh, he lifted his mouth from your neck, and you instantly wanted to take back your words at the loss. “Yea, gonna leave at 5 in the fucking morning to make a surprise trip to fucking Hilltop and see what’s up with that motherfucker, Gregory.”

Hearing the irritation in his voice, you asked “Has he been giving you problems?” 

“You could fucking say that. Didn’t fully meet his quota the last two times, so this is his third time’s the fucking charm chance to make up for it.”

Worry shot through you at this, remembering in the past when Negan had said Simon got a weird feeling about Gregory. You weren’t sure if the man was conniving or just plain dumb to be fucking with Negan’s supply rules like this, but it put you on edge. 

“Well, just be careful,” you couldn’t help but say, looking up into his handsome-as-hell face. 

He chuckled and bent down to kiss you again, murmuring, “Don’t fucking worry, doll. Nothing could keep me from coming back now.” 

You wanted so badly to give in, to respond to the kiss in full and let it escalate. His words warmed your chest at the thought of being his main reason for returning safely. You wanted to be his main everything, the way he was quickly becoming yours. You were falling for this man, but were scared to completely let go until a serious discussion was had...after he returned from the run. 

With one last lingering peck, you pulled back and reluctantly stood off his lap. “Well, it’s getting late so I should probably get back to my room.”

“What?” he asked, voice instantly stern and brows lowered in confusion. 

“You need sleep before the run, and I’ll just be a distraction. I could set an alarm and come see you off in the morning, if you want.” 

The hope that he’d be placated by what you thought was a logical argument was quickly dashed when he replied, “I think fucking not.”

“Negan, you need-”

He abruptly stood, and before you could even process what he was about to do, you were hoisted up and over his shoulder, head hanging down his back and ass in the air as he strode across the office and into his dark bedroom.

“What the hell!” you shrieked, lightly smacking his back with the palm of your hand. 

Kicking the bedroom door shut behind him, he took a few steps into the room before putting you down. The room was only lit by a few stray moonbeams, but you swore there was mirth dancing in the shadows of his amber gaze, which only made you more flustered. 

“I cannot believe you just did that!” you exclaimed, readjusting the bottom of your shirt where it had ridden up. 

“Well, maybe now you’ll fucking learn not to try and tell me what I need, doll.”

“Everyone needs sleep,” you fired back with a glare. You were just miffed enough at being manhandled to act petulant, even if the move had also been kinda hot, in a primitive sort of way. 

“What I need, is for you to get in the fucking bed,” he growled. 

A wave of heat poured over you at the words, and your brain stopped working in full sentences due to the amount of blood flow that had rapidly traveled south. 

“But...sleep,” you tried one more time, frantically trying remind your body of the ‘no sex tonight’ rule. 

Giving a ‘holy mother of god woman why are you like this’ level of sigh, he said, “Yes, doll, I’ll fucking sleep. But I can still do that with you here. So get in. The. Fucking. Bed.”

Realizing resistance was futile, you threw your hands in the air and muttered ‘fine’ before stripping off your shoes and jeans, and crawling between the covers. You pointedly left on your underwear and shirt, a nonverbal reminder that sleep was on the menu, and no more...no matter how much your body was screaming that it hated you for denying it. 

In unspoken agreement, Negan stripped down to just his boxer briefs, rather than his usual bed attire of naked, and crawled under the covers. Pulling you into his body, back to his chest, his head rested a few inches behind yours. He leaned in and kissed the back of your neck, and biting your lip was all that held back a whimper. 

“You better fully wake me up in the morning, so I can say goodbye,” you mumbled, the decadently soft mattress and pillow quickly putting you into a drowsy haze.

The hand he had rested lightly on your hip gave an affectionate squeeze, and he whispered, “I will. Now stop talking, doll. I need sleep, remember.”

Ignoring the sarcasm in his tone, you snuggled back tighter against him, and sighed in contentment. “Good night.”

His voice lost all teasing and became lower and softer when he replied, “Night, doll.” 

Smiling, your muscles relaxed into the mattress. It wasn’t until you were cocooned back in this glorious bed with him that it became apparent just how exhausted you were. The mental gymnastics your brain had gone through today had thoroughly worn you out. However, a part of that persistent self-doubt had now broken off and shriveled up to dust when it saw that Negan was perfectly willing to have you in his bed like this, with no sexual expectations. If you could stay awake long enough to fully think it through, you’d be shocked as hell that he hadn’t pushed. The fact that he hadn’t even brought up sex, that he still wanted you here with him, even just to do this…

Your last coherent thought was maybe he’s falling for you too, and then sleep took over.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

[yikesharringrove]

Show Pony

Chapter 2: Legends Never Die

Read on Ao3

-

Billy was watching porn when Steve texted.

He’s never clicked out of a video so fucking fast in his life.

The message just read hey, this is steve :) which like, of course, the fucker uses little emoticons. Of course , he types out little smiley faces. It’s so dumb. It’s so cute.

And Billy just stared at it. One hand still on his dick, the other hovering over the keyboard.

What the fuck does he reply?

Obviously, Steve knows it’s Billy. Like. Duh.

So he just tapped out a little Hey.

Steve texted back almost immediately.

you have a good day? Billy found himself grinning maniacally, so he rolled over to hold his pillow close to his chest, burying his chin into it. He didn’t wanna deal with the fact that this stupid adorable cowboy was making him smile and flush. Stupid.

Yeah, it was nice. Way too hot, but nice.

lol try wearing jeans in that heat. sweatin through my damn saddle. Billy laughed into his pillow.

Jesus, you’re such a fuckin hick. Billy bit his tongue when he pressed send.

And Steve just sent back >:(. And God. He’s so cute. Billy. Hates him.

And then Billy’s phone buzzed twice, another brand new text from Steve.

One that made Billy’s heart fucking stop.

i have the day off tomorrow. no tiedown on the schedule. you should come by and we could hang

Which sounded like. A date. It sounded like a fucking date. And Billy wanted to ask. If Steve’s invitation was for a goddamn date.

But like, he can’t just ask. Can he? Is that weird? Okay, maybe he’ll just-

Should I bring Max?

Right? Like if Steve says to bring his little sister, then there’s no way it’s a date. Because, who would want their date to bring their little sister? People who are just hanging out as friends, that’s who.

was hoping it'd just be you and me

And hoo boy. Hoo boy. That’s. That’s a fucking. That’s a date.

Then yeah. Just you and me.

And Steve sent him another little :) because the fucker loves his emoticon smiley faces. They’re not even, like, actual emojis. Steve doesn’t take the time to use fucking apostrophes, but he does type out little faces.

And maybe Billy’s spending too much time thinking about the smiley little shits.

But, like. It’s just. It’s Steve. And it’s a cute fucking thing that Steve does.

Billy’s pretty much obsessed with him by now.

And maybe Billy should ask for, like, a time to meet. But he was halfway through a video and his cock’s still hard and kinda starting to ache, pressed against the mattress where it was. He rolled over, slid his hand back into his shorts, and wrapped his fingers around the base of himself.

So it’s easy just to, slide it up. Run his fingers along his length. Pretend his rough hand is Steve’s rough hand. Pretend the tight vice grip is Steve’s mouth. Hot and slick around him.

He could picture Steve, on his knees in the dirt, those tight fucking jeans beginning to stain at the knees, those big pretty eyes looking at him so reverently, so softly.

And he came all over his hand, pictured those pink pretty lips covered with cum. Imagined scooping it on his fingers, pressing them into Steve’s mouth, making him lick them clean.

It wasn’t even the most depraved fantasy Billy’s ever had. But it was for sure in his top five best orgasms. No doubt about it.

He wiped his hand on the sheets, turning onto his side, staring at the short little conversation with Steve.

Thinking about their fucking date tomorrow.

Max was on his ass the second he woke up.

She cornered him as he was coming out of the bathroom, making him startle and nearly smack her.

“The fuck you doing out here, Shitbrid?”

“What are we doing today?”

“ We aren’t doing shit all. I will be heading out. Soon.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, jutting her jaw in a way he absolutely knows she learned from him.

“Are you going to the rodeo?” she hissed through her teeth at him. “Are you going to see-”

“That’s none ‘a your fuckin’ business.” He pushed past her, lumbering down the hall, almost making it into his bedroom before she slipped inside with him, slapping his elbow and kicking the door closed.

“Are you going on a date ?”

Billy glared at her. He clenched his jaw, speaking through gritted teeth.

“Pretty sure we agreed not to fucking talk about this shit here.”

She pursed her lips, shifting her jaw.

“Just nod or shake your head.”

Billy kept his head very still.

She kicked him once in the shin before stomping out of his room, nearly slamming the door, catching it at the last minute, and closing it quietly.

Neil didn’t approve of doors slamming in his house.

It was rule number. Three probably. First rule was don’t be a smartass. Second rule was don’t be Billy. That was kind of an unspoken rule. But it was there.

And Billy was faced with his newest dilemma.

What does he wear?

Because it’s gonna be another hot fucking day, and his typical date outfits have more, more.

He’s got one clean pair of cut-offs left. Okay. Yes. And he puts on a printed button-up shirt. Leaves it almost all the way unbuttoned, because, like, of course, he does. He’s got a good body. He wants Steve to see it.

He’ll be mostly cool, and he looks better than he did last time he saw Steve.

Black Converse complete the look, and he maybe spends more time than he usually would putting his hair into a ponytail, using one of Max’s bright scrunchies.

She’ll get pissed if she notices it but. Whatever. He steals them from her all the fucking time.

He hasn’t looked at his phone all morning, figured he could head over to the rodeo, and whenever Steve texted, he’d play it cool and act like he wasn’t already there.

