#and I would exchange my life if that means she would’ve lived a better life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thewintersoldierdisaster · 10 days ago

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a/n: happy january! for @wyattjohnston ‘s 2025 winter fic exchange i got @tkwrites and this was my first exposure to sean durzi! i hope you enjoy the fic and the vibes are suitably cozy 🥰

word count: 5.5k

tw: friends to lovers, kissing, no smut

summary: lizzie arnold decides to surprise her best friend for christmas, but she could never have imagined how the holiday season would shake out

Elizabeth Arnold is having the travel day from hell.

A flight from Phoenix to Salt Lake City should only be an hour and forty five minutes. But when you add in mechanical failure, overbooking, and icy weather in the destination state, suddenly the quick trip turns into a logistical nightmare and she’s being rebooked on a flight that has a stopover in Los Angeles, adding nearly four hours to her travel itinerary.

Four hours on top of the three she’s already been wasting sitting in the Phoenix airport due to delays.

Honestly, it would’ve been faster to just drive to Salt Lake City at this point.

She pulls up Google Maps on her phone and taps in Sean’s address, just to see. Oh, more than ten hours of driving from the Phoenix airport. Actually, maybe she will just take the flight delays. At least it means she can just sit back and go where the airlines tell her, instead of having to focus on the roads.

She can’t even text Sean to tell him about all the airport bingo spaces she’s hitting - delayed flight, toddler throwing a tantrum in the middle of the terminal, fourteen freaking dollar bag of almonds, woman completely overdressed for the flight - since her trip to Utah is a surprise.

With her two week Christmas break, she’d made the executive decision to work remote for the couple of days before Christmas and fly out to Utah to surprise her best friend since he’s been in a mood for months as he rehabs a shoulder injury.

Lizzie figures that she might as well spend the holidays with Sean since her own family is scattered to the four corners of the US and she doesn’t feel like deciding which parent she’ll see. When she’d told her mom she wouldn’t be coming to Boston for Christmas, her mom’s immediate reaction had been to blame her dad for monopolizing her time. Not that explaining she wasn’t seeing her dad in Dallas for Christmas either had stopped her mom’s rant. Nearly ten years divorced and both her parents still hated each other.

Her dad had taken it slightly better, assuming she was going to spend the holidays with her sister Jane in Seattle. Nope - Jane was going to her fiancé’s family’s place in the Adirondacks. Lizzie hadn’t been invited. Which was fine. No, really it’s fine. Lizzie doesn’t want to spend the holidays with her bossy older sister anyway.

It might’ve been nice to be wanted though. Not that Lizzie will admit that.

Her younger sister, Cath, is somewhere in Los Angeles trying to make it as an actress. She’s not entirely successful since she hits up Lizzie for money every few months, but Lizzie did spot her in an episode of FBI: Most Wanted, as a bystander running from an exploded building, so she supposes that’s a start.

Needless to say, spending any sort of holiday time with her family is a non-starter.

And something about the life she’s living in Phoenix isn’t making her happy any more, so she’s more than happy to pack up and spend some time in Utah with Sean. He can’t really do anything physical that would set his shoulder rehab back, but maybe she can convince him to come along to the slopes anyway and sit in front of a fire while she skis.

Her flight is announced and she hefts her carry-on to her shoulder and treks down a few gates to stand in line and scan her boarding pass. It’s a packed flight and of course she’s wedged into a middle seat, fighting for elbow room. Closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths - she hates meditating and has never been good at it - Lizzie clamps her AirPod Maxes over her ears and tunes out everything around her until the plane lands at LAX.

Where she’s greeted by another flight delay because of bad weather in Salt Lake City.

Honestly, fuck Gary Bettman and Alex Meruelo. Life had been much easier when the Coyotes and Sean were in her neighborhood and not a nightmare travel day away.

When she finally lands in Utah, Lizzie nearly sprints off the plane and books it for the Enterprise kiosk so she can pick up her rental car. They upsell her on a Chevy Tahoe that’s probably way too big for her to drive, but has excellent capabilities for snow driving, per Andy at the desk, so Lizzie figures better safe than sorry. As a Maryland native, she’s no stranger to driving in snow, but it’s also been a good eight years since she had to do it regularly.

Last year, when she visited her mom and stepdad in Boston, Mitch had insisted on driving everywhere, even though Lizzie was twenty-five and more than capable of navigating her mother’s Hyundai through the streets.

When she emerges from the airport, the Tahoe’s keys jangling in her gloved hand, Lizzie gasps at the sudden hit of cold air. It’s crisp and clean and it hurts her face in the best possible way.

Phoenix is great, but there’s nothing like the cold weather to get her in the mood for Christmas.

She wrangles her two (overstuffed) suitcases and carry-on into the Tahoe and plugs Sean’s address into the built-in GPS. He lives just fifteen minutes from the airport, but since it’s still actively snowing, Lizzie is barely going thirty miles an hour and it takes her thirty minutes to get to his house.

“Oh thank god,” she mutters, spotting his car in the driveway. It occurred to her about ten minutes into the drive that he might not actually be home. It’s nearly nine thirty at night, so odds were good that he’d be home but wouldn’t that just have been the cherry on top of her day? Having to sit in Sean’s driveway in her rented car because he was out of the house.

As she pulls her car in behind his, Lizzie sees the curtain in the front window shift and a smile stretches across her face, excitement bubbling in her stomach. She hasn’t seen Sean since the Utah home opener in October - there was no way she was missing that piece of both NHL history and Sean Durzi personal history - and she’s missed him a lot.

Lizzie leaves the luggage behind and makes her way carefully through the snow covering the walkway to the front door. Sean already has it open and he’s backlit in the doorway, but Lizzie can see the confused expression on his face.

“Surprise!” She squeals, giving him excited jazz hands. “I’m imposing myself upon you and staying through the New Year.”

It takes a minute to click, Lizzie’s pronouncement, but when it does, Sean shakes his head and laughs, stepping back so she can come inside. “You’re so lucky I decided not to go out tonight,” he grins, opening his arms for a hug. Lizzie steps into his embrace, puffer coat and all, squeezing him around the middle. Sean’s chin comes down to rest on top of her head and something that was missing clicks into place.

“I legit just had that same thought as I drove up,” Lizzie laughs, shedding her coat, hat, and gloves. She kicks her boots off and lets them fall in a pile next to Sean’s sneakers at the front door. “But then I figured that you’re a giant loser so where else would you be except at home.”

She smirks at him and Sean pushes at her shoulder, deadpanning a laugh. “Ha,” he snarks. “Why are you getting unbundled? I’m not getting your shit from the car. I’m injured, in case you forgot.”

“Okay, bullshit,” Lizzie shoots back, even as she pulls her boots back on. “You’re in the actively rehabbing stage and are more than capable of lifting my suitcases.”

Sean hands Lizzie her hat. “Are they under forty-five pounds? Because I have limitations,” he says the last word like it’s a four-letter one, nose wrinkling up in disgust.

Lizzie’s mouth snaps shut on her response. Because no, her bags aren’t under forty-five pounds and in fact both of them have bright orange tags with the bold black HEAVY lettering. In her defense, winter clothes take up a lot more space than summer clothes. Boots, sweaters, jeans - all heavier than shorts and tank tops.

“That’s what I thought,” Sean laughs. To his credit, he shoves his feet into his sneakers and follows Lizzie out to the car, whistling when he sees the Tahoe. “Did you not have to tell the rental people how you nearly had your license revoked with all the points you racked up?”

He hoists Lizzie’s carry-on out of the trunk and over his good shoulder, leaving her to handle the two roller suitcases. She can’t blame him, not when he’s just following his rehab plan.

“They don’t ask about past infractions,” she informs him huffily, dragging her bags through the snow. “How aren’t you cold?”

Sean’s shoulder lifts in a shrug under his sweatshirt. “I’m used to it I guess? It’s not even that cold right now,” he stomps the snow off his sneakers before heading back inside and Lizzie does the same.

Once everything is inside and the door is shut behind them, Lizzie exhales roughly, finally feeling like she can relax. Her shoulders slump and she feels her spine curl as she slouches, one hip popped to the side. Her mother is somewhere in Boston, cringing because she can feel Lizzie’s terrible posture from a country away.

“Well, I’m not,” she shivers, the residual cold making its way through her body. Sean rolls his eyes at her and reaches out to roughly rub his hands up and down her arms, making her laugh more than it warms her up.

Through laughter, Lizzie manages to say, “that’s not working! I’m still freezing.”

“Yeah, but you’re laughing and not pouting about it,” Sean points out with a grin. He gives Lizzie’s arms one more up and down rub before letting his hands drop to his sides. “I hope you packed warm because it’s literally only going to get colder.”

“Whatever I forgot,” Lizzie smirks, “I’ll steal from your closet, Seanie.” She wanders off into the kitchen and makes herself comfortable, finding a glass and pouring herself some water. Sean trails after her and takes a seat at the kitchen island, propping his chin on his palm. He stares at her and she wrinkles her nose at him.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Lizzie swipes her hand over her cheeks, feeling nothing.

Sean shakes his head. “Nah, sorry. Just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re here,” he shrugs, the corner of his mouth ticking up slightly. “It’ll be nice to have someone else ratting around the house with me.”

“I don’t rattle,” Lizzie leans her forearms on the counter, “I’m young and vibrant and not depressed, like someone else I know.”

“I’m not depressed,” Sean counters quickly. Too quickly. His mouth tries for a convincing smile, but ends up in a grimace. Lizzie winces.

“That’s not convincing at all,” she deadpans. “We’re gonna work on that while I’m here.”

Sean raises an eyebrow and Lizzie lets her face morph into a bright smile, forcing it bigger and more exaggerated until he cracks, laughing at her with a genuine smile on his face. “C’mon,” he slips off the stool and makes a ‘come here’ gesture with his hand, “let’s get you some dinner. I bet you haven’t eaten in a minute.”

Lizzie’s stomach rumbles before she can answer and Sean smirks at the embarrassed, sheepish look on her face. “Knew it!” He crows, pulling open the fridge and rummaging around. Lizzie keeps up a string of chatter, filling him in on the things he’s missed back in Phoenix, until Sean deposits a Scooby Doo sandwich in front of her, icy glass of water dripping with condensation.

“I can’t eat all of this,” Lizzie says, picking up the hulking sandwich as she protests. A tomato slips out and lands on the plate with a wet plop. Sean snags it and pops it in his mouth, chewing quietly.

“I’ll finish what you don’t eat,” he rolls his eyes at her. Lizzie should’ve known that since Sean’s been her leftovers garbage disposal since the day they met.

She manages half of the sandwich before a yawn cracks at her jaw and the adrenaline of her trip wears off. Lizzie tucks one leg up underneath her and watches Sean polish off the sandwich. She’s always been a little bit in awe of how he can eat at any time of day and keep going. Her late night dinner is sitting in her stomach and making her sleepy.

“Guest room’s clean,” Sean ushers her upstairs with one hand between her shoulder blades. “Get some sleep and we can discuss your itinerary tomorrow.”

“I don’t have an itinerary,” Lizzie protests half heartedly, stumbling over her feet so Sean has to catch her around the waist and steady her. His hand is warm through the thin fabric of her shirt and she shivers a little. His fingers flex on her waist.

“Bullshit,” Sean laughs, pushing open the guest bedroom door for her. “You definitely have an itinerary. And lucky you, once I’m done with PT for the day, I usually have no plans.”

Lizzie ignores the bitterness lacing his tone - she’ll have to cheer that right out of him. The injury had taken a toll on Sean’s attitude, knowing that he was missing the first season they’d ever play in Utah. Besides that, Sean’s never been one to sit still.

“I will neither confirm nor deny the existence of an itinerary,” Lizzie replies, faux-haughtily. “Besides, I’m visiting you so you really should be the one to entertain me.”

Sean leans against the doorframe, looking slouchy and comfortable. “Liz, I didn’t know you were coming. If you want plans, you gotta give me some notice,” he kicks a foot in her direction, lazy.

“Consider this your notice,” Lizzie kicks back, making brief contact with his socked foot. “I want to be entertained.”

“We’ll see,” Sean pushes her shoulder gently. “Get some rest, Liz. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Sleep comes quickly and morning comes even quicker. Lizzie tumbles out of Sean’s guest bed in a cloud of bed head and jaw cracking yawns to find him bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the kitchen counter. He’s fully dressed in jeans and a sweater and Lizzie’s heart does a funny little twist while she watches him make eggs at the stove.

He’s humming to himself and Lizzie doesn’t recognize the song, but she wraps her arms around her stomach and listens quietly, the warm feeling of home washing over her. It’s peaceful until Sean turns and spots her, yelping and dropping the egg covered spatula to the floor, clearly startled.

Lizzie shrieks in an automatic response and Sean nearly nails her in the head with the salt shaker he’s reflexively picked up from the counter and drawn back.

“It’s me!” Lizzie rushes to say, heart beating wildly. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“Fuck, Liz,” Sean growls, setting the salt shaker back down with a loud clatter. “I think you just took five years off my life. Why were you sneaking around?”

He bends to pick up the spatula and toss it into the sink. Lizzie huffs a breath, “I wasn’t sneaking! I just…was quiet.”

Sean grabs a new spatula and shakes it in Lizzie’s direction, an amused scowl on his face. “You need a bell on your neck,” he teases. “Coffee’s ready to go, just hit the button.”

Lizzie makes an appreciative noise in the back of her throat and jabs at the start button on Sean’s fancy espresso machine, doing a little happy shimmy when the coffee starts brewing. “Did you already do PT today?” She asks, leaning on the counter and picking at the bowl of fruit Sean has out.

“Mhm,” Sean plates up eggs and bacon for both of them. “Bright and fucking early so I have plenty of time in my day to think about all the non-hockey things I get to do.”

“Well,” Lizzie waves her fork in the air, bits of egg falling to the counter, “I’m here to entertain and we all know how terrible of an ice skater I am, so non-hockey things are my specialty.”

Sean manages a faint smile and Lizzie nudges his thigh with her foot. “Seriously,” she continues, “I’m not going to stop until you’re in a better mood. And I’m stubborn as fuck.”

“Yeah, you really are,” he agrees easily. “But okay, we’ll do whatever you want to do. I won’t even complain, well, that much anyway.”

“It’s all I ask,” Lizzie replies with a beatific smile and a sarcastic flutter of her eyelashes.

After breakfast, Sean decides he wants to get in another workout and Lizzie takes the opportunity to get a few hours of work in. She’s knee deep in an Excel spreadsheet when Sean deposits another Scooby-Doo-esque sandwich in front of her, lettuce and tomato hanging out of the bread, cold cuts and cheese stacked cartoonishly high. A small pile of chips are on the plate next to it and he sets a fresh can of Cherry Coke down too. She tries not to think about the warmth that spreads in her chest when she remembers that Sean doesn’t drink Cherry Coke. She has an addiction though and for Sean to have the drink in his fridge means he stopped this morning to pick up a case.

“Thanks,” she beams up at him, chest feeling a little gooey. “My blood sugar was a little low.”

“I know,” Sean laughs, snagging a chip and crunching on it loudly. “I could hear you starting to mutter to yourself and you only do that when you’re getting hangry.”

Lizzie wrinkles her nose at him, but can’t dispute the fact. She shrugs and picks at the corner of the sandwich, pinching off a small bite. There’s chipotle mayo on the bread and she spots a pickle as it slides onto the plate. It’s a perfect sandwich, made exactly to her liking.

And Sean’s probably made her dozens of sandwiches over the course of their friendship, so she doesn’t know why this one is making her heart flutter.

“Eat up, Lizzie,” Sean takes a bite out of one half of the sandwich and finishes his sentence with his mouth full, “time to show you downtown Salt Lake.”

Two hours later, Lizzie’s bundled up against the lightly falling snow and taking two steps for Sean’s every one to keep up. He pauses at the end of the block and waits for her, grinning.

“What?” Lizzie huffs, brushing her staticky hair off of her face. She’s cold, but sweating slightly, and her nose feels frozen. Sean, of course, looks like he belongs in the cold weather with his perfectly flushed cheeks and the dusting of snow bright against the black of his puffer and beanie.

“Nothing,” he says, holding out a gloved hand for her to take. “You just really do not look like you’re enjoying this.”

Lizzie takes his hand and ignores the muffled spark that travels up her arm when his fingers close around hers. This is practical, it’s just so she doesn’t fall behind and get lost.

His fingers squeeze hers and Lizzie squeezes back.

“It’s been a while since I dealt with snow,” she admits. “Phoenix has made me soft.”

“Let’s get you a hot chocolate then,” Sean offers, tugging her gently back into the crowds. Lizzie gets her hot chocolate and they split a pretzel, Sean biting off a chunk straight from the piece in Lizzie’s hand. Salt crystals scatter and a few grains stick to the stubble on Sean’s cheek.

“Messy eater,” Lizzie teases, reaching up to brush the salt from his face. Sean briefly leans into her touch and Lizzie ignores the way his gaze locks on her face, studying her as her face falls into a more neutral expression. He doesn’t say anything, but he takes hold of her hand again as they explore the shops and other offerings of downtown.

The next few days fall into a similar pattern - Sean does his PT, Lizzie does a couple of hours of work, he feeds her and then they explore Utah. They see the Olympic Park and Lizzie hops in a bobsled, screaming her head off the entire ride and falling into Sean’s arms when she climbs out, legs wobbly and adrenaline spiking in her veins.

“Oh my god!” Her eyes are wide and her hands shake a little. “That’s actually insane. Like, I have no idea how athletes do that all the time.”

“We can mark Olympic bobsledding off the future career paths, huh?” Sean teases, tugging at the end of Lizzie’s ponytail.

“Definitely!” She bumps his hip with hers. “I think we can safely take all sports off the table.”

She trips up the stairs as if to punctuate her sentence.

Christmas Eve rolls around and they’ve been inside for two days because it started snowing and didn’t let up. Lizzie’s curled up on the couch with her crochet project on her lap and a thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders that she doesn’t need because the fireplace is cracking, letting off plenty of heat. It smells like the gingerbread cookies she’d taken out of the oven half an hour ago and the pine candle she’d dug out of a hall closet.

It feels like home.

“If you spend any more time on the couch, you’re going to fuse with the cushions,” Sean teases from his end of the couch.

“You’ve been here just as long as I have,” Lizzie kicks a foot out to nudge his thigh. “Maybe we both just give up on life and become couch people.”

Sean tips his head back to rest on the arm and Lizzie watches the column of his neck move as he swallows. “I could get on board with that,” he says, shifting his shoulder in a circle.

“Shoulder bugging you?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Sean grumbles. “But the weather fucks with it, I think.”

Lizzie sets her crocheting to the side and pats the couch next to her. “Come here, I’ll give you a really mediocre massage that definitely won’t help,” she laughs and Sean shakes his head, but shifts around anyway and comes to sit closer to her, blanket tangled in his legs. His body radiates heat and Lizzie finds herself subconsciously leaning into him as she settles her hands on his shoulders. He’s broad and warm, muscles jumping under her touch.

They’re both quiet as she works, the noise of ESPN SportsCenter (Sean’s choice) fading into the background. Lizzie’s thumbs dig into the knotted muscles at the nape of Sean’s neck and she can feel his shoulders release some of their tension.

“Feels good,” Sean mumbles, dropping his chin to his chest and changing the angle for Lizzie’s fingers to dig into a different muscle.

She hums a non-response, focused on the faint stripe of paler skin where he’d gotten a haircut and the scent mix of his laundry detergent and soap. Lizzie’s fingers tingle a little and she scratches her nails against the back of his neck, a noiseless laugh slipping past her lips when he shivers.

“Can I ask,” she starts, quietly, “why your family isn’t spending Christmas break out here?”

Sean’s quiet and Lizzie worries that she stepped on a land mine for a minute, until he clears his throat and ruffles a hand through his hair. “I told them not to come,” he admits. “They would’ve wanted to go to a game, you know my mom, she would’ve been all worried about me. I just didn’t feel like dealing with the whole thing.”

“So the only plan before I got here was for you to be miserable alone in the house?” Lizzie asks rhetorically, thumbs still working at a knot in between his shoulder blades.

Sean shifts again and drops his head back against Lizzie’s shoulder, looking up at her with big, puppy dog eyes.

She can’t help herself, she melts.

“Old plan is irrelevant,” he says, smiling a little. “I’m glad you’re here and we’re having a good time, right?”

“Right,” Lizzie replies softly. Her heart pounds in her chest and she doesn’t think before she leans forward and kisses Sean’s temple, a quick graze of her lips more than anything. Her hand slides up from his shoulder and curls over his heart, fingers pressing lightly into his shirt. Sean freezes and Lizzie’s eyes widen when she realizes what she did.

“Liz…” Sean says her name slowly, planting one hand on the edge of the couch to push into a sitting position.

She shakes her head and pats his shoulder. “It’s the heat. Super hot in here, do you want a cookie? Or should we order dinner?”

“I…um…dinner sounds good,” Sean sounds bewildered and falls easily to the side of the couch when Lizzie nudges at his shoulder and practically rolls off the couch. She’s in the kitchen in a few quick strides, putting distance between them. Sean watches her go, eyebrows drawn together over his nose. “Lizzie…” he calls at her back.

“Chinese still good?” She asks, ignoring him. “I know we said it earlier, but if you changed your mind, I don’t mind switching up.” She starts cleaning the counters, transferring the gingerbread cookies from the baking tray to a plate.

Sean gets off the couch too, follows Lizzie into the kitchen and leans his forearms against the counter. “Chinese is still fine,” he says slowly. “But, can we… Lizzie, stop for a second.”

She pauses, crumpling up the tin foil in her hand, a gingerbread cookie hovering in mid-air.

They stare at each other wordlessly, the tension in the air growing thick.

“It was nothing,” Lizzie finally mutters, unconvincingly.

“Then why’d you run away?” Sean counters.

“Because I needed to order dinner,” Lizzie sets the cookie down on the plate with the others.

Sean shakes his head. “No you didn’t,” he squints at her, head cocked. “Can we just…”

“Nope,” Lizzie shakes her head. “It was nothing. I’m drunk.”

“You’re stone cold sober,” Sean snorts a laugh. “We both are. And I want to talk about it.”

“Well I don’t,” Lizzie snaps back. Sean shakes his head and steps closer to her, her heart jackrabbiting in her chest. “There’s nothing to talk about, Sean.”

“But what if there is?” He takes another step closer to her and Lizzie finds herself chewing at her lower lip, leaning closer to him. “I meant what I said before, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you and I don’t think I realized just how much until you showed up on my doorstep.”

The air crackles between them and Lizzie nods reflexively, words caught in the back of her throat because something’s changing and she’s powerless to stop it. She doesn’t think she wants to stop it, even if she could.

“Tell me to stop right now if I’m out of line. Tell me to stop, Liz, and I’ll stop. I’ll go right back to the couch and we’ll order dinner and we’ll never talk about it again,” Sean says, finally closing the gap between them and lifting a hesitant hand to cup Lizzie’s cheek.

She leans into his touch instinctively, her breath puffing a soft sigh against his palm. Lizzie stares up at him with searching eyes and Sean maintains eye contact, refusing to look away from her as he studies her face for a hint.

“Sean,” she murmurs his name softly, lifting up on her toes, “you’re not out of line, but…”

Lizzie can’t verbalize her fears, her worries that this will ruin their friendship. It’s so easy being with him and she doesn’t want to lose that.

“I know,” his mouth ticks up at the corner, his eyes softening, “it’s supposed to be scary as shit, right? But you’re my best friend and it’s not scary at all, because it’s you.”

Her breath catches in her throat and Sean leans in closer.

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” He whispers, his breath a warm brush of pepperminty air on her cheek.

All Lizzie can do is nod and then Sean’s mouth is on hers, warm and soft and perfect. Her hands find their way to his shoulders, curling around the back of his neck, holding her upright as she kisses him back. He tilts her head with the hand on her face, his other hand finding her hip and pulling her close.

Lizzie’s been kissed before, felt the butterflies and the drumbeat of anxiety in her chest, felt the kick of adrenaline in her veins or the pit of dread when it becomes obvious that the guy is a bad kisser or there’s no chemistry.

Kissing Sean is like a warm blanket on a cold day, all of her thoughts and worries silenced because it feels so right. There’s no anxiety in her stomach, no sinking feeling of wrongness.

There’s just Sean’s mouth, curving into a grin against hers, his tongue tracing over her lower lip until she parts them slightly for him. There’s his hands on her body, fingers dipping under the hem of her sweater and brushing against her bare skin. There’s his thumb stroking an arc across her cheekbone.

Lizzie leans into the kiss, pressing her body against Sean’s and she lets out a little whimper that’s swallowed up by his mouth. Sean’s hand tightens on her waist and she hates to have to break the kiss, but she’s starting to get lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

She’s breathing hard, fingers still curled around Sean’s neck, when she says, completely breathlessly, “I want you to do that again.”

Sean laughs against her cheek, forehead resting on hers, and he nods. “I’ll kiss you as many times as you let me, Elizabeth Arnold,” he replies, kissing her again, softer this time.

Lizzie’s not sure how long they stand there, arms wrapped around each other, kissing and giggling, but Sean lifts her onto the counter at one point and she can’t stop smoothing her hands from his neck and down to his shoulders, her entire body fizzy and light. Sean’s hands are warm on her lower back and he keeps shaking his head in disbelief, muttering to himself how he can’t believe it’s finally happening.

“What are you saying?” she asks, scratching her nails against his scalp. She’s always been a touchy kind of person, but it feels different now that she’s allowed to touch Sean like this, she can’t keep her hands off of him.

Sean laughs, his smile wide and infectious, and he presses a kiss to her cheek. “I just…I’ve been trying to figure out how to, you know, bring this up. I was going to just plant one on you on New Year’s Eve.”

“That would’ve been a bold move,” Lizzie comments dryly.

“Yeah, well, it was a last ditch effort plan,” he rolls his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about it, about us, for a while. And you showing up out of the blue? Felt kind of like fate.”

“I’m really glad I decided to come then,” she leans in and kisses him again. “Maybe I’ll have to change my return flight.”

“Cancel it,” Sean says, eyes twinkling. “Work remote, stay here with me for a while.”

It’s not the worst idea Sean’s ever had and it sounds pretty appealing to Lizzie. More time with Sean is never a bad thing and now that they’ve added kissing? She’d be pretty stupid to go back to Phoenix on the second as planned.

“Okay, yeah,” Lizzie nods, answering with only a few seconds of thought. Despite her surprise trip to see Sean, she’s not a spontaneous person, so this feels crazy, but right. She needs a little spontaneity in her life. “I can probably swing remote work through January? If that’s okay? And then we’ll reassess?”

She can hear how her voice ticks up at the end, making each sentence a question, and she hates how unsure it makes her sound.

Sean cups her face in his hands and she melts at his touch. “It’s more than okay. What do you say about getting back on the couch and making out until dinner gets here?”

“Second best idea you’ve had all night,” Lizzie replies, shrieking a giggle when Sean lifts her into the air to carry her back to the couch.

“What was the first?” He asks, draping his body over hers and dragging the blanket over them so they’re in a warm, cozy pile. His leg slides between hers and Lizzie hooks her leg over his hip, her foot resting on the back of his thigh. Yesterday it would’ve been one of Lizzie’s wildest fantasies to be curled around Sean like this, but right now it feels like she’s been doing it forever.

With a cheeky smirk and already giggling, she replies, “deciding on Chinese for dinner.”

#sean durzi x oc #winter fic exchange 2k25 #sean durzi fic #nhl fic #sean durzi #utah hockey club fic

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wrenjacobswrites · 1 year ago

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Title: Averno

By: Me :)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Marvel/Black Panther: Wakanda Forever

Ship: Namor/Shuri

Summary: The internal validity (or weakness) of the plan to marry and breed with Namor would be if the God would even honor this agreement of not killing Riri if Shuri gave him what he wanted: her. Men have told bigger lies than this to get laid.

If he goes back on his word, I will kill him myself. A part of Shuri said. A part she barely recognized, a part that awakened in her after her brother died.

***

Persephone is having sex in hell.

Unlike the rest of us, she doesn't know

what winter is, only that

she is what causes it.

***

Author’s note: I decided to delete this from ao3 because I wasn’t happy with the way it was written. Also, because of my job I have no time to give it the love it deserves and whoever reads this deserves a better fanfic. I’ll leave this upon my tumblr for anyone who wants to read it. Thanks so much for the support, guys! It might reappear one day in better condition.

The dress was damp and heavy with humidity as it leaked down to her ankles. The material was thin, and the jades strung on the neckline was cold and clung to her skin. The cave housing Namor’s dwelling was dark and quiet, like the end of her brother’s funeral. If it wasn’t for the fact that she saw her new husband standing in the doorway with a smile on his face and his warriors surrounding him, she would’ve thought she was alone.

There was no moon underneath the sea, honey or otherwise. This next part was not meant to be sweet. This is a political marriage, meant to bond the kingdoms of Wakanda and Talokan. Namor had asked for her hand in exchange for the life of Riri. Shuri had agreed quickly and Namor’s face had lit up as if the sunshine fell upon it. Maybe this was his plan all along.

“You are like the sun,” Namor began.

“Hard to look at?” Shuri said. She tried to drown her nervousness in humor—a familiar situation. It instead formed a rock in the pit of her stomach. It was the type of wordplay that would earn her a soft chuckle from T’Challa. T’Challa would’ve searched the entire ocean for her. He wouldn’t approve of this, but he was not here. He was nowhere. He’s dead and he took the Black Panther with him.

“Radiant.” Namor continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Come.” He held out his hand. Shuri took it, it was hot—if he were human, he’d be in the hospital. He had to be at least 115 degrees. He led her into the dwelling. He let her hand go before unraveling the cloth partition above the door until it fell down, covering the entrance, leaving Namora and Attuma outside.

The only light was a flickering fire making the room shadow wet. It was separated from her by a wooden table weighed down with fish, fruit, silver and glass bottles filled with liquids of mysterious origins, and a bar of dark chocolate.

Underneath her naked feet was a woven rug that wasn’t there before and to her left was a bed tucked in the corner that definitely wasn’t there before. It was covered with brown furs. Shuri stopped herself from gulping. It’s just sex, people do it all the time, even for fun. You haven’t. The judgmental voice in her head said. Shuri frowned as she walked to the fire and rested her hands above the flames. Her palms warmed, the clammy cold melting away. Finally, some warmth and light. Being underneath the world with Namor felt like living inside a sapphire.

Namor went to her, his arm touching hers. The orange blaze of the fire sewn shards of ruby in his dark eyes. The right side of his face was covered in shadow as he smiled at her.

“I apologize for the temperature, my Queen.”

Shuri smiled. “Oh, I’ll be fine. I mean, what can you do? You’re only a God.”

This time Namor did chuckle. “Do you really think me a God?”

“No. There are no Gods.” Shuri said. If there were, they would’ve saved my brother who was just and good. He was Bast’s greatest warrior, and she let him die.

