#also fuck so work is starting earlier i need to finish this fic. today basically 😭😭😭

[fruityumbrella]

neeeed to start using my fucking brain and not switch povs halfway through a scene when i am writing a chapter-per-pov fic

[chippedaxe]

𝑨 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Title: 𝑨 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌

Warning(s): NSFW, not sure what other warnings ?? Pet names used, unedited (as always)

Pronouns : they/them, non specified genitalia (Or at least I tried to keep it vague)

Synopsis: What was a seemingly harmless prank turns out to cause a helluva lot of chaos.

Pairing: c!Sapnap X gn reader (Sub reader btw)

Word count: 2k

Note: simping for Sapnap hours <3 No one requested it but I suddenly got this idea and was like 'I have to write it, it's what the people would want' and I also wrote it bc Sapnap has no full fics in my masterlist yet <3

* lemme know if I've missed any warnings/tags or if you see a mistake in this fic that I can quickly change (I didn't rlly proof read, I just sorta scanned over it with my eyes)

ੈ✩‧₊˚

2nd POV

You walked to the bathroom after a long day. You were held back a few hours to work overtime without warning and you’re pretty sure that you won’t be getting paid extra, you weren’t in the mood and just needed to relax with a nice shower.

You entered your bathroom and closed the door, you assumed by default that Sapnap wouldn’t bother you since he’s normally such a good roommate and he hadn’t bothered you in the bathroom before! You stripped yourself of your clothes and hung up your outfit that you were planning to wear when you get out of the shower.

You placed the clothes on your sink counter and then approached the shower, your feet were placed on the bath mat as you stood there patiently. You took a deep breath before walking in, you turned both faucets and waited for the water to warm up to a good temperature. You got underneath the water and let the shower rinse off all of the dirt and negative emotions.

You could only hear the water hitting the shower floor since most of the water plugged up your ears, you tried to wash it out but failed so you better hope that no roommate of yours comes in here and plays games while you’re basically half deaf. You grabbed the soap and lathered it in your hands, your soapy hands running over your soft skin.

You came to a pause when you thought you heard something but decided to shrug it off “what would it be anyways? It’s not like Sapnap would come in here” you thought to yourself as you continued washing up. Your hand trailed down to your nether regions and you whined a bit as you cleaned down there, you were just cleaning but your body didn’t know that and so you became a bit aroused.

You ignored the arousal and just continued to have your shower, if you were still horny later on than you’d deal with it but not now. You rinsed the soap off your body and sighed, today was a rough and tiring day but you got through it.

You turned the shower off when you were finished getting clean, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around your body. You got out onto the bathroom mat and started to dry yourself with the towel, you glanced over towards the bathroom sink and your eyes widened.

“Where the fuck did my clothes go?” You asked out loud, your eyes searching the floor just in case they may have fallen down. You groaned in annoyance and wrapped your towel around yourself securely so it wouldn’t fall and then you stomped out to your bedroom to look for the little thief.

You had a look through your drawers to quickly get dressed and confront the troublemaker but it seemed as all your clothes had mysteriously disappeared. You pulled out all the drawers and you searched all the shelves, even your closet was completely empty apart from some scattered shoes.

You whined angrily and then stomped downstairs, your feet dragging along the floor “Sapnap!” You called out to him and he came to your call “what’s up? Like the new look!” Sapnap looked up and down at your towel covered body “Oh hush up! Where’s my clothes? I know you had something to do with their disappearance!” You accused.

“What? Me? What makes you think that?!” Sapnap gasped “they couldn’t have just grown legs and ran away!” You put your hands on your hips “psh, you got me! It’s just a harmless prank..” Sapnap put his hands up in defeat “Good- great, now give them back please!” You held your hand out expectedly.

“Why? I’m liking this outfit you’ve got on right now..” Sapnap teased “oh please, do not start with the flirting again” you rolled your eyes “I can’t give your clothes back right now but feel free to borrow some of mine!” Sapnap smiled “Huh?? Why can’t you give them back?” You exclaimed “if I told you than it’d ruin the whole prank! Just borrow some of my clothes” Sapnap invited you to his wardrobe.

You pouted and entered his room, roaming his closet and just mindlessly picking some of his clothes. “What am I meant to do about my underwear? Can you at least give that back?” You asked “you don’t need underwear, if you do then just borrow some of mine” Sapnap shrugged it off. You wanted to argue with him but found that he had already turned his back to you and left.

You changed into his clothes, his baggy shirt and pants made your body look more boxed up. You tugged at the fabric and it started to cling to your body more “stupid electricity-“ you tried to get it to move away from your curves but it stayed stuck to you.

You walked out into the living room and crossed your arms “When am I supposed to be ‘getting pranked’?” You sighed “oh fuck, you’re looking hella good in my clothes, maybe I’m doin you a favor” Sapnap licked his lips quickly. You scoffed and flicked his forehead “I look good in my own clothes too, you know??” You huffed “I personally think you’d look way better without any clothes, you looked amazing in that towel earlier” Sapnap wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“You’re disgusting!” You laughed at his little flirting attempts “you know you love it, baby!” Sapnap winked “oh I do” you decided to tease back which made the tip of his ears turn slightly red “oh you do? That really warms my heart, c’mere and show me some love!” Sapnap held his arms out to you but you only pushed him away.

“Your offer is very kind but I must decline, I don’t show love to people who steal my clothes!” You told him. Sapnap lowered his head and frowned “What’re you so upset for? I was gonna get you out of your clothes anyways” he jokes around “oh be quiet!” You slap his arm playfully.

He gasps and exclaims dramatically “OUCH! I can’t believe you’ve striked me! All I did was love you and this is how you repay me??” He falls to the ground slowly and fakes his own death “may I have one final request?” He whispered and You leaned down “maybe one..” you decided to play along “can a dying man please have one final kiss?” Sapnap closed his eyes.

You decided ‘fuck it’ and leaned in, your lips pressing against his. He caressed your cheek and deepened the kiss but you were quick to pull away “hey, I don’t go making out with thieves” you smirked “Oh? Maybe you can make this ol’ criminal a good guy again, what’dya think?” Sapnap wrapped an arm around your waist.

You looked up at him and smiled “oh of course, is this thief gonna return my clothes?” You asked “only if you return mine..” Sapnap whispered and started to slowly tug at your collar “hm.. I think we have a deal” you slipped your shirt off and stood there with a bare chest “you look good, baby” Sapnap blew a kiss at you.

You slipped the rest of your clothes off and kicked them away, you were completely naked now “Shit- I can’t believe you were hiding all this from me..” Sapnap came up to you and ran his hands down your sides “my eyes are up here, play boy” you grinned. Sapnap’s eyes snapped from your body up to meet your gaze.

You leaned in and kissed him again, your mouth parting to allow his tongue entrance. You wrapped your arms around his neck and panted slightly as you two were now having a heated make out session. You pulled away for air and gulped down your spit “Sapnap..” you breathed out “yes, Y/n?” He smirked.

“Take your clothes off, it’s unfair” you complained and started to pull at his clothes “calm down. I’ll take my clothes off whenever you ask, baby” Sapnap stripped himself hastily and then posed for you, your eyes narrowed as you stared at him “checking me out?” Sapnap laughed.

Your eyes couldn’t help but be attracted to the large thing hanging between his legs, his cock was huge and throbbing “oh fuck..” you muttered “what was that?” Sapnap got closer “your cock is humongous!” You shouted “haven’t I told you that before?” Sapnap kissed your neck gently as you two were speaking and taking in each other’s beautiful bodies.

His hands rubbed at your hips gently “I’ve been waiting so long for you, Y/n.. I’ve had this crazy attraction to you ever since we met, you were the only one that ever joked back with me..” Sapnap confessed “I always had a soft spot for your stupid jokes..” you whispered softly, “I KNEW IT!” Sapnap hugged you and started to pepper kisses all over your face excitedly.

“Does this mean we’re dating??” You questioned “no it means we’re mortal enemies, of course we’re dating!!” Sapnap joked around “oh wow..” you blushed softly before realizing that you two were in the middle of having sex “oh um..” your face was red.

“Do you need me to stretch you out, do a little foreplay?” Sapnap’s hands caressed your torso, his mouth leaving soft kisses on your neck which left tiny purple marks “ah.. No, I just need your cock now..” you were ready for him! Sapnap guided you to his bed and laid you down onto your back, he then crawled on top of you and smiled.

Sapnap positioned his huge throbbing cock with your tiny hole, you gasped and threw your head back when he started to slide into your slowly “does this hurt?” Sapnap asked when he saw your facial expressions “n-no! It feels so good..” you cooed.

Sapnap gripped onto your hips and started to thrust inside of you, his cock was overwhelmed by the feeling of your tight warm squishy insides. Your legs were quivering and your hands were covering your mouth, you felt embarrassed to have such loud lewd sounds spewing out of your mouth like this but it was hard to control.

Sapnap thrusted harder and faster which made you yelp, tears pricked at your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure that you were getting from his cock stretching your insides “Fuck! Gonna cum-“ you scratch his back, leaving light claw marks on his skin. Sapnap continued to fuck into you roughly “cum for me, baby..” he encouraged.

You went over the edge and came hard, your juices running down your thighs. Your head was thrown back and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head, your back arched and your legs were shaking uncontrollably from the stimulation “FUCK! I love you!-“ you then panted and whined as you tried to catch your breath after just having the best orgasm of your life.

Sapnap came shortly after, his cum leaking out of your hole and down your thighs “shit, sorry about the mess-“ you shut him up with a kiss “clean the mess. Return my clothes. Cuddle me.” You instructed as you tiredly laid down on the bed “will do! I love you too, Y/n” he gave your forehead a kiss before going to clean everything up.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Closing Time (Johnny Utah x fem!reader)

Summary: You work at a clothing store, you get a last minute customer at closing time and sexy tims happen.

Pairing: Johnny Utah x fem!reader

Author’s Notes: So I’m slowly getting back to writing. I’m not gonna say I’m fully back just yet, but for this week at least, there will be content! Huge thanks to @toomanystoriessolittletime and @meetmeinthematinee​ for being cheerleaders and giving me early feedback on this! 

Wordcount: 3125

Warnings: smut. oral sex (F! receiving); dirty talk; unprotected sex with strangers (don’t do this kids!); sex in inappropriate places.

Most days you quite enjoyed it when there was barely any movement at the store. It gave you the opportunity of just being by yourself, reading a book, or enjoying some music or studying for college, things that you didn’t always have the privacy of doing at your dorm because your roommate seemed to always be around. Even during the summer and what was up with that? Didn’t she have better things to do?

She wasn’t like you, who actually had to work to put yourself through college and took some extra jobs during the summer so you could have some savings for the following term when all you managed to get were part-time jobs that you had fit in between classes and paid shit.

Fortunately, at the shop, you had some peace and time for yourself. It was a tiny, hole-in-the-wall sort of place around Venice Beach where tourists could get some shirts and other knickknacks to take back home and locals surfers could find cheap clothing and supplies for a day out on the beach. Most days, you worked from 9-5 and after your shift, you could head to the beach, spread your towel on the sand and enjoy the gorgeous Californian sunset. However, as the summer winded out and the fall winds blew the scalding hot weather into simmering heat, your boss let you close a little early, especially on Tuesdays, when most tourists had already headed home and the new arrivals hadn’t landed yet so there were barely any customers around.

Your plan today had been to finish your reading for class and start the new crime thriller you picked up at the used books store on your way to work. Except, today you were just too restless to focus. You must have reread the same paragraph of your textbook twenty times before you gave up and set it aside, giving the other book a go, but it was just as unsuccessful at holding your attention.

So instead, you moved around the cramped space, adjusting the decoration items, dusting off shelves, and refolding every single shirt in the display until it was perfectly symmetrical while you willed time to move faster so you could end this day. Maybe it was the heatwave that had made an appearance turning the air in the shop stifling and all you had to help you was an old and slow fan that made more noise than blow air. The A/C was busted and your boss still hadn’t called someone to fix it.

Another possibility was the fact that you had to keep the glass doors opened to help circulate a little air and every time any kind of wind blew or someone walked in, it brought with them the crisp smell of salt and sand that always made you ache for the ocean and fight against the temptation of just abandoning everything and heading for the beach so you could cool off taking a dip in the deliciously cold water. Either way, you kept checking the slow ticking of the clock hands, counting the seconds before you could turn the closed sign.

When the minute hand finally hit twelve, you let out a cheer, jumping off your stool and taking a step towards the door. You always locked the doors first to discourage most last-minute walk-ins while you closed the register, put away the money in the back office safe, and slipped out of the store through the back door, taking any garbage with you to throw in the dumpster outside.

Before you could move from behind the counter, a man stepped into the store and you groaned low in your throat. Of-fucking-course! It was like they stood in wait to come in at the precise moment you were about to head out.

“Hey, you’re still open, right?” He asked, pushing the overgrown dark hair back from his forehead and offering you an unsure smile. You felt the urge to lie and say that no, you were closed and he should come back tomorrow.

“Yeah, sure.” You said instead placing your best and most fake seller’s smile. “Feel free to look around and let me know if you need help.”

“Thanks!” He replied, flashing a wider smile that showed a small dimple, before moving towards the shirts in the display while you made your way to the main entrance, flipped the sign, and locked the door to bar any other walk-ins.

You hung back while the guy browsed the options, taking a moment to assess him. He didn’t look like a tourist, but also not fully like a local. Most Californian guys that you knew had the most horrifying hair cuts or bleach jobs you had ever seen and that was not the case for the man in front of you.

His hair was dark brown, a little shaggy from too much exposure to sun and salt and it flopped a little over his forehead, just above his eyes. He wore a grey cropped t-shirt that had definitely seen better days and struggled to contain his broad shoulders, showing a peek of toned abs. His jeans were ridiculously tight and hung low on his slender hips, the light-wash of the denim accentuating the perfect bubble butt and for the love of God, you needed to get laid. Badly.

“Excuse me,” he called, startling you and you prayed he hadn’t noticed the way you were checking his ass just now. “Do you have this one in black?”

“Yeah, sure.” You moved towards the drawers. “What’s your usual size? Medium or large?”

“I think large should be good,” he replied and when you turned around with the requested shirt, he was just standing there, barechested, his top hanging from his shoulder and you hoped your gasp wasn’t as loud as it sounded in your head.

“Here you go,” you croaked, offering him the shirt. “We do have a fitting room…” you gestured towards the small cubicle to the rear of the store.

“Oh right!” He glanced over as he pulled the shirt on. “Do you mind if I try them out here, though?”

“Not at all,” you forced your voice to sound somewhat normal.

“Awesome!”

Damn! He wasn’t just fucking hot. He was also cute, the wide grin he just flashed giving him a boyish look that was only enhanced by the almond-shaped chocolate-colored eyes. Biting your lip, you watched as he turned side to side in front of the mirror, checking himself out.

“It think is a little too big,” he said, meeting your gaze. “What do you think?”

“Well…” you cleared your throat and moved closer so you could look at him through the mirror. “If you want it more fitted, then yeah, probably a smaller size would be best. Want me to get it?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Once again, by the time you turned back to him, he was shirtless, the garment he had just tried neatly folded and resting on the shelf as he took a look at some other shirts, his attention snapping at you when he noticed you coming closer to hand him the new shirt, giving you a glimpse of a pale, sunken scar running down his abs that stopped just above his belly button and that drew attention to the small trail of fine dark hairs that disappeared under the waist of his jeans and holy shit! He was bare beneath those jeans.

“Bike accident,” he commented as he took the shirt that you offered and you met his eyes in confusion.

“What?” You asked, mouth suddenly dry.

“The scar,” he clarified, putting on the shirt and his lips were tilted into a slight smirk. “That was what you were staring at, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, feeling your face burning. “I’ll just head to the register and give you some privacy.”

I don’t mind,” he shrugged, turning to the mirror. “This is better. What do you think?” He turned towards you, giving you a full view of the cotton fabric covering his muscles, looking almost as if painted on him.

“Sure...” you swallowed hard, trying not to stare. “If you prefer it more fitted...”

“I do,” pulling the shirt off and once again giving you the glorious view of his torso. “I’ll take it.”

You took the shirt to the register and he followed, pausing only to pick up his own, which he had discarded on a nearby hanger. You were expecting him to put it back on, but he just threw it over his shoulder, reaching for his wallet as you registered the sale and tried not to stare.

“Is that the only camera you have around here?” He asked, gesturing to a point above your left and you glanced at the object before nodding, exchanging the money he gave you for the paper bag with his purchase.

“Yeah, why?”

“So basically...” he started, taking a step to the side, closer to the fitting room. “I’m completely out of sight over here?”

“Basically, yeah,” you frowned a little, stepping away from the counter. “Why? Are you planning to rob the place? Because let me tell you, there’s not much worth...” You trailed off with a surprised squeak as he tugged on your hand, pulling you over to the blindspot and nearly pressed against his strong chest.

“Because honestly, I never really gave a fuck about the shirt. I just thought you were beautiful and wanted to ask your number when I walked in, but you looked kind pissed so I got cold feet,” he confessed with a rueful smile.

“So you decided to just get mostly naked in front of me?” You snorted, shaking your head and he shrugged.

“Needed to make sure you might be interested and considering the way you were eyeing me earlier, it looked like you saw something you liked.”

“You’re really sure of yourself, aren’t you?” You arched an eyebrow at him, not ready to concede just yet. Even if the heat of his body and the smell of sea breeze whiffing off his skin were driving you crazy.

“Only when I’m right,” he flashed you a lopsided smirk and just waited, gazing into your eyes, making it clear that the next step was yours.

Part of you screamed that it was crazy to even consider hooking up with a guy that just walked into your store, no matter how hot he was, but it had been a ridiculously long time since you last had sex and he was so fucking hot, the scent of his golden skin intoxicating and his heat was making you dizzy with want as you looked him up and down, noticing the volume pressing against the denim of his pants.

“We might not have cameras, but the windows are see-through, so get your ass to the fitting room while I finish closing up.”

He flashed a victorious smirk and nodded, heading towards the back while you rushed through the steps of securing the store before joining him.

Your heart was pounding with anticipation as you made your way towards the back, pushing away the curtain that blocked the small space of the fitting room and finding him perched on the low stool that you kept there so customers could put down their things, facing the full-length mirror, legs spread, jeans undone, revealing the bush of dark hairs surrounding his long and thick cock.

You nearly whimpered at the sight, your center pulsing in want as you leaned against the doorframe, watching him as he run his left hand up and down his shaft, head tilted back, breathing hard, eyes hooded. He was such a beautiful and debauched sight that you felt the urge to photograph him, capture that sensuality.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch?” He asked, eyes meeting yours through the reflective surface.

“You seemed to be doing fine on your own,” you teased stepping into the tight space, fingers itching to touch all that glorious skin.

“I did not just spend most of my afternoon at the corner diner, drinking burned coffee just to jerk off in front of you,” he declared, standing up and turning your way.

“Ohhh, so this was premeditated?” You asked, kicking off your sneakers as he reached for you and you stumbled against his chest.

“A little bit, yeah,” he admitted, large hand hot against your hips and you wanted to feel it against your flesh. “You probably don’t remember, but I was here last week and you had to bend over to get something from one of the lower drawers...” he let out a soft groan, hands moving to your ass and squeezing lightly. “Fuck! I don’t think I ever popped a boner so fast in my life. I had to get out.”

You vaguely remembered that. There was so much coming and going in this place, it was hard to keep track of faces, but customers just taking off after asking to see something usually caused an impression. If you weren’t about to get fucked after six months, you would be more pissed.

“So you decided to come back when I was alone and seduce me?” you asked, running your hands over his chest and abs, scratching it slightly and goosebumps rose in his skin as he hissed.

“Yeah,” he spoke in a low voice as his hands move to the button of your jeans. “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” he slid your fly down and your breath caught in your throat. “I thought about bending you over that counter and fucking you until you’re screaming.” His fingers skimmed over your cunt, just a soft touch, but you gasped and arched your hips forward, holding onto his arms to steady yourself. “I thought about it eating your pussy and your ass until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

Those words were whispered right against your ear, before he changed your positions, crowding you against the mirror and pushing your jeans down to your thighs before he once against skimmed his fingers over covered sex, making you ache for him.

“What do you think about that?” He asked, lips brushing your cheek in an almost chaste kiss, completely opposed to the lewdness of his hand exploring your cunt. “Do you want it?”

“If you’re as good with your tongue at eating pussy like you are at talking dirty, then I maybe I do,” you declared, tired of his teasing and you felt his smirk as he gracefully slid to his knees in front of you.

You didn’t manage to get another word out before he shoved your panties down to join your jeans and his lips firmly connected to your clit. He gave it a sharp suck and you groaned, burying your fingers into his hair to keep yourself on your feet as your brain short-circuited and your knees turned to jelly.

He was very good at eating you out, especially because he was very attentive to every sound you made, every tightening of your grip on his hair, and roll of your hips to nudge him into going faster or slower, harder or softer... It wasn’t long before he reached that perfect alternation of fast flickering against your clit and slower and broad strokes of his tongue over your entrance and lips, a combination that drove you crazy.

You were whimpering and moaning, legs quaking with the alternating urge to close them around his face to keep him trapped there pleasuring you forever or spreading them wider so he could have more space to work, but the edges of your jeans were digging into the lower part of your knees, signaling you that that was as far as they could go.

As if reading your thoughts or maybe he just realized he would need more room, he shoved your pants down and helped you to kick them off so you could be completely free of the garment. And didn’t you two looked like a mismatched pair, with you standing there wearing only your top while he knelt in front of you, his jeans still on.

Once your pants were off, he hooked your right thigh over his shoulder, pressing his mouth even harder against your cunt, flickering his tongue over your clit before dipping it in between your lips, gathering the juices soaking your sex like a starved man.

“Fuck! I’m so close...” you hissed, rolling your hips, seeking more because that tight knot deep inside you was about to snap and from the way you ached and shuddered, your muscles tensing, you knew it would be a hard one.

“Yeah?” He mumbled against your core, his breath against your overheated skin making you shiver as he pushed two fingers inside you. “Gonna cum all over my mouth?”

He pistoled his fingers in and out at a fast pace, crooking inwards with every down motion, his tongue matching his rhythm against your clit and it was that made you snap as you bit down on your fist to stop yourself from shouting as your body was flooded with pleasure and all you knew was the unbelievable bliss that surrounded you. Stars bust behind your closed lids, the air came out of your lungs in short gushes as you fought hard not to slide down to the ground because your legs felt like jelly.

“Ok?” he asked, making you finally snap your eyes open to look at him.

He was sitting on his heels, face still glistening with your orgasm, his lips swollen and red from the abuse. His cock was rock hard, red, and leaking and you really wanted to return the favor.

“Way better than ok,” you replied with a gasp. “My turn?” To your surprise, he shook his head and got to his feet.

“Tonight, the only place I’m cumming is in that pussy,” he announced against your ear and shivered with anticipation. “So let’s get out of this fucking store and go to my place?”

“Fuck yes!” you grinned breathlessly at him as you reached for your jeans and he buttoned his over his hard cock and that couldn’t be comfortable.

“I’m Johnny, by the way,” he said. “Johnny Utah. Just in case you want to know what to shout when I fuck your brains out later.”

You rolled your eyes at his cheeky smirk and moved closer to him, once fully clothed, the only evidence of your recent climax was the sweat cooling on your skin and the stupid grin that refused to leave your face.

“I think I like you more when your mouth is busy with something other than talking,” you declared and before Johnny could manage a reply, you silenced him with a kiss, tasting yourself in his tongue.

xxx

If you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting please. Feedback gives life to us writers!

[riotwritesthings]

Location Matters

WinterIron, E, 2.6k - PWP, semi-public sex, anal fingering, begging, dirty talk, edging, orgasm delay