But, cowboy hick Steve was obviously an early riser. As the most recent text Billy has is from that cowboy hick Steve. At six. In the morning.

you wanna meet up around ten?

It was currently just past nine.

Does Billy head up there now and wander around the grounds for a bit?

Yes. Yes, he does. Because frankly, he looks gay as fuck in this outfit and he should probably dip before his dad sees.

He sends Steve a thumbs up and the three dots show up almost immediately, showing Steve typing.

you got a car right? can you pick me up outside of the parking lot? i gotta get outta here

And Fuck. Billy knows that feeling.

No problem. You wanna get breakfast? I know a good diner if you’re into that kinda thing.

hell yeah im into that :)

Ah, yes. There was that little happy face just in time to give Billy lots of nice heart palpitations.

Great. That’s what he needs. To get sappy and gross over Steve’s emoticons. Again.

He slipped out of his house without interference, taking a lap around the block just to kill time before setting off to the fairgrounds.

He was trying to make his car look presentable, shoving the few gum wrappers Max left by the gear shift into his pocket, brushing off any stray cigarette ash with one of the baby wipes in the glove box.

And by the time he reached the fairgrounds, he saw Steve skulking along the front of the parking lot, hopping over cracks in the sidewalk like the cutest little bunny.

It was the most adorable thing in the fucking world.

Billy pulled up next to him, blaring the horn and watching Steve startle at the sound.

He was wearing cut-off denim shorts like Billy’s, and a goddamn crop top. It had the silhouette of a horse on its hind legs, its mane flowing in the wind behind it, and Harrington American Rodeo brandished across his chest. It was cut just at his waistline, where his body nipped in right above his hips.

Steve smiled his pretty smile at Billy, just about skipping around the front of the car to slide into the passenger seat.

And Billy tried not to think about how fucking good Steve looked in the passenger seat of his car, those long fucking legs all on display, his thighs, thick and pale, covered in dark hair.

“Hi,” Steve was leaning with one elbow on the center console, putting himself in Billy’s space, and Billy was thankful for his dark aviator sunglasses, as his eyes went wide and probably panicked with Steve moving in so close.

Because if Steve was leaning in to kiss him, that kinda feels like a lot. And Billy’s not a prude, not by any means but he's, he’s got lines, and rules, and-

Steve just knocked his head into Billy’s shoulder, leaning back to buckle his seatbelt, like headbutting Billy’s shoulder was casual and normal.

And fuck.

Billy’s in so deep for this guy he barely fucking knows.

All he could do was push the car forward, and will away the flush on his cheeks. And pretend like he hadn’t jerked off to the person sitting next to him less than twelve hours ago.

“So. Billy. Tell me about yourself.” Steve shifted in his seat, turning to look right at Billy. “All I know is that you’ve got a kid sister, a cool car, and that you’re really hot.”

Billy smirked, turning to look at Steve over his glasses, found Steve biting his bottom lip demurely.

“Well, there’s not much else to know .”

“Oh, come on. Where are you from? How old are you? Shit, probably shoulda asked that sooner. Please, tell me you’re not fifteen or something.”

“I’m literally driving, right now. And relax, Pretty Boy. I’m eighteen next month.”

“Okay. Okay, good. I’m eighteen, by the way. Just so you know, that I’m not fifteen.” Billy shook his head, rolling his eyes with a smile. “But I still want answers to the other questions.”

“Well, I’m from here. Born and raised in San Diego. Uh, I graduated high school in May. And I work at the diner I’m about to take you to, which might be the lamest shit in the world, but they have good pancakes.”

“I like pancakes.” Steve was fiddling with some of the knobs in the car, turning the air conditioner up and down. Billy was just resisting slapping his hand away.

And then he reached for the volume knob on the radio, turning up the Ratt Billy had playing, and audibly scoffed.

“God, I should’ve known you liked this .”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Just, you know. Sex charged drug-fueled hair metal.”

“Oh my God. What in the fuck ?” He gave Steve as incredulous a look as he could muster. “Are you a housewife from the fifties?”

Steve gave one of his excellent bright laughs at Billy, and Billy’s gut got a little bit gay and a little bit fluttery.

“Alright, Stevie. I’ll bite. What kinda music are you into? And if you say country I’m blowing my fuckin’ brains out.”

“Well, unfortunate then because, yeah. Fuckin’ country, man. Although, I prefer folk.”

“See, you call my music sex-charged and drug-fueled, at least I’m not listening to posers rant about their tractors.”

“Oh, no. I hate that shit as much as you do. I mean like, Johnny Cash. Willie Nelson, you know? Emmylou Harris, Marty Robbins, Miss Dolly. The good stuff. There’s like, a few modern artists that are doing the same kinda thing that I like. It’s all just stories and good music.”

“That’s all my music is. Stories set to music. And, you say my shit is drug-fueled, you do know that Willie Nelson is famous for being a stoner? And that Johnny Cash publicly dealt with addiction and all that?”

“Well, yeah, but they’ve got class.”

“Okay, Cowboy. I’ll let you die on that fuckin’ hill while I party it up on mine to some eighties metal.”

And Steve reached out to shove Billy lightly, laughing while he did it.

“Agree to fucking disagree then. Just take me to pancakes and don’t try to reason with me about shitty music.”

“Then change the subject. Tell me other things about you besides your terrible music taste.”

Steve leaned back in his seat, blowing out a puff of air.

“Uh, I mean. Jeez. I don’t do much besides the rodeo, you know? Just movin’ all over the country.”

“That must be. Exhausting.”

Steve reached out to brush his fingers against the dashboard mindlessly.

“It’s not so bad. I try to make friends in the towns, you know? Makes it kinda fun.”

“Where were you born?”

“Indiana. Really small town. My mom and I stayed there for three years while my father traveled around. I’ve been on the road since.”

“Holy shit. Since you were three? Did you, like, go to school?”

“No. Uh, I actually have a tutor that’s on the road with us, and I’m. You know. Supposed to get my high school diploma soon. I’m behind schedule since,” he waved his hand flippantly. He was staring at his lap, playing with the frayed hem of his shorts. And Billy was grasping for another subject as Steve’s cheeks went red. Because obviously school, had struck a nerve.

“What kinda horse is June?”

“She’s an American quarter horse. That’s the usual type for most rodeo events. They’re good ranch horses because they’re a little more compact. I’ve been with June for five years now, and she’s a beast. I’ve got two others with me, on rotation so that none of them get too tired doing the shows over and over. June, Patsy, and Loretta. They’re all quarter horses, and each one is only about fourteen and a half hands tall. I like my horses a bit smaller for tie-down.”

“I understood, honestly, like, nothing of what you just said.”

Steve tossed his head back, laughing loudly over the radio at Billy’s confusion.

He laughed a lot.

Billy liked it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you rodeo slang. You’ll be a natural,” Steve said, reaching out to where Billy’s right hand was resting on the gearshift, wrapping his finger’s around Billy’s wrist.

“What about their names?”

“All ladies of country. Loretta Lynn, Patsy Cline, and June Carter. Carter-Cash, I guess. She married Johnny but had a career in her own right.”

“Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ hick.”

“You’ve said that before. Just because I’m in the rodeo-”

“No, it’s because you’re in the rodeo, and listen to country music, and wear fucking cowboy boots -”

“They are literally made for riding horses, okay? That’s why they were invented .”

Billy rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling brightly as he pulled into the diner parking lot.

It wasn’t too busy for a Sunday morning. Billy bets it’ll pick up in an hour or so for the brunch crowd.

He began working at the diner three years ago, bussing tables and washing dishes, getting paid under the table because technically, he was too young to work. He was a server now, usually taking the evening dinner shifts to miss that time when his dad was home from work.

The bell jingled above their heads as Billy held the door open for Steve, and Billy stuck his tongue out at the kitchen staff, leaning over the counter to swipe a few menus from the stack.

He led Steve to a booth in the back corner, waving at Lorraine, the older woman who was working their section, gesturing to the booth for Steve to take a seat.

“Wow. You’ve totally got this place on lock.”

Billy grinned at him, leaning against the wall to stretch his legs up on the booth next to him.

“I’ve worked here a few years. Kinda done all the staff positions. It’s a nice place.”

“Well, then what do you recommend?” Steve carefully opened the laminated menu, his big eyes flicking over the pictures on the side of every dish.

“Pancakes are good, so are the waffles though, if you’re into that. I like the full breakfast. Eggs, bacon or sausage, hash browns, pancakes, or toast. Kinda the best of everything.”

Steve snapped his menu shut, smiling softly at Billy.

“I’m trusting you with my breakfast here. It better be good .”

Lorraine approached their table, already pouring Billy a cup of coffee and sliding it to him along the table.

“You really love us that much you find your way in here on your day off?”

“Only you, Lorraine. Everybody else can fuck off for all I care.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at Billy.

“You want the usual cook-up?”

“Yes, please.”

She took his unopened menu, turning and smiling brightly at Steve.

“What can I get for you, Darling.”

Steve’s eyes were wide when he looked up at her, his cheeks starting to flush.

“Uh, just, the same as Billy, please.”

“You want a coffee?”

“No, Ma’am. Just a water for me please.” He handed his menu back, giving her a bright smile, his cheeks a soft rosy red.

Lorraine winked at Billy, nodding her head once in Steve’s general direction. Billy waved her off before she could say something embarrassing.

“Sorry, I get kinda weird sometimes.” Steve had pulled a napkin out of the dispenser on their table and was looking down at it, tearing off little chunks and rolling them into balls.