“Hm.” Namor said with a frown. Her stomach sank.

“But your people would die for you without hesitation, so you’re just as good as one.” Shuri rushed out before watching the floor like a wilting flower. Hopefully she wasn’t screwing up the marriage already. At least wait until Riri is safe. Jeez.

Namor turned to her. He pointed his index finger under her chin and guided it up until she watched him. She had never seen eyes so dark. They were like coal. “Never change your answer, yourself, for me. I married the princess of Wakanda, not a spineless jellyfish.”

“Even a jellyfish has her sting.” Shuri said before watching the fire again. Namor placed his large hand on her lower back, making her feel thin and breakable. He pulled her close, leaned in, his soft breath tickled her earlobe and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He smelled of wildflowers and honey. She turned her head toward him and moved her mouth toward his too quickly. Their teeth smacked together.

“Ah, shoot.” Shuri covered her mouth with her hand, trying to quell the dull, throbbing pain of the front of her teeth—they weren’t broken, and she wasn’t bleeding but still, ow. Namor looked completely unfazed.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked.

“Are you made of diamond? Jeez.”

Namor chuckled. “No, I am flesh. Though a sturdier kind.”

Shuri would love to see a piece of his DNA underneath a microscope, find out what makes him as strong and tough as a rhino. She pushed that thought down. What an odd thing to think on your wedding day.

“I see.” Shuri said. “Should we try again?”

“I would like that.” Namor cupped the side of her face with his soft hand, holding her in place as he dipped down for a kiss. His lips were soft as a rose petal. Her eyes fluttered closed. She pressed back tentatively, tangling her fingers in her dress just to hold onto something. Namor put his thumb under her bottom lip and pulled down slightly. She got the idea and opened her mouth and he drunk her in—he tasted like the sea—briny and salty, but it was as sweet as wine in her mouth. The kiss was mixed with the flavor of fruit seeds she couldn’t name that Namor fed her earlier.

She’d only ever been kissed once and it was through her breathing apparatus about an hour ago, during the wedding ceremony. Now it's all-consuming, like water. Her hands shook as he gripped the nape of her neck to keep their mouths together. He didn’t need to breathe but Shuri did, so he put one of her hands between them until it found his chest and pressed against it. He pulled back until his hot breath buzzed against her lips.

Shuri shivered. There was fluttering in her stomach. “What now?”

Namor’s hand cupped the front of her throat, and his fingers close around her neck, gently. It was as if he couldn’t stop touching her. His thumb tugged at the corner of her mouth, dipping in slightly. Shuri’s face was on fire, but she kept their gazes locked.

“We are to consummate our marriage.” Namor said as he nodded toward the bed in the corner of the room before watching her again. “And we cannot leave this room until we do.”

“O-oh.” Shuri said. She had ‘the talk’ with her mother when she first bled at age thirteen. The Queen wanted her to be in her thirties, married, and in love before she so much as even looked at a man in a sensual manner and the man had better have been an upstanding Wakandan, rich like the handsome grandson of the Merchant Tribe elder. What would mother think if she could see her now, married to what could’ve been Wakanda’s destruction? A man—a king, a God who coerced her into his bed under threat of the life of another if she refused him? Would the queen think it noble or foolish? Hopefully Shuri would get the chance to ask her.

“Just…”

“I don’t mean to rush you.” Namor said gently.

“I know.” Shuri said too quickly, her face heating. “King, I mean, K'uk’…Jeez, I am very sure I am butchering your title.”

“You may call me king.”

“And Namor?”

“If you find it easier to pronounce.”

“King, Namor, I’ve never…ahem. I’m a virgin.”

“Ah, I see.” Namor said. He looked a little too pleased. “I trust you’re familiar with the concept?”

Round pegs in circular holes—Shuri couldn’t help but to think but thank Bast it didn’t come out of her mouth. She’d never been into pornography, and she thought more about algorithms than boys but she’s a woman of science, she knows the mechanics of most things and how bodies fit together to form new bodies. It’s simple math, 1+1=2.

“I am and I am ready.” Shuri said with more confidence than she felt. She couldn’t deny that Namor is beautiful, sculpted from marble like Adonis drizzled in caramel. Tall and broad with eyes and hair as dark as the deep sea. His personality so far is loving, gentle. She could almost forget the circumstances—the fight—that preceded the marriage, the abduction to the underworld. The threat of the death of Riri if Shuri didn’t give him what he wanted. Shuri could pretend that this was all her choice and that she was in love. Namor made it easy.

Namor’s eyes were heavy lidded, and his lips were slightly apart. He looked as if he was enchanted by her. He smoothly went behind her. On the back of her dress was jade buttons leading down to the top of her bottom. Obviously, this was the only way of getting it off safely. Namor popped them open one by one until the dress slipped down to her elbows, baring her unsexy undershirt underneath it. She wore no bra because she didn’t need one. Her breasts were small—too small. She pulled off the sleeves until the dress pooled down to ankles, revealing her boy cut underwear. She turned to face Namor, and he pulled her into a kiss. She looped her arms around his neck and drew him close until there was no space between them. He placed his hands on her sides—the dusky strip of skin between her undershirt and underwear sticking to Namor’s warm stomach. He was so solid-strong. It felt like he could snap her in half without even trying. Hopefully he’ll keep that in mind when they…have intercourse. He lifted her up with his hands under her thighs and she crossed her ankles behind him. She tightened her arms around his neck, and she clung to him. He pressed his lips under her jaw, causing a tingle to run down her spine as he walked with her to the bed. He placed her on it with care before climbing over her—the bed complained under their weight.

She thought she would lose her virginity on holiday in New York City. There would be candles and mood music. There would be rose petals on the bed and chocolate covered strawberries. It would be after a fancy dinner and a night on the town. Her lover never had a specific gender, but she couldn’t imagine in a million years it would’ve been a God of a world below.

Namor’s skin was the color of a reddish gold sunset. Eyes and hair as dark as the depths. Tongue soft. He inches back and placed his big hand on her stomach. She took a shaky breath as he swept his thumb over the bumps of her ribs, he watched her like she was a work of art, like she left him speechless.

“My Queen.” He said lowly as he dipped down to press his lips against hers for a beat before pulling back. “The prophesies do not do you justice.”

“Prophesies?” Shuri asked as she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him down over her until there was no space between them.

“I was to be married to a daughter of earth and fire. She would be patient, selfless, beautiful…and unite the kingdoms of land and sea.”

“How do you know I’m her?”

“How could you not be? Eyes the color of coffee bean, skin brown silk, and a rage that could burn a third of the surface world’s trees and green grass. A hail of fire mixed with with blood.”

“From the Christian book of revelations. 8:7.” Shuri said.

“And unbelievably intelligent. I’ve waited centuries for you.” Namor said as he hooked his fingers in the hem of her underwear. She lifted her hips as he slid them down her legs. Her forehead was damp from sweat. No man had ever seen this much of her. She slipped off her undershirt and it pooled on to the floor. Her hand went up to cover her breasts, but Namor pinned her arms above her head with one of his hands gripping her wrists. “Every inch of you is perfection.”

“I-I bet you say that to every queen on your wedding night.” Shuri joked, flexing her wrists clutched in his fist. Namor must’ve taken what she said seriously.

“There have been no others.”

“So, you’re a 500-year-old virgin?”

Namor chuckled before brushing his lips against hers. “No. I know what I am doing.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Were you never curious?” Namor asked.

“I consider myself a girl—ahem, a woman of science. I know the ins and uh, outs,” Phrasing, boom! Shuri couldn’t stop herself from thinking. “But I’m not much of a porno person.”

“Porno?”

“Oh, of course you don’t know what that is.” Shuri could smack herself upside the head. “It’s…on the surface world some people are paid to, um, simulate breeding for others to…see.”

Namor’s eyebrows rose. Shuri’s face could’ve been on fire. This was so awkward. Bast.

“It’s a form of erotic..stimulation.” Shuri tried to explain away.

“I illustrate paintings.” Namor said as if he were trying to make her feel better. “For erotic stimulation.”

Shuri pressed her lips against his to bring his attention back to the subject at hand, instead of how hard she’s bombing. He let her wrist go and weighed her down, the vibranium covering him glittering in the fire. Namor pulled back and stood, carefully removing the jewelry across his neck and decorating his arms. He placed them on the nightstand. He then unhooked that WWE championship like metal belt before sliding those tiny green shorts down his strong legs. He unlatched his footwear.

Shuri had never seen a man naked outside of an artistic context. The reflection of the flames danced across the expanse of his wide chest, his stomach was taught, his…down there looked too big to fit inside her and was covered with black hair on the base. Now they’re both naked. Namor knelt between her legs and took her ankle in one of his hands to spread her open.

“Wait, what about protection?” Shuri asked.

“Protection?”

“I don’t think you have a disease that could be transmitted sexually, but I wonder about preventing pregnancy.”

“Preventing? My Queen, that is the entire point of us lying together.”

“Wait, what? Now?”

“Yes, now.” Namor said. “The daughter of earth and fire will bear the son of air and water a child that could walk between worlds.”

“A child? I’m only twenty.”

“You are of sexual maturity for a human.”

“I am but…I’m not sure I want to be a mother yet.”

“This was our agreement. You are my Queen. There are certain responsibilities that come with that title, certain sacrifices.”

“So, it has to be now?”

“According to the prophesies, you conceive on our wedding night.” Namor said. “I do not go against prophesies.”

“Then…”

“Then?” He said lowly, dangerously.

Shuri swallowed thickly. Just when she thought marrying Namor to save Riri couldn’t be any less of a plan, he wanted to get her pregnant! Could she call this whole thing off? He only agreed to spare the student if Shuri became his queen. This would be seen as a dealbreaker and then it’ll be all out war. He would kill Riri and probably her, dragging Wakanda into a conflict with the entire ocean. Bast! Okay, just because she’s getting pregnant doesn’t mean she has to stay pregnant—morning after pill and all that. She’ll give him what he wanted and figure a way out later.

“…Neither shall I.” Shuri finished as she spread her thighs. A smile rose on Namor’s face as he gently cupped his hands under her knees, holding her open as he slides in between her thighs. He lets one of her knees go before using his finger to slide down to her entrance. She kept her legs open as he dipped his finger inside her. She bit her lip against the slight burn. He used his thumb to rub against her clitoris. Her breathing picked up as the sensation of pleasure washed over her. Namor stuck his finger into the hilt and held it there, never letting up on rubbing her button. Her moans were breathy, and her toes curled. Her mouth dropped open as Namor watched her as if he were enchanted.

“The sounds you make…” Namor said, as soft as candlelight. “You are music, you are art, you are everything.”

Shuri wanted to cover her face—flattered, but embarrassed. She had no idea how to respond to any of that, but he stuck another finger in her and she cried out—her voice repeated through the quiet dwelling. Hopefully Riri couldn’t hear that. Shuri’s not sure the student would agree with this plan. The internal validity (or weakness) of the plan to marry and breed with Namor would be if the God would even honor this agreement of not killing Riri if Shuri gave him what he wanted: her. Men have told bigger lies than this to get laid.

If he goes back on his word, I will kill him myself. A part of Shuri said. A part she barely recognized, a part that awakened in her after her brother died.

Her eyes fluttered closed as Namor kept his index and middle finger deep inside her while rubbing clit. She tangled her fingers in the fur blanket under her while using her other hand to push at his stomach, not sure what she wanted. She bit her lip and rocked her hips against his fingers, urging him to move. He took his fingers away and tucked them in his mouth. Shuri shuddered, her…down there…felt too empty and wet. Her breathing was shallow and there was a slickness on her skin that wasn’t due to humidity. She didn’t need to lie back and think of Wakanda to get through procreating with Namor. She wanted this. She was ready.

She sat up and climbed into his lap, holding herself to him by wrapping her arms around his neck. He gasped—probably at her body heat and how close her entrance was to his dick. He steadied her with his arm around her waist, keeping her flush against him, her breasts against his chest. His chuckle was deep, and it vibrated through his body like a purr.

“Never in my centuries of living have I had a maiden not be intimidated by me.”

“If you want to be intimidating, you shouldn’t wear those tiny green shorts.”

Namor laughed lowly. “You surprise me, my Queen. The lack of deference…”

“Would you like me to use deference?” Shuri asked before stealing his answer by giving him a wet kiss. He shuddered against her before they pulled apart.

“You should. I am K'uk'ulkan.” Namor said.

Shuri pulled back an inch to look into his eyes. She needed to gauge how serious he was. If she was screwing this up somehow…He looked as if he were under her own personal spell. What he wanted was an equal, after being revered all his life. He didn’t want Shuri to be afraid to look him in the eyes or hold her tongue. He wanted a queen, not a concubine. She could be that for him.

“And I was the princess of the most powerful nation in the world.” Shuri said. “Now I am queen of another. Perhaps it is you who should use deference.”

Namor answered by pressing their lips together with the intensity of a punch—well, that’s not true. Her jaw would be broken because Namor seemed like he was molded from the same vibranium he usually wore on his chest. He picked her up like she weighed as much as a feather before taking her over to the wooden table in the middle of the room. He knocked the plates of grapes and fish to the ground. The wine bottle shattered into confetti as it soaked into the cracks in the floor like blood. Shuri inwardly groaned, she wanted some of that.

Namor laid her on the table, bending over to kiss her again. Shuri’s thighs bracketed his waist, as his dick rubbed against her entrance. He sighed into her mouth as he rocked against her, never fully getting inside her. Shuri burned down there—she needed him in, so she angled her hips down. Namor stood up from her and wrapped his strong hand against the front of her neck to keep her pinned to the table. He used his other hand to grab the base of his dick and press it into Shuri. Shuri groaned as he entered her, slowly pushing into until he couldn’t anymore.

Shuri squeaked as she grasped the side of the table. She clenched her eyes shut against the burn and unbearable pleasure of being full. He was deep inside her—she could almost feel it in her stomach. She clenched around him, trying to get use to his girth. She was sticky with sweat, her lips quivered.

Namor took deep, slow breaths—as if he were trying to contain himself. It was irritating how composed he was trying to be. Always dignified. What could she do to break that composure? Shuri laid still, waiting for the raw newness of being penetrated to fade. When she became slicker, she moved her hip down causing him to slide even deeper into her.

He gasped—the mask of calmness finally slipping. He gripped the end of the table, the sturdy wood crumbling in his hand like granola. That made Shuri freeze.

“Remember,” Shuri said breathlessly. “I am not made out of stone.”

Namor chuckled before pulling out of her an inch and pushing back in, fucking her slow. His quiet, quick breaths filled up the dwelling. She clenched her toes as he picked up the pace, but not the force.

Shuri mewled and moaned, unable to stop herself. Her mouth hung open as she shut her eyes. Every time he filled her, there was fireworks behind her eyelids. It was overwhelming, nothing like the touches she gave herself before getting bored and stopping. Her breath caught as surges of pleasure shot through her. Her thighs shook.

The coarseness of the wooden table under her chafed her back. The wooden legs bluntly scrubbed against the floor with each push of Namor’s hips. He was more forceful now, knocking groans out of her. He was eerily quiet as he placed his soft hand on her stomach.

Shuri bent up slightly to thread her fingers into his hair and pull him down on top of her. His rhythm fumbled as she kissed him like she wanted to devour him. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her hips slightly to pound into her—finally losing that cool façade. Shuri held on to his shoulders, her fingers turning to claws as cried out every time she was filled. She came, her vision whiting out as she shook, the pleasure flooded over her as her voice went high. Namor stilled inside her, holding her close to himself.

Shuri’s breathing was labored as she went limp, staring up at Namor. The flinching fire made flecks of gold on his skin. His hair was mussed from her running her fingers through it. He was so strong on top of her. She felt so tiny in the wake of him. She tapped him with her foot to get him to move. He fucked into her forcefully, obviously not hard enough to hurt her, just enough for the undercurrent of burning to arise in her. He moved quickly, using her like a toy until he stilled, coming deep inside her. His grip on her hips felt hard enough to bruise as she bit her bottom lip.

They stay there catching their breaths. Namor stayed pinned inside her, probably trying to make sure of conception. Shuri couldn’t worry about that now. Would he honor their agreement now that they’ve slept together? Now that they’re married? Was Riri safe?

Namor pulled out of her, and Shuri felt slickness seep out. His come. Yuck.

Shuri sat up at the end of the table while Namor sat on the bed. In between her thighs hurt so she had trouble closing her legs. They watch each other like a showdown. The romance movies never portrayed after sex awkwardness. What does a princess…Queen…and a God talk about? He’d seen centuries worth of treasures, rises and falls of empires, entire histories play out over and over again, but if those things weren’t on the internet or in books, Shuri didn’t know them.

“So,” Shuri began as she picked at her nail beds with her thumb. The coolness washed over her, making her realize she was completely naked. “Have sex with a God. Check.”

“You are making a list?”

“A Beyoncé concert is next.”

“Beyoncé?”

“I have so much to teach you.” Shuri said.

“And I would love to learn.” Namor said. “Come to me. I would like to lie with you.”

“I must visit Riri first. I’ve been gone hours. I need to let her know you did not cook and eat me.”

Namor chuckled before speaking. “I expect you back after.”

“Okay.” Shuri said. “About Riri…”

“I will honor my promise. If you stay with me and Wakanda becomes an ally to Talokan, the scientist lives, and there will be peace. I’m sure you’ll both be very happy here.”

Shuri hadn’t told Riri Namor expected them to both live out the rest of their days in his underworld. That couldn’t happen but she’ll take what she could get right now. At least they’re safe.

There was still the matter of him wanting to wage war on the entire surface world, but Lemonade wasn’t recorded in a day. Ideas take time to seed and grow. She was confident she could convince Namor Wakanda and Talokan could come to a peaceful solution with America and the rest of the world.

Shuri gets dressed in her bridal gown and gives Namor a deep kiss. There was still that dull ache between her legs as she was led by her new lady in waiting back to where they kept Riri.

The Talokanil woman is sprawled out on the floor, clutching a hole in her abdomen. Her eyes are shiny with tears. She’s shaking as Nakia stood over her holding a weapon.

“No.” Shuri whispers and rushes over, bending down over the woman. She tried to save her, but the woman fell limp, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. The damage was done. Nakia tells Shuri they have to leave before reinforcements arrive.

“You don’t understand! This will mean war!” Shuri needed to find Namor, to apologize to-to explain the situation. She had never seen his wrath—his anger. He didn’t seem the type to rush to judgement. Though she only had three conversations and sex with him. He looked at her as if the sun rose in her eyes. He loved her. That had to mean something, right?

Nakia and Riri drag her away and they escape. While being wrapped in the warm embrace of her mother, she knows Namor is not far behind.

Wakanda was a golden nation, the fresh wind swept through the market bringing the smell of bread, fruits, flowers, and sweets into Shuri’s lab. It was nothing like being in the dark, heart shaped tomb of Namor where the only light was silk stuck in the canopy of a cave like trapped stars. Wakanda glowed in comparison, the sunshine stretching over the blades of grass, making the world surrounding the city shine like a field of crystals. She never appreciated her home until she’s been somewhere different for a while.

Shuri watched the city from the screens in her lab and couldn’t help but to see it drowned in water. Namor was coming. Her stomach cramped with nervousness. It had been about ten hours since she’d been rescued. She’d eaten, bathed, and tried to sleep but was not successful. She’d shooed away doctors and assured her mother three times that Namor had not harmed her. Shuri hadn’t told the queen that she married or slept with him. She might never.

“Griot?”

“Yes, princess?”

“I need a body scan.” Shuri said before she laid on her table like so many other of her experiments and inventions before her. She kept her arms pinned by her side as purple lights traveled from her shoes to her forehead. A silhouette of herself appeared on a screen. There was a red circle in her uterus. Oh.

“You are pregnant.”

“What is the accuracy?”

“98%.”

“Bast.” Shuri could always wait and take an over-the-counter pregnancy test, but they were so primitive. With that, it could take weeks to know for sure.

“Should I alert the queen?”

“I cannot express how much I do not want you to do that.”

“Yes, princess.”

Shuri sat on the side of the table and rubbed her temples. She was a 21st century woman and a woman of science. Whether she considered it a child at this stage was purely academic. Moral and religious arguments aside, she was not ready to be a mother. Especially with a man whose physiology, genetics, and temperament she could only guess. She also really, really didn’t want to tell her mother she slept with Namor, and that she enjoyed it.

Shuri could create something quick and painless to terminate the pregnancy with a snap of her fingers. No one had to know. She better get to it.

Shuri’s mouth went dry and sweat collected on her skin. Her hands shook. Namor told Shuri about his mother—how she became the hope of his people as they drowned themselves to escape their oppressors. Shuri was in the same position as her-to bear a leader to bridge worlds. They were hundreds of years apart and one only existed in memory, but Shuri felt her hand guiding her.

Namor scorned the surface world and wished to see it toil in a hail of fire but marrying Shuri symbolized unity, forgiveness. So did the child she carried. Shuri was Namor’s one anchor to a world outside of the sea. The sole reason he might reconsider war with the entire world. This child could strengthen her position with him. Convince him that good still exists outside of the ocean. There can be peace.

Bast. Was she keeping this fucking baby?

“Princess! Multiple breaches into the perimeters of Wakanda!”

The waters swelled and the Talokanil crawled out of it—splashed across the screens in her lab were flashes water exploding through buildings, Wakandans heading for higher ground. Her soldiers had been warned the city could be attacked so they were ready as they headed straight to the warriors of the deep. There was a flicker in the sky-Namor.

Shuri rushed to the throne room. It’s her best guess as to where Namor was headed. She closed the door on Okoye’s face and bolted it. The throne room’s door was pure vibranium, designed to keep out all enemies, including fellow Wakandans. Now she was alone, save her mother, who watched Shuri with wide eyes.

“Shuri? What are you doing?” Queen Ramonda asked.

“Mother, no matter what happens, do not attack Namor.” Shuri said. “You need to let me handle it.”

“Are you insane? I’m not letting him anywhere near you.” Queen Ramonda said.

“Listen to me! There has to be no more bloodshed. Keep the Dora Milaje out of the throne room. I need to speak with him alone.”

“I am not leaving you.” The Queen said. “That is out of the question.”

“Fine.” Shuri said. “But you have to trust me.”

The Queen pursed her lips. For once she kept her thoughts to herself. She must’ve seen the look on Shuri’s face.

The glass of the windows shattered, sending shimmering shards of gold flying everywhere. Namor, in all his furious glory stood on the windowsill. The white sun bloomed behind him like a halo, the vibranium across his chest glittering. His eyes were lifeless and dull like a shark’s. His fist was clenched around his spear as he came toward Shuri. Her mother started to go to her—obviously to protect her from Namor but stilled when Shuri held out her palm to her.

Namor grabbed the front of Shuri’s collar, lifted her and slammed her against the wall. She coughed out a breath. Queen Ramonda gasped.

“I should never have trusted you.” Namor told her. “You will come to Talokan and answer for your crime.”

“She will do no such thing!” Queen Ramonda yelled.

“Mother! Please!” Shuri didn’t want to get her involved. This was between her and Namor. Her husband.

While Shuri didn’t kill the Talokanil woman, a member of her nation did. Shuri’s duty as princess of Wakanda was to take responsibility for her people. Namor understood this as a king himself, so it must be why he wants her and not Nakia to answer for the killing. Not that Shuri would sell Nakia out anyway.

“Namor.” Shuri began slowly. “A member of my court came to save me from you. She didn’t know about the terms of our agreement.

“Agreement? What agreement?” The queen asked.

“Mother.” Shuri said firmly. Namor glanced over at Queen Ramonda before watching Shuri again.

“You didn’t even tell her.” Namor scoffed. “How much of it was real? Between you and I? What we shared?”

They had like…three conversations and Namor acted like they were divorcing after thirty years of marriage because of her infidelity. It would be funny if he didn’t look at her like he wanted to strangle the life out of her.

“It was all real.” Shuri said. “But my people needed me, and you cannot say that if you were in my shoes, your people wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

Namor took a breath. Shuri was getting through to him. He was turning out to be a soft touch with her.

“Tell your people to stop laying siege to Wakanda and we can talk about this.”

“Why should I trust you? After all you’ve done?” Namor asked.

“Because you love me.” Shuri said. Queen Ramonda mouth dropped open. Looks like she put two and two together.

“What did you do to her, you savage?!”

“Nothing she did not want me to, Queen Mother.” Namor said but that only served to make the queen angrier. She went over to yank Namor’s hand off of Shuri, but he didn’t budge.

“Mother! Stop it! I will explain it all. We can all stay calm and talk.” Shuri said. “Tell your people to stop.”

Namor took his hand off Shuri and she dropped to the floor. He flew out of the window. Queen Ramonda rushed to Shuri’s side.

“I’m fine.” Shuri said as she stood. “You must call off our soldiers.”

“Shuri—“

“Mother, please.”

The Queen took a deep breath before speaking into her communication device. With a few words the outside became silent. Shuri’s heart pounded. Her stomach twisted and Queen Ramonda wrapped her arms around Shuri as if to protect her.

Namor came back to the window, still frowning, covered in pearls of water. Guess that short trip did nothing to cool him off. He took a step toward Shuri, but Queen Ramonda stood in front of her. His frown deepened.

Shuri went around her mother to face Namor. He stared her down.

“If you desire it, I consider our agreement still valid.” Shuri said.

“What agreement?” Queen Ramonda asked firmly.

“She was queen of Talokan for a day.” Namor said. “Now she is criminal.”

Namor went to her, his arm touching hers. The orange blaze of the fire sewn shards of ruby in his dark eyes. The right side of his face was covered in shadow as he smiled at her.

“I apologize for the temperature, my Queen.”

Shuri smiled. “Oh, I’ll be fine. I mean, what can you do? You’re only a God.”

This time Namor did chuckle. “Do you really think me a God?”

“No. There are no Gods.” Shuri said. If there were, they would’ve saved my brother who was just and good. He was Bast’s greatest warrior, and she let him die.

“Hm.” Namor said with a frown. Her stomach sank.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked.

“Are you made of diamond? Jeez.”

Namor chuckled. “No, I am flesh. Though a sturdier kind.”

“I see.” Shuri said. “Should we try again?”

Shuri shivered. There was fluttering in her stomach. “What now?”

“We are to consummate our marriage.” Namor said as he nodded toward the bed in the corner of the room before watching her again. “And we cannot leave this room until we do.”

“Just…”

“I don’t mean to rush you.” Namor said gently.

“I know.” Shuri said too quickly, her face heating. “King, I mean, K'uk’…Jeez, I am very sure I am butchering your title.”

“You may call me king.”

“And Namor?”

“If you find it easier to pronounce.”

“King, Namor, I’ve never…ahem. I’m a virgin.”

“Ah, I see.” Namor said. He looked a little too pleased. “I trust you’re familiar with the concept?”

“My Queen.” He said lowly as he dipped down to press his lips against hers for a beat before pulling back. “The prophesies do not do you justice.”

“Prophesies?” Shuri asked as she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him down over her until there was no space between them.

“I was to be married to a daughter of earth and fire. She would be patient, selfless, beautiful…and unite the kingdoms of land and sea.”

“How do you know I’m her?”

“How could you not be? Eyes the color of coffee bean, skin brown silk, and a rage that could burn a third of the surface world’s trees and green grass. A hail of fire mixed with with blood.”

“From the Christian book of revelations. 8:7.” Shuri said.

“I-I bet you say that to every queen on your wedding night.” Shuri joked, flexing her wrists clutched in his fist. Namor must’ve taken what she said seriously.

“There have been no others.”

“So, you’re a 500-year-old virgin?”

Namor chuckled before brushing his lips against hers. “No. I know what I am doing.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Were you never curious?” Namor asked.

“I consider myself a girl—ahem, a woman of science. I know the ins and uh, outs,” Phrasing, boom! Shuri couldn’t stop herself from thinking. “But I’m not much of a porno person.”

“Porno?”

“Oh, of course you don’t know what that is.” Shuri could smack herself upside the head. “It’s…on the surface world some people are paid to, um, simulate breeding for others to…see.”

Namor’s eyebrows rose. Shuri’s face could’ve been on fire. This was so awkward. Bast.

“It’s a form of erotic..stimulation.” Shuri tried to explain away.

“I illustrate paintings.” Namor said as if he were trying to make her feel better. “For erotic stimulation.”

“Wait, what about protection?” Shuri asked.

“Protection?”

“I don’t think you have a disease that could be transmitted sexually, but I wonder about preventing pregnancy.”

“Preventing? My Queen, that is the entire point of us lying together.”

“Wait, what? Now?”

“Yes, now.” Namor said. “The daughter of earth and fire will bear the son of air and water a child that could walk between worlds.”

“A child? I’m only twenty.”

“You are of sexual maturity for a human.”

“I am but…I’m not sure I want to be a mother yet.”

“This was our agreement. You are my Queen. There are certain responsibilities that come with that title, certain sacrifices.”

“So, it has to be now?”

“According to the prophesies, you conceive on our wedding night.” Namor said. “I do not go against prophesies.”

“Then…”

“Then?” He said lowly, dangerously.

“The sounds you make…” Namor said, as soft as candlelight. “You are music, you are art, you are everything.”

If he goes back on his word, I will kill him myself. A part of Shuri said. A part she barely recognized, a part that awakened in her after her brother died.

“Never in my centuries of living have I had a maiden not be intimidated by me.”

“If you want to be intimidating, you shouldn’t wear those tiny green shorts.”

Namor laughed lowly. “You surprise me, my Queen. The lack of deference…”

“Would you like me to use deference?” Shuri asked before stealing his answer by giving him a wet kiss. He shuddered against her before they pulled apart.

“You should. I am K'uk'ulkan.” Namor said.

“And I was the princess of the most powerful nation in the world.” Shuri said. “Now I am queen of another. Perhaps it is you who should use deference.”

He gasped—the mask of calmness finally slipping. He gripped the end of the table, the sturdy wood crumbling in his hand like granola. That made Shuri freeze.

“Remember,” Shuri said breathlessly. “I am not made out of stone.”

Namor pulled out of her, and Shuri felt slickness seep out. His come. Yuck.

“So,” Shuri began as she picked at her nail beds with her thumb. The coolness washed over her, making her realize she was completely naked. “Have sex with a God. Check.”

“You are making a list?”

“A Beyoncé concert is next.”

“Beyoncé?”

“I have so much to teach you.” Shuri said.

“And I would love to learn.” Namor said. “Come to me. I would like to lie with you.”

“I must visit Riri first. I’ve been gone hours. I need to let her know you did not cook and eat me.”

Namor chuckled before speaking. “I expect you back after.”

“Okay.” Shuri said. “About Riri…”

“I will honor my promise. If you stay with me and Wakanda becomes an ally to Talokan, the scientist lives, and there will be peace. I’m sure you’ll both be very happy here.”