Ayyy welcome to the first day of Smutober! Yes that’s right, I’m going with Smutober, Kinktober didn’t quite feel right when I’m much more focused on just writing smut than getting through a list of unique kinks. And I’m not following any prompt list at all, just my heart. And I have no idea how many fics I’ll actually be able to get out this month, I have been having a Bad Brain Time, as the kids say, but I’m gonna do what I can and it’s better than nothing right?! Anywho I’m here to break rules and write smut so lets get to it!!

~~~

“Please,” Tony sobs as he arches his back harder, fingers scrabbling at the shelves in front of him and he really can’t bring himself to care about the several packets of pasta that go tumbling to the ground.

Even if he didn’t consider dry pasta a terrible abomination, Tony has way better things to focus on anyways. Like the solid line of heat that is Bucky pressed in close against him, pinning Tony securely between Bucky’s broad chest and the corner of the shelves as two of Bucky’s calloused fingers slowly press into him.

Tony knows they’re being more than a little ridiculous. They are grown adults with their own bedroom, but here they are in the common kitchen of the compound, barely hidden away in the walk-in pantry with Bucky’s hand shoved down his pants like horny teenagers. He can feel Bucky’s cock nudging hard and thick against the back of his thigh and Tony is well on his way to fully hard himself, rocking back against Bucky’s hand and trying to force him to move faster.

“Fuck, I- you- I need—“ Tony gasps out, voice breaking off into a moan when Bucky’s fingers press a little deeper. His grip on the shelves slips again as he can’t decide between turning to face Bucky or just trying to force himself back onto Bucky’s fingers, trying to get more, and Tony ends up just kind of twitching and thrashing in place.

“Patience, baby,” Bucky rumbles, his lips moving over the skin beneath Tony’s ear and that’s probably Tony’s least favorite thing to hear but oh he loves the way Bucky says it, low and rumbling and burning with intensity.

Bucky shifts his wrist a little and it works Tony’s worn pajamas down a little lower past the curve of his ass, but not enough to free his cock from the clinging fabric. When Tony rocks his hips in place, trying get any friction, or Bucky’s fingers pressing into him deeper, or anything, all he gets is the faint drag of soft flannel over his leaking cock. Tony lets out a desperate groan and tries to buck his hips harder, but Bucky just moves with him, not letting Tony have more than the not-enough stretch of two of Bucky’s fingertips barely working him open. Which, after Bucky thoroughly fucked him into the couch earlier today, it’s not nearly enough.

“What do you mean patience, we are in the kitchen,” Tony finally manages to get out, and his voice might be rough and breathy but he still thinks it’s a decent point.

Sure, it was some ungodly hour of the morning when they finished their latest Star Trek binge and first stumbled down here looking for snacks, but Tony has honestly lost track of time entirely at this point. He has no idea how long it’s been since Bucky kicked the pantry door shut behind them and crowded Tony up against the shelves and or all he knows the damn early birds in the house will be along any second, yanking the door open looking for the pancake mix or something and getting a whole-ass eyeful. Literally.

But in the next second all thought is pushed from Tony’s mind when Bucky’s fingers finally press deeper, nudging over his prostate as they twist inside him. Tony had more good points to make, he swears he did, but he forgets all of them as Bucky begins to finger him in earnest, pressing kisses to Tony’s throat and mouthing filthy paise into his skin, bringing Tony right up to the edge with the almost brutal efficiency that he’s basically perfected.

“’S this what you wanted, baby? Want me to really work you open, make you feel it?” Bucky demands roughly, his lips sliding up to Tony’s jaw and all Tony can manage is a shaking whine, trying desperately to shove himself back onto Bucky’s fingers. “Yeah, always take it so fuckin’ sweet, feel so perfect wrapped around me, clenching an’ shakin’, still tryin’ to fuck yourself back on my fingers even when you can’t barely move.”

As if to prove his point Bucky presses Tony in harder against the shelves, pinning him in place as every twist and thrust of Bucky’s fingers set off new shockwaves of pleasure through Tony’s whole body, pushing him higher. Bucky alternates between deep thrusts that make Tony ache for more and relentless jabs to his prostate that are driving Tony out of his mind.

“Please, please,” Tony begs, shaking as Bucky’s fingers stroke over his prostate again, tension winding tighter in his gut and he’s so close. He’s sobbing out every breath as Bucky’s fingers bear down harder and Tony clenches around them, arching back into the pressure as his balls draw up tight and the knot of pleasure inside him twists tighter, tighter—

And then Bucky’s fingers disappear, withdrawing from him entirely and Tony is left dangling right at the edge without anything to push him over, clenching around nothing and feeling so empty. He can’t even rock his hips in place for the light drag of his pajamas over his cock, Bucky’s free hand tight on his hip to hold him in place and it only accentuates the waves of pleasure still sparking along Tony’s nerves, not quite enough.

“What the fuck,” Tony groans, “you hate me, you hate me and you want me to die like this, is that it?!”

“Tha’s what you always say when I try to take my time with you,” Bucky points out with a low, rumbling laugh as he drags his fingers too-lightly over Tony’s loose hole.

“And I’m still convinced it’s true!” Tony replies, his voice caught somewhere between a snap and a whine. He has more to say, but he’s interrupted by Bucky pressing back into him with three fingers this time, stretching him that little bit wider and he’s so loose, so desperate, that there’s not even a burn. All Tony feels is the stretch of it as Bucky’s fingers sink all the way into him, until Tony can feel him everywhere.

Bucky’s fingers thrust in and out of him in an unsteady rhythm, working him up without ever giving him enough to push him to the edge again and Tony buries his face in his folded arms to try and muffle the sob that bursts out of him. His legs are doing nothing to support him at this point, it’s only Bucky’s hand on his hip and Bucky’s chest pressed flush against his shoulder blades and Bucky’s fingers buried deep inside him, holding him up and taking him apart.

He can’t think past the waves of pleasure that rush through him every time Bucky just barely nudges his prostate, the shudders that run through him when Bucky withdraws his fingers just enough to tug at his stretched rim, making sure Tony feels it. And just when Tony thinks the knot in his gut can’t wind any tighter, that he’s about to come with nothing more than the maddeningly inconsistent press and twist of Bucky’s thick fingers inside him, playing with him, the pressure abruptly disappears and leaves him achingly empty.

“Oh, you absolute bastard,” Tony groans, thunking his head against the shelf in front of him and then sucking in a sharp breath when Bucky laughs roughly and drags his fingertips in light circles around Tony’s hole. “Would you just-“ Tony cuts off into a breathy whine when Bucky’s fingers just barely start to press into him again, trying to arch his back harder like he can force Bucky’s fingers back inside him despite the way Bucky has him thoroughly pinned in place, completely helpless as Bucky’s fingers continue dragging wetly around and around his clenching hole, until Tony’s every breath is coming out as a pleading whine.

When Bucky finally pushes his fingers back in he does it slowly, so slowly, making sure Tony can feel every shift and press, working him back right back to the edge with steady, inescapable thrusts of his fingers and then pushing him higher. Until Tony has no idea how he hasn’t already broken and he can’t even try to rock back into it anymore, can’t move, can only take it.

“Fuck, love the way you shake for me,” Bucky growls, all hot breath and teeth against the line of Tony’s throat as he crooks his fingers a little harder, and then has to crowd in against Tony a little more to help keep him upright as Tony’s legs give out entirely.

Tony’s legs might be useless noodles at this point but that doesn’t stop them from shaking with overstimulation, his hips jerking and twitching in place with every deep press of Bucky’s fingers. Tony’s entire body is shaking like he’s been hit with a live wire and he’s crying out every breath, his fingers going numb from how tightly he’s gripping the edge of the shelf.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this, blissed out an’ shaking’ with it, can barely even hold yourself up,” Bucky growls, pressing down harder on Tony’s prostate and Tony’s entire body jolts hard, his hands sliding off the shelf and his bare feet sliding against the floor.

After a second of scrambling Tony manages to cross his arms across the shelf, burying his face against his forearms to try and muffle his wail. Partially because he’s so close and fuck Tony might just die if they get interrupted before Bucky finally lets him cum, if it’s not soon, and also because he doesn’t want to miss the honestly filthy words spilling out of Bucky’s mouth.

“C’mon sugar, wanna feel you come on my fingers,” Bucky says, a low rumbling growl against the curve of Tony’s shoulder, “always clench down so damn tight around me, sound so gorgeous, wanna hear you sobbin’ for me.” He thrusts his fingers in hard again and then twists, stretching Tony’s loose rim a little more and even that is enough to have Tony’s entire body jolting, another ragged cry tearing out of him. “Fuckin’ love this, don’t you baby?” Bucky demands roughly, “bein’ worked open and stuffed full? Pinned and helpless an’ just takin it, lettin’ me play with you however I want until you’re beggin’ for it just- like- this?”

The final couple words are punctuated with a too-brief drag of Bucky’s fingertips over his prostate, sending bolts of pleasure through him that are right on the edge of too-much and god it’s not enough. Tony is only vaguely aware that he’s trying to beg, but keeping track of the broken attempts at words and ragged sounds spilling past his slack lips is far less important than the sensations rushing through him.

Tony would much rather focus on trying to shove himself back to meet the press of Bucky’s fingers, no matter how little he’s actually accomplishing, right up until Bucky presses in impossibly closer and Tony is left completely immobile. Bucky’s metal fingers disappear from his hip to instead tangle in his hair, yanking Tony’s head back with one hard tug and Tony has no hope of muffling or containing the loud cry that escapes him. All he knows is the deep, insistent press of Bucky inside him, the burning pleasure and ache as his spine is pulled into a sharp arch and Bucky’s fingers seem to press impossibly deeper.

“Fuck-“ Tony chokes out, panting brokenly for air and then whining when even that simple motion lights up his entire body, like he’s just one giant struck nerve and his face is wet with sweat or tears or both as he finally manages to gasp out “please—“

“I can feel how fucking close you are, sweet thing, how much you need it,” Bucky says, lips trailing up Tony’s neck and when Tony tries to wiggle in his hold, to rock himself down onto Bucky’s fingers, anything, Bucky’s teeth catch at the corner of his jaw to hold him in place. “Don’t you wanna come for me baby?” Bucky demands once Tony goes relatively still in his hold, hard tremors still running through him as Bucky’s fingers continue to thrust and press and twist inside him. “Don’t you wanna make a fuckin’ mess of yourself for me? Let me watch you wobble back to our room, legs still shaking’ and cum coolin’ on your skin, flushed and dazed and gorgeous, wanna let me lick you clean and put you to bed still sloppy and reekin’ like sex?”

“I- I- ahh—“ Tony wants to say that god does he want that, he’s so close, but every drag of Bucky’s fingers is melting every thought out of his head and Tony is nearly screaming out every exhale and he can’t stop, shaking too hard to properly fuck himself back onto Bucky’s hand and fuck he’s so close—

“C’mon Tony, give it to me,” Bucky snarls, rocking his hips against Tony and circling his fingers hard over Tony’s prostate and that’s it.

Tony’s loud cry cuts off as his voice breaks, and instead he’s left making hoarse, breathy noises as he comes, wave after wave of pleasure rushing over him, dragging him under. He can barely hear anything past his own pulse throbbing in his ears, his orgasm dragging on and on with every relentless shove of Bucky’s fingers still working into him until Tony’s brain finally whites out to the sound of his own hitching, wailing moan.

When Tony zones back in, both of Bucky’s arms are wound around his waist, holding him steady as Tony continues twitching with fading aftershocks. His pants are back in place, although the front of them is indeed a mess of his own cooling cum, and Tony has to forcibly remind himself why just falling asleep right here is a bad idea.

And it’s not because he can feel Bucky’s cock still pressed hard and warm against his hip, no matter how distracting of a realization that is.

“What time is it?” Tony asks roughly, because his mind might be a little (a lot) blown, and he really wants to do something about the way Bucky is rocking minutely against him while he lets Tony catch his breath, but not as much as Tony wants to not get another lecture about public indecency. It always makes him feel a little too much like he’s back in college.

There’s a tellingly long silence before Bucky clears his throat and says, “Uh… we should probably get back to our own room pretty soon.”

The hoarse, gravely sound of Bucky’s voice has heat valiantly trying to swell in Tony’s gut again, but Tony forces himself to focus on arguing “You should probably carry me back to our room, because what even are legs. I don’t think I have them, I certainly cannot feel them.”

Bucky laughs but seems all too happy to oblige in scooping Tony up off the ground, even if it is more in an up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes way than Tony would really prefer. He’s about to complain, but then Bucky’s hand settles over the curve of his ass and Tony decides he can live with it, and at least this will keep the rapidly cooling cum soaked through the front of his pajamas from rubbing against his skin.

It’s not until they’re in the elevator that Tony’s brain comes back online enough for him to remember all of Bucky’s filthy promises, and Tony grins at the small of Bucky’s back as he says, “I guess if you really want I’ll try wobbling around like a drunken baby giraffe when we reach our floor, but frankly I’m more invested in the ‘licking’ part of your plan.”

Bucky hums, equal parts amused and thoughtful, and Tony’s breath catches hard as Bucky shifts his grip a little, his fingers easily dipping between Tony’s cheeks through his thin pajamas.

[hansolmates]

the proposal (m)

banner done by the ammmahhzzing @eerieedits​

summary; Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. pairing; editor!Jungkook x assistant!reader (f) genre/warnings; the proposal!au, fake marriage au, enemies to friends(!!!), friends to lovers, bouts of flangst, dry humping, slight blood but not too bad, lang, alcohol, poor jjk discovers he has the ability to feel emotion, poor y/n is in the middle as always w.c; 20.1k of endless banter and koo hiding his romantic side a/n; yeah, it’s almost summer. But i think we need a lil holiday magic in our lives! I rewatched the proposal this weekend and whipped this up. Why is koo so gosh darn easy to write? This is my longest fic since i wrote maze runner back in 2014!! i rec this extension to get fully immersed in 2pov! Enjoy and pls tell me if there’s any errors im too poopied to proofread it again drabbles; 01

“When I hired you, you basically signed a contract that said you’d do anything for me.” 

“Yeah, Jeon. I did. That meant like, getting you coffee or working late hours—normal work stipulations,” you can feel the hair on your scalp growing thinner, “not commit fucking fraud!” 

Your boss looks moreso frustrated than you are, but you cease to care. Jeon Jungkook has been nothing but a thorn in your side since your employment at Big Hit Publishing two years ago. Being a budding author who wanted to graduate from online sites and freelancing, you accepted the job as the editor-in-chief’s assistant in the hopes of getting your first book published. 

However, your dreams of being an editor are quickly dissipating, especially when Jungkook corners you this afternoon and announces that he may have left America during the time his work visa was still processing. He may have to give over his editor-in-chief position because there’s no way he can get a work visa processed in time. As a result of this information, he may have told his supervisors that you seduced him on a late night one year ago, and you two fell in love and have been secretly engaged ever since. 

Because y’know, your citizenship to this country is an asset to the company. 

“We didn’t have to go to Norway to PR Emma Watson’s autobio,” you huff, fingers going pale from how hard you were gripping your iPad. Jungkook is an esteemed workaholic, and you have no idea where it stems from. You remember that trip to Oslo, Jungkook insisting that you and him both go to make sure everything goes smoothly.

“You weren’t complaining when we went to that restaurant with the open bar.” he runs a hand through his coiffed hair, making the pomade untack from its style. “You got so drunk that Emma held you while you cried about global warming.” 

Wholly unamused, you frown. “Jungkook, can you please take this seriously?”

“I’m taking this seriously, you’re not the one who’s about to be deported in two weeks!” Jungkook hisses, face dangerously close to yours. Not that anyone would know what he’s saying, but you can tell from his defenses that he genuinely is nervous. 

“You wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew your Visa!” 

“I wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew my Visa!” 

At least twenty pairs of eyes are watching your confrontation, probably making their own conclusions as to what you two were fighting about again. Curse this office for having full-walled windows, you often feel like an ant in a plastic farm. Your work relationship is an anomaly to the rest of the staff. Before you started working at Big Hit, Jungkook’s assistants did not last long. Within the first week of working, you understood why. 

Jungkook whirls around his desk, glaring at the glass doors as he puts himself between the staff and you. “If you don’t marry me,” he says lowly, close enough for his hot breath to fan your face, coupled with his fresh-scented cologne. It annoys you how good he smells. “You’ll also be replaced because they want to give the my position to fuckin’ Karen of all people,” you fight the twitch of your lips. The only thing you two mutually agreed upon is the hatred of his co-editor, Karen. “All of the late nights we’ve worked together, the gallons of coffees you consumed, putting up with my shit, your dreams of becoming an author,” his eyes flicker to the way the grip in your iPad trembles, “will go down the drain and turn to shit. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.” 

Pretending to be unfazed, you bat your lashes, “So are you saying, you need me?” 

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Ah-ah, Jungkook. I’m not going to ask you to get on one knee, but you should at least tell me how much you need me.” 

You assume with great confidence that the only reason you’re kept on Jungkook’s payroll is because you’re not afraid to stand up to Jungkook’s bullshit. He looks positively disgusted at the mere thought of paying you an iota of a compliment. You’d say on average, you get half a compliment a month from Jungkook. You say half because he’ll compliment you, then downplay it with whatever flaw he can fabricate to get under your skin. 

He loosens his lavender paisley tie, annoyed. “Fine. I need you. I need you because you’re the only one who knows me well enough to be my wife. You’re the only woman I’ve had full conversations with in two years and knows all my dietary restrictions, favorite books, foods, and hobbies. By process of elimination, you are my best candidate.” 

“Romantic,” you roll your eyes, “I guess I do,” you push him away with a finger to his chest, “but I want a raise. And after we finish Sorn and Mark’s project, I want you to read my novel.” 

“Done and done.” 

“Well Jeon, I guess you’ve wifed me up with your ways of seduction.” you muse sardonically, feeling more upset for yourself than anything. 

“Fantastic,” he sighs, finally throwing his tie across the desk and plopping in his armchair. “Cancel the call with Janet, call PR about Irene Kim’s interview on Ellen, and order me a medium rare steak from J.J. Bittings with a side of brussels.” 

“Right,” you mutter under your breath as you pull up your checklist, as if you didn’t just give away your life to the Devil incarnate. 

Jungkook’s back is already facing you, focusing on his computer displaying two new manuscripts. “Oh, and on your way to J’s don’t forget to pick up your ring at Saks.”

“Bitch, you’re asking me to pick up my fake wedding ring?” 

Unbothered, he shrugs. You see the planes of his shoulders stretch beneath the blazer, because he’s deemed this conversation long over and he has work to do. “Yeah, but it’s real diamonds.” 

You’ve been seeing red for days. 

While the rock on your ring finger is indeed beautiful because Jungkook has impeccable taste, it drags you down and arouses the elephant in the room everytime you show up for work. 

You get enough stares on the daily, and you were just getting used to the looks of pity and sympathy for working under Jungkook, but now there are only snickers and playful winks as you trudge down the cubicles every morning. Everyday feels like the runway at a shitshow, and you are the headliner. 

Taehyung clapped you none-too-hard on the back when you showed up to work the next morning, congratulating you on the engagement. “Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ the big boss!” 

The rest of the staff poke their eyes out of their cubicles like Digletts, and you shush them, using your hand to make them sink down. 

Coffee is spilling down your shirt thanks to him, and you reach for tissues in his cubicle. “Can you not say it like that, please?” 

“Oh, come on. I heard from the supervisors Jungkook went on about how you seduced him late at night and took charge,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows approvingly, and you fight the urge to not throw up your coffee in his face. “How do you keep it so professional? Or do you save all that pent-up energy for after hours?” 

“You disgust me,” you grimace, stepping out of his cubicle and immediately regret wasting your five-minute break conversing with the typist.

Striding back into Jungkook’s office, he doesn’t hesitate to rattle off the next items on today’s agenda. He barely looks at you when you stride in, too focused on whatever corrections he’s slashing in red ink. 

“Did you get Taemin’s second draft?” 

“No, and I told him that if he can’t get me the draft by tonight he won’t get a publishing deadline and the number of copies published will be decreased by a third.” 

“And Taehyung’s author agreed to our stipulations?” 

“Of course, she’d be dead not to.”  you mutter, “she’s a nineteen year old Influencer, what would she know?” 

“Exactly, that’s why we milk it out as long as we can.” Jungkook throws the first draft in a large, intimidating pile, mixing in with all the others like a needle in a haystack. “Which is why it’s important we snag dinner with her this weekend, we can really—”

“What, this weekend?” your sense of equilibrium cracks, and you walk forward to put his hands on his desk. “I took this coming week off for Christmas. I’ve planned this for months.” 

“I know.”

“I can’t just cancel my flight! I saved up for that!”

“And?” Jungkook brushes off your fury like a piece of lint, “I’m Korean. Christmas is a fake holiday for me.” 

“You can’t just tell me I can’t go home to my family, it’s the fucking holidays!” 

“Why not, I’ve done it before. Remember on Valentine’s day when I told you the only date you have is a date with Kwon Boa’s publicist? Or on Secretaries Day when I argued that you don’t feel appreciated by society anyway and therefore why bother taking one extra day off? Or during Easter when your family screamed in my office on speakerphone that you should quit—”

“Okay,” no need to be reminded of how much you’ve wasted your life for this man, “but this is different. I’ve already bought plane tickets and this holiday is special. It’s a whole family reunion in the Poconos and we’ve reserved over five houses to fit all of us! I can’t just ditch!” 

“But I need you!” he replied just as hotly, in a tone that reminded you so many times of how tethered you are by this man. Two years have gone by, and the only thing that kept those strings together is the constant ache in getting your first novel published. “With all the marriage stuff and stupid extentions we had to make on these writers there’s no way we can get everything done before winter ends!” 

“You’ve done it before, why can’t you just ask Taehyung to assist—”

“Trouble in paradise?” 

A chill travels up your spine, and you and Jungkook exchange panicked eye contact. A tiny, pretty blonde lady struts in the room like it's hers, plopping a fruit basket atop Jungkook’s manuscripts. 

“If by paradise you mean our relationship, then no.” Jungkook’s the first to recover, meeting you at your side and stretching an arm around your waist. “I’d say work-wise things are getting a little rough, but nothing we can’t handle. We’re a team, after all.” 

“I just wanted to stop by as I was in the neighborhood,” the woman says, making herself comfortable in a leather seat reserved for guests. “Congratulations again on your engagement.” 

You tack on a smile, squeezing Jungkook’s arm a little too hard, but it’s enough to make the lady in front of you smile back. “What brings you here, Taeyeon?” 

Kim Taeyeon is Jungkook’s immigration liaison, AKA the person responsible for making sure you’re not breaking the law. She’s a pretty thing, with eyes sharp but a smile that’s soft and deceiving. 

“It’s just a shame you two have to rush a civil wedding,” Taeyeon sighs, looking at the window overlooking the city. 

“Ah, it takes some of the planning stress off my back, really.” you force a laugh, tugging Jungkook to sit on the couch opposite her. “At least one thing is done. The thought of planning a whole wedding with over two-hundred people is so stressful.” 

You weren’t really going to have a white wedding with Jungkook (however you may have entertained the thought, which is reflected in your Google search history) but you had to keep up the ruse that you were. A civil wedding in two weeks, then a quickie divorce a year later. 

“I know! My wedding was a real mess let me tell you, straight out of a movie!” Taeyeon is certainly the type of person to make you feel at ease, so at ease that it’s simple for you to melt your front. “But besides the point, are you two doing anything special for the holidays?” 

“Ah, well I bought a flight to meet my family in the Poconos,” you start, trying not to succumb to your nervous habit of wringing your fingers. You grab Jungkook’s hand as a reprieve. 

“And you’re not going?” Taeyeon’s gaze snaps, yes snaps, to Jungkook. 

You try to step in, realizing your flaw. “We’ve just been so swamped with work, all the immigration stuff and with these book delays Jungkook suggested he stay behind—” 

“But we’ve decided to prioritize our personal life and enjoy Christmas with our family,” Jungkook swoops in, threading his fingers between yours. He flashes Taeyeon a smile, and from the way his face lights up and his nose crinkles, you could’ve mistaken it to be genuine. “I’ve never experienced a big family Christmas, y’know. I’ve missed snowboarding too, I used to do it a lot in highschool.” 

“Oh, that’s just so sweet!” Taeyeon cooes, clasping her hands together. “Do send some pictures when you come back!” 

“Of course,” Jungkook stands up and attempts to leave Taeyeon out. You follow in tow, She obliges easily, mentioning something about just wanting to check in and she also has work to do. 

“Also,” Taeyeon’s head flickers to the people sitting outside Jungkook’s office. “You should manage those workers out there,” she looks at you, sympathetic. “Apparently, they didn’t peg you as the type of person to sleep their way to the top. And that’s just what I heard from walking down the hall once!” she laughs, tinkling brighter than a windchime, but you just tighten the grip on Jungkook’s palm. “Such a childish assumption. Things can be much more complicated.” 

She tips a “happy holidays” off her shoulder, and you both are smiling like the loving couple you are. As soon as the elevator doors close and Taeyeon is really gone, Jungkook moves to let go of your hand, but you hold him in your grasp. 

“She’s onto us,” you snap, tugging him closer to you so your co-workers wouldn’t read your lips. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” he bites back. He looks offendingly at the fruit basket adorning his desk. 

“What if we get caught, Jungkook?” you start to spiral, feeling your deepest fears crawl to the forefront of your brain. You’ve done extensive Google research on commiting fraud, and if you do get caught, Jungkook will never be able to come back to this country and you’ll have a fine of up to $250,000. Your boss doesn’t pay you nearly enough to get by with that kind of debt. “We’ll ruin this company, and our lives, and any hope of being published or credible.” 

“Hey, relax,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, the tone oddly comforting. He pulls you into his arms, and you barely have a chance to recover when he squeezes you extra tight around your waist. Jungkook only ever hugs you when doing PR, and even then it’s an awkward half-hug. Hell, he never hugged you on your birthday. “This is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna book my flight to the Poconos, bring some manuscripts so we can work remotely, and no one will ever know.” 

You sigh into his arms, nodding tiredly. It feels nice to be hugged like this. His arms are strong and warm, and you feel small and protected. It’s been a while since you’ve felt like that. Maybe Jungkook did have a heart under all that muscle. 

“I’m putting up a good show, aren’t I?” he says, and you feel your heart drop just a little. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

From your view facing the cubicles, you see at least half the employees comically bugged with  heart eyes at you, enamored by your fake relationship. 

“Do not stretch your long-ass legs on this plane, Jeon,” you nudge your smaller leg away from your section of leg room, “Jesus, we’re flying economy!” 

It scares you how little you fought against Jungkook joining you for the winter holiday. It is the logical decision after all, Taeyeon is on your trail about your sudden engagement and you both needed to keep up the ruse. That includes going on family vacations. Also, the fact that Jungkook works through Christmas because he doesn’t celebrate it does make you feel a little bad. You can’t remember the last time the man took a vacation. 

The man in question barely moves at your weak attempt, and stretches his leg even further across your seat. “Sorry, babe,” he says, fishing around his seat for the included blanket. 

“It’s fine, Kookie.” You reply sweetly, and decide to kick off your shoes to drape a leg over Jungkook’s thighs, “you’re like a portable footrest!” 

He looks absolutely insulted at your objectification, but smartly decides to choose his battles and lets you keep your position. Tucking himself in with a scratchy blanket he waves you off, “Whatever, just wake me up when we arrive.” 

“What, no.” you pull up your iPad, shoving the note entry in his face. “I know everything about you, and yet you know nothing about me. I made this easy on you and just wrote everything down. You just have to read it.” 

“Seriously? I’ve known you for over two years, I’m sure I know enough about you.” 

“Really, then how do I like my coffee?” 

“Uh… hot?” 

You give him a look and he knows. With a sigh he grabs the iPad from your hands. Within seconds he’s giving you another dirty look, as if he’s skimming a conspiracy novel. 

“You know all this random shit about me?” Jungkook asks, scrolling down as to what feels like your life story. 

“Yes, because unlike you, I listen when you talk.” 

“Fine. What’s my favorite type of weather?” 

“A warm and sunny day, which correlates to your favorite kind of date which is walking along the beach at sunset. Cliché much?” 

“Okay, rude. Who’s my favorite artist?” 

“You like a little bit of everything, but since seventh grade you’ve been pining for IU. In the office, you like to sing along to Lauv and Hozier.” 

“Favorite movie?” 

“The Marvel Series. But you really like 5 Centimeters Per Second, you like the romance.” 

“And how do you know my favorite anime movie is 5 Centimeters Per Second? I’m pretty sure I’ve never told you that.” 

“Jeon, when we were promoting Momo Hirai’s self-help book at Anime Expo you were gone for two and a half hours at 1:50 sharp.” your boss’ Adam’s apple bobs and he swallows thickly at your admonition. “And low and behold, you gave yourself thirty minutes’ time to line up early because when I checked the schedule Makoto Shinkai had a panel on ‘The Otaku’s Perspective on Romantic—”

“Alright alright, I get it.” Jungkook slumps in his seat, as comfy as it can get with your legs draped around him and a seat at the far end of the plane. You know he’s trying to hide a blush, and you feel proud for making him a little flustered. “You’re lucky I’m a fast reader.” 

The plane ride goes relatively fast, with Jungkook asking quick questions about your family and other random things. It’s like playing a game of 20 Questions, instead it’s the final boss battle with 200 questions and if he doesn’t get them all right, the penalty is deportation. 

When you land, you’re both stiff and glazed over. Once you exit the terminal, Jungkook ditches you for the bathroom and says he’ll meet you at the luggage pickup. You give yourself a few moments, gearing yourself up for the long week ahead of you. At the luggage pickup, you see a tall man watch the revolving conveyor belt with interest. Either that, or he’s zoning out. 

“Joonie!” you cry, nearly dropping your phone upon seeing your big brother. He’s dressed comfortably in a grey sweat ensemble, as if he rolled out of bed and came straight to the airport. 

A bright grin takes over his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to smush your body against his. Under his tall frame you sway, your toes barely swiping the ground. “You’re alive!” he cheers, pulling back and holding your shoulders to get a real look at you. “I can see you’ve gained a little weight, eyes are a little dark, but I’m glad the Devil let you go. I still can’t forgive him for making you skip out on Jin’s wedding.” 

You don’t appreciate the way that Namjoon picks and prods at your exhaustion, but you know he means well. While he does not know your boss by face and name, he had enough artilerary from the billions of phone calls to learn about the Devil and the havoc he’s wreaked upon your life.

When you don’t respond he gets the cue that you do not want to talk about work this week, and he smacks his lips together. “But nothing a little R&R can’t fix! The ski resort nearby has a really nice outdoor jacuzzi and we could set an appointment for facials if you’d like. Or we could do absolutely nothing and turn into baked potatoes and watch movies until our eyes burn up.” 

“Both would be great,” you smile softly, catching two familiar suitcases make their rounds on your flight’s conveyor belt. You grab your pink luggage with one hand, and Jungkook’s black chrome one with your other. 

“So, where’s the new beau?” Namjoon rocks back and forth on his heels, hoping to get a glimpse of the mystery boy you mentioned you’d be bringing as of two days ago. 

“He really had to go to the bathroom,” you squint your eyes to make out the newcomers exiting the dropoff area. “Oh, there he is. Kook!” 

Like a goddamn model, he struts in your field of vision like nobody’s business. Unlike you who stayed in your apartment all day before leaving, Jungkook decided to spend a few hours at Big Hit in the morning to tie up most of the loose ends before your trip. He’s talking to what you assume to be is a client, noting the way his brow furrows as he clutches his phone with a tight hold. He’s changed out of his tie and leather oxfords, but he’s dressed crisply in a dark button up and blazer ensemble, still wholly overdressed for a family reunion. 

Namjoon starts behind you, “He looks...” 

“Handsome?” you goad, elbowing him, “Charismatic? Undeniable presence?” 

“Hard.” 

You don’t know what to make of that adjective, and you subtly shrink further in your jacket as you mull over the implications of his word choice. 

Jungkook steps up to the two of you, ending his call. His eyes float between you and your brother, and he manages to put two and two together. “Hey man,” Jungkook gives a practiced smile, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, I’ve heard lots of things about you.” 

“Good things, I hope.” Namjoon chuckles, returning the handshake. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you, though. Can’t wait to get to know you this week.” 

“Looking forward to it,” Jungkook takes his luggage and Namjoon grabs yours, leading you two out to his minivan. While Namjoon is preoccupied with getting the car started, Jungkook looks at you as if he’s already regretting making the trip down. “This girl has two braincells to her name. I just got off the phone with Sorn’s publicist.” 

“What trouble can an influencer do?” you reply in disbelief. 

“Exactly, influencing is the trouble,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “she did some mukbang and now she’s in the hospital for food poisoning.” 

“Ah, don’t get too worked up,” you help him lug your suitcases in the trunk. You spot Namjoon subtly eyeing you two from the rear mirror. Pressing a thumb between his brows, you make work to melt away the 11-shaped stress lines on his forehead. “Let’s just send her a Lush gift basket and she’ll be fine.” 

You ignore the way Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you longer than needed, running over to your seat at shotgun. 

The inside of his car smells like bergamot and lemon, and the sweet, vulnerable side of you wants to cry over how much you’ve missed your brother’s scent. It’s been way too long. 

Once you’re all safely in the car and driving Namjoon says, “So, are you going to hide the engagement ring or give the family a collective heart attack?” 

You tense, hands automatically floating to the teardrop diamond weighing heavily on your ring finger. The story that you two contrived about your relationship isn’t too complicated, but complex enough that it seems convincing. Instead of being your boss, Jungkook is your Literary Agent who gives you referrals to new and upcoming authors. You working closely together and bonding over the stresses of the publishing world, have kept a secret relationship under wraps for over a year to avoid any unprofessionalism or favoritism. 

“I was thinking about that the whole ride, actually,” you twirl the metal back and forth, watching it gleam in the light. “Mom and dad know, but I don’t wanna lie to the rest of my family. They’ll freak out because it’s the first time they’re meeting Kook and we’re already engaged. It’s just a location thing, y’know. You guys don’t live in the city so we’ve never had a chance to really talk it out.” 

Namjoon snorts, “Or, because your boss never gives you a break.” 

If Jungkook finds any offense, he doesn’t show it. Putting what should be a comforting hand on your shoulder, he says from the back seat, “I already told you babe, do what makes you comfortable. But I don’t want to lie to your parents early on, you don’t wanna make the situation any more complicated.” 

In other words, you better tell them about our engagement because Taeyeon could be hiding in the bushes waiting to catch us. 

“Smart man,” Namjoon says shortly, but you can’t tell whether it’s a compliment or not. 

“Yeah,” you exhale, turning to smile stiffly at Jungkook, “no use hiding the inevitable, right?” 

The next couple hours are overwhelming. There’s a party right when you walk in your winter villa, your parents throwing you a reunion party (not for your family, but for you specifically because you’ve been MIA since Big Hit) with the house filled to the brim with family members. Within seconds your favorite cousin checks out the rock on your finger and screams that you’re engaged. 

Everyone must be so high off the fact that you’ve made it to a family event that they’re elated you have a life outside of work. Jungkook is treated like a prince, charming the hell out of all your aunties and baby cousins. 

“Oh, pumpkin!” your auntie squeals, linking arms with you while you’re trying to eat your dinner, “I just hugged your fiancé, and he has abs! Lucky you!” 

“Auntie,” you hiss playfully, “you hugged him that tight?” 

“He’s part of the family, isn’t he?” 

“Right,” you force a smile, downing your glass of champagne. The bubbles burn your throat pleasantly. 

“Babe, can you come here for a second?” Jungkook manages to swim his way through the throng in the living room, holding out a hand for you, “your mom said that our room is ready, care to lead the way?” 

His smile, as pretty as you can care to admit, renders your aunt speechless, and she lets him whisk you away to a long hallway that leads to a set of bedrooms. Jungkook lets go of your hand as soon as you're alone, letting his palm run along the pictures that decorate your hallway. 

He stops at a picture of you and Namjoon as kids, faces tanned and lips cherry red from your twin popsicles melting on your hands. “Wow,” Jungkook pretends to be alarmed, “I didn’t know you used to be cute, what happened?” 

“Shut up,” you smack his hand away, walking ahead of him. 

“I thought you guys reserved a bunch of houses, why does the furniture look worn and there’s pictures of you everywhere?” 

“Our extended family has reserved houses, but this is actually my family’s vacation home. I used to go here every winter and summer break,” you reach a bedroom in the corner of the hall, smiling at your wooden name tag hanging on the front, “this is my old room.” 

It certainly doesn’t have that youthful charm it once had, but there are still bits of your childhood scattering the room. There’s ticket stubs and photobooth strips tacked to a corkboard near your desk. Books that you would reread cover to cover are organized proudly on your shelf, worn for wear. 

Jungkook groans in relief, plopping his body down on your freshly made bed. “Your family’s really clingy.” he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

You turn to give him a snappy answer, but it dies in your throat when you see what he’s laying on. The familiar family quilt sinks under Jungkook’s weight, mocking you. You shriek, throwing your arms over to lug his body to the other side of the bed. Bundling up the quilt in your arms, you glare at a very appalled Jungkook. 

“The hell is wrong with you, woman!” he cries, not loud enough to escape the room, but enough to have your body vibrate in annoyance. 

“Jeon, they put the fucking baby blanket in my room,” you mutter more to yourself than him, folding it under your arms. 

The blanket is comfy in your grasp and you’re sure it’s clean, but the fact that you weren’t actually married and in love made its appearance a whole lot worse. 

“So?” his eyes are wide in confusion, “my mom still has my baby blanket too, I’m not gonna shoot anyone because of it.” 

“It’s not my baby blanket,” you admonish, “it’s the baby maker blanket. A weird family tradition when someone gets engaged.”

“Which means?” 

“They’re expecting us to fuck and have children.” 

The thought of procreating and starting a family with you must’ve caused all the champagne to return to his throat, and he looks a little pale. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” he lies back down on your mattress, and you leave him be so you can chuck the blanket back in your parents’ room. 

You’re barely out the door when a young man is waiting out in the hallway for you, poised to knock. “Hey, baby girl.” they throw you an easy lopsided grin, opening their arms to you. 