“That’s okay. Lorraine gets it. Plus, you were polite, and that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t be caught dead with you if you were an ass to servers.”

“Oh, God. My dad is such an ass when it comes to, really any staff. Like, servers, or, frankly, most of the people that work for him. Don’t even get me started on the animal carers. I mean, that’s probably the most important job at the whole rodeo, and he’s been trying to dock pay left, right, and fucking center.” Steve rolled his big eyes, huffing like Max.

“Wait, so your dad is like, the head of the whole operation?”

“My name is Steve Harrington,” and Steve pointed at his shirt, the name Harrington emblazoned over the horse.

“Oh damn. I thought that name was familiar when I saw the shirt. Figured I had just seen the rodeo name or something.”

“Nope. That’s me. A whole Harrington. My great-grandpa started the rodeo. He was, like, an actual ranch hand. Started one in the town we’re from. My grandpa was the one who got the idea to take it on the road. My dad came up through it like I did. He was in steer roping. And basically, his end goal is that I start running the whole show in a few years. Take over for him.”

“And, you don’t want to?”

“Nah. I don’t really have a brain for business. Don’t have a brain for much other than riding and tie-down, honestly. Don’t know the first thing about how to run a traveling rodeo.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Steve smiled at him, but his eyes seemed sad, and his smile was tight.

“You got plans for next year? College or anything?”

“Nah. I think college is, on the horizon, but I’m taking a gap year. Saving up to move out and pay for school and everything. Probably gonna go to community college to save some money. And then maybe grad school?”

“That’s smart, you know? Finding ways to save up. My dad is debating pushing college on me. Like, if I do run the business, there’s some shit I should know going into it, right? But I think he also sees that I’m way too dumb for college, and, like, I don’t need a degree to get hired. I’ll just,” Steve made an upwards sweeping gesture with his right hand. A gesture that Billy understood to vaguely mean nepotism.

“What would you rather do? If not run the thing.”

“I like tie-down, and I could feasibly do it for a long time. I could branch into other events, too, like steer roping and all that. Same idea as calf roping but a different animal. Literally. It’s a steer. But I’d be content just doing the events until I croak. I have absolutely no desire to rise through the ranks, or whatever.” Steve rolled his eyes, balling up the little napkin wads he had made into another napkin from the dispenser. Billy appreciated it. He’s had to clean up crap like that from this very floor. “I just love being around the rodeo. The animals and all the people. I don’t really wanna be anywhere else.”

“At least you have something you love. Like, you’d be happy to do that for the rest of your life, and not in an I’ve got nothing better to do way, but in an, I’m passionate about this way. A lot of people don’t really. Get that.” Billy included.

It’s not that he doesn’t have passions, it’s just that they’re not necessarily sustainable to him.

He knows he’s dangling by a thread with his father. Knows after his eighteenth birthday, he should be ready to be kicked out or asked to pay rent at any time. He needs a career that’ll get him some fucking money if he wants to get out and cut off his dad entirely. He can’t be forced to go crawling back to him because he wanted to self-publish his gay ass poetry that never took off or drum in a rock band that went nowhere.

To name a few.

“Yeah, I mean. Sometimes I think that I probably would’ve never set foot in a rodeo if I wasn’t literally born into one, so I kinda wonder who I’d be if this wasn’t everything I knew, but I still really love doing it, and it’s something that I’m actually good at, which speaks volumes.”

They were interrupted by Lorraine returning, placing two identical plates in front of them, a glass of water for Steve, and pulling hot sauce and ketchup out of her apron pocket.

“You two let me know if you need anything else.”

Steve beamed at her, thanking her softly and Billy’s heart fluttered like a stupid idiot.

They tucked in, Steve shoving food into his mouth until his cheeks were bulging, chewing aggressively. It made Billy laugh and nearly spew coffee all over the table.

“I figured you’d have better manners, being the heir to a rodeo dynasty or whatever.”

Steve pulled a face, showing Billy the chewed-up food in his mouth.

“How’s that for manners?”

It was actually fucking funny watching him try to swallow everything stuffed in his mouth.

“It’s borderline painful watching you eat.”

Billy laughed as Steve flicked a piece of scrambled egg at him. It landed on his shoulder. Billy slurped it right off his shirt.

“See! Now, who's the one with no table manners?”

“Still you, Sugar. Still you.”

Breakfast was, like, actually fun.

Not that Billy was expecting it to be shitty, but he wasn’t expecting it to be as carefree, as easy, as it was. He and Steve just, kinda, clicked.

Steve was easy to talk to. He was easy to listen to, easy to laugh with, and even easier to look at.

He’s kinda, everything Billy has ever wanted in a person.

He slid his hand into Billy’s as they were leaving the diner, smiling shyly at Billy when he looked over at him.

And Billy stopped in his tracks, right there in broad daylight, tugging Steve by his hand closer to Billy’s body, sliding his hands up his arms, feeling over Steve’s shoulders, and down his back to settle on his hips. Steve wrapped both arms around Billy’s shoulders, leaning closer to him, almost pressing his whole body against Billy’s.

And it was easy. Kissing Steve was just as easy as talking to him, as laughing with him, as looking at him. It was simple and nice and made Billy feel something he really didn’t want to put too much thought into.

Something that was decidedly not easy.

They pulled away from one another, both their lips red and slick.

Billy opened the passenger door, and Steve folded himself into the seat with a ridiculous amount of grace.

And as Billy drove them aimlessly through the city, he tried not to think of the expiration date on this whole thing, on the dates listed on the back of Steve’s t-shirt.

They’ve got a little under a month together.

And Billy was determined to make that the best goddamn month of both of their natural lives.

[idy-ll-ique]

Balisong.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Mutual Pining, Roommate AU

Requested: by @tom-hlover

Tom Hiddleston x (roommate) reader where reader is harboring a secret crush on Tom, but she thinks that Tom only sees her as a friend, she loves to sing when she's alone, and sends Tom letters through the mailbox making it seem from another place,but in reality the return address is from her friend's address whom is out of the country and lets reader use the address for now, as she is serving as the house's caretaker as well 😅😅 until Tom finds out and also turns out hears reader's singing? And I was thinking of the song "Bali Song" by Rivermaya for that one particularly 😅😅😊😊

Summary: Y/N, who is roommates with Tom Hiddleston (omg they were roommates) has a crush on him and instead of confessing her love like a normal person, she writes him love-letters using a fake identity and address. What happens when Tom finds out, though?

Warnings: None

Author's Note: Hey guys! Special shoutout to @tom-hlover for the prompt, finished writing it under an hour so you have to excuse me if it's crappy. Enjoy!

---

Y/N POV:

"Oh, look, another letter from the secret admirer. I wonder what she wrote this time."

I looked up from where I was tending to the houseplants and gave Tom a quick grin. "Endearing words, as always. She does like you a lot," I professed with a slight chuckle, giving him a small smile and looking away when I felt a blush creeping up on my cheeks.

Tom sat down on the couch and opened the letter. "Dear Tom…" I stopped listening after that, I knew the whole thing to heart anyway. Wondering how? Well, I was the one who wrote it, simple! Let me explain. I'm Y/N Y/L/N and the person I was speaking to? Tom Hiddleston, my roomie.

Yeah we lived together; we had been friends for a long time and I needed a place so Tom offered to keep me at his home until I found another home. Nearly 5 years had passed since that incident and now we sort of just lived together, fallen into a nice, daily routine. I also happened to have a huge, huge, huge crush on him. Knowing how many other people, much better than myself, adored him, I kept my feelings to myself.

Oh and by the way, I paid my share of the rent so don't come at me! "She's so sweet with these, I might just pay her a visit! What is the address?" I looked up, wide-eyed as Tom took the envelope in his hand. "Do you really need to?" I blurted out, turning red when he squinted his eyes at me. "Do you know this person?" he blinked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I don't," I muttered, "You know what? Fine, go meet this person. I just hope they're not, you know, a psychopath." Yes, I knew I was talking about myself but was I wrong, though? Instead of confessing my feelings like a normal person, I was sending letters to my crush like I lived in the Victorian Era, using my best friend's address while she was out living somewhere else.

"I'm sure she's not. Anyway, what are your plans for later?" He let out a yawn, slouching on the couch. "Nothing much, I finish some work and then bam, dinner time." Tom laughed. "I have an interview early tomorrow, so I'm going to sleep early tonight. What do you want for dinner?" I shrugged. "Anything's fine, thanks!" He ruffled my hair and got up, going to the kitchen.

Okay, I see a lot of you are staring in confusion, let me clear things up yet again. I liked Tom for nearly 3 years now, but had no idea how to proceed with my feelings. Did he even like me back? Would he even like me back? That's when my best friend gave me a brilliant idea.

She said she was moving elsewhere and that her previous house was going to be empty but she was still going to be the owner. "Hey, Y/N, maybe you can go live there if you want!" she suggested. And I told her, "Hm, I'll think about it." Ever since then, I was the caretaker of the house, visiting it once a week to see if everything was okay with it.

One day when I was there, looking out the balcony into the garden, I came across the said brilliant idea. Why don't I just send letters to Tom from this address confessing my love?! He didn't know about it, and I technically won't be telling him anything in person. A great way to get the feelings off my chest while not getting the feelings off my chest!

Ever since then, I had started writing letters to him, once a week. Most of them were small, one paragraph long, along the lines of "hey how are you I love you thanks" while in some, I included lovesick quotes from famous authors like William Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf, Jane Austen or Anaïs Nin. Tom was a fanatic of classical literature, it only made sense.

With a sigh, I got up and went to my room, getting started with my work only to end up spending all my time on social media until Tom called me over for dinner.