Shuri hadn’t told Riri Namor expected them to both live out the rest of their days in his underworld. That couldn’t happen but she’ll take what she could get right now. At least they’re safe.

Shuri gets dressed in her bridal gown and gives Namor a deep kiss. There was still that dull ache between her legs as she was led by her new lady in waiting back to where they kept Riri.

The Talokanil woman is sprawled out on the floor, clutching a hole in her abdomen. Her eyes are shiny with tears. She’s shaking as Nakia stood over her holding a weapon.

Nakia and Riri drag her away and they escape. While being wrapped in the warm embrace of her mother, she knows Namor is not far behind.

“Griot?”

“Yes, princess?”

“You are pregnant.”

“What is the accuracy?”

“98%.”

“Bast.” Shuri could always wait and take an over-the-counter pregnancy test, but they were so primitive. With that, it could take weeks to know for sure.

“Should I alert the queen?”

“I cannot express how much I do not want you to do that.”

“Yes, princess.”

Shuri could create something quick and painless to terminate the pregnancy with a snap of her fingers. No one had to know. She better get to it.

Bast. Was she keeping this fucking baby?

“Princess! Multiple breaches into the perimeters of Wakanda!”

“Shuri? What are you doing?” Queen Ramonda asked.

“Mother, no matter what happens, do not attack Namor.” Shuri said. “You need to let me handle it.”

“Are you insane? I’m not letting him anywhere near you.” Queen Ramonda said.

“Listen to me! There has to be no more bloodshed. Keep the Dora Milaje out of the throne room. I need to speak with him alone.”

“I am not leaving you.” The Queen said. “That is out of the question.”

“Fine.” Shuri said. “But you have to trust me.”

The Queen pursed her lips. For once she kept her thoughts to herself. She must’ve seen the look on Shuri’s face.

Namor grabbed the front of Shuri’s collar, lifted her and slammed her against the wall. She coughed out a breath. Queen Ramonda gasped.

“I should never have trusted you.” Namor told her. “You will come to Talokan and answer for your crime.”

“She will do no such thing!” Queen Ramonda yelled.

“Mother! Please!” Shuri didn’t want to get her involved. This was between her and Namor. Her husband.

“Namor.” Shuri began slowly. “A member of my court came to save me from you. She didn’t know about the terms of our agreement.

“Agreement? What agreement?” The queen asked.

“Mother.” Shuri said firmly. Namor glanced over at Queen Ramonda before watching Shuri again.

“You didn’t even tell her.” Namor scoffed. “How much of it was real? Between you and I? What we shared?”

“It was all real.” Shuri said. “But my people needed me, and you cannot say that if you were in my shoes, your people wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

Namor took a breath. Shuri was getting through to him. He was turning out to be a soft touch with her.

“Tell your people to stop laying siege to Wakanda and we can talk about this.”

“Why should I trust you? After all you’ve done?” Namor asked.

“Because you love me.” Shuri said. Queen Ramonda mouth dropped open. Looks like she put two and two together.

“What did you do to her, you savage?!”

“Nothing she did not want me to, Queen Mother.” Namor said but that only served to make the queen angrier. She went over to yank Namor’s hand off of Shuri, but he didn’t budge.

“Mother! Stop it! I will explain it all. We can all stay calm and talk.” Shuri said. “Tell your people to stop.”

Namor took his hand off Shuri and she dropped to the floor. He flew out of the window. Queen Ramonda rushed to Shuri’s side.

“I’m fine.” Shuri said as she stood. “You must call off our soldiers.”

“Shuri—“

“Mother, please.”

Shuri went around her mother to face Namor. He stared her down.

“If you desire it, I consider our agreement still valid.” Shuri said.

“What agreement?” Queen Ramonda asked firmly.

“She was queen of Talokan for a day.” Namor said. “Now she is criminal.”

“I agreed to marry him in exchange for Riri’s safety.”

“You what?!” Queen Ramonda yelled.

“And now the marriage is void. You will come to Talokan to answer for your crime, and you will give me the scientist, or I will wash Wakanda from the face of the earth and kill her.” Namor said nodding toward the queen.

Shuri slapped him across the face. She couldn’t stop herself. He grabbed her wrist tightly and pulled her in until his breath brushed against her lips. How strange that hours ago they were this close under a completely different context? His lips were on hers, his body pressing her into the table. Now anger flooded from him to mask a deep hurt. Shuri would’ve felt guilty if it weren’t for the fact that he was making threats.

Queen Ramonda went over to them, but Namor pushed her back. Her mother fell to the floor before sitting back up. She put her communication device up to her lips.

“Don’t call for help, mother. He is not going to hurt me.”

“Are you so certain, princess?” Namor asked.

“Shuri.” There was something desperate in her mother’s voice.

“I will not give you the scientist. You will leave Wakanda standing and if you threaten my mother again, I will rip your throat out with my teeth.”

Namor chuckled humorlessly. “Princess—“

“Queen.” Shuri corrected. “Of Talokan.”

“Queen.” Namor said. “There will be a trial.”

“And the punishment if I am found guilty?” Shuri asked.

“For a queen that is the daughter of a Talokanil, she would be stripped of her title and exiled.”

“And for me? A foreign queen?”

“Death.”

“No!” Queen Ramonda screamed.

“It…does not have to be you. You can appoint an avatar in your place to bear the punishment.” Namor said. He didn’t want to kill her. That was good, but he would want someone to die in her place, which was bad.

“No one else is dying.” Shuri said. “You will forgive me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I am the mother of your child.”

#Namor #namor the sub mariner #Shuri #mcu shuri #Black Panther #Black Panther: Wakanda forever #Wakanda forever #namor x shuri #nashuri #My writing #Marvel

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ariannadi · 2 years ago

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Come Home to my Heart (3/6)

- Part 4/? of A Girl out of Time (Adaman x OC)

Read the series here/background context on Ao3

All works (including art) will be/are crossposted to Tumblr!

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By the end of the day, Hikari would officially belong to the Diamond Clan as Adaman’s wife.

Although she’d been engaged to him for a couple of months now, everything became real the moment she sat on the floor of Arezu’s hut so her friend could gussy her up a little before she donned her ceremonial robes.

“You’re very quiet,” Arezu commented as she thoroughly combed through Hikari’s long, flaxen hair—previously lathered and rinsed with various oils to bring out its shine. “Pre-wedding jitters?”

“I guess you could say that,” the bride-to-be answered with a small smile, and stared towards her knees. “…If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it between us?”

“Only if I’m to be in on it, as well,” came the voice of Mai, who entered the vicinity without warning. “Hopefully you’re not having second thoughts about marrying my brother?”

“No, nothing like that,” Hikari was quick to intercept, shaking her head. “I… I overheard some gossip when I was headed this way. Seems not everyone is pleased with the idea of me marrying Adaman and they made sure I was aware of it.”

“Ah, that lot,” Arezu sighed, scooting around to start applying a light charcoal to her eyes. “Our leader is considered quite the catch amongst the clan members of his age; always has been. Some actually care for his well-being, but others just want to be on his arm as co-leader. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them never let you live this down, given you’re an outlander.”

“Great…” Hikari groaned, pulling her knees into her chest despite Arezu’s huff of protest. “I don’t… I don’t want to cause any problems for Adaman. I love him more than life itself, but…”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Mai cut in, her words holding a finality to them. When she approached Hikari and Arezu, the former noticed the bundle of material she was carrying—her wedding attire. “What Arezu failed to mention-“ Mai continued, shooting the redhead a look, “-is the fact that you can count on your fingers the number of people who oppose this union; and surprisingly Melli isn’t among them. Which means: you have the support of everyone that actually matters.”

“Wait. Melli supports us?” Hikari questioned, genuinely shocked. Both Mai and Arezu smiled at her dumbfounded expression.

“You make Adaman happy, and at the end of the day that’s all Melli wants for him, despite how much of a pain he can be about it,” Mai explained. Hikari was humbled by that, weirdly enough, and a small, relieved smile rose on her cheeks.

“Alright, enough of the somber talk—I need to finish your makeup,” Arezu cheerily piped in, immediately setting to work again.

“And I’ll assist with your robes as soon as she’s satisfied,” followed Mai with a wink. “You’re going to look so gorgeous, Hikari. Adaman is practically vibrating out of his skin in anticipation. The pre-ceremony rites and what have you are only doing so much in distracting him.”

“Sounds like Adaman,” Hikari laughed. “Though… I actually almost fell asleep during my purification cleanse this morning. So I’m not much better.”

“I suppose it’s not a common practice in the future, then?” Mai asked with a humored expression.

“In some places it still is, but overall, no,” Hikari answered, and shrugged. “But, I really don’t mind it. I’m marrying into your clan, after all. I want to be respectful of your traditions.”

“Well, you and Adaman haven’t exactly been conventional, so it probably wouldn’t have been a big deal if you’d skipped a few steps,” Arezu said flippantly, and tapped a bit of coral rouge on her lips. “For both the Diamond and Pearl clans, usually a pair of fathers would’ve arranged the union after a period of camaraderie and the formal exchanging of gifts. However, Adaman’s father passed when he was just a babe; and yours…”

“My father was never in the picture,” Hikari quietly supplied, and began playing with her hair (to her friend’s chagrin). “That being said, there obviously isn’t a means of him being here; so ultimately it wouldn’t have mattered.“

Knowing they’d be curious about the inevitable, she added, “I do wish my mother were here. As well as my friends from that era. But… I had already made my peace with all of that when I decided to stay. I have all of you, and I have Adaman. I’m ready for my life here in Hisui to truly begin.”

----------------------------------------

Adaman was already kneeling at the relic to Dialga in the center of the settlement when Hikari, now donning her wedding attire, exited Arezu’s hut. The remainder of the clan, as well as everyone she and Adaman had invited from Jubilife Village and the Pearl Clan, were dispersed in various spots around him. Despite having his back to her, she noted that he too had been clothed in robes similar to her own, and that he wore a headdress resembling Dialga’s horns.

As she studied her betrothed, the crowd beyond her became aware of her presence and shifted their attention to her—a vast majority wearing joyful smiles. Being his impatient self, Adaman also whipped his head around to get a glance at her, and his jaw nearly hit the floor. It gave her the boost of confidence she hadn’t realized she needed in that moment, and she beamed at him.

That’s when Mai placed a hand on her back, and gently pushed her towards her destination, while Arezu took her place amongst the others. It wasn’t long before Hikari was at Adaman’s side, and she somehow managed to kneel next to him without tripping over her robes.

“You know, normally I’d be the one to officiate the ceremony, but it seems I’m a little preoccupied at the moment,” he quietly told her as though they weren’t about to be wed. Hikari appreciated the casual banter though, and she snorted under her breath.

“I suppose it’s a good thing you have Mai as backup, hm?” she asked, playing along.

“Indeed,” he agreed, finally turning to look at her properly. “Just look at you. I don’t believe I’ve ever encountered a more beautiful sight in my life.”

“Adaman…” she shyly uttered, and couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her rosy cheeks. When he offered her his hand, she took it, and he laced their fingers together.

“Forgive me if I seem a little nervous—if someone told me two years ago that an outlander from the sky would not only save my homeland, but also eventually become my wife, I likely would’ve thought them mad. It’s all just a bit… surreal,” Adaman confessed, looking sheepish.

“It’s bewildering for me as well, Adaman,” Hikari soothed, squeezing his hand. “But… all weddings are, right? It’s quite the life-changing event, after all. Even if our circumstances are a bit out of the ordinary.”

Her fiancé chuckled, and brought her hand to his lips. “Always the voice of reason. Thank Mighty Dialga you agreed to be mine.”

“Ahem,” Mai interrupted from where she stood in front of them, having had to witness their not-so-private conversation. “I know you two are in your own little world right now, but we do have onlookers present. Shall we begin?”

“Of course,” Adaman answered, and sent a wink Hikari’s way, who just giggled.

Mai began the ceremony then; recounting from various scrolls the Diamond Clan’s teachings about marriage, it’s sanctity, and how it correlated to Mighty Dialga (and ultimately Almighty Sinnoh). She had Adaman recite a series of vows as old as the existence of their people, and then Hikari recited her own to the best of her abilities. When that was finished, the couple partook in the pouring and drinking of sake, officiating their union to all who were present.

And just like that, they were husband and wife. Mai happily announced them as such as they turned to face the crowd, and almost everyone broke into cheers. Some even began bawling outright. Hikari felt her own eyes starting to blur with tears as reality set in, but Adaman was quick to reach over and dab them away with his sleeve.

“Hey… you okay?” he cooed for her ears alone, and then Hikari actually did cry.

“I-I’m fine. I am,” she hiccuped, and smiled as Adaman tenderly cupped her face between his palms. “I-I’m just… happy.”

“As am I, my light from the sky. The happiest I’ve ever been,” he softly uttered, his expression one of pure adoration. And then he kissed her; not minding one bit that all of their guests were still present.

The feast that followed was one for the books. Not only were platters of meats, potato mochi, and various other dishes abundant, but the wine also flowed freely amongst a majority who attended, and it showed as the celebration continued into the early hours of the morning.

Once Hikari had had her fill of being yanked around for gifts, sips of liquor, and the occasional group dance, she wandered off towards the edge of the Diamond Settlement for a breather. Adaman, noticing her absence almost immediately, wasn’t far behind.

“Needed a moment?” he asked, attempting to adjust his lopsided headdress but quickly giving up. Hikari laughed, and reached up to help him.

“Our loved ones sure know how to have a good time—unfortunately I wasn’t much of a party-goer in my original era. Do you think everyone’s drunk enough at this point to not notice me slip away for a few hours of sleep?”

“Possibly,” Adaman chuckled. “Might I join you in our home, if you’re not tired of me yet?”

Hikari felt a little thrill at the way he uttered our home, and slid her arms over his shoulders. “I’ll never tire of you, husband,” she whispered, then leaned up on her toes and kissed his smiling lips with her own.

“Ah, I do hope I’m not interrupting anything—seems I’ve arrived at the peak of the celebration,” came a gentle voice from behind the couple, who parted only to acknowledge whoever had stumbled upon them.

“Mistress Cogita?” Hikari squeaked in surprise, staring at the mysterious older woman (who still wore black tulle despite being at a wedding) as she floated gracefully towards them. Tucked under her arm was a box with frilly ribbon tied around it.

“Hello, dears,” Cogita greeted properly, and did a little bow. “My most heartfelt congratulations to you both on your marriage; I suppose it won’t be long now before we see little blue-and-blonde haired babies toddling about the Crimson Mirelands, hm?”

“I-well, I… uh-“ Adaman sputtered, turning a deep shade of red, and looked to Hikari for help despite his wife’s abrupt coughing fit. Cogita just broke down into laughter at their reactions.

“Oh, you two are just adorable! I couldn’t help teasing you, my apologies,” she chortled, dabbing at her tears of mirth with a handkerchief. “Despite my antics, I promise I am here for a reason,” she insisted, and held out the box she carried towards Hikari.

“Oh! Uh…” the other woman floundered, then reached out and carefully took the gift into her arms, which wasn’t very heavy despite its longer size.

“I’ll have you open it now, if you don’t mind. I’d love to stay for the remainder of the party, but I’m afraid I’m not much for socialization these days,” Cogita told her, eyes expectant. As per the elder’s wishes, Hikari began undoing the ribbon covering the box, only to remove the lid situated on top. Her eyes widened at what she saw sitting within—for staring her straight in the face was the symbol representing Arceus.

“Allow me,” Cogita offered, and pulled out the object, which turned out to be a white, long-sleeved gown reminiscent of the garb Volo had worn while wielding Giratina. The symbol of Arceus Hikari had previously observed was embroidered into the front of the garment, towards the hem.

It was rather lovely; but even still, Hikari looked at Cogita in confusion. Her husband, still studying the gown, was faring no better.

“You belong to the people of Dialga now, but the true Almighty Sinnoh has yet to be properly disclosed to all within the region. I had hoped that you, as its chosen, would continue what the people of Celestica could not, and be that source of knowledge as it is needed,” the older woman explained, then sighed. “I’ve tried many a time over these long years. I have. But with you—you who are actively leading Hisui towards a brighter future—I do believe they’ll listen.”

“Cogita…” Hikari muttered, speechless, and the older woman came forward, placing the gown in her arms.

“You are as much of Celestica as I, found one. And for that, I give you my blessing,” she spoke warmly into Hikari’s ear, then patted at the girl’s hand as she pulled away. “Well, I best be off now; I’ll let you two get back to your canoodling.”

“Madam!” Adaman practically screeched, once again red in the face, and Cogita let out a loud cackle.

“Honestly, my boy, you’re so easy to fluster!” she managed between puffs of laughter. Waving at them both as she walked away, she called out, “Take care, my dears! Until our paths cross again!” before seemingly disappearing through the trees.

#Pokemon Legends Arceus #Adaman #Original Character #Hikari #Trainersona #Adaman x OC #A Girl Out of Time

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anthonysstupiddailyblog · 6 months ago

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Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (846): Thu 11th Jul 2024

I was dreading this afternoon because as detailed in Tuesday’s entry Dad called with the news that my dear Nana Jenny is to start receiving end of life care so today was essentially my chance to say my final goodbye to her. How do you choose what your final words are going to be to someone who’s been around your entire life? Do you talk about your fondest memories? The impact they’ve had on your life? Sadly Jenny has entered the final stages of dementia so from her point of view it really doesn’t matter what I say but from mine it means everything because I’ll have to sum up 35 years of memories into one final visit. At least I was getting a chance to say goodbye to her, some people don’t even get that. My late friend Kenzie’s family would’ve loved to have had some time to think of something meaningful to say to him but sadly he was taken from them suddenly in his sleep. We arrived at the home at two o’clock and to mark the occasion I honoured the worlds biggest Elvis fan by wearing my my all over print Elvis t-shirt for her. I asked her if she liked it and I think she said “No” which I’m afraid will go down as the final thing she ever said to me but it is quite funny so I guess it’s better that our final exchange was humorous rather than heartbreaking. Jenny kept dosing off for most of the time we were there though she would come to for a few minutes, look intently at me and then go back to sleep. I doubt that she even remembers who I am any more, she might not even comprehend that it’s a human she’s looking at as I might have just appeared to her as a collage of shapes and colours but I suppose there’s still a chance she might have recognised me. I had taken a little puzzle toy Jenny gave me for Christmas when I was a little boy just to tell her that I’d kept it in my room all these years to remind my of my lovely little Nana. I showed it to her and thanked her for it and even though she was in a world of her own it didn’t matter as this was more about revelling in memories rather than creating new ones. We stayed until four as my uncle Thomas was about to come over for his time with Nana. I gathered my things together and got understandably emotional as the dreaded moment arrived. After Dad kissed her and told her he’d be back tomorrow I kneeled down to say my last goodbye to my beautiful, kind, generous, (sometimes unintentionally) hilarious, amazing grandmother. I looked her in the eyes, stroked her cheek then her forehead and said “I’ll see you again some time Jenny. Thanks for everything Nana. Thanks for all the lovely cups of tea and all the Christmas presents. I love you Jenny. You’re a legend and legends live forever” before giving her one last smile and following Dad out the door. Goodbyes are never easy and final goodbyes are impossible but at least I got this moment with her to hopefully see her off in style. I remember about fifteen years ago feeling terrible about the fact that Jenny might never get to achieve her dream of going to Graceland but luckily twelve years ago I decided to step up and took her myself and I know it meant the world to her. I think the fact that I helped Jenny fulfil this goal is why I’ve taken this news better than I did when I learned Grandad was going to die. I never would’ve forgiven myself if she passed away without going to Graceland when I’d had the opportunity to take her there. She made it to eighty three which is incredibly good innings (plus she survived a fucking pandemic) and she never lost any of her abrasiveness and I hope when my time is up I’ve similarly retained my ability to tell someone to fuck off if I don’t like them. I hope that her final few days are as pain free as possible and to quote Forrest Gump: that’s all I have to say about that.

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themoonlitmonarch · 2 months ago

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“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ryker frowned, feeling a bit of a jab to his pride upon hearing that Yuri could see right through him at first, but then his face changes to one of interest when Yuri mentions having been down the same path as him once before. His defensiveness slacks and he ends up staring at Yuri, thoughtfully, as if trying to determine exactly what sort of life the man lived up until this point.

Ryker seemed to retreat back into himself again, once Yuri spoke up again, subconsciously tugging at the hood that rested over his head. “I already told you, I’m staying out of it. Things have gotten way too dicey for my liking anyway. You don’t have to worry about me sticking my nose into the problem anymore.” As for the back up, Ryker already knew about them, having spent a lot of time looking into this guy and what all he had on his side so that was of no surprise.

He was rather annoyed, however, that despite everything that he had found, he still hadn’t discovered SEED’s involvement until this guy had brought it up to him himself. He would have to do better next time. He would have to keep an eye out for SEED being the annoyances that they usually showed themselves to be.

As Yuri’s dog appeared, Ryker found himself tensing up a bit, taking just a few steps back from the canine. Normally, Ryker would be pretty ecstatic to see such a cool looking dog hanging around but the entire situation has him on edge. He didn’t know if this dog was loyal to Yuri or to SEED and the last thing he wanted was for the dog to catch his scent. But as he watched the exchange, he slowly but surely began to relax again as he decided that the dog was on Yuri’s side rather than being fully aligned with SEED.

“...Karol… I’m assuming that’s the kid that’s been wandering around with you.” Ryker spoke up, an eyebrow raised in question as he looked between Yuri and Repede. “You sure you should leave something like this up to a kid? I know better than to underestimate a kid–” After all, he’s seen the ‘play fights’ that Hina and Julian got into on a daily basis. They were rough. Maybe too rough but he wasn’t able to get in the middle of those.

“--But if this merchant is as skittish as you guys think he is, wouldn’t a single mistake end up tipping him off?” Ryker crossed his arms, mouth twisting into a frown. “Not only that, but don’t you think he or any of his men would’ve noticed this Karol kid hanging around you? I mean, I noticed that he’s been around you this whole time. What if this guy starts asking questions?”

Not only that but since when did SEED start hiring the assistance of kids? …Then again, they had hired Captain Livia back in Rigbarth. Even though she wasn’t technically a child (and come to think of it, Ryker didn’t exactly know what her race was. Only that she had been living there long before he moved in with Palmo), she still looked like one. Did SEED just hire kids sometimes? Or was this a special case?

“...You guys are kinda weird.” Ryker finally decided, resting a hand on his hips. “Not necessarily a bad thing but… I’m just trying to figure out what your deal is– What your group’s deal is and I’ll be honest: I don’t have a clue. Are you guys mercenaries? Do they normally let kids and dogs become mercenaries?”

As much as this guy didn't sound trusting at all... he was starting to remind Yuri of who he used to be. Untrusting of others' help, worried about the government, and trying to handle criminals on his own, even at the cost of becoming one. Even nowadays, Yuri still thought that sort of thing was honorable and understandable.

The biggest change in his state of his mind about it was that he preferred to do that if there were no other options and as a last resort. If a criminal was about to get away and had no chance of being caught later... yeah, Yuri would still do what he had to do. If he had to kill someone who had murdered innocents - kill them then and there or they'd escape with no hope of being found... he'd still do it. Still though, that was reserved for really specific cases.

Well, okay, that part of Ryker was like Yuri. As the man clamored on, making his dramatic reciting and poses, Yuri stared and nodded slowly, going along with it until he was done. What the hell? Weirdo. Bad person? Nah, probably not. Weird as hell guy? Didn't take long to figure that out.

For generations, he said... Jiri had done the same thing. The Dark Wings was a name known for generations. A title she'd taken up to steal from the rich and give to the poor. The poor that the rich wouldn't help. When it was Jiri, Yuri always respected it. Wanted to be like that too. When he was younger, he had tried to convince her to teach him how to do it so he could aid her. She had never budged. It always a no. In this guy's case though, he didn't know him well enough to say that he could have the sort of faith in his abilities that he'd had with Jiri's.

Again, Yuri nodded along as Ryker called being seen a fluke. "Or maybe it's just that a guy who used to do the same things you're doing now can see right through you and it wasn't a fluke at all." He doubted Ryker's skills just sucked with something like this. Doing this sort of thing meant not getting caught or your time for doing it was up. The only reason Yuri had been caught when he had with Cumore was because Flynn knew how to be perfectly silent. Knew how to get into his blind spot without Yuri noticing.

That was sort of similar to this. Since Yuri knew how this whole thing went, between himself and Jiri, he knew what to look out for. He knew what he was dealing with. It made it easy to notice the behaviors and actions of someone engaging with these acts. Flynn was as intimately familiar with Yuri's thinking and behaviors as Yuri was with this sort of work.

"Well, I can't stop you from doing this kind of thing once I leave... but since right now there are better ways to handle this particular case, you'll have to work with me here. Since law enforcement is involved, you're already risking being caught, and not just by a stranger passing through on a job. Plus, from what I'm told, this guy's got backup based on investigations. If we're too hasty, there are a number of things that could go wrong."

Before he continued, Repede walked over and sat beside Yuri's seat, patiently waiting for them to finish. Yuri's attention moved to Repede curiously, having left him with Karol. "Karol's not with you? Where'd he go?" Repede gave a few woofs and made a few gestures with his paw paws - enough for Yuri to get the idea. "Ah... Karol went to 'buy' something with their money from that merchant?" Repede nodded and gave a quick "rrf!" as confirmation.

"That's good. His guard will be completely down if it's a kid buying something. There's always the likelihood he might get suspicious about a kid having money depending on what they sent him to buy, but I'm sure he can pull an easy 'got it from my parents' or 'I work in a guild out of town'. If Repede here was with him, he'd probably get spooked knowing a dog has his scent. Definitely safer to just have what looks like a normal kid interested in buying something, and he can always use the tourist excuse. Well, not that a thief is likely to care if a kid is stealing from his parents or other folks to buy stuff, but it never hurts to play it safe and avoid unnecessary suspicion."

As if again confirming his understanding, Repede gave another quick woof. Yuri smiled and pat Repede's pat, giving him a few scratches and more pets. "That's good. Thanks, Repede. You and Karol work really well together." Judith could probably get away with it too, but she was being held back for now until the fighting started if it did. While Yuri's role was to keep an eye on the situation and determine the thief - Ryker - and convince them to stop, Karol was given the "innocent child" role, and Judith would be handling the guy's more dangerous backup. Once Karol had whatever he was buying, Repede could also keep track of the scent. It was one of the rare times everyone in Brave Vesperia had a very specific role that suited their best strengths.

In Karol's case, it wasn't simply being a kid, but the innocence he gave off that would leave their target unguarded. He could handle the talking and undercover stuff best, even if he was no doubt nervous about trying and definitely concerned he'd fail. He wouldn't, though. Yuri really believed that. He'd grown a lot, and Yuri was glad he could help in this situation.

#bravewolfvesperia #[crossover verse]

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sansblkgirlfriend · 2 years ago

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Turbulence Ch. II

Syn: Maybe you should've listened to Jade, cause now you've got eyes on you, several pairs. And you might've just snagged up someone elses heart!

Pairing: Mingi x Reader focused, Wooyoung x reader, slight ot8 x reader.

Rating: 18+ Word Count: 3.5k words

Warnings (whooo boii): Bullying, violence, injury, slight mentions of murder, namecalling, poor Mingi be over thinking,

Nsfw: Switch!Mingi, Switch!Reader, making out, fingering, nothing to extreme for this one.

A/n: Okay, So this not to be rude or mean to anyone. But when I change the date that i have, that means something came up and I couldn't upload it the day I want. I am in school so my school work comes first and I am going across seas soon. So please kindly, instead of continuing to ask why the chapter is being pushed back, please be patient with me.

Thank you, enjoy this Chapter <3

T’s: @soobinshouseplant @taehyunscaramelfrappe

—-

Previous = Next

“You have a date with WHO!?”

Jade yelled as you got yourself ready in the mirror. You left her a note in the room hoping that you would be gone before she got back from class but you moved a bit too slow.

Jade appears in your bathroom doorway, tapping her foot.

“U-um..well Mingi asked me out..”

“Y/n…”

“It’s just mingi-”

“ITS JUST MINGI THATS THE PROBLEM ITS FUCKING MINGI!!”

Jade sighs before snatching your phone. “I’m putting Life 360 on your damn phone.” You took a sigh of relief, you thought she was going to open the message between you and the male.

Mingi was a sweetheart but also such a filthy mess.

Your messages with him were mostly wholesome, him asking where you would like to go, if the two of you should match or not. He was such an adorable little thing.

But if she would’ve kept scrolling she would have found a little more..risky exchange between the two of you.

Mingi Pingi <3: Is it okay for me to say what’s one my mind right now?

You: Yea, what’s going on?

Mingi Pingi: You are really feuling the size kink that i have -w-

This took you by surprise, You were shorter than the male, and you standing beside him did light a little something in you. He was big, big and cute, big and cute and apparently interested in you?

Snatching your phone back from Jade, She pouted at you as you saw she was about to read the messages on screen. “Hey! I wanna know what’s going on between the two of you.”

You rolled your eyes at your friends dramatics. Before walking out to the living room and plopping on the chair.

*ping*

You look at your messages and a blush comes over your face.

Mingi Pingi <3: How do you feel about sex on the first date?

You didn’t know how to respond, I mean, you weren’t against it. It was just sex. But this was Mingi, a member of one of the most feared groups on your school's campus. You really had to make a mark on him and sex would not-

You: I don’t mind it, why you ask?

Against your better knowledge, your lower region did your thinking instead of your head. You sighed thinking that was it on that subject. But nope, not at all.

Mingi Pingi <3: Good..because I can’t stop thinking about you underneath me, it’s been driving me mad. I know this isn’t good because we’ve only known each other for a week. But I feel like we can be something more..

You:...You’re rambling Mingi.

Mingi Pingi<3: Sorry. Also I’m outside your dorm door.

You got up and peeped your head insto Jade’s room. “Jade! I’m heading off!!” Jade rolled over, pausing her anime to smile at you. “Okay! Please let me know when you get back. I’ll try to stay up.”

“Don’t! I have my key babes, but I'll let you know when I come back!”

Jade waved bye to you. You walked up to the door, opening it to see Mingi standing there, his face flushed and a single rose in his hand.

“Hi”

Mingi placed his hand out and you grabbed it, closing the door behind you. The two of you made small talk, Mingi was taking you to a small cafe near the school, a simple spot for the first date. Even though Mingi was freaking out on the inside.

He didn’t want to tell you that he already bought you a gift and that he had the night planned out in several different ways. Preparing himself for the good the bad and the worst. God he was praying that it didn’t go worst. He really liked you and Seonghwa already said he was on thin ice.

“Mingi?..Mingi!..” The male blinked. Looking down to see your worried expression.

“You okay? We’ve been here for a while?” He gave you a soft smile before nodding and pulling you inside.

