#also reminder to me to ramble more about twitch's crew one day

[capn-twitchery]

Let's go failure for Twitch and Torture for Grace

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

does getting the wrong memories and escaping alone instead of with other captives from the honey gardens count as a failure??? hm. they weren't entirely twitch at that point yet so maybe it doesn't count. plus it wasn't really their fault

so another big failure instead! ssea's sigil ridden eaten navigator! twitch met siggy back in their early piracy days & recruited him because he was a damn good navigator & twitch was curious about him. he's quiet but i think they got on well

it happens like it does in ssea: he's missing memories because of the correspondence tattoos, and when he asks his captain to help recover them, he feels so guilty about what he learns that he asks to be put on an island and forgotten forever.

but twitch had a better idea!

take him to kingeater's, surgically remove the bad correspondence sigils, cut in new sigils to make him forget what he doesn't need. they've seen something similar done before! and it means he doesn't need to leave for a miserable island. the ship's surgeon refuses to do it, but it's fine, twitch can do it themselves! it goes about as well as you could expect.

"The thing that follows you back to your ship is not the Navigator. But it has his skills, and his face (though the right half is blotted by the sprawling sigil). The crew edge away." [ssea ssource]

he's never quite the same after that, and neither is the crew as a whole. it takes a while for them to accept what happened (accept might be a strong word, though).

twitch keeps him around, of course, the weird shambling corpse of the guy who used to be their navigator,,,,they can't just throw him out after doing that to him. and he's still a damn good navigator

they were trying to help, in some way. in the weirdest way possible, but they were.

their other big regret is the ending of evolution. they think they made the best choice they could have-the naturalist didn't want to be the boatman. they couldn't have done that to him. so even if it ended in his weird, paradoxical nonexistence- letting him choose his own fate, in some kind of way, is the only thing that felt right to them

but fuck, do they miss him.

torture: Has your OC ever been tortured? Would your OC ever torture someone else?

and for grace...does torturing himself via guilt count-no, he's not been tortured! one tiny grace win, i think? 🎉

not that i know of, anyway. there's plenty of gaps in his timeline yet---

as for him torturing someone else...i don't think so? definitely not under any kind of normal circumstances. but i also don't feel like i can rule it out 100%. i don't know why though

whatever would cause that to happen, it'd have to be so, so extreme but i can't think of any specifics. that feels like something i'm gonna have to try and unpack at a later date, huh

asks from here!

[parvuls]

fic: in the space between (2/2)

word count: 6.6k

rating: teen

tags: space, science fiction, enemies to friends to lovers, pre-relationship

notes: due to length and tumblr's formatting, reading on ao3 is recommended

(part 1 | part 2 | read on ao3)

-

    “Just a month till we’re home, boys,” Holster announces as he climbs into the bottom bunk across from Eric, addressing the dark room at large. Eric can hear him shift around in his bed, sheets rustling with his movements. “Can I get a hallelujah?”

“You can get pizza,” Ransom replies dreamily from the top bunk above him. “Because Holtzy -- The Real fucking Pep God. You and me, Matty Matheson pepperoni. One month.”

There’s one month left until landing back in Houston and disbanding for three weeks of leave. It’s been creeping up in conversations for weeks now, nestling itself in crew breakfasts and mission briefs and downtime. Shitty waxes poetry about things like dipping his toes into the ocean and breathing that sweet Terra air as often as he talks about smoking three joints at once the moment they set foot on the ground. Holster and Ransom talk about the heaps of food they’ll be shoveling to compensate for a year of outer space cuisine. Jack doesn’t talk about much other than the missions, and Eric thinks about organic chemistry and molecular modeling on good days, thinks about crying on bad ones. He talks about almost anything else to distract himself and hopes to Jesus that no one can tell.

The picture frame on the shelf by his bunk wobbles on its back stand as the ship tips into Krer orbit for the night. Krer itself is dim and murky, obscuring the shining lights of its neighboring planets and cloaking the crew quarters’ portal window in darkness. Jack said that the last mission of this tour should be coming in from Flight Director Hall sometime during the night.

Eric sighs quietly, turns onto his side, and stares blindly at the blank white of the wall as he mentally runs through the primary structure of proteins once more. Holster and Ransom are arguing about the best Toronto pizza in the background, the sound of their voices weaving in with the beeps of the ship’s machinery and the creaking noises of it when in motion.

“You gotta come too, Bittle,” Holster says, drawing Eric’s attention. He rolls his head to the other side, watches Holster’s blurred figure move in the dark to lean over the edge of his bunk. Eric must’ve missed a change of conversation. “Getting together over leave? We spend the last day before launch together, all of us. Y’know, hitting some bar, maybe watching a game, then catching the plane to Texas in the morning. Last time we went to Shitty’s -- man, that was fucking wild sauce.”

“And you gotta meet Lardo,” Ransom adds. “Crew bylaws. Sorry, rookie, everyone’s in.”

There are ten densely-printed pages about prokaryotes crumpled in the back of Eric’s personal locker, that he’s riffled through maybe twice. Eric chews his lip raw, tries to think of a carefully-masqueraded way of brushing the invitation off, but Holster grumbles lowly before he can. “Well, not everyone.”

“Right,” Ransom says, his enthusiastic tone turning slightly hesitant. “But. Us and Shitty and Lardo and probably her trainee Ford. It’s almost everyone.”

It’s almost everyone, plus ground team. “But not Jack,” Eric concludes, unintentionally dismayed. He should know better by now than to be disappointed, probably. He should, but doesn’t.

Holster sighs and throws himself back onto the mattress, bed springs groaning loudly. “Jack doesn’t really do social things. He’s too cool for them. Which -- whatever, man, who cares, it’s probably more fun for us that way. So you in?”

What Eric’s in for is a world of trouble. Eric’s in for the sweltering heat of the Texan desert, he’s in for submerging in textbooks all the way up to his ears, he’s in for never being quite enough for this world. He turns his head back to the other side, facing the wall, and stifles a sigh.

“I’ll think about it,” he promises, and knows that he will, also knows he’d never be able to say yes. He doesn’t leave them enough time to round up on him before he adds, “Now shut your pieholes, gentlemen, some people need their beauty sleep. And by some people I do mean y’all.”

“Really, he means you,” Ransom tells Holster, and there’s the distinct sound of Holster reaching up and whacking the top bunk with a pillow. Eric buries his face in his sheets and tries to think distracting thoughts loudly enough to drown out the constant screeching noise of his worries. That, at least, is something he’s an expert at.

.

Eric wishes he could say that he spent his entire life looking up to the stars. That would be a lie.

He spent most of his childhood looking at the ground, instead. At the toe picks beneath his feet; at the dough rising in the oven; at the floor of his school’s hallways, trying to avoid eye contact. The sky in Georgia was ordinarily clear, stars blinking in and out of view, but they’d never held much of Eric’s interest. He wouldn’t have known what to search for even if he’d tried.

Eric, aged eighteen, went to college mostly for the going and less for college. New England was as much an escape as it was a destination. He liked some of his classes, didn’t like others -- remained undeclared for most of junior year, bouncing around between classes about food and culture. He put off doing his work for too long and preferred baking to writing essays too often, but it was fine, most of the time. His days were filled with more people than papers and he found that it was exactly the way he liked it.

College was the point Eric realized that, once he’d stopped being too afraid to try, he was really good with people.

“You could charm mountains into moving for you,” his sophomore year roommate told him, not without a hint of exasperation, when Eric fretted about meeting his first boyfriend’s parents. “Literally everybody likes you.” 

And Eric laughed nervously, said, “Come on now, that is certainly not true,” because he couldn’t charm thirteen year old bullies out of forcing him across the state, couldn’t make small-town Georgia like him for who he really was. Those seemed a lot like immovable mountains to him.

But people flocked to his vlog, kept telling him he was so charismatic, and his hockey team kept turning to him for advice with their problems, and in November of junior year he reviewed his credits, expecting to see every food class his college had to offer, but found Populism and Norms and Deviance and Inequality and Social Change, instead.

He got his B.A. Got his master’s, too, not particularly fond of academia but not too keen on leaving the shelter it provided, either. He accepted an offer to work as a consultant for a big company right after grad school, spent a year expertly tailoring trade relations and marketing techniques to partners and customers from foreign cultures. He understood people, liked people, and people, apparently, liked him. It wasn’t the job of his dreams but it was a decent start, and once the one year mark came and went he began considering PR work, maybe putting his people skills to a smaller-scale use. He was twenty-five and definitely not unhappy and his eyes were, always, firmly on the ground.

And then -- well. Then, one day, NASA called.

.

Jack gathers the four of them outside the flight deck to inform them that their crew has been tasked with the last Human-Islik Intergalactic Treaty info exchange of the quarter, in time for the summit meeting at the end of August. He tells them Flight Director Hall is counting on them, tells them to wear clean suits, and when Holster and Ransom begin chanting last mission, last mission, last mission, he sternly reminds them that being assigned to the Treaty IE is an honor. Still, when they all scatter and the two of them practically skip down the bridge, Eric thinks he sees the corners of Jack’s mouth twitch.

The mission takes four days, requires a series of security checks before entering each room and short transmissions to Houston for green lights at every step. Islikaru has the largest concentration of humans outside of Earth, but protocol must be followed nevertheless. Eric shakes hands, shakes paws, shakes tentacles, makes pleasant small talk and smiles brightly and lets Ransom ramble about science and Jack deal with bureaucracy. It feels at last like a familiar dance, and Eric tries not to think about how much he doesn’t ever want to stop dancing.

By dusk of the fourth day Shitty convinces Jack to wrap it up at a local eatery, the crew crowded around a small table in a pressurized O2 pod with their helmets thrown on the seats by their thighs. Eric finds himself squeezed between Jack on one side and Shitty on the other, a cool syrupy drink emitting translucent wisps of steam in his hand. Holster orders for all of them in rusty Isli that may or may not actually result in food, but they’re all just too jubilant to care.

“Alright boys,” Shitty hollers, banging his coaster on the table several times for effect. The glass containers holding all of their drinks jiggle with its force, creating a cheerful ringing sound. “A toast to this fucking beaut of a year. Being stuck in a cramped metal case floating in nothing for three hundred sixty-five days has been a great pleasure with your rockin’ bods for company. Fucking cheers!”

Ransom whoops, Shitty pretends to wipe a tear, Holster belts out the chorus of Cheers’ theme song passionately. Eric watches them, helplessly indulgent, and thinks: he’s actually making a home here. 

On his other side, Jack shoves one of the food baskets towards Eric with his knuckles and says, “You should try the octo-bacon, if you haven’t.” His eyes meet Eric’s for a brief moment, make Eric’s lungs expand in his chest. He can’t remember the last time Jack spoke to him for no good reason. 

Jack’s face is uniquely relaxed, his jaw convulsing as he fruitlessly tries not to laugh at something Shitty says, and Eric’s former thought continues, completely unbidden: gracious, I’m going to miss these boys so much. Their bickering and their worst habits and their dumbest moments. Holster’s booming voice, Ransom’s midnight thesis writing, Shitty’s insistence on nudity, Jack’s continual ability to confuse him. 

“Holy shit, man,” Ransom says, slamming his emptied drink onto the table and staring at its last drops in awe. “What the fuck is this shit. I need another one ASAP.”

“Not it!” Holster calls, and then stretches his arm across the table, fingertip of his index finger pointed mere inches from Jack’s face. “But I just know our commander would love to buy his best crew another round. Right, Zimmermann?”

“You’re my only crew, Birkholtz,” Jack rolls his eyes, mostly good-natured. Holster’s wiggling finger and Shitty’s foot kicking at his shin beneath the table must goad him into action anyway, because he puts his helmet back on, disappears out of the pod and towards the service counter without further protest. 

While Eric watches him go, Shitty slides closer in the booth and flings his arm around Eric, tugs him right into the crook of Shitty’s body. 

“This is it, Bittle,” he sighs, eyes closing dramatically. “Once this tour ends, you will no longer hold the title of rookie. Finally, you will graduate to the same titles everybody else gets -- mainly bro, or fucker, or, if I’m spectacularly schwasted, yo, what’syourname. This is a monumental day for all. You might even get a nickname. Are you appropriately emotional?”

Eric is emotional about many things. He can't stop thinking about this crew and what they've come to mean to him, can't stop hating keeping secrets, can't stop dreading the moment they cross back into Earth. Eric is emotional about the possibility of seeing his mama again, and what it'll mean if he does; Eric is emotional about life in general, right now, so he says, “Sure thing, Shitty,” and shoves a ring of octo-bacon into his mouth. It seems, for lack of a better option, like the smartest response.

From above Ransom’s head, Eric spots Jack reappearing just beyond the glassy walls of the pod, carrying a tray with four containers between both hands. He then keeps watching, helpless and open-mouthed, as another astronaut rises from a nearby booth and slams into Jack shoulder-first, tipping the entire tray sideways and nearly knocking its contents over and to the floor.

“Oh shit, sorry mate!” the man exclaims, immediately reaching out to catch Jack’s hands and help stable the tray. His Australian accent is thick, the ASA pin decorating the shoulder that knocked into Jack glinting under artificial lights. The two of them grab the tray with three hands, containers sliding back into place still intact, before the man’s eyes flick up and catch on Jack’s face. He then jerks back, his eyes widening and his hands yanked away from Jack like he’s afraid to catch on fire. “Fuck, Zimmermann! I didn’t see it was you! Fuck my life, uh -- here, I’ll pay for the drinks --”

Eric watches, crestfallen, as Jack’s previously relaxed expression gradually darkens back into his usual scowl, lips disappearing between his teeth. “It’s fine, don’t --”

The other astronaut shakes his head vehemently, shoving his gloved hand into his utility pocket and fishing out some local coins that he then throws onto the tray haphazardly.

“Fuck no, mate, I’m not taking risks with you,” he hurries backwards, flat palms raised up, like he’s under some kind of threat Eric can’t read in Jack’s distressed body language. “For real, it was an accident, don’t get your dad to kick me off the program, yeah?”

The man backs off, scurrying back to his pod and to his whispering crewmates. Jack remains standing, shoulders rigid and tray held in clenched white knuckles, vacant stare fixed on the floor. Eric glances away from Jack for the first time since he saw him approach and notices that his whole table is silent and tense. He catches Shitty’s furrowed eyebrows and Ransom’s worried look, and becomes slowly conscious of the fact that unlike him, everybody else already know what just went on in front of them. 

Jack’s mood seems to fracture, then. He steps through the pod’s sliding sealing and sets the tray down on the table too forcibly, glass containers knocking together. He doesn’t sit back down. Shitty parts his mouth to say something, but Jack latches his helmet closed before he can, muttering, “I’m done for tonight. I’ll see you guys back on the ship.” 