In your haste, you slam your bedroom door a little too loudly. “Yoongi!” You let yourself sink into his waiting arms, reveling in the familiar embrace you missed so much. Yoongi is Namjoon’s best friend and work buddy, not to mention the man you’ve had a crush on since you were able to walk. While you can safely say at this moment there is nothing serious going on, a small part of you always wishes there could be. 

His voice husks in your ear, “Why are we hugging in between the baby blanket?” 

“Oh!” you brush past him, opening the door to your parents’ room and flinging the offending item as far into their room as possible. “Sorry, Jungkook and I were a little freaked out when we saw it. We’re definitely not thinking about children right now.” 

“Jungkook,” he hums, and your smile falters just a tad when you see the way Yoongi tips his head down in thought, “It was quite the news. Congrats though.” 

You want to say what you’re supposed to say, that yes, you should be happy. But the selfish part of you does not want this exchange between you and Yoongi to be happening. When you get your quickie divorce in a year, the small, hopeful part of you hopes you and Yoongi could be something. 

Before you have a chance to fabricate a response, strong hands encircle your waist, and you feel Jungkook’s chin digging into your shoulder. 

“Thanks, man,” Jungkook’s voice rumbles, “we really appreciate it.” 

Yoongi gives a nod, muttering something about catching up later before he walks back to the party. 

It’s then that Jungkook’s weight feels impossibly heavy on your shoulders. “You know, you’ve been doing a really shitty job of being my wife-to-be ever since we landed,” Jungkook whispers, feather soft lips dusting across the shell of your ear. It’s an act so intimate you can imagine your family passing down the hallway could be mistaking you two for speaking unthinkable acts. A toddler cousin spots you two and giggles, babbling something to your uncle about how you’re hugging. “You did so well when we were with Taeyeon and Big Hit.” 

“It’s not the same when I’m lying to my family,” you turn to face him, equally simmering. “These are people that actually love and care for me, unlike you.” 

“At least I care about what’s most important,” he grits back, “our jobs, our futures. Is that not enough for you to keep it in your pants?” 

“Excuse me? You don’t even know him!” 

“I don’t have to know him because I’m holding you right now and you’re practically sweating through your cardigan.” he grimaces, digging his chin further into your collarbone, literally trying to get under your skin. “Your face looks like a cherry tomato.” 

You turn your head to bite back, your noses touching. The staring contest seems to last for days. Unlike Jungkook who doesn't know how to register basic human emotion, you still have hopes for a life after this. Before you have a chance to answer, your favorite cousin enters the hallway, oblivious to your concerns. Jimin’s red all over, passing you two flutes of blush champagne. “Hurry up, we’re making speeches!” 

Champagne is overflowing like Niagara, and you and Jungkook are the reason for it as you’re thrusted into the living room. Your weird uncle is in the middle of a long-winded speech about his fishing business and how dreams are made from ‘bait and a dream’. You make eye contact with him, and he gestures wildly to you and Jungkook. 

The crowd proceeds to go wild, echoes of speech! Speech! Reverberating throughout your living room. You and Jungkook share uneasy smiles, unsure of where to go with this show. 

Deciding it’s your family by blood, you start first. “Honestly, when I moved to New York I wasn’t expecting to feel so lonely,” you clutch your flute with both hands, swirling your drink absentmindedly. You then turn to Jungkook, giving him a tender smile which he returns back just as fondly. “Until I met Jungkook. I’m really happy that I get to share this week with the people I love the most, so let's drink to family!” 

Jungkook lifts his glass, “Thank you for the warm welcome, I can’t wait to spend time with all of you. This is my first Christmas with a large, loving family. Cheers to that!” 

The room erupts in cheers, allowing themselves to clink glasses and chase down their respective drinks. Even the little ones crowding the kiddie table in the back are enjoying their apple juice while making silly faces at the new couple. 

Jungkook weaves his arm between yours, and you get the signal to do a couples’ drink. He eyes you with mischief, as if to say we did it. After you two take your drink, Jimin’s the first to drunkenly yell, “Ohmygod just kiss already!” 

“Kiss kiss kiss!” 

“This is going on my story so make it good!” 

“Kiss him before I do!” 

“Oh my god,” you groan, throwing your forehead on Jungkook’s chest. Your family really is something else. 

As if the chants can’t get any louder, it’s hard to focus on anything but Jungkook’s presence. Jungkook lifts your chin up, murmuring, “Let’s give the people what they want.” and he presses his lips to yours. 

It’s awkward at first. Why wouldn’t it be, you’re making out with your boss, in front of your family, pretending to be engaged. But Jungkook doesn’t let up, parting your lips slightly to deepen the kiss. As much as you want to make up how terrible and disgusting kissing Jungkook is, it really isn’t. His lips are soft and he tastes like the peach champagne, and his grip on your waist is strong and warm. 

He leaves you breathless when you pull away, a smirk on his lips for a brief moment before he turns shyly to your family who are probably foaming at the mouth now. 

Maybe it’s the champagne coursing through your veins, but why does it suddenly feel so hot in the middle of winter? 

The first day back starts off wholly uneventful, with Jungkook working on some manuscripts and you preparing dinner with Jimin. Most of your family is on the resort hitting the slopes, so you’re quite thankful for the reprieve since the party was so overwhelming. The blonde is all smiles as he bumps the oven closed with his leg, letting your lasagna bake to perfection. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” Jimin rests his head on your shoulder, “it’s definitely not the same when we’re adults. Frankly, it sucks balls.” 

“Big balls,” you agree, gnawing on a leftover baguette from last night. 

“Speaking of big balls,” Jimin wiggles his brows as you attempt to move farther from him.

“Please don’t say it.” 

“C’mon! Just tell me if the sex is good!” 

“No!” you cry, flicking your crumbs at him. 

“I will open this oven,” his hands are already on the handle, “and your dish will undercook.” 

“Don’t you dare!” he opens the oven a tad, and you slam your hand down. “Fine! The sex is fantastic, happy?” 

“Ewh, no!” The storm door swings open, revealing Namjoon, Yoongi, and Lisa, Namjoon’s lady friend. “I didn’t need to hear that, thanks.” 

Your face looks absolutely pained as you watch the two older men walk in. They were the last people you’d ever want to share about your sex life too, even if it is fake. You can only bear to look properly at Lisa as they kick off their boots and shake the snow off their heads. Lisa pokes her tongue in her cheek, looking at you with a wild look in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about your current drama. Can’t wait to hear the 411 from you, though.” 

Yoongi looks unfazed, then again you never really know what’s going on in his head. “You guys wanna go to a movie tonight?” Yoongi asks, grabbing a slice of the baguette and dipping it in a dish of olive oil. “I think the one that’s showing is based on a book your company published.”

“Is it ‘Rotten Love’?” 

“That’s the one.” 

Pushing yourself off the counter, you nod eagerly. “I’ll go tell Jungkook to get ready. We can eat dinner real quick and then go right after,” you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, “Joonie, set up the table please.” 

Jungkook doesn’t notice you walk in, and you can hear the faint sound of Muse blasting from his Airpods. He’s on your floor, doing pushups while reading a transcript under him. This time he’s using your iPad, every few seconds taking a thumb to scroll down. Sweating through his shirt, you can see the beads running along his silver reading glasses. It’s completely contradictory, your muscle bunny of a boss getting in his reps while psychoanalyzing a potential novel, but somehow it works with him. 

“Maniac,” you mutter, bending down to place the cool water bottle on his cheek. He stops abruptly, like you’ve pressed the pause button on his seemingly robotic arms. Seriously, you can’t fathom how he manages to do both. You swipe the iPad under his body in place of a white towel, which he accepts gratefully. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to snap him out of it, sometimes you’d catch him at the company gym nearing 10PM, reading on the treadmill. 

“What time is it?” he asks, fluting the water bottle down his throat. 

Ignoring the way his neck glistens in sweat, you say, “It’s almost seven. C’mon, we’re gonna eat dinner and watch a movie. You’ve cooped yourself up in this room all day, time to interact with the world.” 

“What movie?” 

“The book we published in 2018, ‘Rotten Love’? They made it into a movie,” and you can’t help the wry grin that takes over your face when you say your next words, “guess who directed it.” 

He sighs, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. The normally styled strands fall limply at his forehead. “I don’t remember, I shifted over that project to PR. Any director’s fine, but please please please don’t let it be—”

“Jung Hoseok!”

“Son of a bitch, we gotta go.” And it’s the first time in a while you see a genuine smile graze his features, one not laced with you and your marriage. It’s an old pastime for you both to get picky over Jung’s work. “I swear, he better not put his scenes all over the place like last time, I got whiplash.” 

After a quick dinner you all pile into Namjoon’s minivan, making your way to the theatre. The drive is fast, and before you know it you’re waiting in line to get inside. It seems that the PR between the film studio and Big Hit did a good job assisting, because there’s a sizable line despite being half an hour early. 

“So honey,” Lisa leans into you, squishing you further into Jungkook’s shoulder. “Did you like, help out with the publishing of this novel? To be honest I don’t even know what your job is,” Lisa admits with a shrug, “you’re not a glorified coffee girl, are you?” 

“No,” her mixed enthusiasm never fails to stump you, “Ah, but I really didn’t do much in the production of ‘Rotten Love’,” you reply easily, relaxing into Jungkook as he moves to drape an arm around your shoulder. “I just told my boss to sign some documents n’stuff. It’s really nothing—”

“Babe, are you kidding? You ran the whole freakin’ project!” and you’re in shock, because for the first time in the history of ever, Jeon Jungkook is paying you a real compliment. “It was her first assignment when she got hired as the big boss’ assistant. A lot of people in the office doubted her,” he squeezes your shoulder, “but not for one second did I doubt her, you could see how hard she worked to make it perfect. I heard the boss was really impressed, too.” 

You remember that period of time. Jungkook made you dive headfirst into the publishing for ‘Rotten Love’, letting you sink or swim in his decision for keeping you employed. After a full month of meetings, negotiations, and debating whether you should have caffeine IV’ed in your body to save time on eating, you got Jungkook’s evaluation. You remember the stoicism in Jungkook’s frame as he surmised your work, throwing you a flippant “it’s decent” before sending you off to do more work. 

Relief flooded your system after those two simple words, because that meant you had a chance and you could keep your job. But this? If what he’s saying is true, you’re on Cloud 9. 

“Awh, thanks Kook.” you squeeze his arm, letting your fingers trail down to lace your fingers with his. 

Lisa’s face is all scrunched, and she doesn’t hesitate to stretch over you to smush Jungkook’s cheek between her two fingers. Her blue nails dig into his soft skin. “I like him, honey. Keep him, he’s so cute.” 

She leaves you alone after that, skipping over to bother Namjoon about buying an extra bucket of popcorn. 

“At first I was nervous having you near my family for a week,” you say brightly, rubbing a thumb over his hand, “but I kinda like seeing you try so hard to not rip other people’s heads off.” 

He puffs out his cheeks in an attempt to soothe the stinging. “Could be worse, I could be engaged to Karen.” 

With that you laugh, loud enough to turn heads and have Jimin and Lisa send you adoring looks. Jungkook sends you a nervous smile, the one that he’d always send you during team meetings when he was unsure of how to respond to something. Instead of giving him a smart answer, you get on your tiptoes to pat his reddened cheek. “But she’s right, you are kinda cute when you wanna be.” 

Instead of replying, he squeezes your hand tighter to lead you inside. 

Everything is smooth sailing after that. You, Jimin and Yoongi are saving the seats while Jungkook, Lisa and Namjoon are getting the refreshments. Jimin is prattling on about a new job interview and you’re listening attentively, while Yoongi shoots off advice every time Jimin says he’s nervous. 

Yoongi looks past Jimin to give you that gummy smile that always made your chest ache. “Chim, remember when she applied to work at Jamba Juice?” 

“Oh my god,” Jimin giggles, clutching your arm. “When you had to do a trial run in front of the manager? You forgot to put the lid on the blender and you sprayed the staff with green juice?” 

“The stains took forever to get out,” you pouted. “And I didn’t appreciate the snaps you saved of me. I got nervous because you were recording me!” 

“Am I hearing some juicy details about your childhood?” Jungkook appears, passing a huge tub of buttery popcorn to Yoongi. 

“Emphasis on juice,” Yoongi says tartly, popping a handful of kernels in his mouth. 

“Yes, do you wanna see a picture of your fiancé covered in green juice? She wore a low-cut shirt that day so it got deep, man.” Jimin says, using his hands to gesture obscenely to his own chest. 

You’re mortified, and you push down Jimin’s phone and cover whatever receipts he has on you. “Jimin, I’d like to stay engaged, if you don’t mind?” 

Your not-so-favorite cousin cackles in response, telling Jungkook that they’ll talk later. 

“Here,” Jungkook cooly hands you a King-Sized KitKat. 

“Awh,” you marvel, immediately opening the wrapper, “you actually read my notes and found out what my favorite candy was?” 

He scoffs, dark bangs blowing up. “Who doesn’t like KitKats?” but you’re giving him the look, and he sighs, “C’mon babe, just gimmie a break.” 

“Ha-ha,” but you break off a piece anyway, lifting it to Jungkook’s lips. It’s then that the theatre starts to dim, and the telltale signs of the movie begin. “Ready to rip Jung Hoseok to shreds?” 

“Always.” 

Barely fifteen minutes pass and Jungkook is spreading his legs. You’re about to kick him before he leans in to whisper, “They made Renee too dull,” he sighs in disappointment, as if he sincerely had high hopes they’d bring the novel to justice. “I mean, I get it, in the novel she’s supposed to be a plain Jane. But she isn’t grey.” 

“Right?” you lean into Jungkook, throwing your legs over his thighs like you’re back at the airport. This isn’t out of intimacy, you think to yourself, you just need to be close enough to Jungkook so you don’t disturb the other patrons with your talking. “She’s either a bad actress or they messed up her character. I really got upset when I read this part, but it’s kinda bland on the screen.” 

As much as you love Jimin, you know he’s not going to get your over-criticality over the media. Yoongi and Namjoon are on the other end of the row, but they wouldn’t be too pleased having you gab over the movie because you’re too much of an aficionado. Jungkook is the only one who can tête-à-tête, or in this case, Kit-a-Kat with you. 

You sigh into his shoulder, inhaling his clean scent. “Let’s pray Jung didn’t completely butcher the chapter where Kenzo reflects on his penniless journey.” 

“I’ll leave the theatre right then and there if that happens, care to join me?” 

“Already out the door, bossman.” 

Jungkook looks away from the screen briefly, reaching forward to take an obnoxiously big bite of the KitKat in your hand. You stifle a giggle, and before you can soak up his cheeky grin he’s already looking back at the movie. 

You wonder what Jungkook is like outside of work, if he has that side to him. A little part of you wishes that this playfulness he’s exuding is real. Not to your fake marriage, but a playfulness he can execute to a person that he really likes. Two days out of the office and you’re starting to see that Jungkook has the capabilities to enjoy life, however simple it may be. 

The movie is finished in a blur, and you and Jungkook are still bickering over the intricacies of the film compared to the novel. The night air is cold and burns your cheeks, reminding you exactly how late you’ve been out.

“Well, I thought the romance was so boring!” Lisa blurted, wanting an in. Her lime green ski jacket glares in your vision, and you move away from her immediately. “No one cheated on each other, there was no drama, or evil best friend!” 

“Whoa there,” and you see the little fire in Jungkook’s eyes, one you’ve learned early on to stay away from when you spent hours in his office debating over manuscripts and plotlines. He stares down at Lisa, really stares down. “You think every romance needs some sort of internalized conflict for it to be good? Why can’t they just grow and learn from the external conflict together? It’s literally useless for them to break up over and over just—”

And that’s your cue to walk ahead of them, because while you did agree with Jungkook, you’ve heard this debate one too many times. Ever the closet-romantic at heart. You hope Lisa doesn’t lose her patience and punch him out. 

“Hey,” you feel a hand pat your hair, and you look up at Yoongi. He looks absolutely fluffy in his long puffy jacket, and he matches your steps with his. “Do I look ugly tonight, or something? I feel like we barely exchanged two sentences with each other.” 

“What, never!” you chastise, “you always look good, Yoongi. And we have the whole week to catch up, remember?”

“Really, then why don’t we go out in two days to pick out a tree for your house? Joon and I are planning on going.” 

“I would love to go pick a tree!” you exclaim, “the last time we got a tree together was when your brother had to lift.” 

“Great,” and he pats your head again, but this time his hand lingers to finger the ringlets of your hair. “It’ll be just like old times, baby girl. I’ll pick you up at 9.” 

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Jungkook’s argument ended minutes ago and he’s mulling over a new type of internal conflict. 

“Owie, ow, ow—fuck you! Ow!” 

“Well if you just hold still,” Jungkook grimaces, taking his turns with both hands to simultaneously wipe the injury with a cloth and then pressing the affected area with an ice bag. 

“Buh ih hurths!” your voice is muffled by the cloth, stained red with freshly bloomed blood. 

The ski lodge started off great. You enjoyed a fabulous beligan waffle breakfast courtesy of Jimin’s parents, and then made the trek to the slopes. You’ve been here dozens of times, so you didn’t feel an inclination to gravitate to any of the fancy schmancy sports. You were fine playing shuffleboard inside, but your inner youth complained that it’s the holidays and you should be getting out more.

Jimin and Jungkook (who claimed he hasn't snowboarded since he was 16 yet he’s doing tricks like a goddamn Olympian) were shredding on the slopes while Namjoon and Lisa were skiing on a smaller hill. You and Yoongi watched safely from the lift, riding it like a kiddie attraction. You must’ve taken the lift at least ten times, complaining about how you’re both too lazy to function and you could really use a hot chocolate and a fireplace. 

After the fifteenth time on the lift, legs numb, you stumble over with heavy boots to where Lisa and Namjoon were waiting for Jimin and Jungkook. They wanted to walk around more and see if they could try a more difficult slope. 

While you were waiting, you had to admit that Jungkook did kind of cool all decked out in his gear. A competitive, playful smile was easily reflected in his gaze despite his helmet and goggles. 

That slight admiration is knocked right off your feet when Jungkook speeds by way too close for comfort and you’re in his path. Jimin had already slowed next to your friends and family, looking at you in anticipated horror.

It’s far too late, and despite the fact that Jungkook manages to pull your body to his while you wipe out, your face crashes into his helmet and you taste metal. 

Mildly disoriented from the impact, Jungkook’s muffled string of curses nurse you back to a decent consciousness as he tries to carry you to the lodge.

“Holy shit, I got that on camera!” Jimin cries, gesturing to the Go-Pro nestled in his helmet. 

So now you’re in pain and it’s all Jungkook’s fault. Your bottom lip is split, and the burn on your face won’t go away. 

You watch as Jungkook dotes on you, his bangs pushed up everywhere due to his grey goggles haphazardly being propped upon his forehead. His pink tongue sticks out as he concentrates on not getting blood on your sweater. It’s just you and him that are stuck around in the lodge after you got pummeled, standing by the fire while everyone else continues on with the fun. 

“Why were you over there anyway, in the middle of the slope?” he scolds. 

“It was the slow down zone, Jeon. You were the only one not slowing down, you speed demon.” 

“Sorry,” he says gruffly, pressing a little too hard with the ice and you wince. He lets up and presses the cloth to your lips to soak up the moisture.

“Did you say something?” 

“I said, I’m sorry.” 

You sigh dramatically, “I wish I had a camera to save that shitty excuse of an apology.” 

“Speaking of cameras,” he shucks his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Jimin uploaded the video.” 

That man, you don’t know where he has the means to quickly upload and edit things, but if it’s for the ‘Gram, it’s worth it to Jimin. You open Instagram and immediately click on @chimmyboi’s story, immediately wincing as the first few seconds reveal the brunt of the impact. He should really put a disclaimer before uploading content. 

The tumble between you and Jungkook doesn’t look so bad, but it’s when you get up does it look gnarly. Your chin is dribbling in red liquid, and Jungkook’s throwing off his helmet and goggles in a panic. 

He makes a half-assed snowball where you’re lying on the ground, pressing it against your mouth. With his other hand he pulls you into a sitting position, not caring that you’re staining his clothes as he hauls you on his body. 

“Ohmygod,” you splutter, trying not to move your lips, “I look like I got decked with a hockey puck.” 

“It wasn’t that bad, don’t be a baby.” Jungkook sees the piecing glare you give him, and he sighs. “Okay, it looked pretty bad. I was a little worried back there, but now the bleeding pretty much stopped and holy shit—stop smiling! You’re making it open up further!” 

“You were worried?” 

“Shut up.” 

The ice bag is watery and not doing much anymore, but Jungkook still insists to cool your face down. You lift a hand to his cold ones, attempting to take the bag and cloth from his grasp. 

“You should go board with Jimin and the rest of them. I can take care of this.” 

“It’s fine,” he reasons, reaching for the ice bag but you hold on tighter. 

“C’mon, I know the only thing you were looking forward to this entire trip was going snowboarding. I’m a big girl, I can be alone for an hour or two.” 

Jungkook locks his jaw, gnawing at his cheek as he mulls on his decision. “Wouldn’t I look like a bad partner if I leave you?”

“Nah, this has happened before. Almost always someone gets injured on the trip. Last time something like this happened I was eight and I got five stitches on my leg. This is nothing. You’re fine.” 

���But still.” 

“Fine, you wanna make it up to me?” 

You scan the room for any ideas, and it settles on a trio of girls huddled by the register of the built-in café. They’re pretty snow bunnies, decked out in sweater dresses and fur lined boots. They remind you a little of The Powerpuff Girls, all in pastels and attached to the hip. Their gaze has taken hostage in Jungkook’s frame, blatantly ignoring the fact that majority of his attention is directed towards you. You wonder why you haven’t noticed them sooner, because now the staring is getting borderline discomforting. 

Slipping off his goggles with your free hand, you gesture subtly to the girls. “They think you’re hot. Go flirt with them a little and get me a free drink, I’m sure they’ll pay for you.” 

He doesn’t understand the correlation, “Why would I do that?” 

You shrug, separating the strands of hair that stick to his forehead. “Lisa and Namjoon do it all the time when they go clubbing. They compete and pretend they’re single for like two hours, and then they keep a tally of how many people offer to buy them a drink.” 

“That is completely different, but I’m open to trying it when we get back to the city.” he acknowledged briefly, getting up from his crouching position. “I got a better idea.” 

Puzzled, you watch him saunter over to the register. Like bees to the honey, the girls follow Jungkook with their eyes, watching him exaggeratedly mull over the menu. 

He spares the slightest of head inclinations to the drooling trio, “Hello ladies.” The smile is not flirtatious, but kind. 

You suppress a giggle, burying your chin in your scarf as you watch the whole interaction. You don’t even know why you asked Jungkook if he would flirt with those girls, as he kept most of his dates private over the years. You picture a college-aged Jungkook getting his daily breakfast on his way to class, ignoring the way his presence attracts heads. 

The barista hands Jungkook a tray filled with a plastic cup of ice, and a cup filled with something hot, and a chocolate croissant. He grabs a straw from a tray, stabbing it in the hot drink’s lid. 

“Excuse me,” one of the girls coquettishly puts her hands behind her back, puffing her chest out as she leans over Jungkook’s order. “The regular croissants actually taste better in my opinion.” 

“Well my wife’s had a hard day, so I think she deserves something sweet.” 

He doesn’t even turn around as he makes a beeline to where you’re seated on a loveseat, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table. 

“Your better idea was making them jealous?” you ask, unsure of his intentions. 

He shrugs, “College-Jungkook always wanted to show off his girlfriend like that, so indulge me for a second, alright?”

Rolling your eyes you reply, “My life is about indulging you. Don’t forget the trips I’ve made to the grocery store when your personal fridge was out of banana—”

“I thought I said we don’t speak of those hard times,” he cuts you off, “ever.”  

You stop him from filling up your ice bag with the ice he brought. “C’mon Jeon, you’re burning daylight out there. I got this. You’ve stalled enough, go have fun in the snow with Jimin, you adrenaline junkie.” 

He scrunches his nose, but relents when you throw him his jacket and goggles. Before he pulls on his gloves, he cups your face with both hands to pull you in a kiss. His hands are cold from the ice, gluing you in place in fear of him kissing you too hard. But it’s barely that, a brushing of lips so tender as he takes extra care with your open lip. 

“Is this also a self-indulgent request?” you pucker, “who knew there was a hormonal teenager under that editor-in-chief’s body.” 

His eyes flicker to the audience in the back, and you don’t need to look behind you to note that they’re glaring daggers in your head. It’s like you’re straight out of a rom-com. 

“You’re leaving me to the bunnies,” you say teasingly. 

“Then hurry up and get better so you can join us,” he taunts, “or else you can’t help me bury Jimin in the snow.” 

It’s a tempting offer that makes you down your drink so you can enjoy the rest of your day. 

Light seeps through your windows, rays kissing your eyelashes and willing them to open. You groan, hand splaying out to wake up Jungkook. When you find his space empty and cool, you sit up and search for your fake-fiancé. 

He’s on the floor, smack in the middle of his morning workout. Your iPad is under his body, and somehow he’s managed to find a setting where the document scrolls for him automatically. He’s not wearing his Airpods, so you rasp, “Jeon, you’re crazy. I get the morning workout, but you don’t have to look over any more transcripts. I think you’ve read enough for this week.” 

“It helps me ignore the burn,” he says shortly, and you see the ripples of his back flex with every push-up. “And I wouldn’t have to do so much reading if my assistant would just do her job.” 

“I already told you, I’m not working during my vacation.” you throw off the sheets, padding to your closet. “I’m going to pick the tree today. You should go to the mall with my mom and Jimin to pick out some new ornaments.” 

“What?” he gets up, and you ignore the perfect view of tight muscles decorating his abs. Exactly how long was he awake for to have sweat clinging to his shirt? You’re going to short-circuit and it’s barely 8:30. “But I wanna go help pick out the tree.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Joon and Yoongi got it.” 

“Yoongi, really? You think he can carry a tree?” 

“This isn’t a pissing contest, Jeon.” you settle on a burgundy Patagonia jacket and grey leggings. “Besides, Yoongi and I are just friends.”

“You sure about that, baby girl?” 

You whip around to poke at his chest, and you ignore how smug he looks. “Do not test me, Jeon. Like you said, I’m with you every step of the way in this marriage. I’m not going to jeopardize that over some childhood crush.” 

“Wow, your life is really turning into a Wattpad entry,” he admonishes, “fake-fiancé still pining over his older brother’s best friend, really high-qual stuff.” 

“I’m serious.” you grit, “I took a week off so I can get away from you and that was ruined, so I would like a little bit of space today.” 

And that gets Jungkook to back away. His face deflates a little, and you feel a little guilty for making him upset, but you stab that thought down and convince yourself that he deserves it. It’s not like he cares about you, he just wants to show off to the boys.

“Fine,” he turns around to put on a fresh shirt, and you almost notice the pout marrying his face. “You could’ve just told me you wanted space. I’m getting kind of tired of you too, you know.” 

He flops on the bed and you huff in reply, quickly throwing on your attire inside your closet while he watches a YouTube video. You check your phone, and at 8:59 a knock is at your door. Jungkook doesn’t bother to get up to answer, and you open the door to see a sleepy Yoongi with a paper cup in his hand. 

“An English breakfast with two sugars and a dash of milk, baby girl.” 

You mask your wince at the pet name. It hadn’t bothered you when you were young, but its starting to feel coddling now that Jungkook is making you hyper-aware of the attention. “Perfect,” you faux-beam, the hot beverage warm your fingers. 

“I’ll just warm up the car and—”

“Babeeeeee,”  the deepest, sexiest voice echoes from your bed and out in the hallway. He sounds absolutely tempting, and needy. You freeze at the way your boss can so easily pretend he’s exhausted and wanting you, “come back to bedddddd. I’m not done with you yet.” 

Yoongi’s ears are red, “Aaand, I’ll let you finish whatever business you have.” 

The older man bolts out of there, and you snap your head back to look at an innocent Jungkook. He tilts his head at your bout of anger. 

“You know, I have half a mind to fling this tea down your shirt.” 

“What?” he looks at you like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “He can’t be the only one who can call you baby.” 

Honestly, you didn’t mean to lash out on Jungkook like that. You did need to put up a face as you were each other's significant others, but it doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time. To top it all off you’ve been feeling weird as of late, and you can only attribute these terrible feelings to a certain brunet who’s been sleeping in your bed. 

But you pin these feelings for another time, because you need to enjoy what little quality time you have with your brother. 

“Hey, whaddya think of this one?” It's just you and Namjoon picking the tree, and Yoongi’s sitting in the cabin keeping warm. He said to call him once you’ve decided, since it is your house. 

“Hm, it’s fine.” you shrug, inhaling the pine. “Maybe a little too tall.” 

Namjoon nods, and you follow him to the next row of greenery. He’s been pensive this whole time, and you have a feeling he’s hiding something. Surrounded by pine and the fresh winter air he says, “Hey, I just wanna say sorry.” 

“Why, did you like that tree over there? I don’t mind it, we can go back!” 

“What, no? I’m sorry for being weird around Jungkook.” 

“Huh?” sure, you noticed the weird language and terseness he gave Jungkook initially, but you chalked it out as big brother issues. 

You two continue to walk around the forest aimlessly, not really tree hunting. 

“I was just upset that the engagement was so sudden,” Namjoon starts, and you feel the guilt start to set camp in your stomach. “And I don’t know, at first he just didn’t seem like your type? I always thought you wanted to date someone gentle, someone you could hold and depend on. He looked so serious, and maybe a little immature.”

“He is a little immature,” you agree softly, digging your boots in the snow, “but I don’t love him any less because of it. We’re growing together.” Shit, why was that so easy for you to say? 

“Figured,” and Namjoon stops to place a hand on your shoulder, “I see the way he looks at you, and you can’t fake love like that.” 

Namjoon’s admonition is so convincing that you almost convince yourself that it is something. 

Something is bothering Jungkook, and he doesn’t know why. 

It’s not the billions of charges he made on his credit card for new ornaments, because it simultaneously inflated his ego and impressed your mom. 

It’s not the way Jimin hangs onto his every word and doesn’t let up, because it is refreshing to have your cousin find a genuine interest in him. 

Jungkook, Jimin and your mom have been taking laps around the mall for the past hour. They’ve floated around here and there, picking out whatever catches their eye for the tree. 

Jimin’s in the middle of explaining the Jamba Juice story when a glimmering window display catches his eye. 

“Hun, have you not bought her a present yet?” your mom says over his shoulder. 

“No,” he exhales, embarrassed that he just admitted he didn’t think of getting you anything in front of your mom. “She doesn’t ask for anything, really.” Besides her book published, a raise, and a potential promotion as editor, but they didn’t need to know that much. 

“Good thing you’re with the right people!” Jimin cheers, ushering him into the jewelry store. 

Funny enough, he knows exactly what to get you. Once he points it out, Jimin and your mom “ooh” and “aah” respectively, agreeing that what he chose was perfect. If you had asked Jungkook a week ago what kind of jewlery you like, he’d give you a dumb look and say “something shiny.” But that’s what’s bothering him. He just walked right into the store, saw what was right, and everything just clicked. 

Jungkook pins that thought for later, because once their shopping is done they’re back at your villa, arranging the ornaments and detangling the lights that have been holed up in the closet for eleven months. 

Jimin and he are sitting on the living room floor, stabbing thread through popcorn. He really only saw this craft in the movies, and the small part of him is amazed that you and your family go through the hard work to make your holidays so warm. 

Your mom appears from her bedroom, clutching something in her hand. She sits in front of Jungkook, a huge smile on her face. 

“Before you say anything,” and it strikes him how similar you are to your mother. There’s that tone he always receives before he gets new news, or the way you’re eager to share something that will make him happy. “I don’t want you to think this is a luxurious gift or anything. But I realized that you don’t have a wedding band so I went through my old cases and found this.” 

She opens her palm slowly, revealing a simple black band. 

Jungkook’s lips part to form words, but his vocal cords betray him. At first glance, this ring could’ve been mistaken for one of Jimin’s plentiful rings adorning his fingers. Upon closer inspection however, Jungkook notes that this band is thinner and more worn. The metal looks strong and old, the slight scratches and faded color revealing that it was a well-loved piece of jewelry. 

Your mom is offering Jungkook a wedding band. 

“If you don’t like it, that’s okay!” your mom says quickly, nerves radiating because of Jungkook’s silence. “It was my grandfather’s. Don’t feel as if you have to accept it. It’s not a wedding band persay, but I think it matches and it looks about your size and we didn’t get you a Christmas gift so—”

“It’s perfect.” Jungkook tells her firmly, sending him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, I guess we kind of rushed the engagement so I didn’t think of getting a band of my own.” 

Your mother is grateful, dropping the ring in Jungkook’s awaiting palm. “I think my daughter should be the one who puts it on you, don’t you think?” 

“Right,” he echoes, and he just stares at the ring in his hand, feeling weird in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone put this much thought in getting him something this significant. He can’t accept this ring, but he can’t refuse it either. “I could never find something with this much value from a little shop in New York, so thank you.” 

“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of New York,” Jimin puts down his completed popcorn wreath, “y/n said she already put in her off days for Easter, so you should too. It’ll be at my place this year, and I live by an indoor skydiving zone. She mentioned you’re an adrenaline junkie.” 

“She also mentioned that your birthday’s in September.” your mom pops in, “We were thinking we could take Friday off and stop by for the weekend. I’ve always wanted to see Hamilton!” 

Jungkook knows they’re trying to cheer him up. They’re trying to make him feel part of the family, feel wanted. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt wanted unless it’s for a book deal or a business exchange. It’s been so long since he’s felt this warm, and he didn’t realize how much he yearned for it until he proposed to you.

“Hey man,” Jimin puts an arm around his trembling shoulders, “are you alright?” 

“Fine,” he’s crying, and doing a shit job at hiding the tears. “It’s alright, I just,” he can’t even find the strength to get up and walk away from this. Is it pathetic that he’s breaking down in the comfort of your cousin and mom, starved for affection? “I just, I miss my family. It’s just the four of us, but they’re all the way in Korea and it’s been awhile since I’ve really celebrated anything with them. They visit sometimes but it’s not the same, y’know? And work is so stressful but I’m not in a position to say that. And your family is just so, so nice and it makes me miss them even more. You’re all so lucky to support each other like this.” 

Jimin and your mom sandwich him like an Oreo. It’s almost funny, how two smaller humans are comforting this big human and not the other way around. “Poor baby, it’s your family too.” 

Pathetic. It’s pathetic how much he wishes to have a family like yours, but he can’t have that. 

“Can we please not tell y/n about this?” Jungkook wishes, leaning his head on your mom’s. “She’s going through a lot right now with work and stuff, I’d rather just talk to her about this after the holidays, if that’s okay.” 

“It’s quite alright, sweetheart,” your mom runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes automatically flutter closed, “just remember, your feelings matter too, okay?” 

You and Jungkook slip into bed at the same time, murmuring half-hearted “how was your days” and brief descriptions of your outings. It’s a little awkward considering the morning’s events, but not unbearable. 

“The tree smells really nice,” Jungkook tries, looking up from his phone. 

“Yeah, makes the whole room smell like Christmas.” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good time shopping, find anything good?” 

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice.” 

[11:29] Jimin: hey, you know my room’s right next to yours right? 

[11:29] Jimin: we share a goddamn wall and im NOT hearing shit

[11:29] Jimin: are you putting that baby blanket to good use ;)

[11:30] You: YOU”REE DISGUSTING are we even family!!!!  Can i disown a first cousin?? 

[11:30] Jimin: i’m just sayin.. U said it was fantastic

You throw your phone away, letting it slide off to the mattress and onto the baby blanket. Yes, the baby blanket is unfortunately here to stay. Over the course of three days, the quilt is like a ball in a tennis match between you and your mother. You’ve given up and just kept it on the floor. 

“I have a question,” you say aloud, motioning to your bed partner. 

“Shoot.” 

“Was it true when you said I was the only girl you knew well enough to be your wife?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re here.” 

“I’m just wondering, because I really thought you could pick any girl in the office to be yours.” you stuff your hands under the covers, playing with your ring. “I mean, you’re kinda-sorta handsome. You could’ve picked someone just as pretty and they would have studied your whole life story for you.” 

Jungkook's phone falls in his lap, and he looks at you like you’ve lost a couple brain cells. “Normally, I would eat up the fact that you admitted I was attractive. But do you realize you’re just as beautiful, if not more?” 

What? 

“I know it’s unprofessional, but how professional can we get when we’re married, but you’re the whole package, y/n.” and he says it with such fervor, you can’t formulate a response. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. No one else can take my shit and throw it right back in my face, or debate with me for hours on end about a novel’s direction. Only you can do that.” 

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “thanks, you’re right. I’m just clouded, and stressed. And Jimin’s being an ass and it’s really bothering me.” 

His chocolate eyes flicker in the darkness of your bedroom, making note of your phone on the floor. “What’d he say?” 

“It’s stupid, he said that he thinks it’s weird he hasn’t heard us bang all week,” you force a laugh, “it’s my fault though, he wouldn’t get off my back so I gave up and told him the sex was fantastic.” 

“Are you worried he’s unconvinced?” 

“A little, maybe? I don’t know.” you’re wrinkling your bedsheets now, turning the cotton into putty as your sweaty palms wring at the edge. 

“I don’t mind giving him a show.” Jungkook blurts, and you instinctively pull the covers closer to your chest, even though you’re fully clothed. 

“What, like fake moan into the wall?” 

“There are things you can do over the clothes,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling the sheet of his bedside down slightly. “And you just said you’re stressed. I’d be a bad fiancé to not let you relieve some of that tension.” 

Jungkook opens his arms and gestures for you to get on his lap. Your body is hot all over, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re horrified or aroused. Maybe a little of both. 

“Are you kidding—you’re my boss!” 

“And we’re consenting adults!” he narrows his eyes at you, “don’t say you’ve never thought about it before.”

And the sick, twisted part of you has, a lot. There’s something about a man in a tailored suit and owning up to its power that’s really attractive. Not to mention all those times they’d be traveling for work, stumbling for a quick McDonald's bite at 12AM and he’d be dressed casually in tight black jeans and combat boots. The energy really kept you on your toes. 

“Wow, I really hate late-night talks. All the secrets come out, don’t they?” 

“If it makes you feel better, your ass looks great in pencil skirts,” you turn to him with flared eyes, “what? I’m just trying to let you know I mayhaps find you attractive.” 

“Mayhaps you should stop talking before I regret this.” 