The cafe owner must have seen Mingi a lot because as soon as the male came in he smiled at you. “Your usual area is ready Mingi!” “Thank You Mr. Minho!” You smiled at Mingi’s little awkwardness. It’s nice to see him outside of a school setting. He seems to be enjoying himself right next to you.

The two of you sat down in the booth, instead of sitting across from you he decided to sit next to you. Mingi places a hand on top of yours and smiles at you. “I ordered you three cakes, they’re all really good!” He says as the three small cakes were placed in front of you. It was three little bundt cakes, all three different flavors. You sat up happily as the male beside you handed you a spoon.

You pick one and start digging in, you face lighting up with glee as the taste hits your tongue. “Oh my god! These are so good~” You chime out, earning a huge gummy smile from Mingi. “I’m glad, I was nervous about bringing you here, I didn't know if you’d like cake or not and my friends told me not to overdo it on the first date. But i wanted to make-”

You shush him by shoving a spoonful of the cake in his mouth. He looked shocked but it immediately turned into a look of love. Mingi was smitten, and he hated that.

Not because you were a bad person, it was because he knew what happens everytime he fell in love.

This wasn’t his first time bringing a girl here, and the last one hurt his heart so bad.

Her name was Jae-Hwa, Kim Jae-Hwa, and you reminded him so much of her. She was so interested in him, she did all the things right. Helping him with work from class, staying with him during lunch, even spending the night in his dorm room just cuddling.

He thought he was truly in love and that he didn’t have to go through this process again, but she ended up betraying him. She only wanted his friends. Not him. Now Mingi didn’t mind sharing with his friends as he called it. But she completely ditched him for the others, Hongjoong to be exact, and when Mingi brought it up, he was just brushed up at first.

He was just being jealous and needy, that's all, she still loved him.

But it turned out to be the complete opposite. He was completely abandoned, his heart shattering into tons of pieces. And he was afraid to bring back up to his hyungs. So he confided in Jongho and Wooyoung, the two youngest of the group. He told them how she moved all her stuff out his room, how all the polaroids and pictures they had taken together had vanished and ended up in the trash.

Or how he openly heard her bragging to her friends during lunch. Her words still sting til’ this day.

“How’s you and Mingi?”

“Pfft Him? Please. He was just a mere step stool to get to the others, he’s too childish for me, i need someone like Hwa and Joong~”

“He’s too much of a needy little bitch anyways. But I have to keep him around to stay in good terms with the group.”

Once the oldest 4 of the group found out what happened, it was on and popping. Seonghwa and Hongjoong wanted heads on platters as Yunho tried to console his broken hearted friend.

So when he felt himself gaining those same feelings for you, it was only natural for his friends to be weary, but looking at you, he knew you weren’t going to do that.

He wasn’t going to allow you to do that to him.

“Mingi!”

He snapped out of it feeling a hand on his face. “H-huh?..”

“You were crying..Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked with a concerned look. Mingi had just gone silent after having the cake shoved into his mouth, you at first got worried that he didn’t like that but then realized the heavy tears that were falling down his face. It spooked you but you had to snap him out of it.

“I-i’m fine..is it okay if we go back to my dorm? I can understand if you don’t want to..I kinda ruined our date by crying..” He looked down and you sighed before leaning over to place a light peck on his cheek.

He froze as his face slowly heated up, the blush dusting across his entire face as he quickly got up out the booth. You chuckled at him before reaching for his hand as you exited the booth.

The two of you stayed silent on the walk back to the dorm. Mingi kept looking down at your hands connected together. He tried to get that stuff off his mind but he just couldn’t

What if you really were like those other girls that use him to get to the others?

He probably couldn’t take it and would probably snap on you. But he doesn’t want that at all, it was too much of a mess the last time it happened and Hwa was on his ass about staining the floor with blood.

The two of you reached the large dorm, Mingi stayed on the first floor with his friends. He had a single room that was nice and spacious because of it.

As soon as he opened his dorm door you took off and hopped onto his bed, seeing the many different stuffed animals on it. “Mingi! Imma steal some of these! They are so cute!”

Mingi smiled at you and followed you over to the bed, climbing up onto it too. “I can let you have one..” He ended up trapping you between his arms. You froze as you were now face to face with the male, and looking up close you realized Mingi had on makeup as well, making him look even more handsome. The two of you stayed in silence before you decided to make the first move.

Wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Mingi’s eyes widened before fluttering shut. His lips moved against yours in a slow motion, a soft whimper leaving his mouth as you pulled him closer to you.

Mingi felt as if his heart was about to burst, he felt as if he was on cloud nine. Your lips were so soft and you smelt so damned good to him, it was intoxicating. Mingi wiggled his way between your legs, slowly grinding down against you. You let out a soft moan, your mouth hanging open slightly. That gave Mingi an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, he let out a deep groan.

You pull away slowly, catching your breath, but Mingi continues kissing your face and down your neck, nibbling and biting. You whimpered out as his lips attacked the sensitive part of your neck, “M-mingi…f-fuck..” You moaned out. Mingi continued, sucking on that one spot until it bruised enough to his liking. He smirked against your skin before sitting up.

“You sounded nice moaning my name..” He said softly and you giggled softly. “I did?..” You asked teasingly and he nodded. Mingi leaned down to place another kiss on your lips, which you willingly accepted.

You felt Mingi’s hand slip underneath your dress, dancing over your clothed sex. You whimpered as he finally put some pressure against it. Mingi slipped his hand into your panties before teasingly rubbing your sex, You let out a small cry of pleasure as he slipped two fingers into you. You held onto Mingi as his fingers started at a steady pace. Mingi placed kisses on your face as he thrusted his fingers in. Mingi made sure that his long, thick fingers reached as far as they could, he wanted to hear those cute little moans that he heard.

“You’re so fucking cute..you know..” He mumbled against your cheek, his fingers speeding up. You moaned out as you wiggle in his grip. This feeling was new, and it was amazing. You cried out his name as his hand brushes against your clit. “M-mingi..i-i” The male shushed You as he fucked you with his fingers.

The sounds of your wet cunt was filling the room, Mingi let out a groan as he felt you clench around his fingers. “G-go ahead..cum around my fingers..please cum on my fingers..” He begged and those words were enough to send you over the edge. You arched your back slightly as Mingi placed his lips on yours, taking in all of your moans and whimpers.

Mingi’s pace slowed until he pulled his fingers out, wet and soaking in your juices. You watched as Mingi brings his two fingers to his lips and place them in his mouth, licking them clean.

You blushed after Mingi placed a kiss on your cheeks as he snuggled up beside you. You smiled softly as you scooted closer to him.

You felt safe in Mingi’s arms.

Unlike what was waiting for you when you got back to school.

—----

You felt eyes on you as you walked into school holding Mingi’s hand. You had let Jade know you stayed with Mingi and reluctantly she wished you well and a good night. But now you felt like everyone was judging you.

Mingi dropped you off at your morning class with a kiss on the cheek and a smile, “I’ll see you in the band room later, Princess!” He says waving to you. You waved back and walked in the classroom as he walked away.

Going to sit in the room, you ended up being pushed out of your seat onto the hard floor. “Ow what the fuck!?”

“Yeah what the fuck are you doing with my man!?”

You looked up to see the infamous trio of girls, with Ga-Yeon looking down at you with a disgusted look. “Wait. You’re the same one who left him at lunch.” You said earning you a smack across the face,

“Shut your fucking mouth whore. That doesn’t mean shit. Mingi is mine. The rest of those boys are mine! So you better watch your fucking back!” She yelled at you.. Her two lackeys jacked you up and made you face her.

Ga-Yeon smirked before taking her knee and kneeing you in the stomach, twice. You cried out in pain as she forced you to look at her, she then took a pen and scratched your face with it, smirking as her crew threw you to the floor.

“You listen well. You fucking whore. Just because Mingi likes you doesn’t mean shit. He’s still mine and I will not hesitate to have something done to you.” She spat at you. You groaned in pain as they walked away from you.

“Oh and by the way, loser. Class got canceled. You would’ve known that if we weren't whoring.”

The door slammed and you were left on the floor in pain, your hand shakingly reached for your bag. You searched for your phone and got to the group chat. The boys had all dropped their numbers in the chat, and you definitely didn’t want to call Mingi because you didn’t want to face him right now.

Were you just really another plaything while he got over being mad at Ga-Yeon? He did mention her slightly but you didn’t know.

You sigh and click on one of the numbers and put it up to your ear. You waited till it rang a couple of times, the pain in your pain sending a spark through you.

“Y/n? I thought you knew we didn’t have class today?”

Fuck. It was Seonghwa.

“Just..help..” You croaked out and You could hear the shuffling of him exiting the band room and several “What’s wrong?” ringing in the background.

You dropped your phone, not hearing the worried voice of the mama of the friend group.

Seonghwa cursed as he rushed to the class, he could tell in your voice that you were hurt and the last thing he needed was you being hurt. Because you being hurt would send Mingi into a flurry and he does not need to deal with that this semester,

Kicking open the door Seonghwa ran in and saw you on the ground holding your stomach, the scar on your face now forming into a whelp. He ran over and scooped you up into his arms.

“Joong!! Joong!! “ He called out, not getting a response from the male.

“For the love of San’s dimples HONGJOONG BRING YOUR ALL IN HERE!!”

Rapid footsteps could be heard, multiple, which made Hwa curse to himself.

“Fuck, fuck..Y/n what happened?” “Ga..Ga-Yeon…Mingi’s hers..” You mumbled out as the male raised off the ground with you in his arms. Seonghwa couldn’t really graped what you were trying to say but you just stayed silent as the other ran in.

“Princess!!” You hear Mingi call out, running up to Hwa to snatch you from his arms. Mingi looked down at you seeing the scar on your pretty face. “Princess who did this?..Who did it to you?..”

“Mingi calm down-”

“NO! I want her to tell me what happened!!!”

“Mingi we can just figure out by the cameras to see who-”

“NO!!”

Mingi held you closely in his arms as Jade ran into the classroom, “I came quick! Now what the hell happened Seonghwa!?” Jade barked at the Pink haired boy. He raised his hands up.

“It wasn’t any of us, she called me in distress, not wanting to upset Mingi, Cause you know how he gets it..”

Jade looked over at Mingi carrying you out the door and to the health office.

Jade sighed, “Was it Ga-Yeon?” Seonghwa nodded and Yeosang groaned. He hadn’t spoken up much, “Please. I told Seonghwa to let me get rid of her when she fucking tried to get at Mingi the first time!” The dark haired male scowled.

Jade shook her head. “I don’t need to bail you out again. This will be the third time and we don’t need it. “ Yeosang groans. And as much as she wanted You to stay away from them, she’s friends with some of them. She’s gonna have to play dirty in order to get back at the bitches who did it to you.

“Yeo, Me, you and Jongho are on stake out duty. We watch Y/n get to class.” Jade states. Yeosang nods and Jongho only makes noise of agreement.

This was going to be hell, because they already woke up the beast. And the rest of the crew had to tread lightly in order to prevent anything else from happening.

—-

Over the next few days, Mingi walked you to class. Make sure you have someone to walk you from class and back to the dorm.

You on the other hand were now afraid. As with the protection, the group who harassed you the first time now were plotting your downfall.

You saw them everywhere you went, but luckily Mingi was with you. If not Mingi, it was San and Wooyoung.

This time it was Wooyoung by yourself that you were with when you were approached by Raina. She was just as much of a bitch as Ga-Yeon and she was bestfriends with the missing Jae-Hwa.

“Not you having a little chihuahua as your guard.”

“What do you want, Raina.” Wooyoung cut her off, standing infront of you. Raina smirked, and you wished that her next words didn’t come out her mouth.

“Me? Afraid of a little sissy boy like you! No wonder Yuki doesn’t want you!” Wooyoung froze in place. You watched as Raina snickered at him.

“Yuki wants a real man like your bestfriend! What’s his name? Yeosang? Or maybe it was San? Anyways it doesn’t matter because it’s anyone but you!”

You felt anger bubbled up in you and before you knew it you had punched her square in the face, sending her back on her ass.

Wooyoung gasped and she cried out in pain. “What the fuck!”

“You keep their names out of your mouth! Fuck your friends and fuck what they think about Wooyoung!” You yelled before snatching Wooyoung's hand and walked past the bitch as she sat in pain.

You got far enough away before sighing. “That was well deserved.” Wooyoung chuckled as he leaned against the wall. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Please. It’s the least I can do for you all to help me out, besides, I can stick up for myself, they caught me at the wrong time the first time.”

Wooyoung laughed as he watched you go to class, “hey, Y/n?” You turned to him with a smile, “Yea Woo?” The male smiled back at you.

“Thank you..”

You giggled and waved to him “Your welcome! See you in the band room!”

Wooyoung nodded as you disappeared into the classroom.

He slid down the wall cursing to himself, there was a blush on his cheeks and he felt butterflies in his stomach.

He think he just fell for you.

“MINGGGGIIIII WE GOTTA HAVE A TALK!!!!”

—-

#evesfics #evesnightclub (18+)#ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #song mingi x reader #mingi x reader #ateez x y/n #Seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #wooyoung x reader #Jung Wooyoung x reader #mingi x reader smut #song mingi x reader smut #eve = turbulence

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tetsunormous · 4 years ago

Text

Reencounters

pairing: Matsukawa Issei x f!reader

genre: college au, friends to lovers, smut (18+), fluff

word count: 6.5K

warnings: cunnilingus, fingering, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, swearing, nipple play, pinning

A/N: This is for Ria's @bakugohoex's rich boy collab 💜 Congrat's on 3k!! thank you to @ohno-otome and @armins-futon for reading this for me. I love matsukawa but I don't write for him often so this has been really fun :)

Walking into your new dorm room, you weren’t sure what to expect. Sure, you’ve seen the pictures online, but there’s nothing like the slightly dusty window letting in a hazy ray of light shining down onto the slight dip in the middle of the mattress you now call your own. Your desk almost touched the corner of your twin-sized bed, and your new bookshelf barely has enough room to fit half of the books you brought, but this was your new life. It didn’t dawn on you just how different university would be until you arrived this morning, but here you were, unpacking all your clothes into the cramped closet in the corner. Luckily, you’re in the building where you had a single room. Privacy was something you were worried about, and the communal washrooms will be something to get used to, but either way, this was a new start, and no matter how nervous you are, you’re grateful for it.

High school wasn’t terrible, but it definitely wasn’t what you expected it to be. Going into it, you obviously knew that it would be nothing like how the movies depicted, but you were excited. How bad could those four years really be if you had your best friend right by your side? He was incredible. He understood you better than anybody else, would be able to tell how you were feeling without the exchange of words, but most of all, he was your person, and you were his.

There was no doubting that in all your years of friendship.

But alas, like all good things in life, they must come to an end.

The summer going into the twelfth grade, he was longer your best friend. The boy that would go to the farmers market with you and your mom every other Sunday was now lining up for the newest sneaker drop. The boy that would rather spend the night at home and binge-watch your shared comfort show for the seventh time is now out with the boys sneaking into shisha bars and doing donuts in the community centre parking lots with their new cars. You watched as he slowly forgot about you, getting caught up in his new friendships and obsessing over material items that he never cared about before. It’s not that you were upset he found new friends. It’s that the only time he would reach out was to randomly drop off something he had bought you in hopes it would make up for him blowing you off again.

They started small, simple sweaters he knew you would like, but the gifts became almost ridiculous as time passed. He would never let you return them either, so now you have designer shoes for imaginary banquets. Of course, you were always grateful, but you would trade all his gifts just to spend time with him again. His family has always been wealthy, they always went on lavish vacations and drove the nicest cars, but you never really cared about what he spends his money on or just how much his parents make. You cared that he saw you as a person he wanted to be with rather than just someone he could shove gifts towards to make up for the quality time he’d miss.

But now you’re here. You were arriving three hours before the suggested move-in time because you didn’t want to be rushed to unpack before orientation starts later. You’ve seen a few people walking around on your floor, but neither of your neighbours have arrived, and honestly, you don’t mind because that means you’re able to blast your music without worry. As The 1975 fills your room, you stand still for a second, really taking in where you are. You’re now attending one of the best schools in the country, living on your own with a floor of people you don’t know yet. It starts to sink in that you are starting anew. The people who end up in the rooms next to you might just end up being your lifelong friends. As the song comes to an end, you decide it’s time to try to make yourself look a little more presentable since it’s almost time for people to start rolling in.

...

It’s almost five in the afternoon, and everyone on your floor is meeting outside on the field for a quick introduction before group dinner. You’re sitting with your knees pressed to your chest as the girl next to you tries to make small talk. To be fair, she’s incredibly sweet, but you can’t focus on her because somewhere behind you, there is a voice you think you recognize. There’s no way he would be here. Sure, you have no idea what school he ended up choosing, but if he ended up here, he would’ve at least texted you. Right? Before you can confirm your suspicions, orientation starts, and your group leader is already talking with more energy than you can handle.

The group of guys settle down close by, and you can’t stop yourself from looking over, wondering if you’ll see the head of brown curls. Instead, you’re met with a bunch of frat boy looking wannabes that instantly make your eyes roll. To say you’re disappointed that you didn’t see him was so stupid. It’s been over a year, yet here you were, hoping to magically bump into him as if this was some cliche movie. If anything, it’s frustrating. It’s frustrating that even though he stopped caring for you, you still longed to see him, to hear him laugh at one of your cheesy jokes. It’s even more frustrating that this new start you’ve been looking forward to, makes you miss him even more.

There are only sixteen people on your floor, but introductions take a lifetime because someone didn’t come on time. When they finally do show up, you almost laugh at this whole situation because, of course, it was him. Of course, he was strutting down the courtyard in some brand new Gucci sneakers and the same Balenciaga sweater he had bought for you a few months ago. Of course, the annoying group of boys behind you gesture for him as he quickly apologizes to the group leaders. And, of course, when you make eye contact, he’s the one looking at you with a mixture of shock and annoyance.

Quickly rushing back to your room after the meeting, you decide you’re ordering in tonight so that you don’t have to see him for at least another day. This is all so fucked up. You wrack your brain trying to understand how probable this whole situation is because, frankly, it feels like a sick joke, and on top of it, he’s the one annoyed?

Naturally, you spend the rest of the night unpacking the rest of your things before ordering your comfort food to wash down all the feelings you’re experiencing. Putting on your favourite show, you begin your tenth rerun as you bury yourself in your blankets. Part of you feels so stupid for completely ignoring your initial dinner plans, but you knew with the mindset you had at the moment, there was no way you would have enjoyed yourself. It’s a bit silly you haven’t left your room since picking up your takeout, you don’t even know who lives beside you, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Slipping into your slides, you head towards the washroom with your little toiletry bag. You pass by the girl you were sitting with earlier, and she sends you a smile. After apologizing for disappearing all night she just laughs and assures you nothing happened. She even points out where her room is if you were up to hang out tomorrow during frosh activities.

Just this interaction makes you feel better, and you quietly hum along to the familiar tune coming from the shower stall.

He used to play this song all the time, claiming it spoke to him the first time he heard it. Since then, it became the song he would play anytime he’d come to pick you up, explaining how this song is special because the ending always reminded him of you. It didn’t matter how long it’s been since the two of you hung out. Every time you heard ‘Pluto Projector,’ it would always bring a smile to your face. You even tried to show the song to your ex-boyfriend, but he never paid attention to your suggestions. He always claimed that his music taste was better. Thankfully that relationship only lasted a couple of months, but still, the regret of not waiting for someone worthy lingers in your mind.

While applying your moisturizer, you hear the water shut, the person pausing the song right as the orchestra starts to come in. Worried about who you may run into, you quickly pack up your stuff. You hear the click of the lock, and as you turn around, you’re met with him, with his curly hair all damp and his obnoxious teal blue robe wrapped loosely around his waist.

Rushing past him, you briskly walk towards your room, but before you can close the door, his foot jams between the doorframe. He pushes his way in and quietly closes the door, only to be met with the unimpressed look on your face. He circles around your room, eyes searching for any trace of your past friendship before standing back at the door.

“What do you want, Matsukawa?” you ask impatiently. It’s bad enough you run into the one person you wanted to forget, but now he’s standing in your room with a matching frown.

Something indescribable flashes across his eyes, and you can visibly see his frown deepen at your question. Leaning against your door, his arms come up to rub over his face, peeking at you through his fingers before letting out a long sigh. “When did I become Matsukawa? I thought I was Issei.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips, and you realize how childish your grudge might be, but he has changed, and the man standing in front of you isn’t the same man you once called your best friend. “When you changed, Matsukawa. Issei was my best friend, and YOU are not.”

His eyes filled with confusion as his eyebrows furrow, taking a step forward towards you. “I’m sorry? I tried to stay in touch with you. You’re the one that stopped talking to me, so I’d try to send you things instead. How was I the one who changed?”

You stand there, staring at him for a second before shaking your head. “I can’t do this right now; I want to have a good day tomorrow, so I need to go to sleep. Please, leave my room.”

His eyes soften a little, and you can see a faint glimpse of his infamous lazy smile, “We both know you’re not going to be sleeping anytime soon,” he stalks over and kicks his slides off before sitting at the end of your bed. “Let’s talk about this because, frankly, I’m tired of watching you decide if you hate me every time you see me.”

The nerve of this man. The fact that he invites himself into your room, declares his stay, and then sits on your bed without permission. You don’t even know if he’s wearing anything under that robe as his hair is literally dripping onto your comforter. Regardless of what the situation is, this action alone has you seething. Turning towards your desk chair, you harshly pull out the slightly imbalanced piece of wood and sit down, silently questioning why he isn’t the one on the chair.

He watches you stomp around, and he kinda chuckles at your little tantrum, missing how easy it was to rile you up. Your glare at him would be a little scary if he didn’t see the way your lips mumbled to yourself. It’s honestly a little cute to watch you all frustrated with him even though he saw one of the shoes he bought you in your closet. Sure, they look brand new, but the fact that you brought them here with you must mean something.

The year you two spent apart has been really stressful on Matsukawa. He thought that you’d be happy that he could give you everything you wanted. He knew he wasn’t spending as much time with you as he used to, but he thought the gifts he spent hours lining up for would make up for it.

When you stopped returning his calls and texts, he was crushed. Everyone could see how he felt about you, but then he watched you get close to another man. Within two weeks, you were dating him, and he was left watching from a distance. Neither of you ever confirmed your feelings for each other, but he could tell that man wasn’t making you happy. He didn’t understand your different facial expressions, he didn’t care about what you had to say, but all he could do was watch the girl he wanted from the sidelines.

Sure, as time went on, Matsukawa also started talking to other girls. None of them ever became his girlfriend, he didn’t think it was fair to get with someone when he was set on you, but he had his fair share of hookups. He has money, a shit ton of it, but he never let that get to his head. It wasn’t his fault that he gained popularity when he started to get into name brands and upgraded his car, but none of that ever changed who he was — at least not to the degree you had him pinned.

He watches you carefully, your leg bouncing impatiently as your eyes glare daggers in his direction. He runs his hand through his hair and lets out a sigh, “what did I do wrong? You didn’t even give me a chance to fix whatever I did (y/n).”

The lamp in the corner of your room shines a dim yellow hue onto his features. His brows are knitted in concern as he leans forwards on his knees, his robe showing off a deep v down his chest. You can feel yourself freeze up at his question, goosebumps covering your skin, while your eyes pour into his. “You changed Matsukawa. You stopped making an effort to be there. I’m not some girl you can just buy with all your money. I have never cared about how much you have or what you can afford -- you know that! It doesn’t matter what. I always split things with you because I never wanted you to feel like I was there for your money. But then suddenly, you just stop showing up. You wouldn’t even tell me you made other plans, and I would just open my door to find some package you dropped off.”

His eyes search your face before letting out a deep sigh. “I tried! You wouldn’t answer any of my calls, I know I stopped explaining myself, but can you blame me? Don’t you think I want to take you around and introduce you to all my friends? Don’t you think I miss going on late-night drives with you to 7-11? Every time I would drive past there, you’re all I thought about. You and your stupid obsession with cheese taquitos and Arizona tea. Did you even think about how I felt when you decided to act like I don’t exist?” He hastily stands up and paces around in the confined space of your dorm room. He never raises his voice, so hearing him talk at a slightly louder volume was enough to let you know he was dead serious. “You know, I never stopped talking highly about you because as selfish as it is, those boys have an important family. They have the connections you dream about (y/n), so even when you started to ignore me to go out with that fucking ex-boyfriend of yours, I never said anything.”

He looks at you with pleading eyes before going to sit back down, his elbows now resting against his thighs. “I know you don’t care about my money, but I didn’t know how else to tell you I was still thinking about you. I tried to get you things that you’d like, things that you’d wear. But no, I had to watch you put on a fake smile and laugh at that asshole’s jokes while you stubbornly ignored me to the point I thought you had me blocked.”

Looking up at you through his curls, his hooded eyes looked darker before. His lips curled into a forced smile as he let out a breathy chuckle, “he didn’t deserve you. But what do I know, right?”

You sat there quietly, taking in what he had just said. You didn’t realize how hurt he was. To be frank, up till now, you were so consumed by your feelings, and you failed to consider his own. His head is hanging between his hands, and the silence in your room right now is insufferable. He’s just explained himself, yet all you can do is scoff at yourself. While you were obsessing over the fact that Matsukawa wasn’t coming over to watch another rerun of your favourite show, he was out picking out different gifts he thought you’d like. You didn’t even open the last few because your own emotions so blinded you. Hearing him take a deep breath, he stands up and smiles sadly at you, “nice talk, (y/n). Thanks for listening.”

“I’m sorry, Issei.”

He lifts his head to meet your gaze, and you can visibly watch as his shoulders relax. It’s been too long since he’s heard you call him by his first name.

“I’m sorry too. I should’ve just gotten out of the car to talk to you.”

You look at him with a small smile. Walking towards your bed, you sit down and pat the spot beside you, pulling him in for a hug. His robe is probably the softest thing you’ve ever felt in your life, your fingers sinking into the fabric as you hold him close. His arms are immediately wrapping around you, and you both stay like that for a minute before you pull back, a faint blush blooming on your cheeks.

“No, you have nothing to apologize for. You tried reaching out to me, you tried explaining yourself, but I didn’t even give you a chance. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I was so caught up I didn’t even think about what you were feeling. The fact that you still wanted to introduce me to your friends, even after all the stuff I did to you….I’m so sorry, Issei.”

He gives you a playful smile and lightly nudges your shoulder with his, “yea, that was kinda unfair, but good thing we talked it out, huh?”

You flash him a sheepish smile, but your eyes glimmer with happiness, “yea, it’s good you barged into my room at two in the morning. Just like old times.”

His smile instantly grows at your playfulness, and he gives you a mock scoff. “I’m sorry, but if I remember correctly, you’d beg for me to stay over at two am cause you decided you wanted to watch a scary movie. Have you gotten better with horror movies this year, or are you still as jumpy as I remember?”

The tip of your ears growing warm while you mutter out a quick “shut up.”

His laughter makes your heart beat against your chest because you missed it so much. It’s been a while since you got to hear him laugh with you, and without even thinking, you go in for another hug.

His arms easily hold you close, and one of his massive hands reaches up to pet your hair. “Missed me, didn’t you?” he asks, and you can feel him smirking, so you just nod, your fingers playing with the damp, short curls at the base of his nape.

“Issei?” you ask with a little murmur against his neck.

“Hmmm?”

You smile to yourself and pull back a little, so you can see his face, “so other than hanging out with your friends and keeping up with my relationship, what else have you been doing?”

His face drops as he looks at you with a deadpan stare, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smile as you giggle at his reaction. He pushes you back, so you end up falling onto your mattress, his long limbs effortlessly straddling your legs. Before you can think about the position you’re in, his fingers start to poke all-around your torso, causing you both to laugh as he starts to tickle you. “You think you’re funny, huh?” His hands go to tickle your worst spot as he starts to talk, but you can’t hear him over your own laughter. His fingers slow down, but you keep giggling when you’re met with his lazy smirk, “I’m trying to talk, you know. It’s rude you’re laughing when I’m trying to speak to you.”

He leans forwards and has both hands resting at the side of your head. Your faces now inches apart, the faint smell of sandalwood from his body wash now becoming more apparent. You stare into his brown eyes, and it almost feels as if everything stopped for a few seconds. The lamp in your room doesn’t do him justice as the shadows of his face wash over his features, but even then, his eyes stare back at you with a slight twinkle as you catch your breath.

Reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and you tug him close, crashing his lips onto yours. The sweet hints from his beloved Burt’s bee’s lip balm make his lips even softer than you imagined. The kiss is short, but as you both pull away, he’s staring at you with a goofy smile.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that, (y/n).”

“Me too, Issei,” you whisper back before his lips capture yours again, this time with more confidence. This kiss is much more passionate than the last, holding onto each other in hopes of deepening it. One of his hands travels down to grab your waist, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip, asking for permission. Your lips part and your tongues swirl together effortlessly while your hands play with his hair, pulling him closer into your body.

His hand feels a little rougher than before against your bare skin because of how often he trains, running down the length of your leg. The light touch of his fingertips admires how smooth your skin is before they trail back up, stopping just before the edge of your pyjama shorts. Hooking your leg around his hip, he leans into your body even further and even nips at your bottom lip.

Matsukawa smirks and whispers against your lips, “did he ever kiss you like that?”

Slightly surprised at the question, you shake your head, answering honestly. “He never made me feel the way you do.”

You watch as his eyes dilate, flickering into a deep brown you’ve never seen on him. The hand that was previously on your leg is now cupping your cheek, stroking your face softly, while his own face blooms into a rare shade of pink. Still, his words are clear, “please...give me a chance? He never treated you right. Let me take care of you?”

Words can’t describe how his question made you feel. You spent years learning about Matsukawa, understanding him to the point where words weren’t necessary to see what was happening in his head. Not once did you think he reciprocated your feelings, let alone want to be with you. Yet, here you are, caged beneath his arms as his hopeful eyes pour into yours.

Turning your head slightly, you press a kiss onto his hand and smile. “Please?”

His face breaks into a smile. His cheeks are tinted rose as the corners of his mouth reach up to his eyes. Leaning down, he peppers kisses onto your face, the loose curls on his head tickling your cheeks as he giggles with you. The kisses trail down to your jaw, and he follows the natural curve of your jawline to your ear. “Is this okay?” he whispers softly, only continuing down this path when you give him a curt nod.

Your legs tighten around his waist when he begins to press open mouth kisses down your neck, gently nipping at the spots that make you let out shy little sounds. His tongue leaves kitten licks against your skin after he’s sucked on it, littering faint marks. Seeing you with light hickeys on the base of your neck and collarbones is completely self-indulgent for him. Thinking about waking up in the morning and seeing the marks he knows he gave you makes him inexplicably happy as he sucks particularly hard, causing you to wince.

Immediately he stops and turns to you, “I’m sorry, did I hurt you? D’you wanna stop?”

His concern for you is truly a breath of fresh air compared to what you had before. Shaking your head, you guide his hands to the edge of your sweater. “You bought this for me… it’s only fair I let you take it off.”