His face is almost blank, valiantly trying for imperviousness, but Eric has never seen him look so decidedly miserable before. Instinctively, he reaches out to grab Jack’s wrist; he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what just happened, but he does know that Jack shouldn’t leave like that. He manages to stammer out, “...Jack --” before Jack tears his hand away from Eric’s grip with the same excessive aggression that rattled the drinks, and says curtly, “Excuse me.”

Eric stares at his back stalking off until he's entirely out of view, feels unjustly hurt and primarily very confused.

.

Jack Zimmermann is --

Jack Zimmermann is one of NASA’s Arctic Project’s best pilots and ship commanders, Eric learned his first year in the program. He’s exceptionally committed to his job, loyal to his crew, unwaveringly focused on the mission. He’s direct, sometimes brutally so. He’s good at following orders, makes tough decisions under pressure, and never takes the opportunity to rub elbows with the higher ups. He just loves what he does, and does it notably well.

The name and the legend is a lot to live up to, but when Eric met Jack he realized that the man is exactly as he’s advertised. Jack, in the role of Jack Zimmermann, is straightforwardly that: an amazing astronaut, an amazing ship commander, an amazing pilot.

It’s unfortunate, then, that Jack in the role of a human being is sometimes an enormous asshole.

.

The ship’s lights are all off when the boys straggle themselves back on board later in the evening, their boots dragging sluggishly against gravity. When Jack left, the celebratory mood followed his footsteps out the door; no one seemed the least bit inclined to talk about it, so Eric didn’t ask. Though the four of them did their best to recover, cracking halfhearted jokes and staying for another couple of rounds, even Shitty’s mustache seems to droop lower than normal by the time they finally find their way back to the ship. 

Shitty passes airlock and walks straight towards the pilots’ quarters without saying a thing, so Eric wordlessly follows Holster and Ransom into their own quarters, brow still creased with puzzlement. He watches as Holster starts stripping by the door and Ransom sits down on the bottom bunk to take off his gear, and waits, and waits, until the silence is just too strange to handle.

“Alright, can anyone tell me what in the deep-fried hell was that?”

Holster glowers, rips off his support strap with gusto. He doesn’t answer, so Eric turns his frown at Ransom, who sighs as he removes the tough overshoe off his boots. “Ignore him, Bittle. Jack just gets real bitchy when people mention his dad. Which happens pretty often because, you now, his dad.”

“His dad…?” Eric prompts, desperate, because it seems like he should know something that he doesn’t. It’s not in the least a foreign feeling these days, when concerning space and science and always, always Jack.

Ransom looks up at him, one boot dangling from his left hand. “Yeah, you know, his dad. It’s a lot of pressure, living up to that. It’s probably most of why Jack is how Jack is.”

Eric doesn’t believe daddy issues are any excuse to be so surly, and he thinks, rather bitterly, that he would know something about the matter. But he pushes, still, because it’s always one step forward and three steps back with Jack, and any scrap of information making his commander seem a little more human could go a long way right now. Or even not human; Lord knows Eric can figure out nonhums just fine. “What does he have to live up to?”

Holster pauses peeling off the suit’s hard upper torso to squint incredulously at Eric. The lower torso assembly of the suit pools around his thighs. “You don’t know who Mad Bob is?”

“Uh,” Eric deflates, taking a tentative step back, the crown of his head hitting the frame of the top bunk. The tone of conversation begins to sound a lot like the time he disclosed that he doesn’t really know the periodic table or has, at any point of time, known it at all. “No. I don’t.”

Ransom throws his other boot to the side and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and face contorting into an expression that closely mirrors Holster’s; surprised, scandalized, disbelieving. “He’s like -- Mad Bob. He was the first commander in the original Avalanche Project. He was the first pilot to leave the Solar System and come back alive?” 

“They say he was the first to meet extraterrestrial life!” Holster gestures grandly with his hand, yanking off the EV glove to have free use of the other hand as well. 

“That’s actually not true,” Ransom clarifies, “No nonhum races were recorded until almost a decade later --”

“Not the point, dude,” Holster waves him off. “The point is, Mad Bob is a legend. His ship nearly burned on the way back to Earth and he totally saved everyone on board. Made the first round trip, you know? He’s a big fucking deal. Can’t believe you’ve never heard of him.”

Eric blanches, digs his nails into his skin to hold his instinctual reaction at bay. Eric spent the first twenty-five years of his life with his feet planted firmly on the ground, his eyes never straying upwards. Later, Eric spent every moment of his time at Houston scrambling to prove his worth in an environment so wholly alien to him that the irony in the metaphor was no longer funny. Eric wouldn’t be able to tell Neil Armstrong from Adam, just like Eric can never really remember the difference between Newton’s and Einstein's theories, doesn't know the primary structure of proteins even now. Eric doesn’t belong here, and he’s quickly running out of time to pretend like he does.

“Oh,” he says finally, weakly. Holster and Ransom haven’t looked away from him yet, so he averts his eyes, turns to face his bunk. “Must’ve just missed it somehow.”

He can almost hear Holster and Ransom hem and haw for a few long, silent moments, before the sound of nylon rustling resumes. Eric takes a deep breath, and does his very best not to regret ever asking. It’s made worse by the fact that this hasn't really helped him understand Jack any better than before.

.

So Jack had spent most of Eric’s first few months on the ship treating Eric like an inconvenience. That was okay -- it hadn’t been the first time he’d been perceived like that, and it wouldn’t be the last. He hadn’t been a fresh-faced teenager from the South in a long while; he’d been older, tougher. He’d been places and had met people, nicer people and smarter people and even meaner people than Jack Zimmermann. He hadn’t really needed a pat on the shoulder or an encouraging smile, just the opportunity to do his job, and do it well.

The real problem was that Eric had always been good at his job because he understood people. And Eric, despite his best begrudging efforts, cannot make sense of Jack.

Jack, who clearly had not understood Eric’s job at all until, suddenly and out of nowhere, there was Evor. Jack who, after Evor, told Eric good work and sounded like maybe he even meant it. Jack who, after Evor, was sat by Eric when Lardo radioed to tell them that Jack’s report had made the deputy administrator call to congratulate Eric specifically. 

Jack who, also after Evor, stopped meeting Eric’s eyes unless absolutely necessary. Jack, who Eric sometimes caught staring from the corner of his eye, looking lost in thoughts. Jack, who roughhoused with Shitty in the flight deck, and arranged Holster a private DSN connection for his mom’s birthday, and listened to Charlie Rich on late night piloting shifts -- but whose glimpses of personality disappeared the moment Eric tried to study them for too long.

Missions transformed into something different in the aftermath of Evor. A month after the crew’s return to action they were sent to do testing on the magnetic field of Pladora, and Jack put Eric in charge of communication with the local scientists without preambles. Eric choked, floundered, but grabbed the opportunity with both hands; he still couldn’t shake the weight of Jack’s gaze on his shoulders whenever he spoke with the Pladoran team.

Later, Jack pulled him aside and asked, “Are you capable of confidently explaining to me the exact kind of testing we’re doing here?”, stared at Eric until he was fidgeting uncomfortably in place. “It’s important that you can do that,” he added, like Eric didn’t already know, like Eric didn’t think about it every night before he fell asleep, like he needed Jack’s eyes on him for that, making the nape of his neck burn and his palms tingle with sweat. But Jack frowned at him, then, took a step back, like he didn’t understand why Eric was flushed with embarrassment. It almost seemed for a moment like he wasn’t actively gunning for humiliation.

And then it happened again. Two weeks after that they were helping ESA fix a satellite on a German space station, and Jack left Eric to discuss mission parameters unattended, but also ordered him to watch Shitty install a new GPS chip for three hours. During the strategy session for a recon mission in the Austra System, Jack insisted on hearing Eric’s opinion, but also accosted him after it to demand that Eric read about the complication with the wavelength disturbance. In a charged encounter with destitute merchants from a dead galaxy, Jack remained two steps behind Eric’s right shoulder and let him conciliate them, but when Eric later babbled about the civil turmoil caused by the demise of the galaxy, Jack asserted that he should understand the astrophysical process leading to such death.

So Eric generously thought: maybe Jack was trying, poorly. But three months after Evor the two of them returned to the ship frazzled and peeved, had spent most of the day wrangling with diplomats on Uzeru, and Eric scrubbed a hand over his face, resolved to try one more time. He offered Jack a friendly, tired smile, and said, “Wanna share bad coffee in the kitchen to drown our sorrows?”, but Jack only shook his head once, sharply, before immediately walking away.

The inability to make any sense of it consumes Eric's thoughts for much longer than he's comfortable with. Jack pushes and then pulls, hovers over Eric professionally but disappears the moment it’s interpersonal. A week before they're off for leave Eric looks up from his plate to see Jack taking his dinner into the flight deck, ignoring Shitty’s offer to join him, and thinks that maybe he can never peek past Jack's mask because Jack makes sure to turn away whenever it comes off. He thinks that maybe this is what loneliness looks like, thinks that he should still know better than to care, thinks for the first time that maybe Jack’s silent treatment is nothing more than not knowing what to say to Eric after Evor. Thinks that maybe Jack’s inept solution to not knowing what to say is to just say nothing at all.

.

The impact crater chipping Vylos’ surface is visible from two-hundred thousand miles out. It’s the nearest planet to the jumping point back to Earth, and its crater serves as a parking lot for all ships on their way to or from there. Its chaotic layout strongly reminds Eric of the QuikTrip station just north of Atlanta, but he bites his tongue and keeps that to himself. Jack and Shitty have probably never seen a QuikTrip, anyway.

Jack grumbles about finding a parking space on the night before leave, body curved over the control wheel and eyes squinted at the windowpane. Shitty leaves him to it, drapes his legs sideways on his armrest to tell Eric about the long claws of capitalism stretching into the cosmos, and how this has resulted in Vylosian beer being the best there is this side of the Milky Way, “Even though it’s like, totally not a real beer, dude, but -- marketing ploy!”, and how its atmosphere was chemically engineered, “To be breathable for all us Earthly suckers passing by ‘cause of the jump point. Filthy fucking marketing plot, I tell ya -- and the beer costs like my goddamn kidney.”

“Your goddamn kidney’s not worth much with the amount of Vylosian beer you regularly consume,” Jack interjects, lowering the ship into a vacant spot skillfully. Vylos’ terrain, reflected at Eric from the three surrounding windows in the flight deck, is grainy and blue.

The Vylosian bar Shitty buoyantly pushes them into is decorated in mismatched memorabilia, posters of Uma Thurman and Justin Bieber and a life-size stormtrooper suit personally signed by George Lucas looming by the wall. The AI pouring the drinks is a hologram in the shape of a Western saloon bartender, the beer is thick and neon green. Eric’s been outside the Kármán line for nearly a year and feels caught by surprise, still, almost daily; but tonight he gets to wear denim shorts instead of nylon spacesuits, gets to clink his glass against Ransom’s, gets to pretend that tomorrow isn’t possibly the end of it all. It has to be enough, he thinks, and takes a determined drink.

Their group starts out leaning against the wooden countertop, skin sticking to its surface. Later, Holster and Ransom chat their way into the table of two local girls, and Jack disappears from view. Eventually, their group winds up scattered across different corners of the bar, red-faced and loose. Eric catches himself repeatedly looking up from the bottom of his glass to the open door, at the pale glint of the sky just outside it, and after a thorough sweep around he takes his drink, gets up, and starts walking.

.

The bar overlooks the vast expanses of the crater sprawling beneath it, and Eric finds himself sitting outside at the edge of the cliff, thighs bare over the rough azure dirt and beer glass tilting in his hand. Vylos’ three moons are out of sync, rising and peaking and setting in a simultaneous cycle, and Eric is busy watching them when he hears heavy footsteps coming up behind him.

He’s surprised to find Jack standing there, suspended in motion with his hands deep in his pockets and his hair windswept, figure backlit by the lights of the bar twinkling behind him. He seems just as startled to see Eric; his expression wavers out of its usual stoic façade to betray some semblance of emoting.

“Oh, Bittle, I -- I thought you’re inside with the boys,” Jack blinks, a hint of a frown wrinkling his forehead. 

“No,” Eric blinks in turn, unsettled by this strange creature wearing the face of his commander. He looks so different in jeans and an AsCans training program t-shirt, out of the bulky spacesuits they spend most days in. “Uh -- no. I’m not.”

“Right.” Jack nods stiffly, glances at the ground and then at a spot somewhere over Eric’s shoulder. His body language is guarded, and he looks misplaced, painfully awkward. They still haven’t exchanged more than two or three sentences in private since Evor and Eric, typically the chatterbox, wouldn’t even know where to begin. “Well, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll go.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Eric says, before he can think too carefully about why the heck he’d say such a thing. Before he can recall the snapshot memory of Jack turning to eat dinner in the flight deck, alone. “I mean. I’m just sitting here. Drinking alien beer,” he raises his glass, the bright green liquid sloshing around, leaving traces of neon on its rim. The ridiculousness of the situation may be slightly lost on Jack, but not on him. Space still is, and probably always will be, kind of weird.

“Right,” Jack repeats, the line of his back tightening and his eyes narrowing at Eric. “Be careful with that. Don’t want you to throw up during descent tomorrow.”

Dear Lord. One step forward and three steps back. “Yes, Commander,” Eric sighs, swallowing the chagrin out of his voice. His shoulders sag as his body curls towards the view, away from Jack. God forbid Jack Zimmermann think about anything other than the mission for a single flippin' moment. Eric should know better than to be disappointed, but the sour churn of his stomach is unmistakable. Eric should, but doesn’t.

The footsteps behind him pick up again, and he expects to hear Jack walking farther and farther away. Instead, he’s shocked into silence by Jack sliding into his peripheral view, sitting down beside him on the cliff. His shoulders are rigid, his mouth pressed thin. His expression looks like he’s as bewildered as Eric by his own actions.

“Are you excited to go back?” Jack asks after a long, uncomfortable minute, during which they both sit mutely and watch the pits of Vylos before them. Its second moon has finished a full rotation and is now shining down in soft lilac beams. Jack’s voice is tense, flat; this boy, Eric thinks almost pityingly, really is terrible at small talk.

He’s been asked this question a dozen times that month, but mustering his practiced fake enthusiasm now seems hard. Maybe it’s the alien alcohol; maybe it’s that Jack could regress into not speaking to him again at any moment. “I guess so. Home sweet home, ‘m I right?”

Jack shrugs one shoulder, a short and angular movement. “It doesn't feel like going home to me,” he says, honest and plain. “I spend most of my time out here. It’s more like -- a summer vacation. Some people go to the Caribbean and we go visit Earth.”

