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alphabetboyluvr · 15 hours

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LANDSLIDES - 002 | GUILTY AS SIN - JJK

part title credit: guilty as sin - taylor swift

these fatal fantasies giving way to laboured breath... they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly... without ever touching his skin how can i be guilty as sin?

pairing: officeworker!jungkook x female reader (coworkers)

premise: jungkook asks you to dog sit over chuseok. he doesn’t ask you to steal the empty spaces in his head, the dreams he’s yet to have, nor the idea of you always just being ‘you’ to him - and yet, like a thief in the night (with his own damn dog as your accomplice), you do. (part one link)

warnings: slow burn (emphasis on slow, emphasis on burn), miscommunication, missed opportunities, missing jungkook, inappropriate mentions of masturbation between friends, frustration (sexually and emotionally!)

wordcount: 18K

note from holly: this was supposed to be a 30k chunk but the 1000 paragraph limit told me no </3 so instead, this is part 1 - part 2 will come tomorrow :)

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

When Jungkook comes to stand by your desk, his freshly pressed suit unspoiled from his morning commute and with a coffee in either hand, you know he must be up to something.

"Let me guess," you hum. "You dipped your nib in the company ink again and need me to do damage control?"

It wouldn't be the first time, and the new secretary has been ogling him ever since she started just before the Chuseok break. You've joked about it a few times, but you really wouldn't put it past him.

Popping your coffee on your desk, Jungkook toys with his tie a little, smoothing it down. "Why do you always think so little of me, you little gremlin?"

His pouty whine would be believable if you didn't know him as well as you do. Glancing up from your screen, you're greeted with a smirk. Even he can't keep up his pretence of innocence. "You know exactly why."

"I'm a good boy," he promises. "Got you coffee and everything this morning!"

"Because you want something," you laugh. "I wasn't born yesterday, Jungkook."

"Can a friend not get a friend a coffee just because?"

"Yes—but you don't."

In fact, Jungkook normally waits until midday for his first coffee. Treats it like a reward for getting through the morning without any caffeine. He's gone out of his way today—or just ordered coffee to the office to make it look like he has. Regardless, an effort has been made.

He takes a second. Purses his lips. Narrows his eyes.And then he smiles. "Fine. I need a favour."

"See, I knew it was too good to be true!"

"Oh, c'mon!" He laughs. "I'd get you coffee if you asked."

"I asked last week when I was running late, and you told me to wake up earlier and get it myself!"

"Well, it was your own fault for being out until arse o'clock in the morning!"

Your fault, you think but don't vocalise. It's not like you'd been out with him. You'd been on a date. Another with Mingyu. Hadn't stuck to your word of cooling things off. Spooked yourself with those dreams about Jungkook. Needed to bring yourself back to reality.

If he hadn't asked you to dogsit, you never would have gotten so caught in the domestication of it all. It's your biggest weakness and he damn well knows it. If anything, he should be thanking you for choosing to realign your focus instead of leaning into silly little thoughts about him. It also helps that in the cold, harsh light of Monday mornings, the thoughts just make you cringe more than anything.

"Sorry, Dad," you roll your eyes. "Didn't realise I had to ask your permission."

Jungkook's lips purse in the gentlest of ways, corners upturning ever so slightly. He shakes his head. "You're cranky this morning."

"And you're up to something," you reply. Have barely even had a chance to look over your weekend emails yet, let alone prepare yourself for Jungkook being a nuisance. His department is two floors up. There's no need for him to be here.

In the corner of your screen, an email pings through. Though your glance is quick, it connects a flurry of dots together.

Subject: International Food Expo - we're in!

The company you work at is the head office of a chain restaurant. Jungkook works in franchising—negotiations, specifically. Gets the restaurant placed in the best locations. Recently landed a spot in Starfield Mall. Got himself a nice little bonus.

You're over in the interior design team. It's a small cohort, just three of you, but you're responsible for ensuring cohesion amongst all the spaces. It's up to you that customers get the same feel whether they're in Seoul or Sokcho.

Both starting the job at the same time, directly after graduation, Jungkook had approached you with a strategy in mind. Roped you into creating the interior mood boards and mapping out the spaces before they'd even been acquired. Gave life to them that made it so much easier for investors to imagine.

It had been seen by management as a waste of resources before then—why waste time creating hypotheticals?

They just hadn't yet experienced Jungkook, and all of his charm, pitching for them, using your content to tip negotiations in his favour. It's a partnership that works. Is a practice now adopted by the company across the board, thanks to the pair of you. It's why you work together so often, even if you're on completely different floors and dealing with such vastly different tasks.

"I've been asked to go along," he says, nodding towards the screen. "Little old me is our brand ambassador for the week."

"Congrats," you beam, knowing that Jungkook is the best man for the job. He loves the company. Really believes in the restaurant. Clicking into the email, you scan the details. "A week of schmoozing, huh? However will you cope?"

He's about to joke about how tiresome it'll be, but then you hum in confusion.

"Jeju?" You question, looking at the location. You scroll, just to check you aren't imagining things—but there it is, clear as day. Location: International Conference Center, Jeju. "All the way in bloody Jeju?!"

"It's for international markets," he says, putting his best guess out there. "Seoul's been done a hundred times over for different Expos. Busan, too. I think they're trying to attract more foreign companies—and would the CEO's rather send themselves on city breaks or island getaways? Anyway, that's actually the favour I wanted to ask you..."

It all sort of clicks into place, now. "Bam?"

With a sweet nod, Jungkook offers a gentle smile. "You know there's no one I'd rather look after him. The trip is four days, Tuesday to Friday. If it's too much, I can book him into a kennel, but—"

"No," you shake your head. "Don't do that. You know I'm happy to look after him."

"Sure?"

Jungkook would rather die than leave Bam at a Kennel for the week. He doesn't trust anyone with his baby unless they've proved themselves, but the way you happily cuddle up with Bam on the floor of Jungkook's apartment on any given day of the week is proof enough to him that you love him, too.

If he's gonna trust anyone with his most prized possession, it'd be you.

"One condition," you bargain, 'cause you know that you can. Jungkook'll do anything to have you agree.

"Go on..."

"Have you replaced all the cheese I ate last time I looked after him?"

He narrows his eyes. "Yes."

"Good," you beam. "And could you be a babe and make me some of your pad kee mao? The sauce at least? I can do the rest."

If there's one thing Jungkook will never fail to impress you with, it's his cooking—but your favourite of all of his dishes is his Thai drunken chicken noodles. He imports the special basil needed for it. Goes an extra mile to make sure it's just right. You haven't been to your favourite Thai place since you learned just how well he makes the dish. Will just send him a text when you fancy it, and end up at his place an hour or so later with beers from the convenience store and ice cream sandwiches to chuck in his freezer for dessert.

"That it?" He laughs. "Cheese and noodles? God, you are easily pleased."

"I'm a woman of refined tastes," you say, pompously poised.

Jungkook knows you well enough to know you're no such thing, but he needs this favour, so he doesn't bite. Just says, "And you're sure?"

"I'm sure," you promise. "Now leave me alone. I've got work to do—and thanks for the coffee."

He nods, that little smile of his affecting you far more than it really should. You can't help it. The lighting in your office is far nicer than the rest of the establishment. Makes him look... well, makes him look like himself. Like 'home' Jungkook. The same one who hangs out with you in sweats and messy hair on Sunday mornings, not the suited and clean-shaven Jungkook who swaggers through the corridors of your workplace.

Three of you work in your specific office, and you're all interior designers. Changing the bulbs was one of the first things you did. Lea, your manager, is the most senior in your team. Below you is Jiwon. A fresh graduate, she's still learning the ropes, and as much as you like her, you really wish she wouldn't go all heart-eyed over Jungkook every time he enters the room.

It's not her fault. The warm bulbs just bring out all of those terrible, intrusive little stars in his chocolatey brown eyes. They're terrible, 'cause they're stolen from other people; intrusive, 'cause as he walks away and your gaze follows him, it seems like they've landed in your eyes, too. A secret shared that neither of you even realises exists.

"How do you do it?" Jiwon sighs once Jungkook is out of earshot. "I'd melt if he looked at me like that."

"He looks at everyone like that," you deflect. "And trust me, he's just as disgusting as he is charming. Don't let the tailored suits fool you."

It's been a little while since Jungkook last used the copier room for indecent affairs that would have gotten anyone else into a meeting with HR. Workplace violations are far easier to get away with when you're doing them with someone from the HR department, after all.

Jiwon joined the team just as Jungkook was curbing his bad behaviour. Granted, you know about more of it than most, but everyone who was lucky enough to grab his attention for more than five seconds used it as bragging rights for months.

One thing that you did enjoy about Jungkook's slut era was the lack of women he ever took home. Didn't want to introduce new people to Bam, if they were only going to be fleeting endeavours.

But you're his friend, not a casual fuck. He knew that bringing you into the fold wouldn't be fast nor fleeting. It'd be a lifetime kinda thing.

Which is what makes you feel so guilty as you stand by the water cooler a little later that morning, daydreaming about being back in his space again. Silly little thoughts about facetime calls when you were wrapped up in his sheets, and he was back at his parents' place in Busan. Memories of lazing the days away with Bam, and the look on Jungkook's face as he finally arrived home after a few days away.

You've seen him at home a million times over, but there was something different about him then. Serene. At peace. You know that he was probably just happy to be back with his baby, and tired from driving, but the lazy smile that had hung off his lips, round glasses framing his equally round eyes, just seemed... new.

Your thoughts are cut off by your boss—not Lea, but your actual boss, Mr Seo—calling you into his office. A little flustered, you realise that you've been running the water for too long. Your bottle has overfilled, and the excess tray is almost full, too.

"Hi," you greet him all rather pleasantly, waiting to be told to sit before you actually do so. "What can I help you with?"

A burly man in his late 50s, he built the brand from the ground up. It's been his life's work, and so he's selective with his staff. If you aren't pulling your weight to make the company a success, then he doesn't want you tying your name to it.

When you and Jungkook started going rogue in the early days, he hadn't been happy—but Jungkook had blagged a probation extension for the pair of you. Had told Mr Seo he'd work for free, if he could just prove his strategy would work.

In the version of events Jungkook tells you, he pretends that Mr Seo agreed without docking his pay. Filed away in the back of his cabinet which houses his contracts, past and present, Jungkook has a written agreement with Mr Seo, and a month's worth of missing wages in his salary from that year.

Your pay was never docked, though. Jungkook's a damn good negotiator, and was just as competent back then, too. He was the one that got you into that damn mess in the first place, so it was only fair that he keep you as clean as he could.

What you do know is that you both cut it incredibly fine to losing your jobs before they ever really began. While Mr Seo respects you both for what you've done for the company since then, it still scares you a little bit.

"I trust you've seen the email regarding the Expo, yes?" He says, nodding towards the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

You take it in a hurried fashion, quickly sitting down because, quite frankly, it feels like your legs are jelly. "Yes, yes. Very exciting! I'm sure Jungkook will bring the company great results."

He nods. Agrees. "And I also trust you've been making plans for our stand?"

You learned of the expo approximately fifty minutes prior. Like fuck have you made any plans.

"Oh, of course!" You bullshit. "As long as we can work out the logistics with shipping our materials to the island in time, it should be brilliant."