He studies your face for a second before his lips curl into a lazy smirk, quickly pulling the overpriced sweater off your body. He takes a sharp inhale when you reveal you aren’t wearing anything underneath as he’s met with your beautiful tits, nipples hard and pointed. “You let me in here knowing you weren’t wearing a bra? And here I thought you were a good girl.”

Noticing how your legs tighten around him, he smirks even wider. Leaning back down, his kisses trail down to your chest, and his lips feel soft and warm against your skin. His fingers take hold of your chin and force you to look down on him while his lips wrap around your nipple, the tip of his tongue flicking gently at the hardened bud. His hand palms against the fatty flesh of your other tit; his fingers are rolling your nipple before tugging on it experimentally.

Suddenly feeling shy, your arms come up to cover your face slightly just to have him lace his fingers with yours, pulling your arms away. “Don’t hide from me. Let me see how pretty you look. Let me hear how good I make you feel, okay?”

“I’ve never had someone play with my tits like this…”

He just stares at you, brows knitted as his smirk turns into a slight pout. “You’re with me now; that means every part of your body will be pleasured. I wanna hear and see all of you, okay?”

With a shy nod, you gently roll your hips against him, inviting more of his attention.

He kisses you once more, murmuring against your lips, “you’re so beautiful. Let me know if I’m going too fast, okay?”

His lips follow down your body once more, lightly biting your tit before using the flat part of his tongue to feel the valley between your chest. Matsukawa lets out a low moan as you arch upwards, pushing yourself closer to his touches. Letting go of your hands, he begins to massage the soft flesh of your tits and kiss down your stomach, the tip of his tongue trailing against the waistband of your shorts.

“Let me hear you ask for it; I don’t wanna do something you don’t want.”

“Isseiiii, please?” you whine out, the tip of your ears turning hot at the thought of asking for his tongue.

He smirks at you, looking up through his hooded eyes and tsks. “Be a good girl for me. Use your words.”

His words go straight to your pussy, and you can’t help the doe eyes look in your eyes when you whimper out, “please, Issei? Wanna feel your mouth on me.”

You watch as he takes in a sharp breath, the hunger in his eyes shining through despite the dim lighting in your room. He tugs at the end of your shorts until they’re completely off, repositioning himself lower until your legs are resting around his biceps. His eyes zone in on the way a sheer layer of slick coats your lips, happy that the attention he’s been giving you has pleased you. As he shimmies down on your bed, his legs now supporting himself on the floor, he nestles himself between your legs, easily spreading your things open with his arms. Sending you a knowing smile, he blows cool air directly onto your clit, loving how your walls flutter for him.

“You’re so sensitive, baby.”

“No one’s ever made me feel like this before...want more, please?”

You look down at him with pleading eyes, your hands cupping his face when you speak. Pressing a quick peck to your hand, he hips his head down and traces your pussy lips with his tongue, savouring how you taste.

The gasp that you let out once you felt his touch was adorable. It suddenly became the sound Matsukawa will chase after the more he gets to know your body and what it likes. He takes one long lap up your pussy, stopping just before your clit and using his fingers, he spreads your lips even more. Once your clit is all exposed, he flicks it gently with the tip of his tongue, looking up at you with all the confidence in the world. Hearing your little moans make him greedy for more, for more desperate and needy sounds, so he goes to press a kiss onto your bundle of nerves. Feeling you twitch beneath him, he gently places his lips around the sensitive bud and sucks earnestly, relishing in the way you buck your hips and call out his name. After a while of pure clitoral stimulation, he leans back up to watch your eyes blink back into focus on his face, a silly dazed smile on your face.

He winks at you and sticks his tongue into your drooling hole, swirling it around to feel the walls of your pussy clench around him. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as he nuzzles his nose against your clit, his cock getting unbearably hard at the way you pant our pleas.

“I-issei! Please….need you inside, please!”

Coming back up for air, his hand leaves your thigh as his fingers start to tease around your hole, loving how your pussy clenches around nothing. So needy for his touches when he’s barely even started. He knows your orgasm was building, but he wants to take his time with you. You mean the world to him, and seeing you like this already makes him feel like the luckiest man at the moment.

Taking two of his fingers, he coats them in all your slick before slowly pushing them inside you. His eyes squeeze shut when he feels how tight you are, his mind immediately thinking about how you’d feel wrapped around his cock. When he’s finally inside, he pulls out slowly before sliding them back in, loving how you beg for more.

“Need more, please, Issei! Go faster, please.”

Your hands pull his head up to kiss you while his fingers begin to speed up. With the lewd sound of his hand slapping against your sopping wet pussy, his palm is applying pressure to your clit. Your moans are lost in your kisses, his other hand going back to playing with your sensitive nipple.

“I have to stretch you out, babygirl. I don’t want my cock to hurt you.”

All you’re able to do is nod as his fingers start to scissor your hole, stretching you out even more. His fingers, now knuckle deep, curl against your sweet spot, making you grip onto his hair as he swallows all your cries, suddenly remembering that the walls in this dorm probably aren’t that thick.

His fingers curl into you more, whispering sweet praises as his hand teases and tugs on your swollen nipple. Everything happened so quick, and you’re cumming all over his hand, your sweet sticky arousal covering his fingers as he slows down. Matsukawa is smiling down at you, “you did so well, baby. Bet that felt really good, huh?”

Maybe you’re needy or just horny, but even after your orgasm, you start tugging the tie that keeps his robe up. Your legs are sore, sorer than they’ve ever been, but all you can think about is how full you would feel with him inside of you. He smirks at you as he pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking off all your juices before letting his robe fall and chucking it to the ground. He’s wearing his briefs, but you can see how hard his cock is under the thin cotton material. Before you’re able to pull his underwear down, he stops you and lets out a small chuckle. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a condom. We don’t have to do anything.”

You giggle and shake your head, “don’t need one; we’re in university, baby. What’s a little fun without risks?”

He lets you pull his underwear down, and his massive throbbing cock instantly slaps against his stomach as he laughs at your reaction. “Had to make sure you were stretched out enough.”

You bite your lips and stare at how big his cock actually is. It’s hard to imagine how you’ll fit that inside of you, but you’re determined to give it a try.

“You ready, pretty girl?” he asks as he taps the tip of cock against your clit, loving how you squirm under him.

“mmhmm, Issei.”

He lets go of his cock and leans up, and pulls you into a deep kiss, completely in awe of you.

“Tell me if you wanna stop, kay?”

Replying with a small hum, he gathers up the remaining slick that’s leaking out of your pussy and strokes his cock slowly, also letting his spit drip down to help lubricate himself. He lines himself up with your pretty pussy and starts to push the head in, studying your face to make sure you’re doing alright. When he sees you smiling back at him, despite the grip you have on his arms, he pushes another two inches inside of you.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. We’re almost halfway,” he whispers into your ear as he kisses your neck softly, sucking on the spot by the base of your lobe. “Such a good girl for me,” he coaxes as his cock slides another inch into your sweet cunt.

Incredibly, he’s only halfway down because you’ve never felt this full before. Still, your fingers dig into his arms when you ask for more. “Just want all of you in me, please?”

Hearing you ask for more even though you already looked fucked out sparks something inside him. He lets out a low growl and quickly pushes the rest of his length inside you, mumbling sweet nothings against your skin. He moans out with you when he feels how warm and tight you are, your pussy stretching more than it ever has to accommodate his size.

“Feel s’good, Issei.”

With a breathy chuckle, he peppers kisses all over your neck, loving the sound of your soft giggles as he pulls back three-quarters of the way, slowly pushing his way back into you. The gasp you let out is different than before, much more surprised but sensual.

He continues this motion a few more times before he picks up the pace, his hips slamming against you while your tits bounce. Each thrust knocks the air out of your chest cause he’s brushing against your spot every time. Matsukawa leans down and presses his forehead against the crook of your neck, muttering how good you feel.

“F-faster...need you faster, is’o good, please.”

Obliging to your pleas, he starts to rut his hips into yours, the sound of his balls slapping against your skin with each movement. He looks up to see your dreamy eyes and smiles. He knows there’s not a thought behind those eyes right now as his cock slams against your walls with each thrust. He goes to kiss you again, silencing your cries as your nails drag down his arms, trying to ground yourself in the midst of all the pleasure.

“You’re s-tight baby I- fuuuuuck, I can barely move.”

You can’t help it. Your walls are naturally squeezing him because he’s fucking straight into your sweet spot with each snap of his hips. You look at him with hazy eyes, entirely in a trance as you moan out his name. He can tell you want to cum, so his hand reaches down to rub your clit as his cock continues to pound into you.

“C’mon baby, cum all over my cock. You can do it...ah shit, yea, just like that.”

He’s been trying so hard not to cum but watching your back arch into him as your nails drab down his back, his name falling out from your lips in a loud erotic moan, is making it really hard. He looks down in surprise when he sees a creamy white rim around his cock, proud of himself for making you cream.

“Good girl...that’s my fuckin girl.”

Satisfied he made you finish, his head falls back onto your shoulder, his hips just rutting into you as he chases his own orgasm. Not even a minute later, he’s calling out for you as he quickly pulls out, cumming all over your tits. His chest heaves along with yours, his hair sticking to his forehead slightly as he empties his load all over your chest.

Once you’ve both calmed down a little bit, he smiles down at you and goes to stroke your cheek. “Had you creaming on my cock, was it fun? Did you have a good time?”

“S’good...thank you, baby,” you say before pulling him down for a kiss.

He gets up and reaches for his robe, “you did so good, took me like a champ heh. I’ll be back with a rag to clean you up, okay? Don’t move.”

As he leaves your room, you stare up at the ceiling and let out a laugh. Not even twelve hours ago, you were cursing the fact that he was here with you, and now you have his cum all over your tiddies as he goes to get stuff to clean you up.

You watch as he comes back into your room, fully changed with a rag in his hand. He kneels beside you and pets your hair as he starts to wipe his mess.

“Why’re you changed?”

“Oh! We’re going to 7-11 once I get you cleaned up.”

“.....it’s like three-thirty in the morning.”

“I’ll get you taquitos and Arizona,” he says as he goes to wipe around your pussy, mindful not to put too much pressure cause you’re still sensitive.

“And skittles?”

He snorts and kisses your shaking thigh, “yea, I’ll get you skittles, brat.”

taglist: @plutowrites @armins-futon @arte-misa @strawbari21 @matsusimp @bokutomessy @mentaly-ill @arumiee @kvrooschibichan lmk if you want to be added to my tag list

#rich boy collab #matsukawa #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa smut #matsukawa issei smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu matsukawa #tw unprotected sex #dark

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Note

JC adopts stray/rouge cultivators after the war au to cope with the destruction of lotus pier. also i love your writing so much!!

Gratuitously Acquired - ao3

At first, he took anyone who would join, needing numbers – needing people. There were plenty of cultivators that wanted to be associated with a great sect. Plenty, too, that were barely more than criminals, wanting to use the smoke and ash of war to obscure the past, to cover up old crimes and wash themselves clean.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t in any position to refuse them. Soldiers were soldiers.

After the war ended, though…

Some he cast out. Others, even more despicable, he slaughtered for what they’d done.

A few –

“Yan Qiao.”

The female cultivator in question, who had been sneaking out of the still mostly ruined Lotus Pier at night in flagrant violation of curfew, froze in her tracks.

“Uh,” she said. “Sect Leader Jiang. Fancy finding you…here…now…at this time…”

Jiang Cheng looked at the basket of buns in her hands. “You’re stealing leftovers from our kitchens to feed orphans among the common people,” he said. “Again.”

She blushed. “No one wants them now that there’s better available, Sect Leader! Really, they’ll only go stale, and then rot – and I never stole when it was the army eating them!”

“That’s not the point,” Jiang Cheng said irritably. “Tell me, how in the name of heavens did you really get branded as a criminal? Distributed too many alms? Did too much charity?”

Yan Qiao coughed, turning red. “I told you before, Sect Leader. I killed a man.”

“He must have done something particularly heinous, then. You’re shitat killing.”

“Now I am. Sect Leader, if you don’t mind…”

“You’re one of the ones who wants my surname, right?” he interrupted. “Consider it granted.”

Yan Qiao – no, he supposed he’d better start thinking of her as Jiang Qiao – gaped at him. “But…Sect Leader!”

“I’ve barely granted it to anyone, so you’d better live up to it, you hear me?” Jiang Cheng said in his best threatening voice. He’d been assured by several people that it was really quite threatening, anyway. “I don’t want any excuses. Now go feed your damn orphans, and in the morning I want a report on how you think we can do it in a more structured manner. I can’t have you sneaking off every night anymore! Now that you’re a Jiang, you’re going to have work.”

When they were done with war and started firmly on rebuilding, the Jiang sect’s name was firmly reestablished as a Great Sect once more, it was the opportunists that came.

Smiling faces, sycophantic voices, cowards one and all – like beetles crawling out of the woodwork, not willing to risk their lives, but willing enough to beg for scraps and advantages later on when it seemed safe enough to do so.

Jiang Cheng wanted to chase them all away, but his sect was still weaker than he wanted to admit, still rebuilding, still more army than civilian operation. They had valiant soldiers by the dozen, but they needed more than that. They needed administrators, supervisors, artisans, smiths, merchants, laundry-women…

They needed workers. The ones they got – well, cowards they might be, but skills they had.

He still rejected most of the worst of them.

Most.

“Bo Zhou,” he said, inspecting the surprisingly flush list of taxes they’d collected that quarter, and the man in question turned to grin unrepentantly at him. “You’d tell me if you were a con artist in a previous life, right?”

“A previous life, Sect Leader?” Bo Zhou said. He was still grinning, but then, he was always grinning. He had a crooked leg and an even more crooked heart, and he’d probably steal candy from little children if he happened to have a hankering, but he was amazing at getting people to do what he wanted. Too amazing, really. “Why limit yourself? What about thislife?”

“…Bo Zhou. Tell me you aren’t a former con artist.”

“I may or may not have had a sideline selling snake oil and protective talismans before I became a cultivator,” Bo Zhou admitted cheerfully, and Jiang Cheng pinched the bridge of his nose – less out of actual irritation and more to keep from actually laughing. The only person he knew that was more shameless than Bo Zhou was Wei Wuxian; he couldn’t wait to introduce them once Wei Wuxian stopped skulking around in wine shops long enough to get back to doing his job as Jiang Cheng’s head disciple and right hand. “Who would’ve known that making all those fake talismans ended up making me pretty good at making actual talismans when I became a cultivator? Really, who could have called that?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Who taught you how to cultivate, anyway? Can I – I don’t know – seek vengeance on behalf of the rest of the world or something?”

Bo Zhou rolled his eyes right back at him. Shameless! “Is this about the taxes? Just be happy I got them all!”

“I can’t just be happy! What if this money is stolen property?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sect Leader. They’re what we shouldbe getting, and from all the right people. You told me this was the right amount yourself!”

“Yes, but no one ever actually pays the full amount!” Jiang Cheng enjoyed the way Bo Zhou’s jaw dropped. “I just wanted to see if you could actually do it.”

“I’m hurt at your lack of trust.” Bo Zhou paused, considering. “Also a little impressed at you for keeping a straight enough face to trick me. Well done, Sect Leader.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said. “You too, Jiang Zhou.”

“It’s Bo…” He trailed off, comprehension arriving and speech departing, and this time he didn’t have a quick retort. He’d been nagging Jiang Cheng on and off for the Jiang surname for the last few weeks, more joking than anything else – he knew that Jiang Cheng hadn’t given his surname to the vast majority of the new people in his sect, only the very few he thought were worth it.

Jiang Cheng enjoyed the newly dubbed Jiang Zhou’s moment of speechlessness thoroughly, since he was moderately sure he wasn’t going to get another one anytime in the next – ever, possibly.

“You proved your worth and your trustworthiness,” he said, patting Jiang Zhou on the shoulder. It occurred to him that he should probably come up with a courtesy name for the man, although he wasn’t sure the man would want one. “Also, congratulations, you’re now the person in charge of tax collection. See if you can think up some new thoughts about supplementing our income, will you? We have so many costs, and I don’t want to rely on Lanling Jin more than I can help it, not like Gusu Lan…”

“Oh, really?” Jiang Zhou interrupted, abruptly excited. “I have so many ideas! How ethical do you want to be about this?”

Jiang Cheng paused. “…very?”

“Be reasonable, Sect Leader!”

“…moderately?” he tried, a little more desperately.

“I can work with moderately. I don’t suppose you’d accept ‘thin and barely plausible veneer’?”

“No.”

“Oh well. Moderately ethical it is!”

Most of the Jiang sect was slaughtered during the attack on the Lotus Pier. Disciples Jiang Cheng had grown up with his whole life, had expected to see by his side in the future, his friends, his family, even his petty childhood enemies – all gone.

Well, not all gone. There were some Jiang disciples that had been away from Lotus Pier at the time, whether on some errand or a night-hunt or other reasons; they rushed back to his side as soon as they could, of course, and formed the core of Jiang Cheng’s new Jiang sect. When he’d felt utterly alone, when even Wei Wuxian was missing, they had been there for him. They’d preserved their lives and then they’d promised them to him, and it wasn’t until they knelt before him that he really felt like a Sect Leader.

There was no way he could give any of them up now.

“Jiang Meimei, you can’t go,” he said, having completely abandoned all shame in favor of clutching at her robes as if he were a child. “I need you!”

“I’m not even a proper Jiang disciple!” she exclaimed, exasperated – or possibly just annoyed that her grand plan to sneak out in the middle of the night had been stymied by his ambush. “Just because my surname is still Jiang doesn’t mean I didn’t get kicked out, remember?”

“I thought you just left,” Jiang Cheng said, temporarily distracted. “No one ever really talked much about it, actually, but to the extent anyone did, they said that you’d decided that your inclinations were more suited to being a rogue cultivator. That you didn’t want to be weighed down by sect expectations –”

“Hah!” Jiang Meimei tossed her head. “As if it wouldn’t be better to be a roving sect cultivator than a rogue cultivator! I won’t deny that I had a fair bit of wanderlust in my youth –”

“You’re only ten years older than me, you’re not that old.”

“Shut up, brat.”

“You can’t tell me to shut up, I’m your sect leader.”

“You’re my baby cousin is what you are, and, again, I’m actually not part of the Jiang sect!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng argued. “You’ve been at my side during the entire Sunshot Campaign.”

“I wasn’t going to let my baby cousin get himself murdered, now was I?” Jiang Meimei sniffed. “But I’m still a rogue cultivator. They kicked me out when I wouldn’t accept a marriage, and I’m still firm on that.”

Jiang Cheng blinked. “Wait, you don’t want to be married? Really?” he asked, concerned. “But what about poor Liu Lingling? You shouldn’t be sleeping with her if you don’t intend to be serious about it! I’m pretty sure she’s just waiting for the current project you’re working on to finish to find a matchmaker to exchange birth characters –”

“They wanted me to marry a man,” Jiang Meimei clarified, but her habitual frown had eased considerably; she looked almost on the verge of a smile. “A-Cheng, you’re being dense again. You’re the Sect Leader of a Great Sect now. You know that that means you need to have alliances, marriage contacts with other sects, and that means using your subsidiary branches.”

“Jiang Meimei, you’re the one being dense,” Jiang Cheng said. “You think I’d force you into a marriage? I don’t have subsidiary branches. I barely have a sect, even after all this time. I’m not Wen Ruohan, handing out my surname to anyone who wants it – I only give it to the ones that matter, the ones I want to keep, and those of you that actually share my blood are even rarer, even more precious. How could I give you away?”

Jiang Meimei pursed her lips.

“I really do need you,” Jiang Cheng said quietly. “You weren’t part of the Jiang sect at all, not really, but you still came to help me – you were there from the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign, and you’ve never strayed, never left. You’re my right hand. I can’t do without you.”

Jiang Meimei turned her head away. “It’s not that I want to leave you,” she said. “But becoming a rogue cultivator was hard enough the first time. I couldn’t rely on any of the things that I had always had, everything always changing. I was young and angry then, I could handle it, but things are different now. I’m less flexible, less compromising, older, more tired – I can’t just walk out on a whim and just rough it anymore. I have a girl who, yes, I want to eventually marry; I want to have children. I need certainty. Are you going to give it to me?”

Jiang Cheng looked down at his hands. He’d known it was going to have to come to this, but he’d been dragging his feet, not wanting to succumb to a reality that already existed. Had existed for longer than he wanted to admit, as if simply denying it would mean that it wasn’t the truth.

Like a child.

“Yes,” he said, though it tore his heart out of his chest to do it. “I will. Jiang Meimei…will you take the position of Head Disciple?”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t coming back. Jiang Cheng had already cast him out of the sect, just like Jiang Meimei had been, except in Wei Wuxian’s case it had been something that Wei Wuxian himself had demanded. He was living in Yiling now, and by all reports was quite happy there with his little Wen sect family that he’d picked over Jiang Cheng and all his family.

He was never coming back.

It was time to move on.

“Yes,” she said, and shoved her pack into his chest. “Now go unpack that for me. Consider it payment for driving me to extreme measures!”

“I’m your sect leader, you know,” he grumbled. “Officially, now. You could show me some respect.”

“Would you rather pay for my wedding down the line?”

“I’m going, I’m going!” And then, as he scurried over away, he shouted over his shoulder: “As if I wouldn’t be paying for it anyway! You think my Head Disciple’s going to be married in anything other than top style? Better start planning…”

“Don’t rush me! Brat!”

Jin Ling wasn’t surnamed Jiang, but he was the most important person in all of the Lotus Pier – and Jiang Cheng wanted to make sure everyone knew it. It hadn’t been easy for him to get the chance to help care for Jin Ling, especially here, so far away from home; Jiang Cheng had expected to barely be allowed to visit, to have to cool his heels outside of Lanling City begging just for a glimpse of him. Being able to take him home to raise for half the year, even if it was due to the dangerous infighting amongst Lanling Jin, was more than he’d ever dreamed.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t clear that Jin Ling himself agreed.

“He’s still crying,” Jiang Cheng muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Surely he’s got to stop sometime? I mean, just – physically?”

“They say a boy resembles his mother’s brother,” Jiang Meimei said, echoing the gesture. “If he’s got your lungs and stamina, Sect Leader, we’re doomed.”

“I’m rethinking the whole having children thing,” Liu Lingling said blearily, having fallen asleep on her soon-to-be wife’s shoulder several times, only to be woken up by the next round of crying. “I need sleep.”

“Go get some, both of you,” Jiang Cheng ordered. When his cousin scowled at him, he scowled back. “I’m serious. If he keeps this up, we’re going to need to go into shifts. I can last a bit longer.”

“That’s a filthy lie.”

“It is not. Your sect leader has given you an order – get to it!”

It was a filthy lie.

Jiang Cheng opened his eyes when the crink in his neck grew too irritating to ignore, at which point he realized he’d been asleep – and, more importantly, that Jin Ling was somehow not crying.

He sat up with a start, suddenly terrified: had something happened to him? Had he been silenced forever? Had Jiang Cheng failed this one last duty he had to his sister?

“Shhh, little one,” someone was whispering, not far away. “Let me tell you the one about the Weaver Girl and the Cowherd, yeah? You seem like someone who’d appreciate stars. It all started –”

Jiang Cheng went to go look.

A teenage girl was rocking Jin Ling in her arms and telling him a story in murmured tones, and Jin Ling was yawning and trying to gnaw on her shirt. She wasn’t even a cultivator, as far as Jiang Cheng could tell. Her clothing suggested some level of poverty, her accent the countryside – how’d she even end up here?

He wasn’t sure he cared.

Jiang Cheng didn’t want to disturb her, but he did anyway; a shift of his weight, a scuffling of his feet, and the floor creaked. The girl jumped, startled, but luckily Jin Ling was already most of the way asleep and just grumbled a little instead of starting to screech.

“How’d you do that?” Jiang Cheng asked, nodding at Jin Ling. “Make him stop crying.”

“My mother had seven kids after me,” the girl said, answering automatically. “And her sister had six. Someone had to learn to deal with all those babies, and it ended up being me. Think it’s just habit after this long.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t handle one baby. He couldn’t even imagine.

That’s when the girl seemed to remember herself, and bit her lip. “Uh, sorry,” she said, hanging her head. “I heard him crying and I couldn’t resist...I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be here. It was an accident.”

“How did you get here?” Jiang Cheng asked, because accidental or not, a security breach was still a security breach. “And who are you, anyway?”

“My name’s A-Hua. I’m here to work in the kitchens, just got hired this morning; the fourth cook is my uncle’s wife’s cousin, she got me a job, said it was a good place to start – I was trying to find my way out so I could go to the servant’s quarters to get some sleep, but then I got lost…”

More likely she’d decided it was better to try to stay somewhere indoors than go out in the pouring rain to try to find her way to the right set of quarters, Jiang Cheng thought to himself. “Give me your hand.”

“Uh. What?”

He ignored her stare, took her hand and felt her pulse. There was a little bit of natural talent there, though not much; she might, if she tried hard enough, become a cultivator, but she’d never be more than a servant.

Unless, of course, she did something unusual to impress someone.

“Forget the kitchens,” Jiang Cheng told her. “You’re hired on a provisional basis to keep an eye on Jin Ling.”

The girl nodded, eyes wide as saucers. “Can you – do that?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can. What’s your surname? You can’t go around being called A-Hua, we have at least seven people that I know of that go by that name.”

The girl looked distressed.

She probably didn’t have a proper surname. Some people in the countryside didn’t.

But they really couldn’t go around shouting “A-Hua” every time Jin Ling was crying, which was basically all the time.

“Fine,” he said, giving in. “Do well, and I’ll consider letting you use mine. But only if you do well!”

Jiang Cheng was covered in mud thanks to a successful-but-at-what-cost night hunt and angry about it, stomping around the lotus pools on his way back to town, when he heard the familiar sounds of someone having a panic attack.

He slowed, involuntarily, and took a look: it was some teenager dressed in black, heaving miserably by a tree.

Jiang Meimei had once said that Jiang Cheng was a bit weak when it came to teenagers.

Jiang Cheng said that was nonsense.

Jiang Hua chimed in, quite loyally (if perhaps not with the best timing), and said he wasn’t.

Jiang Cheng yielded the argument at once to keep Jiang Meimei from laughing herself sick.

In view of that, he was better off ignoring the kid. After all, what was it to him that some kid was having a fit of anxiety right next the same old lotus pool that he used to have his own teenage fits of anxiety next to, under the shade of the same old tree that had sheltered him – one of the few places that remained untouched by the Wen sect’s aggression, one of the few places that was exactly the same?

Jiang Cheng groaned and walked over. “Okay, fine. What’s your problem?”

The kid looked up at him. He had dark circles under his eyes. “I think my heart’s about to explode.”

“That’s just the anxiety,” Jiang Cheng said, and sat down next to him. “What’s causing the anxiety? Don’t say that someone is better than you and your parents are disappointed in you.”

“What?” the kid blinked. “No, it’s not – it’s not that. I’m about to screw up the very first job I ever got.”

Jiang Cheng considered that. It was just different enough from his own issues that he didn’t suspect a plot, and yet close enough that he might actually be able to offer some expertise.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked reluctantly.

“Not to some mud-man,” the kid said, and – hey! It wasn’t that bad. He thought, anyway. Actually, it probably was that bad. “I just…I’m the only one left. I have to make something of myself!”

Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched. “What do you mean, you’re the only one left?”

The kid stuttered through his story. It wasn’t as bad as Jiang Cheng had initially feared, but it was still pretty bad – his small village had had bad harvests, and there had been starvation, a bad winter; the kid had been sent out to get help, but it had taken too long and he’d arrived back to find them all already gone. He’d been lost, but some traveling cultivator had agreed to take him on as a disciple provided he proved himself, had taught him all sorts of skills, cultivation and talisman-writing and music –

“Music?” Jiang Cheng asked. “Not the sword?”

“There was only the one,” the kid explained. “Obviously he kept it for himself.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t think much of that – surely this cultivator, whoever he ws, could have shared, just long enough to teach? – but he didn’t comment. It seemed fairly clear that the kid didn’t actually think very highly of his teacher, although he was very earnestly trying to be appropriately filial.

It was a little cute.

“…and I was supposed to wait here for someone when they came by here, some fancy rich person, and then get them to follow me, but it’s been ages and no one’s come by at all!” the kid wailed. “I’m such a screw up!”

“You don’t even know who you’re waiting for?” Jiang Cheng asked, and the kid shook his head. “How were you supposed to get them to follow you, then?”

The kid scratched his nose. “My master said that if I showed off some of my cultivation, they’d follow me right away.”

Jiang Cheng suppressed a smirk. “It must be very impressive cultivation, then.”

“…not really. I only know one trick,” the kid admitted. “But it’s not that hard, and it looks impressive – here, see, wait; give me a second, I just need to whistle –”

Zidian crackled to life on Jiang Cheng’s finger before the kid finished the first stanza.

“Stop that!” he cried out, leaping to his feet, and – startled – the kid stopped, blinking owlishly at him. “Is that what your master taught you?!”

“Yes?” the kid said. “Did I do it wrong?”

Jiang Cheng gnashed his teeth. “That’s demonic cultivation. Never do that, okay? Ever.”

“But then how am I supposed to get the fancy rich person to follow me, assuming he ever showed?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed. If he hadn’t tripped over that branch and fallen into the mud – if he hadn’t taken an extra half-shichen to struggle out of the mire – if he’d walked by in all his usual finery, rich person that he was, and seen some kid practicing demonic cultivation…

He’d have given chase in a heartbeat.

More to the point, everyone knew he would. His reputation had been pretty much set in stone by this point.

“Let’s go find that master of yours,” he said. “Right now.”

Of course, that ended up leading Jiang Cheng straight into the bastard’s trap, which would have been a problem except that he’d taken the time to send someone to tell Jiang Qiao, who’d been waiting for him back in town, that he’d be a bit late and not to worry, just wait where she was.

She’d ignored his instructions and arrived just in time to knife the demonic cultivator – a human trafficker whose operations Jiang Cheng had shut down with extreme viciousness only a few months before – right in the belly, gutting him like a fish in a swift easy motion.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it again,” she said, smiling at the knife, and Jiang Cheng made a mental note to ask exactly how manymen she’d killed to get that criminal brand of hers, except the poor kid was sinking down to his knees with a horrified look and, shit, that horrible bastard, evil as he might have been, was probably the last person the kid had in this whole rotten world, wasn’t he?

“Does Jiang Hua still have those beginner manuals we dug up for her?” Jiang Cheng asked, and Jiang Qiao nodded. “Good. Tell her that starting today, Jiang Jianwen here’s her little brother. She’s been pining over raising someone ever since Jin Ling got to be too old to snuggle.”

The kid looked up with wide eyes.