Eric nods, absently, unsure of how to respond. He brings his glass to his lips and takes a long swig of it, tastes green all the way to the back of his throat. It’s almost impossible to imagine that in twenty-four hours he could be drinking locally-produced white wine in the Washington Corridor. Earth feels so darn far away.

“What’ll you do on your vacation, then?” Eric asks after another long stretch of silence, mostly out of politeness that his mother persistently lectured into him over years. 

Jack’s attention is fixed on the moons, his profile sculpted by the sharp lines of his nose and cheekbones and chin. His eyes are so pale under the lilac moon -- big, slanted, annoyingly beautiful. He remains quiet for a moment, leans his weight on his palms and considers Eric’s question. His gaze is still flickering over the view when he says, finally, “I usually go see my parents. Read. Buy groceries.”

Eric snorts inelegantly. If he didn’t know any better, didn’t know Jack any better, that could almost be mistaken for a joke. “Buy groceries?”

“Yes,” Jack says, perfectly serious. His eyes flit over to meet Eric’s, and Eric holds them for only a moment before quickly looking away. His cheeks grow inexplicably warm. “I don’t really miss anything when I’m up here -- I mean, not really -- but I guess sometimes it’s nice to remember people. Stupid human stuff, eh? Supermarkets. Banks. I always think I'd catch a movie in the theatre but somehow I never do.”

He appears to be uncomfortable with his admission, face closing off once the words are out of his mouth. The sharp lines of his features twist back into a familiar scowl, but Eric watches them, him, thoroughly transfixed. The authentic snippet of personality cannot disappear under the reapplied mask this time; Jack has put something truthful on the table, a hint of something charmingly sentimental. A mundane humanity space can't recreate, newspapers and laundromats and coffee stands and taxes. Grocery shopping. Eric doesn’t know if the fast, erratic beating in his chest is at the sweet tinge of it, or the mere thought of Jack paying attention to such things.

“You should,” Eric finally finds his words somewhere in his strangled windpipe, slowly facing forward. Jack, and his continual ability to confuse. He can see Jack from the corner of his eye, turning his head to subtly raise both eyebrows at Eric. “Go to the movies. You should do it this time.”

“Yeah. Maybe I will,” Jack says after a long pause. “I'll tell you how it went when we’re back here.”

“If I come back,” Eric sighs before he can catch himself, and then freezes, fingers clenching around his glass. Dang it. Dang it all to hell.

“What?” Jack asks, confused, and when Eric refuses to meet his eyes, shoulders squaring and chin dropping to his chest, Jack’s voice sharpens and he repeats, “What? What do you mean? Bittle. What do you mean.”

Eric exhales unsteadily, rubbing his forehead with the back of his free hand. He thought he'd have more time. He thought -- like he always does, and is always wrong -- that he’d successfully outrun his problems by denying their existence. He could try shoving those four incriminating words back into his mouth, but Eric can feel Jack’s intense attention focused on the side of his face. Once Jack stepped back into the professional boots of Commander Zimmermann, no denial will make him let this go. 

“I’m spending all of my leave in Texas. I gotta pass evaluation for the clearance to come back here with y’all. These past six months were my test run -- I’ve never passed the written exam.” Eric drags his shoe through the sandy ground, watches as the grooves he makes are swept away. “Y’all know I’m no good at the sciency stuff, Jack, alright. I don't need to hear it from you as well. If I don't get an adequate score I'm off the program for good.”

Eric chews the inside of his cheek and chances a side glance. Jack looks outraged, his thick brows drawn down and his entire face devoid of color. Eric’s immediate reflex is to flinch away, but Jack speaks before he can make a move. “What subjects?”

“What?” Eric asks, thrown completely off-balance. He was expecting a thundering reprimand at worst, an indifferent dismissal at best. He doesn’t know what the quiet, heated response he's gotten even is. 

"What subjects are they testing you on?”

Eric hesitates, body still braced for the blow that isn't coming. “Uh. All of the introductory subjects. Basic physics, geobiology... mostly modern astronomy. But I swear --”

“Alright,” Jack cuts him off with a single sharp nod, his chin sticking out slightly, like Eric has somehow pushed him to make up his mind. His expression, typically impassive, is now staggeringly transparent. “I’ll help you study for the written exam.”

“What?" Eric blinks several times, glances down to see if he's had more to drink than he thought, but the glass is still half-full and Jack's figure is still corporeal by his side, intense expression still in place. He doesn't fade away like the hallucination Eric is so sure he must be. "Jack -- what --?”

Jack doesn't seem to pick up on the astonishment that has Eric stumbling over his words. “We’ve got two and a half weeks, right? You need entry level stuff to pass that exam. If we study hard, you can do it.”

Eric thinks he might be gaping, his mouth hanging open and growing dry in the arid air, but he apparently isn't capable of collecting his jaw off of Vylos’ ground. “But… what… but you’ll be in Canada…?”

“I’ll stay in Huston,” Jack looks determined. “Bittle, we're a team. You should’ve told us before and we would’ve helped you. You’re a strong crew member, you’re smart, you’ve got an edge that none of us has got. If that’s the only thing holding you back we’re going to get you over it. Study clinic, day and night.” He pauses, the self-assurances faltering for only a moment, and the lines of his mouth soften somewhat. “Just trust me, okay?”

Eric is absolutely floored. The only foolish thing that manages to leave his mouth is, “What about going to the movies?”

Jack almost smiles. Eric has spied that expression on rare occasions before, but never directed at him, and never from up close. It does something to Jack's face that Eric can't put in words. “I’ll catch one on the next leave. Which you’ll be taking as well, ‘cause you’re not leaving the program. We've got each other's backs, Bittle.”

Under the moonlight, purple shadows carving his face from marble and a mellow half-smile twisting the corners of his mouth upwards, Eric could almost let himself admit how handsome Jack is. Jack rubs the dirt off of one palm and slowly curls his fingers, holds them up in a silent offer. Eric can see the thin veins beneath the surface of his skin. He looks at the hand, looks up at Jack, and lets a tentative smile blossom on his face. He brings his clenched hand up to meet Jack’s, and bumps his fist.

[americaswritings]

Run To You

Prompt:  "You know, you look really cute when you worry about me."

Summary: You are Tom’s best friend and assistent and after over working yourself you fall asleep on the set of Spider-Man FFH. You wake up to a big shock.

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: angsty, fluffy, injured character

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

A/N: I haven’t written IN AGES and Idk what this is so yeah. Enjoy :)

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Since Tom had started to shoot Spider-Man Far from Home you had spend most of your time trying to arrange a schedule that would allow him a balance between work and breaks. But with photoshoots and interviews on top of a movie shoot, you were often forced to re-work your plan from day to day, giving you little to no breaks yourself. 

You had just gotten off another phone call with someone working for press, when Tom had reminded you that it was time to leave for another day of shooting. 

As soon as Tom was dressed up in the suit and in front of the cameras, you allowed yourself to sink deeper into your chair. Your eyes felt heavy and so you closed them, allowing yourself to rest for just a second...

You were woken up by frantic calling. "Medics! Medics!"

It took you a second to process the words before your eyes snapped open and you shot up from your chair. In front of you, you saw a group of people, bend over someone on the ground. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized that the person on the ground was dressed in his red and black costume.

Tom.

You stumbled on your feet, still a little dizzy from your previous nap. The figure on the ground still wasn't moving and you felt a wave of sickness come over you. What if he was geniouently hurt? 

You pushed past some crew members, not caring about your manners at all. All you could think about was the possibility of Tom being seriously hurt. What had even happened? What a great friend you were, sleeping while something had happened to Tom. But it was not only your duty as a friend to make sure he was well but your responsibilty as his assistent. And you had failed, in more than one way.

"Please let me through", you whimpered when your sight was suddenly blocked.

"Y/n?"

The familar voice made you turn immediately and you gasped when you saw Tom stand behind you, dressed in his red suit and looking perfectly fine except the worry that filled his face. 

"What?", you stuttered, turning back to the figure on the ground. They had taken his mask of, revealing one of Tom's stunt doubles. You let out a sigh of relief and turned back to Tom, who still mustered you puzzled. 

Without any hesitation you closed the distance between the two of you and threw your arms around him. He immediately pulled you into his chest and you relaxed a little. "I thought you were hurt", you whispered into his shoulder. You felt tears prick in your eyes, but you closed them shut. You wouldn't allow yourself to cry. Not in front of the whole crew and defenitely not in front of Tom.

"I am fine", he reassured you, his voice calm and serious. You were glad that he didn't use the sitiation to tease or make fun of you. You already felt bad enough on your own. Although Tom was fine, you had still failed him.

You two were best friends, which made your job as his assistent as amazing as it was, but you still needed to be professional and it was nowhere near okay for you to fall asleep while you had to take care of Tom and make sure his shoot was going well.

The guilt made your heart heavy and when you remembered that although Tom wasn't hurt, someone was, you wanted to disappear.

Ashamed you let go of Tom and turned around, letting out a sight of relief when you saw that the crowd was already parting and Tom's stunt double was shaking his head, laughing at something the producer said.

"Hey." You turned back to Tom when you heard his gentle voice, confusion written all over your face. "So he is okay?", you stuttered and Tom nodded.

 "Don't worry. He is tough and it seems like it looked worse than it was. See, he is already eager to do the stunt again." Tom laughed, but you were still too shocked to react at all.

"Hey, what is going on?", Tom wondered, his face stern while he mustered you. "You are acting weird."

You shook your head, gazing to the ground to avoid looking at him. "It's nothing”, you began, but you knew that Tom wouldn’t believe you. “I just fell asleep and when I woke up I thought you were hurt and I failed you and I am so so sorry Tom can you forgive me?", you added, your voice becoming desperate while you rambled the last words. "I didn't mean for that to happen and I know it was really unprofessional. It won't happen again, I swear!"

You looked up to see Tom even more confused than before. Before you could apologize again he raised his hands, trying to stop you. 

"You don't need to apologize for anything, love", he said, his brows drawn together. "Even if you would have been awake, it would have happened. It's not your responsibility to take care of the stunt work."

You let out another sigh. "I know, I just-  I have to make sure you are okay and I couldn't forgive myself if you got hurt because of me."

The tears were threatening to spill at this point and you tried to blink them away, without success. 

"Hey, slow down okay? You are my assistent and I appreciate all the work you do, but it's not your burden to watch out for me every second of the day alright? Sometimes accidents happen but it's not your duty to keep everything that could possible hurt me away from me. Besides, you know how many times I broke my nose all due to my own clumsiness."

He gave you a warm smile at the last part and you had to chuckle when you remembered how Harrison and you had made fun of him when he had broken his nose yet again and feard that it would not look straight again.

"I just don't want you to think that I am taking advantage of you giving me this job. I want to make sure I do it right and professional", you explained, feeling a little calmer already.

"I would never. I actually think that you take it a little too seriously", he said and winked at you. You blushed and sheepishly rubbed the back of your head.

"Come on, you are clearly overworked. How about I take you to my trailer and you can rest a bit, hmm?", Tom suggested but you quickly shook your head. "You still have scenes to shoot", you protested and Tom grinned.

"That is exactly why you can have the bed all for yourself so get some sleep. I will be back sooner than you think and then you have to share!" Tom winked at you again, before sliding an arm around your waist and guiding you to his trailer..

His touch eliminated the last bit of your self-doubts and you relaxed into it. "Fine, but try to not get hurt, okay? At least not as long as I can't see it with my own eyes and annoy you with it for days", you tried to lighten the mood. "I can't promise anything", Tom chuckled, but you knew that he wasn’t serious.

After having overcome the shock you started to feel a little embarassed. You sure as hell caused a scene and even if no one else saw it, which you highly doubted, you knew that Tom would bring it up later to tease you.

But you also knew that something in your relationship had shifted. You cared deeply for each other, maybe a little too deeply to be just friends, but playfully insulting each other and bikering most of the time instead made it much easier to ignore whatever was there between the two if you.

Now you felt the inside of your stomach twitch, because what if something had happened to Tom? And what if you had wasted your time together and never actually told him how you felt?

You had nearly reached Tom's trailer when he suddenly broke the silence.

"You know, you look really cute when you worry about me", Tom whispered teasingly and you laughed. "Don't get used to it", you joked and decided that this conversation would have to wait a little longer. Right now you just needed to get some sleep and maybe, just maybe if Tom joined you later you could take his hand and whisper what you never had the courage to say out loud into this ear.

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[jjkpls]

(y)our name 2 - two (m)

> genre : smut, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> total words : 10.3k

> warnings/content : dumbassesfriends to lovers, unrequited love, slice of life; cursing, dirty talk, penetrative intercourse, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, some filth and then some more filth; jk being a lil shit, oc still panicking

jungkook : Who said I don’t want it

It took him a good twenty minutes to send this. You don't know if he pondered over it for that long or if, after getting back to whatever it is he was doing, the thought suddenly sprang in his head. It's such a curious message. Makes your heartbeat stutters and your hands clammy and it takes you an eternity to formulate a response.

you : Well you sent me the link for a reason

jungkook : Yea cause I thought it might help but it has nothing to do with what I want

What?

jungkook : You’re the one who said you wouldn’t do it again with me

What?

you : Did i say that?

jungkook : Yes you did

You start to type but stop as you realise you don't even know what to say. He wants it again? And what is he even saying? You don't remember ever saying that. Everything's a blur honestly, but Jungkook's words, his insistence, it almost gives off the feeling that he remembers well. Perhaps he hasn't just brushed it off like you thought he did.

you : Would you want it again?

jungkook : Say what you meant to send and I’ll answer

Those goddamn dots.

you : That’s not very fair but whateva

you : You wanna be a big baby as you always are

jungkook : I’m not even going to answer that

you : Well you just did idiot

You purposefully waste time, just trying to delay the confession.

You want to test your luck -maybe rejection is not what's waiting for you. He's pushing it, demanding you to tell. He's admitted some of his own feelings so you should do the same.

you :  it’s just that I found myself very frustrated, to an extent solo doesn’t do anything for me anymore..

As soon as you send the text, you shut the device off, throwing it down on the carpet. It's burning like your shame on your face and you can't bear to hold it any longer.

You really sent that. Your heart is beating furiously. You feel yourself sweating bullets. It's so hot, you sway your legs nervously, vainly hoping to ventilate the suddenly overly-heated room.