How the fuck you're supposed to plan a stand at an Expo for a week's time on a different bloody island is beyond you.

You'll get it done. You always do. You'll just be incredibly stressed about it until the event begins.

"Naturally," he nods. I know the turnaround is tight, so we'd like you to go with Jungkook to oversee the preparations. He arrives on Tuesday, but the event doesn't start until Wednesday evening, so you'll have a day to finalise things."

"Oh," you say, unable to hide your surprise.

"Flight and accommodation will be covered by us, and Jungkook's getting a healthy bonus for any deals signed at the Expo—I'm sure we can make a cut for you, too. After all, you two are our very own dream team."

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. You want to go. Of course you want to. A trip to Jeju with one of your closest friends? Under the guise of work? All expenses paid? Who wouldn't want to go?!

But without you in the city, there's no one to look after Bam. Sure, Jungkook could take him to a kennel, but you know what he's like. He'll spend the entire time stressed. Won't be able to relax and engage with people in such a way that deals will be cut. Punters usually like him for his carefree nature. Without it? Well, you're sure they'd like him all the same, but you don't want to tempt fate.

"Mr Seo," you awkwardly begin, uncertain which answer will slip out of your mouth. "I'm afraid I already have commitments in the city that I can't cancel. I'm not available."

Silence lingers for a moment. Just a second. It feels like an eternity.

"Very well," he accepts.

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologise, knowing that you probably look like an ungrateful employee. If there's one thing you are, it's a fixer, and so before you can even comprehend what you're saying, you're throwing solutions into the void. "But I know Jiwon is just itching to get more involved with different sides of the business. I can get her on board with my planning this week and coach her on Jungkook's strategies. I'm sure she'd be eager to work hard, if she were given the opportunity."

Mr Seo mulls over your proposition—one of you which you already regret—then nods. "Alright. I'll trust your judgement. Can you send her down to my office?"

"Sure!" You say with a little too much glee, before you retreat back to your office with your tail between your legs. Lea is at a meeting, so once Jiwon has been sent on her way, it's just you, your water bottle, and a whole lot of regret.

Laying your head on your desk, you let out a little whimper.

It's for the best. For the company, for Jungkook, for you. For the sanctity of your friendship. For your sanity.

A message dinging through on your work chat interrupts your self-pity party. Glancing up, head still on the desk, you see Jungkook's name in the corner of your screen.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: oi you little gremlin

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: i could have booked him into a kennel

"Shut up," you groan at your screen.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: it would have been fun :(

Sitting up with a sigh, you poise yourself to send a message back. Find that nothing wants to come out. Your fingers hover above your keyboard with uncertainty. Takes a full minute before you can muster anything up.

Two floors above you, Jungkook is slumped in his desk chair. Has an office of his own, 'cause it's easier for the amount of meetings he has.

In the background of his screen, an email thread with Mr Seo details how Jungkook was the one to ask Mr Seo if you could join him. Explained how it just made sense. Offered part of his bonus package up with it. Said he'd cover the extra expenses if necessary, but that he thought it would be beneficial to the company to have you there, too.

While you're the person Jungkook trusts the most with Bam, you're not the only one. He could always ask Jimin or Taehyung before resorting to a kennel.

As your reply comes through, another email from Mr Seo is delivered, too.

RE: IFE JEJU, Interior Des. Department

Jungkook—

Have spoken with Jiwon. She will accompany you.

Any problems, let me know.

Mr Seo

With a sigh, Jungkook shakes his head. This isn't what he wanted at all.

And when he checks your message, he only frowns even deeper. Unlike you, he's renamed your contact details on his list. Everyone else still has their work-focused username.

Gremlin: It's your lucky day

Gremlin: You get a hot young thing to keep you company instead, wooo

Gremlin: HR if you're reading this, ignore it

Gremlin: Try not to be too miserable without me

He sinks down a little further into his chair. Purses his lips. Would far rather be alone than with anyone that isn't you.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he decides that maybe this is for the best. While he does think it would be good for the company, he knows that isn't why he suggested it. He just remembers what happened last time he spent more than a weekend away from you. Is scared it'll happen again.

Or maybe it's the opposite. Maybe he wants it to happen again. Just you and him, away from the confines of life as you know it.

Thing is, you'd have to return home at some point. If anything ever happened between you both, it'd change the very fabric of your friendship. He doesn't want that.

So instead, he decides to reply in the same way he would have done maybe a year or so prior.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: She'll fall in love with me

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: They always do

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: Don't say I didn't warn you.

In the warm lighting of Jungkook's living room, the main light is off, lamps providing you with just enough clarity to go over the files on his coffee table.

Over by the sink, Jungkook is washing up your plates from dinner, while Bam leans against his legs. Your overnight bag is still by the door, and Jungkook's glasses are in your hair, keeping it out of your eyes. Highlighter in hand, you're picking out key markets for Jungkook to make contact with over in Jeju.

"Avoid Babiyeo," you tell him, switching over to a thin red pen, putting a star next to their name.

"As in the leisure centres?" Jungkook hums, familiar with the company but not well-versed. The soft melody of his playlist carries a tune around you both, keeping your thoughts connected and in sync.

"Mhmm," you say, flicking over to the next paper. "The CEO's son is in legal trouble at the moment. They're keeping it fairly well covered up, but to do that they're making huge expansions they can't afford. Keeping the news positive, things like that. I reckon they'll go bust before the end of the year."

"Shit," Jungkook lets a breathy laugh escape his lips. Had no idea—but you've both got friends working in various industries. Have your arms dipped into numerous grapevines. Drying up the last of his bowls, he turns to face you and is unable to continue on with his words.

He gets it. Understands why domestication is your biggest vice when it comes to feeling things you shouldn't.

"Acorn Limited are also bad news," you add, putting a little star next to their name.

"Yeah?"

Jungkook puts the now-dry bowl on the counter and walks towards where you're sitting on his living room floor. He joins. Sits on the opposite side of the table. Lets Bam clamber over his legs, and encourages him to sit, too.

"Yeah," you nod, then look across at Jungkook. "They're a hot-shot protein company. Are trying to get themselves partnerships with different restaurants. The guy running it is some twat from Singles Inferno. Company'll be done by the next quarter."

"Some of them do alright, y'know. Reality stars are raking it in—"

"He's besties with the Babiyeo CEO's son," you tell him with a knowing smile. "Kept getting pictured together outside clubs. Whatever baby Babiyeo has been up to, I'm willing to bet the acorn guy has been, too."

Jungkook presses his lips together. Accepts your expertise. Nods, then sighs, "You should be coming on the trip. I can't do this without you."

Yes, he can. He's more than capable. Has closed more deals than most people have had hot dinners.

What he means is that he doesn't want to do it without you, but admitting such a thing verges on territory that Jungkook doesn't feel comfortable entering.

In the house he likes to call his mind, he's bolted the door of the annexe. Occasionally, he will sit and stare at the locks. Wonder if maybe he made a mistake locking you—or more specifically, the idea of you—away in there.

But then he watches Bam choose to shuffle around to your side of the coffee table, and watches as he rests his head on your leg. His snout is by your knee, sniffing at your bare skin with his wet nose. There's something familiar about you. Safe. You don't smell like Jungkook, but you still manage to smell like home, in a way.

"Bam would be even more lost without me," you softly say, scratching behind his ear, and it does admittedly give Jungkook a little solace.

"True," Jungkook accepts, then sighs.

It's getting late and he's got to be up early for his flight. Is leaving for his flight at just gone 3AM, so you're staying over. Crashing on the couch, 'cause having a home gym was more important than setting up a spare room. Thankfully you've never known a couch to be so cosy. Have fallen asleep on it a dozen times over, and it's yet to make you ache in the mornings.

It's all very normal, how you set into a routine. He lets you wash up first. Sorts out Bam while you sort out yourself. Doesn't need to, but writes you out a list of feeding times and emergency numbers. Grabs a spare blanket—one Bam hasn't slept on, but by the morning definitely will have—and turns the sofa into something that really does resemble a bed.

"Sure you're gonna be alright out here?" He asks when you come back through.

He ignores the teeny tiny shirt and even tinier shorts you like to call pyjamas. Or at least he does as much as he can. Doesn't mean to look at your ass. Does it regardless. Four times.

"Yeah," you promise, grabbing a bottle of water from his fridge. There are containers full of his speciality noodle sauce and enough cheese to keep you very happy for the next few days. He got an extra block of the one he knows you like the most as a thank you. "Go to bed. Get your beauty sleep, uggers."

"Hey, you need it just as much as I do," he assures you, then tips his head and makes a small click with his tongue. "C'mon, Bammie, bedtime."

The sound of his paws tapping across Jungkook's hardwood floors is ever-so-soothing. It's hard to be in a house with a pet and not inherently feel like home, you think.

"Night night, Bammie," you coo after him. He turns back. Tilts his head, just like his daddy. Trots on over to you for a few more scratches behind his ears. Doesn't leave until you tell him, "Go find your daddy."

Glancing up to Jungkook with a sweet little scrunch of your nose, you hadn't called him that name to take the piss for a change. The scrunch of your nose is actually an outward display of your inward cringe. Jungkook just scrunches his up right back.

"Gross," he whispers, then holds his hand out for Bam to sniff. "Night, Gremlin."

"Night, Kook."

The sharp sound of Bam's bark snaps you awake. The room is dark, but enough light bleeds in through the blinds for you to see Jungkook awkwardly trying to shush him. Rucksack slung over one shoulder, he's holding a bag with his other hand.

"Leaving without saying bye?" You sleepily mumble, rubbing at your eyes with a yawn.

"Didn't wanna wake you," he whispers. Bam, apparently, had different ideas. "He knows I'm leaving."

"What time is it?" you ask, still totally out of it.

"Just gone three," Jungkook says. It'll take him an hour to get across to Incheon, and even though he knows it won't take him much time to get through security, he still likes to be on time. Would have been easier if he was flying from Gimpo, but he's guessing Incheon must have been cheaper.

Nodding, you adjust your body to sit up, and reach out for one of the files on the coffee table. Hold it across for him.

Popping down his bags, Jungkook takes it with great interest.

"Here. I was having a think before bed. Did a little research on an American company that's gonna be at the Expo. Their head marketer has shares in a bunch of baseball-related companies. Get pally with him," you mumble, thoughts not really cognitive, but you've written it all down for him regardless. "Talk to him about the K-league, or something, I dunno. I reckon Mr Seo would shit his pants if we expanded into stadiums and sports venues."

Jungkook flicks over the notes. Nods. Doesn't know how the fuck you manage to find out half the shit you do, but knows you're wasted on the interior design department.

"See," he softly whines. "This is why you should be coming with me."

"You'll be fine," you promise him, then yawn a little bit all over again. You woke up at the worst possible time.

"You can take my bed, y'know," Jungkook offers. "I'll be gone in a minute or so. It's all yours."

Would be weird getting into his bed while it's still warm, you think.

Shaking your head, terribly covering a yawn, you insist it's fine. He begs to differ, so you double down—until all very suddenly, your notes are tossed onto the sofa beside you, and Jungkook is pulling you over his shoulder. Yelping from the surprise, you don't have time to cognitively respond, let alone demand to be put down.