---

Tom POV:

"Ah, yes, this is the address," I said to myself, stopping outside a beautiful estate surrounded by pretty gardens. I parked the car and stepped out, heading to the door. As I was about to knock, I noticed that the door was locked. "Huh?" I whispered, maybe she wasn't home at the time? "Excuse me, sir? I saw your car parked outside…" I turned to see an old man blinking at me.

"Where's the woman who lives here?" I asked him. "Woman? This house has been empty for years, son, the last woman that lived here moved to the colonies 3 years ago." My eyes widened. So all this time, I was getting letters from… a ghost? Or was someone using a false address?

"Are you sure no one comes by, or anything?"

"Well, a fair young lady does stop by every week. Her name is Y/N Y/L/N, very polite and kind, she's like a daughter to me. She looks after the house; she's looking to move in, I guess but I'm not sure. Nice meeting you, young man! If you do want to meet up with the pseudo-owner, Y/N, she will stop by next Sunday at 11 am."

"Oh, I wouldn't need to do that," I muttered, bade him farewell and got back into the car. Well well well, things just got… interesting. I smiled widely as I drove back home. I had no idea Y/N felt the same way! All this time, the one-sided pining was actually mutual pining… it all ends today. Now that I knew she liked me back and my love wasn't in vain, there was nothing that could stop me from confessing.

Upon reaching home, I quietly opened the door only to see that Y/N was in the kitchen, singing a song unknown to me as she cooked. Like a thief, I tiptoed in and quietly closed the door behind me. I walked up to the kitchen, stopping when I heard the lyrics.

To speak or not to, where to begin

A great dilemma I'm finding myself in

For all I know you only see me as a friend

I try to tell myself, "Wake up, fool

This fairytale has got to end"

I leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, finding it strange that she still hadn't taken notice of me. You only see me as a friend? Nonsense, I definitely liked her more than that. For some reason, the lyrics seemed familiar— Oh yes, the song Y/N apparently liked to sing all the time! What was the name, uh…

Never in my life have I been more sure

So come on up to me and close the door

Nobody's made me feel this way before

You're everything I wanted…

When she (amazingly) sang those lines, I decided to make my move. I walked forward and put my arms around her from behind, laughing when she screamed. "Tom! Oh my God, when did you come home?!" I spun her around, trapping her between the kitchen counter and myself. "A few minutes ago. You sing wonderfully, love," I smirked. She visibly gulped. "Uh, what are you—"

"Don't play dumb now. Aren't you the one who writes those letters? Don't lie to me." Her eyes went wide. "How did you find out? I'm sorry, I—" I cut off her trail of words by leaning down, capturing her lips with mine in a magical kiss. She, thankfully, didn't push away, instead wrapping her arms around me.

"I didn't think you'd like me back," she mumbled when we pulled away to breathe. "All that matters is that we're together now." She chuckled and snuggled into my arms. With a content sigh, I pulled her close, running my fingers through her hair as I held her close. "I love you," I said simply, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you too, think that's quite obvious."

We laughed. "How did you find out, though? What gave it away?" She got out of my arms and turned back to her cooking. I leaned against the counter next to her, crossing my arms. "I just visited the address on the letter. The door was locked, then I met an old man who said the person who lived there moved to the USA 3 years ago."

"My best friend, Y/F/N."

"He told me your name, saying how you went there every Sunday to look after the house. How come I didn't know?"

"Oh, Bertram. I always lied about going out on Sundays. I guess we sort of owe our relationship to Bert, don't we?"

I laughed and kissed her on the temple. "For sure, we do. What is that song you sing all the time, you were singing it just now?" She snorted and took out her phone, opening Spotify. She put on the song and turned to me, holding her hand out. "Balisong by Rivermaya. Care for a dance?"

"Don't mind if I do."

---

A/N: Oooh two fics in a row?? leave a like if you enjoyed lol thanks for reading!

[lovelycheollie]

Back Home

“I believe that all of our lives we’re looking for home and if we’re really lucky, we find it in someone’s loving arms. I think that’ what life is-coming home.”  –Anita Krizzan

Words: 2512

Hi there! It’s been years, and I’ve been attracted to embrace my Carat side again! I hope everyone’s doing fine, despite of the pandemic we’re experiencing right now. I decided to create a Vernon fic for the reason that I missed my mutuals, especially @chillihansol ((she’s still a Vernon stan how constant I am jelly!)) I hope you guys enjoy this read! My ask is always open for requests 

 “This is ridiculous,” you mumbled to yourself, staring at the white cyber abyss in front of you. The laptop screen showed nothing but a blank document, a pile of notebooks unevenly stacked to your right. Your chin rested on the top of your palm while you tried your best to think of something that may make you start on your assignment. So much on learning online, you could only rely on yourself and on the urge of just simply finishing and passing whatever needs to be submitted.

It was early in the morning, and supposedly you were to have a hearty breakfast while thinking of ways to somehow cope with the academic stress you were feeling. Even if you were stuck inside your room, you at least knew how to have fun despite being by yourself, may it be simply listening to your favorite song, or cook something easy. While you strolled towards the kitchen, you heard your phone ring and you were being summoned to an online meeting with your classmates. Your to-do checklist was filled again with some assignments meant to be passed on the next day. Staring at the list alone removed the motivation in you to work on your pancakes, and the weather outside could only join you in your tired state.

So there you were, sitting on the office chair and struggling to find the single word that will push you forward to work on your assignment. No word you’ve thought is good enough for the first sentence. Oh how much you’ve hated going through a writer’s block. Deep inside, you just wanted to cram on the homework and sleep your troubles away, but then again, you just really wanted to get rid of everything and just relax without worrying.

As you decided to brew another cup of coffee, someone knocked on your door, which almost caused you to drop your favorite mug onto the floor. You dragged your feet towards the doorway, eyebrows knitted together and eyes ready to glare on whoever was brave enough to bother you early in the morning. But as soon as you saw Vernon flashing a toothy grin, the eyebrows separated, the glare turned into a loving pair of eyes, and your feelings were everywhere. After months of not seeing each other, Vernon was in the flesh, and was already making your morning better.

“’Sup Y/N,” he said, placing his face mask in his bag and removing his white sneakers. You took the time to gawk at his pink sweater and jeans, while still being mentally at awe at his sudden presence. You heard him chuckle a bit as he welcomed himself in the room. “What’s the mug for?”

You rose the mug near to your face, stepping away from the door. “Ah, well, I was brewing coffee. I wasn’t really expecting a visitor, let alone your face.”

“Kind of mean, but I understand.” He lifted the messenger bag and showed you the contents. He had store-bought meat buns, bottled coffee and milk tea, some chips and biscuits stacked inside the bag. Vernon showed another smile which made your heart throb a bit. “I figured you would be stressed today, so I brought the good stuff.”

“How did you even ‘figure out’?”

“You tweeted last night, and you know me. If practice is over then I do the second best thing.”

“Which is?”

“I check your tweets because I’m such a great friend,” he replied to you as he found himself sitting on a bean bag. Vernon placed the goods on the coffee table and stood up again, joining you in the kitchen to get some glasses and plates. He was always like this in your room; he felt like he was at home, especially when he was with you.

Placing the plates on the table, he proceeded to fill the glasses with the coffee and tea, then looked at you and patted the bean bag next to him. You could only roll your eyes while removing the ice tray from the fridge. As you sat beside him, he dug his teeth on the meat buns and let out a satisfactory hum. He found himself at peace, with you alone, and with some convenience store goods. But before you could even copy him, you remembered you had an assignment to start on. The pain of standing up again to grab your laptop was bothersome, and the temptation to relax has strengthened itself.

While chewing on a hearty bite, Vernon took a short glance on the empty online document, then to your struggling fingers, then back to the screen again. He could tell that you were just not having it, the motivation in you to study was missing.  Remembering on how he welcomed himself inside, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty. “I can see you’re pretty busy. Did I come at the wrong time?”

“What? Oh no, it’s okay! You actually came at a good time,” you tucked your hair behind your ear, his sight fixated on your fingertips. A sigh escaped your lips as you finally typed some words on the keyboard. “I just needed a small push to start on this one.”

“How many assignments do you have?”

“I got two, plus this one, so three,” you stopped and looked at him, seeing a bit of sauce on the side of his lips. With your motherly instinct, you wiped the sauce off with your thumb and then wiped it on a tissue paper. Before it could even sink in your thoughts as you continued to type, Vernon was flabbergasted. Yes, he knew you were a bit motherly to your friends, but he wasn’t aware that you had the gull to touch someone else’s face. He could feel the blood rush to his cheeks, and he was just trying his best not to let you know how your simple gesture made him feel giddy. The troubles of having a crush on a friend was very much real for this man.

Despite being busy on working as an idol, Vernon would always find time to be with you, as the two of you were close friends. He despised the thought of only being friends with you until the two of you reached adulthood, and he was so sure that he wouldn’t let the two of you stay as friends. But then, even if he finds himself in the perfect situation, the courage to muster up the feelings and confess to you was still a hard mission for him to do. Simply put, he was just crushing on you so badly.

And so, the feelings were put in the lyrics he would sing. They would be seen in the steps he would do onstage. You weren’t that naïve; you can feel that Vernon was signaling something to you. However, you didn’t want to simply assume that this charismatic friend of yours was trying to be more than friends. Hence, you and Vernon are still friends, up to this day.

“Do you want me to help you?” he stammered while trying to act as normal as he can, which you could see, was failing. Seeing him like that, you were starting to feel jittery as well. Your fingers kept pressing backspace from the typing mistakes. The two of you were now facing the same dilemma: how to act properly beside the person you’ve been liking for months.