Jungkook is sweet, he doesn't leave you hanging for too long and soon enough, your phone is vibrating, begging you to pick it back up.

jungkook : Of course it wouldn’t 

you : Ok don’t even get cocky with me dude

jungkook : Why not? It’s my fault isn’t it?

jungkook : Cause I made you feel that good

So he knows. You were annoyed for you found yourself troubled, anxious and restless. Shaken to your core, moved to your soul. But a side of you, the rational one, kept pestering that you were the chaotic, dumb and weak one responsible for the mess he's made of you. However, here, he admits he knows. He's known all along. He's done it on purpose: fucking you up.

you : 😐

jungkook : Don’t admit it it’s fine we both know it

What an ass.

you : Seriously you’re too cocky what for

Your brain is off right now. You don't know what to say, tempted by the teasing warmth your chest is taken over but nervous to let it spread too far.  

jungkook : I know I’m right

jungkook : I’m not trying to embarrass you

jungkook : Maybe embarrass your exes a bit

jungkook : But it’s pretty easy to tell

jungkook : When someone hasn’t felt a certain way before

jungkook : I know you’ve never come that hard before

jungkook : Don’t lie to me

jungkook : And more than once you reacted like I was crazy

jungkook : Thats the whole fun of playing with a cunt it’s to make it come endlessly until it hurts and your soaked sore and allswollen adn red

Shit. How does he even do that? With just a couple of texts, rendering you speechless, breathless and burning. Soaked in your panties, the discomfort so evident you have to sit up, thighs pressed to one another by fear of exposing the incriminating dark spot out in the open.

He does own you. Capable of manipulating your body and mind with a few well-chosen words. It's something you've never played with, dirty talking. And you didn't know you'd like it as much as you do. But when Jungkook does -the other night, tonight by text- it's lethal.

But how could he do it so easily? Turning so lewd so suddenly? When for the past weeks, he's acted so natural, so casual as if he couldn't care less about the sex you've had. How can he just switch like that?

you : Are you drunk?

jungkook : 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂

jungkook : A bit tipsy we went to a bar with the crew

That explains some of it.

jungkook : Was it too much?

you : Nono it’s fine

you : I just don’t know what to say

jungkook : Tell me what you want

jungkook : What you meant to ask me the other night when I so rudely interrupted you with a dumbass article

Well, shit.

It's just Jungkook. Honesty and shamelessness are the main keys of your friendship. However, you're not him and expressing your sexual desires as easily as he does is not innate.

jungkook : Don’t be shy just tell me

Fuck it.

you : I’d like it if you could be with me again like the other night

You can count the excrutiatingly painful seconds as they tick by. It's been fiveteen.

you :  😬

Now, fifty.

you :  😖 😖 😖 

Finally, he decides to spare you.

jungkook : Is being friends is not a problem anymore?

you : Idk i trust you you trust me

you : We communicate well most of the time

you : Last time wasn’t such a big deal was it? I feel like we’ll be fine

you : Don’t you think?

You're rambling. You need to stop rambling. It's one thing to be in constant panic mode with this shit -this you can deal with, you know yourself and you accept it- but Jungkook really doesn't need to know.

jungkook : Idk I guess you’re right

you : So when you come back are you going to consider it?

jungkook : No

What a dick. Toying with you, bringing you there to then, deny you. How dares he?

jungkook : I’ve made up my mind already

jungkook : You’ll have me if you show yourself convincing enough

you : like how?

jungkook : It’s not that hard 

jungkook : I love it when someone makes me feel like you really want me

jungkook : *they

Oh boy.

you : k ill try

You’re resolute to try. To try your hardest. It kills you, the idea that he somehow managed to have the upper hand in this. It feels like he's going to make you suffer. But the point of the matter, the only thing you care about anymore is the fact that you were wrong -he did enjoy the first time if he’s up for a second. Oh, and also, obviously, the fact that you are a couple of hours away from a devastating orgasm you've been craving for for weeks. 

You spend the whole day -luckily for you, you're not working- prepping you. Trimming and grooming. Exfoliating and moisturizing. And as you’re doing all that, your stamina is twitching in anxiety because, holy shit, it feels like it never stops. There’s always a thing to arrange, another one that wouldn’t let itself fixed and when was the last time you spent that amount of effort into looking (that) attractive for someone? Even for Namjoon, you did not.

You did a lot. You cared about him. Namjoon was always so class and handsome and you hated the idea of being an ugly potato attached to his side so you’d take care of yourself more than you would when completely single -just gotta be honest. But not as much. You’re not exactly sure why. Probably because Namjoon was attentive and sweet but not the same kind of lover. He wouldn’t feel you up as heavily as you remember Jungkook doing. He’s never specifically asked to see you with the lights on. He’d talk to you and listen and maybe that’s more what it was about. He would lean in and seem to be drinking in your appearance when you’d be having a good conversation. One where you’d get animated and passionate. You’re pretty sure your brains -no matter how lame you consider them to be next to his- were what he liked the most about you. He must have found you pretty. Surely. But you’d never really caught him giving you a longing stare from the other end of the sofa when you were not looking.

He’d call you pretty and ravishing when he’d come to pick you up for a date and you’d spent a lot of time dolling yourself up. But always the same way. Always the same words. Never anything specific to what you were wearing or whatever. And his eyes were not really looking, were they? It didn’t hurt your feelings nor your ego that much. Because there’s probably nothing more flattering for you to have someone like you for your mind rather than your appearance -the flimsy quite irrelevant thing that you don’t really have much control over. It was fine. And like everything that used to be fine, Jeon Jungkook had to make it a problem.

As you stare at your own reflection in the mirror, pinching your lips together to spread the lipstick more evenly, you’re reminded of the way his hot stare was burning you that night. You remember how every time you’d look his way in the dark, you’d see his big round eyes locked on you with the cute stars in it shining fondly. You have no idea how attracted he is to you physically. You have no idea if he is at all or it’s just a thing that he does. Maybe he likes you the way you like an ugly old picture of yourself. With time and fondness, it becomes sweet and special and you just like looking at it.

Maybe, it's a weird analogy.

More so given what he’d be doing to you, the words he was saying while looking at you like he did. You don’t know how to read this distinctive mind of his. It’s new territory. Not completely terrifying because there’s your guide, your best friend, walking you through it. But it’s like a new mansion you’re just visiting. So bright and light and welcoming, with so many doors all closed but not locked and you don’t know what’s behind any of them even though you’re so curious to figure it out. There’s all those new faces, secrets behind those doors. You hope he’ll open them to you. All of them. They’re holding, you're certain of it, mind-blowing surprises -if the other night, where you discovered an actual man instead of your little boyish baby of a friend, is anything to go by. And it’s wonderful, that idea. That after all this time, after being so sure of knowing the kid like you’ve crafted it from scratch yourself, there is still more to learn about him. New things for him to amaze you with.

“What are you doing?” Eun is watching you with a hand on the frame of the door, eyes blown wide and a weird stance. She looks about ready to flee like she’s witnessing something so unspeakable she is that close to jump on the phone and call the cops.

That’s rude. You’d frown if you were not so concern about munching up your freshly applied mascara. Fair enough, lately, you haven’t been exactly runaway material but the way she’s looking at you is plain blank offensive. 

“I’m just making myself pretty. Do I look weird to you?” Maybe you do. Maybe you overdid it a bit. 

She completely ignores your concern to jump on the exciting bait you did not even mean to throw. “What for? You have a date?”

“No, I don’t. It’s for my own, uh, enjoyment.”

Her face twists comically while she tsks in disdain. “Bitch, please.” Getting ruder by the second, she is. “You have a date. It’s not Namjoon is it?”

“No, not with Namjoon. But do I look too different, like strange-different?”

“You look gorgeous, babe. I was just surprised.”

“Oh okay, cool.” You decide to take her words for facts, panicking over potentially looking like a clownish try-hard is not what you need.

“So... A date? You little cachotière*.” Here, the nerves hit. You have been nothing but excited since the text conversation you had with Jungkook the night before but now, merely an hour before he’s supposed to be home, you begin freaking out.

It’s Eun and her overuse of the “d-word”. Because it’s not like that. At all. If it becomes a date then you have to rightfully so freak the fuck out. Thanks to her, even if it's not one, you start losing it. In your state of panic, while you observe yourself liquify in the mirror -it’s quite interesting to watch, you having a crisis in real time-, blanching in utter destress, another scary thought assaults you.

Jungkook lives across the short hall from here. He and Jimin and you and Eun are so close and comfortable around each other, you basically share one giant apartment, allowing yourselves to just barge in no matter how inappropriate the moment is. The whole floor is a constant open house. The probability of having Eun find out that you’re in fact sleeping over to their's is so high, it’s almost prophetic.

Shit. She’s going to ask so many questions. And of course, she won’t believe you if you say you dressed yourself up to the nines just to go play games with Jungkook. She’d think there would be something else to it. And she’d be right. But she doesn’t need to know just yet. You were blessed enough the other night, that she drunk herself to sleep with Jimin, knocked herself out so bad she couldn’t remember anything past the cake cutting. Not that you have or want to preserve secrets from her. It’s not really secrets. “Secrets” sounds like you’d purposefully want to withhold information from her from lack of trust. It’s not like that. It’s just whatever Jungkook and you are doing is yours. There are a lot of things you two never consider sharing with other people just because they are your thing.You two share a private garden and no one will ever be invited to visit it.

“Who is it?”

“I- just- it’s a bit soon to-“

“You don’t wanna say yet. Ok, I get it.” She says it with geniune sympathy, yet her glossy lips puckered in a little pout. “Do I know him?”

“Uh- possibly.” Her eyes widen for a second before they’re looking up to the roof, searching her brain for the full list of your common acquaintances -she’s understanding and respectful but that doesn’t mean she's not eaten up by curiosity.

After a while, as you ponder over your own image and consider wiping your whole face off of the makeup to just go with something more like your everyday self, the one Jungkook knows better, Eun gives up on the investigation and redirects her attention back to you, “Is he handsome?”

You don’t know how to answer her and end up giving an incoherent babbling and spilling of squeaky sounds that can only describe it better than words would. She’s smiling a wolf grin, picking up a lipstick from her personal shelf before taking a makeup remover tissue to drag over your already painted mouth. She applies, meticulously, the new taint she’s chosen. It’s a deep red, very sultry that gives you the look of a sexy vampire or maybe a succubus.

She gets it. Jungkook's tending to observe you is not the only reason you've worked so hard on yourself. He is so deadly handsome. You always knew but not felt it arouse anything within you. You saw him as that little brother of yours who’s grown so much into a very charming, universally attractive boy. But that night, with his hair -you’d never, in more than a decade of being his friend, seen his forehead and you’re oh-so glad you did not because horny-high-school-you would probably have freaked about it, who would think that eyebrows could do so much to someone's face- pulled back and his leather jacket, quirking his eyebrow and biting his lip and leaning around like he was some kind of James Dean. You don’t know how responsible are the orgasms -surely, they can have an impact on your perception-, or your thirst, but you’ve decided, observing him more attentively since that night, that he was one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. Truly.

Also you can’t actively name who would be standing right next to him on the podium but that’s just a detail. A detail you won’t share with him more than you did last time because you don’t want his ego to inflate and explode right in your face. It wouldn’t be pretty nor pleasing. He's cocky enough already as it it.

Anyway, you just want to look beautiful because he, himself, is so much so. 

“I hope you’re aiming to get laid because with this magic...” Eun leaves the sentence pending, her sharp eyebrows high over her protruding eyes conclude it. You can’t control the widely telling grin drawing itself on your mouth.

“You’re gonna need a lot of convincing.” It’s the first thing he said as he saw you walked in through the cracked open door. You’d just sneaked your way through the whole length of their apartment, trying to not get caught by Jimin while having a mini attack because said Jimin was sitting right there, in the living room you had to pass by. He had headphones on and was so engrossed in whatever he was doing on his cellphone that he didn’t even notice you, staring at him like a deer caught in headlight, not even flinching when in your panic to run from the scene while luck was still on your side, you had knocked down a craft bag full of noisy ramen boxes. You hadn’t even picked it up, just rushing to the end of the hallway for Jungkook’s bedroom.

You don’t know what you look like right now. You feel awkward and dishevelled and quite exposed, standing in front of him in your fancy outfit while he’s in his pyjamas, looking up at you from the bed, with an unimpressed expression masking his face.

“You know I arrived 2 hours ago, right?” He is not genuinely upset, you can tell. But there’s a little edge to his tone. An honest curiosity. And maybe a relief. Maybe he thought you had changed your mind and hadn’t bothered letting him know about it.

“Yes, sorry. Mom called.” You say it with a bratty roll of your eyes as if you’re not left warm and fuzzy each time you hang up a phone call with her.

She’s lovely. You miss her often but not to the point of actually wanting her around -she’d pester and nag the life out of you if she were to see the state of your room and just the general way you chose to do things. And she talks so much. She has so much to say every time she picks up the phone to ring you. Everything about her and about your dad and the rest of the family and the rest of the neighbourhood and what the mayor has been up too and what her colleagues at work have been discussing about these days. It goes on and on and on and you understand that it comes from a place of her missing you dearly but when most of the times it is okay and a fairly entertaining way of wasting two hours doing nothing, you couldn’t care less about whatever the hell was going to be replacing the shop next to your uncle’s when the stupid story is delaying the event of tonight. But how could you tell her that? So you sat on the barstool, your forehead pressed onto your handbag (that you didn’t need but you were supposed to go out on a date so that fit better the narrative), shoe-clad feet bouncing nervously in the air, half-listening, half-dreading, humming noncommittal monosyllabic words into the phone, as Eun watched you from the sofa, staring with a beyond confused, low-key judgmental gaze, miming with all her body how you should hang up and head out. And that’s how you arrived two hours late when you meant to be in his bedroom before he even came back from the station.

You shrug, grimacing in a form of apology. But Jungkook knows your mom like his own and doesn’t hold you accountable for the lateness anymore, his face being recovered by a soft layer of fondness at the mention of her. “She said to tell you she thinks about you a lot and misses you. And to give you kisses too.” He chuckles at that and you match him, amused by the double meaning you now give to the term. You used to almost fear those innocent kisses -more subconsciously than not, it just wouldn’t come about, none of you needing to express your affection like that- and look at you now. About to get screwed by him. For the second time.

He is staring up at you with an intensity, you don’t want to get ahead of yourself and assume what it means but it is here. And you can't help but stare back, hoping to not show too much how bad you want to jump on him right now. Lain in bed like that, back pressed against his headboard, with a half unbuttoned white silky-like shirt, and his expression and his demeanour, you can see that under the cover his legs are taut and slightly parted: he looks like he’s expecting something. You. He’s been expecting you and you’re finally here and he’s tantalizing you with the meal he knows you want to consume. Tantalizing because no matter how sure you are that his expression means he still is on board and wants you, he doesn’t look willing to make a move. “So, as I was saying: a lot more convincing will be needed.”