He wouldn't listen anyways. Instead, he walks you across to his room, and tosses you down on his half-made bed. It's a little haphazard, he finds himself leaning a little too far forward. Almost ends up on there with you. Finds that his blood pumps just a little faster through his veins for a nanosecond.

God, he wishes he wasn't leaving.

Or that you were coming with him, at least.

Can't bear to tear himself away from you when you're all sleepy and sweet and—Oh get a grip, man.

"There," he says triumphantly, pushing his thoughts well out of reach. "Now, go back to sleep, alright? I'll let you know when I fly."

Sitting up on your heels, you find yourself unsure of how to say goodbye—and so you don't really say much at all. Just mumble, "Fly safe."

"Will do," he nods, then exits his room to give Bam a farewell that is just as rough and tumble as yours had been. "Be good for the gremlin, Bammie."

"Fuck off!" You call through, knowing that you'll forever be known as a gremlin, even on your deathbed, you're sure. Tucking yourself under his duvet, you're secretly comforted by how warm his bed still is. Smells just like him, too. "Bye Kook."

"Sleep tight!"

With that, the door slams shut, and everything feels a little colder. Bam whines by the door. Scratches at it a little. Begs for Jungkook to come home.

"Bammie," you call through. "C'mere!"

The way he excitedly bounds through Jungkook's apartment and jumps up onto the bed is borderline comical. He's not used to people being in the house after Jungkook goes out. Thought he was alone—but now he knows he's not, he's quite content. Nuzzles his snout into the duvet and flops his body down on yours. Doesn't realise he's not still a puppy, but you don't mind.

Moments like these make you realise that you definitely did make the right decision.

But moments that come a little later fill you with regret—like the picture that is sent to the office by Jungkook on the work messenger. Working hard or hardly working? He captions it.

The photo is of the booth that's been set up to look like a beach house version of the restaurant. The intention was for it to look like a 'Jeju' branch, of which you're yet to open— but it looks bloody fantastic. How you were able to wrangle contractors and suppliers in such a last-minute rush was nothing short of a miracle.

And yet—

Good work guys!

Wow, looks great!

Jungkook and Jiwon, doing us proud!

Dream team! Good luck!

It's that last one that really bothers you. Dream team. Exactly what you and Jungkook have always been called in the office—but you're easily replaced, apparently. It's your own fault. You're the one who said she should go instead.

It doesn't stop you from walking around with a face of thunder for the whole day. Not a scrap of work gets done. All you can do is lament your choices.

Still, you get to go home to Bam, and that does admittedly soften the blow.

"Show me him," Jungkook immediately whines when he calls later that evening.

You shake your head. "Tell me about the day first."

"That's so not fair."

"Quicker you tell me, quicker I show–"

"Fine," he scowls at you, but softens his expression almost immediately. Yawns. His shoulders press up to his ears as the rest of his face scrunches up. He's lying down on his hotel bed, the crisp white sheets not too dissimilar from his ones back home that you'll be curled up in later that night. "The set up was fine. Most of the vendors are here already. I'm so mad we didn't manage to snag a slot in the catering tent, yanno? Give people a chance to try our menu, but whatever. There's always next year, right?"

"Right," you nod. Yawn, too—and then adorably so does Bam. "It's our first year there. We're just making our presence known. Bigger and better things next year."

"Exactly. Now show me Bam."

His impatience makes you smile. You're just about to tap the switch camera icon, when a sweet, feminine voice echoes through your speaker.

"Did you say something, Jungkook?"

He glances over the sound of the voice, and then flicks his eyes back to you. Gets a read on your face as quickly as he can before you flip the camera, 'cause you're not really sure how much your face is giving away, but you know your surprise wasn't hidden.

"Er, no," he says to the girl. "Just checking in back home—"

"Oh, is that your puppy?" the voice, of which you know all too well, squeals. There's a slight ruffle of sheets as Jiwon tucks herself beside Jungkook. Hair a little damp, the straps of her top are loose against her skin. "Oh my gosh, isn't he the sweetest."

"Isn't he just?" you reply with a smile so fucking fake that it's a good job the camera isn't on you. There's a look on Jungkook's face that you don't really understand. He almost looks guilty—but there's nothing to feel guilty about. He can do what he likes. "Gonna take him for a walk in a bit, then I'm just gonna pop out for half an hour to see Mingyu."

"Are you taking Bam with you?" Jungkook asks, brows a little hard, the ridge between them nicely defined.

"Hadn't planned on it," you chirp, your face just as hard as his. "But I can take him to meet Mingyu, if you like?"

Jungkook swallows. Tries to pretend as if his jaw isn't tense. Is incredibly stern when he says, "Rather him not meet new people when I'm not around."

"Sure," you say, then flick the camera back to you. Are pleased to see nonchalance sitting prettily on your features, no matter how perplexed you might feel."I should be off, though! Call me if you need anything."

"Wait!" Jiwon says quickly, clearly unaware of the weirdness between you and Jungkook. She sees you bickering all the time, so must just figure this is what you're like when you're not ripping each other's heads off. "Just wanted to say thank you—I'm so glad I'm here."

Jungkook's eyes focus on your face as Jiwon gives even more thanks. He doesn't understand the sudden attitude you've developed. All he wanted was to see Bam, but you've a face like a slapped arsed and are trying to hang up. It's fuckin' rude, and if Jiwon wasn't there, he'd tell you so.

He lets you hang up. Doesn't ask you to stay.

"She alright?" Jiwon innocent chirps after you go. "She seems a little..."

"Just tired," Jungkook dismisses. "I woke her up at like, three this morning when I was leaving."

"Oh? She was at your place?"

It's really none of Jiwon's business, but Jungkook chalks it up to her being young, and unaware of when to keep her mouth shut.

"Yeah," he states definitively and plainly, ending the conversation. Heads to the bathroom to clear his head. Turns the shower up to just as hot as the one at his house has been ever since you left his apartment the last time.

'Cause Jungkook's been lying to himself.

There's no lock on the damn annexe. Or at least not from the outside.

The annexe has everything he needs. He's been sitting there, inside, quite comfortably with you for a little while now.

He really did think you were gonna call things off with Mingyu.

Is unaware that Mingyu got left on read four days ago after another dull, fruitless 'how was your day', 'fine thanks, and you?' conversation. As hot as he may be, he doesn't challenge you. Excite you. Anger you. Make you feel any kind of passion.

Which is funny, 'cause you find yourself reaching for a bottle of wine that you know is far too expensive for a Tuesday night glass, just to piss Jungkook off from afar and well in advance of him ever realising what you've done.

Just like you mentioned going to see Mingyu just to get a reaction out of Jungkook.

Childish as it may be, you feel threatened. People praising Jiwon in your place already made you feel insecure at work, and now she's in his hotel room in a state of near undress? Something about it just irks you.

It shouldn't.

It shouldn't, it shouldn't, it shouldn't.

But it does.

And so you spend your evening on Jungkook's couch with cheese, wine and Bam. Put Love, Rosie on, 'cause it's your favourite guilty pleasure film and you think it'll cheer you up.

Instead, you end up silently sobbing by the halfway point, Bam only snuggling into you even further. Can understand that you're upset. Comforts in the only way he knows how.

Sleep is hard to come by that evening. You're full of wine and cheese, so it should be easy. Lights out as soon as you close your eyes—but you toss and turn, and with every move, the scent of him wafts even deeper into your senses. Any further and it might just enter your bloodstream. Seep down into your heart.

By the time morning comes, you feel even more rotten than you did the night before. Have slept on it all. Know that he hasn't done anything wrong, which only makes you feel even more stupid for being so annoyed.

You've also slept on the idea he might have slept with Jiwon. It wouldn't be out of character, but it would be the first person in your department he's shagged. It's always been out of bounds. He knows this. For the same reason you wouldn't shag anyone he works closely with. It'd just be weird. Make meetings uncomfortable.

When you call on your walk that morning, you half hope he won't pick up.

But he does. He always will.

"Hey," he says a little breathlessly. A towel is whipped over his shoulder, sweat dappling his skin. There's something so devastatingly beautiful about mid-workout Jungkook. "Sorry, didn't think you'd call."

Almost as if you're looking for reasons to be annoyed, you take offence to this.

"I always call?"

"Well, yeah, but you were so fuckin' weird last night," he laughs, heading out of the gym and into an empty corridor of the hotel.

"I wasn't anything," you reply back with a scowl—and realise how terribly you're hiding your annoyance. Flick the camera over so it focuses on Bam as he trots along the path. "Just tired."

It's the same excuse he bullshitted to Jiwon. Knows you're talking bollocks.

"Even Jiwon asked what was wrong with you—"

"Oh, well I'm terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you, Jungkook," you snap, completely unjustified. It's too late, though. You've started. Have to see it through. "But if you don't mind, I'm responsible for your pet right now and I'd rather not be having this conversation when I need to be focusing on a million other things at once."

"Fine," Jungkook snaps right back. All he wants is to see Bam, but he doesn't want to be having this conversation either. "But you know what? Don't bother calling back until you've taken that stick out from up your arse."

You shouldn't be surprised when Jungkook hangs up.

But you are.

For the second time in as many days, you find yourself crying.

Oh, it's all so pathetic! And stupid! There's no need for it, you think.

Thankfully you're not too far from home—Jungkook's home, that is—so you can cut the walk a little short as long as you come home at lunch to check on Bam, too.

You don't even really understand why you're fighting with him. Wish you weren't.

When Jungkook zips open his suit bag as he's getting ready for the Expo opening ceremony, he finds himself wishing just the same.

Tucked on top of his blazer is a brand new tie; one of which he most definitely did not put there.

An incredibly muted bronze and black paisley pattern swirls over the material, and on top rests a note.

Jungkook rubs his face with a flat palm. Rakes it through his hair. Swallows back the awkward heat prickling at his eyes and the tickle in his throat. Doesn't wanna bawl.

But then he reads the note, and he just can't stop himself.

Dad!!!

You're gonna do great!!!!

Come home soon tho :(((((

Woof woof!!!!!!!

Your Bammie <333

P.S. I'm colour blind but the gremlin said this one is the same colour as me!!! Do you miss me??? I miss you!!!!!

The first time you had ever learned of Jungkook's tattoos was in a dive bar a few blocks over from work. It was just after you'd pulled off your first deal together—the one that set your working relationship in stone—and you'd both been blowing off steam.

The walls were red, and so were your cheeks, blushed from the heat of what it felt like to sit beside him in a tatty booth.

So used to sitting across from him at meeting tables, something about it changed your dynamic. Any threats of being on opposing teams were whittled down to nothing more than a life that could have been.

He had your back. You had his.

Blazer off, his sleeves were rolled up. You didn't ask him about a single one of the tattoos, like he half thought you might.

Instead, you just accepted him as he was. Didn't stroke your index finger up his arm, tracing the lines, like most girls do as an excuse to get better acquainted with him.

That night he made a promise to himself to never ruin the working relationship you have together.

You work too well to jeopardise it. He has goals. Knew, even back then, that you'd help him achieve his aspirations, like some sort of twin flame type of shit he didn't believe in.

Didn't. Past tense.

These days, when you think of Jungkook and his tattoos, you always think of the snake. It's the one you see most frequently for it's so close to his wrist. Have always understood snakes to represent change.