You cleared your throat and sipped from your glass. Opening the packet of biscuits, you munched on a piece and continued on your homework. “No, I’m okay. I know you’ve been busy, so you should just relax and let me do my own thing.”

“Are you sure Y/N? You know I could help you.”

“Yes, I’m definitely sure. And what you should be doing is resting because I know you’d be pretty busy by tomorrow.”

  Then it became silent, with only the rustling of the plastic bags and your fingers typing making the noise. Vernon continued to slip a glance on your work from time to time, and you just did whatever you were doing, despite feeling the heavy weight of his glare. Sometimes, you would catch him looking at you, and he would just give you a goofy grin, and that would be enough for you to punch him lightly on his arms.

 As you were reaching the final paragraph of your paper, you felt the urge of chewing something. The last piece of biscuit was across the table, and sadly, you couldn’t rely on your own to reach it. Luckily, beside you was Vernon who had long, slender arms, who busied himself with his mobile games. It was time for you to have him do something.

 “Hey Vernon?” you said, eyes glued once again to the monitor.

Vernon paused his game and turned his head to you. “Yeah?”

“Can you pass me the last biscuit? I can’t reach it,” you spoke charmingly, giggling in your head. You were expecting that the biscuit would be placed nearer to you, but your friend wanted revenge to what you did earlier.

Vernon opened the packet and positioned the biscuit in front of your lips. For him, he was doing it simply to lessen your troubles, but to you, it was making you crazy.

“Here you go Y/N,” he spoke, placing the thin, chocolate-flavored biscuit on your lips and licking the rest of the crumbs on his thumb. You were staring with wide eyes as he did so, and when he noticed your surprised look, the thought of his actions hit him on the face. Right now, the two of you were a blushing mess. Panicking for your life, you hurried into finishing the last paragraph of your assignment. There were less mistakes this time as you typed, which felt as an accomplishment to you. You couldn’t dare to look at Vernon with your reddened state, which made you to focus more on your paper.

“Hey Y/N,” he finally spoke as you saved the file. Vernon was simply waiting for your response, sitting beside you while you swallowed your feelings and shut your laptop off. He sat on his knees, eyes staring at you which took you aback. Vernon was serious, and you felt a pang of nervousness to whatever he was thinking. You settled the laptop on the table, and just sat there, thinking of what to say to ease the atmosphere somehow.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Why are we so awkward?” he mumbled, and you made a small laughter as soon as you heard him. Your laughter was music to his ears, and it quickly perked him back to his normal self again.

“I don’t know about you, all I wanted was for you to reach the biscuit, not feed it to me, you dork!”

“You did it first! You wiped the sauce from the corner of my lips!”

You could only blush more while making up words for your rebuttal. “It was my motherly instinct! You did not have to take your revenge on me!”

And while you continued on, Vernon was simply looking at you, adoring your flushed cheeks in the morning light. In his head, you were pretty, even if your face was red, even if you were chatty and embarrassed. His heart was full of you, he knew that he likes you that much. A tiny smirk grew on his lips, which turned into a large smile. Surrendering in defeat, you turned to the other side, bit your lips into one straight line and planted the thought of him smiling at you in the center of your mind.

“Why did you have to be so charming?” you whispered to yourself, making sure that you were the only one who could hear it. You were mistaken though, as Vernon heard it, and kept the butterflies in his stomach.

Vernon’s ringtone broke the silence, and with quaking hands, he answered the call. While he was talking with the caller, you took a piece of paper and wrote something simple on it. Quietly, you sneaked the paper inside his bag, and laughed at yourself. You imagine a laughing Vernon in the middle of the street, with the paper in between his fingers.

“Y/N, our manager called. He said he wanted to meet us all in the dorm,” he told you while fixing his bag and checking his belongings inside. He had a gloomy look imprinted on his face, and you were affected by the sudden news as well. Vernon was going to leave so soon, and it will take a while again to see him and bond with him. “He wants to meet us right now. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’re an idol! You’ll be busy at times and it’s okay! I understand!” you showed a sad smile, which made Vernon ache for a hug with you.

“Don’t you worry! After the meeting, I’ll come back immediately! Lunch will be my treat!” Vernon replied with another grin, lifting his arms to pat you on the head. The two of you walked to the door, and you can’t help but become a little bit greedy to him. Deep inside, you wished that he didn’t have to leave, and that you would spend the whole day with him.

After putting the mask on, he stood up, looking at you once more and poking your head. “Hey, don’t be sad. I’ll be back soon enough!”

You braved yourself to hug him, which startled him a bit. He then hugged you back, his warmth seeping on his clothes to your skin, and his arms tightly wrapped around you. The moment was short-lived, as you backed away from him and returned the smile he’s been giving you. “You better take care of yourself Vernon!”

He opened the door and stayed outside, still holding on to your warmth. Head turning, you were there behind him, in your favorite loungewear, waiting for him to continue ahead. To him, you were the epitome of a home, and he knows that no matter what would happen, he would always come back to you. In the busiest day, or in the darkest night, he would always think of you. You are his home.

While walking along the street, Vernon checked the contents of his bag. He would often check the insides of his bag when he was already outside, a perk he does to secure that he has everything with him. At the bottom corner of the bag, there was a folded paper. He knew the note was yours, as he remembered that you had a small habit of leaving memos in your friend’s belongings. As he opened the note, he found himself running back to your home, knocking on your door and locking you in his arms, embracing you with all of his heart. Vernon thanked his stars, and this stressful morning, as he realized his worries were answered with your sincerity and with your own feelings as well.

“Vernon, even if you run away, always come back home. I love you.”

[thearvariblues]

The Power of a Bard’s Love

Geralt opens the door and sneaks into their shared room in an inn, expecting Jaskier to be fast asleep. It’s the middle of the night, after all. To be honest, he desperately wants Jaskier to be fast asleep. He doesn’t have the energy to explain… certain things to him.

Which, of course, means that the second he closes the door, he hears the rustle of a blanket and sees Jaskier sit up in the darkness.

“Oh, thank fuck,” the bard mutters. “I was getting really afraid. Where the hell have you been so long? You said it was an easy contract!”

“I thought it would be,” Geralt sighs, letting his sword fall from his shoulder. “Wasn’t.”

“Damn. What happened?” Jaskier asks as Geralt starts undressing. “Are you injured?”

“No. Just…” Geralt bites his lower lip.

“Just what?” Jaskier says and Geralt can almost hear him frown. “Geralt. Talk.”

“Cursed,” Geralt murmurs.

“Excuse me? You know, some of us don’t have supernaturally good hearing, could you say it a little louder?”

“I’m cursed, damn you!” Geralt growls.

“Oh. I mean… Wait, what? How? What’s happening to you? How do we break it?”

“We don’t. It’s…” Geralt sits down on the bed and closes his eyes. His limbs feel heavy, so heavy that he doesn’t even know if he’ll ever be able to stand back up.

He feels Jaskier’s hand on the small of his back and relaxes into the touch.

“Talk to me, Geralt, please.”

“I have one year to find and kiss my one true love,” Geralt chuckles.

“Your… What? What if you don’t?”

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt.”

The bard starts to remove his armor and Geralt sighs, glad that he doesn’t have to do it himself. He never thought he’d trust another person enough to let them undress him, and yet, here he is, melting into his friend’s familiar touch.

“I die,” he whispers after a while. “If I don’t find my true love, I die.”

“Mhm,” Jaskier hums. “You have any idea where she is?”

“She?” Geralt blinks.

“Yennefer, of course. Let’s face it, there is no way she isn’t your only one. She’s probably not gonna forgive you as easily as I did, I mean, after the whole mountain incident, but I suppose you could convince her to give you a single kiss, at least. A kiss can’t hurt, right?”

“You’re babbling, Jaskier.”

“Am I? I’m so sorry, but you just told me you’re about to die if we don’t find your angry ex as soon as possible–”

“In a year. We have time. Calm down. Please. You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m just trying to–”

“I know. But we can come up with a plan tomorrow. I don’t want to think about it today. I want to sleep.”

“Right,” Jaskier nodded. “But don’t you think you can run away from this like you run away from everything. You can’t.”

“Yes, Jaskier. I know.”

*

It takes them precisely two weeks and five days to find Yennefer. It’s actually Jaskier who finds her, and Geralt doesn’t have any idea how he did it. Even if the Witcher tried, he couldn’t find her so fast.

But here they were, standing at her doorstep in a town so small Geralt didn’t even bother to remember its name.

Jaskier takes the lead before Geralt can open his mouth, explains the whole situation to the momentarily stunned mage and basically ushers the two of them together into the bedroom before either of them manages to say a single word of protest.

“Hm,” Geralt hums as the key turns in the keyhole from the outside.

“Was this your idea? Or his?” Yennefer asks with a slight incline of her head towards the door.

“I know you’re not my true love,” Geralt shrugs.

“Why not stop him then?”

“I’d rather try stopping an avalanche,” he smirks and sits on the bed. “Besides, can’t hurt to try.”

“And you think that after everything you’ve done, I’m just gonna let you fuck me?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Jaskier thinks that all I need to do is apologize. Honestly, I think it’s bullshit, but…”

“Well,” she says and crosses her arms. “It can’t hurt to try.”

*

“It’s not that I don’t love you,” Geralt murmurs sleepily as they lay naked on the bed together. “I do. It’s just…”

“True love requires free will,” Yennefer nods. “And I think we’ll be much better off as friends who occasionally like to fuck.”

“Could you check? Just in case.”

She reaches out, touches his temple and shuts her eyes briefly.