“Well, I’m here already. Doesn’t that tell you I- like- want it?”

“Sure. But still it’s late and I’ve been travelling all evening and I’m so tired.” He feigns a yawn. “As you can see, I was going to sleep.” What an annoying little shit. He makes his eyes all big and sorry-looking, putting his mouth in a pout like he’s saddened. But you see the quirks of his stupid eyebrows. He has the “bullshit face”. It’s pretty self-explanatory. Whenever he has it on, and he has very little control over it by the way, you know he’s in for some bullshitting. Either it shows when he wants to get away with something he’s done or doesn’t want to admit it out loud, or he’s straight on wanting to mess with you. He has had that stupid face since he was fourteen and he pretended in that one conversation about porn and sexism that he shared the same opinion as you and yes, lesbian porn for male was wrong and disgusting. He didn’t believe a word of it, and this not because he was a big fan of the genre but because he wasn’t a big consumer of porn in general -which you didn’t know at the time. You just knew that he was lying because his face contorted in a way it never did before and that was suspicious as hell.

So here comes the bullshit face and you already know why. You’re in for some torture. Jungkook and his stupid competitive ass. While he doesn’t like competing in 'real' life with other people because he doesn’t like to win over them, he has no problem with you. He loves to make your life harder. He balances it out by being the best friend you've ever had but still, so aggravating.

“Guk, seriously, don’t be mean. I already made the first step the other day!”

“And then you avoided me for a week.” He says, totally unfazed.

“It wasn’t even a week.” You’re the one scowling now. Mumbling through button-shaped lips. “Seriously, I can’t do this...” There’s a flash of alarm blinking for a second on his face as he straightens up in his bed, the cover slipping completely from his torso, exposing all the golden skin peeking from the open shirt.

“Do what?”

“‘Convince you’. I can’t- like- seduce you or whatever.” You grumble like an upset kid and that’s pretty much what you feel like. It’s like your favourite toy, the one you’ve been wanting for many Christmas is just right here, within reach, but you won’t have it because you’re required to resolve an impossible math problem or something. It’s too hard. You already feel yourself burning from embarrassment, your heart is thumping in your temple and you just decide to give up, taking a few tentative steps backward, hand already reaching out for the handle when Jungkook jumps off of his bed to grab it. Standing so tall and broad, hovering you, his warm hand holding yours and the breeze of his perfume hitting your nostrils, you’re taken by a rush of excitation. It’s crazy what the context does to perception. He stood that way in front of you so many times but never have you felt so small, never have you found him so big and attractive because of it and that scent, you’ve smelled basically all your life -a soft flowery carress-, never made your head spin that way.

“Don’t leave!” His voice is a bit loud, almost desperate and the thought that he might be makes you smile internally. “Lemme help you.” He demands so gently, with the stars in his eyes as fervent supporters to his cause, there’s no way you’d say no. He could ask you anything when he’s looking and talking to you like that, with his warm hand now pressed to your neck, thumb caressing your cheek.

You nod your head once and he kisses you. As softly as he is, your hands clutch at his shirt way too intensely to match. He’s so gentle like you’re a tiny little thing he’s dreading at the idea to scare away. So different from the kisses you remember him giving you the other night. It’s lovely anyway. Tender as can be. Delicate and kind and when he pulls back to look into your eyes again, your heart warms up with all the love and adoration you have for this man. He really is your best friend, the most important person in your life that you had chosen and he makes you so happy.

“Is it okay?” He whispers so sweetly you want to wrap your arms around his neck and suffocate him with love. You nod again this time more dismissively because a scent in his breath has just interpellated you.

“Have you been drinking?”

He smiles cheekily, dipping his head down in guilt. “I had a shot or two.” You relish in the shameful tremble of his confession.

There’s this complimentary thing about you two. One would often compensate for the other's lacking. It’s never been conscious or anything but it’s always been there. You see the way he gulps visibly, you recognize the tiny blush of his cheeks sauntering to his ears, you know why he had those shots, and you feel the rush of confidence run through your veins because he is so nervous, you can see it now. Therefore, you have to tease. It’s only fair.

“You were not this nervous by text, were you?”

“Stop saying that, I’m not nervous!” He exclaims with passion but you both know he’s lying and it makes you laugh right in his face, uncaring of his pinching your cheek to make you stop. He’s just too cute and dumb.

“Keep that up and I really won’t be nice to you.”

Even if the grin remains on your face, you shudder from head to toes. His tone has dropped to a lower purr, his gaze is dark with a gravity that wasn’t there before. That's funny because it really feels like a deja-vu. Last time unrolled so similarly and you know what is supposed to happen now.

“You always say that.” He doesn’t say anything, keeps staring, engaging in an eye staring contest, daring you to not drop your own. “You threaten me but you never act on it.” You say quietly. You don’t know what comes over you, probably just the heat of the moment, but you regret almost instantly to be so reckless. You don’t want him to be merciless with you. You had a taste of him being fairly nice the other night and almost died. You’re terrified of him being mean. But here you are tempting him into doing just that.

Perhaps he, who knows you the best, reads you again like a book he’s written himself and he settles for being soft and lenient with you. He leans in to smash his lips to yours, now wet and demanding, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth before you even get to close your eyes. His hands holding your head firmly, his hips leaning forward making his thighs dig into you, his tongue greets for the briefest of moment your own, sending a direct message to your centre which you can feel clench around nothing. But before you can gather back your thoughts and try and meet him and work his mouth too instead of just letting him devour you, he’s let you go. All grip on you, any proximity allowing you to feel his warmth are gone. He’s so far the only thing that's still been linking you, the thin strip of saliva joining your mouths, snaps. You’re cold outside yet burning inside, heart erratically pumping in your chest, feeling dumb and confused and abused and revolted, because why would he already stop? Especially to step back and look at you like he’s decided he now wanted to be mean.

“I’ve helped you enough. Now it’s on you.” You gawk in silence, watching mindlessly as he proceeds on making his bed, laying the cover flat so he could hop back down on it.

“What does that mean?”

“Make me feel good. Remind me why I’m letting you have me when you’re being such a bitch.” You gasp at the choice of word. He’s never used it in front of you, not even in a joking manner -or maybe once or twice but he was talking about his roommate who happens to be one at times. Your astonishment is met with the greatest smirk. He’s having so much fun because he’s got the upper hand again. “Treat me better and I’ll be good to you when it’s your turn.”

And this is one of those moments you'd encountered so many times since you were a little girl. This instance where two options would be presented to you and you had to make a choice. An important one. One that you decided would define you and therefore, it needed to be the right one. Either you choose the easiest option, indulge in your fear of the unknown, turn into a coward, denying yourself what you really want because you’re scared. Or you carry your virtual balls, decide that even if you might fail, you will follow this terrifying path out of your comfort zone because you want the future you to be proud and thankful for you. Most of these times, you did not only think about you but also about the little boy with the bunny teeth and fluffy hair and big and soft wondering eyes which were always watching you, you couldn’t permit yourself to bend and plead because you wanted to inspire him to be strong and adventurous.

The boy's right there. Not so little anymore. Not needing any push nor any light to follow. But eyes still as big and soft, looking at you so expectantly, you recall those would never hurt you. You can face the shame. You can even face the embarrassment of not knowing what to do or try and end up doing wrong because it’s just Jungkook. He’d smile to heal your bruised ego and guide you gently the way he did before.

You step forward, carefully, as if he’s become the fragile being ready to fly away now. It's silly. The precaution is for you more than for him. Legs twitching slightly, eyes set on your every move, lips now hanging open as if he’s struggling to breathe, he doesn’t look whatsoever wanting to back away. He’s waiting for you. You slip your feet out of your shoes in a swift motion, before kneeling on the bed, one hand setting on his knee. You see his Adam's apple jump up and down and you wonder if he doesn’t wish he had downed more than two shots. He keeps switching from a nervous wreck to a hot “alpha” dude and you don’t understand how you're supposed to deal with that.

When you look down, pondering over your next move, you notice the blue shorts he has on. You know them for you’ve seen him wearing them multiple times before. They’re meant to be rather loose. At least you thought they were. But as you gawp at them, you’re struck by how tight they look on his legs. They end way higher than they should because of his position, his thighs filling them up to the point of straining -if he keeps them for too long you’re sure he’ll have a thin indent along his skin. His thighs look so meaty and the part just before his knees, lacking fat rendering his monstrous muscles enhanced. You press your own legs on reflex. You had no idea a man's legs could be so attractive.

The glorious view finishes to urge you on. Trailing forward, your hands set on the object of your new obsession, fingers loving the warmth of his skin and dipping in the flesh. He feels wonderful under your touch.

Would he let you bite them a bit? Maybe if you ask nicely, he will. You shake the thought off. It’s not the plan right now. You don’t even know if he’d like that and you’re supposed to please him.

You raise yourself from the bed, keeping your balance thanks to the grip you have on his thighs and get even closer to take a seat on the left one. Jungkook looks so handsome from up close. You’re met with his soft skin and pretty shades. There’s the rather deep scar he got on his cheek one of those times when you were fourteen and you were practising riding your bikes on the low stairs in front of the subway station. You remember how scary it was to have to entangle him from his fucked up bike with half of his face pissing blood. Terrifying. But it left him with this eternal scar, charming along with his boyish features, and memory of a not-so-pleasing moment but precious friendship. You love it even more because he lies each time he's asked about it, telling crazy stories that'd never happened, while sporting a cheeky smile only you understand. And there are his beauty marks scattered here and there like they’re playing a game of hide-and-seek. You find your favourite one hiding under his bottom lip, lean in to place a kiss on it.

When you back away his eyes are shut, his face so relaxed, he looks so peaceful and happy with this tiny curve of his pink lips -lips that you notice are smeared with a faint dark red you know to be the lipstick you're wearing-, you want to squeal from how grateful you are to have him like that.

Jungkook scrapes his throat when he opens his eyes again, shifting a bit under you as if to get more comfortable and you’re reminded that he’s waiting. He’s been waiting patiently and your clit from down here pulses as to remind you that you also need something.

So you start moving. Hands pressed to his shoulders, loving how sturdy and big he feels under you, you grind languidly along his thigh. You feel it building already. You've lost the manner, the way to do this for it to be nice, but it's so hot: he is, his breath on your lips is, the room, everything is. Soon the intense gaze you’re sharing with him is broken as his head falls backward, all teeth out from how amused he is. You don’t stop moving, no matter how confusing his reaction is, because the contact on your clit feels incredible. It shoots a succesion of electric shocks through you, blanking your mind momentarily each time, there’s no way you’re stopping because he wants to make fun of you again. 

“So I tell you to please me and that’s what you come up with?” He asks once his fit of chuckles have quiet down. 

Breathlessly, you counter, “You said you liked that.” You’re not offended about his change of mood. You couldn’t care less. Not when you’ve figured out exactly how to move your hips to treat your cunt, when the motion has come so easy to perform you can now speed up comfortably. 

“I do but when you’re done, you’ll have to try harder than that.” You nod, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed. He takes hold of your hips. He’s not guiding, just letting his hands there as to feel you, encourage you. “For now, just make yourself come, babe.” Your eyes open again on his, the latter having a lot to say. You read them outright. He wonders if it’s ok to call you that. He apologizes every time he does it by accident so it feels a bit weird, unfamiliar. But the pet name, for some reasons you don’t care to elucidate, renders you all putty and giddy. He can probably feel it in the way you melt even more in his embrace, looking up at him with large eager eyes. 

“I promise I’ll do better after.” It slips out of your mouth straight from your hazy heart and Jungkook catches it with eagerness. You sound so tiny and lenient. Almost pitiful. 

“You’re doing great, baby.” He assures you right away, kissing your jaw with way more tongue than lips. “You’re so sexy.” You moan over him, from the pleasure building, the wetness on your skin, the praise, the name. Your fingers slip under the open folds of his shirt, too lazy and incompetent to unfasten the buttons, but so eager to grant your eyes with the glorious vision of his thick chest, they drag the tissue down as much as it’d go, not caring the least about how the stretch might hurt the skin around his neck. “Are you close?”

“Yes.” You moan in his ear. His hands on your covered hips glide along your thighs to sneak under the skirt of your dress and grab the flesh the find there. 

“You know one thing that I would really like you doing for me?” His voice, texture of honey, meets the crook of your neck and coats your heart in a thick, warmth layer.

“Tell me.” You pant in his face without an once of embarrassment left. You’re rutting like a horny bitch on his thigh, begging him to tell you how you could please him. How he brought you there, how he is doing all this is beyond your comprehension but you're loving every aspects of it.

“I'd really like you to cover my cock with the pretty lipstick you have on.”

Your lips press against one another. May Eun be blessed.

“I’d love that.” His tongue is at your collarbone for a devilishly short instant. “'Will show me how desperate you are for it.”

“Ok, I will.” He smiles to you, from his bunny smile to his glittering eyes. “Can you kiss me? Like ear-earlier?” His mouth is on yours before you get the question fully out. You moan into him, finding out this is the tiny push you needed. As he licks and sucks, his fingers digging deeper in your thighs, you get off both from the friction and his kiss. You’re almost there. You can feel the heat spreading. You sneak one of your hand down his chest to his crotch to get a grasp of his cock. It’s so hard and so hot under your palm. So hot and wet in your mouth. And you are coming undone, hips snapping on his leg, eyes shut and lips open only to leave out a small, broken whine. The pressure against your clit feels a bit too intense, a bit raw and makes you jerk and wince, until Jungkook wraps his arms around you and welcomes you into his chest, kissing the top of your head while whispering something you don’t really catch through the ringing in your ear.

It’s decided. If he’s ok with it you’ll come back to his bed for all your sexual needs. Rubbing yourself on a pillow never felt that good and he hasn’t done much to you, just being there and turning you on in a way that shouldn't be allowed. When you withdraw from his lap, you’re cringing visibly from the sensitivity, movements slow and careful, face contorted. Jungkook is watching you with undisguised enjoyement, a grin biting on his lower lip. 

“So I gather you like thigh riding too, now?” You shrug, red in the cheeks, avoiding his gaze. He doesn’t comment further. He just sits there, the tips of his fingers grazing mindlessly the thigh you just rode. The other set of fingers toying with the hem of his dishevelled shirt. You watch him from under your lashes, not ready to meet his eyes just yet, resulting in you having to face the prominent bulge of his crotch. The moment lasts for an eternity. All you can think about is why he won’t give it to you already. “If there’s something that you want, you should know how to ask for it.”

Aggravation is heavy on your temples. You take the time to think about it and quite frankly you don’t have it in you to start arguing for something you both know that you both want. You’re not that petty. He can have his stupid win if he wants. 