Jungkook is yet to shed his skin. He's still just the same as he always was, you think, as you get in the lift and head up towards your office floor.

Just 'cause he hadn't hooked up with anyone from the office in a while didn't mean that he'd changed his ways. More fool you for thinking that he might've.

And it's not like it even matters at all. Who he lays down with is none of your concern. You've never cared before. Not really.

It's just that you've been going to sleep in his sheets. Eating dinner he prepared in advance for you. Waking up to his pup excitedly doing zoomies around the room, 'cause he's ready for his walk.

When you get home, you put Bam's leash up next to your coat, which is hung on top of Jungkook's. Kick your shoes off by a pair of his. Use his shower gel when you get washed, and wistfully tuck yourself up into the armchair you helped him pick out for his bedroom. It's tucked in the corner. Is perfect for watching the world roll by.

You know you should have just called him this morning. Spent the entire walk stubbornly hoping that he would instead, but he's just as childish as you are.

You've bickered with him a hundred times over since you first met him, but never like this.

The elevator dings to a stop, pulling you from your tiresome thoughts of Jungkook. Pulling your body from its slumped leaning stature against the mirrored walls, you trudge into a place that endlessly reminds you of him.

Impossible to escape, is Jungkook. Perhaps that's it. Maybe you've just had enough of each other. Need a little time to breathe.

Everyone else who started at the company around the same time as you has already left. It's just you and Jungkook still here from the small pool of fresh graduates that had been taken under Mr Seo's wing.

But you like it here. Like your job. The salary you earn is great—far more than you would get anywhere else.

Again, you don't know this, but Jungkook's always negotiated on your behalf behind closed doors. He makes the company far more money, and does admittedly get a pretty huge bonus every year according to the amount of deals closed.

That being said, he also stomps down to Mr Seo's office in the fourth quarter when news of the next fiscal year's raises are shared. Will demand that your base salary is matched to his. Has threatened, on numerous occasions, to call for a pay disparity audit from external forces if your wage isn't boosted up, even if it means his is cut down to make up for it.

You went out on a limb trusting him in the early days. This is how he repays you.

That's just friendship, though, he thinks. You help him, he helps you.

He also knows you'd probably be annoyed if you ever found out he meddled with things like that.

The girls in the accounting office always think it's so lovely whenever they see the pay increases. Yours and Jungkook's are never quite what they should be, and they know exactly why. It's why they always ask you how he is whenever you go to drop off inventory reports and materials lists with the lead accountant.

You think they just fancy the pants off him.

Which is also true.

And it's also why a couple of them are curiously standing outside your office space, giggling like school girls as you approach it.

"Morning," you smile, then laugh a little too at their giddy excitement—but when you turn the corner and realise what they're so smitten over, you're a little lost for words.

Sitting on your desk is quite possibly the largest bouquet of flowers you've ever seen. Peonies, you think from afar. Pretty and pale pink, they're in a glass vase. Two dozen easily, if not more, blooming just for you.

"Oh," you hum, because it's hardly what you expect to walk into on a Thursday morning.

Mingyu flashes through your head, but you haven't heard a peep from him since you last let your conversation dissolve over the weekend. He has no reason to send you flowers.

But nor does anyone else.

"We tried working out the message," one of them admits. "But whoever your secret admirer is, they're hell-bent on keeping it secret!"

Shameless, you think, suppressing a well-natured laugh. They've got balls to admit that they've read the note.

Walking to your desk, you see it sitting atop of the flowers, and read it for yourself.

Anyone reading the note who knows a single non-superficial thing about the mystery sender would know who it is in a heartbeat. All it takes for you to know is to see the name of who it's addressed to.

Bammie—

She's right. It does match you. When I get home we can dress you up in my new tie.

Tell the gremlin that you deserve head scratches.

And extra treats.

And that I miss her.

Glancing over to the girls, who desperately want gossip, you simply shrug. If they've never heard Jungkook talk about Bam before, then they clearly don't know him at all. If he wanted his name on the note, he'd have put it there.

He could have gotten them sent to his apartment. He chose here. But he also chose anonymity.

And so you give him a little grace.

"Your guess is as good as mine," you bullshit with an apologetic smile that no one believes.

Lea just looks at you from across the room with a raised brow. Waits until the girls leave, then says, "That's not the kind of bouquet you send a colleague."

She already knows you're looking after Bam. That being said, she hasn't read the card. Has no idea what it says. Just knows that there's only one man you ever talk about with such warmth to be deserving of those flowers from.

"Apparently it is," you shrug, all but confirming who sent them with a coy smile.

"I hope he lets Jiwon down gently," Lea sighs, knowing just as well as you do that she's got a bit of a thing for Jungkook.

What she doesn't know is that it's the exact reason you're fighting with him.

Hell, even he doesn't know that!

So deep in your denial, neither do you.

"Why would he need to?" You downplay it all. Lea doesn't know about the awkward call Jiwon inserted herself into, or the fact you've already decided that he must have fucked her. "Like I said, apparently these are the kind of flowers sent by just a colleague."

Lea shakes her head. Has been observing you and Jungkook for years. Was waiting for a Christmas party, or one of those nightmarish summer tennis tournaments for the pair of you to finally figure it out. You're just as thick as two wooden planks when it comes to all of this, or so it would seem. A little push might be needed.

"Colleagues don't send flowers just because," she tells you with an air of authority. "And if I know anything about the stories you've told me, Jungkook doesn't send flowers full stop."

Just like that, you're thinking of those damn tattoos again. The snake, specifically.

Maybe, just maybe, he is changing.

And if you weren't confused before, then you sure as hell are now.

During the summer months, Jungkook often goes home to see Bam at lunchtime. It's not uncommon for you to go with him. In the winter, when the temperature of his apartment is less of a worry, Jungkook probably only goes home for lunch once a week or so.

Walking up to Jungkook's apartment in the middle of the day without him feels a little bit wrong. In one hand, you're holding a peony by its stem. In the other, you're clutching your phone just in case he calls.

In all honesty, you had planned on taking the entire vase back, but it was bloody heavy. You'll wait until he's back in the office.

It might just be paranoia, or the misplaced assumption that everyone is obsessed with what Jungkook does, but you swear there have been far more people passing your office today than usual. People you've seen maybe once or twice in your entire lifetime.

Lea was right. Jungkook doesn't send flowers.

Has a repeat order going monthly for his mother, but that's it. And even then, he's kind of forgotten about it.

You've debated it with him before; flowers and their presence in relationships.

He thinks a potted plant would be far more practical, but if he was really going to get someone something, it'd be herbs. Maybe a potted mint bush. Something useful that they could enjoy together.

A few weeks ago, you had told him he'd make an awful sugar daddy.

"Well, yeah!" He'd just laughed. "I save my money for myself. Me alone. If someone wants nice shit, they can get their own job."

"Oh, so you'd never treat a girlfriend?" You'd scoffed, forgetting the fact he never really has girlfriends. Just flings. "Never get her nice shit?"

"Well, that's different," he'd said. "It's not transactional."

"Everything in life is transactional, whether people like to kid themselves it is or not."

Jungkook looked affronted when you said this. You'd had differing perceptions of life for as long as he'd known you, but you'd always been a romantic. Always believed in the prevailing nature of love.

Bam had adjusted in his sleepy position. Curled up a little tighter, then stretched right out. Rested his hind paws on your thighs and tucked his nose into his chest.

"Bam disagrees," Jungkook assured you.

"You trained him using transactions," you reminded him regardless. "Rewarded him with a treat every time he did as you asked. Transactional."

"Okay, but this?" He gestured to where Bam was curled between the pair of you on his sofa. That's always been a rule of his. No sofa for Bam—he's got all the beds he could ever want! But when Jungkook is on the sofa, it's the only place he wants to be, too. "He knows he's not supposed to be on here. He knows he won't get a reward, so why is he up here? It isn't transactional. He just—"

"Is playing you for a fool," you had laughed. "He wants to be on the sofa, so he lets us pet him in return for us not shooing him off. He's the one setting the transaction up. You're the one getting the reward. He's playing you at your own game. Aren't you, baby?"

You'd cooed a little, scratching at Bam's thigh. He shook it ever so gently and readjusted, but didn't stop resting against you.

It was a curious thought; the way that nothing in life ever comes for free. Even the favours you do for Jungkook by dog-sitting are transactional. You get just as much out of those days as he does.

The conversation had mellowed into something else, 'cause Jungkook didn't want to get into a debate. Knows that you can defend your point until the cows come home—has been in enough meetings with you to know as such. Likes being on your side 'cause you always win—and with a negotiator like him to seal the deal, it's always so much sweeter.

As the calling screen of Jungkook's contact details takes over your screen, phone resting against a wine bottle on the coffee table, you wonder how transactional this is.

He gave you flowers, and now you're giving him a call.

Anyone with a rational mind would surely ask: is this not how romance works?

But when he accepts your call, and you're met with a stern face that's desperately trying not to smile, you're reminded of what he really is: your best friend.

Neither of you wants to be the first one who cracks and gives in first, even if you both know this is all so stupid.

You reach over to pick up the peony. Hold it in front of your face. The petals have bloomed so spectacularly that it almost eclipses you.

Jungkook's face scrunches up a little, his terribly hidden smile slightly distorted but ever so hard to hide.

"Will you stop hating me now?" Is all he says.

"Never hated you," you grumble, bringing the flower a little lower, but still in frame. Sitting on the floor, your back is to the sofa and Bam is behind you, right where he's not supposed to be.

If Jungkook is bothered by it, he doesn't mention it. "I missed him this morning."

The guilt that crawls into your stomach and makes itself at home is rancid. Anguish is her name, and she loves nothing more than ruining a good thing.

The frown that steals the pretty smile from your face isn't one that Jungkook enjoys seeing on you, no matter how cute it is when your eyebrows pinch together.

"I should have called," you acknowledge, knowing that it was cruel of you not to, even if you were fighting. "I'm sorry."

Jungkook just smiles. "I assumed the stick was still up your arse."

Narrowing your eyes, you're pleased that he's joking with you; that things feel normal.

"It's fine," he dismisses regardless. "Last night was the opening event so I was a little worse for wear this morning, and then Jiwon was rummaging about at fuckin' six in the morning. Took her fuckin' hours to get ready."

And there it is; confirmation that she's been sharing his bed.

Though you don't frown, there's a stupor to the muscles in your face. The brightness you were looking at him with fades—and very quickly, Jungkook becomes the one who looks unhappy, now.

"What?" He says, genuinely a little confused.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

You just shake your head. Dismiss it. Flick the camera around and lift your phone to focus it on Bam as you give him a little scratch behind the ear.

"He's been good as gold," you begin to waffle on. The ridge between Jungkook's brows deepens. "Best boy in the doggie park, aren't you? There's a new couple who have just started walking a Yorkie. Yappy little bugger. I don't think Bam's a fan."

"No," Jungkook supposes. "He doesn't like yappy dogs—and I don't like it when you deflect. Show me your face, gremlin. What's going on?"

"Nothing!" You insist, but don't flick the camera back. Just get a little more boisterous with Bam, and while it does make Jungkook smile, he can't shake the horrible feeling that's building in his diaphragm.

Your Anguish has a cousin who goes by the name of Confusion, and she adores wrapping herself up in men who fail to communicate in a way that is healthy.