“No, you don’t get a choice on the name,” Jiang Cheng told him. “Whatever name this piece of crap gave you, just forget it, you hear me? You can do better than him. But no more demonic cultivation!”

“I wish I could visit the Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian mumbled, looking wistfully downriver. They were very close by, but he still didn’t dare, even though Jiang Cheng had grumpily extended an invitation through Jin Ling. So much had happened – he just didn’t know where to even start.

He didn’t want to get into all that messy history with Jiang Cheng.

He just wanted to visit, that’s all.

He missed Jiang Cheng, but he missed the Lotus Pier, too. The food, the places, the air…

“I just need a secret way in that even the sect leader doesn’t know about,” he sighed. He’d once known them all – but there was a different sect leader now, and a different Lotus Pier. He couldn’t risk it: Jiang Cheng might find out that he’d snuck in and feel hurt, thinking that Wei Wuxian was avoiding him, when he was just avoiding the conversation; that would just make everything worse.

Lan Wangji would have distracted him, but Lan Wangji himself had been distracted – some man in Jiang sect colors with a heavy limp and an excited sort of air had rushed over, shouting something about wanting to talk about tax policy and possibly also games of chance, and Lan Wangji had all but fled. It had been so funny that Wei Wuxian had nearly laughed himself sick.

“I know one,” someone said, and Wei Wuxian glanced over: it was a young man in Jiang sect disciple robes, little more than a teenager – only a few years older than Jin Ling, if he had to guess. He was smiling, ducking his head a little; he looked proud of himself. “I mean, if you really want. But only if you don’t mean any harm!”

How adorable, Wei Wuxian thought, and grinned at him. “I just want something spicy without having to go through the whole process of greeting people, is that a crime?”

“Not at all!” the kid exclaimed, beaming, and Wei Wuxian almost felt bad for conning him. Almost.

“Do you really know a secret way in?” he asked, pretending to be doubtful. “Really?”

Sure enough, the kid – Jiang Jianwen, apparently, he must be the kid of one of the ones that survived the massacre – was easily lured into insisting that he did know, and then to agreeing to act as guide.

And, moreover, it turned out he really did know his way inside, which made this the easiest infiltration ever.

Or so Wei Wuxian thought right up until he felt a knife point touch his ribs.

“Well done, Jianwen!” a young woman – also in Jiang colors – said, reaching out and ruffling Jiang Jianwen’s hair.

“Aw, it was nothing,” he said, just as bashful as he was when he’d been talking to Wei Wuxian. “I couldn’t have done it without shixiong luring off Lan-er-gongzi.”

Wait, that’d been part of this, too?

That was worrisome.

“Hardly nothing,” the older woman standing behind Wei Wuxian said. She had a certain sort of rock-hard steadiness that was more worrying than the knife she was holding on him – she was a powerful cultivator, familiar with killing and scarred with a criminal’s brand, and yet she seemed entirely at ease in a way that suggested a strong sense of righteousness, with no guilt or weak points he might exploit to make an easy out. “You successfully conned the Yiling Patriarch into following you right into a trap.”

Wei Wuxian wondered if he could deny it.

“I don’t know, shijie, that doesn’t seem that hard,” the first woman said. “Isn’t he the kind of person to run head-first into danger at the first instance?”

“Head-first into danger, and like his tail’s on fire away from dogs,” the older woman agreed, and – damnit. There was clearly no denying it; they actually knew him. Though from where, he had no idea. “A-Hua, Jiangwen, let’s go – we don’t want to be late for our meeting.”

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to tell me who we’re going to go see?” Wei Wuxian tried, putting on his most charming smile. “Or, perhaps, who you are, and what you have against me…?”

“Jiang Jianwen you know,” the woman said, rather unexpectedly. “I’m Jiang Qiao, and this is Jiang Hua. Our shixiong is Jiang Zhou – he’s the one that makes Lan-er-gongzi lose his wallet every time he’s forced to visit Yunmeng.”

Wei Wuxian was almost distracted with the tantalizing prospects of stories about Lan Wangji. Almost.

“You’re all surnamed Jiang?” he asked, surprised: he might have believed it for Jiang Jianwen, maybe, he was young enough to be the son of someone in the last generation. But Jiang Hua and Jiang Qiao looked absolutely nothing alike either to each other or to Jiang Cheng, and at least Jiang Qiao was old enough that he should’ve recognized her if she’d been a Jiang. There’d been a lot of people in the old Jiang sect, even if you limited it to those surnamed Jiang, but he’d been Head Disciple back then – he’d known almost all of them.

“We’re adopted,” Jiang Jianwen said. He looked very proud. “Sect Leader Jiang took us into the family as part of the branch lines.”

Wei Wuxian had never once in his life wanted to have the surname Jiang, not even when he’d been mocked for not having it. He’d never even thought about it. Not ever.

He felt a stab of envy at the word family, though.

“He gave you his surname?” he asked, and tried not to feel jealous when they all nodded. “Oh.”

It made sense, he tried to tell himself as they walked through the back streets of the Lotus Pier. The Jiang sect had been demolished, and Jiang Cheng practically the only survivor but for whoever happened by coincidence to not be at home – the Jiang sect would need branch family members, and adoption made sense. There was no reason to resent the idea of Jiang Cheng giving the name he had always treated as being so precious to a branded former criminal, to a con man, to a commoner from the countryside, to a –

“You were a what?” Wei Wuxian exclaimed.

“A demonic cultivator,” Jiang Jianwen said bashfully. “Not a very a good one, though.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to say something to that. He didn’t know what, but something.

“Enough chatter,” Jiang Qiao said. “We’re here.”

Jiang Hua opened the door and Wei Wuxian stepped inside.

Then he tried to step back out, only to be crowded in by the others.

“No, no, no,” he said. “No, I was willing to play along until now, but this is a step too far. You don’t understand! She’s going to eviscerate me!”

Jiang Meimei – older than the teenager he remembered her being when she left the sect, but still unmistakable – grinned with her teeth bared.

“Oh good,” she said. “At least your brain is still working. Now come on and have a seat, and we’re going to talk about how you’ve been treating my baby cousin recently…”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #original characters #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #gratuitously acquired

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hansolmates · 4 years ago

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a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

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It’s so easy to ignore the world.

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat.

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family.

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other.

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her.

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble.

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju.

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.”

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well.

Maybe a little too well.

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves.

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow.

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?”

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?”

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?”

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo.

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast.

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap.

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words:

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.”

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night.

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice.

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real.

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length.

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life.

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.”

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset.

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.”

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.”

“Understandable.”

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love.

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style.

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out.

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep.

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day.

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe.

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom.

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today.

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.”

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—”

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up.

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook.

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better.

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back.

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back.

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal.

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.”

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel.

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire.

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle.

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo.

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.”

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already.

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.”

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.”

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?”

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.”

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway.

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.”

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.”

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.”

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.”

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?”

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.”

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.”

“Uh, this is my apartment.”

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open.

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect.

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse.

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?”

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.”

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?”

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you.

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.”

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook.

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?”

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you.

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out.

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.”

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776.

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted.

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is.

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge.

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships.

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar.

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red.

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten.

“You’re running away.”

“Am not.”

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft.

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder.

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.”

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath.

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.”

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.”

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?”

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.”

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple.

“You miss her?”

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

“Did you talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix.

“And are you trying to get over him?”

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.”

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.”

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.”

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special?

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?”

“What?”

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.”

“But it works!”

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.”

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.”

“Bumble.”

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help."

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are.

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun.

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.”

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.”

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world.

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours.

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt.

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid.

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all.

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on.

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck.

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room.

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear.

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.”

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo.

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table.

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that.

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination.

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.”

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.”

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question.

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes.

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.”

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.”

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm.

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college.

Or are you?

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine.

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie.

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in.

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out.

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?”

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.”

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids.

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat.

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.”

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.”

“What? I can pay for my own food—”

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?”

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer.

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi.

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you.

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint.

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation.

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse.

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?”

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!”

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger.

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once.

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps.

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it.

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck.

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.”

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab.

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers.

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?”

“Since you asked so politely, no.”

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters.

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly.

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly.

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late.

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.”

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.”

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen.

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case.

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.”

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen.

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you.

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.”

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.”

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?”

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room.

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry.

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes.

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper.

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile.

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow.

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom.

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now.

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists.

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine.

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?”

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.”

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey.

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?”

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide.

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?”

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out.

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.”

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?”

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.”

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble.

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?”

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine.

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?”

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare.

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.”

“No—”

“Hand.”

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.”

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back.

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.”

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?”

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?”

“Pizza also sounds good—”

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you.

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.”

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.”

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four.

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.”

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones.

“Do I want to know?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.”

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk.

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—”

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!”

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table.

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?”

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment.

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.”

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor.

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?”

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.”

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener.

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message.

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle?

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean?

You: ohmyGOD

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.”

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.”

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.”

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her.

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning.

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.”

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue.

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.”

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late.

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not.

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.”

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—”

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—”

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.”

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.”

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you.

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace.

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon.

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly.

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough?

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets.

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far.

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things.

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled.

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship.

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.”

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night.

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring.

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob.

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.”

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel.

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in.

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it.

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home.

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think.

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open.

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again?

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.”

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?”

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope.

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?”

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding.

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.”

“Only recently,” you frown.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ”

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.”

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?”

“Because I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.”

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!”

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.”

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.”

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—”

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!”

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth.

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow.

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view.

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.”

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?”

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.”

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.”

Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them?

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.”

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins.

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree.

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms.

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not.

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.”

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep.

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall.

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan.

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers.

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?”

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?”

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.”

“But you still love him?”

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered.

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?”

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.”

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?”

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.”

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.”

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides.

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.”

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper.

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between.

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you.

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.”

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.”

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.”

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now.

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries.

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame.

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.”

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter.

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late.

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup.

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?”

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.”

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.”

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?”

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.”

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.”

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday.

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories.

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle.

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story.

“What’cha got there, partner?”

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you.

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?”

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other.

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.”

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.”

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste.

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent.

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.”

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.”

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle.

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.”

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter.

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college.

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.”

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?”

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.”

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.”

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.”

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing.

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently.

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level.

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him.

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM.

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him.

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war.

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser.

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend.

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window.

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave.

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would.

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.”

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.”

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.”

“Huh?”

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?”

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—”

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.”

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list.

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time.

“—coming along?”

“Wha?”

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?”

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—”

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader. “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.”

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex.

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands.

“Mean by what?”

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.”

“Well, we’re here now, right?”

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats.

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present.

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream.

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another.

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook.

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook.

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend.

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward.

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance.

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet.

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.”

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.”

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.”

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine.

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread.

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth.

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?”

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout.

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.”

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.”

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy.

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.”

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease.

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases.

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past.

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal.

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.”

“I wish you did, too.”

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away.

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side.

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be.

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style.

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries.

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.”

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?”

“Jungkook…”

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!”

“Jungkook—”

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing.

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh.

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish.

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face.

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.”

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.”

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.”

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air.

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.”

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.”

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.”

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace.

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.”

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard.

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer.

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.”

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin.

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.”

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage.

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.”

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his.

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking.

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies.

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length.

“Yeah?”

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.”

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.”

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.

“Please, baby.”

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.”

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?”

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy.

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?”

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,”

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey.

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture.

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.”

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more.

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.”

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain.

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!”

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.”

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence.

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits.

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—”

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies.

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—”

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.”

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather.

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other.

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted.

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot.

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?”

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully.

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.”

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt.

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.”

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully.

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom.

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight.

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!”

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!”

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat.

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?”

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.”

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting.

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.”

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?”

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?”

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.”

“Then the hotel room?”

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position.

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?”

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.”

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!”

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants.

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together.

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…”

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love.

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take.

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone.

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.”

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.”

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.”

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.”

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?”

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.”

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.”

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted?

“You know I love you, right?”

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?”

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.”

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.”

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #gcn23 #goldenclosetnet #btsghostie #jungkook fic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts fic #bts smut #a big weight is off my shoulders

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halothenthehorns · 3 years ago

Text

How Do You Say Gods

WE VISIT THE GARDEN GNOME EMPORIUM

Favorite chapter of this book! There is no particular reason I'm telling you this.

PJOPJOPJOPJO

"Well that's-"

"Don't," Percy cut off what Will was about to say. "Do not say it sounds nice, or relaxing. I don't want anyone to jinx the garden gnome's coming to life by your predictions anymore!"

Thalia hid a grimace well, Annabeth had specifically mentioned she'd run into Medusa her first trip out with Percy at some weird statuary place, and she wasn't looking forward to details of this side trip even knowing they'd all survived.

'So the gnomes are going to try and kill him with fishing rods and plastic pink flamingos, right?' Hearth grinned while Magnus laughed and Percy narrowed his eyes at the two.

Alex and Jason exchanged a look, deciding they needed to learn ASL already while Will was still biting his lip to stop from laughing and Nico just decided to get started.

In a way, it's nice to know there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you're walking away from a bus that's just been attacked by monster hags and blown up by lightning, and it's raining on top of everything else, most people might think that's just really bad luck; when you're a half-blood, you understand that some divine force really is trying to mess up your day.

"I still think in your case it's both," Thalia reminded.

"Still not helping!" Percy protested.

So there we were, Annabeth and Grover and I, walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses.

Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once."

I was pretty much in shock myself. The explosion of bus windows still rang in my ears. But Annabeth kept pulling us along, saying: "Come on! The farther away we get, the better."

"All our money was back there," I reminded her. "Our food and clothes. Everything."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't decided to jump into the fight-"

"What did you want me to do? Let you get killed?"

"You didn't need to protect me, Percy. I would've been fine."

"Dragged to eternal torment is fine?" Magnus muttered in concern.

"Sliced like sandwich bread," Grover put in, "but fine."

"Shut up, goat boy," said Annabeth.

Grover brayed mournfully. "Tin cans ... a perfectly good bag of tin cans."

'Right, that's the loss,' Hearth frowned at this odd guy putting cash above edible garbage he could find on the side of the road.

We sloshed across mushy ground, through nasty twisted trees that smelled like sour laundry.

After a few minutes, Annabeth fell into line next to me. "Look, I..." Her voice faltered. "I appreciate your coming back for us, okay? That was really brave."

They all watched as Percy glowed. As if his natural element wasn't water at all, but Annabeth finally giving him a compliment. They sort of wanted to laugh, but his expression was just too sweet.

"We're a team, right?"

She was silent for a few more steps. "It's just that if you died ... aside from the fact that it would really suck for you, it would mean the quest was over. This may be my only chance to see the real world."

"The quest would be over for her too if she died!" Thalia protested.

The thunderstorm had finally let up. The city glow faded behind us, leaving us in almost total darkness. I couldn't see anything of Annabeth except a glint of her blond hair.

"You haven't left Camp Half-Blood since you were seven?" I asked her.

"No ... only short field trips. My dad-"

"The history professor."

"Yeah. It didn't work out for me living at home. I mean, Camp Half-Blood is my home." She was rushing her words out now, as if she were afraid somebody might try to stop her. "At camp you train and train. And that's all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That's where you learn whether you're any good or not."

If I didn't know better, I could've sworn I heard doubt in her voice.

"But luckily you do know better," Will laughed uneasily, Annabeth had never let anyone see her as anything but confident. Even after Mount Saint Helens, she'd been distant but stoic. He was beginning to wonder though if anyone knew the real Annabeth besides Percy.

"You're pretty good with that knife," I said.

"You think so?"

"Anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay by me."

"Is that all it takes to impress you?" Nico mocked.

"Being blonde obviously doesn't hurt," Thalia joined in.

Percy rolled his eyes at the teasing and just waved them to get on exaggeratedly.

I couldn't really see, but I thought she might've smiled.

"You know," she said, "maybe I should tell you ... Something funny back on the bus ..."

Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted by a shrill toot-toot-toot, like the sound of an owl being tortured.

"Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried. "If I could just remember a 'find path' song, we could get out of these woods!"

He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff.

Instead of finding a path, I immediately slammed into a tree and got a nice-size knot on my head.

"The only Hilary Duff song I've ever wanted to learn," Alex snickered.

Add to the list of superpowers I did not have: infrared vision.

"I don't think any demigod has that ability," Will said helpfully.

After tripping and cursing and generally feeling miserable for another mile or so, I started to see light up ahead: the colors of a neon sign. I could smell food. Fried, greasy, excellent food. I realized I hadn't eaten anything unhealthy since I'd arrived at Half-Blood Hill, where we lived on grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph-prepared barbecue. This boy needed a double cheeseburger.

"I think I'd risk going on a quest just to hit a buffet," Will nodded.

"I'll remember that next time," Nico scoffed.

We kept walking until I saw a deserted two-lane road through the trees. On the other side was a closed down gas station, a tattered billboard for a 1990s movie, and one open business, which was the source of the neon light and the good smell.

It wasn't a fast-food restaurant like I'd hoped. It was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos and wooden Indians and cement grizzly bears and stuff like that. The main building was a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of statuary. The neon sign above the gate was impossible for me to read, because if there's anything worse for my dyslexia than regular English, it's red cursive neon English.

To me, it looked like:

"I'm not even going to pretend to read that," Nico said. "It's pure gibberish."

"Guess we should count ourselves lucky the rest of the book translates just fine for you guys," Alex sighed.

ATNYU MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROUIM.

"What the heck does that say?" I asked.

"I don't know," Annabeth said.

She loved reading so much, I'd forgotten she was dyslexic, too.

"She likes to forget she is too, but the headaches don't make it easy," Thalia smiled.

Grover translated: "Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium."

"Should I be worried the chapter title arrived so soon?" Nico frowned.

"Yes," Percy promised, that tingling sensation of something going wrong was increasing by the word, and no promise of cheeseburgers was alleviating it.

Flanking the entrance, as advertised, were two cement garden gnomes, ugly bearded little runts, smiling and waving, as if they were about to get their picture taken.

I crossed the street, following the smell of the hamburgers.

"Hey ..." Grover warned.

"The lights are on inside," Annabeth said. "Maybe it's open."

"Snack bar," I said wistfully.

"Snack bar," she agreed.

"Why do I feel like it's a bad thing those two are agreeing on something," Jason frowned.

"In this case, I think the enemy of my enemy will still be the enemy," Alex nodded.

"Are you two crazy?" Grover said. "This place is weird."

We ignored him.

The front lot was a forest of statues: cement animals, cement children, even a cement satyr playing the pipes, which gave Grover the creeps.

"Bla-ha-ha!" he bleated. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!"

We stopped at the warehouse door.

"Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters."

"Your nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth told him. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?"

Magnus wished he could reach out and pull Annabeth back to that burning bus now, but he also knew what it was like to be hungry enough to brave a situation. It could cloud the judgment like nobody but a fellow survivor would ever understand.

"Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian."

"You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," I reminded him.

"That did nothing to deny a vegetarian lifestyle," Magnus frowned oddly at him.

"Vegetarians are weird man, point proven," was all Percy seemed to hear.

"Those are vegetables. Come on. Let's leave. These statues are ... looking at me."

Then the door creaked open, and standing in front of us was a tall Middle Eastern woman-at least, I assumed she was Middle Eastern, because she wore a long black gown that covered everything but her hands, and her head was completely veiled. Her eyes glinted behind a curtain of black gauze, but that was about all I could make out. Her coffee-colored hands looked old, but well-manicured and elegant, so I imagined she was a grandmother who had once been a beautiful lady.

Her accent sounded vaguely Middle Eastern, too. She said, "Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?"

"They're ... um ..." Annabeth started to say.

"We're orphans," I said.

"Orphans?" the woman said. The word sounded alien in her mouth. "But, my dears! Surely not!"

"We got separated from our caravan," I said. "Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we're lost. Is that food I smell?"

"Oh, my dears," the woman said. "You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area."

We thanked her and went inside.

Annabeth muttered to me, "Circus caravan?"

"Always have a strategy, right?"

"Your head is full of kelp."

'Is kelp better or worse than seaweed?' Hearth asked.

'I think it's still the same thing, in this case,' Magnus chuckled.

The warehouse was filled with more statues-people in all different poses, wearing all different outfits and with different expressions on their faces. I was thinking you'd have to have a pretty huge garden to fit even one of these statues, because they were all life-size. But mostly, I was thinking about food.

"I'm getting creeped out vibes the more I hear about this place," Will muttered.

"I'd love to visit this place!" Alex shouted, apparently finally on board with a visit to New York just for the odd statuary.

Go ahead, call me an idiot for walking into a strange lady's shop like that just because I was hungry, but I do impulsive stuff sometimes.

"Okay, you're an-" Jason began.

"Wait for it," Thalia said patiently. "Hunger makes people desperate, not lax, give him a chance to figure out it's a bad idea."

Plus, you've never smelled Aunty Em's burgers. The aroma was like laughing gas in the dentist's chair, it made everything else go away. I barely noticed Grover's nervous whimpers, or the way the statues' eyes seemed to follow me, or the fact that Aunty Em had locked the door behind us.

"Nah, you're an idiot," Thalia declared.

"Savor that," Percy sighed, "that's the last time I ever give you permission to do that."

All I cared about was finding the dining area. And sure enough, there it was at the back of the warehouse, a fast-food counter with a grill, a soda fountain, a pretzel heater, and a nacho cheese dispenser. Everything you could want, plus a few steel picnic tables out front.

"Please, sit down," Aunty Em said.

"Awesome," I said.

"Um," Grover said reluctantly, "we don't have any money, ma'am."

Before I could jab him in the ribs, Aunty Em said, "No, no, children. No money. This is a special case, yes? It is my treat, for such nice orphans."

"Thank you, ma'am," Annabeth said.

Aunty Em stiffened, as if Annabeth had done something wrong, but then the old woman relaxed just as quickly, so I figured it must've been my imagination.

"It most definitely was not," Alex said at once.

"I'm on the fence," Jason admitted. If Percy couldn't notice such a detail as being locked in, who knew what else he was imagining in his head.

"Quite all right, Annabeth," she said.

"You guys never introduced yourselves," several people said at once.

"I plead the fifth," Percy sighed as he saw hands twitching as if wishing for weapons already while he could still only recall eyeing that fryer.

"You have such beautiful gray eyes, child." Only later did I wonder how she knew Annabeth's name, even though we had never introduced ourselves.

"I'll decide later how much credit you get for that by how much you practice these mistakes," Thalia sighed.

"This is practically a How to Spot Monsters for Dummies book," Nico muttered.

Our hostess disappeared behind the snack counter and started cooking. Before we knew it, she'd brought us plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, and XXL servings of French fries.

'This is officially torture,' Magnus frowned at the book and the empty room once more. They'd already run through their supply of food in their first few minutes here, and now they were being teased with such delicacies! 'I'd brave my first monster for some falafel right now.'

'Please don't tempt fate yourself now friend,' Hearth pleaded.

I was halfway through my burger before I remembered to breathe.

"Such a minor problem to you on most occasions, you're forgiven," Thalia tried and failed at a joking tone as she sat on the edge of her beanbag waiting for the fight to start now. Surely Medusa would pounce while they weren't paying attention and eating.

Annabeth slurped her shake.

Grover picked at the fries, and eyed the tray's waxed paper liner as if he might go for that, but he still looked too nervous to eat.

"What's that hissing noise?" he asked.

Hissing, something nagged in the back of Percy's mind about hissing. Right before he'd been yanked in here, he'd been chased around by two crazy old ladies, and he'd often heard their approach before he saw them, because of a hissing noise...

I listened, but didn't hear anything. Annabeth shook her head.

"Hissing?" Aunty Em asked. "Perhaps you hear the deep-fryer oil. You have keen ears, Grover."

"I take vitamins. For my ears."

"That circus caravan is a better and better lie by the second," Nico muttered.

"That's admirable," she said. "But please, relax."

Nobody was relaxing. All eight of them were starting to fidget nonstop, and Nico's own ADHD was getting quite distracted by Will not, sitting, still! Forcing himself to pay attention to only the words in front of him, he was regretting having taken this book more every second. He probably sounded like an idiot to Percy, reading all this stuff to him!

Aunty Em ate nothing. She hadn't taken off her head-dress, even to cook, and now she sat forward and interlaced her fingers and watched us eat. It was a little unsettling, having someone stare at me when I couldn't see her face, but I was feeling satisfied after the burger, and a little sleepy, and I figured the least I could do was try to make small talk with our hostess.

"So, you sell gnomes," I said, trying to sound interested.

"Oh, yes," Aunty Em said. "And animals. And people. Anything for the garden. Custom orders. Statuary is very popular, you know."

"A lot of business on this road?"

"Not so much, no. Since the highway was built... most cars, they do not go this way now. I must cherish every customer I get."

My neck tingled, as if somebody else was looking at me. I turned, but it was just a statue of a young girl holding an Easter basket. The detail was incredible, much better than you see in most garden statues.

But something was wrong with her face. It looked as if she were startled, or even terrified.

"Ah," Aunty Em said sadly. "You notice some of my creations do not turn out well. They are marred. They do not sell. The face is the hardest to get right. Always the face."

"You make these statues yourself?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. Once upon a time, I had two sisters to help me in the business, but they have passed on, and Aunty Em is alone. I have only my statues. This is why I make them, you see. They are my company." The sadness in her voice sounded so deep and so real that I couldn't help feeling sorry for her.

Annabeth had stopped eating. She sat forward and said, "Two sisters?"

Percy's breath hitched uncomfortably, there was definitely something there, something he swore he should be remembering about those two crazy Bargain Mart ladies chasing him- but Nico was still reading with a quiet intensity that demanded all attention.

"It's a terrible story," Aunty Em said. "Not one for children, really. You see, Annabeth, a bad woman was jealous of me, long ago, when I was young. I had a... a boyfriend, you know, and this bad woman was determined to break us apart. She caused a terrible accident. My sisters stayed by me. They shared my bad fortune as long as they could, but eventually they passed on. They faded away. I alone have survived, but at a price. Such a price."

I wasn't sure what she meant, but I felt bad for her. My eyelids kept getting heavier, my full stomach making me sleepy. Poor old lady. Who would want to hurt somebody so nice?

"Percy?" Annabeth was shaking me to get my attention. "Maybe we should go. I mean, the ringmaster will be waiting."

"At what point do you drop the story?" Magnus mock whispered.

She sounded tense. I wasn't sure why. Grover was eating the waxed paper off the tray now, but if Aunty Em found that strange, she didn't say anything.

"Right about then," Jason muttered. This monster already knew their names and nobody was keeping up a charade anymore this was something going on.

"Such beautiful gray eyes," Aunty Em told Annabeth again. "My, yes, it has been a long time since I've seen gray eyes like those."

She reached out as if to stroke Annabeth's cheek, but Annabeth stood up abruptly.

"We really should go."

"Yes!" Grover swallowed his waxed paper and stood up. "The ringmaster is waiting! Right!"

I didn't want to leave. I felt full and content. Aunty Em was so nice. I wanted to stay with her a while.

Poor kid was probably homesick for a mother's touch, Magnus realized, but he was the only one left even still hoping this wasn't some monster attack.

"Please, dears," Aunty Em pleaded. "I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won't you at least sit for a pose?"

"A pose?" Annabeth asked warily.

"A photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children."

Annabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I don't think we can, ma'am. Come on, Percy-"

"Sure we can," I said. I was irritated with Annabeth for being so bossy,

"Probably not the last time that happened, but it's nice to see the first," Thalia muttered.

so rude to an old lady who'd just fed us for free. "It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?"

"Death, death is the harm," Jason sounded eerily confident of that considering he didn't know his own last name, but nobody protested, which was still worse.

"Yes, Annabeth," the woman purred. "No harm."

I could tell Annabeth didn't like it, but she allowed Aunty Em to lead us back out the front door, into the garden of statues.

Aunty Em directed us to a park bench next to the stone satyr.

"That's surely a coincidence," Will's entirely exaggerated face proved otherwise.

"Now," she said, "I'll just position you correctly. The young girl in the middle, I think, and the two young gentlemen on either side."

"Not much light for a photo," I remarked.

"Now he's catching on!" Nico mock applauded.

"The only lightbulb he's ever had, and it's not even brightly lit," Thalia teased.

"You're all going to be frozen in a glacier when I'm done with you," Percy promised.

"Oh, enough," Aunty Em said. "Enough for us to see each other, yes?"

"Where's your camera?" Grover asked.

Aunty Em stepped back, as if to admire the shot. "Now, the face is the most difficult. Can you smile for me please, everyone? A large smile?"

Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, and mumbled, "That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand."

"Poor Grover," Alex understood, wondering how often he talked about this missing relative. What an awful way to find out.

"Grover," Aunty Em chastised, "look this way, dear."

She still had no camera in her hands.

"Percy-" Annabeth said.

Some instinct warned me to listen to Annabeth,

"Common sense," Thalia nodded.

but I was fighting the sleepy feeling, the comfortable lull that came from the food and the old lady's voice.

"I will just be a moment," Aunty Em said. "You know, I can't see you very well in this cursed veil..."

"She could see well enough to manage making food," Jason pointed out with a grimace, knowing he probably wouldn't be better in that sort of thrall, but still wishing he could jump in and help.

"Percy, something's wrong," Annabeth insisted.

"Wrong?" Aunty Em said, reaching up to undo the wrap around her head. "Not at all, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?"

"That is Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover gasped.

"Look away from her!" Annabeth shouted. She whipped her Yankees cap onto her head and vanished.

Her invisible hands pushed Grover and me both off the bench.

Thalia exhaled and wished she could hug Annabeth right now, she'd saved Percy's life twice in twenty-four hours, that little kid grew up to be a more formidable demigod than a child of the Big Three.

I was on the ground, looking at Aunt Em's sandaled feet.

I could hear Grover scrambling off in one direction, Annabeth in another. But I was too dazed to move.

Then I heard a strange, rasping sound above me. My eyes rose to Aunty Em's hands, which had turned gnarled and warty, with sharp bronze talons for fingernails.

I almost looked higher, but somewhere off to my left Annabeth screamed, "No! Don't!"

"Curiosity almost got your cat," Nico frowned at him.

"That's not the saying," Will frowned at him.

More rasping-the sound of tiny snakes, right above me, from ... from about where Aunty Em's head would be.

"Run!" Grover bleated. I heard him racing across the gravel, yelling, "Maia!" to kick-start his flying sneakers.

I couldn't move. I stared at Aunty Em's gnarled claws, and tried to fight the groggy trance the old woman had put me in.

"Where is a glass of water to dump on his head when you need it," Alex groaned into her hands.

"Such a pity to destroy a handsome young face," she told me soothingly. "Stay with me, Percy. All you have to do is look up."

I fought the urge to obey. Instead I looked to one side and saw one of those glass spheres people put in gardens- a gazing ball. I could see Aunty Em's dark reflection in the orange glass; her headdress was gone, revealing her face as a shimmering pale circle. Her hair was moving, writhing like serpents.