“Strip already so I can- suckyouoff.” How is it so difficult to say out loud? You’ve never thought yourself to be that prude but here you are, having to say the words, and you realize you’re so unfamiliar with them if not for the erotic novels you used to read back in high school. While he, on the other hand, says all those obscenities with such perfect phlegm.

His slender fingers raise to his shirt, toying with the first button and after an excruciatingly long time which tastes of pure torture, they unfasten it. They aim for the next one but just stop there. You’re boiling, shaking, this close to jump on him and rip it off already. Decency and, to a bigger extent, pride keep you from doing so. He would like this too much.

“That won’t do, ___.” You can't help the long sigh that escapes you.

“Remember what I said? Convince me.” He says again, stressing the syllables as to make sure you get them right this time. He's pushing you so far. Too far. You don't get why he would challenge you this much. He was gentler the other night, more complaisant. Maybe it turns him on. Maybe he's not a total dick and actually likes to be worshipped rather than simply enjoying your misery. You do want to please him. Therefore, with a trembling voice, breath shorten by timidity, you pronounce aloud the words you mean but hurt to admit.

“Can I please have your cock?” Those are the magic words. In a blink of the eyes, his shirt is thrown away, one of his hand sets on his crotch, massaging it softly while the other reach for you, open palm welcoming you forward. You fit yours in it, Jungkook presses the inside of your fingers to his mouth before he drags you to him. Once you've kneeled in between his opened legs, your hand slip from his. You look up, gnawing on your lip. “Can you like- guide me through it?”

“You've never given head before?”

“I did but- I don't know. I want it to be good.” He smiles wide. That big, big grin that shows off both his up and down lines of teeth, with his dumb nose all scrunched up.

He nods, observing you quietly. And you reach for the waistband of his shorts. You mean to just drag it down to his thighs but he takes upon himself to strip completely out of it. You have no idea how he does that, standing fully naked there, in front of you -who's still fully clothed, by the way. You're not complaining; when he's looking this good, it makes it rather understandable. He looks perfect. Perfect but not in a linear, boring way. In a shockingly stunning way.

You've never had the full experience. You had the massive thighs, the broad shoulders and lean chest, his pretty face and opulent fluffy hair on top of it. But all put together, he's a deadly piece of art. Hypnotizing. Shaped like an Adonis. He looks so handsome. Gorgeous.

And of fucking course, as any piece of art, not a detail is left neglected. He's this remarkable to his very sex.

It's so fucking ridiculous. And unfair.

Quick before letting yourself the time to look at it for too long and get intimidated, you wrap your hand around it. Fairly long and lean, fair with a blushy tip. So soft and warm and hard in your hand. Such a pretty cock. The thought plagues your mind but you're smart enough to not say it aloud. It's one of the weirdest thought you've ever had, you realize.

It's true though. So true. So pretty it just pulls you in.

You kiss the head a few times, slowly, before you slide to the length. Walking your way up with your tongue, you hear him hiss aloud, see his abs contracting in spasms.

The tip of his cock is so tender. Flushed, silky and soaked, tasting and feeling so nice on your tongue, on your lips. Your eyes meet his. You're just curious to see how sweet his face looks when he's letting out all those tiny whimpers. You see him grimace, frown before he closes his eyes shut and throw his head back, blocking entirely the view you're giving him and you're wondering if you're doing this right. He's not giving you any guidance like he said he would. He's not that loud, quite quiet even, if you consider how talkative he was the other night. He's not bucking his hips uncontrollably in your wet heat like you remember your ex, Taehyung, used to do.

As you suckle on the head, dipping the tip of your tongue in the slit, your left hand holding him firmly upward while the right one, curiously tests its way down, caressing his balls. There's a switch hidden there apparently. Each time the tip of your fingers dip there, he leaves out a languid groan.

“You're not telling me what to do.” You complain between two deep inhale, raising up. Your lips feel hot, tingly, and you imagine them swollen and red. You imagine it's the reason why he's staring at them the way he is.

“I don't need to tell you anything. You're- You're doing perfect.” It makes you roll your eyes. His voice is tensed, his words stuttered but he might be faking it. He's not even cursing or anything. His hands not gripping your hair. Awfully disappointing. Perfect in your mouth but disappointing around you. Even more so, when he stops you from leaning to work your mouth on him again. “You wanna give me more?” You stare silently, not having a clue of where a yes would take you. “Wanna try to ride me?”

It’s the best sensation you’ve ever felt. Sitting on his chest like it's your throne, having him look up at you with the giant marbles he has for eyes, enchanted and eager. “Should I eat you out first?” You’re soaked. You’ve been feeling yourself drip since you tasted for the first time a drop of his precum, you don’t need to be eaten out. You know what’s to come. You’re about to have him fill you up again. After all this time craving for it, dreaming day and night about it. You wouldn’t want to delay it any longer.

When Jungkook gets busy grabbing a condom from the nightstand, you take the opportunity to throw your dress over your head. You’re not sure why he hasn’t hinted at taking it off yet. His wandering hands have been teasing the skin under it non stop but he’s never tried to actually take it off.  

“Jungkook, why not take my dress off?”

He looks up from the wrapper he’s been struggling with, confusion shining in his eyes. His mouth opens, about ready to answer but he catches sight of your form, naked except for the delicate black lace lingerie you carefully picked. He’s never seen you naked with proper lightening, nor any close to this state of undressing as the last time he’s seen you in a bikini, well, you can't remember but it was probably in late middle school. He seems to like it. It’s the special gaze again. The one of a lover. The ardent one, dark, almost teary as his hands graze up your sides so lightly it leaves a painful scorching along the skin. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thanks.” You mean to hit his chest to chastise his over-exaggerated gravity but you can’t deny his sincerity and your hand simply lands flabbily instead. “Can I keep my, uh, underwear?” He just nods, doesn’t get cocky or mocking, eyes still bathing in your appearance, and a crazy thought occurs. Could it be possible that he sees you the same way you see him?

You don’t like to talk in leagues. It’s ridiculous and pointless and for the most part inaccurate. You know your worth. You’re a good person with a lot to offer, fairly pretty on a good day, with some flaws, of course, but nothing that outrageous, just like most people. But Jungkook is quite, he’s quite phenomenal. Friendship put aside, you can see how much of a surreal deal he is. And physically -even though it doesn't usually matter to you but since it’s about sleeping together for the sake of sex rather than feelings, it kind of does matter here-, he’s beyond anything you have ever seen, in real life or on a screen. He’s something else. Something else from another world. A perfect dream of a perfect sculptor brought to life. And he’s looking at you like he doesn’t know that, like he can’t see that and he believes it’s you the piece of art.

“Sure. You’re- It looks so pretty on you.” His voice has lost some of the heavy tension from before. He's smoothing the tissue under his fingers, studying the quiet intricacies in the pattern.

“Thanks. I just bought it.” His dark orbs snap up.

“For me?” You could lie. You could and he would never know about it but you want to tell him the truth. You nod. Shrugging slightly to pretend casualty. Kindly, he whispers, “Thank you, babe. I love it.”

Maybe it's the timid blush on your cheeks that manages to change his heart. Either way, it’s like he finally thinks you’ve done enough and don’t deserve to be waiting any longer. However, now it’s your turn to delay the action a bit. Placing your hand on his just wrapped firmly around his cock, you prevent him from covering it up just yet. There’s still precum shinning at the slit, and the head looks so sweet, you just need to know if it’d feel as good against your clit as it did on your tongue. It does. It’s soft and sleek, warm, it toys so pleasingly with your button and the visual, the visual is sinful. The cherry on top is the expression you catch on his face when you look up. Jungkook is as mesmerized as you are by the sight.

“I want you now, Guk.” It takes him a good five seconds during which he gauges your gaze. You’re not sure what he meant to find there. Doubt maybe? Disappointment? Probably. Disappointment matching his own for he seems to drag on the moment he separates your two sexes to proceed on slipping the condom on. You feel it too. The almost dread. There’s a vivid image of him jerking himself off against your clit that blinks furiously behind your eyelids. Fuck. It doesn’t help to see him tug at his cock and manipulate it between those beautiful veiny hands of his.

“Up.” You obey forthwith, pushing on your knees to let him place the tip just under you. His free hand push the crotch of your panties to the side, managing to sneak a couple of fingers between your lips. It makes him smile when he sees you unwittingly bucking your hips forward. “You control it all, ok? It’s like for my thigh, you just do what feels good to you, yeah?”

You nod. The rational part of your brain is freaking out but the greedy glutton that is the other side jumps on the occasion. Literally. In one swift motion, you've downed yourself completely on him, taking his cock entirely in, you’re almost positive you can feel him in your womb. It has him gasp loudly, cursing under his breath as his hands fly to your hips to squeeze them meanly. You don’t know if it’s a manifestation of a brusque and unexpected rush of pleasure or if you’ve hurt him as much as you hurt yourself. He should have done it. He’s the one that knows how to get you off. He gives you the power for five seconds and you manage to hurt the both of you with your incompetence and stupid hormones. It's not a good time to give up though. Not when he still has the steamiest kisses for your collarbones. You start rising up slowly this time, it’s decided you’re keeping it slow. It’s easier for you and brings you progressively to a more comfortable fit. Also as you take your time to free every inch and take them back in one by one, you get to feel him graze your walls. It’s a wonderful sensation. Being that filled up. Being on top of this man who’s still holding you like you’re holding his faith between your hands and he’s so willing to know what you’ll decide to do with it.

Lucky for him, you're feeling merciful. It’s hard not to when through the layers of sweat and crimson covering him into your lover, you still catch glimpses of your best friend. The cute little boy, forever the cure to your loneliness and adversities, the one person you would give up your whole life and its aspirations for. Even your family, you care so much about them, love them so dearly but you’re still marked by that time you had to come to the realization that your life was your own and you had to disappoint them by going against what they wanted for you just because it didn’t match your vision. But Jungkook, Jungkook could ask anything from you, anything and you’d give it to him. You’d give up on anything that’s ever meant something to you. Because he is everything. He's all the meaning your life owns. You’re not sure if it’s the right time but it’s there, sitting on his cock, riding him minutely that you feel a rush of utter love and adoration for the one friend that possesses your happiness since you were little. He's so sweet to have never withheld it from you but you know it depends on him. You could cry just meeting his pretty eyes looking back at you with as much fondness as your heart feels.

You’re getting too sappy, it’s ridiculous. You gather it comes from the pace, nice but not high enough to have you two focused entirely on the pleasure. Therefore you proceed to mix it up as much as your body would allow you. Switching the speed, the movements, rotating your hips instead of rising them, going back to jumping on it, just guiding yourself by his reactions, the quiet curses, the kneading of your flesh under his hands, the wincing of his features. He’s so hot. So sexy. You can’t keep your eyes off of him. You don’t even deliberately control your hips anymore. It’s just your body following closely Jungkook's advice. Doing whatever feels good.

“Guk, I’m close.” His eyes which had been closed for the past few minutes from the deep grinding of your hips against his pelvis suddenly shoot open. They’re not soft nor gentle anymore. All dark and intense again.

He grabs your face in his hand, the thumb digging in your left cheek as the rest of his fingers press the other one. Pressing his mouth hard to yours he asks, “Will you come for more?” He's harsh, voice severe as he doesn't speak but growl, sending an electric jolt to your spine. Soon the idea that there might be even more hidden wherever that Jungkook comes from is sending liquid fire to your cunt.

“Yes, yes, I will!” You gasp, blinking a tear down your cheek. He notices it and let his grip on your face to wipe it away. You’re about to come. You’re so fucking close. You can tell the ball of your orgasm has reached its maximum size, it just needs something, one little something to burst and annihilate everything else. “Why?” His hand is back to the side of your face, not rigid like before instead warmly cupping it. Eyes searching for yours, he presses, “Why is that? Baby, tell me please.”

“Cause you’re so goo-uh”

“Me or my cock?” He chuckles against your hair and you wonder how the fuck he has enough brains left to make jokes, when he’s that deep inside of you and must be, has to be, as close as you are.

“B-both” That makes him laugh again, that same mean chortle.

“Yes,” He’s moaning it so languidly. He relishes in the idea. “Shit- come here.” Jungkook presses down on your lower back, you follow leniently, like clay in his hands, laying entirely on top of him. He helps you raise your ass up higher and once you meet the perfect position to take it, he starts thrusting upward hard, slowly but brutally, each time you can hear the loup clap of his hips against your skin, you’re pretty sure it’s going to hurt tomorrow but for now, it feels fabulous.

It’s so rough and it feels like you’ve been going at it forever. The girth is dragging the ring of your hole along with the movement and that stimulation alone is electrifying. You’re almost there.

“Tell me- talk to me,” Desperation is laced closely to his tone now. It fits him so well, you're loving it. “Tell me y-you’ll come back to me for m-more, please.” He’s losing it, you can hear it in his tremble, his cute stutter. And the grunts he’s leaving between each needy word sound animalistic.

“I will, Jungkook.” It comes out before you even get to think the confession over. But as it does, you realize you mean them entirely. “I’ll always come back, you just, ah, you fuck me so well. So fucking good, your big cock always-” A particularly strong thrust, resembling more of a spasm, pushes a new tear down your cheek. “fills me up so good, you- no one has ever-“

“Fuck. No one has ever what?”

“Fucked me this good, shit.” Shockingly enough it’s your own words, filterless, genuine and born from the fabulous heat of this moment, that suffice to push your orgasm to the edge and make it explode and invade your whole being, body and mind. You don’t even take notice when Jungkook ends up coming, blinded and rendered deaf by your own pleasure.

It's when your erratic heart starts to calm down, and your muscles to relax, melting calmly into Jungkook’s body who’s welcoming you so kindly, not complaining about the heat or the weight or the stickiness, you gather he came too.

It’s incredible this sensation. Not that you’re proud of it but being taken over by pleasure so much so to render you selfish and clueless of your every surrounding, even your lover, it’s never happened before. You wonder if that’s not the precise reason why none of your before-Jungkook orgasms can compare.

As you land back safely on his chest, you're only granted a few minutes with his agitated heart beating under your cheek and his comforting warmth before your surroundings reappear to you, obnoxiously reminding themselves to existence. “Oh my god, Jimin!” You whisper yell in a theatrical gasp. It just makes Jungkook laugh. This moron.