"C'mon," he softly says. Flicks his camera around. Shows you an empty hallway of the convention centre. Says, "I've left Jiwon in charge at the height of the day just so I can answer your call. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"You didn't have to answer," you grumble.

Jungkook is smarter than most. Will have clocked the time of day and knew it was lunch. Definitely assumed you must be with Bam. It must be why he picked up.

Flicking the camera back on himself, Jungkook is almost at a loss for what else he can say to get you to open up.

A little honesty is needed.

And so you pout. Mumble, "They're calling you and Jiwon a dream team in the office."

Jungkook's frown intensifies as his dewy pink lips rest ajar. You'd say he looks distressed, but that's far too intense of an emotion for such a childish qualm.

He just knows that if he heard your partnership with another colleague—especially one in his department—being referred to like that, he'd take offence. It's you and him. You're the dream team. Always have been.

Shaking his head, Jungkook doesn't hide his contempt. Scoffs. "Fuck off. Dream team? She's using your strategies at a booth you designed, and even then, she's barely doing that—you know Acorn guy? The one you said to steer clear of? She's gunning for him—"

"Oh, you're kidding me," you gasp in disbelief. You warned her that he's bad news, multiple times. "Him?!"

"She's young," Jungkook says with a little judgement. Is scared of turning thirty, but definitely doesn't understand people who are closer to twenty. "He's just some hot guy on TV, to her. Doesn't realise his business is gonna tank. She isn't thinking about it long-term."

Which is funny, 'cause Jungkook never really used to think about things long term, either.

Sure, with investments and saving his money, he's always been a little cautious. When it comes to the business, though, it's someone else's money he's playing with. He takes risks. Does dumb shit and it gets rewards.

He really is incredibly good at his job, though. It's part of the reason the women love him, you always think.

It's not.

They like him because he's kind and also so bloody hot he should be on billboards, not in boardrooms.

You like him because he's competent.

In fact, you think there's nothing hotter than a competent man who just knows how to get shit done. And when said competent man can cook like Jungkook? Cares for his dog in the way he does? Looks like he does?

Sigh.

You ignore the way he looks a lot of the time, but you've a pair of eyes and a part of your brain that recognises attractive men. It's hard to ignore all of the time.

"Anyway," he shakes his head. "Not important. She's perfectly fine if not a little misguided—but she isn't you. So, stop worrying about it."

You take a second before you reply. Flick the camera back to you.

It surprises Jungkook, how Confusion has travelled through his bloodstream. Her bony fingers toy with his heart, and he's taken aback by just how sharp her nails are.

Looking at you never used to feel like this. He's not sure why it does now.

You muster up a little courage, even if you can't bring yourself to look at him properly. Let out a deep sigh. Now or never. You run the risk of causing another fight, but if you don't come clean, it'll only dirty everything.

"I just thought we kind of had an agreement, Kook," you eventually whine with an ever-so childish pout.

The hands that have been tearing at his heart migrate through his bloodstream. Get into his brain. Get into his house. Opens doors. Begins moving the furniture.

Stay out of the annexe, his thoughts hiss at Confusion.

Still he seems perfectly calm when he asks, "Watcha mean?"

He's not making this easy for you.

In fact, you'd say he's making it difficult. It would be far easier for you if he just acknowledged what he's already done.

"Well, just..." you take a moment or so to think about how it can be phrased with any dignity—and then you think fuck it. "She's in my department, Kook. I always thought you wouldn't fuck anyone I have to directly work with. It just makes it awkwa—"

"Woah, woah woah," he interrupts. Confusion sits on his shoulder, now, with a twisted smirk on her greyed-out face. "Wouldn't fuck anyone? What the hell do you think I've been doing?!"

"Well, I mean, it's less what and more... who," you joke a little too flippantly.

You don't think he's ever looked so offended in the entire time you've known him.

"You've got to be kidding me."

If anything, you're a bit surprised by just how offended he is. Jiwon is an incredibly pretty girl. A little young for him, granted, but not abhorrently so.

"What?!" You reply, equally confused, then relay everything back to him. "She woke you up this morning getting ready? Was in your room when I called you? Fucking got on your bed right in front of my face and cosied up with you to look at Bam."

Admittedly, that last one was said with a little venom. It annoys you the most.

"She woke me up this morning from across the room," he counters. "Was in our room because we were a last-minute addition to the convention, and it was the only room left within a ten-mile radius—twin beds, may I add! If I don't even share my bed with you when I'm at home, then what the hell makes you think I'd share one with her?! Yeah, the call thing was weird. I'm not gonna lie, it was, but I answered when she was around because I didn't want either of you to get the wrong impression."

A smile wobbles on your lips, as you try to remain stoic. Either of you. You know that you apparently got the wrong end of the stick—but you're not entirely sure what he means by either of you. You wonder what impression he's trying to give her, then decide it's not important.

You clasp your hands together. Lean forward. Put on your best noble old man voice, and say, "Well, it appears that it might have just happened, regardless."

Confusion's perch on Jungkook's shoulder is knocked loose when he laughs, though those sharp nails do claw onto his back. Leave scratch marks that will take a little while to heal—what's important is that they will.

One day, this awkward misstep will be something you laugh about. Kind of like he is, now. You'll forget your tears, but you won't ever forget the strange feeling of weight lifting off your shoulders, mind eased by Jungkook.

"You're a fucking idiot," he laughs with such fondness it almost doesn't feel like an insult. "Seriously? You thought I fucked her? And was then, what? Trying to brag about it? C'mon, you little gremlin! Give me some credit."

Never before has 'gremlin' ever sounded so kind. So warm. So much like 'darling', or 'mon amour'. Secret code for unspoken words.

"I don't know," you whine. Bam shuffles a little bit on the sofa behind you, turning his face away from the noise. You reach back to scratch his head as an apology. Jungkook smiles. Your care for his baby is so innate that you don't even realise you're doing it. "Her hair was damp, and she was practically falling out of her top—"

"Oh, but what I am supposed to do?" He laughs. "I can't tell her to cover up in her own damn room, and even then I just ignore it. I didn't sleep with her. I'm not going to sleep with her. Okay?"

He's not even thought about it. Feels nothing when he looks at her. No excitement. Even if she is attractive, he doesn't think his body would work properly.

Hasn't been working as it should do for the best part of a year now.

Or maybe it would better be referred to as 'malfunctioning'.

'Cause it seems to work okay when he thinks about you.

He 'malfunctioned' earlier on that day, as a matter of fact. Was just showering. And he missed you. And was thinking about those damn pyjama shorts. How smooth your legs had been when he'd hoisted you over his shoulder. How pliant you'd been as he chucked you down into his sheets. Your sleepy eyes and the 3AM husk to your voice. Fuck.

Even thinking about it in a dingy hallway of a convention centre, with your pretty face smiling at him through his phone, is making his heart race. If he doesn't get a hold on it, he'll go into cardiac. Might just flatline.

"Look, I gotta get back, okay?" He softly says. It's not a lie, but it is more sensible than he wants to be. "Have to make sure Jiwon hasn't sold the company to the acorn guy. There's a networking event tonight, so I can't call during Bammie's walk, but I'll check in at some point."

"Alright," you nod, a little sad to see him go, but understanding of it. "Hurry up and come home. Bam misses you."

"I miss him, too," Jungkook pouts. "Show me my baby before I go."

Phone angled to fully capture Bam, you indulge Jungkook for a few moments before he really does have to go. He lingers for a second or so after you say goodbye. Can't muster up anything good to say to make you stay.

Holding the stem of the single peony you'd taken home with you, you roll it between your thumb and fingers. Watch the petals twirl.

"What should I do, hey, Bam?" You wistfully sigh, eventually getting up to pop it in a glass of water. Jungkook has no vases, for he's never had any need for flowers.

The peony isn't the only thing blooming in his kitchen these days, though. It hasn't been for a while.

Work passes slowly that afternoon. You want to get home. See Bam. Finish off the wine you opened so that Jungkook doesn't scold you for letting it turn into vinegar when he gets back. And then you wanna sleep—just so you can wake up the next morning and take Bam on his walk.

It's not like that isn't part of your agenda tonight, too. It's just that Jungkook won't be around for that one.

Instead, his evening is spent in fancy rooms with men in even fancier suits and women who take a fancy to him, too. A whisky is in his hands at all times, his pretty lips embroiled in conversation. He talks so much he barely has any time to drink.

People gravitate towards him; those who feel threatened by his charm gravitate towards Jiwon. Mistake her for a prize he's trying to keep. Don't realise his unbothered facade is anything but a facade.

It's gone midnight by the time he's kicking off his shoes with a little wobble as he gets to his hotel room.

"I'm being serious," he almost giggles, phone between his shoulder and his ear as he loosens his cufflinks. "It's a wig. I'm positive."

280 miles away, phone on your tummy, loudspeaker on as you gaze up at Jungkook's bedroom ceiling, you're laughing too.

"It can't be," you protest the current topic of conversation—Mr Acorn (as he's now affectionately known between you both) and whether or not his hair is real. Jungkook had left Jiwon to continue her poorly judged perusal of him, in favour of checking in with you instead. There was no one else at that party he wanted to talk to more than he wanted to talk to you. Laughing and joking about stupid shit, he's glad you answered. "He went swimming on Singles Inferno!"

"So?!" Jungkook snorts, tapping his phone over to loudspeaker too and tossing it down onto his sheets. A little haphazard, he's unbuttoning his shirt. Is a little tipsy, but not enough to warrant any huge issues. "Maybe he used industrial strength glue."

"Surely he'd rather people just know he was bald? Start a trend?"

"Maybe he's got a terrible head tattoo," Jungkook theorises, tossing his shirt across to a chair, before finally discarding his pants, too. Is just in his boxers now as he clambers into the sheets. "Bald eagle. An ex's name. I dunno. But I'd take chemical burns over that."

"You'd never get a girl's name tattooed on you," you laugh in response. Legs tucked up, heels to your ass, you let your knees gently sway. Bam is curled up in his own bed by the foot of Jungkook's. You're not on facetime, mainly 'cause Jungkook clicked the wrong button, but it's also nice not using poor Bam as an excuse to talk to you.

"And I'm also not balding, so we don't have to worry about that."

"Are you not?" You hum, just to wind him up. "I swear there's a patch of missing hair—"

"Shut up," he cuts you off, voice just as fond as it is stern. "I will swim all the way back to the mainland and speed run up to Seoul just to shut you up. Don't speak it into existence. I have great hair."

"Mmm," you hum. Sinking a little further into his sheet, you turn on your side. Take him off speaker. Hold your phone to your ear. Look at the empty side of his bed and wonder what it'd be like if he were here. Know better than to indulge it. "And you are just so modest, too. Absolutely no ego whatsoever."

"It's why the ladies love me," he jokes, not realising just how true it is. Jungkook takes a moment before he says anything else. Is comforted by the silence you leave for him, totally unaware it's because you're not sure how to respond. "Not that it matters."

Though his delivery is soft and airy, like feathers falling from a well established nest, it lands in your chest with a heavy thud, like a stone from a bridge. You couldn't swerve in time. It shattered your windshield; plummeted straight into your heart. 'Causes a pile up on the freeway, all your thoughts held behind a tongue that cannot speak.