“Cursed. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. To be honest, it’s nice to have a notice this long. Much better than to die in some monster’s claws during a hunt gone wrong.”

“You’re not planning on trying to find… the one?”

“No,” Geralt sighs. “Don’t tell Jaskier, though. I’ll tell him that it worked. That I’m saved.”

“Only to drop dead in a year’s time? You know I don’t particularly like the bard, but he doesn’t deserve this.”

“He won’t be with me when I… He won’t be with me.”

“It’s not fair, Geralt.”

“Yeah. Life isn’t exactly fair, Yen. I thought you knew.”

*

It seems to Geralt that time flies much faster now that he knows he only has limited amount of it. The curse thing happened in spring, and before Geralt knows, it’s nearly winter and he’s on his way to Kaer Morhen. He was tempted to invite Jaskier to spend the winter with him, but the bard would immediately know something was wrong – and that’s the last thing Geralt wants.

He arrives last, greets his brothers…

He’s not planning on telling them the truth, but things rarely go according to his plans. And so he blurts it out one evening and Lambert nearly chokes on his cheap vodka.

“You’re gonna what?!” he wheezes.

Geralt shrugs.

“What are you doing here, then?” Eskel frowns. “You should be searching for that… true love.”

“Searching?” Lambert snorts. “The fucker doesn’t need to search, he just needs to grow some balls and fuck his true love into oblivion!”

“It’s not Yennefer,” Geralt murmurs. “I’ve tried that.”

“No shit. We both know it’s that bard of yours.”

“It’s not,” Geralt says, taking the bottle of vodka from Lambert’s hand. “He doesn’t love me back. He never will.”

“Has he told you that?” Eskel asks.

“Didn’t need to. Witchers don’t get to love. And if we do, we are never loved back. It’s just how things are.”

“That’s utter bullshit, dear Geralt,” Lambert chuckles. “Aiden and I–”

“Who?” Geralt blinks. “Who the fuck is Aiden?”

“Oh,” Lambert mutters, stealing the bottle back. “Shit.”

*

“And of course it lifted the curse. Of fucking course!” Jaskier mumbles drunkenly, resting his chin on his hand.

The dark-haired woman sitting opposite him nods solemnly and orders more drinks.

“Weird,” she murmurs. “I could have sworn you were his true love.”

“Bollocks. Pure bollocks,” Jaskier sighs. “He’s mine, but I’m not his.”

“That’s not how this works, though.”

“And what do you know about true love, Valdo?”

“Enough to know… Thank you, dear,” she smiles at the barmaid and winks. Jaskier groans.

“Could you not flirt with every woman you meet?!”

“Better than you flirting with every person you meet, human or not.”

“True love, Valdo. Speak.”

“The thing is,” Valdo says, tilting her head, “that true love is recep… reco… Fuck. He must always love you back. Ergo, if the curse was lifted by him sleeping with the mage, he is not your true love. And if he is, then you are his, and then the curse wasn’t lifted.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hums.

“Hmm? My dear, are you turning into that Witcher of yours?” Valdo laughs.

“No,” Jaskier sighs, downing his drink. “Ugh. Just thinking where the hell am I going to find another true love.”

“Oh, dear,” Val says and shakes her head. “Well, I know where I am going to find my true love for tonight. If you’ll excuse me…”

“Sure, sure!” Jaskier shouts when Valdo rises to her feet, not even waiting for his answer. “Please leave me. I love drinking alone! Oh, shit, what did I do to deserve such horrible friends…”

*

The winter without Jaskier seemed to drag on forever. Geralt missed his bard – missed him more than he would ever had thought.

That’s why, when the spring comes, he finds himself on his way to their usual meeting spot, even though during winter he promised himself time and time again that he wouldn’t, that he would just take some other route and never see his bard again.

He will, inevitably, die in a few weeks, he tells himself even as he passes the first houses of a tiny town where Jaskier is undoubtedly already waiting. He should just turn Roach around and leave. Spare Jaskier’s feelings. The bard will hate him for not coming, of course. But perhaps… Perhaps it won’t hurt as much when he hears about Geralt’s death, then.

And Geralt, of course, won’t have to explain to him why he lied about being cured.

The dilemma is solved within a few seconds when Geralt sees the bard himself running towards him at high speed, his lute case and his bag swinging on his shoulder, his hair ruffled and his doublet and chemise undone.

He beams when he sees Geralt, comes to a stop by his side and thrusts the bag and the lute case into the Witcher’s hand.

“Oh, Geralt, thank the gods,” he mutters, already scrambling up behind the Witcher. “We need to leave. Right now. Don’t ask any questions.”

Just then, Geralt sees several armed men heading towards them, shouting.

“Let me guess,” he chuckles. “The mayor’s daughter?”

“And his son,” Jaskier says, takes his bags back and wraps his arms around Geralt’s torso. “Nice to see you, by the way.”

“Hm,” Geralt smiles as he turns Roach around. “Nice to see you too, bard.”

*

It takes Geralt a few days, but in the end, he does tell Jaskier the truth. He does it because he finds the alternative – quietly sneaking away to die while the bard’s asleep – unbearable.

Jaskier… Doesn’t take it well. There is a lot of yelling involved. And a lot of swearing. Geralt doesn’t even try to keep count of how many times the word ‘idiot’ is used. It’s… well, a lot.

“How much time do we have left, then?” Jaskier asks when he finally calms down.

“Thirty-seven days,” Geralt sighs. “On the final day, I have until the sun sets.”

“Okay,” Jaskier nods. “I want to go to the coast.”

“The coast? But… why?”

“You don’t need to know. You owe me, Geralt. For all the lies. So we’re going.”

Geralt just nods. He knows Jaskier is right.

And if this is the very last thing the Witcher can do for him… then so be it.

*

Just as it did last year, the time flies when Geralt’s with Jaskier. The bard is mad at him, Geralt knows, but he never lets it show. He does his best to make Geralt’s final weeks as good as possible – and he succeeds. They travel together, laugh together, and, when they finally reach the coast, they even live together, in a tiny house Jaskier buys with all the money he earned during the winter.

It’s good. It’s great. And way, way too soon… it’s over.

Before the Witcher knows, his final day has arrived.

They are sitting on a cliff, side by side, and the sun is just beginning to set over the sea.

“Perhaps…” Jaskier whispers. “Perhaps you’re wrong. Perhaps the curse is already broken.”

“It isn’t,” Geralt mutters, staring at the sun. “I can feel it. It’s like… the sand in an hourglass. I can feel it running out.”

The sky is bright red. It would have been beautiful – if it didn’t herald the very last moments of the Witcher’s life.

“You’re just… so stupid,” Jaskier says, clearly frustrated. “You should have said something. We could have…”

“What? Fucked our way through all the brothels of the Continent in search of someone who would be willing to love me back?” Geralt smirks. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want that.”

“We could have tried!” Jaskier groans.

“I just wanted everything to be… normal. You. Me. The Path. Monsters. You singing in taverns. Running away from cuckolded husbands. And wives,” he chuckles. “I wanted to spend my last year with you.”

Jaskier sighs, tears his eyes away from the sunset and looks at Geralt instead.

“Are you scared?” he asks.

“Not scared,” Geralt says. “But I wish I had more time.”

“If it helps, I also wish you had more time.”

Geralt turns his head and his eyes meet Jaskier’s.

“I know,” he whispers.

“Why did you say no when I…” Jaskier takes a deep breath and his eyes flit to Geralt’s lips. “When I said we could go to the town and find you a whore you could fuck before you drop dead? Surely it would have been much more pleasant than sitting here with me and counting the seconds you have left.”

“I…” Geralt says, almost inaudibly. From the corner of his eyes, he sees the sun’s almost down. “I don’t want some random whore. I want you. Always you.”

He hears the words leave his mouth but he doesn’t regret what he said, even as he sees Jaskier’s eyes go wide and hears the bard’s breath hitch in his throat. He is already almost dead. He won’t have to deal with Jaskier’s inevitable rejection.

And then he feels Jaskier’s lips press against his in a passionate kiss. Geralt moans, wraps his arm around Jaskier’s waist and kisses him back, just as passionately.

His heart is beating faster than it has been in years, perhaps decades. He can feel his own hands trembling.

Oh, yes, he thinks as he is being lowered to the ground until his back touch the grass and Jaskier is all over him. This is it. This is how I want to die.

The moment stretches on and on, as if time itself decided to slow down so Geralt could truly enjoy the thing he’s been waiting for… well, since he met the bard all those years ago, probably.

But then Jaskier pulls away, way, way too soon, and he stares at Geralt with his eyes wide, breathing heavily, before he turns his head towards the horizon.

The very, very dark horizon.

“Geralt,” he whispers. “The sun is down.”

It takes a few seconds before Geralt fully registers his words.

The sun is down, there is no doubt about it. The sun is down. He is alive. The horrible feeling of sand in his hourglass running out is… gone.

The curse is lifted. He’s sure of it.

And there is only one explanation.

“Oh,” he says then. “Oh, fuck. Lambert will never let me hear the end of this.”

Jaskier buries his face in his shoulder and groans.

“Tell me about it. Valdo Marx is gonna write a play about us. And her plays are horrible, Geralt!”

“Fantastic,” says a woman’s voice behind them. “I can’t wait to see it.”

They both turn their heads towards the owner of the voice. A little magical light flares up, but neither of the men needs it. They’d know her anywhere.

“Yen,” Geralt murmurs. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you were supposed to be dead already,” the mage smiles. “I came to give the bard some moral support. And help him bury your body.”

“That’s… nice?” Geralt frowns.