His eyebrows lift and disappear from his bangs, the hair freshly dried and fluffy from his late night shower. He then pats his lap with a little blasé as if to say “hop on”, and you ignore the way how good the seat looks, his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide his unmentionables. 

Trying to fight alongside your last drop of dignity, you take your time. 

“C’mon y/n, don’t make it weird.” 

“It’s been weird, Jeon! Jimin’s next door!” you hiss, backing away slightly, “Give me some time, I can’t just hump my boss!” 

“You’re not humping your boss.” Jungkook has the audacity to grin, the expression looking absolutely sinful in the moonlight. “Think of it as your lover wanting to make you feel good.” 

The bridge between love and hatred is a fine, fine line stemmed by passion. 

Careful, you lift your blankets up and slip out of them, moving to sit up. It’s ridiculous, tiptoeing around your bed to avoid any sudden creaks in the aged wood of your mahogany headboard. 

“We’re out to prove to your family we fuck on the reg,” Jungkook snips, “you can make noise.” 

Within seconds, he’s hauling you on his lap. You squeak in surprise, feeling the thin material of his boxers seep through your thin silk shorts. You wriggle around, monitoring Jungkook’s expression. He does not allude too much, but you take note of the way Jungkook secures you with his hands between the swells of your thighs. 

“I’m not a rollercoaster, stop adjusting like you’re gonna buckle up.” 

Jungkook’s dry humor lightens the mood considerably, and you can’t help but smile timidly at his attempt to make you feel at ease. He lets you take your time, and you never imagined someone so demanding in the office can be so… kind in bed. 

You dip forward to kiss his lips once, twice. He looks needy, but lets you set the pace. You appreciate that. You’re salivating at his willingness to make you feel good, and you whimper as he nibbles on a sensitive spot on your neck. 

You need more. Sensing your urgency when you jerk his chin up, he muffles your sounds with a harsh kiss, taking care to moan deeply into your mouth. The heat is luxurious on this winter night, burgundy kisses exchanged between the sheets like secrets. His tongue slips between your teeth, tasting every inch of you and exploring you like the deepest texts. 

He pulls away slightly, and you’re drowning in his gaze. “Am I still just kinda-sorta handsome now?” he nips at your neck, sucking on a spot between your jaw. 

“N-no,” and you pull him up by the chin, taking in his messy hair and glazed eyes, “you’re fucking sexy,” and you tug your mouth to his once more. 

You don’t even realize that you’re rolling your hips until Jungkook breaks the kiss in favor of grabbing your hips, making sure your core is nestled perfectly between his hardening length. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to get wet, and the silk glides easily between your thighs like butter.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he encourages, one hand reaching up to cup your breast, “use me, make  yourself feel good.” 

“Please, don’t call me that,” you whine against his mouth, trying to keep the mood in, “Babe is fine, but baby girl makes me feel like a little kid and I’m not a little kid.”

“You damn right,” and he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, and you gasp hotly into his mouth. It’s too late to muffle your moans, not when you’re drenched with two pathetic pieces of fabric stopping the both of you. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent, strong, amazing woman.” 

With every compliment, he does all the work, thrusting with each adjective like he’s blessing poetry into your body. 

“J-Jungkook,” the name is muffled against his shoulder, too fuzzed in ecstasy to be embarrassed by the drool coating his tank top. His hair tickles your shoulder as he nips at your clothed breasts, swirling around your nipple. “I-I, m’gonna come,” 

“You’re almost there huh?” and he slips a hand between you two to find that sweet spot, swirling designs between your shorts. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

And you’re shaking, collapsing into his embrace as he rides out your high. He cradles one hand in your hair as you rub furiously against his other, chasing your pleasure like a starved animal. 

“K-Kook,” you murmur into his neck, finding the strength to roll your hips one more time to check. “You’re still hard, do you want me to help?”

“No.” he’s forthright, and as tired as you are, you force yourself to pick your head up. Sweat lines his brow and his face is flushed, but he’s already helping you off and handing you a tissue from the nightstand. 

“What?” you’re hurt, and don’t want to admit why. 

“Don’t feel like you need to,” he grunts into your forehead, dipping a chaste kiss right in the center. “Just let me do something nice to you for once.” 

As much as you want to, you don’t complain as he tucks you in. You don’t complain when you see a wet stain on his Kirby boxer briefs. You don’t answer back when he checks his phone one more time and pulls you in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s 12:31. 

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs into your skin, and turns over so his back faces you. 

Christmas is a loud and eager affair. The entirety of your family piles into your house while still in pajamas, aunts and uncles from other villas running in with their children with their newly opened toys and gadgets. There’s a buffet style breakfast piled on the kitchen island, and you’re all eating in the living room while watching holiday movies. 

Jungkook melds right in, unsurprisingly. He has your baby cousin Dante in his lap, teaching him how to use the controls of his new Nintendo Switch. 

Despite only meeting Jungkook a few days ago, you notice that some of your family have taken the liberty of giving him small presents. You spot a simple silver chain around his wrist, courtesy of Jimin, and a fluffy grey scarf wrapped around his neck, courtesy of your aunt’s impeccable knitting club. 

“He fits right in, doesn’t he?” 

Yoongi hands you your usual cup of tea, and you accept it gratefully. You’re sitting right next to the tree, and you notice that some of the ornaments are miniature books. You absentmindedly run your fingers over the carved wood, especially on the ones that are your favorite titles. 

“Yeah,” you hate to admit, so you whisper it into your mug. But Yoongi can hear, he always does. “I didn’t think it would be this easy.” 

“Easy to love him, or easy to fit into this family?” 

You splutter into your mug, and Yoongi does the right thing by patting your back. It feels a little bit like he’s burping a baby, but otherwise, it soothes your lungs. 

“I am happy for you, you know.” he says, knocking knees with you. “It might not seem like it now, but I truly am.” 

Deciding not to dwell on his subversive confession, you thank him for the tea and excuse yourself. Dante seems like he’s got the hang of MarioKart, so you tug Jungkook by the hand and lead him back into your bedroom. 

“I got you a present, but I didn’t feel like making a scene about it,” you pull out a pink gift bag, tufts of white tissue paper sticking out. “Also, it’s kinda cheap and it was a last minute thing, so don’t have any high expectations.” 

“Gee, you’re really making me feel deserving of this gift,” but he takes his time in unraveling the bag anyway. 

He pulls out a shiny onyx black mug, rolling it between his hands. On one side it’s engraved in gold cursive “World’s Best Boss” but on the other side it’s engraved, “World’s Best Husband”. 

“Subtle,” he grins, pulling you into a hug. He gets that it’s a gag gift, but because it’s from you, it's a lot more meaningful. You could’ve easily delved into his bank accounts and see what he buys for himself, but you decided to take the more personal route. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your hair. And to really throw you off he says, “For my gift, I’ve decided to publish your novel.” 

You shove him away as if you’ve been stung, and you barely have the voice to ask, “Are you serious, you’ve read my novel? I didn’t even send you the first draft!” 

“We share the same Google Drive, it was easy to find. If you had noticed, it’s the only thing I’ve been reading this week,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing, but he’s in actuality giving you your lifelong dream. “You deserve it, really. I’m sorry if you felt like it wasn’t ready to be read. But it was wonderful, you’re a real wordsmith.” 

“I’m not upset,” you can’t be, not when he smells so good and he’s trying to hug you all over again. “How many copies?”

“10,000.”

“20,000.”

“15,000, and I’ll even give you permission to dedicate your novel to me.” he raises his brows irreverently. 

You scoff at his arrogance, but you don’t admit to confessing that along with professors and your family, you would be dedicating it to him. “Well my gift feels like absolute shit,” you deadpan, “can I have a do-over tomorrow? We can go to the mall or something.”

“You’ve done enough for me,” he disagrees, breaking away from you to place the mug on your desk. “Agreeing to my farfetched proposal, letting me into your home. I think that’s an amazing gift.” 

“You’ve been way too nice,” you look at him wearily, noting the rosiness in his cheeks. 

“You say that like it’s not possible!” 

“Who knows? Maybe the Christmas spirit has performed a miracle, who am I to judge?” and you can’t get enough of the man, running into his heart one more time. Pressing your ear to his chest you sing, “Well, in the Poconos they say, that Jeon Jungkook’s heart grew three sizes that day.” 

It may have not grown three sizes, but if the living room wasn’t so loud, maybe you could’ve heard his heart beating three times as fast. 

The calm after the storm is your favorite part of Christmas. Most of your extended family has left to mull in their own homes, leaving your family to laze around until it’s just you and Jungkook that are awake. 

Jim Carrey’s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is playing on Netflix, arguably the only superior rendition of the children's book. The tree is still glowing by the fireplace, soft white lights trickling in the darkened room. 

Earlier in the night, you and Jungkook had cuddled up in the middle of the couch under a blanket, and were too lazy to move even when the entirety of your family vacated. Either of you could’ve easily shoved each other off and went to bed, but here you are, making offhand comments over hot cocoa. Each second that passes by, you’re more aware of how well you two sink between the fabric like you’re meant to do this. The domesticity terrifies you, but you don’t dare to point it out. 

“How does his face do that?” Jungkook turns to you, contorting his face into funny expressions. It’s a poor attempt at the green creature on the screen, but it makes your mouth twitch and you fight the urge to giggle. “It’s like he’s made of rubber.” 

“He has a sense of humor, unlike some people.” 

“Very funny,” he says, turning away to take a sip of his cooca. 

Sinking further into the couch, you unconsciously latch onto him more, savoring his body heat. “Can I confess something?”  

“What’s up?” 

“A week ago, I loathed you. I used to have recurring dreams about you getting run over by a Wonderbread truck. And I was driving the truck.” 

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better.” 

“No really, if I had the opportunity to watch you get hit by a cab, I would’ve paid for it.” 

“If it were possible for me to file for divorce at this very second, now would be time. You are a walking red flag.” 

“Okay, but!” you shush him with a finger to your lips, and he goes cross-eyed at the touch. “After seeing your stellar performance this week and an impeccable display of human emotion. I think after all of this, we could be friends.” 

“Fwends?” he says through your finger, mouth smushed. “Why whuh we?” 

Instead of lifting your finger right away, you swipe at his cherry lips, getting rid of the marshmallow sticking to the corners. 

“Because we get along.” you say simply.

“Because we’re supposed to be getting married.” 

“No! We’ve always gotten along! We’ve just been too up our asses to notice!” you sit up, appalled. “Here’s my theory, a change of setting has suddenly spurred on your character development—”

“—y’know I really don’t appreciate your use of literary jargon, it’s really pretentious—”

“—because without your external conflict, you have a chance to let loose and enjoy your life for once!” 

Jungkook frowns, adjusting his frame so he slightly hovers you. He’s pretty like this, dressed in fluffy black pajamas and his face soft. His eyes absorb the Christmas fairy lights, and you notice for the first time in two years that there are no longer purple bags under his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice so small you wonder if he’s worried to crush the moment. “Friends are hard.” 

You shake your head vehemently, “Friends are easy, keeping them is the hard part.”

He doesn’t know why he’s being so weird about this. You’ve worked for him for over two years, you know him as well as you know your skincare routine, down to the last detail. 

“Jeon, don’t think too hard about this,” you try to get him to lighten up, the intense look in his eyes throwing you in for a loop. It makes the little hamster wheel in your head spin rapidly, and you wonder if you’re really crossing a line. “Jimin said you had a really good time yesterday, I was almost jealous I couldn’t come shopping with you.” 

He cracks a smile at that, “Yeah, Jimin and I shared a moment,” and he leans down to the shell of your ear, “and he said he really enjoyed our moment last night.” 

“Oh my god!” you grab a nearby throw pillow, chucking the rough fabric in his face. 

He breaks into a laugh, but not the wine and dine chuckles that he’d have between terse negotiations for work. It’s a full out giggle, like he’s proud to have riled you up enough to break your resolve. Who knew your angry face could be so cute? 

“I guess if we’ve crossed a line, might as well make it all the way to the end,” Jungkook says easily, running a hand through his chocolate tresses. 

You and Jungkook are leaving the day after tomorrow. Most of your stuff is packed and ready to go, and you’re currently spending the rest of your night at a sit-down dinner with your immediate family plus Jimin. 

It’s peaceful, you muse. Jungkook even offered to help cook. Back at Big Hit not once did he ever bring leftovers from home, always insisting you order something for him during work. Kimchi fried rice is a simple dish, but Jungkook had taken great care in making sure it was cooked properly and adjusted to your family’s tastes. 

Your parents are glowing and enjoying their time with the whole family, a rarity that grows more valuable with age. The meal soothes you like a balm, reminding you of old conversations that had you spew milk out of your nose or Namjoon accidentally spilling beans on your lap. 

“Oh, you should also clear your schedule for the first week of September,” Jimin says absentmindedly, shoving another mouthful of fried rice. “Besides Easter, Jungkook says we can celebrate his birthday and visit for the weekend.” 

“Seriously,” Namjoon balks, sitting up straight as he regards you in disbelief. “You’re sure your Devil of a boss will enjoy you out of his chains for two vacations, god forbid you take the holidays off again.” 

The grip on your fork tightens, but you steel yourself. Honestly, you were wondering why it took Namjoon this long to let it all out. He was always vehemently against your job, as he was the person who got the brunt of your vents when you were stressed. Probably for the sake of Christmas he let it go, but now that it’s over, the topic’s fair game. 

“Oh, c’mon Joonie,” your mother frowns, “not at the table.” 

“He isn’t that bad, Joon.” you reason, completely ignoring Jungkook as you stare straight at your brother. “He means well—”

“Means well?” Namjoon barks a laugh, as if it’s the most laudable thing. “Sis, you cried everyday for a straight month after you were hired.” he places his hands on the table, regarding you carefully, “I had to personally call your doctor in New York to get you sleeping pills, and not to mention that two weeks ago, you were crying again because you were worried he forgot your vacation and would make you work! Don’t tell me he ‘means well’ when I’ve been busy picking up the pieces!” 

At this point, you’re livid. Jungkook’s right here, and while you can’t go ahead and out the fact that he is your boss, you can still have his back. 

They don’t know that you’ve picked the pieces back up, reinforced yourself to create a better version of the person you once were. 

“He does mean well,” you cry, matching your brother’s red tone to a T. “He’s just stressed and genuinely cares about the company. I choose to work long hours because he takes his time in making sure the work we publish is worthwhile, and I support that. He’s hard on me because he knows I have potential. He’s going to make sure I succeed.” 

Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You’re seriously defending your shitty boss?” 

Jimin puts a hand over Namjoon’s in an attempt to placate him, but he shoves it away.

“Honestly,” Namjoon spits venom, “how can you possibly stand to be around someone who makes your life so miserable?” 

Your meal has gone cold, and your fists clutch desperately at your jeans. The breath is robbed from your lungs, and you can’t look at anyone for fear of them regarding you with guilt. You know since the day you got hired that your family wasn’t exactly enthused at your boss’ level of expectation and work output. But they don’t know the industry, and they don’t even really know Jungkook past the surface level. . 

But you know in their eyes, they’re right. Their daughter left their comfy home to pursue her lifelong dream, only for it to be broken in a matter of weeks. It’s natural to feel protective, and while you’re resilient and were able to get it together as of late, it wasn’t enough for them to understand. As someone who loves you, it’s obvious they’d want to blame your boss, blame Jungkook for your suffering. 

You imagine your father would ask Namjoon to step outside, or your parents would make Jimin pull you and Jungkook out. Neither of those things happen.

A warm, large hand is placed on top of yours. You look towards Jungkook, face unreadable as he squeezes your thigh. 

“Namjoon’s right.” Jungkook utters, pressing his lips together. “You deserve to be treated with respect. The boss has never appreciated the hard work you do, at least not out loud. You’re too good for him.”

“Jungkook,” you gape, putting your other hand over his. 

He pulls away at your touch, glancing at the clock. “This dinner was wonderful,” he says gently, looking apologetic to your parents. “Excuse me, but I promised to call my parents at this time.” 

The excuse is completely half-assed, but no one says anything as he leaves, walking out the door without a coat. The table is terse, with your parents attempting to coax out dessert while Jimin clears the dinner table. You refuse to look at Namjoon, who has no idea why you’re so upset. You wait five minutes before you mumble about getting Jungkook a jacket. 

However, when you open the door he isn’t sitting on the porch. He’s all the way up the street, too far for you to be heard with a yell, and walking farther into town. The black hoodie falls to your side, disappointed. 

Jungkook does in fact, call his parents. Your mother suggested it when she gave him the ring, thinking it would ease his homesickness if he made a better effort to communicate his feelings. 

And so he spends over an hour huddled in a cafe, talking about nothing and everything with his mom and dad. He tells them about the little novelties he’s experienced this week, like making popcorn strings and picking out themed Christmas ornaments. He tells him how he promises to book a flight back to Korea as soon as his work visa goes through. While he doesn’t mention the proposal, he mentions you. He prattles on and on about how strong and beautiful you are, and how you’ve crept up on him and made him realize how awful of a person he was. 

His mom prattles excitedly through the line, saying that women make you realize how much better you can be for them, but she doesn’t know the half of it. 

Jungkook sat there in your dining room, Namjoon boldly telling you off about how miserable he’s made you. 

And yet still, you defended him in ways he never imagined. Your relationship has always been mutual, and prickly at best. You balanced each other out, but he knows he doesn’t deserve you. When he first hired you, he rendered you indispensable like all the other assistants that couldn’t handle it. You’d break eventually. 

And you did break. But you picked up the pieces and put yourself back together, and you didn’t resent him for it. He hated that. How can you trust someone who’s hurt you so much? 

He can’t let you go through with this marriage. You’re wrong. You don’t need him to be successful. 

[11:09] You: mom unlocked the door for you. Jimin and i went out for drinks so idk when ill be back

[11:09] You: please don’t be mad at me

Silly girl, why would he ever be mad at you? 

His plan is simple, Sneak into your villa, grab his luggage, and try to book the earliest flight back to New York. Then, he can come clean to Taeyeon and spend the year in Korea while they work out his visa issues. He’ll quietly pack his things and clear out the office before Monday.  Hopefully by the time he makes it to Busan, he can forgive himself. He’s going to regret missing your expression when you get to hold the first physical copy of your novel. 

This plan proves difficult when he sees Namjoon waiting outside for him, sitting on his luggage and reading a book. His long legs are splayed across the porch, and he doesn’t spare Jungkook a glance.

“Knew something was off,” the older man doesn’t look up from his novel, “found the mug on her desk, bossman.” 

Muttering a curse under his breath Jungkook opens his arms, “Are you gonna beat me up now?” 

“What? No, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Jungkook scoffs, and watches Namjoon roll his luggage to the back of the van. “And out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll save you the Lyft fare and drive you to the airport.” 

Is he that predictable? He flinches at the sudden jet of the ignition, and he takes heavy, snow-laden steps to the passenger seat. Once buckled in, Namjoon tosses the book in his lap. “Some light reading for the drive.” 

If Namjoon wasn’t the driver, he wouldn’t hesitate to chuck the book at his big, intelligent head. Instead, he glowers, clutching the book tightly. It’s only when they round the corner to a house brightly decorated with lights, does he see what novel Namjoon’s plucked. 

A Mutually-Assured Attachment. Jungkook tosses the book back and forth between his palms, noting the soft cover is so worn it could melt apart in his lap. It feels tended and loved from years of use. 

It’s Jungkook’s first novel, and you had a copy. One of the first editions, if he remembers the cover art correctly. Granted, he thought you had some of his books purely because of your job, but not one from your childhood. Frankly he thought this should have never been published, but he was nineteen and that in itself was a large feat. 

He carefully peels the pages, and takes out his phone to shine the flashlight mode. At the very front, blood red ink is scratched next to the title: “this is THE most pretentious title i’ve read in my life! Don’t disappoint me jeon!!” 

Your handwriting’s all over the place. He sees graphite, gel, and glitter pens mark the margins, as if you’ve come back each time to write something new. The annotations vary, from “this part sucks” to “shit, that’s good i should do that”. You draw little pictures of the objects he’s contrived, from the little brass locket one character cherishes to the facial expressions you imagine they hold. 

And at the very end, your handwriting sits neat and bold on the inside cover: I can do better than him. 

Jungkook chuckles to himself, turning off the light. You’re always right. 

Namjoon senses the younger one is done, and he clears his throat. “I really really don’t understand what she sees in you.” 

“I don’t understand either,” Jungkook agrees easily, his finger tracing your handwriting. He muses that you were always out to get him, even if you didn’t know it. 

Namjoon masks his surprise by clearing his throat. “But I’d rather seek to understand than live the rest of my life having my sister resent me. I don’t really know what you two are going through, but if she trusts you with her life, I’ll try. Emphasis on try.” 

“I don’t deserve your trust.” 

“You damn right you don’t,” succumbing to his impulses Namjoon makes a sharp turn, and Jungkook holds his stomach together before it flies out the window.  

You come home to find your room cold and barren. All of Jungkook’s things are gone, except your Christmas mug. 

You at least thought Jungkook would spare you a goodbye before he ditched you. You hoped you’d at least consider each other friends who provide explanations after all of this. 

Lifting the mug off the desk, you hear a little clink in the glass, the chime unfamiliar. Hurriedly, you pour out its contents. A heavy, tungsten black ring lands in your palm. You clench the metal between your fingers, hugging it to your chest. 

Mind made up, you dash out to the hallway, nearly bumping into your cousin. At the same time you and Jimin blurt, “We need to go to the airport.” 

Apparently Namjoon warned Jimin that something fishy’s going on. Namjoon didn’t know what, but he had the inkling that Jungkook was hiding something. Once Jimin received the text to meet them at the airport, he flung you in his sedan and floored it. Flushed with adrenaline, Jimin is speeding with a fervor you’ve never experienced. 

“Can you please, take the edge off and tell me what the hell is going on?” 

Just like how Jungkook didn’t want Big Hit to go down the drain, you didn’t want this week to be in vain. You can’t wait a year for Jungkook to come back, and you didn’t want to publish your first novel without him by your side. 

“Long version or short version?” 

“The in-the-middle version. I don’t think I have the brain capacity to absorb all your drama right now but I really need some answers.” 

“O-kay. Basically, Jungkook isn’t a Literary Agent. He’s my god-awful boss. Or was awful, I don’t know. Jungkook left the country before his work visa was fully processed. That’s a breach, so he needs to live in Korea for a year to come back. But he can’t run Big Hit remotely, so he proposed to marry me to attain citizenship.”

Your head whips to the dashboard and you cry out, barely stopping the impact with your hands.  

“Sorry, sorry!” Jimin’s eyes are focused on the red light, absolutely terrified. “Bitch, you’re committing fraud with your boss! You could go to jail, that’s like, the hottest love story ever!” 

“But he’s going back to Korea because now he suddenly realized he can forge basic human connection.” you mutter, “so no, we’re not going to jail because he’s decided to do the right thing.” 

“So what you’re saying is, Jungkook has achieved self-actualization and decided to peacefully move to Korea and sacrifice the company for you.” Jimin is carving his free hand in the air, gesturing wildly. “Don’t you see! He really likes you.”

“Yeah, so now we need to go to the airport and tell his dumbass this isn’t the time to be selfless.” 

Once you find a spot you’re rushing out of the car, weaving between carts and people to find the correct terminal. This airport is much smaller than JFK, so it’s easy for you to navigate and get past the TSA. It also helps that Jin’s wife is an attendant. 

“He chose the 1:45 flight in Terminal 31A,” Mijoo chirps from her tablet, leading you in the right direction. She’s dressed impeccably, the odds and ends of this airport glued together by her impeccable organization. She points to the clock, which glares a digital 1:18AM. “You have time.” 

“Thank you Mijoo,” you exhale gratefully, “and I’m so so sorry I skipped your wedding!” 

“This is the 300th time you’ve said it,” Mijoo rolls her eyes, pushing you and Jimin forward, “But I’ll make sure not to miss your wedding.” 

You’re sweating from your down jacket, and you can’t believe it’s really all come down to this. The one person you’ve spent the last two years of your life doting on, and you didn’t want to stop. You wanted him not just for the publication of your novel, but because you needed him. 

Jungkook’s sitting in the waiting area of Terminal 31A, looking wholly inconspicuous as he reads a book and has his hood propped up. 

Fists balled, you stride forward only to have Jimin tug you back. “What?” 

Jimin pulls off your thick coat, making haste to wipe the sweat off your brow with his sleeves and flatten your messy hair. “What?” he tilts his head to the side, “you need to look good before the big confrontation. I’m recording this for archival purposes. Do you have any lip balm by any chance? You look chapped.” 

You slap his hands away, but those grubby fingers just come back with a vengeance. “My life is just a big show to you, isn’t it?”

“Living vicariously all day, every day.” 

While Jimin parts your bangs, the intercom cuts through the air. 

“The 1:45 flight to John F. Kennedy International airport will now commence boarding. Please line up according to the ticket class.” 

Jimin smiles at you, squeezing your shoulders and gestures for you to go. To your horror, Jungkook is first in line. Panic bubbles to your throat.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you cry, voice echoing throughout the terminal. “If you so much breathe in the direction of that plane I will call Mark Lee right this second and tell him the book series is off!” 

Like a deer in the headlights, Jungkook heeds to your voice immediately. In his stupor you jog forward to snatch his wrist and pull him out of line. You don’t let go until you’re away from the long line, and Jungkook tugs his wrist away. 

“Don’t you dare call him,” Jungkook looks serious, as if you didn’t drive all the way to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. “I will never forgive you if you terminate Mark Lee’s contract.” 

“And I won’t forgive you if you get on that plane.” 

Pain flashes in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “I need to. I can’t let us—let you go through with this. You and your family deserve better.” 

“What? Jungkook, I agreed to this just as much as you did.” 

“No, you didn’t.” he’s adamant, and steps back with every step you take forward. “As your boss I threatened you, held it over your head like an ultimatum. I’ve hurt you,” his voice cracks, looking at you desperately, “why would you want to be stuck with me when I’ve made your life miserable?” 

“If I really wanted to leave, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” You reason, “Do you really want to leave the company behind? To fucking Karen?” 

“Of course I don’t!” Jungkook exclaims, “but it isn’t worth hurting you, hurting your family and everyone that loves you.” 

“And what about you? You’ll be hurt when you leave,” and you step forward, so close that your chests are touching. You take hold of his hands, clutching them between your small ones. “Don’t go, stay with me in New York. We’ll both work hard and try to not run each other to the ground. Let’s be better together.” 

You’re practically begging, biting your lip raw and hoping Jungkook understands how good this change is for the both of you. 

Jungkook is conflicted, looking back and forth between the airline boarding for JFK and your watery eyes. He hates seeing you like this. He can’t imagine you, the strongest woman he’s ever met, crying because of him. Namjoon’s voice echoes in his mind and he tries to smash it to the edge of his memory. But as always, you’re right. 

He replaces your grip with his own, and gets down on one knee. 

Jungkook says your name like it's the sweetest of songs. You’ve never seen him so terrified. “y/n, I didn’t do it right the first time, so let me try again. Please, marry me. Marry me because I want to date you. I want to take you out and give you what you deserve, what we deserve. I want to do better for myself, do better for you. I’ve realized you’re the only person that makes me feel like I’m simultaneously on fire and on thin ice,” he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket, revealing a thin band with interlocking black and clear diamond studs. It’s a pretty little thing, with a groove in the center so it stacks perfectly with your engagement ring. “This was supposed to be your Christmas present, but I chickened out at the last second,” he says sheepishly, tucking his head in. “But if you let me put this ring on your finger, I promise to be your home away from home.”  

With a sob you fall to your knees, throwing yourself onto Jungkook. A small “oof” escapes his lips, and he struggles to hold your waist so you both don’t topple over. “Yes, yes, yes!” you cry, pulling away to cup his face with both hands, pulling him into a sweet kiss. 

Jungkook’s smile takes up his entire face, and he eagerly pecks your lips one more time before ripping the ring from its holder and stacking it on top of your engagement ring. The teardrop diamond is nestled perfectly between the thinner band’s V. “Pretty,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Wait,” you pull out the black ring that you found in your room, holding it to his face. “I’m assuming this is yours?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, “your mother said it was your great grandfather’s. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s the thought that counts.” 

“It matches,” you hum, placing his simpler band in his ring finger. Once it’s on, you take a deep breath. “Shit, we’re really doing this?” 

Jungkook pulls you to stand, wiping the happy tears from your cheek. “We are, we’re a team, remember? We’ve crossed the line and we gotta finish it.” 

And he picks you up, the workouts definitely paying off as he spins you around like you’re the leads in La-La Land, drunk off the happy chemicals firing in your brain. Jimin whoops and hollers, along with all the other patrons in the vicinity of the airport terminal. 

Your real-fiancé puts you down, the both of you now hyperconscious of the stares people give you. Other people have filmed the proposal as well, completely smitten by your confessions. 

“Jungkook,” you giggle into his shoulder, “you were right. Our story is straight out of a Wattpad entry.” 

“Down to the super cheesy in-public airport proposal?” he chimes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Couldn’t have asked for a better love story.” 

“I can’t wait to fall in love with you,” you whisper, quiet enough for his ears only, “for real, this time.” 

“Not that it’s a challenge,” he teases softly, “but I’m already halfway there.” 

some months later.

“Like the new office, boss lady?” your new assistant (yes, you have an assistant!) asks kindly, his bubbly presence uplifting you immediately. He leads you to the window box, filled with tiny plants. “I figured you like succulents, because you have no time to water them and they’re prickly like you.” 

“Very funny, Seungkwan.” you chide good-naturedly, picking up a succulent with a yellow flower in the middle. “But thank you, your interior design skills are outmatched. I can’t wait to work with you.” 

“Me too, your social commentary you published on the literary industry? And you managed to lace it all up in an inconspicuous fantasy novel?” Seungkwan boasts, “I applied for this position right then and there.” 

“Thanks Seungkwan, why don’t you take your lunch and we’ll meet back at one to discuss our plans for next week.” 

“Sounds good, do you want me to pick you up something?” 

“I’m good, I’m meeting with the bossman.” 

Seungkwan gives you that look, his lips jutting out in a suggestive manner that almost makes you burst into giggles. Your assistant decides not to bother you until after you’ve eaten, and bids you goodbye. 

Just when you get a moment of peace, a handsome face pokes his way inside. “Hello editor,” Jungkook knocks on your door for the sake of attention, but you’re already dragging him into the office and shutting the door tight. “Like your new office?” 

“Love it,” you moan, gesturing to Seungkwan’s light filtering curtains. They’re not dark, rather a tasteful sea green, but they’re opaque enough to stop wandering eyes from peeking into your space. Your personal space was a qualm that immediately needed to be mended after your experience in Jungkook’s office. “A lot more private than your office.” 

“A little part of me hates how much you deserve this promotion,” he sits on your desk, and doesn’t hesitate to pull you between his legs, letting you lean into his chest, “but I do love the added privacy.” 

You fiddle with the buttons of his navy collar, his strong thighs trap you between him, “Why, miss me already?” 

He shrugs, “Taehyung doesn’t look as good as you do in a pencil skirt.” 

You laugh, brushing the strands of hair that fall from his coiff. “No one looks as good as I do in a pencil skirt.” A firm grip confirms that, two strong hands cupping your backside. “Mr. Jeon!” you gasp playfully, pushing him away slightly to pinch his cheeky grin. “Can we save this for later? I’m hungry, but we can always continue this for dessert.” 

He groans in your neck, “Love the sound of that, Mrs. Jeon.” 

bonus.

“FUUUCCCKKKKKK YEEAAHHHHH!” Park Jimin’s voice bounces off the walls of Taeyeon’s office, his face taking up the entire screen of his desktop as the camera shifts harshly between him and you and Jungkook at the airport. “My cousin’s not going to jail! WOO!” 

Taeyeon pauses the YouTube video at a particularly unflattering screencap: Jimin’s nostrils are flaring wildly and he looks fairly high mid-scream. 

A low whistle escapes Jungkook’s lips, “Wow. That video’s viral,” he looks to you appreciatively, “if Jimin kicks off his YouTube career, you think we can milk a memoir outta him?” 

“Potentially,” you reply nonchalantly, playing with your rings. 

“So,” Taeyeon’s voice is icy, slashing between your casual conversation, “you’re getting married, for real this time?” 

“Yep,” Jungkook pops. 

“Alright,” and from her desk she pulls out an ungodly stack of documents, one that mirrors your own back at the office. “Jungkook, you’ll stay with me. y/n, you’ll go to Vernon’s office and he’ll give you the same spiel. We’ll interview you privately with the same questions. A hair out of place and you’re in trouble. You sure you want to go through with this?” 

You and Jungkook exchange looks, betting your own company that you got this in the bag. 

“Hit us with your best shot.” 

[darthkruge]

Could you do an imagine where Anakin comforts an insecure reader

Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Insecurities 

Summary: Anakin comes home to find the reader drowning in their own insecurities and does everything he can to make it better.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Heavy talk of insecurities, including the reader feeling insecure about their body, personality, relationship, basically themself in general. A little bit of blood and some injuries but nothing major. Angst to fluff, I’d say?

A/N: Hi anon! First off, I hope you’re okay. Secondly, thank you for requesting! And ofc I’ll write this, comfort fics are my shit! I tried to get this request out as quick as I could and it did take a tiny bit longer than I wanted, but I wanted to do it justice. Also, y’all are beautiful and perfect and I love each and every single person reading this. If anyone ever needs anything, I’m here always. If you wanna talk or vent or just share some of your thoughts, I got you. 

(not my gif)

It was just one of those days. You weren’t a stranger to them but, nonetheless, you always felt unprepared when they hit. The feeling where you wanted to crawl out of your own skin, your own mind. Where regardless of what clothes you wore, you hated how you looked. The thoughts were the worst part, telling you lies that felt terrifyingly like truths. 

You’re worthless. You’re unlovable. You’re ugly. Everyone else can see it. They all know. No one really wants to spend time with you. You’re annoying. You’re stupid. You’re a bad person. 

The thoughts spiraled and spiraled and spiraled until you were lost in your own head. When it came to this, you frequently fell. It was too painful to hold onto your consciousness and fight it, so you let go. The thoughts continued as you curled back up in your bed, in the apartment in Coruscant that you shared with him, the one that normally brought you such comfort, and stared blankly at the wall. Tears streamed down your face and you didn’t even have the energy to wipe them away. 

Truly, the worst part was feeling so defeated. You were a strong Jedi and you took your training seriously. You’d fought in countless battles, you should be able to handle one in your mind. You wished you were strong enough to fight against these thoughts. The shame you felt around your insecurities only made you feel more alone. Instead of reaching out on days like this, you just forced yourself into silence. 

You were especially afraid to tell Anakin. Your beautiful, perfect, kind, loving boyfriend. He didn’t deserve to deal with you. He had enough on his plate, it wasn’t his job to comfort you because you weren’t strong enough to deal with your own shit. You were scared that once he saw how you viewed yourself, he would come clean and admit to seeing you the same way. I mean, you were so obviously hideous, how could he not see it, too?

Meanwhile, Anakin was finishing up a training session in the Jedi Temple. Normally he’d train with Obi-Wan, but today he wanted to focus on himself. Honestly, he was a bit distracted. Since he had a busy day today and you had the day off, he had to leave before you woke up, which he absolutely hated. He loved being there when you woke up and cooking breakfast for the two of you. You’d been dating for a few months and he was truly shocked that you’d kept him around for this long. You were everything he’d ever wanted. 

He realized he was smiling as he thought of you and decided to reach out with the Force to be reminded of your presence. He knew it wasn’t what the Force was supposed to be used for but he honestly couldn’t help it, he missed you. You were a comfort to him and he liked to check and make sure you were alright. 

Anakin’s brow furrowed as he searched for you. Normally, you were meditating at this time and he could feel a sense of serenity and contentment around you. Today, however, he was met with pain. Pain, and fear, and hatred, and sadness, and anguish, and loneliness. Anakin braced himself against the wall, stumbling back at the severity of your emotions. Right after, he composed himself and took off in a run, trying to get to you as quickly as possible. 

“Y/N? Y/N?!” Anakin yelled, bursting through the door. He was immediately taken aback when he noticed that all the lights were off. Walking quietly, he heard your sobs coming from the bedroom. He went in and felt his heart shatter. There you were, his angel, curled under the blankets, sobbing. He looked around and noticed the mirror in your room smashed. He walked over and gently placed a hand on your back, trying not to startle or upset you more. 

You looked up at him and started crying even harder. He pulled you into his arms and noticed how you fell limply into his chest. The fight seemed to have extinguished from your eyes, causing him to hold you even closer. Your arms weakly surrounded his middle as his hands stroked your back and gently combed through your hair. 

You felt lost and trapped, the world around you fuzzy and distorted from the tears. Even so, you felt him. You breathed him in, inhaling his comforting scent and feeling his warmth. He helped you ground yourself, the broken wails eventually quieting into soft cries. Anakin didn’t try to shush you, he just whispered reassurances into your hair, let you get it out, and held you. “I’ve got you, love. It’s alright, get it out. I’m here, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You listened to those affirmations as you sagged into him, taking a few more minutes to just lay there. Softly, Anakin pulled you away from him so he could study you. You saw his face contorted with worry and immediately felt guilty. Great, Y/N, now you’ve made him upset. Fuck, he doesn’t deserve this. Why did I have to be so fucking needy?!

Your thoughts were interrupted by him. “What happened, angel?”

“I-” You trailed off, not sure what to say. “I just had a shit day”