"You tired?" Jungkook hums down the speaker when a response never comes. "I'm sorry, I can let you go?"

"No," you say incredibly quickly considering you've been leaving your side of the conversation empty. "No, sorry. Just can't believe you're actually behaving yourself. Who are you, and what have you done with Cassanova that normally takes a hold of you after a few drinks?"

He's right here, Jungkook laments, knowing better than to act on the way he's been feeling lately. Just says, "Maybe I'm maturing."

"I find that hard to believe," you tell him. If the tiktok psychology gurus who have taught you everything you know about modern men are anything to go by, his brain should have finished fully developing about a year ago.

And while Jungkook would tell you to get fucked and that his brain was already fully developed, he knows that if he sat down and really thought about it, maybe it'd hold some merit. Afterall, it's been about a year since those first thoughts about you started creeping into his mind house.

It's only recently that he's been flirting with that damn annexe door, but he's been aware of someone in there for a while, now.

"What?" He smiles down the phone, resting an arm on his bare abdomen, looking up at the dark ceiling of his hotel room. "Maybe I am. Maybe shagging random girls doesn't excite me anymore."

"You're lying."

"Am I?"

"Yes," you insist, but there's a smile on your face.

There's something about his denial you enjoy.

It's why you're arguing against him. You wanna hear him deny it again. Tell you he doesn't care about other girls. You don't necessarily want him to care about you beyond what he already does. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

"No," he simply replies back. "I'm not."

"So if Jiwon—"

"Why are you bringing her up again?" He's smirking, now. You can hear it in his tone. "Are you jealous?"

"Jealous?!"

"Yeah," He insists, just like you had been earlier. "You don't like the idea of her sleeping with me."

Incorrect. You don't like the idea of him sleeping with her.

"Well, no," you admit. "But because I work with her—"

"That's not it," he fights against you. Knows that you didn't go and see Mingyu when you said you would, and also now knows you said you would after you thought he'd slept with Jiwon. He might not be able to read women's minds, but he's learnt your M.O. pretty well over the years.

"You're drunk," you whisper, trying to hide behind the alcohol that both of you have in your systems. Neither of you are in any position to make sensible choices.

"Tipsy," he corrects. "And so are you. Go on. Be honest. Tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Yeah, there is," he whispers, his words far braver in sentiment than they are in sound.

You swallow. Can't work out if he's just teasing you or not. "There's nothing."

The silence in the room around you is deafening. It's like all you can focus on is Jungkook, and the way you imagine his lips pouting together at the end of each sentence he speaks. Pretty and pink and—

"So you've never thought about it?" He interrupts your thoughts with a question you're unprepared for.

"What?" You reply a little dismissively, as if it's an outlandish think to consider.

But Jungkook doesn't buy it.

Has been driving himself insane.

Knows he can't be the only one—and if he is, then maybe he really is insane.

"Us," he replies as if it's water off a duck's back. Simple. Easy. "You've never wondered what it would be like?"

"Kook..."

It's like playing chicken. Both too scared to cross a line for fear of it changing the entire fabric of your lives.

But you can acknowledge something without acting on it. Confirmation means nothing; it's the choices that follow which really mean something,

"Yeah?" He husks. His sleepy eyes are pressed shut, his voice a slow drawl. "What is it, huh? You want me to admit it first?"

You almost laugh at how dumb this whole conversation is. You're friends. Have been for years. Colleagues. Just... Well, just you and Jungkook. He's never thought about you like that. You're certain of it.

Yet still, you ask, "Well, have you?"

He doesn't reply immediately. You half think he's drifted off to sleep, proof that he'd had too much to drink to be having a conversation like this.

But then you hear his breathy little laugh through the speaker. You know he must be nibbling down on his bottom lip as he smirks. The sound is so familiar you can picture it. You wish he was here. Want to see it. Feel it.

Fuck, you curse yourself out. This is not good.

And Jungkook's only gonna make it a whole lot worse.

"Yeah," he quietly admits, keys in one hand and padlock in the other as he stares at the annexe door in his mind. Wide open, there's no going back now. Only forward. "I think about it all the time."

Bam nuzzles the side of his head against your tummy as he adjusts into a slightly more comfortable position on Jungkook's bed. The sheets are a mess from all your tossing and turning, your body plonked right in the middle of his mattress. There's no his side or your side anymore. You've made it yours, and Bam has joined in.

He shouldn't be on the bed. You know this, he knows this. You're both disobeying Jungkook. Are in this perfectly innocent sin together, and will face the wrath of Jungkook as a unit.

There's never really much wrath that comes from Jungkook. He's the type to smirk and laugh in the face of the people who've wronged him. Believes in karma. Fate. He draws the lines at horoscopes, though. Thinks they're bollocks. Smiles, still, when you blame shitty things on Mercury.

The only time you've ever seen him angry—nostrils flaring, jaw tense, agitated beyond compare—was when some guy wouldn't stop hitting on you in a bar. You'd told him no a dozen times over and he just wouldn't listen.

It still pisses you off that he listened to Jungkook without hesitation, but you also know it looked like Jungkook was gonna break his nose. You're far less intimidating when you're annoyed. Jungkook laughs at you whenever you get frustrated. Says you're cute—or at least as cute as a Gremlin can be.

You've got a similar look on your face now, all perplexed and bereft. If he were here, he'd be teasing you, trying to make you crack a smile.

Annoyingly, you know he'd be able to.

You're staring up at his ceiling, early morning light seeping in through the gaps in the curtains. The world you wish to ignore today rudely intrudes on you regardless.

It's his karma, you think.

You disobey Jungkook, the world disobeys you.

With one hand resting on Bam, the other is tightly clutching your phone. For the past five minutes, you've been locking and unlocking it like a wind-up toy drummer.

To call, or not to call, or whatever Shakespeare said.

The faint hum of a wine-induced hangover buzzes between your ears, but it isn't so bad. Probably because you didn't really have that much to drink.

If anyone asks, you'll say you had a bottle.

And by anyone, you mean Jungkook.

If Jungkook asks, you'll laugh— We had a call? Are you sure? —and he'll laugh too— Yeah, we were both pretty drunk —and you'll both pretend like he didn't say the words that he did.

Pulling the pillow he usually sleeps on across to your face, you press it down. Scream into the padding. It's not loud enough to alarm Bam, but it is enough to make him cock his head.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it had only been Jungkook's lips that were loose last night.

The issue is that yours were, too.

You wish you didn't remember all the words you'd said. The way you'd told him to shut up.

The way he'd hummed, "Oh, come on. You know you think about it, too."

The way you'd said, "I do no such thing."

He had laughed. Said you were a liar.

You'd protested. Said it didn't matter anyways, 'cause you both know it'd never work.

"So you have thought about it," he'd teased.

"Briefly."

"How briefly?"

"Like a matter of minutes—"

"Okay, rude," he'd pouted through the receiver. "I last way longer than a couple of minutes."

"You're disgusting," you'd laughed at the way he'd made it all about sex.

For all he knew, you could have been talking about a relationship—but you're right. You both know it'd never work, so of course this is about sex.

"You the one who's thought about it, though," he'd flirted through the phone. Biting down on his bottom lip, the darkness of his hotel room had slipped him into a fatal state of hedonism.

There was a beat of his heart. One. Two. Still no response from you.

He knew you were thinking about it. Thinking about him. Decided to push his luck. Had almost whispered, his fingertips trailing down his torso, as he chanced, "Do you ever think about me when you touch yourself?"

Silence continued to linger for longer than it should have, until you finally just whispered, "Kook."

"Yeah?" He'd smirked.

"You can't ask things like that."

But he can, and he did, and your lack of an answer was an answer in and of itself.

He wasn't even really after the truth. He just wanted to get under your skin; burrow himself down into the deepest, darkest, most depraved corner of your brain. Revenge, he thinks, for that damn annexe you've assigned squatters rights to.

You set up home in him? Fine . He'll do it right back.

"So this is what I am, huh?" You'd replied, with a little faux chip on your shoulder, trying to deflect from yourself. "Just another office girl for you to fantasize about?"

There's always been a challenge to you that Jungkook has liked. You're sparring partners. Will bicker and argue and end up laughing over it all. It makes for excellent brainstorming meetings, 'cause you're always trying to win. You bring out the best in each other, even if it is in a bid to do the opposite.

Jungkook had sighed. Weighed up his options. Rested his hands over his boxers, only to find himself far too entertained by the conversation. It wasn't a surprise, nor was it unwelcome.

The frequency of his thoughts about you had been doubling, tripling, quadrupling ever since Chuseok.

His bed has become a pit of sin in recent weeks; nobody but him in the shrouded decay of a mind-house he's been neglecting in favour of the annexe shared with you.

He already knows just how bad it's gonna be for him when he returns home, and the pillows are dented by your crown, the lingering scent of your perfume wrapping around him just like he knows his hand will be around his cock. Tight. Strong. Firm. It's your name he'll whine, just like it was when he was in the shower earlier that morning.

God, it's gotten so bad.

He needs to stop before he ruins everything.

It's not like sex is an uncommon topic of conversation between you both. Casual vulgarity had been a tool used to bond with; a taboo way to tease one another. It's always been casual. Uncalculated.

It's different, now.

In the darkness of midnight, the stakes were raised almost as high as your heart rate.

"You think so poorly of me," he'd whined, a teasing smile on his lips. It wasn't rare to hear Jungkook address you so playfully. In fact, it was a common occurrence—yet it felt strange, this time. "You know you're not just another office girl."

"Do I?"

"You should."

"I don't," you'd shrugged into his sheets. "Tell me, how am I different?"

The distance between you made a flirt like this safe. Immediate consequences were null and void, and the alcohol in your system didn't seem to care for it either.

"I can't tell you."

"Sure you can."

"You don't wanna hear it," he'd promised.

"Try me," you'd challenged.

And then Jungkook admitted something he knew far better than to confess, but couldn't seem to help himself. He just wanted you to know that you were special. That you were different.

That you are different. Are special.

"None of the office girls have ever made me cum in my own bed."

It came out far less sweet than his brain had told him it would, but it was still a compliment, he thought.

"Jungkook!"

"What?!"

The way you both kind of shrieked at each other only amplified the shock of the confession, but also did well to hide the way it excited you, too. Got you hot beneath his sheets. Aroused.

"Don't say things like that," you'd scolded him with a laugh, playing it off as a joke. "I'll report you to HR."

"You'd do no such thing," he'd smirked down the line. Matched your energy. Played it off as an incredibly obscene, vulgar joke. Will turn his nose up if you ever ask him if he was telling the truth. "And anyways, the HR girls love me. You'd be fighting a losing battle."

"You're awful," you'd told him with such a tenderness that suggested you really didn't think that at all.

And so he smiled. Decided to cut his losses. Agreed. "Yeah. That's me."

The conversation dissolved into casual chatter until you both made excuses about being tired, or needing to sleep off the alcohol.

Yet both of you would spend the next hour awake, staring at your respective ceilings. Occasionally, you'd look to the space reserved for him in his bed. He'd do just the same. Would look at Jiwon's empty bed and lament the fact that it wasn't you on the trip with him.

He never should have asked you to watch over Bam—but there really isn't anyone else he'd rather have in his apartment.