“S’fine, he has Eun to discuss it with.” You raise up, fighting the fatigue, just to glare at him. It's the same stupid argument as last time. Except this time, it's so fucking worse. You still don't get how casual he can be about this. “I don’t care. Do you?”

a/n : Phew. That was a big chunk. If you made it this far, i thank you immensely. I’m sorry if the editing is a bit off, i’ve been looking at this piece of work for too long and my head is torturing me so yea, soz. What did you think? Tell me all your thoughts!! There’s still one chapter to go (but i don’t know when it’ll be up - i have other little spooky projects to attend to, i hope you guys don’t mind). ANYWAY. A beautiful week-end to you guys, kisses, love & 🍗🍜. :)

tag list : @lavscenery @busansgloss @batakookie @jwlmnbt @somewhereinthestarss @amanda-deann @feminist-goddess

[sandpumpkin]

The Bounty

It’s been a while! But I have finished another Sandpumpkin thing! it’s a sequel to this piece A Rescue Mission Ft Captain Chomp!! 

Under the cut because I got carried away..it’s a little long.

@one-piece-dumpster-fire​

Crocodile was a very observant man. For the past two week something had been amiss aboard his ship. At first he noticed a few pages missing from his paper, Rapunzel had said he was clumsy and split something on those pages and he apologised profusely. Though when the next few newspapers arrived curiously with pages missing and not the usual number of wanted posters, he was starting to get annoyed. Some of the crew had been on edge about something, tensing every time he walked past. And then there was Hana. Usually dutiful in bringing him his coffee and checking in on him, she was absent and Rapunzel had returned to fetching him the hot beverages. She was also not present at meal times, Bentham was adamant she was just busy sewing and lost track of time: again. 

And most importantly, she didn’t climb into his bed in the middle of the night or join him for late night reading. 

He wasn’t going to let this continue.

The next morning, Crocodile went to retrieve the paper before anyone could sabotage it. Rapunzel was just accepting the paper from the news-coo when Crocodile practically wrenched the paper from the cooks hand. 

“Boss-”

“Bring my coffee to my room.” he ordered sharply, noticing Rapunzel’s eyes were locked on the newspaper and he had paled considerably. Narrowing his eyes, Crocodile turned on his heels and marched back to his office. Sitting comfortably on the sofa, he opened the paper and was greeted with an article titled Pirate Pumpkin Pilferer still at large. His eye twitched as he looked at the accompanying picture and saw two other figures in the background. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes in frustration. 

Miss Halloween….

A soft knock echoed through his cabin as the door was slowly pushed open. Rapunzel crossed the room and set the coffee cup on his end table, he grimaced when his eyes fell upon the article he was reading. So everyone knew… 

“Fetch me Bones, Bentham and Hana. Now.” he ordered. Rapunzel tensed and hurried out of the room quickly. 

-

Hana was sitting in her room stroking the snout of a little bananawani about 50cm long as it chomped down on its breakfast. She smiled brightly at it, it only recently just hatched and she felt a little cruel confining it to her room but she would be in a lot of trouble if anyone found it. A sharp knock on her door made her jump.

“Boss wants you!” Rapunzel shouted through her door,

“Okay! I’ll be right there.” she called back, turning her gaze back to the bananawani “okay Captain Chomp, I’ll be a few moments okay. Be good.” she said quietly. Hurrying out of her room. Though she hadn’t noticed the door wasn’t shut completely. 

Making her way across the deck, she hurried up the stairs to Crocodile’s cabin “what could he want so early?” she hummed, knocking on the door before entering and stopping in her tracks when she saw Bones and Bon were also there. Oh no.  she saw the paper and she tensed and awkwardly stood between them. “Good morning Croco-” she stopped talking when he glanced up at her with an icy cold glare. 

“What is this?” he asked, holding up a wanted poster. 

“A wanted poster..” she answered quickly, suddenly regretting her choice of words.

“Don’t be flippant with me.” he snapped, “and you two.” he added sharply, “Why is it two people I thought would have more common sense allowed this to happen?”

“It’s not their fault!” Hana exclaimed loudly, shuffling under his stern gaze “I- I didn’t tell them..I just asked to borrow them and..they didn’t know..I’m sorry.” 

Crocodile sighed deeply “What exactly did you do?” he asked, seeing how much she would twist the truth.

“We only released an entire family of bananawani into the ocean and told the Celestial dragons that were stupid and greedy fools who are the carbunkles on the backside of humanity. Nothing bad.” Hana rambled quickly, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. Apparently that last part was news to Bones and Bentham who stared at her with open jaws “what?”

Crocodile laughed loudly, Does she really not understand what she's done? 

“I do hope there are no other secrets?” he asked watching the trio sternly, 

“No-” Hana’s word died in her mouth when a flurry of shouting erupted from outside. Following Crocodile outside, Hana peered around his coat. Several of the crew were running away from a small...crocodile.. “Captain Chomp!” she bolted past Crocodile and practically jumped down the flight of stairs, her skirt fluttering around her. The small reptile upon hearing its name, plodded joyfully towards Hana. 

“We didn’t know.” Bentham and Bones said in tandem. Hana fell to her knees to scoop up the small bananawani who nudged her face happily. 

“I guess I didn’t shut the door properly.” she sighed, nuzzling the little gator in return. She tensed as a shadow loomed over her, she was quick to scramble to her feet. Looking from the small gator and gingerly back up to him. 

“What is that?” he asked, his patience fast running thin.

“Captain Chomp..” she replied with a nervous smile “he hatched a few days ago…”

“Why is it on my ship?”

“Because the mama bananawani entrusted the egg to me…” she added, hugging the bananawani tighter.

This woman has no fear. 

“It does not belong on my ship-”

“Please let me keep it!” She half shouted, “He’ll be all alone and-”

“It’s a wild animal.” Crocodile reminded her, as much as he liked these creatures, a ship could not house a bananawani when it got to its full size. Though it did pain him to see her almost in tears at the notion of having to get rid of the animal. “Next island, it goes.” he states flatly.

“But-”

“Not another word on it.” 

“Come on Captain Chomp.” she whispered to the small gator and hurried back to her room. 

Crocodile watched her go, when had he let such a troublemaker on board?

Though a smile tugged at his lips, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of her. 

Practically waging a war with the world government. 

He chuckled to himself as he retired back to his cabin. More bite than meets the eye. Relaxing back onto his sofa he picked up the wanted poster and looked at the bounty and laughed loudly “250 million berri…” he smirked, casting the poster aside to finally savour his morning coffee. “she certainly pissed them off.”

-

The next island wasn’t too far away. Three days at the most. The ship was moored and it was to be a quick stop, drop the bananawani off and carry on. Crocodile frowned deeply when Hana appeared on the deck with a bag over her shoulder and the bananawani in her arms. “Where are you going?” he asked as she took a step on the gangplank. 

“I’m leaving.” she stated firmly, her voice cracked slightly she was visibly upset. “I can’t leave Chompy on his own, he’s still so little.” she explained.

“Zero-chan..” Bentham whispered, nudging him “Is that wise? With her bounty..if the marines get her...she’ll go straight to..Impel Down..” Crocodile watched her walk down onto the beach and imagined what would happen if the marines did find her. “Zero-chan..”

“She wouldn’t last five minutes in there.” he grumbled, sifting into sand appearing before Hana. 

“Croco-chan?”

He scooped her up and carried her back onto the ship “you can keep that pet. But you’re not to leave the ship without me. Ever.”

“Yes..sir..” she smiled and leaned into him nuzzling his coat happily “thank you..I didn’t want to leave.” she admitted. Captain Chomp looked between them and imitated Hana, nuzzling into Crocodile’s fur coat. “You like Croco-chan too?” She chuckled, Chomp opened its mouth and bit down on his coat “NO! Don’t chew Croco-chan’s coat.” she scolded the small gator. Crocodile inhaled slowly, trying not to lose his temple. He set Hana down and grabbed the small gator by the scruff of its neck, prying it from his coat. Dead eyeing the smaller reptile, who wiggled playfully.

“He’s your responsibility.” he reminded, handing the creature back and headed back towards his cabin.

“You’re part of the crew now Captain Chomp.” she smiled brightly, setting the gator down on the deck. Curious at it’s new surroundings, Chomp circled Hana for a moment before waddling off toward Crocodile. Much to the crew's amusement. 

“It must think Zero-chan is its papa.” Bon mused, finding the whole hilarious and wholesome. Crocodile glare silenced the laughing. Crocodile looked down at the little bananawani who opened its mouth and clamped down on the ends of his coat. Hana bolted across the deck and wrestled Chomp off. 

“I’m sorry!”

“It sleeps outside.” he stated sternly, finally retiring back to his cabin. 

-

That night Hana was curled up beside him, where she should be. A light scratching brought them both out of blissful slumber. Crocodile swung his legs out of the warmth of the bed, crossing his room quickly half slamming the door open. Who would dare disturb him. When he saw no one outside his cabin, his eyes fell towards the ground where the bananawani was already trying to wiggle past his legs. 

“Chompy?” Hana’s sleepy voice asked. Sighing deeply, Crocodile picked the small offender up, kicking his door shut and crossed the room. Setting the bananawani on the end of the bed. “He must have been lonely.” she said, moving to cover the reptile with a blanket.

“For tonight, only.” Crocodile told the bananawani firmly, who stretched and wiggled happily under the blanket. Hana smiled softly and retired back to bed herself waiting for Crocodile to get comfortable before she snuggled in close. 

“Goodnight Croco-chan.” she mumbled into his chest. He hummed a response and planted a kiss to her bright orange hair.

“Don’t be bringing any more pets home,” he warned flatly, 

“I promise nothing..” she smiled sleepily, moving from her comfy spot to kiss at his jaw “you’re my favourite reptile though.” she whispered playfully before reclaiming her comfy spot. 

Crocodile chuckled deeply, threading his fingers through her hair “Miss Halloween hmm..there best be some treats to go with your tricks..” he grumbled quietly.

[hyphypmic]

Samatoki/Single Mom

Anon asked: Hi bby can i ask for a samatoki scenario where reader is a single mom and her kid ran away from her to tell samatoki he’s cool thankies uwu

BABE???? YOU AGAIN???? Honey!!!! You shouldn’t have uwu

Also @significant other of Babe, Babe is yours so like... don’t fret WHAAHHA

Samatoki was just walking down the street and was just about to light a cigarette when a kid with big eyes just stopped in front of him.

The cigarette dangled from his lips as he stared at the kid that barely came to his waist. He opened his mouth to tell the kid to move aside in a kind but cool way when the kid opened his mouth first.

“YOU’RE SO COOL!” The little girl squealed and jumped, her pigtails bouncing.

Samatoki stepped back and looked around, wondering where the damn kid came from. The girl grabbed his hands and the yakuza’s heart melted because she reminded him of Nemu as a little girl. “You’re Samatoki-sama Mr. Ha Ko!” She squealed again, the high pitched voice getting even higher with delight. “I see you everywhere!”

Samatoki looked around once more before pulling the kid aside. He crouched down on one knee so he was eye-level with her. “Listen... uh... kid-“ His cheeks coloring a little bit as he overcame his initial shock and was trying to regain his Mr. Ha Ko facade.

It didn’t work.

“I’m Aki!” She squealed and Samatoki’s heart nearly gave out. “I really love you and Mad Trigger Crew and you’re so cool and your wonderful and...” The kid continued to babble about them and how much she found MTC, most especially him, very, very cool.

He supposed the kid didn’t give a shit about the fact that he was a yakuza... then again he was practically treated as an idol anyway... a scary idol, but still an idol. “Aki.” He repeated, his lips quirking upwards. “That’s a cute name.”

The girl suddenly surged forward and wrapped her arms around Samatoki. By the looks of it, she couldn’t be more than six or seven years old. Samatoki didn’t want to hug back, in fear that the mother would think he’s harming the kid, but his hands twitched as he wanted to embrace the girl who showed no fear of his red eyes or normally intimidating gait. The kid nuzzled him and gripped him tighter, tight enough to be sure that he wasn’t even going to stand a chance of removing her from him.

“Your rap is soooooo good! G-Anthem of Y-City is the best song!” She gasped and looked at Samatoki with a red face. “Oh but don’t tell Jyuto-sama and Riou-sama!”

Samatoki smiled and did his best not to laugh. “I won’t.”

She hugged him again. “You’re so cool!!!!!”

Samatoki literally had no idea what to do, but he decided to just glare at whoever passed by and shot down mentally the people who dare take out their phones.

The girl continued babbling about him and it was really pulling on his heartstrings. She was truly, so adorable, with that cute pink dress with skulls on them. She even had little combat boots. She was even talking about how her outfit was inspired by Mad Trigger Crew.

“Where’s your dad?” Samatoki asked and looked around again for a panicked parent. As much as he found her cute, he couldn’t steal her... well he could but that wasn’t the point.

She paused in her babbling. “Don’t have one.”

Samatoki cringed a little inside, sympathy had him pulling the girl a little closer to him. “Where’s your mom then?”

“Coming!” She said with a smile, the dad remark forgotten.

Samatoki doubted that, but decided that the best course of action was to stay put. “Okay-“

He was interrupted again by a string of praise and the never ending words coming out of her mouth.

It took a while, but he finally heard your faint shouts coming closer.

“Aki!!! Aki???? Aki where are you? Aki!!!”

Samatoki looked up and gently peeled the girl away from him (thankfully she had loosened her grasp when she heard your voice) when he heard the little girl’s name repeated over and over. “I think your mother-“ He paused when you stumbled out of the crowd.

He took you in, staring at your flushed face and rumpled clothing. You were sweaty and panting, but you failed to notice who exactly was standing in front of you, as your focus was wholly on Aki.

Samatoki looked back at the girl.

“Aki!” You cried out and pulled her away from Samatoki. “You know better than to run off like that!” You checked your baby girl over, looking if she had any cuts or scrapes or any of the like. “Oh, at least you’re not hurt.” You look up and finally see who she was talking to. You blushed. “Oh my god.” You tried smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress. “Uh... Samatoki-sama.” You bowed a little. “I apologise for-“

Samatoki chuckled. “No. It’s alright.” He smiled softly at Aki. Then he realised what he was doing then coughed. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. It’s alright.” He looked at you again and couldn’t help but think that your daughter got all the cuteness from you. “Cute kid.”

“Thanks.” You replied with a smile, still kind of embarrassed. “Thank you Samatoki-sama.” You paused and stuck out your hand, albeit very awkwardly. “I’m Y/N by the way.”

He shook your hand, and you took note of the strength in his grip. He let go after a while.

“Thanks.” You gripped the handle of your bag nervously. “She could be quite a handful.”

Samatoki shrugged. “The least I could do for a fan.” He swallowed, his collar feeling a tad bit too tight at the moment, even if it was unbuttoned nearly halfway down.