You could tell he knew it was more and, feeling vulnerable under his intensely caring gaze, brought your hand to move the hair out of your face.

Quickly, you heard Anakin take a sharp inhale of breath before grabbing your hand. Ouch. You looked down and noticed the cut on the back of your hand. It had mostly dried by now, thankfully, but the pain from punching that mirror earlier was definitely still registering. 

He wordlessly went to the bathroom and brought out some gauze and anti-bacterial medicine. When he returned, his eyes drifted to the mirror and you saw him putting the pieces together. He spent a few moments in silence, his expression downcast. He worked quickly, bandaging you up and collecting his thoughts. “Why?” He asked, softly.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stand to look at myself anymore” You whispered, wiping away some residual tears from your eyes. 

“Y/N, you’re gorgeous, love. Please, angel, please look at me.” He cupped your face and moved you so you were in his lap, making sure you heard every word. “You are truly the most breathtaking person I’ve ever met. You’re ethereal.”

Anakin’s voice was quiet as he told you these things. Quiet, yet powerful. Almost as if it was the gentle caress of his innermost thoughts. Completely honest and raw, yet too intimate for anyone to hear except you.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry your brain is lying to you. That must be so hard, fighting against your own mind. Baby, you’re brave. You’re so, so brave.”

You were shaking your head, “Ani, no, no I’m not. I’m not brave, I didn’t fight. I let them consume me. I was drowning and I couldn’t breathe until you came in. I couldn’t anchor myself at all, I was so weak” You said, disgusted with yourself. 

“Shh, shh, Y/N, listen. You are strong because even though you felt the weight of everything on your shoulders, you didn’t drown. I know you felt like you would, but look! You’re here. You didn’t drown.” He took a second to pause, kissing your forehead lovingly. “Do you want to talk about what brought this on?”

“If I tell you, promise you won’t think differently of me?”

“I promise. Nothing could change how I feel about you.”

You inhaled deeply, hands shaking slightly. Ani took them in his own, steadying them while looking at you deeply. “I’ve been dealing with some shit for a while and I think it all kind of caught up to me today? I hate how I look, Ani. I look in the mirror and I can’t handle it. That’s why I broke it, I just, I couldn’t. And then I was just thinking of how you don’t deserve to deal with someone like me. You shouldn’t have to come home after a day of training and deal with my breakdowns. I know I should have told you I’ve been feeling like this. I just was terrified. I was terrified you’d agree with me. I’m terrified you’ll leave me. I’m terrified you’ll wake up and see how you deserve so much more than the shitty fucking messed up person I am.” You trail off and meet his eyes, tears glistening in both of yours, “Ani, I’m so terrified” You finish, voice wavering. 

Anakin rests his forehead against yours, pressing kisses to your hands. He lets his eyes close and tears fall down his cheeks. He couldn’t believe you were in this much pain and he never noticed. You were the love of his life and he felt like he’d failed you if you feel like this. 

“Y/N, I’m not gonna leave you. I’m not going anywhere. You are the best person for me, hell, you’re the best person in the entire fucking galaxy. Everyday I wake up and think about how lucky I am to call you mine. You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re compassionate. You’re stubborn as hell and I love that about you. You challenge me and you’re a damn good Jedi. You’re strong, stronger than anyone should ever have to be. Your heart inspires me everyday. Simply, you’re good. And I know I said it a bit earlier, but I’m gonna say it again. You are stunning, love. Truly.” Anakin said, pulling away so he could really see you. 

“Look at your legs! They’re so pretty, baby. Especially when you jump up and wrap them around me after I get home from a mission? That’s the best feeling in the freaking world! And your stomach! You always let me rest my head on it when I’m tired and I know you think it’s weird but it’s such a good angle because I can lay there and play with your hands. And, baby, your arms!! You give such good hugs and you when wrap them around me?? It makes me feel safe in a world full of chaos. And at night when you use them to curl into me, or when we’re dancing together? Fuck, I just love them.”

Anakin trailed off for a second. He held your face in his palms and you leaned into their warmth. “And you’re face, Y/N. It’s just so perfectly you. When I look into your eyes, I know I’m home. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t understand how you can hate your body when it's the body that makes me feel like I’m going to be okay. You make me feel like I’m going to be okay. I’ve always felt so out of control, so lost. But you ground me. Please, come to me if you ever feel like this again? You are not a burden or a messed up person. You’re everything. I’m here for you. I know my words won’t fix anything overnight. Even so, I promise you, I will repeat them everyday until you believe them and, after that, I will continue to remind you until my last breath.”

You hugged him and nuzzled into his chest, overcome with emotion. “I’m trying Ani, I’m really trying. It’s not easy for me to come to people when I feel like that but I promise I’ll try.”

His arms tightened around you and he placed a kiss on the top of your head. “That’s all I could ever ask of you, love. Thank you for being willing to try”

“Thank you, too, for talking me down today. It doesn’t normally get that bad. Some days are worse than others, you know? But you really helped me. I love you more than anything. I love you for loving me when I feel unlovable” 

“I will always be here to remind you how deserving you are of love, happiness, and every other positive thing in the universe. I love you, too. I’ve loved you for years, I love you now, and I’ll love you forever”

Anakin hadn’t really let you go since he returned to the apartment. He was naturally a protective person and hated to see you hurting. He was so soft, so comforting. Although vulnerability is always hard, he made it so much easier. You knew he would always validate you, comfort you, and be there without judgement. He was everything you could possibly need and more.

Eventually, your breathing evened out as he rocked you in his arms. Anakin layed you back under the covers and went to pull away to sweep up the broken mirror’s glass. As he attempted to release himself from your arms, you whined and only tightened your grip on him. Anakin smiled and chuckled quietly, laying down and pulling you on top of his chest. You hummed contently and he placed a few more soft kisses onto your hair, your forehead, your shoulders, everywhere. You were his top priority always and he wanted to keep you safe physically, mentally, and emotionally. He could never deny you comfort, especially not in this state. After waiting a few more moments to ensure you were truly at rest, Ani closed his eyes. The glass could always wait until tomorrow...

[abundanceofnots]

Ficlet idea: Now that Mickey’s using kevs gym he’s been giving guys tips from his prison workouts. Ian is NOT happy about the level of attention he gets when he stops by one day

(You can read this fic here, or on AO3.)

So, the KevFit membership was still a thing. Cool.

And, okay, listen. It wasn’t that Ian minded Mickey going to the gym. Of course, he didn’t. It was just the way this whole thing came to be that Ian wouldn’t call ideal.

Mickey liked to say Ian body-shamed him into working out, and frankly, Ian could see why he would.

They gave each other shit all the time. Laughed about hairy toes, prodded at each other’s saggy parts. And when they were both in the right headspace, it was just that—provoking banter. But Mickey, being the sensitive creature that he was, sometimes took it too close to heart.

And yeah, maybe Ian nagged him a few too many times about staying healthy after the lockdown started when Mickey’s only method of balancing out his liquid beer diet was riding Ian’s dick. But by then, it felt like they’d been occupying the same 1x1 bedroom for years, so it wasn’t exactly Ian’s fault.

If Mickey decided to go about it this way, great. Seriously. It only meant that Ian didn’t need to worry about getting his knuckles bruised anytime soon. And while he secretly mourned the loss of Mickey’s soft belly, he wasn’t going to complain. Not when Mickey looked the way he did now.

The thought was on Ian’s mind again that morning while he brushed his teeth over the bathroom sink, using the time on his hands to watch his husband in the mirror as he showered.

The curtain was only partially closed, just enough so that Mickey wasn’t splashing water around the tub while still leaving space for Ian to see him.

And boy, did he see him.

His broad shoulders. His arms stretching as he ran his hands through his wet hair. The dimples on his back. The marks Ian left on his ass when they fucked earlier.

When Mickey turned off the shower and stepped out of the tub, Ian found himself drawn to the little water droplets sliding over the Ian Galager tattoo and down his pecs, his abs, the V shape of his hips, and into his pubes.

Ian only realized he entirely forgot to move the toothbrush in his mouth when one corner of Mickey’s mouth curled into a teasing smirk.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey asked, sounding smug as hell as he reached for his towel.

“Definitely not your ugly mug.”

Coming out all muffled, Ian’s words lost some of their intended edges. He angled himself back to the sink and spat.

“You have the tits of a 12-year-old girl,” he added quickly like there was a five-second rule for when you could still save your diss. He looked up just in time to see Mickey scrunch his face in mild outrage.

“Fuck off, these are C cups at least.”

“Like you're such an expert on those.”

Ian let out a low yelp as Mickey unexpectedly smacked his back, right around where his Monica tattoo was.

“Well, they're not your mom's tits, that's for sure,” Mickey noted through a sneer.

He then went back to drying himself, and Ian allowed himself to openly gawk at his slightly misty reflection again.

Several mechanical strokes of his toothbrush later, the thought came back, clouding his mind with an ugly feeling.

The intuitive thing would be to push it back and pretend like everything was okay, but they were married now and told each other shit, right? He had to say something.

“Going to the gym again today?” Ian asked eventually, trying to come off as noncommittal as he could with his mouth full and his eyes trained on the drain.

Obviously, he didn’t mind getting horny over his buff husband. No, the actual reason Ian was so bothered about all this was that other people now had free reigns to get horny over him as well.

You see, since Mickey started paying Kev’s gym his regular visits, he’d managed to attract a flock of followers. Fucking fans.

That, at least, was what Ian called them. Mickey, of course, didn’t see it like that. For him, they were paying customers.

“It’s easy money, man. And the crowd’s gettin’ bigger and bigger every week.” Mickey looked pleased as he wrapped the towel around his hips. “Anyway, it’s not like I have to do much. Most of the time, I just do my thing, and the bunch of ‘em stare at my ass.”

Ian bent forward and spat.

“So basically, they pay to jerk off your ego,” he pointed out, slumping his shoulders to show how totally unimpressed he was by that notion.

“’Xactly. And maybe something else, too.”

Mickey’s cackle followed him out into the hallway as he left Ian alone in the bathroom.

---

It was clearly a joke. A nasty joke that was supposed to leave a sting, but there was absolutely no need for Ian to worry. And he kept telling himself that all day—right until the moment he entered the badly-lit backroom of the Alibi and found himself in the company of a pack of Northsiders in designer label gym clothes.

Before he could spot Mickey anywhere among them, some blond guy in what seemed like an uncomfortably too tight a tank top came to his side.

„Looks like we have a newcomer in our midst.” The guy clicked his tongue, giving Ian an blatant once-over. “You here for the Mickeffect?”

„The what?“

„The Mickeffect. That’s what we call this class. Unofficially, of course, because the class is sorta kinda unofficial, too.” At that, he sniggered, which Ian immediately found annoying. “3pm, every Tuesday and Thursday. You from the Facebook group?”

Ian resisted the urge to scoff. “Uh, no.”

“Just lucky coincidence, then? Well, since you’re already here, I think you’re gonna enjoy yourself. The dude who leads this class is ex-con, so he knows all the right ways to abuse the body if you know what I mean.”

Clenching his fists inside the pockets of his sweatpants, Ian smiled politely and nodded. He wasn’t going to give this blond douchebag the satisfaction and punch him in the face. Not yet, at least.

“Hot as hell, too. And man, that ass. Simply de-licious. The whole thing actually only went off after I posted a video of him doing squats. Got 50k views in a day, a whole article on PinkNews a week later. The title was The Ex-con Hunk Who Makes Chicagoans Sweat Like Crazy – And Then Tells Them Off. Funny.”

The guy shrugged in this wannabe innocent you know how it is way. Ian was relieved to realize he really, really didn’t.

“We get new people all the time, but the return rate is terrible,” Blond Douchebag continued, amazingly. “Most of the boys come for Mickey but then leave with someone else. Maybe you’ll get lucky here, too.”

“I’m married,“ Ian retorted, hoping it would be enough to make him stop talking.

But Blond Douchebag didn’t even blink. “Yeah, so are some of the guys here. And he is, too, but I don’t think he’s the typa guy who would be deterred by that.“

Careful there, pal, Ian thought. Or you might find your pretty face landing very unprettily on a beer keg.

“Oh, hey!“

The familiar voice came out of nowhere, prematurely ending Ian’s plans to show this complete dickwad the practical meaning of the word concussion.

His head snapped to his right where Mickey was now standing, his eyes carefully roaming over Ian. There was a softness in them for a moment before his whole face morphed into a smirk.

„Came to learn something from the expert?” he teased.

Ian clenched his jaw. “Something like that.”

As Mickey moved past them, Blond Douchebag gave Ian a sly wink.

---

Ian wasn’t sure what kind of problems the snooty Northsiders could possibly be dealing with in their private lives, but this whole thing seemed to have almost therapeutical effects on them.

Mickey called them Ansel Elgort (not a compliment) or White Kanye West (also not a compliment) while he listened to their crap, and they giggled like teenage girls. He yelled at them for being pussies, and they were only a touch away from popping a boner. It made zero fucking sense.

And Mickey, well. The dickhead was so clearly giving them an upgraded version to his usual performance. Biting his bottom lip all the time. Flexing his muscles a little too hard. Grabbing everyone’s attention by letting out these exaggerated grunts.

Ian officially reached his bullshit limit when Mickey finished off a set of pull-ups and promptly took his shirt off to wipe his face. The way everything around him seemed to come to a stop for a hot minute had Ian’s eyes rolling.

It was totally ridiculous. Were these guys really so desperate?

Getting a better grip on the skipping rope he was using, Ian caught Mickey watching him, his brows arched, the dare behind them so plain and obvious.  

And yeah, okay, asshole. Two could play this game.

“You know what,” Ian started out loud so everyone could hear him. He let the rope fall to his feet and instead tugged his own shirt off. “We did things a little differently in the army.”

His grin widened when he heard one of the guys audibly gulp.

---

“Fifty!”

“One hundred!”

“Fuck off, you can’t do one hundred push-ups in one go.”

“With one hand behind my back.”

Maybe kneeling on the feet of two wheezing guys doing sit-ups wasn’t the best time to have a whispered shouting match with your husband, but honestly, Ian couldn’t give two shits. Mickey was seriously pissing him off—and like hell was he going to let him win. Even if it was just this one petty argument.

“You need stamina when you’re the top. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to do all the fucking work while the bottom just lies there.”

“Oh, oh, please! Tell us more about your workouts in the army. Was this before or after you tried to run away from there by stealing a damn helicopter?”

They were suddenly aware that their periphery vision got surprisingly still. Almost in tandem, they looked down at the alarmed expressions of their trainees.

“Did I fuckin’ tell you to stop, Asthma Boy?” Mickey grumbled at his guy. “Gimme three more sets of twenty!”

---

Blond Douchebag must have taken a genuine liking to him because he later offered to cover Ian as he pounded into the punching bag. And while he technically did hold onto the punching bag, his eyes were always on Mickey.

“Wonder who Ian is,” he mused as he observed Mickey’s topless form. “Think it’s the husband? Probably doesn’t even realize what a hot piece of ass he’s got at home.”

Too easy. It would be entirely too easy to pretend Ian’s hand slipped and he hit him by mistake, and he wasn’t going to stoop that low. He wasn’t.

Taking in a deep breath, Ian started punching harder.

He wasn’t.

“Everything okay here?”

Mickey had his shirt tucked under the elastic band of his pants, and from the corner of his eyes, Ian couldn’t help but notice the light sheen of sweat that covered his face and upper body. He wasn’t the only one.

“Oh, more than okay,” Blond Douchebag practically purred.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

“Whoa, Ian, hey.” Mickey sounded worried. “Take it easy, man.”

And fucking finally, that seemed to have done the job. Because Blond Douchebag wasn’t looking at Mickey anymore, he was looking back at Ian, and his bravado was long gone. Now, there was childlike fear in his stance, and Ian almost pitied him.

“Oh shit. You’re Ian,” he managed before the next punch landed right into his face, knocking him down on the floor.

Panting, Ian stood over him as he clutched his bleeding nose.

“Yes, I’m Ian,” he snarled at him. “And his ass is all mine.”

Someone gripped his arm then.

“Okay, the show’s over, Muhammad Ali. Better get out of here,” Mickey muttered as he pushed Ian across the gym, past all the Northside wimps who seemed too tired to do anything other than being in shock. “Come on. Ian, come the fuck on!”

From the Alibi, they ran. Sprinted along the streets and over honking cars, zig-zagged through commuters, and flipped off those who wolf-whistled at their half-naked bodies. They ran until they ended up in a dirty alley with no one else in sight, their sides on fire, and broke into a fit of laughter.

Ian only realized Mickey brought his shirt when he used it to slap his chest.

“Jealous fucker.”

“Shut the fuck up. Wasn’t jealous.”

But Mickey was still wearing that suggestive whatcha gonna do now smirk, and his lips were shiny from being licked over just a second ago, and so the next thing Ian knew, he was pushing him against a wall and kissing him thoroughly.

His hands went to Mickey’s ass, lifting him up just slightly as his fingers dug in, and Ian pulled back to let out a moan.

“Mm, I fuckin’ love your ass.”

Mickey groaned. “Jesus Christ, please don’t tell me all of this was because of my ass.”

Leaning down again, Ian murmured into his mouth: “Isn’t it always?”

[an-absolute-travesty]

Secret Santa fic!

Heya @all-eternity it was me all along! I hope you enjoy this :) very much looking foward to actually being able to follow you after this without looking sketchy lmao

Also shoutout to my lovely beta reader @keepersandqueens as if I don’t talk about Salas enough here lol

Warnings: underage drinking, drinking in general, hangover, drugs/medication mention (not abused, basic over the counter stuff dw), mentions of vomit (not described)

Pairings: Kam, background marelinh, ex titz

About: Kam coffee shop college au 

Word count: 5,205

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added or removed): @cadence-talle @ruewen-and-rising @lemontarto @a-lonely-tatertot @clearlyvacksen @percabetn @sewersewersewercouch @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @enbies-and-felonies @blxckh0les42​ @rainbowtay-11 @callas-starkflower-stew @impostertamsong @appalyneinstitute1 @stars-and-splendor @anna-without-an-e @mistythegenderqueermess @we-have-no-bananas-today @we-wont-dissapear @jadenightthewriter

Tam stumbled into his first 8 am class, anxiety making his heart feel like it was pounding out of his chest and stomach doing backflips.

If he could survive bouncing between foster homes, a short stint at juvie, and worst of all high school, he could survive college.

Well he thought he could until he saw a familiar person right next to the only available chair in the room.

God fucking damn it.

"Hey Bangs Boy!" Keefe waved him down, causing a scene. Tam had no option but to sit beside him, both because of the lack of chairs and the fact that everyone was now staring at him.

Not a great start.

"What a coincidence! I notice you still haven't taken my suggestions on your hair, I'm telling ya' you'd get all the girls and or guys and nonbinary pals with a man bun." Keefe looked smug at the fact he'd be able to taunt Tam for another semester, minimum. Tam was already making a mental note to check when he could swap out of classes.

"Keefe, if I knew you were going here I would've just gotten myself back in jail, oh wait, you were the one who got me in there in the first place." Tam shot him a look, praying that he'd suddenly develop superpowers and shoot lasers from his eyes.

"Hey, just because I came up with the idea...and helped with some of the execution, doesn't mean I'm responsible for you trashing your parents house. Besides, you were only in there for like 3 days max before you got out," Keefe said, shrugging as if 3 days in jail was no biggie.

"Most peaceful 3 days of my life," Tam sneered, turning back to the front of the room as the professor walked in.

"Good morning class!" the prof turned to the white board, writing his name. "I am Dr. Harding," he tapped it for emphasis.

The class was silent.

"And you say good mor..."

"Good morning Dr. Harding," The class said in unison, they all sounded tired and bored.

This wasn't going to be fun.

~*~

"Grande ice vanilla latte for...Hen-are-y?"

The man shot Keefe a look as he grabbed his coffee.

"Henry." He dropped a tip in the jar, fifty cents. How generous.

He had come in before, and never left good tips. Keefe made it a game to pronounce the names of anyone who wasn't a college student and left bad tips wrong, no matter how much they came in. It was a wonder he hadn't been fired yet.

As he turned preparing another drink, the bell at the top of the door rang. He ignored it at first until he heard a quiet, "Fuck," come from behind.

"Bangs boy!"

"Why are you here?"

"I work here obviously," Keefe walked up to the counter. "Now, what'll it be?"

Tam sighed. "Iced caramel macchiato with two extra shots of espresso."

"Size?"

"Venti."

Keefe whistled thinking about how much caffeine that was as he wrote down "Bangs Boy" on the cup.

"Alright, that'll be 5.75, may I ask why the insane amount of coffee? I believe I remember you saying caffeine makes you anxious in high school."

"Yes, but it also helps me focus, and I have a quiz tomorrow I haven't studied for."

"Fair enough," Keefe said, going to prepare the drink. "It'll be ready in five."

Tam nodded, walking off to the side and scrolling on his phone. Keefe made the drink, occasionally sneaking looks over at Tam. He didn't seem to notice, thank God.

Soon after, they finished the transaction.

"See you at class," Keefe said, he was trying to be genuine, but it came across more taunting.

Tam grimaced, muttered "Thanks for the coffee," and walked out the door.

~*~

The class fell silent as a disheveled Dr. Harding walked in, a pack of gatorade in one hand and bottle of tylenol in the other. He popped one as he sat down.

"Hello class it seems today I have the worst headache imaginable, just give me about 5 minutes of silence and we will go over your assignments."

Keefe leaned over to Tam's desk.

"Well, we know what he got into last night," he whispered. "Heard the bar on the corner of 5th was giving out two for ones for professors."

"Isn't that place run by the alumni?"

"Exactly. Gotta thank Alvar tomorrow, Fitz said it was his idea."

"Wait Fitz goes here too? Why did I not-"

"Boys!" Dr. Harding practically yelled. "I am tired of the racket." He put his face in his hands where his elbows rested on the desk, bald spot showing to the world.

"We were whispering!" Keefe made a 'what the hell' sort of gesture. Tam glared at him, hoping he could communicate 'I will kill you myself if you say another word' with just his eyes.

"Sencen, do I look like I care?"

Keefe winced a bit at the use of his last name. That was something Tam could understand.

"Look, boys," Dr. Harding stood up and turned to the chalkboard, writing something down. "If you all like talking so much, you'll love this next project."

He walked to the side, revealing the board, that read '10 page essay, due the 25th'

"With the person next to you, you'll be writing a 10 page essay on um...the importance of keeping your oil changed in your car. You'll then present it to the class. It's worth 25 points."

A student raised their hand.

"Luka?"

"Sir, I thought this was a psychology course?"

"It is. You are all excused."

With that, he left the room with his tylenol and gatorade in his arms. The students glared at Keefe and Tam as they all got up, muttering amongst themselves about the pure bullshittery of it all.

"So..." Keefe said, slowly standing. "Does the library tomorrow at 3 work? I have work until then, so it can't be any earlier."

"Yeah, sure." Tam promptly walked out of the classroom as fast as possible, he didn't know why but his anxiety was spiking. He tried to tell himself it was just because he was a useless gay that didn't know jackshit about cars, yeah, surely that was it.

Just a useless gay.

~*~

Tam waited at a table in the library, it was 3:05, Keefe was late.

He didn't know what else he expected from him, he always seemed to do stuff like this. At the same time, Tam didn't have the energy to be particularly mad at him. This was going to be the stupidest essay ever written in the history of man, might as well put it off.

The library door slammed open, and in came Keefe. He balanced a large stack of papers and books along with four drinks. He stumbled over to Tam and practically threw them down on the table.

"Sorry I'm late, I thought it would be nice to, like, get you a coffee, but I didn't know how much caffeine you wanted, so I got one decaf caramel macchiato, one normal, and one with an extra shot, and also hot chocolate for me."

He sat down in the chair by Tam, as if getting three different coffees for someone you were forced to do a project with was totally normal.

"Um...thanks, I-I can pay you back-"

"Don't worry about it." Keefe turned to him and smiled, bright and friendly. Tam was frozen. "Okay, now it's car time." Keefe turned back to the desk.

"Yeah."

They were silent for a while as they researched, Keefe going through his piles of papers and books and Tam on his laptop like any sane person would.

Tam finally worked up the nerve to talk.

"So um...this is out of nowhere, but I think you mentioned Fitz went here?"

"Oh, yeah." Keefe put down the absurdly large textbook that was set up in front of him. "He's my roommate, he uh thought it would be best not to tell you after everything, I guess."

"That's fine," Tam shrugged like he didn't care. "I'm over it."

He was, really. They only dated like 2 weeks, sure it ended with a...pretty big fight after Fitz claimed he wouldn't be able to date someone who had gone to jail and Tam reminded him it was his best friend that got him in there in the first place, but he was still over it. There was still something bothering him, nothing to do with Fitz himself but...something. He just couldn't put his finger on what.

"Alright, I'll take your word." Keefe shrugged, setting his giant book back up in front of him.

Tam felt the need to start talking again, but didn't. They were mostly silent for the next 40 minutes or so, just researching and the occasional word exchanged between them.

Keefe checked his phone.

"Shit," He got up. "Work emergency, I gotta go. Same time tomorrow?"

"Yeah that works."

"Chill, see ya' later."

"Bye."

Keefe waved (with a wide grin Tam would've called idiotic in high school) as he went out the door.

Tam found himself with a smile on his own face, he quickly stopped, hoping no one saw.

~*~

Keefe hurried into work, pulling his apron on as he saw the absurdly long line and a panicked Marella frantically making coffees behind the counter. She sighed with relief when she saw him.

"Thank God," She said as he stepped behind the counter with her. "There was a scheduling error, Forkle's useless at that stuff."

Mr. Forkle, their well-meaning but often mistaken manager, was out of town at the moment. The fate of the Starbucks rested on two college kids, what could go wrong.

And so they went, Keefe taking orders and Marella fulfilling them until there were no more to serve.

Marella, quite literally, threw in a towel she had wiped her face with. Promptly going to the back, presumably for her break. Keefe followed her.

"Alright, I think you can probably go back to whatever you were doing before this now if you'd like," said Marella, inspecting the small braids in her hair in the nearest shiny surface.

"Nah I was just doing a project with Tam for Harding's stupid class, he's probably left by now, I might as well rack up some overtime."

Marella turned back at him, clearly caught off guard at the name.

"Tam? As in my-girlfriend's-brother Tam? As in you-had-a-massive-crush-on-in-highschool Tam? As in dated-Fitz Tam? As in you-got-him-in-jail-"

"Yes! Yes! Why does everyone remind me of that, it was one time."

"When you get someone in jail, people tend to remember," Marella went silent for a second, thinking, before looking Keefe in the eye. "Wow, that must be awkward as hell, I mean seriously, if I were you I'd straight up file a restraining order just to avoid him. Maybe move to another country. I hear Estonia is lovely this time of year."

"Eh, it's not as bad as it seems. I mean it was awful at first, mostly because I tried to resume right where we left it on the taunting front, but I think it's ok now."

"Hm. Well good luck with that," Marella turned back to go to the front, but Keefe grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Uh, actually I need your advice on something. It has to do with Tam."

"Shoot."

"Well I was thinking of maybe, I don't know, asking him out or something? Look, yeah, it's an awful idea but is it 'he never wants to talk to me again' awful or 'he attempts to strangle me' awful?"

Marella looked him up and down, eyes uncomfortably cold, as usual.

"I mean, no hetero, but despite your annoying qualities you're a decent looking guy. Plus Tam's, like, super anxious according to Linh, so maybe he'll be too awkward to say no. You can probably squeeze at least one date in there."

"Wow, thanks Mare," Keefe mumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, I try. Also don't call me Mare."

"Alright Ella!" Keefe called as the front door's bell rang, signalling a new customer. Marella went off to take care of it, unable to respond she growled back at him.

~*~

Tap tap tap tap tap.

Tam glared from across the table.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

Keefe looked up, muttered a simple "Fidgety" and went right back to it, tapping his pen against the table. Tam said nothing more.

Keefe had been quiet for this entire meeting, something highly unusual for him.

"Ok, seriously dude, what's up? I haven't seen you this quiet literally ever."

He only seemed to get more fidgety at this question, his bouncing leg shaking the library table.

"I...um..." he looked down, running a hand through his hair "I have a test I need to cram for and no one to study with and keep me accountable. Y'know, ADHD issues."

Tam didn't overthink for once in his life but the moment the sentence was out of his mouth he regretted it.

"I have a test too, maybe we could study together?"

Keefe smiled his annoyingly charming smile.

"Sounds good."

"Good."

Tam quickly looked back down at his computer, trying to look like he was still doing car research when in actuality he was processing he just actively offered to spend more time with Keefe Sencen.

If Linh found out about this he'd never live it down.

He didn't think he cared.

~*~

Dr. Harding walked through the classroom door, clearly much less hungover than his last appearance.

The students waited, would they get an apology? Any sort of remorse?

"Alright, who wants to read first?"

Apparently not.

Keefe raised his hand with too much confidence for what their essay looked like. Tam gave him a confused look. He had his scheming face on, never good.

"Mr. Sencen!" Keefe winced at the use of his last name by the doctor. "What an amazing start, it's only appropriate. One of you boys come up and present."

Tam gave Keefe a look of 'do you want me to do it?' Keefe just smiled and got up from his chair. This would either be really good or really, really bad. Tam was all too familiar with the scheme face.

"Doc, I did depart from the source material a bit here, hope you don't mind. And I use 'I' because Tam had no involvement in this, he deserves full points for his essay."

Keefe cleared his throat, the room was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

"Doctor Harding deserves to get fired: an essay. (And it's only been a week!) Paragraph one, his drinking problem-"

"Sencen! Back to your seat now. I will see you after class, or I will not see you in my next class, understand?"

Keefe gave a thumbs up as he sat back on his chair with a thud.

A few minutes later, in the middle of another student's essay, he passed Tam a note with his loopy handwriting.

"The amount of comebacks I had for 'see me after class' is absurd but if I get kicked out there's no way Elwin is helping me pay tuition a second time."

Tam tried not to smile, certainly failing, as he wrote his response.

"Yeah I think the time you talked back to Miss Cadence she wanted to expel you. Lucky Principal Alina had a thing for pseudo-dad Alden."

"Oh God I haven't talked to him in a whiiiiiile."

"?"

"You haven't heard? Yeah, he sorta found out like ALL his kids were ell gee bee tees and freaked out. Della found herself a new gf though!"

"Sounds like a lovely extra punch in the gut for a queerphobe."

"Yep. Honestly I recommend looking through his Facebook sometime. Just a million rants about how the gays destroy everything, great entertainment."

"Duly noted."

At that point it seemed like the doctor started to take notice of their note passing, and they stopped quickly. Tam wouldn't be surprised if he did the whole high school read in front of the class thing with the way he had been acting so far.

Tam was 100% sure tenure was the only thing keeping this guy's job intact. Apparently being a drunk asshole wasn't near enough to get a person out of their position. He tried to ignore the professor's annoyingly smug face for the rest of the class.

~*~

Keefe sat in his usual spot at the library, Tam sitting across from him, his brown eyes dancing across the textbook page and lips mumbling along the words. He didn't have much to do, often finding himself just staring at Tam, quickly looking away if he seemed to notice.

Eventually he sighed, sitting back.

"Ugh, this test is in a week and I have so much other crap to do, I'll never get this all memorized by Friday."

Keefe silently thanked his brain for managing to get around the having to study thing. Yay, photographic memory!

"Oh, uh, well I'm free to study more tomorrow if that would help? We could do, like, flashcards or something."

Tam seemed to repress a smile. He did that a lot. Keefe always noticed.

"That's okay, I'm sure you have better things to do. The Starbucks is always pretty packed."

"Eh, sometimes you have to get away from Marella. She's mean to me."

"Not just you, once she told me if I ever made fun of Linh's cat's name again she'd make me cut off my own bangs."

Keefe nodded sagely. "The shorter you are the closer to hell. That's why you're worse than her."

"Hey!"

Tam flicked a stray rubber band at Keefe.

"I'm at least 2 inches taller than Marella...we measured."

Keefe thought up about 12 inappropriate jokes he couldn't make before flicking the rubber band back.

"Two inches only counts in roller coasters, none of which you can ride."

Tam stuck his tongue out before returning to his studies. Unlike Tam, Keefe didn't hide his smile.

~*~

Tam strolled into the Starbucks that Friday morning, no longer surprised to see Keefe working the counter. He could barely hold still in line as he thought about the amount of cramming he'd have to do in the next few hours.

When he reached the counter, Keefe said nothing, just busily worked making a drink.

He stuck it right out at Tam.

"One venti iced caramel macchiato with 2 extra shots of espresso because you have a test today in political science and still haven't studied everything and also a muffin because you probably haven't eaten today. On the house. Good luck with the studying."

Tam froze.

"I- um- th-thaks. Y-you too...sport."

Oh, you fucking idiot.

He quickly scurried out of the Starbucks with drink and muffin in hand. Wow, he had screwed that up.

But...

Keefe...

He...

He remembered his order and that he had a test and that he forgot to eat when he was stressed holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit-

Okay, deep breaths Tam, you got this. You can totally handle a frustratingly cute guy showing care for you this is fine...

Not fine, not fine, gotta tell Linh.

He called Linh with no forewarning. Despite the fact that she was currently across the country at a different university, and it was about 3 am for her, she picked up. He barely let her get out a groggy "Hello?" before explaining everything. She only seemed to think a moment before responding.

"Hm. Well it's good to know that college is going good for you. Do you need advice or comfort?"

"Yes."

"Well, first of all, everything's gonna be okay. And I know that doesn't help much but just try to remember we're eighteen, and it's not the end of the world. Second of all, try to ask him out or something. It doesn't have to be framed as a date, like Marella and I got together on a walk in the park, seriously it can be anything."

"Thanks Linh."

"No problem, also can you hug Marella for me?"

"If she doesn't try to kill me first, yes."

"Nice. Okay go do what you gotta do, also don't wake me up at 3 am again or else I'll sic Purryfins on you, I had just gone to bed."

With that she hung up and Tam continued on his way, still trying to not completely freak out.

~*~

Keefe stared blankly as Tam walked right out of the door. Marella appeared by his arm.

"So, how'd it go?"

"Well, he called me 'sport'."

Marella inhaled through her teeth.

"Yikes. Comfort, advice, or distraction?"

"Distraction, please." Keefe replied, absent-mindedly preparing a cup for the next customer.

"Uh, well I meant to ask you what ended up happening with that ass of a teacher, but I got a bit distracted at your attempt to woo Tam-"

"Hey I said distraction not reminder. But basically I just got a slap on the wrist because, and I quote, 'Your father is Cassius Sencen! He wrote half the books we use in this class, I'm sure he can straighten you out!'"

"There's absolutely nothing papa Sencen could do to make you straight, I'm pretty sure he tried that, and it obviously didn't work."

"He actually tried a few times and it most definitely did not. Lucky he doesn't have my number anymore or else I assure you he'd keep trying."

Marella laughed.

"Well, moving on from grade A assholes, I'm supposed to tell you there's a party tonight. I'll have to send you the address later, I have it on my phone though, I am told there's gonna be booze, so I'm going."

"Eh, I'll probably go. Just to get my mind off everything."

"Thata boy." She lifted her phone. "And my shifts over in three, two, one, and I am out of here! See ya' tonight Hunkyhair."

"That's Lord Hunkyhair to you."

She just rolled her eyes and clocked out, leaving Keefe to deal with both the customers and his own thoughts.

~*~

Tam sat in his dorm room alone, constantly refreshing his grades for the possibility that his 70-year-old professor would post the test results at 1:30 am.

His roommate was gone for the weekend, actually he was gone most of the time. Tam didn't think they'd even had a full conversation before.

He jumped as his phone began to ring, a call from Keefe of all people. He hesitantly picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Tam! Tam Tam Tam Tam Tam" Keefe's slurred speech was too loud for a phone call, Tam held his phone a bit away from his ear. "...fuck wait why did I call you..."

There was a long pause, neither said anything.

"Oh yeah! I needed to tell you something...but uh I uhm I forgot what it was."

"Keefe, where are you?"

"At a paaaaaarty, well, actually just outside a party because it was hot in there, but now it's cold out here so uh yeah."

Tam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, send me the address, I'm coming to pick you up. Wait right there and don't move."

"Okie dokie."

Tam heard a thud sort of sound and the rustling of grass from the other line before Keefe hung up and soon after got a message of his location.

After 20 minutes of walking in the cold, Tam came up to what seemed to be a frat house with Keefe sitting on the lawn in criss-cross, patiently waiting in short sleeves and basketball shorts, way too little clothing for the weather. His ruddy face smiled as he saw Tam approach.

"Tam! I remembered what I was going to tell you." He stood up, face falling right after. "Oh no wait I forgot again. Ooh! You need a drink."

Keefe grabbed Tam's hand, pulling him towards the house. Tam stayed in place.

"Hey, let's get you home dude."

Keefe pouted.

"I don't wannaaaa."

He slouched down, pulling on Tam's arm like a child having a tantrum.

Tam pulled him back up to his feet.

"C'mon, if you go to your dorm without fuss I'll buy you ice cream tomorrow."

Keefe seemed much more ok with going along with Tam with the ice cream deal. He pulled off his own coat and placed it around the very drunk boy, he didn't complain.

Keefe began humming some annoying song from the early 2000s that was playing from the house earlier as they walked back in the direction of the dorms.

Suddenly, Tam remembered something.

Fitz was Keefe's roommate.

Shit.

"Hey uh do you think Fitz is at your dorm?"

Keefe nodded confidently.

"Yep! Said he was gon' study. Wouldn't come to the party because of his 'reputation' or whatever."

Around reputation he did exaggerated finger quotes, nearly knocking Tam's jacket off his shoulders.

"Hm...in that case let's go to my dorm, ok?"

Keefe shrugged, apparently willing to go along with most things in his current state. Thank goodness Linh had made Tam bring extra pillows and blankets to college, he could sleep on the floor and just hope Keefe didn't get sick on him in the night.

It was ridiculously hard to lead Keefe back to his dorm. He tried to pull down his pants halfway there and Tam almost had to carry him up the stairs but soon enough they got there. He sighed with relief as he led his inebriated friend into the room.

"Okay, you can stay here for the night. I'll sleep on the floor."

Keefe plopped himself down on Tam's bed laying flat for only a moment before sitting up with a snap and a look of realization in his eyes.

"OOH! I remember what I was gonna tell you again!"

"Oh?" Tam said playing along, expecting him to forget again.

He patted the spot next to him on the bed, Tam continued to play along, sitting next to him.

"So Marella said that I should just tell you this, and it worked for her, so I'm gonna. And uh and you have to promise to listen 'cause I'm not sayin' it again."

At this point Keefe grabbed his face with both hands, staring right in Tam's eyes and squishing his cheeks.

"You're listening right?"

Tam nodded, mostly to shake Keefe's hands off his face.

"Okay."

Keefe took in an over dramatic breath as if he was preparing to preform in the Olympics before getting another grin on his face.