Aunty Em.

Aunty "M."

How could I have been so stupid?

"How could you have seen this coming!" Magnus protested.

"Would you like that list alphabetically?" Jason huffed.

Think, I told myself. How did Medusa die in the myth?

But I couldn't think. Something told me that in the myth Medusa had been asleep when she was attacked by my namesake, Perseus. She wasn't anywhere near asleep now. If she wanted, she could take those talons right now and rake open my face.

"The Gray-Eyed One did this to me, Percy," Medusa said, and she didn't sound anything like a monster. Her voice invited me to look up, to sympathize with a poor old grandmother. "Annabeth's mother, the cursed Athena, turned me from a beautiful woman into this."

"Don't listen to her!" Annabeth's voice shouted, somewhere in the statuary. "Run, Percy!"

"Silence!" Medusa snarled. Then her voice modulated back to a comforting purr. "You see why I must destroy the girl, Percy. She is my enemy's daughter. I shall crush her statue to dust. But you, dear Percy, you need not suffer."

"Ugh, in some universe it would be less odd taking pity on your ex's kid, but not this one," Thalia grumbled.

"No," I muttered. I tried to make my legs move.

"Do you really want to help the gods?" Medusa asked. "Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest, Percy? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain."

"Wouldn't that make him an even more hardened criminal though?" Nico rolled his eyes.

"Percy!" Behind me, I heard a buzzing sound, like a two-hundred-pound hummingbird in a nosedive.

'Is that a common thing to know the sound of?' Hearth asked in concern.

'I'm going to go with no,' Magnus's facial expression made it seem more like a question himself though.

Grover yelled, "Duck!"

I turned, and there he was in the night sky, flying in from twelve o'clock with his winged shoes fluttering, Grover, holding a tree branch the size of a baseball bat. His eyes were shut tight, his head twitched from side to side. He was navigating by ears and nose alone.

"Duck!" he yelled again. "I'll get her!"

That finally jolted me into action. Knowing Grover, I was sure he'd miss Medusa and nail me.

"Whatever gets you moving," Thalia nodded.

I dove to one side.

Thwack!

At first I figured it was the sound of Grover hitting a tree. Then Medusa roared with rage.

"You miserable satyr," she snarled. "I'll add you to my collection!"

"That was for Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover yelled back.

"Now do another one just for fun," Alex grinned like a fiend.

I scrambled away and hid in the statuary while Grover swooped down for another pass.

Ker-whack!

"Arrgh!" Medusa yelled, her snake-hair hissing and spitting.

Right next to me, Annabeth's voice said, "Percy!"

I jumped so high my feet nearly cleared a garden gnome. "Jeez! Don't do that!"

Annabeth took off her Yankees cap and became visible. "You have to cut her head off."

"What? Are you crazy? Let's get out of here."

"The only sensible thing Percy has ever said in his life," Nico muttered, "and he can't even be commemorated for it." He never thought he'd see anything close to resembling Percy not charging in to slay every monster and win without a doubt, but here was a scared kid trying to make a run for it.

"Medusa is a menace. She's evil. I'd kill her myself, but..." Annabeth swallowed, as if she were about to make a difficult admission. "But you've got the better weapon. Besides, I'd never get close to her.

"Says the invisible girl!" Jason protested. "Is there some rule about her borrowing Percy's sword?"

"Monsters can smell us," Thalia kindly recalled for him, "she'd be more inclined to let a child of Poseidon get closer than Athena."

She'd slice me to bits because of my mother. You-you've got a chance."

"What? I can't-"

"Look, do you want her turning more innocent people into statues?"

She pointed to a pair of statue lovers, a man and a woman with their arms around each other, turned to stone by the monster.

Annabeth grabbed a green gazing ball from a nearby pedestal. "A polished shield would be better." She studied the sphere critically. "The convexity will cause some distortion. The reflection's size should be off by a factor of-"

"What is with geniuses never making sense!" Magnus groaned, his own cousin wasn't being clear to him, he didn't think Percy was going to follow.

"Would you speak English?"

"I am!" She tossed me the glass ball. "Just look at her in the glass. Never look at her directly."

"Was that so hard," Percy huffed.

"Hey, guys!" Grover yelled somewhere above us. "I think she's unconscious!"

"Roooaaarrr!"

"Maybe not," Grover corrected. He went in for another pass with the tree branch.

"Hurry," Annabeth told me. "Grover's got a great nose, but he'll eventually crash."

I took out my pen and uncapped it. The bronze blade of Riptide elongated in my hand. I followed the hissing and spitting sounds of Medusa's hair. I kept my eyes locked on the gazing ball so I would only glimpse Medusa's reflection, not the real thing.

Then, in the green tinted glass, I saw her.

Grover was coming in for another turn at bat, but this time he flew a little too low. Medusa grabbed the stick and pulled him off course. He tumbled through the air and crashed into the arms of a stone grizzly bear with a painful, "Ummphh!"

"It works on animals too?" Alex looked particularly fascinated at the implications of that, tempted to reveal her shapeshifting ability any chapter now just to spitball ideas of what monster's abilities would and wouldn't work on her like that.

Medusa was about to lunge at him when I yelled, "Hey!"

I advanced on her, which wasn't easy, holding a sword and a glass ball. If she charged, I'd have a hard time defending myself.

But she let me approach-twenty feet, ten feet.

I could see the reflection of her face now. Surely it wasn't really that ugly. The green swirls of the gazing ball must be distorting it, making it look worse.

"Oh no, I'm actually quite sure the glass is downplaying it," Thalia assured. "I can show you an image later."

Percy looked disturbed and not at all encouraged by that and just nodded for now to take her word on it.

"You wouldn't harm an old woman, Percy," she crooned. "I know you wouldn't."

"She's clearly never seen me in line at an early birds buffet with bacon," Percy challenged back with much more cockiness than he really felt.

I hesitated, fascinated by the face I saw reflected in the glass-the eyes that seemed to burn straight through the green tint, making my arms go weak.

From the cement grizzly, Grover moaned, "Percy, don't listen to her!"

Medusa cackled. "Too late."

She lunged at me with her talons.

I slashed up with my sword, heard a sickening shlock!,

"The sound effect was not necessary," Will shivered in disgust.

'Speak for yourself,' Hearthstone signed in fascination. Magnus didn't translate, he usually didn't unless his friend asked him to.

then a hiss like wind rushing out of a cavern the sound of a monster disintegrating.

Something fell to the ground next to my foot. It took all my willpower not to look. I could feel warm ooze soaking into my sock, little dying snake heads tugging at my shoelaces.

"That moment where walking barefoot around broken statuary is the more appealing option," Thalia wretched.

"Oh, yuck," Grover said. His eyes were still tightly closed, but I guess he could hear the thing gurgling and steaming. "Mega-yuck."

"He can say that again," James nodded while silently hoping whoever his parent was, might at least not have any enemies this bad.

Annabeth came up next to me, her eyes fixed on the sky. She was holding Medusa's black veil. She said, "Don't move."

Very, very carefully, without looking down, she knelt and draped the monster's head in black cloth, then picked it up. It was still dripping green juice.

"Of course it was, it wouldn't be nearly as traumatic if it wasn't," Will sighed.

"Are you okay?" she asked me, her voice trembling.

"Yeah," I decided, though I felt like throwing up my double cheeseburger.

"Now we know he's serious!" Nico gasped.

"Not the burger, don't waste the perfectly good burger," Magnus chuckled.

"Why didn't ... why didn't the head evaporate?"

"Once you sever it, it becomes a spoil of war," she said. "Same as your minotaur horn. But don't unwrap the head. It can still petrify you."

"Lovely, figured as much from Annabeth's caution, but lovely all the same," Alex looked way to interested over there about all she could do with a severed head that was now portable and capable of freezing people. Magnus gulped and kept swearing in his head he would never go on a quest with her, even as some little part of his brain laughed at his own lie every time.

Grover moaned as he climbed down from the grizzly statue. He had a big welt on his forehead. His green rasta cap hung from one of his little goat horns, and his fake feet had been knocked off his hooves. The magic sneakers were flying aimlessly around his head.

"The Red Baron," I said. "Good job, man."

He managed a bashful grin. "That really was not fun, though. Well, the hitting-her-with-a-stick part, that was fun. But crashing into a concrete bear? Not fun."

"Can't have one without the other," Nico nodded.

He snatched his shoes out of the air. I recapped my sword. Together, the three of us stumbled back to the ware-house.

We found some old plastic grocery bags behind the snack counter and double-wrapped Medusa's head. We plopped it on the table where we'd eaten dinner and sat around it, too exhausted to speak.

Finally I said, "So we have Athena to thank for this monster?"

"That was really the first response out of your mouth after that?" Thalia demanded.

"Well if she'd been the one to decapitate her, I might have started with thank you," he shrugged.

Annabeth flashed me an irritated look. "Your dad, actually. Don't you remember? Medusa was Poseidon's girl-friend. They decided to meet in my mother's temple. That's why Athena turned her into a monster. Medusa and her two sisters who had helped her get into the temple, they became the three gorgons. That's why Medusa wanted to slice me up, but she wanted to preserve you as a nice statue. She's still sweet on your dad. You probably reminded her of him."

My face was burning. "Oh, so now it's my fault we met Medusa."

Annabeth straightened. In a bad imitation of my voice, she said: "'It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?'"

'She agreed the smell of cheeseburgers trumped the danger,' Hearth defended the satyr.

'Try convincing my cousin she is wrong. Go on, try it and see what happens,' Magnus shook his head.

"Forget it," I said. "You're impossible."

"You're insufferable."

"You're-"

"Hey!" Grover interrupted.

"Aw," Will looked a tad disappointed. "I was kind of enjoying watching them fall in love."

Percy did indeed look over the moon at least at this part, it seemed so natural to him, so it was odd Nico flipped the page with such violence like there was a second gorgon about to appear.

"You two are giving me a migraine, and satyrs don't even get migraines. What are we going to do with the head?"

I stared at the thing. One little snake was hanging out of a hole in the plastic. The words printed on the side of the bag said: WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS!

I was angry, not just with Annabeth or her mom, but with all the gods for this whole quest, for getting us blown off the road and in two major fights the very first day out from camp. At this rate, we'd never make it to L.A. alive, much less before the summer solstice.

What had Medusa said?

Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue.

"You know it's not really a good thing when the monster's made a good point," Magnus frowned.

I got up. "I'll be back."

"Percy," Annabeth called after me. "What are you-"

I searched the back of the warehouse until I found Medusa's office. Her account book showed her six most recent sales, all shipments to the Underworld to decorate Hades and Persephone's garden.

According to one freight bill, the Underworld's billing address was DOA Recording Studios, West Hollywood, California. I folded up the bill and stuffed it in my pocket.

In the cash register I found twenty dollars, a few golden drachmas, and some packing slips for Hermes Overnight Express, each with a little leather bag attached for coins. I rummaged around the rest of the office until I found the right-size box.

I went back to the picnic table, packed up Medusa's head, and filled out a delivery slip:

The Gods

Mount Olympus

600th Floor,

Empire State Building

New York, NY

With best wishes,

"That must be a worse gift than even Gabe could ever give, the best wishes part really wasn't necessary," Alex chuckled.

PERCY JACKSON

"They're not going to like that," Grover warned. "They'll think you're impertinent."

I poured some golden drachmas in the pouch. As soon as I closed it, there was a sound like a cash register. The package floated off the table and disappeared with a pop!

"I am impertinent," I said.

"Admitting you need help is the first step," Will chuckled.

"I don't get it," Percy said with a straight face.

I looked at Annabeth, daring her to criticize.

She didn't. She seemed resigned to the fact that I had a major talent for ticking off the gods.

"There's a gift I wish could be returned," Thalia sighed.

"Come on," she muttered. "We need a new plan."

"Chapter was done," Nico sighed in relief, he was pretty confident he hadn't made a fool of himself.

Before Will could take the book, a door from no where banged open.

PJOPJOPJO

Wooo, already half done with the first book! I forgot how much I missed doing this kind of series!

This is one last extra update because I'm almost done with All in the Family and enjoy updating on holidays, but as promised, regular updates will resume on August 18th and then updates will proceed every Monday! Happy Fourth of July!

#PJO #Percy Jackson #reading the books #fanfiction #Thalia Grace #nico diangelo #alex fierro #Will Solace #Hearthstone #Magnus Chase #Big Three kids #Jason Grace

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onceupon · 3 years ago

Text

London Boy - Part 3: I like girls that dance

summary: It’s your first night out and your first real introduction to Westheath. Rafe is quick to find his way on your radar.

pairing: Rafe x reader (slowburn)

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 4.6k

a/n: the way I’m imagining Jack Harlow as I write Liam 😩✋also, im pulling these chapter titles out of my ass - but actually tho, go listen to Girls That Dance by Masego

Part 1 Part 2

Despite your doubts, you put on the sheer top and the black mini skirt Millie and Olivia had insisted you wear. Your favorite pregame playlist plays as you do your makeup in the mirror. You move as quickly as you can, in desperate need of a shot to calm your nerves before your flat fills with people. You’re also nervous about seeing Rafe after that encounter in the kitchen you just had.

As you run your fingers through your hair and put on your earrings, all you can see is his stupid (and annoyingly attractive) face, staring down at you with that dumb backwards cap, telling you that you guys should watch Game of Thrones together. Every time your mind starts to think if that means something, you quickly shut down the thought. Of course it doesn’t mean anything. Just because a boy wants to watch a show with you does not automatically mean he wants you or that this was going to turn into some kind of Netflix and chill situation. Or was this gonna be a Netflix and chill situation? I mean it was Rafe Cameron after all, the boy certainly had a reputation. But then again, hadn’t he just showed you that he’s different from what you had expected? Oh god this was all too much to think about right now, you needed a shot. Stat.

“Y/N!” Olivia shouts, swinging the door to your room open right on cue. “Oh. My. God. You look so hot!” she exclaims. “Here, this is for you,” she extends a shot glass toward you with a devilish grin.

“Oh god what is it,” you grimace. Shots always seemed like a better idea in theory than in practice.

“Try it and find out,” she smirks. You sigh and send the liquid to the back of your throat, immediately cringing at the sting of raspberry vodka, Olivia bringing a cup of cranberry juice to your mouth to chase.

“Don’t worry love, a few more and you won’t even taste it. Now come on,” she laughs, dragging you with her to the kitchen. The rest of your flatmates are already there, Millie bopping along to the music, giggling at whatever Topper is saying, Rafe standing close by sipping his drink.

“Y/n you hottie!” Millie cheers, looking up as you make your way into the kitchen. You pray to god your cheeks aren’t turning pink. You don’t dare turn your head, but you know Rafe is staring at you. If you looked at him now you’d be crimson for sure.

“Alright everybodyyy,” Olivia begins, pouring the same raspberry vodka into the five shot glasses she has lined up on the table. You can’t help but laugh at her infectious energy, this girl is nothing if not the life of the party.

“Cheers to our first night out as flat mates! Wooo!!!” she exclaims, as everyone grabs a shot glass from the table, Rafe instinctively passing you one, hands briefly touching during the exchange and again as you all clink your glasses. You down the contents, unsure if the heat forming in your chest is from the vodka or the feeling of Rafe’s passing touch.

Pretty soon people start to arrive, Olivia and Millie making sure to introduce everyone. The flat becomes a blur of bodies drinking, dancing, and mingling about, and somehow, despite it all, Rafe Cameron is the person you find yourself standing with. There was something magnetic about him that you couldn’t quite understand, but it kept drawing you near.

“What are you drinking tonight Cameron,” you nod at the cup in his hand.

“Jack and coke. Of course,” he scoffs with subtle sarcasm, which you instantly pick up on.

“Not straight whiskey? Wow. That’s not very Figure 8 of you,” you admonish playfully.

“Straight whiskey? L/n who do you think I am?” he twists his face in mock disbelief. “But I’m game to do a shot if you are,” he adds.

“Hmm that does-“ you begin, but you’re quickly cutoff.

“Y/n, babe, if I had known you’d be here I would’ve came sooner,” Liam greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a cheeky smile.

“Now how on earth do you two know each other,” Millie asks, walking in line with the boy.

“Umm,” you chuckle nervously. You could not have possibly felt more awkward at the conversation unfolding in front of you, Rafe standing by as witness to it all. “He’s that boy I went to the bar with the other night,” you explain sheepishly.

“That was Liam!? Chrissake. Well I apologize on his behalf for anything he said or did.”

“Hey I’ll have you know I’m a proper gentleman!” he defends, throwing you a wink as Millie rolls her eyes. Just at that moment, another group of people walk in through the door, conveniently coming to Rafe’s rescue.

“Rafe!” a girl calls and he clears his throat excusing himself, Millie following suit to greet the latest batch of guests. You watch as he leans in for a hug with the girl who’s just called his name. She’s twirling her hair and batting her eyes, confident, flirty, gorgeous - just his type. A sick feeling pools in your stomach, you don’t even realize you’re staring.

“Lily Colts, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Liam informs you as he takes the now empty spot next to you.

“Oh, um no, I was just uh-“

“It’s okay Y/n, I get it. So flatmate huh” he laughs, unbothered.

“No no it’s not like that at all I uh-”

“Alright. Y/n,” he says, jumping up to sit on the counter behind him, cracking open the can in his hand. “You know I think you’re hot and you know I like messing with you-”

“Actually I know neither of those things,” you reply indignantly.

“Yes you do, you’re not dim,” he bulldozes right on, “I can read people pretty well, and there was a vibe there.”

“A vibe?”

“Yeah. Between you and what’s-his-face. You should’ve seen the way he tensed up when I came up to you,” he snickers in amusement.

“Shut up. His name is Rafe, by the way, and there was no ‘vibe.’ Also why are you even telling me this?” you ask, growing frustrated with the cocky brunette.

“Y/n please,” he scoffs. “I told you I can read people, so let me read you. You’re out here in London right, far away from home, keen for a fresh start. You’ve never been one for meaningless flings, but fuck it, if everyone else can do it, why not you? Or so you try to convince yourself, but you know that’s not you. See, you crave that emotional connection, and when you find even a hint of it, you’re a goner. Which is why you’d never actually hook up with me and it’s why you’re staring at that boy from home even though you swear you don’t care, but you do - you feel something there.”

You’re dumbfounded by his ability to know things about you that even you yourself can’t recognize. “I liked it better when you were just flirting with me,” you grumble.

“No worries darling, I’ll definitely still do that. I’ll even dance on you in the club if you ask nicely, might make pretty boy over there jealous,” he motions with his eyes toward Rafe, at which you give his shoulder a shove.

“You’re an idiot you know, Millie was right on the money with that,” you quip, as the two of you head over to her, Liv, and the boys.

“Please, Millie wishes she could be right on something else,” he says as you shoot him a glare, trying your best to suppress a laugh. Liam was starting to become a pain in your ass, too smart for his own good, but at least he was a funny one.

—

Your first night clubbing was going great. The place was packed, the music was good, and you were having a blast dancing with Liv, Millie, and their friends. You couldn’t help looking around the club though, eyes scanning for Rafe in the crowd. He’d been hanging out all night with Topper and some of the guys from their new soccer team. You longed to be near him somehow, to interact with him again. All your conversations with him earlier today had left you with an excited buzz - you didn’t know what it was about this version of Rafe Cameron in London, but you were actually enjoying his company.

You try to push him out of your mind and just enjoy the moment. It’s not like there was anything between you and Rafe, you had just barely began to form a semblance of a potential friendship today, let’s not get carried away. Besides, you live with the boy, accidentally running into him wasn’t going to be much of a challenge.

“Anyone want anything from the bar?” you shout over the music to your friends.

“Vodka soda with lime please!” Olivia shouts back and you nod, turning to make your way to the counter a few feet away. You place your order and mindlessly tap your fingers on the bar as a figure appears beside you.

“Hey, Y/n right? Flatmates with Olivia, Mills, and the boys?” the girl asks, and you turn, now face to face with Lily.

“Uh yeah, hey,” you feign a smile back.

“I’m Lily, nice to meet you,” she smiles genuinely. “I’m friends with all the Westheath bozos you’ve probably been meeting tonight,” she laughs, “Callum and Henry over there are my best mates. They’re on the football team with Rafe and Topper, we were showing them around earlier. My god you guys have been hoarding some cute ones over there in America.”

You chuckle, “glad that Kildare’s presence can at least be of some benefit.”

“So, girl to girl here, what can you tell me about Rafe Cameron? He’s such a hottie isn’t he? Would love to get a taste of that,” she smirks, licking her lips.

“Umm I don’t really have much to tell,” you say, unsure of how to navigate this conversation. You could tell her what you thought you knew of Outer Banks Rafe - he’s a rich, party-boy player. But after today, that no longer felt right. You didn’t want to say or presume anything about him at all actually, it felt wrong to talk about him like that. God, what the hell was wrong with you? You spend a few hours with the boy and you already have a soft spot for him? You needed to get a grip. “Our families know each other but we don’t really hang out at home. He’s uh- he’s cool though,” you decide as a sufficient response.

“Any girl friend?” she asks, sliding cash over to the bartender as she orders a shot.

“Rafe’s not really the ‘girlfriend-type’,” you answer, bartender sliding you the drinks you ordered and Lily her’s.

“Well then cheers to that,” she grins, clinking her shot glass to your drink before she downs it, waving a quick goodbye. You watch as she makes her way back to Rafe and their group, adorning a flirty smile. You feel sick to your stomach. You wanted to hate her, you did. But you couldn’t. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was just confident, outgoing, and not afraid to go after what she wanted. There was nothing for you to be angry about, who was stopping you from doing the same?

But in the back of your mind you decided you could never go after Rafe like that. He would never be interested in you in that way, you were sure of it. You had a hard time believing your friends when they hyped you up, so you definitely weren’t going to believe for a single second that a boy you thought was cool could possibly look at you in the same way. Besides, the mere idea of being rejected by Rafe Cameron, and then having to continue living with him and eventually go back to the Outer Banks for everyone to find out you had been rejected by the kook prince, was so mortifying that the very thought made you want to crawl into a hole. So you promise yourself, right then and there, that you won’t let yourself get hurt like that. You could hang out with Rafe, get to know him, become friends even, but under no circumstances could you be caught wearing your heart on your sleeve. You couldn’t disarm yourself like that and give him the upper hand. You needed to look out for yourself first and foremost, preserving the little bit of control you still had over your life.

You walk back over to your friends, slipping Liv her drink as her and Jake dance together. Your new friends are all tipsy and in a world of their own, getting lost in the music and their movements.

“Dance with me,” you turn to Liam who’s right beside you.

“I said if you ask nicely,” he admonishes sarcastically, to which you roll your eyes.

“I’m not gonna beg Liam. You wanna dance or not?”

“Sheesh, Lily Colts got your panties in a twist like that?”

“Not. At. All.” You confidently stare into his eyes, sipping your drink. It’s no use, Liam knows you all too well by now, and you curse yourself for the way in which this boy is able to see right through all the walls you put up. You may think these walls are made of brick, but to Liam they’re glass.

He just laughs at you, shaking his head in amusement. He grabs your free hand and pulls you closer to him, your bodies now pressed together. He takes your hand and rests it on the back of his neck, his finding their way to your hips. He plants his leg in between yours and soon you guys are lost in the rhythm. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying every second. He spins you around and you lightly grind your ass against him.

“Damn Y/n, I didn’t know you move like that,” he jokes, as you face forward again. He leans in, his hand on the small of your back, and you feel his breath right against your ear, “he’s looking by the way.” Your breath hitches, but you know better than to turn around. Liam is already one step ahead of you, instinctively twirling you again so you can quickly catch a glimpse of Rafe’s eyes on yours without it being obvious. “Told you he’d be jealous,” he smirks down at you triumphantly.

“Shut up,” you reply, the slightest smile tugging at your lips as your sweaty bodies continue to move to the music.

—-

“Aw flatmate bonding you guysss,” Olivia gushes, as you all sit together at a booth. She had forced you all out of your beds this morning to get breakfast together. Despite being hungover and groggy, you all reluctantly agreed. “Mimosas anyone?” she jokes.

“If I so much as smell any alcohol I think I’ll vomit,” Topper groans.

“Aw, what’s the matter, can’t handle your liquor Tops?” Millie asks, quirking her head to the side.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. Could ask you the same question. My room is right next to the bathroom, don’t think I didn’t hear your retching last night,” he snaps back, to which Millie turns bright red and soon you’re all hunched over in laughter.

“I think a mimosa would make me yak right now too, to be fair. Coffees all around!” Olivia asserts.

You’re seated across from Rafe as you both scan your menus, your eyes immediately fixing in on the pancakes. The waiter comes by to take all your orders and you can’t help but blush a little when Rafe orders pancakes and you have to follow with a “same for me.” Such a silly, meaningless thing, I mean everyone likes pancakes. But being the only one to have the same exact order as Rafe leaves you feeling embarrassed, for no good reason all the same. You all begin to scarf down your food as soon as it arrives, thankful to have something to soak up the alcohol in your stomachs, as you share stories and laugh about last night’s drunken antics.

“So how is it that we’re all flatmates and yet I only have Topper’s contact. Come on, add ‘em in,” Rafe says, sliding his unlocked phone to the middle of the table.

“Wait I want snapchats too. Oooh! And instagram!” Olivia pipes, whipping out her phone as well.

“I expect no booty calls Cameron. This is strictly business,” Millie jokes, typing in her and Olivia’s numbers before passing his phone to you.

“Am I allowed a booty call?” Topper smirks, extending his phone as well.

“I wouldn’t push your luck Thornton,” she smirks back and he pouts in response. You finish typing your name and number into Rafe’s phone and hand it back to him, skin briefly making contact once again. Even though you had known Rafe all your life, somehow you two never had a reason to exchange numbers, only following each other on Instagram which he never posted on anyways.

“Alright everyone, pull up your snapchat codes, I wanna make a group,” Olivia says and everyone obliges, arms crossing every which way as you all add each other. “What should we name our group chat? Ooo can we do a ship name of our schools - like Kilheath or Westare?”

“I like Kilheath,” Topper chimes in.

“Yeah I bet you do you psychopath. Sounds like the name of a bad horror movie,” Rafe laughs.

“Oooo there’s five of us, we could be the Spice Girls,” Millie beams.

“No.” Topper immediately shuts her down.

“What about ‘American Boys and Spice Girls.’ You know, like the Kanye West song,” you add.

“Ehh, we’re getting closer, but not quite there,” Rafe teases you and you playfully kick him under the table. “I’m hearing a lot of opinions and not a lot of contributions,” you cross your arms and raise your brows.

“Hey hey hey, I’m a critic, not a chef L/n,” he lifts his hands in surrender.

“Ooo I got it! We can call it the ‘Royal fam,’ like the royal family,” Olivia suggests, finally getting approval from the whole group. Breakfast is soon over and you all return to your rooms, eager to nap away the remainder of your hangovers. You lay in your bed and stare at the newly formed snapchat group on your phone. Royal Fam 🇬🇧🇺🇸 appears on top and you scroll down, looking at Rafe’s username and bitmoji on your screen. You laugh at the fact that even his bitmoji wears a backwards cap. It was weird, having him in your phone like this. You had known this boy your whole life, but you two had always operated in separate spheres. And here he was, in your Snapchat, a glimpse into the life of Rafe, of which you only ever got a birds eye view of back home. It almost felt like you were trespassing somewhere you didn’t belong, having access to him like this. You sigh and lock your phone. Rafe Cameron really isn’t all that bad.

—

The next few days fly by fast as you become acclimated to Westheath. You and the rest of the Kildare kids attend an orientation with Westheath’s exchange advisor, spending the whole time with your little trio: you, Rafe, and Topper. When you had first arrived abroad, you were deadset on forging your own path in London and steering clear of everyone else from OBX. But hanging out with Rafe and Topper made you all but forget. It was fun and easy hanging out with them, in fact, counterintuitively, they were helping you forget all about the Outer Banks, just as you had hoped to do. Your conversations centered around your interests, your new lives, on random jokes and made up bits. It was almost as if there was a mutual unspoken agreement between you, them also trying to escape and forget their lives in OBX.

Pretty soon classes began, and you were learning a new schedule and adapting to British schooling. Your evenings were spent singing and dancing in the kitchen as you, Liv, and Millie simultaneously cooked your dinners, getting pints at the pub around the corner with your Westheath friends, and playing card games at the kitchen table with Rafe and Topper, the smack talk between you three flowing strong. There’d be short moments where you’d find yourself alone with Rafe - he’d explain to you whatever Premier League team was playing that day, you’d show him how the coffee machine works, and the occasional passing comments of “so when are we finally starting Game of Thrones, Cameron?” “I’m ready whenever you are, L/n.”

—

It was a Wednesday night, and you were curled up in your fluffy gray blanket watching Gilmore Girls in bed. You found the show comforting and familiar, the small town of Stars Hallow reminding you of what you wished your life in the Outer Banks could be like. Instead it was more like the cold and pretentious atmosphere of Chilton and the older Gilmores’ Hartford life. Your phone buzzes, and you pick it up lazily to check, suddenly freezing at the notification on your screen.

Snapchat: Rafe Cameron

You had opened a few snapchats from the boy over the past few days, but they were always random ones he would send to the group chat. This one was just for you. You gulp and put your phone down, not wanting to open it too fast. A few minutes go by and you realize you haven’t paid an ounce of attention to the show on your screen, even though you’re staring right at it. Fuck it. You open your phone and tap on the unread snap.

When are we watching Game of Thrones L/n the snapchat says, a picture of his laptop on his bed and the HBO Max home page open, the series featured in the corner of the screen.

You snap back a picture of your blanket and the laptop playing Gilmore Girls in front of you: ready whenever you are Cameron.

Almost immediately you get a response back.

Rafe Cameron: wait are you home rn? His message is accompanied by a random picture of his room, a view you let your eyes linger on until the message expires. Another peak into Rafe Cameron’s world.

Y/n: Yep! You send a blurry selfie of you wrapped in your blanket.

Rafe Cameron: be over in 5

You leave that last message on open and your heart starts to race. Just breathe Y/n, breathe, you keep telling yourself. It doesn’t have to be a big deal if you don’t make it out to be. It’s just a show. Just a show. And besides, you guys are friends now, right? You sit up in your bed and grab your pillow, shifting over to sit horizontally on your mattress. That seems more casual to you, more ‘just a couple friends watching a show together at a comfortable distance’ and less ‘sitting right on top of each other Netflix and chill’. You gulp down some water to ease your dry throat when you hear a gentle knock.

“Come in!” you call out, and now Rafe Cameron is in your room, eyes absorbing all the details that are so you. The posters on one wall, film camera photos on another. The string lights which wrap around your room and give it a warm glow. The plants, the subtle scent of vanilla. The bag you always carried with you, hanging off the side of your chair. He almost felt like he was intruding, like he was getting an intimate glimpse of something that was for your eyes only.