“I should probably repay you.” You cringed. “No not in money, maybe a coffee?” You blushed. “No, that’s, no you don’t need... I mean of course you don’t need that I mean no not really no I don’t think I mean who am I kidding right your Samatoki-sama you don’t need me-“

Samatoki chuckled again, figuring out where the kid got the rambling from. And not exactly knowing what came over him at that moment, he said, “You can repay me by having coffee with me.” He paused. “And just call me Samatoki.”

Yeah, he had no idea what came over him. He has never really told anyone that they could just call him Samatoki. Jyuto and Riou don’t bother because he doesn’t need them to, plus they’re his teammates. Even his female flings address him that way and he doesn’t bother correcting or changing that. You however...

You blushed, at a loss for words.

He felt his pockets, scowling at the apparent lack of whatever he was looking for. He muttered under his breath about something about leaving it at the warehouse.

He then looked at you. “Do you have a marker?”

You blinked and it took a while before you rummaged through your purse to give him one. But he didn’t take it,  he just barred his forearm to you. “Just write your number there.”

You stilled. “Uh.”

Samatoki’s cheeks reddened. “Eh? Hurry up will you?” He managed and looked away.

That had you moving and scribbling your number on his forearm.

When you were done he looked at the number. “I’ll text you.” He said then started walking past you. “See you around.” He then winked at Aki before walking away. You didn’t dare turn around because you didn’t want him to see your gobsmacked face another time.  

You knew it was probably too good to be true, but Aki was smiling at you, and you knew it was real.

“Come on.” You were blushing like crazy, not believing you wrote on Samatoki’s muscled forearm.  “Let’s go.”

The girl giggled and she skipped along as she held your hand.

—

Later in the day, your phone buzzed and you could not believe what the message from an unknown number was.

Does Friday sound okay to you? -S

Your phone buzzed again.

Or you could pick the date that’s fine -S

It buzzed again.

This is your number right? -S

You blushed as you picked the phone up to reply.

[nefarious247]

(I hope I can portray Jeremy’s friends well! Since I don’t totally know what their stories are, it’d be hard to get them totally right, but nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!)

“Hey, J, you coming to the party tonight?” Tess called after Jeremy as he practically bolted out of the classroom.

Jeremy stopped briefly and rubbed the back of his head nervously, “Uh, sorry, Tess, but I don’t think I’ll be there. Talk to you later!”

He rushed out of the room and made his way quickly to the street, where Geoff was waiting in a neon pink Zentoro. It used to irritate Jeremy to no end how his crew only ever went out and about in the flashiest vehicles known to mankind, but lately he found himself caring less and less. People still stared, and he figured they always would. There was over ten thousand students at the Los Santos Area School of the Arts, new people probably saw the crew pick him up or drop him off every day.

“How was class?” Geoff asked, speeding off and turning heads.

“It was great,” Jeremy enthused, “it’s homecoming weekend so a lot of the professors went light on weekend work, by some miracle.”

“You have any plans for the weekend?” Geoff’s moustache twitched.

“Nah, nah,” Jeremy shrugged, “we’ve got crew stuff to do this weekend.”

“Look, Jeremy, I appreciate your commitment to the crew, but you need to actually have a college experience. It’s important, and it’ll make you a well-rounded person,” Geoff chastised him. Jeremy slunk down in his seat and rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Geoff scolded, “don’t you get all bitchy with me. I’m serious.”

Jeremy huffed and pushed himself back up in the seat, but he looked away from Geoff and out over the city as they breezed through it.

“Trevor’s covering you this weekend,” Geoff said suddenly. Jeremy whipped around in his seat.

“No, no, no, Geoff. I said I wasn’t going to let school get in the way of my work,” Jeremy countered. Geoff only held up one heavily-tattooed hand in Jeremy’s face.

“I’m in charge, I call the shots. I’m sure at least one of your friends has something planned, and I know you want to go. We’re not even doing anything with a full crew, just Michael and Gavin and any other single person. Small job,” Geoff rambled, trying to downplay the job as much as possible.

“Yeah, but they need me. I’m their sniper, not Trevor. Does Trevor even know how to use a sniper rifle?” Jeremy argued.

“You really think all those years with Ryan and he’d never learn to use a sniper?” Geoff spat back.

Jeremy shrugged. He supposed Geoff was right: the way Ryan lived, he couldn’t imagine the man’s younger brother had lived much differently, especially if they’d both ended up with the Fakes.

“They’ll be fine without you for one job,” Geoff said finally. Jeremy knew that was the end of it.

—

Jeremy knocked on Tess’s apartment door late on Friday night. He’d had to do a little bit of work with Jack and Ryan, regarding his and Ryan’s latest job, but as soon as he’d finished he rushed over to her building to attend the party. Tess opened the door, her face painted first with surprise and then delight. She threw her arms around Jeremy’s neck and welcomed him in.

Rob and Paula were inside, sipping cheap beers and chatting. They looked up from their drinks and exclaimed welcomes when they saw Jeremy. Tess passed Jeremy a beer and they all sat and drank together. Jeremy tried not to screw up his face at the crude taste of the cheap alcohol. He reminded himself this wasn’t an a-list mob party, but a casual get together of broke college students.

“J, we were about to start up the infamous party game: truth or dare,” Paula said, “you game?”

“I’d be a total pussy if I wasn’t!” He exclaimed, excited to be there with his friends.

Rob started by daring Paula to sneak to the neighbor’s apartment and leave them a mysterious love letter, written by himself. She agreed and left the distasteful letter at the door of the alcoholic lady next door. They heard her stomping around and yelling in the hall about a “disgusting man” who she supposed lived upstairs. This went on for nearly an hour before they started getting more and more daring with their questions and challenges.

“Jeremy,” Paula said, “truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Jeremy chuckled, his cheeks red from all the beer, “I’m not going to do anything you guys have planned!”

“Fine by me!’ Paula laughed back, “I’ve been dying to know: what’s really going on with you and all those rich people? Is one of them your sugar daddy or what?”

“Uh, dare,” Jeremy mumbled.

“No way, J!” Tess exclaimed, hitting Jeremy on the back, “you picked truth and now you need to tell us!”

“God,” Jeremy groaned, “okay. Um… well, they’re uh, they’re actually… all my sugar daddies. Well, I mean, not Jack, she’s like… a sugar mom, I guess?”

Rob nearly choked on his beer, “You’re not serious?”

“Jeremy, no way!” Paula laughed, “Seriously? All of them?”

Jeremy nodded and sipped his beer. He was glad he was tipsy and red-cheeked: hopefully they wouldn’t notice that he was also blushing.

“Okay spill it. How? Why? What… What the heck?” Tess pressed, leaning in close to Jeremy.

“Uh, well, okay,” Jeremy stammered, “I guess… it all started with Gavin and Michael. We met at the bar I used to tend at, Gavin was tipping me all night.”

“What did he look like back then?” Paula interrupted.

“Same as now,” Jeremy explained, “all the gold: rings, bracelets, earrings, eyeshadow, lipstick, shoes… Y’know, everything. Super pompous. He had darker hair then, not that horrible platinum he’s got now though.”

“And, uh, which one’s Michael? Sorry, I don’t actually really know any of their names,” Rob confessed.

“Michael actually hasn’t ever been on campus, so if you’ve met him I’d be surprised,” Jeremy continued, “he’s a sharp guy. Dark skin, beautiful dark hair, terrible attitude.”

“Okay, back to the meat of the story!” Tess insisted.

“Right… So yeah, Gavin was tipping me all night, and we kinda, uh, ended up sleeping together that night. When I got up the next morning, he’d cooked me breakfast. While we were eating, Michael showed up. Turned out we were in Michael’s house all along. I started working with them after that, but for a while it was just Michael and Gavin.”

“Where do you guys work?” Rob asked.

Ah, the dreaded question. Jeremy floundered a little, but he remembered Geoff’s advice from years ago, when he’d first joined the crew.

“Geoff actually owns the Los Santos Private Library, and I work for him there,” he explained. The others believed it without question.

“So you just slept with Gavin once and then he and Michael became your sugar daddies?” Tess asked.

“Well, actually, Gavin doesn’t have money at all!” Jeremy laughed, “he gets all - literally all - his money from Geoff. I mean, he still buys like, everything, for me, but none of it is his money.”

“Is Geoff his sugar daddy?” Paula prodded.

“Uh, no,” Jeremy stammered. It really was kind of odd the relationship the two of them had, almost like a father and son, “they just… I think Geoff doesn’t trust Gavin with money, so he doesn’t pay him regularly. Anyway, Michael just kinda took a liking to me too, and yeah before I knew it they were taking turns having me and fawning over me. It was super weird at first.

“Then somehow I ended up living with Geoff for a while and he just kept buying me stuff - nicer stuff than Michael and Gavin - and then, there I was. Jack and I aren’t, uh, intimate, but I help her a lot with paperwork at the… at the library. Ryan was the last one to kinda scoop me up. I dunno if they all just decided to take me in like that, but they all know and they’re all perfectly willing to share me, and I certainly don’t mind them taking care of everything for me.”

Paula, Tess, and Rob were dumbstruck. They couldn’t believe Jeremy’s luck. Of course, they didn’t know that Jeremy also had a sizeable fortune himself, and they certainly didn’t know he made that fortune by killing and thieving. As far as they were aware, he was a part-time worker at a cheap library whose college was paid for exclusively by his wealthy sex buddies. In any case, he’d finally bared it all for them. He was more comfortable talking about his crew now, though, than he had been even a few weeks ago, when Ryan was modelling in their class.

“And now you just bounce around and get paid up the ass?” Rob asked.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” Jeremy said.

He was glad he’d finally been honest with his friends. It felt good to tell them the truth.

[ezrisdax-archive]

how abt Temperance Ryder/Vetra and the prompt leaving notes for each other? if u wanna ofc pls

(also here on ao3 and if anyone would like to know about Temperance Ryder she’s on my OCs page, the only major thing of note however is she has a hearing disability)

~~

Temperance tapped her fingers against the console, enjoying the vibrations beneath her. Annoying as it was to others it helped her think and she needed a clear head to deal with emails from Tann.

Behind her someone was making a deliberate noise to be heard and she glanced to see that Vetra had entered the common rooms, with a datapad in her hand and was typing on it quicker than Temperance ever could. When Vetra set the pad next to her and winked Temperance blinked in confusion, watching Vetra leave without a word.

She picked up the pad to read the message on it.

Hey,

Liam says that humans used to exchange love notes on something called paper. Even I don’t think I could dig that up given how old it is, though don’t let that spread around, so this is as close as it gets. You look busy but I think tonight we could both use some relaxing so come down to the cargo bay when you get a chance after dinner. Oh and SAM, since you’re technically reading this too, make sure our Pathfinder eats.

Temperance made a face at that, she’d been known to skip a meal when she got engrossed in something so it was a fair enough reminder.

Just so you know, we all appreciate what you do on here. Even if some people in the Nexus don’t like it.

-Vetra

Temperance melted a bit at the last line, smiling goofily at the pad. It was something to help her get through her emails with Tann at least and after that there was dinner and an evening with Vetra to look forward to.

~~

Vetra skimmed through the supply list, making note of things that were low. Liam was asking for more Blast-O cereal and Drack was trying to find a Krogan root that had only recently started growing thanks to the colonist and New Tuchanka working together on it.

Her messages pinged, another note from Sid keeping her up to date on the going ons back in the Nexus. She was so engrossed in it she didn’t even realize Temperance had snuck into the room until she pressed a kiss to Vetra’s crest, right above her visor.

“Hey you.” Vetra tilted her head, looking up at Temperance for once since she was sitting down. “You need something.”

“Just dropping something off.” Temperance told her, “Making the rounds, you know, stopping Suvi from licking rocks, stopping Peebee from stealing Cora’s plants, stopping Kallo from murdering Gil and vice versa…” Temperance let out an overly exasperated sigh, “The usual.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Vetra chuckled, “Can you stay for a bit?”

“I’d love to but I gotta go remnant vault hunting. We’re landing on Havarl again soon, need to get it dusted off and running. Don’t worry,” Temperance grinned, “I’ll take Jaal and Liam with me.” She saluted Vetra jokingly as she walked out backwards, turning at the door and leaving it to shut behind her.

Vetra didn’t even realize Temperance had left a pad on her desk until an hour later when she put the one in her hands down.

“What’s this?” She mumbled to herself, opening it to read.

Do you know how awkward it was to ask Kandros if Turians exchanged love notes or the equivalent? Cause let me tell you, I am not facing him again for another 600 years for both our sakes. I wanted to say thank you for the extra blankets I got on my bed, yes I know that was you and I was too tired before to say it (someone wore me out after all) but I didn’t forget. Okay Lexi might have reminded me but you know I get caught up in stuff. And ramble. Wow if I keep going I’ll find out if datapads have word limits.

The point is I love you. Sooooo, that’s it then. See you seen.

Her mandibles twitched, flaring out only a little and Vetra let her finger trail over the last past again. It wouldn’t matter if there was some kinda accident that caused all over datapads to explode and this one to be the last, she wouldn’t wipe that message clear and give it away for anything.

~~

Her ears hurt, they usually did by the end of the day. Mostly from her rubbing at them through force of habit whenever she was dealing with someone else’s personal problems. She wanted to help as the Pathfinder, she truly did, but words had never been her strong point. It took all her patience not to explode like she tempted to.

Scott would have made a joke about that and her name like he always did and her heart panged slightly at the thought of not even being able to call him to complain.

The Tempest was dark, they had docked and turned off power for only essential things during the night while the crew slept. She, Jaal, and Liam had arrived back late, only Gil had been up and tinkering with something and merely grunted at the sight of them. She had wanted to go straight to her quarters but had promised a Sage on Havarl she’d find his sister and wanted to use the Tempest scans of the planets to try to get a starting location.

Temperance bit back a yawn as she reached her station. Datapads were stacked up next to the console, notes on things she’d have to look at in the morning. Or could look at now.  

She sighed, “SAM can you connect to the Tempest database to get me those scans to look at tomorrow?”

“Of course Pathfinder.” Came SAM’s easy answer.

She picked up the first datapad, one from Cora about the Asari Ark. That would also have to be dealt with and with any luck Temperance would have another Pathfinder to stand by her as well as the majority of the Asari back on the Nexus. If they were all still alive. The next datapad was from Suvi on mineral deposits, and the pile went on and on until she found one from Vetra.

You’re not going to get this until you guys get in and I hope everything went all right on Havarl, but I thought I’d leave you this little reminder:

Come to bed Ryder, work can wait until you get some sleep. I found more blankets if that’s enticing.

Love you too,

Vetra

Temperance set the pad down with a smile and stood with a stretch, leaving the empty command centre to her quarters. Vetra was right, things could wait, and more blankets coupled with the promise of Vetra was something she just couldn’t say no to.