"I really like you."

"You really like me?"

He nodded mumbling "mhm".

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I like you. Like, like like you."

"Like...as a friend?"

"I said I wasn't gonna repeat myself. As a booooyfriend." At this point Keefe fell back on the bed, looking at the ceiling. Tam's cheeks were burning.

"How long have you liked me like that?"

"Mmmm..." Keefe seemed to ponder for a moment, "Prolly high school."

"Oh um...good to know. You should get some rest. I'll be down here if you need me."

"Alrighty."

Tam shut off the lights and Keefe started snoring quick. Tam could only stare up in the darkness, unable to sleep.

~*~

Keefe woke up that morning in a room he didn't recognize to a killer headache and dead phone.

He turned to the side, seeing a pile of blankets and pillows with a large gatorade, bottle of tylenol, and a note next to it. Suddenly last nights memories came flooding back.

Oh, shit.

He scrambled out of bed, headache and nausea hitting him harder as he stood up.

Despite the fact his head was spinning, he picked up the note from the ground and read it.

Hey, meet me at the reservoir around 6, we need to talk -Tam

F. U. C. K.

Had he really said all that stuff last night? Surely it was a dream, right?

Oh God.

He gathered his few belongings, plus the things to help the hangover, and left the dorms as fast as possible. Only having to stop once along the way to throw up in one of the campus trash cans, hopefully no one would notice.

Keefe didn't have anything to do and he really didn't want to face Fitz so he went about his day in last nights clothing. Then again, it was a college campus. Someone walking around with rumpled clothes carrying a gatorade probably wasn't that big of a deal for most people. By 5:30 he sat impatiently in the empty park where the reservoir was located, it was colder closer to the water.

Just as promised, at 6 o'clock he saw Tam approaching on the horizon.

~*~

Tam was damn near a panic attack as he walked around the park attempting to find Keefe. Eventually he found him, sitting on a bench still in his clothes from last night, face once again ruddy from the cold. He sat next to him wordlessly.

"So," Keefe started.

"So," Tam replied, looking down at his lap.

"Tam I-" Keefe turned to face him. "I'm sorry about everything last night, I probably just made everything super awkward. Not to mention it's a giant violation of the friend code to even have a crush on your best friend's ex-"

"Yeah, about that."

"What?"

"You're gonna maybe kill me for this but uh," Tam pulled on his bangs. "I sorta talked to Fitz about it, I figured you wouldn't and apparently I was right. He said he was okay with it as long as we were ok with it."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Tam sighed, "Perhaps."

Keefe once again wore that shit-eating grin of his.

"Can I hear you say it?"

"Why don't you have to say it?"

"Already said it last night! Your turn now. Why did you take care of me while I was drunk?"

Keefe stared at Tam excitedly waiting for the answer. Tam sighed.

"Because I love you, little shit."

"Ooh you said it-"

Tam smashed his lips against Keefe's, both quickly melting into it. After only a moment they pulled away.

"Agh, you taste like gatorade and vomit."

"Well you taste like salt so really what's worse."

"Definitely the vomit."

Despite this, Tam leaned back in. This kiss was a moment longer than the last, and when Tam pulled away Keefe chased it.

"Ok, look I'm sorry but you look like shit Keefe you have to go change." Tam removed his jacket, throwing it around Keefe once again and helping him up from the bench. Keefe laughed.

"Yeah, you're right. Ooh now that we're a thing you need a new nickname!"

"I do?"

"You do, how about 'Bangs Boyf' ooh or maybe you can be my 'provoked partner' or my 'snappy spouse' my 'agitated accomplice' perhaps."

"Do you just have these ready and prepared for any situation?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets."

"You aren't Houdini, you're an 18-year-old boy that currently reeks of frat party."

"Eh that's basically the same thing. I've seen some 18-year-olds at frat parties preform tricks Houdini could never dream of."

Tam sighed dramatically. "It's a good thing you're pretty, you know."

"Hey!" Keefe jokingly shoved him.

For the first time Tam's smile wasn't repressed.

[whynotwinnie]

Tímida: Roger Taylor x OC series

sorry guys i’ve been m.i.a. with second semester starting i’ve been stressing with class and all that but i had this chapter for awhile now and i decided to finish it. also i’m trying to work on “wounded” the kylo ren series but i fell into a bit of a writers block for that one. .-. i’ll work on it soon. but here is this roger taylor fic you can use ben hardy’s version of roger if you would like. :) thanks for reading.

 MICKEY

Waking up groggy you checked your alarm clock, 12:00 in the afternoon you have definitely seen worse you groaned as you got up from your bed. 

You had always followed a very specific routine in all honestly it just made sense living on your own had definitely impacted you and your mental health so sticking to a routine made it feel like your life was always on track, when it certainly was not. 

The first thing on your non-existent schedule was coffee, no matter the time you always needed some sort of caffeine when you are tight on cash it was tea at home, but when you were able and that was most of the time you went to a small coffee shop that was about a fifteen-minute walk from your studio apartment. 

After doing the basic self-hygiene you grabbed your tote bag filled with your work stuff and started walking to the directions to Beachwood Cafe.

The walk is always quiet and calm, but it always gave you little bits and pieces into other people’s lives. Like the old lady watering her plants or the way, the housewife takes her toddler for a walk in his stroller. The sense of familiarity comforted you. 

“Hello there.” 

You whipped your head toward the direction of the voice, this was not part of the routine you had never seen this man before, his shoulder-length blonde hair and ridiculously blue eyes were unfamiliar yet comforting. He was confident yet nonchalant with his greeting.

“Hello,” you said with a small smile he looked down at you smiling.

You continued to walk seeing Beachwood in the distance.

“Were you going to get a cuppa?” you nodded your head “That is so crazy because so was I.” he picked up his pace so he can open the door for you. 

You muttered a small thank you and walked in, Beachwood was a small but very popular coffeeshop the owner Dayla has became a very good friend of yours and always brightened up your day with a joke or two.

“Mimi, how are you love?” she asked from behind the counter.

“I’m good Day how are you?”

“Can’t complain if I say so myself.” she said grinning “Let me guess Caffe Latte and a pastry?”

“Yes ma’am, it’s late in the day you didn’t run out of the pastries yet?”

“I just took out a fresh batch right now, I knew you were going to have a late start today.”  God, you loved this woman.

You stepped aside to get your wallet from your bag 

“What would you like young man?” Dayla asked the man who walked in with you.

“I’ll just get a cup of tea please, Oh! I’ll get her order as well” he said as he saw you handing money to Dayla.

“That’s okay!” you said feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Please I insist.” He said practically throwing the money to pay for your order at Dayla.

“Please let me-”

“Mimi! he said he insists go sit down,” Dayla said looking at you wide-eyed.

You looked at both of them and walked to the seat you usually sat at and what a surprise the man came with you.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” he said motioning to the seat across from you.

“Go ahead,” you said

He sat down looking out the window and then back at you. “I’m sorry I realized I never introduced myself I’m Roger Taylor.” he said extending his hand out to you, you grabbed it.

“I’m Mickey… well it’s not really Mickey but it’s just easier to pronounce.” Stupid you should’ve just said Mickey.

“May I ask what your real name is?” Roger said still holding your hand

“It’s Mikaela but Mickey is fine.”

“Can you say it one more time, I want to make sure I got it right.” he rubbed his thumb across your knuckles.

“Umm… yeah it’s pronounced Me as in me and you, Ki like eye but with a K in front of it and Yella like yell with an A after… That sounded really complicated actually you don’t have to-”

“Mikaela?” he said slowly looking up at you for confirmation. 

“Yeah!” your heart skipped a beat it is so nice hearing your name.

“Nice to meet you Mikaela” he said as he brought your hand up to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

Fuck.

Of course, at the exact same time as that happened, Dayla came with your drinks. She set your drink down smirking and left without saying another word.

“Is it safe to assume that you are not from here?” He asked while blowing on his tea before taking a small sip.

“Yeah, you can say that. What gave it away.” You said smiling from your coffee cup

“You’re just different from everyone not in a bad way either I like it. Where are you from.”

Oh god, I can die happy right now.

“Well, it's a bit of a long story.”

“I don't have anywhere to be.” He said his blues eyes burning into yours

Oh wow, he's so hot

“Oh in that case. I was born in a small town in Spain. Spanish was my first language so that’s why I talk funny.”

“I like the way you talk.”

He did not. Your face was definitely red.

“How does a girl from Spain come to London?”

“Ummm sheer luck I suppose.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure”

“Was it hard learning another language?”

“Learning English was super difficult sometimes I feel like I dont know what I’m saying, but English is my third language my second was Italian.”

“Italian? Where do you find the time to learn two extra languages?” He was genuinely in disbelief

“Well my mom was from Spain and my dad was from Italy so I just needed to know both and they’re pretty similar to each other so it wasn’t that hard.

“What do you do for fun?”

“What do I do for fun?” I repeated thinking hard

“Yes, you obviously must have loads of friends.”

“Well… I do have friends, I just can’t think of one at this second.”

This is embarrassing now he thinks I’m a loser

“Don’t worry I don’t have many friends either but consider me as your friend Mickey.”

“What about you? What do you do for fun?” I need to change the subject oh my god.

“Well, I’m in a rock band.”

“A rock band?!” You said a little too loudly

“What about me isn’t rock and roll Mickey?” he said laughing

“Not in a bad way of course you don’t seem like the type to be singing in front of a crowd,” I said shaking my head 

“Well, I suppose you got that right I’m on the drums in the back so the audience can’t really see me anyways.”

“I’m sorry I’m not trying to make fun of you I just got caught off guard, does your band have a name?”

“Sm- Queen,” he said shaking his head.

“I like the name Queen, are you playing soon I would like to see what I’m missing out on.”

“We’re actually recording our first album right now, the recording place is not too far from here about a block or two further down. So we’re going on a small break until we’re done with the album but I believe the next one is in three weeks.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it then.” You said sipping your coffee

“Actually I was hoping to see you earlier than that.”

You immediately choked on your coffee, making a scene by coughing into your napkin.

“That wasn’t the response I had hoped for,” he said passing you his napkin so you can wipe your tears with.

“Oh, I’m so sorry I wasn’t trying to be mean I just- well I would like to see you again as well.”

“Really?,” He said smiling, and you swear you could melt from his smile alone.

“Yes, of course.” You smiled back.

He then prompted to drink his cup of tea until it was finished and left money on the table.

“Great then I’m going to leave before I can mess up this perfect first moment. By any chance do you have a pen on you?”

You shook your head yes and looked through your bag handing it to him.

“This is my number, we’re recording until 6 today so anytime after that call me and I’d love to talk to you more.”

You felt your head spinning with how fast he was talking and moving.

He plucked your hand up and gave you a small kiss on it again, he then walked to the door before saying.

“Promise me you’ll call me,” he told you while he grabbed the door handle.

“I promise I’ll call you,” you said softly

“Perfect,” he said while he winked at you and then left.

He gave you one last look through the window and then left, once he was out of view Dayla came to the table.

“Who was that?” she said, collecting her tip that Roger left her.

“His name is Roger. I met him today.”

“Today! You’re joking.”

“I swear Dayla I met him minutes before coming here?”

“He can be a psychopath! And here you are chatting with him after knowing him for 30 minutes.”

That stopped you.

“He is not a psycho he was so nice and funny, and did you see how hot he is Day?”

“Yeah well murderers can be funny and hot.”

“Do you really think he’s a murderer?” you asked in a exsperated way.

“No, I was just kidding he is really hot and besides who would want to murder you?” Dayla said as she wiggled her eyebrows.

“Wow that doesn’t really make me feel better.”

She stood up grabbing Roger’s empty cup “Girl you know I was just playing I say go for it and have fun, anyone would be lucky to have you.” she bumped your shoulder with her hip and left.

Your mind felt overwhelmed with all the excitement from today you even almost forgot that you had some work orders to do you tried to push Roger from your mind as you grabbed your journal and sketchbook from your bag. You looked back at your notes reading on what your client wanted: a floor-length gown but not something too flashy something to show off their arms and their cleavage. Perfect. You spent your time designing the gown having fun with it since you probably wouldn’t have another gown piece for months. After finishing you went on to your smaller orders feeling yourself getting into the groove of things.

Looking up from your sketch you noticed how dark it got outside and how empty it now was in the cafe. You decided to call it a day, well that was until you go home, and then you would start making the gown. You noticed the clock when you were telling Dayla good night. 6:58 Damn time really flew by and then you remembered the number you had in your bag.

The walk home went by to fast your thoughts about what you would say to Roger once you called made you nervous to the point that your keys kept slipping from your hands as you were trying to open the door to your apartment. 

You purposely threw your jacket on the phone hook so you didn’t have to see it and went to the bathroom you looked at your appearance baggy jeans, an oversize t-shirt that you also slept in, hair a mess, and no makeup. You shook your head, no way Roger was being serious about you calling him he was so much more put together and out of your league completely. You could just imagine all the beautiful women that he has been with, no way you could compare. You sighed walking out the bathroom ready to get started on your order. You grabbed the different fabrics you needed for making the gown and when you went to grab your sketchbook Roger’s number fell and slowly fluttered down to the floor like it was taunting you. You stared at the paper hard groaning when you opened it reading that he wrote “Roger <3” following his number. You did promise him you would call…

Your heartbeat picked up when you approached the phone dialing each number slowly wishing a catastrophic event would happen and end the world so you didn’t have to finish dialing. It didn’t happen. You put the phone to your ear and hear the first ring, and then the second. This was stupid calling him in the first place you removed the phone from your ear and were half a second away from hanging up when you heard “Hello?”

Shit.

You couldn’t just hang up now. 

“Hello, is this Roger?”

“It took you long enough.”

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes

Sequel to A Forgotten Memory

Roach's stealth skills are put to the test as he sneaks past an alleged Augustus base to capture him and gather intel about the recent EMP based attacks. Will Roach be able to impress Captain Price?

Previous Chapter : Soap - Experiment 001

Chapter 9 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

"A SurPRICE Visit"

Gary 'Roach' Sanderson

Task Force 141

400 meters outside Augustus' Mountain Base

Germany

The winds were picking up when they landed and Roach flew about a few more meters away from Price.

"This EMP blast is messing with my signals. Captain, can you find Roach?" Ghost spoke over comms, his voice crumbled over the static.

"He landed not too far from me. Come on boy, let's get a head on." Price replied to Ghost as he helped Gary get up and untangle himself from his mess. Gary nodded and followed his Captain into the edge of the mountain.

"There it is. Augustus' base." he mused as Gary scoped through his supressed silencer. Trucks were leaving the area filled with armed hostiles.

"Ghost, you see this? They're leaving the hive." Price informed the recon man.

"Aye, sir. Looks like they're headed to Alex's direction. If we time this right you'll have less people inside there." he replied. Gary wondered why they were leaving. It didn't make sense to back-up an already reclaimed base back at Alex's.

"Let's go Roach. I'll take the one on the left tower, you take the one on the right. I'm currently spotting four Tangos by the gate. Fire when ready." Price instructed. Roach took a deep breath to steady his sights, quickly pulling the trigger once the crosshairs aligned with their heads.

"Good kill. Your sniper skills are improving, Sargeant." Price mused as he signaled them to move forward. For a Captain who's left him a solid first impression as a strict angryman, Roach didn't expect the kind words from him. It almost felt overwhelming.

"You go ahead and take what's important inside that guardhouse. I'll cover you from this position." he commanded and Gary sprung safely into action, switching to his suppressed pistol and into the guardhouse.

It was simple, a few cameras, some photos of people who they let in and a few map layouts. Gary quickly snapped all of them for Ghost to see. Roach also grabbed the radio and placed it near his ear. Gary set his sights on an AK-47 lying on the ground.

"Roach, be careful when using unsuppressed weapons. It might reveal our existence." Price muttered to which he nodded. It just made sense.

"Jäeger, kopierst du?" the radio muttered. Roach's German wasn't on point and any non-reply from the other end would result in an investigation.

"Ja, alles klar." he replied, trying to replicate the accent. There was no more reply on the other side which meant Gary actually nailed his reply.

"Captain, behind that door is heavily guarded. I suggest a reroute to the back door just a few meters east of your position. This isn't Augustus' base, it's a remote research facility studying plant life by the border and he seemed to take it over." Ghost informed after gathering the photos, Gary waited on the edge of the wall covering his Captain's six. The duo proceeded as suggested and climbed over an unguarded fence.

"We're at a greenhouse. Labeled 6." Price whispered.

"Do you see any cameras?" Ghost asked.

"Yeah. Looking at the plants." he muttered.

"Circle around it and find cover behind the safehouse labeled 5. If my German is correct, the central area should have 2 scientists on their way in there." Ghost informed.

"Right on schedule." Price nodded to Roach as they both knocked them down quietly and non-lethally as they were civilians. Gary quickly slung his weapon and hid it behind the huge white lab coat the both of them now wore.

"Keep your weapons hidden, until I say so. Okay?" Price said as he pulled the bodies somewhere hidden. Gary nodded as they confidently waltzed inside the base, using their fake ids pinned on their coats for entry.

Gary watched a lot of sci-fi fics and most of them depicted labs as white walled, glass-divided rooms with hundreds of scientists working on some random machineries. Except here, it's plants. It seemed normal as if they infiltrated the wrong base. Price seemed to worry too, his steps were further apart and he seemed to be in a hurry. They were losing hope on a lead, until one armed guard, different from those outside started climbing up the stairs.

"Finally. Some good news." Price muttered as they made their way up the stairs.

"Authorized personnel only." an armed guard stood by the steps blocking the duos way. It was too crowded and too risky to engage him and press through and they both needed a new plan.

"Es tut mir leid." Gary replied as he pulled Price to the restrooms.

"It's no use. We can't go guns ablazing right here." he noted to his Captain.

"Bollocks." he cursed.

"We need a diversion." He added.

"Way ahead of you, Sir." Gary smirked and showed him his c4 trigger, pushed it and an explosion followed.

"Nice. By the guard house?" Price asked while they waited for reinforcements to assist the blast.

"Yeah."

"Quick thinking lad. I like that."

Several armed men came rushing down the stairs, yelling in a different language, all going to the exit. They stomped to the stairs and carefully breached the second floor of the building, shooting armed tangos using suppressed weapons. They had to act fast and stomp on their comms as soon as they're down so that the others outside will not fall back.

Ten guards were left behind to protect the second floor, and with the help of stealth, Gary and Price took them out smoothly. All that's left are the intel waiting to be harvested.

Gary snapped all possible evidence, every nook and cranny was investigated while Price tapped his heavy fingers on the keyboard.

"Looks like they're going large. They're planting something by the major cities cell towers. Here's one in Berlin." he muttered, printing a copy of the blueprints.

"Price! R-ch" Ghost's static crackled across their comms.

"Th- found- guards!

Get. Out. There. NOW." he added.

"Kill every civilian in there. That will let our little friends out of the shadows. I know they're after us…" a menacing voice said over Roach's stolen receiver.

"Shite. They're killing civvies." Gary said, worried.

"I'm sorry Roach. But we can't save them. It's a trap. Now protect that camera and let's get the fuck out of here." Price consoled as they continued pressing on toward the exit.

Screaming people followed by gunshots echoed across the white halls of the research facility, Gary didn't want to look back, Gary didn't want to hear any more screaming but it was all around him. Whoever commanded this act to be done must be eradicated from this world.

LOCAL MILITIA SETTLEMENT

Alex greeted the duo as soon as they stepped inside the village. It felt lively as everyone was celebrating their victory.

"Captain." Alex nodded and Price returned the gesture with a handshake.

"This is Blitz. Their leader." he added, introducing the man to Price.

"Thank you for helping us." Price acknowledged.

"No. Thank you for helping us. You have good men fighting for a good cause." he remarked, nodding at Alex and Gary. Gary also got acquainted with the leader, exchanged a few words and got offered soup.

"Tough day, huh?" Alex nudged over Gary, who's still sad about the situation earlier.

"You and me, both." Gary muttered as Alex patted his shoulder.

"We'll get him soon enough, Roach. Justice will be served." Alex consoled as Gary took a deep sigh.

"They're planting EMP bombs on major cell towers. Maybe incorporating it with them to perform large scale blasts." Gary pondered, taking a sip off the delicious soup.

"Yeah. That's our go signal. It's now a terror activity. Imagine a day without communication. International trade would crumble." Alex explained to which Gary nodded in agreement.

"Global cripple. People's minds get hurt, Economy gets hurt and we aren't focused enough to defend ourselves."

"That's what he's up to." Gary finished.

"And we have to stop it. Whatever It Takes." Alex looked at Gary with determination, that kind of pep talk that makes him a little less sad.

"Yeah." Gary agreed.

~

Another briefing, but this time, it was going somewhere. Operation Burn, the task is to eliminate Nero and all his allies, if possible. Funny enough, the real Nero burned everyone else. Whoever thought of this name was smart enough to connect the dots.

There's another person added to the team, the redhead leather jacket agent, Alexandra Ryder. An interpol agent tasked to destroy all traces of said EMP machinery. She looks tough, acts tough and basically is tough. France seemed to be going along well with her. That's a bonus for alliances such as these.

"So, I heard Price noted your sniper improvement." Ghost nudged.

"Yeah. Thanks Simon. Your training sucks but it helped a lot." Gary complimented.

"Tried talking to France and the new girl today." Ghost reported. Gary turned to him, clearly interested about his story.

"It was actually good. They're both intimidated by the mask and that's why they can't initiate conversation with me. But the talk went pretty well so I guess you needed to update your scoreboard or something." He muttered.

Gary chuckled. "That's one step towards her."

"I'll let the Interpol handle Berlin. Since it involves just the weapon, as for other news. I think it's time to transfer our two hostages back to the USA." Gary quickly turned his head back to the screen. No. It can't be. He had to stop this decision.

"With all due respect sir. I do not agree with this!" Gary stood up and all eyes were on him. He's still concerned about the welfare of the two plus he didn't want Maxine to leave. Not yet.

"I've read the report on their case sir. And it's not that I don't trust the system there but what if there's still another one in there with ties to Nero. He was able to slip by under our noses once or more times than that but let's consider the possibilities here." Gary explained as he looked around. Alex seemed to agree with him.

Shepherd let out a soft sigh.

"We'll discuss this possibility Sgt. Sanderson. You can sit down now." he said and resumed briefing.

"Brave move you did there, soldier." Ghost remarked as Gary let out a sigh. He wasn't sure on he's really concerned, the IP Address being extracted from Samantha or Maxine's smile that he will be missing if she left.

Next Chapter : The Heart Knows what the Brain doesn't

Notification Squad, my beloved

@samatedeansbroccoli @smokeywhalee @whimsywispsblog @enderio @beemybee @ricinbach

[halfhappyhooligan]

a voltron au? in 2020? it’s more likely than you think

look. LOOK. i know that voltron is stupid and we hate it but lets be honest: everything up until season 3 was pretty good and had lots of potential !!

today i was rewatching voltron and a thought struck me: what if, instead of shiro being cloned, he was chipped and turned to the side of the galra?

so here it is, i did not blink since i thought of this

(warning, i have not seen voltron in a while and this is just knowledge i have stored in my moss brain and stuff i know from rewatching the first season)

au where shiro goes evil bc of what happens @ end of season one instead of the clone thing bc 1) haggar rly could not have made thousands of shiros after bumping into team voltron like what twice? its hella improbable and 2) just… weird

so instead they insert a chip in him that helps them spy and control him just like kuron (the clone) did minus the unlikely storytelling

eventually after the convo with sendak when he was in the pod trying to temp shirp, he does have thoughts about helping zarkon

(“im already infiltrated with the arm, i could just speed up the process by leaving now. save the team the trouble of investing in a leader that’s doomed to fail from the strart.”)

shiro ends up leaving team voltron in season 2 after zarkon goes crazy w the black lion n stuff

^^ this adds to Keith’s reasoning of joining the Blade of Marmora (shiro is his main stability and one of the main reasons he even stuck around with team voltron, so with shiro gone and keith questioning his place as the leader and paladin of the black lion, he decides the BoM is just.. what’s best for him) 

obviously lance isn’t happy with this (“you just told me that i’m a valuable member, now you don’t think YOU are? what logic is that?”)

ofc keith goes anyways

lance becomes paladin of the black lion

allura takes on the red lion

who has blue lion? ...idk this isn’t that thought out (maybe matt after pidge finds her family) (which will happen earlier in the plot since we can forget about the miniplot of black no longer responding to shiro)

enter lotor only this time he has a sidekick and what omg its shiro wow

shiro has that bigger version of his arm that was once offered to him

he’s stronger and scary, but his eyes aren’t the same, he has the strength of a galra but lacks the passion 

in the fight between lotor and zarkon, (and after, of course lots of self doubt and questioning) shiro comes between them and convinces lotor NOT to kill zarkon

then zarkon kills lotor

everyones like oh shit bc surely someone who’s life was just spared wouldn’t kill the person who seems to have the most power

but he did. bc he’s zarkon. and he’s fckn crazy.

shiro doesn’t go back to team voltron bc its too much too easily

instead he takes the place of lotor in the group of gals 

he convinces them all to rebel against the galra

eventually they teach him all about quintessence and all the shit lotor had planned that they can’t do anymore

(lotor wasn’t harvesting alteans in this universe bc what the heck even was that subplot that had little to no relevance to the main storyline?

instead he was trying to find a way to technologically bring back alteans (kinda like how allure’s dad was originally preserved in s1)

i know nothing about How Stuff Works and i dont remember much about quintessence n shit but the basic idea is that when tying in some of a persons artifacts with technology stuff and some quintessence then boom. a weird route from astral projection land to the team is created and ppl can come back or smth idfk

but lotor was never able to get the comet so shiro decides he and the gals will get that comet and try to bring back as many alteans as they can

^ all this while infiltrating as many galra fleets as possible + saving planets under galra empire

they personally visit every planet that lotor was in charge of and release them from galra control

they are able to bring back an altean (its romelle) and she talks abt her friend who lives on the balmera and they go to the balmera and its revealed that it was shay’s great grandmother so romelle asks where shay is and shay’s family is like with team voltron of course

so

they take her

obviously team voltron, the BoM and the Rebels r very hesitant to make contact but they decide to try it out

keith refuses to meet, instead he’s on the team that stands guard

reunions !! 

romelle and shay hit it off and hunk makes a dinner much like roselle’s past (allura and coran also hang out and they all vibe)

lance talks to shiro abt everything to do with keith and shiro is like dude do u??? like him?

and lance is like what? no ofc not—oh shit.

and keith ✨overhears ✨

pidge matt and shiro catch up n shit

meanwhile keith is like Hey Lance Uhhhhhh What The Fuck

they end up being like hey since we’re all here and we hate zarkon what if we make a plan to end the galra’s reign Right Now

so they do

and y’all.. it’s hella baller plan

except something is going wrong and in the middle of an attack zarkon is able to get the upper hand 

due to haggar’s magic and lance’s mental and emotional instability, zarkon is able to get in his head

everyone is trying to talk him down but they’re all under a lot of pressure

allura is also conflicted bc she wanted to be black lion bc she wanted to rub it in to zarkon’s face that she was stronger than he and that she could beat him at his own game

but the negativity and instability feeds into zarkon’s power and makes him and haggar stronger as they pull in voltron to finally take over the team and regain their status as the most powerful alien race

hunk realizes this and is like okay can y’all stop being negative? its clearly affecting them in a good way and it makes us an easier target

and pidge is like im literally a child pls i don’t wanna die i just got my family back it can’t end like this

shiro realizes what’s going on and he goes to save them

he uses all his energy, pulling in the positive memories (everything: first learning about space, becoming a teacher, meeting adam, meeting keith, first making team voltron, his friends and family--all of it) to push back zarkon and haggar’s powers and battle once more in the astral realm 

in defeating zarkon, shiro loses his life

afterwards keith enters the ship in a hurry and is like where the fuck is shiro where’s my brother what did you do what happened

and team voltron is like hey man.. we are so so sorry

and keith cries because the last thing he ever said to shiro was mean

lance feels like its all his fault since he was supposed to be a good leader

they talk about separately while hunk pidge and allura discuss

krolia is like keith we, ur family, are here for u

and axca is there and shes like um?? hey?? sry for trying to kill u bro

and he’s like i absolutely do not wanna talk i just lost my closest friend

they talk about it later

axca tells keith abt shiro finishing lotor’s work and abt bringing people back and well.. 

they use the methods to help keith visit shiro in the astral realm

shiro is like oh uh hey i was just having a drink w adam we r happy

and keith is like shiro u fuckhead why would u sacrifice urself

shiro sighs bc cmon keith you KNOW why “remember what i always said? we can’t focus on what went wrong..”

“we’ve got to figure out how to make it right” keith finishes

keith breaks tf down crying and screams apologizing

“i love u shiro. ur a like a big brother to me.”

and shiro is like yeah i know and ilyt but hey. everyone’s safe and happy. im safe and happy. & you deserve to be too. you don’t need me anymore.

so the galra rule is over and everyone goes to their respected planets

romelle and the other alteans as well as some galra babes hang in earth

romelle and shay r in an apartment together and have a garden

allura realizes she may not have been the strongest leader for voltron, and  couldn’t stop zarkon on her own but that physical strength doesn’t define her as a whole

her heart is strong enough to care for everyone, so thats what she does

allura starts running an inn for alteans filled with painted sceneries like altea in case anyone ever needs a reminder of home

when lance reunites with his family its a real tearjerker

rachel finally gets her jacket back and veronica is like So.. Axca 👀

the McClain’s host a huge party for everyone and it’s filled with lots of hugs and loud music and even tho lance was way too tired, he danced all night

he wouldn’t trade his family for the world—genetic and chosen

when hunk reunites with his parents they don’t let him out the house for hours, he tells them all about his new best friend shay as well as hundreds of his favorites stories from space

they are so, so proud of him

hunk spends the next days playing minecraft and animal crossing with pidge, giving their brains a rest from being on hyperdrive for 3 yrs straight

when pidge gets home she finally gets grounded by her mom, only being allowed to leave the house to see her old teammates

(same for matt and her dad)

(her mother cries so hard when they opened the door to the home)

the holt family holds movie nights filled with popcorn, cuddles, and tears

keith moves in with the holt family, and finally accepts that he has a home as well as a family

he often goes on trips with the BoM but mostly just stays on earth

after a Team Voltron sleepover in the altea inn keith and lance decide to get an apartment together and live their lives in love and in peace

everyone gets together once a year in celebration of shiro and the sacrifice he made for them

they use the ship to visit Astral Shiro and once they even met adam

everyone laughs and catches up and just... live their lives

everyone is happy

pls ignore any and all errors lmao

again, just a thought !! maybe i’ll write a fic abt it idk for sure but yeah

feel free to add anything <3

[kayluh1915]

A Little Cold

Paring(s): Javier Peña/Original Female Character

Words: 1,229

Warnings: None

Summary: Javier puts a hold on Peyton’s big "lifestyle-changing" plans when she comes down with something that he thinks is a bit more than a little cold and takes care of her the best he knows how.

I'm currently working on a 5k+ word self-indulgent A/B/O fic but I'm fucking sicker than shit and my fiance's at work and I just want some fucking cuddles and soup. So, enjoy this unedited, unbetaed, fever-induced indulgence that may or may not be inspired by real-life events.

Also using Javier for this one because I can’t get enough of soft Javi in that fuckin’ baby blue button down so hush and let have my fever dream, mkay? Mkay.

God, to be held by Pedro Pascal right now... *cries*

You know the drill, comments are welcomed and encouraged, yadda yadda, follow me on Twitter.

PS: It (thankfully) isn't Covid, but it is the flu. It still sucks either way and is making me unapologetically long for Pedro cuddles...

Enjoy

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

Today was the day.

It had taken countless weeks to get everything together with the memberships she had to pay, days off she had to request and even finding someone to watch her cat. But, it all came together beautifully and Payton was finally ready to get herself back on track.

Her plan started with waking up early and eating a good breakfast. She had been neglecting her sleep schedule and diet for months now, basically only powering herself with caffeine and sugary doughnuts that honestly did nothing but make her feel like shit 24/7.

After breakfast, she was taking her cat, Toby, to Connie so she could watch it while she cleaned the entire apartment from top to bottom. Javi couldn’t get the full day off and still had to work half a shift, but she was glad that he still got to come home early. He’d be home just in time for lunch and he promised that he’d help her clean after they ate.

After their cleaning day, she and Javi were going to dedicate three days a week minimum to going to the gym. Javier was still pretty fit from his time chasing down drug lords in Columbia but noticed a fair drop in his stamina since returning to the states. Peyton herself wasn’t out of shape just yet, but she was getting there and she wanted to stop it before it went beyond the point of no return.

Peyton knew that she could technically start any day and didn’t need all of this prep work to start taking care of herself, but it helped her feel better and more prepared to succeed by starting off with a clean home, good sleep schedule, and cooked meals.

Today was the day…

… or was supposed to be at least.

When her alarm went off at 7 am, she expected to feel pretty horrendous. Her sleep schedule had been fucked up for months and suddenly attacking it by waking up much earlier than usual would make anyone feel awful, but this was different than the need to go back to bed.

She rose up from their sheets and padded to the bathroom. Her head was very heavy, her chest was tight, and her throat sore and scratchy begging her to cough. She refused it for a while, but the tickle in the back of her throat became too much as she washed her hands. Her cough sounded awful, wet, and came from the deepest part of her chest.

Of fucking course. All that planning just so she could get sick? Nope. Not happening. She had put too much work into making her “lifestyle change day” possible and she refused to let a little cold stop her.

So, she swallowed down another cough and got dressed, trying to ignore the weakness and dull ache in her head as she began to make breakfast.

When Javier came into the kitchen about an hour later wearing a baby blue button-down and his favorite pair of jeans, he knew that something was off with Peyton immediately.

“Morning, Cariño. Did you sleep okay?” Peyton looked up from the eggs she was making, trying to look as if she wasn’t feeling even worse than she did when she got up.

“Yeah, it just wasn’t enough.” Javier noticed the deep circles under her eyes and how pale she looked as she tried and failed to stifle a cough.

It was then when he realized why something wasn’t quite right.

Without even thinking, he took the spatula out of her hand and set it aside, turning off the stovetop and putting the pan of frying eggs on a cooled eye.

“Javi, what are yo-” She stopped herself as soon as his wrist went to her forehead and cheeks. She had tried her best to hide how shitty she was feeling, but she knew it was a longshot. You can hardly hide anything from the former DEA agent who assisted in taking down Escobar.

“I’m fine, Jav. I swear. It’s just a little cold.”

“You don’t run fevers with colds, Peyton.” She reached for the pan again, Javier grabbing her wrist to stop her.

“Javi, please. Just let me-”

“No, I’ll finish breakfast. You go lay back down.” Peyton was going to protest again, but a coughing fit struck her out of fucking nowhere. The damn thing lasted far longer than any fit should and left her throat sore and her chest achy, Javier looking on with concern as he gently rubbed her back throughout the entire thing.

Deep down, she knew that Javier was right. She was in pretty rough shape and needed rest… but all those plans… all that work she did only to get sick and fuck everything up.

Javier brought his hands up to Peyton’s flushed cheeks, holding her face in his hands as he looked into her exhausted eyes.

“Don’t do that.” Peyton gave a confused look.

“Do what?”

“Beat yourself up for not being able to keep your plans. I know you put a lot of work into everything, but you can’t help that you got sick. Your health is more important than the apartment. We can do our deep clean later, for now, go lay down. I’ll come to check on you in a minute.”

He knew her so fucking well.

As much as she wished she could go through with her plan, laying back down did sound pretty good right now. Finally, she just accepted her fate and nodded. Javier sighed in relief, pressing a kiss to her fevered forehead.

Peyton slept for what felt like two minutes when she awoke to Javier bringing her some medicine to help bring down her fever, a glass Sprite on ice with a straw, and a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup. She knew she’d been out much longer if he had time to run to the store and get all this fancy stuff.

“Wh-why aren’t you at work?” She asked, taking the medication with a small sip of Sprite.

“Called in. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“But… you couldn’t get the day off.” Javier smiled, setting the steaming bowl on the nightstand.

“Not working just to clean is one thing, but when the woman I love is sick, I’ll move mountains to make sure you’re taken care of.” Peyton smiled at him, the steaming soup feeling heavenly as she swallowed a bite he fed her.

“You don’t have to feed me, Jav.” She said, but he didn’t listen to her, holding another spoonful out to her. She normally hated being doted on this much, but she was honestly too sick to care at this point.

She ate more than half of the soup before she pushed it away, laying back down with a pained groan. Javier took the bowl to the kitchen, coming back quickly and laying down next to Peyton. He pulled her as close as he could and brushed a few stray curls away from her flushed face.

“You okay?” He asked. Peyton groaned.

“...what do you think?” Javier chuckled.

“You know what I meant.” Peyton pointed to her head.

“...head hurts.” Javier hummed sadly, taking his hand to gently rub her temples and the space between her eyes. Peyton melted into his touch, letting his gentle caresses and occasional kisses lull her back to sleep.

[shera-dnd]

A Day at a Time - Routine

So I decided to actually write one of those fic ideas I had and I’m starting with that that therapy cat Melog fic

*ahem*

Catra has just gotten past a pretty rough patch in her life and now lives alone with her therapy cat, Melog. Though she is mentally stable now, she's still lonely and having a hard time finding any happiness. There are two women in her apartment building who she sees every day. She has considered talking to them many times, but always stopped herself. Melog is not letting her do that for much longer

summary done, now let’s get on with the fanfic