“I was going to dump your stupid ass into the sea,” she shrugs.

“Not very nice,” Jaskier remarks. “But I would have helped.”

“Hey!” Geralt frowns. “I’m right here, you know? Alive.”

Jaskier, who’s still lying on top of the Witcher, looks down into a pair of yellow eyes and smiles. “Don’t worry, love. I’m aware. But you lied to me about the curse being lifted. No nice funerals for naughty Witchers.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have mourned?”

“I would have, of course. Right after kicking your lifeless body down from the cliff.”

“Oh, Jaskier,” Yennefer laughs. “I’m starting to like you more and more.”

“And I’m starting to like this whole situation less and less,” Geralt growls. “Yen, as you can see, I’m alive, Jaskier doesn’t need any moral support, so could you just, you know… Leave? Because I’ve got a bard to fuck.”

“If you think he’s going to let you be on top,” she smirks, already opening a portal, “I believe you will find that you are sorely mistaken.”

“Correct,” Jaskier giggles, pressing his lips against Geralt’s throat.

“See?” Yennefer smiles. “Enjoy your night, Geralt. And see you around. Both of you.”

“Wait! What do you mean–“ Geralt starts, but the portal is already closing behind the mage.

And when Geralt feels Jaskier’s teeth gently dig into the skin just above his collarbone, he can’t bring himself to care about anything else.

*

A red-haired Witcher is sitting on the wall of Kaer Morhen, staring at the snow-covered trail below him. He has been sitting like this for quite a few hours, much to the dismay of another Witcher – a slim, blond and extremely bored one.

“Lambs,” the blond sighs. “I hate to tell you, but I don’t think he’s coming.”

“Shut up, Aiden,” Lambert murmurs. “And don’t fucking call me Lambs.”

“Sorry, honey.”

Lambert only hums, which means he absolutely isn’t listening – ha hates being called honey even more than being called Lambs.

Aiden looks down at the courtyard and stays quiet. There are times when trying to talk to Lambert is useless – and this is one of them. All he needs to do is wait until the ginger starts talking himself.

Which he does, a little while later.

“If he’s alive, he’s coming,” he says quietly. “The snow came early this year, but I’m sure he’s gonna get here somehow.”

“Is that why Vesemir’s nowhere to be found and Eskel has been trying to drink himself into oblivion ever since the morning?”

“They don’t think he’s alive. I do,” Lambert shrugs.

“You heard what people say. A Witcher and a bard went to the coast and never came back.”

“Yeah, but nobody said one of them died there,” Lambert growls.

“That doesn’t make sense, love.”

“I know. But he’s my brother. I’m not trying to make sense, I just… hope.”

“Right. Of course,” Aiden nods. Lambert is still staring at the path towards Kaer Morhen, but nothing is moving there.

Aiden bites his lower lip, looks back at the courtyard… And blinks.

“Uhm… Lambs?” he says.

“What did I just say?!” Lambert growls.

“Lamby,” Aiden says, a little more urgently.

“Don’t even fucking think about it.”

“Melitele’s tits,” Aiden smirks. “Should I just call you Your Royal Majesty or something?”

“Lambert is enough, you know.”

“Fine. Lambert,” Aiden says, rolling his eyes.

“What?” Lambert asks.

“You said your brother had white hair, right?”

“Yeah. Something about mutations gone wrong.”

“And he had a mage and a bard?”

“A bard traveled with him and he slept with a mage, right.”

“Black clothes?”

“Why are you asking all those questions?”

Aiden shrugs, still looking down at the courtyard.

“And it seems that he really, really hates portals?” the blond grins.

Lambert’s eyes go wide as he moves closer to Aiden to take a look.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me…”

*

The first thing Geralt does when he stumbles through the portal is checking that he still owns two legs. Then two hands. One neck. One head.

He knows he probably wouldn’t be checking anything if he didn’t have a head, but that doesn’t stop him.

“You forgot your cock,” Jaskier’s highly amused voice says. “You see, I’m fine with you being one-legged, but cockless? Never.”

“Don’t worry, bard, I took extra care to bring his cock along,” Yennefer replies. “It would truly be a terrible shame to lose it.”

“You think you’re so amusing, don’t you?” Geralt sighs before he drops to his knees and kisses the ground. “But I’m safe. Thank Melitele, I’m fucking safe.”

“And they say I am dramatic,” Jaskier says. “And you should be thanking Yen, not Melitele.”

“Fuck off, bard!” Geralt growls.

“So grumpy,” Jaskier snorts. “It’s not my fault that the winter came a bit early this year, is it?”

Geralt raises his head to glower at his lover.

“And who felt the need to go to Oxenfurt and brag to Valdo Marx about getting his Witcher? And who then decided to stay for three weeks to see the first showing of her new play The Power of a Bard’s Love?”

“Come on, she managed to write and rehearse it in those three weeks, just for me!”

“It could have been two, if you hadn’t spent a week trying to cast a perfect Geralt.”

“It was Gerard, actually. And the actors she picked simply weren’t able to convey your brooding grumpiness. I had to step in!”

“I agree,” Yennefer smiles. “That Gerard was spot on.”

“I hate you. Both of you.”

“No, you don’t,” she winks. “All right, boys. I will be on my way. Enjoy the winter in a drafty old castle. Geralt, no excessive drinking. Jaskier, do try not to spread your legs for everyone here.”

“Can’t make any promises,” Jaskier shrugs.

“Take care of Roach,” Geralt grunts.

“Of course I will, you idiot,” she rolls her eyes, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll be seeing you in spring.”

Geralt hums as Jaskier steps closer, grins and presses his lips against the mage’s.

“I do hope you’ll stop by during the winter, too,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna miss you.”

“I’m sure you will,” she smiles and opens a portal. “Goodbye, boys.”

She steps in and the portal closes right behind her. Geralt sighs, wraps his arm around Jaskier’s waist a pulls the bard closer.

“Just the two of us, then,” he says. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard. I hope the reality is even worse than you imagined. Please do remember that I told you to stay in Oxenfurt.”

“Without you? Never, love,” Jaskier says, pressing his lips against Geralt’s throat. “It would have been a terribly long winter.”

Just as Geralt is about to reply, they hear a yell from above them that is a perfectly equal mix between angry and delighted.

“You fucking piece of selkiemore shit! Don’t you dare move! I’m coming for you and I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

“That was my brother Lambert,” Geralt notes without even bothering to look up.

“I see,” Jaskier nods. “So it is going to be a long winter…”

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 1: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 1: Your soulmate’s name is on your wrist.

Content: Flower/Tattoo Shop AU, background character death (unspecified cause, none of the sides), that’s pretty much it, it’s just soft Logince.

Word count: 2.7k

A small ding from the store entrance pulled Roman out of his thoughts, and he groaned softly. It was nearing the end of his shift, almost closing time, and another customer at this time would probably mean he was staying after hours again. All he wanted to do was go home and watch cheap reality TV in his sweatpants while shoveling handfuls of hot cheetos into his mouth. So sue him, it had been a long day. But nooo. Someone else had just walked in, probably someone with a very specific style that was out of season and they would argue for half an hour, no matter how many times he explained that tulips aren’t blooming right now, Vanessa! 

Sure, usually his customers were great. Nervous first anniversaries, eccentric brides, all that romance stuff. He loved it. And they were usually all too willing to give him a budget and a color scheme and let him go wild, which was the best part about his job. He was good at it, too. His boss had seen his eye for style and almost immediately gave him solo shifts, which meant decently good pay and hours alone to belt out songs amongst the flowers and daydream to his heart’s content. It was a small enough business that the only mandatory part of his outfit was a green apron, so he could wear whatever he wanted, and he didn’t need a pesky nametag. Those had always weirded him out just a bit. So yeah, he loved his job, but right now, he knew himself too well. He had awful luck. 

With a forced customer service grin, he poked out of the backroom and began his usual spiel of, “Thanks for coming to The Rainbow Bouquet, what can I get started…” 

His words died in his throat at the mere sight of the man before him. Never had he been so equally attracted and frightened at the same time.

He was tall, probably just taller than him, but he held himself in a way that made Roman feel miniscule. Both arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, the left one a flurried mix of black and white and color, beautiful strips of pink and blue galaxies blending with grayscale skulls and clocks. The other had more order; shadows of a forest growing from around his wrist, shimmering mist curling up over his bicep and ending with a full moon stamped on his shoulder like a crest. A corner of something peaked up around the collar of his torn vest, and if Roman had to guess, there were most likely plenty more tattoos that were covered by his ripped black jeans and blue Nasa shirt. Not that his mind was going there at all, no siree. 

Once Roman’s brain had screeched to a halt back in his body, he spoke again.

“What can I get started for you today?”

The man swallowed with difficulty, taking in the rows and rows of flowers surrounding him. He definitely didn’t look in his element.

“I need an arrangement for my mother. She’s in the hospital.”

Ah, the part of the job that Roman didn’t enjoy. Probably half the orders that came in were for sick people or funerals, and those were always a lot harder to arrange. It was always hard to find joy in creating for something so dismal.

“I’m sorry to hear. Did you have anything specific in mind? Does she have a favorite flower?”

“Daisies. She likes Daisies,” He murmured, still admiring the space around him. Roman couldn’t help but smile at the man’s expression. It was just a little awe inspired, a little bit of childish wonder, under that rough exterior. It was a gorgeous shop, that’s one of the reasons Roman had started working there.

“That’s good, it makes it a little easier for me to design something when I have that to go off of. Do you have a budget, or…”

He shook his head weakly, finally turning to look at Roman. “Price isn’t an issue. This is one of the last things I’m going to be able to give her.”