Then he's thinking about you all over again, in his home, hair claw-clipped like it so often is, and how cute those little pyjama shorts of yours would look peeking out from the hemline of one of his shirts. He wonders what you're wearing; if it's your bare skin against his sheets. Wonders if he sleeps naked after he gets home, if it'd feel like your arms are wrapped around him; if the scent of your perfume would sink into his skin.

It doesn't take long for the thoughts to become lewd. He thinks of your lips, and how they'd part with a gasp if he were to stroke your skin with his fingertips. Thinks of your waist, and what it would feel like to hold. Thinks of your body in a way that really ought to get him fired.

How his lips could drag across your skin; the wet pink of his tongue learning where you liked to be touched. How he'd guide your hands. The words of approval he'd use— Yeah, like that. Oh, fuck. Yeah, just like that, baby. You're so good at that aren't you, huh? You know how many times I've imagined this? You're so much better. G'na make me cum, babe. Keep going. You want my cum, yeah? Yeah, you do. Oh, fuck—

"No," he sharply scolds himself, tearing his thoughts from you and his hand from his thick, impatient cock. "Fucks sake, man. Get a grip."

Wanting you like this is selfish, he thinks. Selfish and stupid and— God —so fuckin' dumb.

He also thinks it's your fault. You're an interior designer, after all. Have made that stupid annexe feel more like a home than the rest of his head ever has. Added candles and cushions. Hung pictures on the wall; turned off the main light in favour of warm lamps that just make him wanna curl up and fall asleep with you on the sofa.

It's so different, this little annexe in his brain, to the apartment that he actually lives in.

If he were to assess it thoroughly, he'd realise that the annexe looks just like your apartment.

But he hates your place. Has never been shy about telling you so. Hates all your nicknacks. Hates the clothing rails you use instead of a proper wardrobe, and the way your beside table is actually just a stack of books you're yet to read. Hates how there's always a cosy blanket within touching distance, and how it always smells like black cherry candles. Hates how firm your mattress is, even if he's only ever slept on it once, fully clothed after you'd both had way too much to drink after a tight work deadline.

He also hated how he didn't wake up with an aching back like he usually does. Hated how sleeping in his own damn bed began to feel wrong, and how nowadays it only feels right during those first few days after he returns from trips; when it still smells like you and the rings you take off your fingers in the night are still tucked beneath his pillows.

Kind of like they are now, as you finally decide to stop being a miserable cow and just get up. You're normally the one who calls him, and it's typically always when you're walking Bam. Last night had been an anomaly. There's no reason for him to call you, now.

It's when you're showering that your phone lights up. Only briefly. Messages, not calls.

JK: can't call this morning, gotta head to the exhibition hall early

JK: give my baby a head scratch from me

JK: send me pics!!

JK: of bam

JK: none of you

While the vomit emoji he adds onto the end of the final message is a little uncalled for, it's actually kind of a relief that he doesn't want to call. Having to face him right now, when you're in such a sorry state of confusion, would have only made the situation far worse for you.

At least that's what you tell yourself.

Your face when you walk into the office, and the state of despair Lea seems to find you in, would suggest otherwise.

By half past ten, you've managed to wrangle Jungkook into conversation eight times.

It's not until you mention him in relation to Jiwon that Lea seems to notice.

"Okay, so?" She laughs. "Everyone knows you and Jungkook are like a package deal. She isn't taking your spot—plus, you're her senior . If she tried to undercut you, do you think anyone would want to work with her?"

It's a good point, but you don't really care to listen to reason right now.

"But it's not undercutting," you pout. "You saw everyone in the group chat. Dream team. "

The way your voice heightens in pitch and nose turns up as you utter the phrase is nothing short of hilarious, and Lea makes sure to let you know.

"You're being a big old baby about this," she laughs again. "Jungkook's gonna come back, relay all of the deals he's set up, and then he's gonna whisk you up to his office to spend the next two weeks drawing up plans. I doubt I'll even see you!"

Admittedly, in the busy periods, you'll work at his desk. In the big chair. The special one he got after his first bonus. The one on his side of the desk. He'll work on the opposite side—the client side—with his laptop.

It's caused a fair amount of confusion before, whenever people have come to his office. Your nonchalance about it all makes it seem totally normal. Most people don't question it anymore—and if they do, you just say the programme you have to use runs better on his computer than it does on a laptop.

Which isn't a lie.

But you could always just work at your own desk.

The issues is that Jungkook likes to keep you close when he's working. Makes it easier for the random questions he blurts out that you're always ready to answer. Annoys him to no end when you're not there and he has to go off and find you.

By the time he finds you, the question is always half gone or you start blathering on about something completely irrelevant and he forgets it anyway. It makes him antsy not having you close.

Neither of you seem to realise it's not normal.

"Look," Lea sighs, minimising her tab so that she can give you her full attention. "You're the one who suggested Jiwon should go. It's just work! You're acting like a jealous girlfriend—"

"No, I'm not!" You gasp. "Don't be absurd!"

"Well, whose apartment did you wake up in?"

"That's hardly—"

"Whose?"

"I mean— Well— His, but —"

"Who was the first person you spoke to this morning?"

"Okay, that's not fair. I'm looking after his—"

"Who was the last person you spoke to last night?"

You pause. Narrow your eyes.

Lea just smiles.

"At least tell me you're in the spare room and not his bed," she jokes—but when she notices the look on your face, her smile drops. "Oh, you're kidding me! You know what you're like when it comes to domestication ! You're bloody nesting , aren't you?!"

"Oh c'mon," you scoff. "I'm not an animal!"

"Uh, yeah," she says, dumbfounded. "You are. That's the issue with humans. Too many bloody primal desires—"

"I do not have a primal desire for Jungkook!"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never thought about it."

"I haven't!" You assert, eyes locked on hers. It's almost believable. Or at least it is until your lips begin to twitch. The look of shock on her face is borderline offensive. "Oh my God, shut up!"

Lea's face scrunches up in revulsion. Shoulders to her ears, she whispers, "He's a whore !"

"Okay, that's not nice."

"But it's true!"

Sighing, you slump into your chair. Push your pout up to your nose, and then sigh even deeper than before.

Looking across at Lea with such perplexity anyone would think she's just asked you to design interiors for a rocket ship, you decide you absolutely cannot let this confusion get the better of you.

"It's fine," you assure her. "He's coming home tomorrow evening. Once I'm out of his house, I'll be way more rationable about things."

"You sure?"

No.

"I'm sure."

As Jungkook places his rucksack down beside a bar stool in an airport lounge, he can't help but feel like he's doing something wrong.

It's dark outside, and the dim lights of the bar give way to a seedy intimacy that he's always loved about places like this—how fleeting they are. The casual embrace of a stranger's stare can linger for hours afterwards, consuming his thoughts for an entire flight.

Yet the only people he's even looked in the eyes of tonight have been the airport staff checking him through. Even as he asks for a whisky, he barely registers the woman behind the bar.

Placing his phone down, he also discards the lanyard that's been around his neck. He forgot to take it off before heading to their airport, and just popped it back on after going through the scanners.

It's not like he needs it now. The conference centre is miles away.

He's still in his business suit. Left quickly. Just confirmed with Jiwon that she didn't mind him catching an earlier flight and in all honesty, it suited her better. Jungkook had been so annoying about Acorn guy the entire time. Kept telling her it was a waste of energy, and no business would come from her pursuit of him. She wanted the chance to prove him wrong; to achieve something by herself.

"Are you Leaving early, too?" An American accent drawls from beside him, immediately grabbing Jungkook's attention.

A burly man with greying hair takes a perch on the stool beside Jungkook. Nodding towards the lanyard, he holds up his own. Mitch Ellis his tag reads, and instantly Jungkook is reminded of the folder you had handed to him before his departure.

"Did a little research on an American company that's gonna be at the Expo. Their head marketer has shares in a bunch of baseball-related companies. Get pally with him."

The opportunity hadn't arisen. Jungkook barely even had time to breathe, let alone seek out some elusive American businessman—yet here he is, in the flesh, approaching Jungkook.

Sucking a little air between his teeth, Jungkook nods. Laughs. Says, "Got a family to get back to."

What. The. Fuck.

He doesn't know why on earth he said that, he just knows he can't take it back. A family. For Christ's sake! It's not just the abandoned house in his brain that's rotting—it's the whole damn thing. Stupid .

Pursing his lips in approval, Mitch nods. Lends an expression that Jungkook can only assume means he respects the answer.

"Family man," he says. "Don't see many of them in the industry these days."

Jungkook shrugs. Continues on with his bullshit. "I love my job, but home's where the heart is." Or at least, it's where his dog is. Of course, he loves Bam more than he cares to articulate—but a man and his dog surely don't constitute to a 'family'. "You off early, too?"

"Wife and kids tagged along for the trip," he nods, then quickly asks the barmaid for a whisky, too. "Promised I'd take them to Lotte World tomorrow."

Jungkook grimaces. "Ooft, on a Saturday?"

"The crowds that bad, huh?"

Gritting his teeth, Jungkook tips his head from side to side, then says, "Get magic passes for the family. It's worth the extra price. Trust me."

He'd never dream of going to Lotte World on a Saturday.

In fact, he doesn't dream of it full stop. Grew up going to the Busan franchise, and would opt for it any day of the week. Everland would be his second choice if couldn't be bothered for the drive. But never the Jamsil Lotte World. It's always rammed .

"I swear, kids—" Mitch shakes his head "—All they do is bleed you dry."

Jungkook smiles. "I'm yet to reach that stage, but I can imagine."

Mitch looks appropriately confused. Did Jungkook not just make up a bullshit imaginary family? Surely he hasn't faltered already?

Jungkook clarifies, "Going home to my girl and my dog. No kids—or at least if I've acquired one over the last couple of days, it'll be a surprise."

He doesn't know why he said that.

My girl.

Oh, God. He's going insane. He must be. This is ridiculous.

Those stupid dreams of his had already started migrating into daydreams. Now, they're being spoken into reality. This is terrible. Really, truly, awful.

Mitch has an easy ten, maybe twenty years on Jungkook.

His hair is greying, and there are lines embedded into his skin that tell stories of the life he's lived.

While it's his career Jungkook would typically be envious of, he finds himself jealous of Mitch's personal life. Wife. Kids. God, he hates the conformity of it all, but there's an ache in his chest when he thinks about all that he doesn't have.

And it only worsens when he thinks of you and Bam.

"Ah, young love," Mitch nods, again seemingly in approval of Jungkook and his 'choices'—which is bizarre, because Jungkook wants to punch himself in the face. "Make the most of it. You'll be longing for the good old days once the kids come."

It's too late for Jungkook to correct himself. Too late to admit to the truth. To say 'lol, jk, im single, just fancy the pants off my coworker.'

The thought of it all makes him want to hurl. Fancy.

He's never admitted his crush before, not even to himself. Oh, this is all so awful.

And so Jungkook panics. Says, "Hopefully we've got a couple years before then. We're both at the same company, so we're trying to figure it all out before doing anything we can't take back."

What is wrong with you?!

"Oh?" Mitch chirps, encouraging Jungkook to continue.