~~~

Catra woke up to Melog licking her face. She yawned and scratched behind his ears a little, before getting up from her bed. She hadn’t needed to set up an alarm in a while, not because she didn’t care when she woke up - her therapist had pointed out several times how important keeping a routine was - but because little Melog would not let her oversleep, no matter how much she tried.

She dragged herself to the bathroom on auto pilot, taking her meds, brushing her teeth and washing her face. She stopped to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still short and she still didn’t like it like that, she had to remind herself every day that it would grow eventually, but she still felt disappointed whenever she looked at herself in the mirror.

Dragging herself back to the living space of her studio apartment, now just slightly more awake than before, she made herself a nice breakfast. Melog sat next to her, his little blue eyes staring at her as she ate. She got the message pretty quick and made sure to leave some for her little boy.

Stretching a little she made her way down to the lobby to check if she got any mail. She never got anything besides bills, but it was at least a reason to stretch her legs in the morning and not just stay locked inside her apartment all day. She didn’t exactly have the energy to go jogging everyday, like someone else in this building had.

Just on time that person jogged into the lobby and out of some lesbian’s wildest dreams. Her body was built like it had been sculpted in stone, her beautiful golden hair was tied in a ponytail, showing off her undercut and a scar on her left cheek. She looked like some mythical heroine in the flesh. She looked very hot is what Catra was getting at.

She always came back from her morning jog at about the same time Catra checked on her mail, so they ended up seeing each other every morning. She always smiled and waved at Catra as she made her way back to her apartment, but they never actually talked. Catra had thought about it, chatting with her, maybe going on jogs with her too, getting to know each other. She never did any of those things though. She simply didn’t have the energy to put into this kind of stuff right now.

She simply waved back at her, got her phone bill and made her way back to her apartment. She still had to clean up the place, have lunch, play a little with Melog, take her meds again, get ready for work - did she need to shave today? She was paying more attention to the hair earlier - she usually finished all that stuff early so she didn’t exactly have to rush, but she still saw no point in lingering here any longer.

The rest of her day had blown past her and soon it was almost night time and time for her to go to work. As soon as she stepped into the lobby again she ran into the other woman she saw every day. She dressed in the most basic office worker clothes possible, with the simplest black and white pattern, but her hair on the other hand was dyed bright pink and purple.

That clash alone was enough to catch Catra’s attention as they ran into each other every day. Making her way to work with the woman making her way back. She always looked so tired, but her eyes burned with a determination had never seen in anyone, especially not very short office women.

Once more Catra was tempted to greet her and once more she decided against it. The woman was tired and probably just wanted to get home and rest, Catra wouldn’t want to bother her. She should probably just make her way to work now.

The bus ride to the bar was quiet as usual and she was soon behind the bar, mixing drinks and chatting with people. Bartending was nice and she genuinely liked that job, not as much as she used to, but it was still probably better than whatever the pink lady did for a living. Sure, tips weren’t exactly at their all time highest now that she changed to an earlier shift and that she was less talkative, but it still managed to pay for rent and get food on the table, so she didn’t complain.

She got home at her usual time, finding little Melog asleep on the couch. She smiled at her pet before leaving a little treat for when he woke up, and made her way to the bathroom to take a nice relaxing shower. When she left the shower Melog was waiting for her in bed. She scratched the poof of white fur around his chest and neck. It contrasted against the black of the rest of his fur and acted really nicely as a ‘please scratch me here’ sign.