“Whats up,” he says, holding his laptop and closing the door behind him.

“Ready to finally start the show,” you laugh, “it’s about damn time.”

“Hey, I’ve been ready, it’s you who’s been taking your sweet time.”

“Is that so?” you ask sarcastically and a smile forms on his face.

“What are you doing over there? Who sits like that on their bed?” he asks, now coming over and taking a seat on your mattress facing vertically, propping your other pillow behind his back. “Can’t even stretch out your legs or anything,” he continues, patting the spot on the bed next to him, signaling for you to come over.

“I don’t know, I think it’s comfy,” you lie as you crawl over to him, your first line of defense already shot down.

“Weirdo,” he chuckles to which you nudge him in the side with your elbow. “If Topper’s wrong about this I’m gonna give him so much shit,” he says.

“Topper does have a lot of questionable opinions,” you laugh, “but I have a good feeling about this one.

—

One episode turned into two turned into three, you and Rafe instantly hooked. The nerves you had felt earlier at sitting so close next to this boy in your bed had all but dissipated, you quickly acclimating to the space he took up next to you. Even though by now all your previous misconceptions about Rafe had disappeared, replaced with the boy you had come to know over the past week, there was a small part of you that was still waiting to see if he’d try to pull something on you, like the Rafe you imagined back home surely would. Of course he didn’t, watching and discussing the show with you, making you feel as comfortable as if you two had been friends for years. You almost felt bad for having had doubted him in the first place.

When the third episode ended and you two got into a long post-episode discussion, you hardly noticed when the conversation began to digress. You both started to sink lower and lower down into your pillows, until you were both laying on your backs, staring at the ceiling and lost in exchanges of words and thoughts. The conversation was different this time, more candid and open, as if the shadow of the night was inviting you to divulge thoughts you wouldn’t have shared in the day. He spoke of his strained relationship with his father and you shared the silly drama that had caused a riff between you and your former friends back home. He showed you pictures of his dog and you showed him the video you had been working on all summer long in OBX, not having anyone to hang out with before you left for London. He talked about how he felt so disconnected from almost everyone on that island, and you nodded, understanding all too well. The conversation continued to ebb and flow, the occasional funny video or meme pulling you two into fits of laughter before seamlessly delving into another vulnerable train of thought. You both had your Spotify accounts open now, taking turns sharing your favorite songs. You put on a playlist you had made over the summer, full of songs that made you feel at peace.

“This puts you at ease huh,” he says.

You turn your head to look at him, “how could you tell?”

“I don’t know. I guess just the way your whole body relaxed the second you pressed play,” he replies.

“Yeah,” you say turning your head back toward the ceiling. “I know it sounds cheesy, but I feel like these songs are speaking to my soul or something,” you whisper.

“Yeah I get that… I have those too,” he whispers back. Neither of you realize it’s already 5 am and neither of you notice as your eyes both get heavy and sleep washes over you, playlist in the background like a lullaby. And at some point during your deep sleep, Rafe’s arm has found itself unconsciously wrapped around you.

---

Part 4

a/n: lemme know what you think!(:

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #obx #rafe outer banks #outer banks #rafe cameron x you

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thefanficmonster · 3 years ago

Text

All The Colors

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Colorblindness, Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: The colors are not always seen but rather felt. Just like Y/N feels the colors through their best friend and boyfriend Corpse. That’s how they realize that what they can’t see is the most beautiful and genuine feeling in the world. The feeling of knowing something and someone so deeply.

Requested by my dear friend Lulu, who you might have known as greenieofshield. Unfortunately she’ll never get to read this fic and I’ll never forgive myself for not putting it out sooner but I’ll also never forgive the universe for being so cruel as to take her away so early. She was one of the best people I’ve ever met, always so full of optimism, always there to brighten up my day and make me smile. Always so strong and brave, never falling victim to the hate she received despite not being deserving of it. The world lost an angel the day she died and I as well as so many other people will forever miss her.

Love you and miss you with my whole soul and hear, Lulu. Hope they’re treating you right in heaven ❤

For what it’s worth, Y/N has never asked people to describe the colors to them. In their eyes that seemed like the equivalent of poorly patching up a wound: they could hear thousands upon thousands of descriptions of each color and still wouldn’t be able to imagine it. The descriptions would only make that worse to them. So to avoid feeling even more like they’re missing out they never asked.

However, that doesn’t mean they haven’t developed their own way to ‘visualize’ and imagine colors throughout the years. They’ve tried loads of different methods, few of which stuck around and not for long either. That is exactly why they frequently used to tell their friends: “You can’t paint me a rainbow with black and white and shades of grey and expect me not to feel like I’m missing out on something. Paint me the gloomy sky on a rainy day and only then we’ll be even cause you’re seeing the same greys I am.”

Little did they know how drastically their logic was about to change in the following years.

Speaking of said following years - they met Corpse who became one of their best friends in practically no time. And within just a few months of that friendship’s blossoming, a romance sparked. A romance their friends would jokingly refer to as ‘romance of a lifetime’. Maybe it was said jokingly but Lord knows they weren’t wrong in saying so because the two were completely head over heels for one another -s till are to this day - and never shied away from showing it.

Y/N and Corpse met through Rae who Y/N was staying with while on a little vacation to Los Angeles. To be even more specific here, the two met through a game of Among Us, the game responsible for many wonderful friendships since its release.

“Guys, guys, guys.“ Y/N said after sparking up a bickering session for falsely accusing ‘blue‘ of faking a task in Navigation during the final round for the day, “Here’s a little rule of thumb for whenever we play together again: don’t trust me if I accuse a color instead of a name.“ It’s safe to say that statement rose a few eyebrows in the Discord call, the confusion serving as amusement to them before they explained themself, “Oh, why that is? Hm, I don’t know, maybe cause I’m colorblind.”

Rae who was in on the scheme the whole time and was struggling to hold in her laughter finally snapped while the rest of the players were left processing the information that had been dropped on them.

“But you practically kicked our ass every single round?!“ Corpse said, amazement and confusion in his tone.

“Expect the unexpected from this schemer, take it from someone who’s known them for a decade now.“ Rae said, winking at her friend from across the room. Not failing to notice the blush on their cheeks while doing so though.

“Corpse, are you calling me a good liar?“ They poked a stick at him teasingly, desperately avoiding Rae’s gaze which widened the second she realized why her friend was so flustered by Corpse’s remark.

“Practically a con artist.“ He replied to them with a laugh, earning one from them in return.

And so they practically conned him into falling in love with them with their quick wit, sarcasm and cuteness. If someone is to ask Corpse if he expected to fall for Y/N, he’d probably say yes.

“They were like a magnet the moment they entered the lobby and started talking.“ He said once on a live stream in response to a question he received in the chat regarding Y/N, “It wasn’t hard at all, falling for them. What took me a while was realizing it. While I was referring to them as ‘best friend’ all my friends were rolling their eyes and going ‘Sure, bud.’ Just took me a bit to realize why.”

Luckily, it didn’t take him too long to grasp what his heart was actually screaming at him. Good thing they came to terms with it so soon too, otherwise they would’ve driven their friends insane.

Anyway, enough about what happened and what could’ve happened under one circumstance or another, what matters is the ‘here and now’ of their relationship. And trust me when I say it has never been better and it keeps getting better every day.

The beauty of what those two have is in the tiny every day things that they do for each other, the good morning texts even though the other person in probably just in the kitchen making breakfast while the other cannot find it in them to get out of bed; or it’s laced within the calls between them when neither of them are home or at least one of them is out and about, busy with a task they’ve probably been putting off for far too long. Don’t get me wrong though, the romantic gestures aren’t rare either. Random gifts are exchanged by them on regular intervals but one consistent and super romantic gesture that repeats a few times every year (of the two years they’ve been dating) is Corpse giving Y/N a bouquet of flowers.

A detail Y/N couldn’t help but take notice of was the fact that the bouquet was always made up of the same flowers with only small changes to the arrangement of them and maybe some tiny ones added too. Unfortunately, they aren’t artificial so they couldn’t have kept them thought they wish they could’ve. That being said, it goes without saying that those flowers mean the world to Y/N, the gesture actually - they know flowers are a common gift to give but anything they receive from Corpse is so special and makes them feel like the only person who’s ever received such a gift.

And so they got curious, they had to ask. They had to ask the question they never thought they’d actively ask considering their view of the topic. But they still did.

“Hey Corpse.“ Y/N spoke up out of the blue, breaking the silence that had fallen over them while they watched the movie they were only partially interested in given how exhausted they both were from devoting themselves to their respective tasks and responsibilities throughout the last few days.

Corpse hummed in response, the arm wrapped around their waist doing a little motion as if encouraging them to continue, his gaze immediately traveling down to his partner.

“What color are the flowers?“ They asked, gazing at the bouquet - a gift they had received from him for their birthday a few days prior - in the vase on the dining table.

They waited a few seconds but when they didn’t hear nor feel any sort of response from him they couldn’t help but look up at him. Upon doing so, they saw his small smile as his eyes too remained on the bouquet. “They’re black and white.“ He replied eventually, “Black roses and white daffodils.“ His gaze wandered away from the vase and down to meet theirs, “I don’t want you to think I’m seeing them in their ‘full beauty’ while you only see them in black and white. You are seeing them in their full beauty and not missing out on anything. They are absolutely beautiful black and white as they are.“

As a response to his answer, Y/N couldn’t suppress the growing smile on their face no matter how hard they tried. So they didn’t try at all, they let the smile lighten up their face before speaking up: “You’re a wonder, Corpse.” They said, pushing themself as upright as they could to be able to kiss his cheek. “However, you’re wrong.” They say when they pull away, smirking up at his confused expression, “My world was black and white until you came into it. You’re all the colors, Corpse. Your love’s red, joy’s yellow, sadness blue, chaos green. Love red. You’re all the colors and out of all the people that have tried to describe to me how they look, you have managed to do that just perfectly without even trying.”

Little did they know that’s exactly what he thinks of them - their world is black and white because all the colors live within them. Because they are all the colors.

And maybe they both are, seeing as how they came into each other’s lives exactly like the rainbow after the pouring rain.

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mellowswriting · 4 years ago

Note

2, 3, & 48 with the least expected choice: JAVI BB! 😭 Please I just starve for domestic!Javi a lot

Second Chance

pairing || Javier Peña x F!Reader

summary || Javier comes back to the U.S after taking down Escobar to find you - and what he finds changes his life forever.

word count || 4,824

warnings || angst with a happy ending, soft dad Javi, allusions to sex

a/n || This was so interesting to write, because Javier as a dad??? Yes please! Also because I’m so used to writing mainly fluff that angst can get a little tricky for me. Thank you for this little writing challenge, anon!

Main Masterlist | Join the taglist!

Two years. It had been nearly two years since Javier had seen you - correction, since he had watched you walk out with tears in your eyes and did nothing to stop you like a fool. It was one of his biggest regrets, and that was saying something coming from a man whose job required him to make hard and fast decisions that often left people dead. All he could do was hope and fucking pray that you wouldn’t slam the door in his face.

Even if he did deserve it.

A drive that typically would’ve taken only an hour from the airport took nearly double that, Javier’s hands shaking and stomach turning the entire time. He should’ve done this sooner, should’ve followed you out that door or hopped onto a plane and met you back in the States. Nothing felt right without you, the world around him slightly distorted by your absence. An absence that was entirely his fault.

He shouldn’t have snapped at you. All you had wanted from him was the promise that he would try to play it safer. It was a simple reassurance that he could have given you if he hadn’t been such a moron and snapped at you that if you couldn’t handle the realities of his job, you had no business sticking around. You were scared, worried for him after one of his harebrained plans nearly got his head blown off.

And all Javier had done was make you feel stupid for caring about him. It didn’t help that he did nothing to try to fix it the next day; he was embarrassed, ashamed of his immaturity. And you left because of it. He hated himself for it. He would only hate himself more if he didn’t go to you now that he had taken down Escobar. Better late than never, right? He was back in the states and could’ve gone anywhere, done anything, especially now that he was so well known for his hard work in Colombia. Instead, he used that new status to find out where you ended up and scribbled your address onto a crumpled piece of paper.

It was a nice house. The kind he always hoped you would get, picturesque with the neatly trimmed front yard and picket fence. The sun had just risen enough to tint the sky by the time he pulled up and killed the engine, his millionth cigarette of the day perched between his fingers. You were home. Tiny movements that he could see from the windows and the car parked in your driveway told him that much.

The love of his life was right there. Less than twenty yards away, practically nothing separating the two of you after so long. That realization had Javier finally shoving the car door open and stepping out - and damn near getting himself run over in the process. In his haste, his excitement, he didn’t even glance around himself enough to see the car approaching and… pulling into your driveway?

A spike of fear shot through him. Please, fuck, don’t let that be a man. Don’t let that be some man who is going to walk through the door and kiss your cheek as you welcome him home from work and…

No. A woman, brunette. Launching herself out of the car and practically skipping up to the door. She didn’t bother knocking, just walked right in and closed the door behind her. Something familiar about her tickled the back of Javier’s brain, the hazy memory of a polaroid of her next to you wearing matching goofy grins. Ah, your sister. Amelia, if he remembered correctly.

Javier hesitated at her appearance. He didn’t want to interrupt something. God knows you were already going to be pissed enough at him. So he leaned against his door and puffed on that cigarette like it was his only lifeline, ready to wait for however long it took.

Just his luck that he wouldn’t have to wait long. The door reopened not fifteen minutes later and the two of you both appeared on the porch and holy fuck, Javier’s heart was ready to fly out of his chest just at the sight of your smile as you chatted with your sister. He watched, enraptured, that damn cigarette damn near falling from his lips, his heart leaping at the way your head tilted back with a big laugh. God, he missed that sound.

You turned and poked your head back into the doorway and called something that he couldn’t hear, pausing before rolling your eyes and walking back inside. You appeared again a second later with -

A kid? Propped on your hip with your arm propped under them with ease.

Javier’s heart dropped. Of course. He should’ve known that someone would have scooped you up the second you returned home. If he hadn’t have been such a fucking idiot, that could have been him building a home with you and fuck, he had to leave. He needed to get in his car and fucking go before you -

“Javier?”

It had been so long since he heard you say his name. Even when it was layered with surprise, his name never sounded better than when it was falling from your lips. Javier froze with his hand on the handle. He could hear your sister’s ill attempt at whispering, the harshness of “Wait, the Javier? The one that -” that you cut off before she could finish.

Javier turned, his heart flying in his chest, and started walking up to the gate. The shake in his hands was undeniable when he lifted the latch. Your mouth hung open, chest rising and falling rapidly with your almost frantic breathing, the little girl perched on your hip seeming confused. She was yours, that much was obvious. Her nose, her lips - that little girl was your daughter.

Something in you snapped back into place, your mouth closed and a fake smile quickly replaced it as you turned your softening gaze to your little girl. “Okay, you have fun with Aunt Amelia, okay? Mommy loves you.”

Javier watched the exchange with a heavy heart, watched as your daughter gave you the tiniest kiss on your cheek with a small ‘pop’ of her lips, watched as your sister took her and gave him a wide berth as she went to strap her into the carseat in her car. The moment she was out of your sight, the warmth from your eyes fell away and regarded him with something colder, something angry and sad.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked.

“It’s done.” He mumbled, his fists clenching at his sides. “All of the bullshit with Escobar, it’s over.”

“Yeah, I know.” You scoffed at the surprised look he gave you. “What, you think I didn’t keep track of you after I left? Just because I wasn’t around doesn’t mean I stopped caring about whether you lived or died. That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I never should have let you leave. I… I shouldn’t have driven you away to begin with.” Shame flooded him for the millionth time at the flash of hurt in your eyes before you looked away from him, your eyes falling to the ground. “The kid… uh, congratulations I mean. I didn’t know you started a family, I never would’ve shown up like this. I’m not a homewrecker.”

“The kid?” You repeated, your voice incredulous, and Javier cringed. Yeah, not the most eloquent way to put it, but he was never good with words.

“Yeah, uh, she’s a cute kid. You and your… husband or whatever, you got lucky.” Every word that fell from his lips, he regretted. They were true, sure, but holy hell did it sound so awkward coming from him.

“The kid.” You scoffed again, a sound he hadn’t realized he missed so much. You finally locked eyes with him, somehow even more guarded than before. “She’s yours.”

Javier blinked. The words didn’t compute, his brain falling blank at the very thought that he… no, no fucking way. He took a half step back, his mouth falling open. He watched you watch him, watched the way your eyes studied his every movement. Air rushed in and out of his chest rapidly, black spots blinked at the edges of his vision, and suddenly his ass was hitting the hard stone of your porch.

He barely heard the rough, concerned way you said “Shit, Javi!”, barely noticed you disappear from his side. No, he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t accept that. There was no way in hell that his stupid fucking mistake deprived him of this, of his family. Of watching you bring his child into the world and watching her grow, teaching her how to walk on unsteady feet and picking her up when she cried. Of you teaching him how to gently pull her pretty brown hair into the little sprigs of pigtails, just like she wore when he caught a glance of her before she was whisked away.

The cold, wet feeling of a cloth dragging across his forehead made his eyes refocus and there you were. Your eyes, once cold and hesitant now tinged with concern as you gently drug a washcloth down each of his cheeks, trying to pull him out of his panicked state. You were murmuring something to him, something he couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears. Javier’s hand grasped at yours, pressing it against his cheek tightly.

“Name.” He rasped. “What’s her name?”

You paused, a small smile perking up the corners of your lips. “Elianna. We call her Ellie.”

Ellie.

Javier had a daughter.

“I have a daughter?” Javier needed to hear you say it again.

“You have a daughter.” You nodded and pulled your hand away from his cheek, much to Javier’s disappointment. He missed your touch. You patted him hard on the shoulder before hauling him up. “Come on, we have a lot to talk about. Might as well do it on the couch where it’s comfortable.”

The inside of your home was just as picturesque as the outside, but in a completely different way. Colorful toys were strewn about the living room, a few soft baby blankets crumpled on the couch. It was comfortable, lived-in. Happy. Javier sat heavily on the couch, mind almost on autopilot as he gently touched the blanket next to him, his fingers barely grazing the fabric like he was worried his touch would somehow taint it.

You handed him a cold bottle of water that he accepted graciously and sipped as you sat next to him, a foot-wide war zone of space between you that felt like a stab to his heart. If only he hadn’t fucked everything up. You would be curled up right against him, your head on his chest as the two of you watched the little girl you created together babble over her toys.

“Tell me about her?” Javier asked tentatively, his voice uncharacteristically small.

“What do you want to know?” The hesitance in your voice made him feel even worse.

“Anything. Everything.”

And you did. Javier watched and listened, enraptured as you gushed about little Ellie. At nearly fifteen months old, she was damn near running and constantly getting into everything. She was curious and bright and laughed like she couldn’t breathe when you would roll around on the floor and play with her. Just the sight of the happiness and light in your eyes when you retold the first time you heard her say ‘mama’ made pride swell in his chest.

The intense urge to have her here with him pulled at him, but he knew better than to ask. You were already indulging him by bringing him into your home and answering his questions. Hell, he was lucky you told him to begin with. He could feel the intensity of your gaze on his face as he tried to absorb all of the information that was dumped on him. Silence filled the living room when you trailed off, a few heavy moments where he didn’t know what to say.

“I know you have questions, Javier.” You said, your words slow and deliberate. Clipped, like you were terrified he was going to disappear once again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Javier whispered.

“Well, I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left.” You began with a sigh. “I thought that the nausea and the missed period were from stress, because god knows I was wrecked. I found out a few weeks after I got back to the U.S and… I just didn’t see the point to tell you.”

“Didn’t see the point? Of telling me you were having my child?” His voice rose with his anger, his frustration and he watched as those walls slammed down, your vulnerability hardening in less than a second. He took a deep breath before continuing, trying his damnedest to soften his voice. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“Are you kidding me, Javier? You had just told me to leave. Was I supposed to think it would change anything?” You deflated into the cushions slightly and the sight of the exhaustion and pain in your eyes made some of his anger fall away. You rubbed a hand down your face. “Was I supposed to hop back on a plane back to Colombia? Put myself and my baby in danger? Or maybe I should have just called you. ‘Hey, Javier, I know you just told me to get out of your life, but surprise! I’m carrying your child!’ How would that have gone over?”

“But after? How could you not…” Javier choked up, unable to finish his sentence. You were right, he knew that. But he was grieving the loss of everything he had missed out on. He couldn’t blame you, not really. It was an impossible situation.

“I wanted to. There were these moments that… it took everything in me not to call you and beg you to come to me like some pathetic little…” You trailed off with a shake of your head, your voice cracking. “But I couldn’t. The closer you got to catching Escobar, I just… I couldn’t pull you away from the fight when you were so close to winning. The past few weeks, though? God, I almost called you at least a dozen times. The second I heard about it, I wanted you here, but I was so… so scared, Javi.”

And there it was. Javier’s heart snapped in half. He broke your heart and you managed to still prioritize his career, his fight against Escobar, while you brought his child into the world and shouldered that responsibility on your own. He cleared his throat harshly and squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to hold back those traitorous tears that threatened to fall.

“You don’t have to be scared. If you’ll have me, I swear to god, you will never do this alone again.” Javier whispered, his eyes still closed. Debilitating fear kept him from looking at you, afraid to see the rejection on your face. “I want to be here, I want this. I want my family.”

“Do you mean that?” Your voice trembled with disbelief.

“Of course I do, hermosa.” He insisted. “Please, give me the chance to show you.”

The small, relieved sigh that came from you made something tight ease in his chest and Javier hesitantly brought you into his arms. You relaxed into his side with your head propped on his shoulder, the both of you taking refuge in the familiarity of the touch that was missed for so long. He felt you look up at him and met your eyes, hoping you could see his sincerity. Words had a tendency to fail him but he still had his actions. He absentmindedly licked his lips before asking, “Can I kiss you?”

You smiled at him, a small smile that was still a bit sad, but a smile nonetheless, and nodded. “I've missed your kisses. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He confessed and finally kissed you. After two years, Javier felt the softness of your lips against his and finally felt like he was home.

----------

Javier’s knee bounced rapidly as he sat on your couch hours later, his nerves bounding untethered and desperate for any outlet. Just on the outside on the porch, you had stepped out to greet Amelia, who had brought Ellie home.

His daughter was on the other side of the door and he was about to meet her, for real this time. Excitement and fear warred with each other, neither able to win out over the other in their rising volume. Excitement at getting to hold her, maybe even make her smile. Fear over the possibility of hurting her or being too rough - he didn’t have much experience with babies, after all.

The door pushed open and he heard you call his name softly. “Can you grab these bags for me?”

He was on his feet in an instant, glad to be of help and already jumping at the chance to start proving himself to be a good father. A mess of brown curls poked out from the baby blanket you had draped over your chest where Ellie was apparently still fast asleep, distracting him slightly as he grabbed the bags from Amelia. She… did not look too happy to see him. The hardness in her glare told him something that didn’t need to be vocalized: if he hurt you or Elllie, his body would never be found.

Javier nodded slightly at her. He couldn’t blame your sister. If he were in her position, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he would be breaking noses. At your request, he set the bags on the kitchen table before walking back to you - and the sight of you swaying in the middle of the living room with Ellie knocked out against you, your cheek propped against the top of her head, took his breath away. The smile you gave him brought him closer, his hand settling on Ellie’s back softly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Do you want to hold her?”

It took a moment of maneuvering, but the second you settled Ellie against him chest-to-chest, his entire world came into focus. Her cheek pressed against his chest just so, making her mouth form the tiniest little ‘o’ that he had ever seen. She was so calm, sleeping so deeply, and Javier couldn’t fucking believe his luck. How could he have had any part in creating something so perfect?

He had to sit down. He didn’t trust himself to hold her with unskilled hands while standing. She harrumphed slightly when he eased down onto the couch, but other than that, his little girl stayed off in her dreamworld, content and safe in her father’s arms for the first time.

“Just be careful not to touch the bottoms of her feet even a little bit, it wakes her up every time. She’s just like you with that.” You said, your voice lowered as you sat next to him much closer than before. He preened under the idea that any part of him was reflected in Ellie, even something so small and silly.

“She’s so warm. Is that normal?” Javi asked. He hoped she didn’t have a fever, he knew that a fever could really hurt a baby even with his limited knowledge. You reached out to gently feel her forehead and cheek, smiling after a moment.

“No, she's just a little furnace.” You settled against the back of the couch with a content smile. God, this just felt so right. Having you so close and smiling, having his daughter asleep and safe against him. He could feel the pieces snapping together, could feel himself becoming whole. “Yet another thing she has in common with you.”

“What else?” Javier whispered, desperate to hear everything.

“Hmm, let’s see. You have the same grumpy face.” You laugh when he glanced up at you, his eyebrows ticked together and lips pursed slightly. “Mhmm, that’s the one. Plus she hates carrots. Acts like I’ve personally offended her if I even offer them.”

“That’s because carrots are fucking disgusting.” Javi grumbles goodnaturedly as he gently rubs Ellie’s back. She’s so small, such a tiny, delicate little creature, and he can’t believe it. Any of it. You let him in after everything, took him in and introduced him to an entirely new world of possibility, one where if he was smart and did right by his two little ladies, he would get the life he always dreamed of.

Your fingers brushed an errant lock of hair from his face and Javi sighed, his eyes falling closed as he leaned into the soft touch that he missed so much. He hummed happily, practically purring like a pleased cat, when your fingers buried further in his hair and massaged over his scalp. Heaven. He was in heaven.

A gentle stirring against his chest made Javier glance down at Ellie and that first glimpse of her big brown eyes only confirmed what he already felt deep in his soul - this little girl was his everything. It was the most basic, simple thing he had ever felt, no question to be had about any of it.

Ellie wiggled against him, trying to get herself upright, and Javier immediately held her under her arms to sit her on his thigh. She looked inquisitively up at him from his lap, glancing over at you to confirm that you were nearby before staring at him as if he was the most interesting thing he has ever seen. Her little hand reached up to tug at his mustache, giving him a toothy grin at the way he laughed.

There were tears in his eyes and he couldn’t even deny them, couldn’t pretend they weren’t there. Javier could see them mirrored in your eyes as you watched Ellie stand in her father’s lap and try to balance herself with her hands on his shoulders.

You cleared your throat. “She’s about to start bouncing.”

“What? Whoa!” Javier exclaimed at the sudden feeling of what seemed like Ellie falling in his lap, his hands rushing for a firmer grip only for her to pop right back up and do it all over again. All three of you cracked up, your melodic laughter mixing with Ellie’s high giggling in the most beautiful way.

That night Javier got to cut up his daughter's food and help spoon bites into her mouth, sat at the table with Ellie and the love of his life, eating dinner like a family. He could picture this for the rest of his life. Eating breakfast and dinner together. Kissing the both of you goodbye in the morning and returning to his daughter running down the hall to wrap him in a hug. Chasing Ellie around a park and helping her down slides and pushing her on the swings.

This was his second chance, and he was going to do it right. God help him, he was not going to miss out on anything else. So when he saw the hesitance in your eyes that night after putting Ellie to bed, Javier settled himself on the couch with nothing but a gentle kiss to your forehead. There was no reason to push you. He wanted you to be comfortable, he owed you that much.

A week went by like that. Javier would rise in the morning to the sounds of you coming downstairs with Ellie on your hip and stretch, realigning his spine and pulling the tension from his sore back. He offered small pieces of affection and grinned every time they were accepted - a small peck on the lips here, his arm raised for you to curl closer on the couch there. Little Elianna was all too happy to join in on those little couch cuddle sessions, too, clambering into his lap or yours and snuggling close.

It seemed like the more Ellie warmed up to him, the more you did as well. Javi caught those small smiles when you watched him help ease his little girl to sleep for a nap. The more he proved himself to be a good father, the more comfortable you were letting him in, and it felt like progress. You laughed openly at his stupid jokes, reached out for him for affection of your own volition - kisses over coffee, holding hands as he pushed Ellie in the stroller - and it felt so good.

Javier fluffed up a pillow before tossing it against the arm of the couch, but before he could collapse his exhausted body into the cushions, he felt your hand curl around his bicep. The look in your eyes was almost afraid and worry clenched his stomach, but before he could spiral, you pulled him close and leaned up to kiss him.

A surprised sound hummed against your lips but Javi quickly regained himself to kiss you back. There was something softer about the way your lips pressed against his, something that had been absent from the quick, nearly chaste kisses you shared since he returned. This time you parted your lips and licked along the curve of his bottom lip, your hand coming up to press against his jaw and pull him even closer.

“You aren’t sleeping on that couch anymore.” You whispered against his lips.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Javi grumbled as he pressed even closer and kissed you again and again, slowly guiding you back to your bedroom.

He woke up the next morning with his bare chest against your back, his face buried in your hair, and he didn’t think life could get any better. His arms tightened around you as he gently rubbed up and down your side, the soft touch easing you out of sleep. The way you groaned made him smile; it was a sound he missed, even if it though was grumpy. You rolled over in his embrace and wrapped your arms around his neck to drag him over you, smiling sleepily at him before kissing him.

“My thighs are fucking aching, Javier.” You grumbled against him as you pressed a line of kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

He shivered at the feeling of your lips against his sensitive skin. “Mm, yeah, and you love it.”

You giggled in that way that made his stomach flip. “Fair enough.”

The door pushed open suddenly, almost hard enough to crack against the wall, and Ellie appeared on your side of the bed, her arms raised as she waited impatiently to be picked up. Javier happily pulled her up onto the bed. Scratch his earlier assumption - now his life couldn’t get any better. He watched Ellie jump and tumble around the sheets with happy squeals and that’s when he heard it. At first, he thought maybe he was hearing things until he saw the way your mouth fell open into a big grin, your eyes flitting back and forth between father and daughter.

“Papaaaa!” Ellie called out, her hands opening and closing rapidly, reaching for him from the other side of the bed. She kept saying it, repeating the two syllables over and over until it all bled into one long call for her dad.

Javier pulled her into his arms and squished her to his chest tightly, his eyes on you as his heart fluttered high in his chest. He couldn’t find the words, his voice choked out by his overwhelming love for the little family he had. He watched as you shuffled forward to kneel next to him and kiss the top of Ellie’s head, then his lips, pride shimmering in your eyes.

“Marry me.” Javier said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your jaw dropped. “Javi… you don’t have to do this. I - I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Are you kidding me? I want to grow old with you, have kids with you, even have a fucking white picket fence.” It was as if the faucet was turned on and there was no stopping the words he so desperately wanted to say. “None of this is out of obligation, hermosa. I want you to be my wife.”

“Yes.” There were tears in your eyes as you listened to the words you had longed to hear for far too long. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Javier surged forward and kissed you again, and in that bed with the precious little girl the two of you created together and the promise of being yours forever, he knew he was right where he belonged.

{Taglist}

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