“Oh,” Roman whispered, slowly putting down the pen he’d been writing with, “I’m so sorry.”

“It can’t be changed. There’s no point in losing sleep over it.”

“Just because it’s going to happen doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You’re allowed to be sad about it.”

The man narrowed his eyes, giving Roman a once over before lifting his chin slightly. “I don’t need advice from a stranger.”

“Of course you don’t,” Roman quickly corrected, remembering he was still at work, “My apologies. When did you want to pick it up?”

“I’m visiting her tomorrow at noon. Could it be ready by then?”

“You bet. Can I have a name for the pick up?”

“Logan.” Roman’s pen skittered over his notepad, almost falling through his fingers. 

Having a common name on your wrist was a curse in and of itself. And poor him, the hopeless romantic that he was, had met countless “Logan’s” in his day, and consequently fallen for most of them at first introduction, only to figure out quickly that they weren’t destined for a “Roman”. As inconspicuously as possible, he tried to glance down at Logan’s wrist, only finding a mass of swirling tattoos covering his skin. Dammit. There were some people born without soulmates, or had their soulmark fade to nothingness when their person passed away, and he tried not to think too terribly hard on which one Logan was. He tampered his rush of excitement as quickly as it had arisen and turned back to his notes, ignoring Logan’s raised eyebrow at his sudden stop.

Roman scribbled down the name and phone number as it was given, setting down the notepad with a customer service smile. The man spent no time dawdling, immediately starting towards the door, only to hesitate before walking out.

“Her favorite color is yellow.”

Roman nodded, the fake smile slowly morphing into an authentic one. “I can work with that.”

It was now a week after Logan had picked up the bouquet, a somewhat awkward interaction filled with small compliments towards the arrangement and Roman nearly dropping the flowers as their fingers touched while passing it over. As he was ringing up the total, he’d been able to uphold a brief conversation where Logan revealed he was a tattoo artist (no shock, considering he showed more inked skin than plain), and Roman showed off his rose tattoo on his upper arm. It would have been fine if the conversation ended there, but no, Logan had to reach up tentatively to brush his finger along the edge of the piece, commenting off handedly about how the color had started to fade.

“How long ago did you get this done?”

“Probably ten years, give or take.”

“You’re what, mid twenties? There’s no way you were legal ten years ago.”

“Who said I was?” It was said with a small wink that made Logan pull his hand away, an action that immediately dampened Roman’s mood.

“If you ever want it touched up, come by the shop. It’s just down the road.”

Roman had promised to consider, pulling the collar of his long sleeve shirt back up over the rose and bidding the man a good visit to his mother. Even now, a full week later, he couldn’t help his thoughts that were so centered around the tattoo artist. So maybe that was why Logan walked back into the shop the following Wednesday. I simped so hard I summoned him, Roman thought weakly as the gorgeous man strode straight up to the counter, leaning on it like he owned it. 

“I have a question.”

“What’s your question?  

“A client asked me yesterday to design a tattoo for her. A bouquet, seen from the top, and all she specified was it should feature hydrangeas, and she asked me to, quote, ‘go nuts’.”

“This isn’t sounding like a question so far.”

Logan sighed apprehensively, adjusting his glasses, “I was hoping you could give me some ideas on how to start. All the tips I found online contradicted each other in some way or another, and the arrangement you created for my mother was so well done…”

He trailed off, giving Roman a look that clearly said I need your help but don’t make me ask for it. Chuckling slightly, he leaned onto the counter as well, his face inches away from Logan’s. For the first time, he could see the small piercing on the man’s tongue as he sighed again. God, that’s hot.

“I’ll help you. On one condition.” 

“Being?” 

“Help me design my next tattoo.” In full honesty, he hadn’t even considered a second tattoo until that second. 

“Deal.” There was no hesitation in his answer, and he took Roman’s offered hand, barely shaking it in the small space between them. 

“Alright!” Roman pulled back, satisfied but disappointed as their hands separated, “Let’s talk flowers!”

And talk they did. For hours, in fact. It started with Logan’s tattoo dilemma, and Roman’s skillful eye and creative mind solved that problem in a flash, crudely drawing out a bouquet idea that fit all the criteria. The tattoo artist took it from there, using the notepad paper and Roman’s sketch, along with a quick round of the shop to see what the recommended flowers, fillers, and greens would all look like, and drew out a detailed piece that put Roman’s own art talent to shame. After explaining that his shift was done at the parlor and he had the rest of the afternoon free, Roman invited Logan to stay for a while longer, seeing as his day had dragged on customer-less so far, and he was bored. Plus, now was as good a time as any to pay back the favor. Two mugs of breakroom coffee later, the two were huddled around the counter, Roman describing his ideas and Logan sketching them like there was no tomorrow. Maybe half way through the brainstorm, the conversation switched to Logan’s mother (which he talked about hesitantly), then to Roman’s family, slowly changing to the absurdity of satin couch cushions, then to their favorite foods, and finally ending with a loud debate on whether pineapple deserved to be on pizza.

“It’s a fruit, Logan! Why the hell would you put fruit on a pizza?!”

“All I’m saying is that the sweet flavor of the pineapple balances out the tanginess of the marinara sauce, and adds more to the plain crust!”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Logan had to go soon after that, wanting to visit his mom before visiting hours ended. He left with a begrudging smile on his face and a promise to come back another day, drawing an ear to ear grin from Roman. He’s just a friend, he reprimanded himself sternly, all the while sliding the drawing of his next possible tattoo into his phone case with startling reverence. No use getting attached to some who wasn’t his soulmate. 

Yet, he still couldn’t help but feel saddened as a week passed again, then two, then a month. His job had returned to it’s boring normalcy, with only the flowers and no cute boy to keep him company. Even when he sat at his little desk next to the counter, hands working effortlessly to string together order after order, he couldn’t help the occasional glance at the door. The hope that his prince charming would waltz back in, piercings and ripped clothing galore, never faded. 

A month and a half later, the little chime above the door dinged, and Roman glanced up from his handful of Baby’s Breath (seriously people, there are other fillers). Immediately a huge smile pulled at his lips and he dropped the half finished bouquet onto his table.

“Logan! What took you so… long…” His expression morphed into one of worry as he took in the other’s appearance. Gone was the usual grunge attire he was so prone to wearing, replaced with a black hoodie and beaten up Vans. His eyes no longer held that dangerous glimmer that had intimidated Roman so much when they first met. He just looked… small. Logan had never looked small before.

“My mom died last month,” He whispered.

Roman was over the desk in a second, pulling the man into his arms before he could protest. It took Logan a second, a long, awkward, stiff second, before he let his arms wrap around his waist, allowing his forehead to rest on the florist’s shoulder. 

“I thought I’d be okay when she died… it was inevitable. It was her time… so why does it still hurt so bad?” The desperate whisper shattered Roman’s heart. 

“You’re allowed to feel sad, Logan.” He felt him merely shake his head in response, but he said nothing to push the topic further. 

Logan didn’t cry as they stood there, though he clung to Roman almost desperately. If he had to guess, the poor man was probably already cried out. He looked exhausted, and his unusually slumped posture only weakened more when Roman tightened his arms ever so slightly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. You were probably waiting.”

“Hey, no apologizing.”

“I just… didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“So what changed your mind?”

Logan shrugged, still not pulling away, “I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it. And I needed someone who wouldn’t laugh at me. If our few interactions were anything to go by, you were that person.”

Roman decided to ignore the blatant implication that Logan didn’t have anyone except a practical stranger to go to. They could talk about that later, if he decided to stay for a while. Roman really hoped he did. 

When the tattoo artist finally pulled out of the hug, many minutes later, he pushed his sweater paws under his glasses to scrub at his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t cried, but he sure was close to it. 

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I don’t even know your name, and I-”

“It’s okay, stop-” Roman reeled back slightly, eyebrows shooting into his hairline, “Oh… sweet Zac Efron. I never told you my name! Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“It felt too late to ask,” Logan smirked subtly despite himself, letting his hands fall back to his side.

“Oh, my sweet summer child.”

“I am none of those things.”

Roman sighed in soft exasperation, smiling at the barely perceivable glimmer in the other’s eyes. Ah, there it is. “My name’s Roman. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

He was instantly concerned with the way Logan’s face fell into one of total shock. Shit, what did he do wrong? The fear was quickly replaced with understanding, however, as the artist’s hand drifted to his right wrist. 

“What are the chances that your wrist says my name on it?” Logan said it like he was scared to be hopeful, like a happy ending was just not imaginable for him. Roman couldn’t comprehend all the emotions he felt at one time; elation, shock, fear. He answered in a choked voice, smiling all the while. 

“One hundred percent.”

The both upturned their arms in near harmony, Roman pulling his gardening glove down to reveal the name. He squinted at Logan’s wrist, finally noticing the small writing that just barely stood out underneath a grayscale (anatomically correct) heart. No wonder he missed it before, it almost blended in with the outline. 

And then Logan did cry, but so did Roman, so it was a little more okay. He seemed more confused than anything as Roman pulled him back in, holding him even tighter than before.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m so unused to… well, feeling. I’m not usually like this, I believe I’m just sleep deprived and worn out from-”

“You never, ever need to be guilty for feeling, you absolute punk stereotype.” Roman pressed a long kiss to the other’s temple, letting him unwind in his arms. “We’ll work on that together. I promise.”

A muffled affirmative hum was all he got in response. He pressed another kiss to the top of Logan’s head as his crying slowed, breathing out heavily into the man’s hair. Together. That’s all that mattered.  

Peep this gorgeous art piece for this fic