Giving her cat good night kiss, she laid down in bed and tried to sleep. Only when she felt the familiar weight and warmth of Melog sleeping on top of her, did she truly drift into unconsciousness.

~~~

Catra woke up to Melog licking her face. She yawned and scratched behind his ears a little, before getting up from her bed. She dragged herself to the bathroom on auto pilot, taking her meds, brushing her teeth and washing her face. She stopped to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still short and she still didn’t like it like that.

This had been her life for just over a month now. The routine helped her motivate herself, kept her stable… Or at least that’s what her therapist said it would do and so far it was working fine, she guessed. Still, that was all she managed to do; stay stable and keep following her routine. It had been months since she could truly describe herself as happy.

At least she had Melog. She smiled at her therapy animal as she got ready to go check her mail again. The little creature had been a blessing in her life, he was playful and a bit of a dumbass sometimes, but he was also full of affection and well behaved enough that Catra never had to worry that he would do something stupid while she was away. Except for today.

When she opened the door, Melog slipped past her legs and bolted down the corridor. Catra was so surprised she didn’t react for a moment.

“What the hell?” She murmured without thinking. Had Melog just done what she thought he’d done? Fuck. He did “Get back here, you stupid cat!” She shouted as she raced after him.

The little bastard had Catra chasing him down the stairs and into the lobby. Was he trying to escape the building or something? If he just wanted to go with her to check the mail then she could just carry his ass around instead of running through the building like a mad woman.

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs she heard giggles coming from the lobby. She dragged herself there, just to catch little Melog running around and between the legs of a very tall and strong woman. That very tall and strong woman.

“Hey there,” She greeted Catra, smiling and giggling. “Is this your cat?”

[deltastorm101]

So, I tried to calculate Control...

... and its Epic Games deal, with the help of my certified smooth brain™ and probably incorrect sources. I started this last night hella tired and with a headache, I have finished it up today hella tired and with a headache, and this is what I produced: bullshit! :D But hey, at least double checked bullshit that’s open for discussion and contribution and expansion. Also, I probably won’t list the sources because a) I’m lazy and b) I didn’t have to dig thaaat deep down to find all this so if you really wanna know you could probably hit google with it as well. Anyhow here we go lol So, the initial thought which got all of this rolling was the 2020-wrap-up-post Remedy linked on their twitter, and Epic’s linked publishing announcement in it: studios Remedy, Playdead and GenDesign will release their next next-gen games with Epic. Now, we all know Remedy are working on some sort of Alan Wake-ish thing as we speak (right? right?? god I hope so), which meanssss our boy will most likely be an Epic exclusive. Which makes me kinda sad because, well. I’m deep in Steam’s ass. Hell, I waited for Control for a full year before I played it because they can pry the Steam version from my cold dead hands. So I asked myself... was it worth it for them? How much money did they throw at Remedy (and 505 Games) to have them play along? Would they have reached more people from the get-go if they had released it on Steam right away? Did the individual programmer, designer, writer, artist, person behind it profit from this at all? (Also, like, about the rights and copyright thing,,,,, you’d think they could have learned from Alan Wake and its IP belonging to Microsoft and so not really being able to do anything more with it because they don’t ‘own’ it and shit) buuut anyway that’s not the point of this post, now it’s time to do some MATH BABEY

Ok, let’s start with some things we know. Facts. Figures. Data. Turns out my initial question, how much money was involved, could be answered by doing one (1) google search: according to Wikipedia, Epic gave Remedy and 505 Games €9.49mio. The total budget for the game was €26.9mio over the course of 3 years of development. We know that as of December 2020, over 2mio copies of the game were sold, with November 2020 being the best-selling month ever since its initial release in August 2019. This is where question 1) comes into play: how many of those 2 million copies were sold in 2019 and how many in 2020? Stay tuned, I think I found out.

We know that Remedy gets to keep 45% of the revenue, which, I assumed, means that 505 keeps the remaining 55% (probably a lot more going on there but shhh). We know that Control’s sales cooked up €17.84mio in 2019 (so months September – December), €17.7mio of those in the first month alone (O.O). Side note: because it came out at the very end of August, I’ll ignore that month and declare September the first sales month.

We know that 60% of sales in 2019 were digital ones (aka Epic Store, mostly), 40% physical ones (consoles PS4 and XB1), while in 2020, only 10% of sales were physical and a whopping 90% digital; which is people on Epic who wanted to get their hands on the first DLC and – you guessed it – the Steam release of the Ultimate Edition in August 2020.

Which begs question 2): what’s bigger, 60% of 2019 sales because ‘ooh shiny new game’, or 90% of 2020 sales because ‘yay steam release’? The answer may look obvious, but you have to take into account the dropping price, which I also researched for your pleasure and enjoyment.

For this I used a German website called idealo.de, which focuses on looking for the best deals for basically anything you can buy on the internet, and it also gives you diagrams that describe at which point in time the product was at which exact price. This is what it gave me: - release price: €60 - December 2019: €41 (PS4)/€44 (XB1) - mid-2020: €30 - Ultimate Edition release: €30 - December 2020: €14 (PS4)/€18 (XB1)/€30 (Ultimate Editions) At this point I was like “lol hold on i need chocolate for this cuz i’ll be here for some time *sweating*”

To continue this mess™, I see more questions: 3) How many employees does Remedy have, which positions do they work in and what are their salaries? 4) How many employees does 505 have, which positions and salaries do they have? 5) What’s the total revenue that Control has generated so far?

And also some more stuff like, are my numbers accurate, am I even grasping these concepts correctly, are there even more people involved or am I just trying to explain complete crap (yes) but let’s just ignore all of that shall we. At that point I went “oh shit what have i gotten myself into, this screen does not get my point across, i need pen and paper” and you know shit is gonna go DOWN when I do math on paper.

My paper math birthed the following calculation:

Following this up, we can calculate the end-of-2019 sales, if we set the price for September and October to €60, for November and December to approx. €45:

Now, you might notice that one of those numbers is big and the other is HUGE. Why might that be? Well...

- Covid19: everyone stayed at home and needed video games to play - More sale months of the year, naturally - dropping price: why get it for €60 when you can get it for 20 - Ultimate Edition: why buy it in June when you get more content in August aaaand... - it comes out on Steam.

With this in mind, let’s see what questions we can answer: 1) 661,110 copies in 2019; 1,338,889 copies in 2020 2) 60% digital sales in 2019 means 396,666 Epic copies; 90% digital sales in 2020 means 1,205,000 copies – most of it from Steam? Some of it? A good chunk? The bigger chunk? There’s no way of really knowing for sure but... you could read this into it. I definitely am. 3) Google told me Remedy had a little over 250 employees at the end of 2019... 4) ... and 505 has less than 100. I found no good sources for this, I think linkedin said 37, someone else said 50. I’ll just use the 50 figure, idk. No idea man. and for 5) I’ll contradict my point that the Steam release is what knocked the sales out of the park and assume that the number of sold copies stayed the same across all 12 months of 2020, which gives us this:

Ok and now we’re getting into the most dangerous of danger zones because I have no idea how companies or capitalism work, so for educated people™, the remaining calculations might read like a toddler wrote them; I apologize profusely and hereby present last night’s brain vomit:

As stated earlier, development took 3 years, but everyone wanted to get paid in 2020 as well so let’s use 4 years to find out the salaries, which is 48 months. Let’s assume the utopian idea that every employee on the line here gets the exact same amount of money (LOL ikr but shhhh, let’s live out our dirtiest equality fantasies for a second ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)). Which would mean...

And now without the Epic Deal™:

Quod erat demonstrandum. Remedy has been selling their souls to Epic for €350 a month since 2017. (I don’t mean this as maliciously as I’m making it sound, don’t worry xD)

OKAY SO, O B V I O U S L Y, I have not the slightest idea what on earth I’m talking about so read this like you’d read a good fanfiction. We don’t know the different salaries across the different positions (and genders HAH), we don’t know if other parties were involved, I’ve completely ignored the sum that Epic themselves get, I have ignored taxes, I don’t know if my numbers are accurate (they’re definitely not I mean 505 must have more employees than 50), if I made mistakes (yes), and also somewhere along the way I forgot to use the €26.9mio budget figure because, uuh, I have no idea where to use it, what it means, where did it come from, where did it go, cotton eye joe - but oh well, I’m not starting over, take it or leave it.

So... I can now officially say I have written hot steamy economics fic xD Man I put waaay too much time into this but damn was it fun. Good three-hour-deep-dive (two of them spent munching on chocolate half-asleep listening to psytrance to keep my brain twitchy). Real-life-theorizing. Fuck capitalism. Don’t do drugs. Pet a cat. Wear your mask. Call your grandparents.

If there’s typos in this I’m sorry but also I’m not, I can’t be bothered to proofread again lol. Goodnight imma catch up on the sleep I lost. Gotta love full moons

[fluidityandgiggles]

Dalton Big Bang day 1 - The Canadian Girlfriend Experience

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: So... y’all. Dalton fam. Hear me out.

I understand that y'all are gonna be mad at me for staying up until (four? five?) five in the morning to post this, but I'm something like 90% sure I'd forget to post it in the morning (afternoon), and I have to write tomorrow's fic anyway, so... here's an extra early fluffy mess. Hope y'all like it.

I had to write this one... I really really had to. Han's girlfriend is a big deal to me. I hope you understand it.

(And for the uninitiated in pathfinder - the rank system is wild, feats are taken every two levels or so, Logan’s character is basically invincible, defeated only by Dwight’s monk and the absolute insanity that creating a monk in pathfinder can end up being.)

—————

"I really have to go to sleep," the familiar (by now) high-pitched voice said through the headphones, stifling a yawn. "My drama class is moving props to the auditorium tomorrow for our exam and my mom would be mad at me if I don’t go to sleep in the next thirty minutes."

"So go to sleep, Lils. I won’t be mad at you."

"Okay! I’ll text you in the morning! Love you, bye!"

"Good night."

Han finally let himself snort a bit after his girlfriend hung up, watching as she disconnects from the game a few moments later. He did say he’ll only play Starcraft today so long as Leah is available, and now that she’s offline…

He just closed the game and went back to working on his Pathfinder session prep.

Han met Leah at the San Diego Comic-Con last summer. On day one, she approached him because she thought the Westwoods’ Bat family cosplay was really cool. On day two, he approached her because her Arwen cosplay was flawless. By day three they’d already ditched the con to have a not-date lunch at In-N-Out, found out they’re in the same guild in World of Warcraft, Han found out Leah has a voice acting channel on youtube, they exchanged phone numbers, and by day four they may have not spent the whole day together but they certainly went on a date-date at the end of the day.

They’ve been rather inseparable for the following three weeks, but by then Han had to face the reality of it all. Leah’s phone number was weird to him from the start, sure, and he was willing to pass off her accent as a speech quirk, but it wasn’t until those three weeks ended that it finally sunk in that she’s not American. And like most good things, her visit too has to come to an end.

Maintaining a relationship online just… didn’t feel the same.

1 Unread Message

‘Merril: Can I suggest an idea for Mishka’s character arc?? You can say no, I just had an idea is all!’

Caterpillar: I’m all ears

———

"While this mess of a… bargain is happening," Logan called as Merril and Reed tried to catch their breaths from laughing. "Can Dwight and I get to the diplomatic debate?"

"Sure," Han sighed, watching his party quickly derail the session. "But let’s take a break first."

The first to disappear at the sound of "let’s take a break" was Lucy, who ran to the bathroom, accidentally knocking off Logan’s dice tower in the process. Merril got the brownies out and on the table, everyone pulled their phones out…

Han could take a couple moments to look at the pictures Leah sent him earlier. According to her, they were not yet done with lighting cues, and she was going crazy, but seeing her in her period piece of a costume and leg brace prop made him feel excited for her, somewhat.

Caterpillar: wish I could been there to see it 

Jabba the Hutt: Oh no! Don’t say that! Jabba the Hutt: I’ll send you the filmed version when I get it, but it’ll probably be really bad anyway.

Caterpillar: im sure it cant be that bad 

Jabba the Hutt: Han, it’s a high school production of the Glass Menagerie. Jabba the Hutt: My class is also doing the play version of Spring Awakening. Jabba the Hutt: It *can* and *will* be that bad. Jabba the Hutt: Trust me. 

"Han?" Merril called before he could answer that one. "Hansel, are you listening?"

"No, I wasn’t. What was it?" He grabbed a brownie, leaving his phone aside for a second.

"Wizards of the Coast announced a new edition of D&D," she said again, smiling gently. "Do you think you’d want to try it?"

"I’m already one step ahead of you there. I’m going to playtest it when it— excuse me…"

Jabba the Hutt: WE FINALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS Jabba the Hutt: I’ve never been happier to say I’m getting offstage, I need someone to punch me!

Caterpillar: dont you mean pinch?

Jabba the Hutt: I meant what I said and I said what I meant.

Han tuned back in time to hear Logan say "I just really don’t want to have to mess with the power system again", which resulted in Dwight throwing a bag of chips at his head.

"Fourth edition has a very special place in my heart, Wright. Don’t talk shit about it around me."

"Yeah, why all the hate for the power system?" Lucy frowned (when did she get back from the bathroom?). "It’s not all that different to how feats work. Would you complain about getting a new feat every odd level once we switch systems?"

"Not going to happen, Lucy."

"Aw man, but I wanted to play Vampire the Masquerade next!"

"And we already said Merril is going to run it," Han reminded her, checking his phone one last time. "But we’re not switching our current game to another system. Not gonna happen."

There was a quiet "hell yeah" from Merril as Han’s phone buzzed with a new message, but before he could even read it, it was snatched by Lucy.

"Wha… who are you talking to, Han?" She laughed a bit, scrolling up, and then her eyes went wide open. "Well… damn."

"Don’t act like you’re surprised, that’s my girlfriend. You met her before."

The silence in the room was so tense, Han swore he could hear a pin drop. 

"...a girlfriend?" Dwight was the first to ask, raising a brow. "Since when?"

"You know, I honestly thought she would’ve forgotten all about you after two weeks…"

"Since a few months ago," Han told Dwight, taking his phone back. "Can we continue, please?"

"No! It’s interesting!" Merril joined in, resting her chin on her hand as she got closer, pushing some papers a bit. "How did you meet? Where is she from? Can we meet her?"

"We met at Comic-Con and no, you can’t meet her. She’s… not from here."

"...is she Canadian?" Logan raised a brow too, starting to laugh.

"Noooooooo…?"

"Oh yeah, Han’s Canadian girlfriend."

"She’s not— let’s start to fucking play, this session isn’t going to end itself."

By the end of the session, Han couldn’t say he’d be surprised if the whole school found out by tomorrow. And if anyone (namely the twins) made fun of him for his "Canadian girlfriend"... so be it. 

———

"Is this Canadian girlfriend of yours coming to prom?" Julian’s tired voice came through the phone, sounding like he was about to pass out. He just arrived at school earlier today, already tired from the flight, and immediately got coddled by Logan.

"She’s not Canadian, Julian. You’re the twenty-fifth person I’ve told this already."

"So where is she from? Would you please tell just one person?"

With a quick glance at the security footage, to make sure Logan wasn’t listening, Han whispered "her name is Leah, I met her at Comic-Con in San Diego last year, she’s from Israel and no, I doubt she can come to prom. She has her own prom to attend."

"...okay, so this Israeli girlfriend of yours. Got it."

"Thank you."

"Are you sure you want to keep her a secret…?" He clicked his tongue. His laugh sounded a bit rougher than usual. "You know how things can end up. You of all people."

"I… I’m just not sure I’m ready for… dude. Is Logan drooling on your shoulder…?"

"Give him a break, Westwood. He’s adjusting to his new pills."

"I asked about the drooling."

"He does that sometimes. I just let him be."

"...why is everyone so interested in my girlfriend? Is it really any different from David and Katherine?"

"I don’t know how to break it down to you, Westwood, but you’re not exactly the type anyone would expect to even have a girlfriend."

A shift in the camera footage made Han cuss silently, covering his microphone.

"...she said she’ll be here for graduation. Hers is in late June, but she finishes school in May."

"Yeah. May. When prom is."

"Do you want to talk to her yourself?" He could hear Julian snort. "I’m not kidding. I’ll give you Leah’s phone number and you’ll convince her yourself. I can’t."

"Because that totally won’t be crazy."

"Julian."

"Hansel."

"Just fucking ask her, you absolute nerd!"

"Can you stop ordering me around? This isn’t Hollywood. This is my girlfriend we’re talking about."

"Can you at least send me a picture of her? So I’ll know she’s real?"

"...fuck you, Larson."

Han sent him a picture anyway. A picture of the two of them that Lucy insisted to take while they were in San Diego. They coordinated somehow, Han with his LOTR shirt and Leah with her whole Arwen cosplay. It was the happiest day he could possibly remember.

And then, a snort through the phone.

"...so you’re Leah Appelbaum’s mysterious Maryland boyfriend? Huh. Didn’t know you lived in Maryland."

"...you know Leah?"

"We had auditions in the same building two years ago and she approached me because she’s a fan of Something Damaged. She insisted on keeping in touch. How did you meet her?"

"At Comic-Con… please be gentle about this, Julian."

"Okay! I just… wow. I know where you live now. Sweet."

"Don’t you dare try to blackmail me with that information, Larson."

"I won’t. There’s nothing to worry about."

———

"...you know what?" Han sighed as the last session before prom was about to close off. "Roll sense motive."

The clatter of dice hitting each other and everyone cussing filled the room, quickly picking up their dice and looking.

"Fifteen!"

"Seventeen!"

"Five!"

"How’s you get a five, Lucy?"

"I’m a barbarian, what do you think—"

"Thirty-four."

Dwight practically glared at Logan. "What the fuck, dude?"

"I play a half-elf cleric, Dwight," Logan answered, straight-faced. "Plus two to wisdom straight away, rolled extremely well, I have a plus five modifier to wisdom and the alertness feat. I took a single rank in sense motive every time we leveled up and now I have ten ranks. On the tenth rank in sense motive or perception, you get a bonus four to the skill instead of the usual two. Thus, ten plus four plus five equals nineteen, plus the fifteen that I rolled. That’s thirty-four. Do I sense motive?"

"...everyone who rolled above a fifteen, and that definitely includes Flint—" Han could see Logan smiling smugly. "Everyone who rolled above a fifteen can see that this woman is telling the truth. Anyone who rolled a twenty or above, Flint, can also sense that—"

There was a knock at the door. There was never a knock at the door. But now there was. And as Reed got up to open the door, Han silently hoped it wouldn’t be anyone who shouldn’t be there—

"And this is your boyfriend’s room," Julian’s voice came through as Reed’s jaw dropped. "Thank you for picking Julian Larson to be your tour guide, we hope you enjoyed the trip."

"Very! Oh, hello!" The girl at the door waved at Reed, who waved back. The whole party waved back. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No, those nerds are just playing dungeons and dragons. You have nothing to worry about." Reed finally returned to his seat as Julian kissed the girl’s cheek, chuckling at the shock. "Logan, I’ll be expecting you to pick me up at six. I want my pre-prom sushi."

"I promised you I will, Princess, don’t panic."

"Okay, just making sure."

As Julian left, the girl went to sit on Han’s futon and look at everyone. Long brown hair, half of it bleached; dark eyes behind a pair of green plastic-framed glasses; a bit on the heavier side, like Han himself, and wearing a floral summer dress and a pair of short leggings. Her face was flushed red, her lipstick a dark blue, and her nails painted black that just started to chip.

Han missed her so much.

"So… hi." She waved around again, a bit confused. "What’s up…?"

"Who’s this?" Dwight was the first to speak.

"My girlfriend," Han replied, sounding rather insistent. "We were just about to finish our session, Lils. Can you wait?"

"Mmhm! Absolutely! I’ll be so quiet, you’ll forget I’m even here!"

Nobody forgot she was there. Merril kept looking over to her, Reed and Dwight seemed skeptical as ever, and the only person who was normal about it was Lucy. But it wasn’t news for Lucy, she’s met Leah before after all. All the while Leah sat there, chuckling at the game and waiting patiently for Han to finish, which he did twenty minutes later. Dwight practically ran out, followed by Logan who needed to pick his own boyfriend up for dinner, but…

"So where are you from in Canada?" Merril asked first, making Leah smile. 

"I’m… not Canadian. Did Han tell you I’m Canadian?"

"Where’s your lipstick from?" Reed asked next.

"Umm… it’s, it’s from NARS, I picked it up on the way here, I forgot to pack my own makeup and—"

"Is Han taking you to prom?"

Han choked on his water at that. "I can’t leave my room for prom, Merril. Health risks."

"You can have an indoors prom."

"We planned on watching Battlestar Galactica and ordering takeout," Leah admitted. "But… an indoors prom would be nice. I’m not going to mine anyway. My class is writing this… really offensive skit about one of the math teachers and I don’t want to be a part of it."

"What’s your prom even like…?" Reed squinted, sitting back down. "That you do skits."

"It’s… not really a prom. Israel doesn’t really have the promenade culture, it’s just like a showcase the whole class does for family and friends before graduation… I’ve never liked this practice, you know, I think it’s just…"

As Leah rambled on, Han took his time to clear the table and silently hope Merril and Reed leave soon. Those two have prom dates after all. And neither are a Canadian girlfriend.

[ajoblotofjunk]

DVD commentary for the July chapter of HFOG! or just the motorcycle ride if that’s too much lol

All of July is too much for me mentally right now so I’ll do the motorcycle ride. :D This got (unsurprisingly!!) long, so lemme put a Keep Reading cut in real quick.

A week later, on the off Sunday between Winterfell and Lannisport, Jaime was spending his birthday alone at the office.

I’ll do this whole section, since it being on his birthday was the trigger I used to get Jaime to ask her to go on the bike. This scene was one of like three I had in my head from pretty much the beginning. I find motorcycles extremely sexy (I’m an easy target okay) and I loved the idea of forcing these two knuckleheads into that much physical contact in what should theoretically be a platonic experience; I just had to figure out how to get them there since Brienne just spent the last part of June pushing Jaime back a step. Hard to say no to a lonely man on his birthday though.

going clubbing until they were both passed out or dead by the end of it. Bronn was home with Lollys, probably having enough sex to stock them up until August, and Jaime wasn’t really close enough with the rest of the crew to consider spending time with them outside of work.

I think this was the month where I decided Bronn was going to be genuinely happy with Lollys. I know I mentioned her early on but I toyed around in my head for awhile with the idea that he was still kind of loose and maybe even unfaithful to her, and I decided I didn’t want to go that way. I wanted to like Bronn in this fic. He’s kind of my Sarcastic Wise Elder character for these two and I really grew to love the idea that he is just as much an inner softie in his heart as Jaime is, that that sharp outer shell/gooey center combo was something that connected them. I think it really helped in the October chapter that Bronn was likable, because then that scene in the hospital between him and Jaime had a much bigger emotional hit.

The only other person he wanted to see was Brienne and though she’d sent him a ‘happy birthday!’ text that morning unprompted, he hadn’t responded for

I laugh to myself thinking about Brienne hovering over that text message all “should I send a gif? is the text going to be enough? what about emojis? Is it weird if I text him at all? He didn’t tell me it was his birthday but I definitely know it’s his birthday because I have memorized a lot of unimportant facts about a man I am Definitely Not Into.”

lunch, smoked what he swore was the only cigarette he would have as a thirty-six year old, and then aimlessly watched TV for a few hours before driving his motorcycle into the office.

Jaime uses smoking to fill the hole of the things he wants but believes he’ll never have. At the start of the fic that’s respect and winning races. As he slowly gets those things, he smokes whenever he’s thinking about Brienne, even though he does not realize it consciously. Once he gets all three, he stops smoking for good.

There had been a scattered handful of engineers there that afternoon, working away in preparation for the different requirements of Lannisport next week, but

Honestly, sometimes remembering there were hundreds of people working on this team in particular was exhausting. 😂 I always had this constant voice in the back of my head of Lannister Corp scenes of “where are all these other workers and what are they doing?” It works here because I needed the ride to happen at night, but this is just giving me flashbacks to “oh right this team is actually 500-1000 people, not just these 12.”

He raised his glass of water to his empty office. “Happy birthday to me,” he muttered, taking a sip. It wasn’t even flavored water, which felt like such a maudlin statement on his life that he couldn’t finish it.

The “it wasn’t even flavored water” line still makes me laugh to this day. It’s one of my favorite moments in the entire story. It’s so DRAMATIC. Like, my god man, get a hold of yourself. Anyway, I love drama queen Jaime.

He probably should have texted Taena or Melara, but he didn’t want to spend time with them. He didn’t want to listen to his sister’s barely concealed insults

I had a whole bit…I think it was in August? Might have been earlier, I can’t recall now, anyway, two or three paragraphs talking about how Jaime met Melara and Taena and why they all worked out this arrangement and Brynn (rightly) made the point that it didn’t actually add anything to the story I was telling. I managed to cover what really mattered about it in two sentences instead. The moral of this is that this story could have been even longer but Brynn is the best so you should thank her.

find out what she did on her off days, what kind of birthday cake she liked, if

Chocolate with chocolate and fruit filling and chocolate frosting, FYI.

Brienne’s worried frown deepened. “Have you done anything for your birthday today?”

“I had a cigarette.”

She shook her head, looking disappointed. “Anything that doesn’t shorten your life by doing it?”

I also really like this line. I’m a fan of Worried Mom Friend Brienne, too.

“I drank some water,” he grumbled.

Unflavored! Like an ANIMAL. 😂

“Have you even eaten?”

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

She blinked, startled, and then a sheepish grin swarmed over her face. “I guess some things don’t change. At least you didn’t insult me this time.”

“Progress,” he said, smiling, watching her features go soft and open in a way he’d probably dream about that night. Distance, his brain reminded him.

I didn’t plan for this quiet callback to the sandwich conversation from January, but I really was pleased to see it happen. It makes sense; Brienne wants the people she cares about to take care of themselves and where back in January I think she felt she was being more his Mom, here they’re both aware she’s being his friend and that’s part of why it’s a softer moment.

“Then come riding with me. Have you been on a motorcycle before?”

“No. My dad was firmly against it after Galladon died.”

At this point in the fic I was pretty sure Brienne was going to drive although I hadn’t worked out all the details of how I was going to get there yet, but when I wrote this I definitely shored up the “Selwyn is very overprotective” support I’d only just started to build back with the phone call in January. I also knew when I wrote this that Jaime was going to bring the motorcycle to Tarth and her dad was going to be all about it, even though I wasn’t sure how that was going to happen. 

“Well,” he said, standing slowly, “your dad’s not here now, is he?”

Fun fact: this story idea first appeared to me in relation to Bruce Springsteen’s “I’m On Fire” and there’s a lyric in there - ‘hey little girl is your daddy home, did he go and leave you all alone’ - that this quietly references. And actually I wanted the whole motorcycle ride to have the exact same feeling when you’re reading it as I feel listening to that song! It’s a direct path from there to here emotionally.

(In some other universe instead of this I wrote a fic where Jaime keeps bringing his car in to Selwyn’s Garage just so he can see Brienne, grease smudged on her face, and he asks her to deliver it to his home and she does and, well. It doesn’t go like the video. *g*)

(That video and song were very formative influences on young me though I was not aware of it at the time. If you haven’t heard the song or seen the video, here you go: https://youtu.be/lrpXArn3hII)

Jaime arched an eyebrow. “My bike is plenty big.”

Brienne snorted but the red in her cheeks spread out to her crooked her nose and down the freckled length of her long neck. “Sounds like you’re compensating, Lannister.”

I could show you he thought but he bit it back, as well as the image of pushing her against the door of his office and- No. Bad. he told both his errant thoughts and his twitching cock like they were misbehaving dogs. 

Jaime has been horny for her since April (January though he would refuse to acknowledge it if you told him that at this point), give him a break.

He came around the desk and held out his hand and she stared down at it like it was a snake she was trying to decide was poisonous or not.

Brienne gingerly wrapped her long fingers around his

I wanted Brienne to actively participate in the decision to do this, to show through her actions (not just Jaime’s perceptions of her) that she wants this, too. I had to ramp things up for both of them in this chapter because I knew what was coming in August and I wanted them to be ready for that. I couldn’t have gone from where they were in June to the kiss in August, I had to force them together in a way they hadn’t intended so that when they come together intentionally it feels like a natural progressions, and that meant both of them had to be wanting it.

What are you doing? his brain demanded as he led Brienne through the empty corridors out to the front parking lot.

 Enjoying my birthday for once.

I like this because it’s both Jaime making excuses for why he’s doing something really foolish if he’s supposed to be keeping his distance but ALSO true and a sad reflection on his life (and what Brienne brings to it even now).

His bike was parked in Tywin’s CEO spot, where he always parked as a small, childish fuck you to his father. Brienne gasped as they walked up, pulling her hand away to brush the gleaming chrome.

“You have an Iron Throne!”

I know. I KNOW. But I love calling it that. I cast around for motorcycle names for awhile and when I hit on this I could not resist. Iron Thrones in this fic world are basically those giant Harleys that would easily seat two people.

weight of her against his palms. Brienne’s eyes narrowed and he worried for a second she’d heard his thoughts. “It’s not safe to ride without a helmet though, and I don’t have one. Do you have an extra?”

Jaime hadn’t brought his today, either. “We could wear driving helmets.”

As I recall it, Brynn came up with the idea of the helmet scene or at least definitely helped me work out how it was going to go when I got stuck on it. She made the point it should be a cute moment between them and it was right because it made the whole ride seem fun instead of just weighty and tense. The fact they actually have FUN together is really important to me because I think it’s really important to successful relationships in general. If you’re going to be with this person for the rest of you life, I hope like hell you enjoy spending time with them.

When she saw the helmet he had she laughed, the sound bursting up into the sky like a flock of startled birds.

I’m not usually happy with how I describe things - I never feel like it’s as interesting or descriptive or powerful as I want - but I do like this line a lot.

“It’s a helmet,” he said, holding it out to her. The helmet was a bright neon green and covered with frogs forming the words MOAT CAILIN with their bodies. “I got it from one of our sponsors a few years ago and kept it thinking someday I’d wear it just to piss off my father.”

What does Moat Cailin do? I genuinely have no idea. 😂

Brienne took the helmet and held it out away from her like it was a very stinky baby. “You’re sure no one is going to see us?”

“Now who’s vain?”

This made me laugh. I love when Brienne gets to be light-hearted.

“Isn’t there some biker lingo you should use instead?”

“Hop on my hog, sexy mama?”

Goofy Jaime: also a personal favorite. This is kind of an early insight into how he’s going to be in later months when he’s truly, unburdenedly (I made that word up) happy.

Brienne laughed even harder that time and shook her head. “You are so annoying,” she said fondly, climbing on behind him.

The “you’re annoying”/”you’re stubborn” back and forth is something I have been trying to consistently but not overwhelmingly carry through this fic from very early on.

“Since you’ve never ridden before, the primary rule is that you have to lean into the curves with me. If you’re balanced differently than I am it might bring the whole bike down.

Having ridden a motorcycle: this is actually true. It was the first thing the person I was riding with told me.

Her arms fully encircled his waist, her body pressed so firmly against his back he imagined he could feel the weight of her small breasts through his own shirt. He had no jacket but he didn’t need one; even if it hadn’t been for the drowsy summer heat, Brienne’s warmth against him stoked enough fire he could have burned all night.

You shouldn’t ride a motorcyle without proper gear, kids, but Jaime doesn’t give a fuck and for the purpose of this kind of intimate contact, neither do I for this story. 😁

It was almost like sex, the way they moved together around the curves, the blood thrumming in his veins, her occasional breathless gasp. He had to shift a little on his seat to make room for his awkward erection, but he pressed the bike faster, the curves tighter, until she was welded against him and the wind whipped her joyful laughter from her mouth, leaving it like tracers behind them in the dark. 

This is the image in my head when I thought of them on the motorcycle ride. Everything before and after this paragraph is just set up and pay off for this one part.

Centuries ago there had been a keep at the top of Aegon’s High Hill, but all that was left now were old stones weathered by time and the salt air off of Blackwater Bay.

Thank goodness for the internet, and people who post very detailed maps of King’s Landing and Westeros so I can figure out some of this stuff. I have spent a surprising amount of time for this fic looking at maps.

“Why were you at work today?” he asked, staring at her.

Brienne pulled off her hoodie to reveal a tank top underneath, her muscular shoulders bunching as she did so in a way that made his mouth go dry.

There’s a gif that was being posted in the Oathkeepers discord around the time I was writing this that I had in mind explicitly for this moment. 😄

Her skin seemed to absorb the light, making it white and smooth as milkglass, her freckles mirroring the infinite stars. “Truthfully,” she said, “I wanted to spend some time alone with the car.” Even in the moonlight the reddening of her pale cheeks was clear.

Survey says: Mostly true. She also was thinking of him, since it was his birthday. She genuinely did NOT expect him to be there, though.

Jaime walked to the edge of the flat gravel and stared across the Rush to roughly where he thought Tarth would be way down south in the Stormlands. It had been years since he’d been and he didn’t remember it well, but he wished he could so he could picture Brienne there.

Again, I knew he was going to be in Tarth the very next chapter, so I wanted to lay the groundwork for it to seem natural he would be. Bringing it up here was a perfect opportunity for that.

They put their helmets back on, and Brienne her hoodie, and she climbed on behind him again, her arms automatically curling around his waist this time instead of the distant grip of the start. He started the engine and leaned forward a little, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as they took the drive down more slowly.

This easy warmth was important, too. Again, the sexual tension is critical to get them to their breaking point because they’re sure as hell not going to talk about how much they care about each other first (or even for a long while after they start having sex, as we discover), but I wanted there to be something deeper to their bond, too, a connection that I could build on in the second half of the story where you believe they’ll be happy together as an established couple. That they’re comfortable together.

The trip down the hill was as solemn as the stars above and when he parked again in front of the Lannister Corp Racing offices Brienne took her helmet off and stared quietly at him when he remained seated, his visor pushed up.

I think subconsciously this is when Brienne really falls in love with him, because it’s just Jaime being Jaime, and sharing something important to him with her and that kind of openness is the key to her heart.

Sadness gleamed like the stars in her big twilight eyes. Brienne put a hand on his shoulder and his whole body went rigid under her touch. Her fingers crept to the nape of his neck under his helmet, softly brushed through the short hair there before she dragged them away again as her pale skin reddened. 

Brienne was more reserved here in the initial draft of this and Brynn thought there should be more and she was - as usual - absolutely right. So the touch was added to fully seal the momentous connection that happened here.

“You can get home okay?” he asked.

“I’ll take the bus, there’s a stop just by the sports bar.”

Brienne the Bus Rider strikes again. Hee.

He couldn’t even quit smoking; how was he ever going to quit wanting Brienne?

These two things are connected here for a reason! As noted above. Hee.

Wow this was fun for me, thank you for asking! 😊

[DVD Commentary Meme - Asks are open]