"Were interns at the same time," Jungkook begins to overexplain, as if it makes it any better. He's speaking a crush into existence that he isn't even sure exists, and declaring it as love of some sorts? Oh, this is really barbaric. He might throw up. Maybe if he pretends to faint, he can get out of this situation. He thinks it would be less mortifying. Yet, still, he continues! "Have gone up through the ranks together, but are different departments."

Why is he still talking about you?!

Oh God, his head is gonna explode. It's like you're building an extension on the annexe. He never gave you planning permission, and yet there you are, concrete trowel in one hand, a brick in the other. You're so pretty, he thinks.

Get a grip!

"HR nightmare," Mitch laughs, then leans a little closer. "Truth be told, it's how me and the missus met—I worked for her Daddy's company. Thought I'd be fired on the spot when we told him."

"But I'm guessing...?"

Mitch nods. "I'm now their longest-serving employee and am set to take over in the next five years," he laughs. Thankfully, it all worked out. Hopefully, the same'll be said for you and your missus."

Jungkook's lips curve into a tight-lipped smile. Decides he has to change topic, or otherwise he might just self-implode. "Yeah. Fingers crossed—anyway, I don't think we had a chance to speak at the conference, did we? What's your company?"

As if Jungkook has earned a gold seal of approval, Mitch nods his head over towards a couple of chairs that overlook the runways. Picks up his whisky. Begins to walk away. Says, "I was about to ask you the exact same thing. What did you say your name was again? Let's talk."

"Jeon Jungkook," he grins, picking up his whisky, finally forcing you out of his brain. "Yeah. Let's chat."

"Bammie," you whine into Jungkook's pillows when the sound of his paws excitedly clattering across the floorboards wakes you. You can't have been asleep for very long. A couple hours, tops. "It's not time for walkies yet."

Burrowing yourself deeper into Jungkook's sheets, you try and drown out the noise–but it's fruitless. Not only is Bam too cute to ignore, you worry that there's something wrong.

Sitting up, eyes all beary, the dark nothingness around you clues you in on the fact it's definitely the middle of the night. Pushing the duvet off your body, you swing your legs over the side of the bed as your phone begins to vibrate. Jungkook's face takes over your screen, and a frown takes over yours.

Part of you wants to ignore it. Wonder if maybe you've already slept through it ringing out, and that's what woke Bam up.

At this time of the evening, Jungkook should be at the afterparty. It's unofficial, and not endorsed by the convention, which only means one thing: people are getting legless.

He'd sent you a message earlier on in the day saying that Jiwon was still trying her absolute hardest to bag the Acorn man, after an unsuccessful attempt the night before. You wonder if he's wing-manning her.

Bitterly, you wonder if she's cut her losses. Turned her attention to Jungkook, instead.

He's probably shitfaced by now.

Part of you worries he'll want to continue the conversation from the night before. You're too sober to even consider flirting.

Sliding across to answer, you hold the phone to your ear and you begin to walk in the direction of wherever Bam may be.

"Yeah?" You croak down the phone, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

"You sound chirpy," he teases.

Bizarrely, you think he sounds sober. "Fuck off."

"Charming. Undo the bolt on the door," Jungkook demands down the line, but there's almost an echo, as if he's just in the other room or something like that.

Your feet softly pad into the living room, the darkness not much of a hindrance. You know his apartment like the back of your hand; the veins, the freckles, the grooves dappled in your skin below your knuckles. All it takes is a couple of steps for you to reach the light switch, and absolutely zero thought for you to flick it on.

"Hm?" You mumble a confused sound as light bursts into the room. Your eyes squeeze together, a groan catching in your throat. Blinking once, twice, you adjust quickly. Spot Bam by the entryway, looking up at the door expectantly. One of his paws taps at the steel, a soft whine trembling on his lips. Turning your attention back to Jungkook, you say, "What?"

"'I'm home, gremlin," Jungkook softly smiles down the phone. "Let me in."

"But it-" You begin to protest, knowing that his flight isn't until tomorrow.

Jungkook doesn't care to explain himself. Is just as tired as you sound.

"Let me in."

You don't need to be told twice.

He's home.

It shouldn't make you feel the way that it does, all warm and content.

But it does, and for a moment, you let yourself indulge in the sensation of welcoming Jungkook right back to where he belongs.

Hanging up, you place your phone on the kitchen counter, reaching out to scratch Bam's head when you get to the door.

"Is it daddy, huh?" You ask him as he continues to paw at the door. There's a small metallic click as you unthread the bolt, which is quickly replaced by a robotic beep as you press the easy-release button for the latch.

Before you can even properly open the door, the handle is being pressed down from the outside. The sound of Jungkook's hushed voice echoes into the hallway instantly as he coos over Bam just to wind him up a little before he can see him.

"Who is it, Bammie?" He asks through the door, and you already know exactly what he looks like—smile so large it takes over his entire face.

You help to push the door open, and find that there's sunshine in the middle of the night in Jungkook's hallway.

"You're home," you sleepily smile as you watch Jungkook crouch, arms wide and all-encompassing as he greets Bam in the most boisterous of ways. He's not making any sense. Isn't saying any words. Just lets noises rumble from his throat, of which Bam somehow seems to understand.

In a way, you understand it too. The mental translation is a bit patchy, but you know it's something along the lines of, I've missed you so much Bammie, Daddy's home now, let's never spend time apart ever again.

Glancing up to you, that daylight smile hanging off his lips, Jungkook's got a glisten in his tired eyes.

Maybe you haven't adjusted to the light as well as you think you have, but there's something different about Jungkook. Something that's making your weary heart work overtime. It's all a bit strange. All a bit lovely. All a bit terrifying.

"Yeah," he tenderly agrees, hands scratching behind Bam's floppy ears as his eyes fondly meet yours. How could he ever stay away? "Home."

part three to be uploaded tomorrow <3

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #officeworker!jungkook #fuckboy!jungkook #f2l #jungkook fluff

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mustainegf · 2 days

Note

The ‘that’ll be fine’ situation with James, the reader being the groupie? (I’m so sorry 😭)

THE AMOUNT OF TIME IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS REQUEST… 😍

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 ¹⁹⁹⁰

My back was pressed flush agaisnt the wall. Staring down at me was the James Hetfield. This was a position I NEVER pictured myself in. The air was already tinged with sweat as his eyes admired me, fingertips tracing up my jaw.

His length stood proud only inches from my face, and my god... he was big.

So very big. It wasn't something I would normally look for, but when you were given this kind of opportunity... it didn't matter what size or shape your partner had. What mattered was that it was James Hetfield.

"Open up, sweet thing." He demanded softly.

I swallowed hard. I wanted to do this. I wanted to be with him. With James.

I have him a teasing grin, obeying him as I parted my lips, keeping my teeth out of the way of his path.

I felt his cock on my tongue as he pushed in. My throat worked around him as I moaned, my hands gripping his hips. "That's right," he whispered.

"You like that?" He slid out before pushing in again. I whimpered.

"What did you say? I couldn't hear you." He teased my gagging. The more he talked, the more he pumped into my mouth. I lost track of the words after a while. The only thing I could focus on was him fucking my face.

"That's it," he growled, tightening his grip on the back of my head. He began pounding into me now.

Harder. Faster. Deeper. All three combined until I felt my stomach turn.

He picked up speed, the first hints of his balls slapping against my chin as he slammed himself deeper inside my throat. Then his hands were on my cheeks, squeezing my face as he fucked me faster.

In. Out. In. Out. I couldn't breathe. Everything was getting darker around the edges, my vision blurring. Fuck... it was perfect.

At this point my head was bumping agaisnt the drywall behind me, his hips snapping as he slid his member down my throat.

"God, yes," he groaned, his balls slapping against my chin faster and faster. "Fuck yes," he bit out, shaking and stilling all at once. I gagged, coughing uncontrollably as I struggled to breathe. "That'll be fine... fuck.. yes!" He groaned.

His voice quickly turned to a bellow, that thunderous 'James Hetfield' sound that could scare anyone away, all because of pleasure that I was giving him. "That'll be fine! Agh... that'll be fine!" He tossed his head back as he bunched my hair together in a fist.

I looked up at him, seeing his eyes closed tight, his brows furrowed, lashes sticking to his cheeks from how much sweat was dripping off his forehead.

I managed to take a deep breath before I started to cough again. "Fuuuck!" He threw his head back, the vibrations from my throat sending him into his orgasm. "Fuck yes!"

He bellowed. "That's it. That's it!" The tears pricked at my eyes from the force of his cum spilling into my throat. I choked harder, trying to swallow the stream. "Just swallow baby, doin' so good..."

He crooned, petting my head. When he was done, he let go of my hair, sliding out of my mouth and I coughed softly. "Such a good job..."

he chuckled, running his hand through my hair.

He started pulling himself together, and I finally got enough air to get myself together. It took a moment, but I was able to wipe my mouth clean.

"There we go," he said, looking down at me. "Not so bad, huh?" I smiled, feeling shy, but excited. Excited about the fact that I just gave James Hetfield an orgasm.

“Did so good for me, baby.”

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jokeroutsubs · 2 days

Text

🎈🍰Nace Birthday Special🍰🎈

Nace Jordan's interview for Suzy magazine, published 14.06.2024. English translation by drumbeat and @beeoftheanxieties, proof read by TWT klamstrakur.

📝ENG Translation: Joker Out's Nace Jordan: 60 Kilograms to Happiness

Twenty-nine-year-old Nace Jordan is considered one of the most emotional, thoughtful, and responsible Slovenian musicians.

CAPTION: He’s spreading tolerance and respect to everyone.

He was the last one to join the group of four highly admired young men, but that doesn't mean he's the fifth or the spare wheel. His inspiring story makes him a great role model for teenagers, showing that working on yourself is worthwhile, because you never know when an extraordinary opportunity will come your way. After making a major change in his lifestyle, he got rid of past burdens to focus on a bright, melodic future. With the loving support of his girlfriend, the first signs of a family are already visible. They've been joined by Pino, an adorable dachshund, who brought new responsibilities and lots of joy.

CAPTION: Joker Out gained a first-class member with Nace.

INTERVIEWER: How quickly did you feel accepted as fully fledged member, considering you were not a co-founder of Joker Out?

Nace: Initially it might have appeared as if I instantly took on the role of bass guitarist with confidence, although deep down I was quite confused. The guys already had their banter, even a kind of a jargon I didn't feel familiar with. They are after all five years younger than me, almost a different generation. But they have welcomed me in a very embracing way, we have started to develop a communal story and we have become a unit. Even after we had recorded 'Carpe Diem' and I was offered a permanent place in the band, I was still haunted by the feeling that I might not be perceived easily as a part of the band by the most devoted fans.

Was Eurovision your ultimate test?

Sort of. I was told I aced it, and as a fill-in member, it made me happy when the decision to welcome me into the family was final. The whole idea was to first try and see how compatible we were, without any pressure or expectations. On stage, it was obvious that we were a perfect match. But I tended to hold back when it came to the bigger decisions. Bojan is, after all, the frontman, the dominant one, so I didn't want to interfere with the pre-established dynamics. It was only after the Eurovision euphoria was over that a new era began and with it the most precious gift - the appreciation of the entire group. They are exceptional young individuals, extremely talented, and they wanted someone who could feel their vibe and bring them together, not tear them apart.

This opportunity has come as a reward for your challenging personal journey, a tremendous transformation of body and spirit. How has this affected your self-image?

I am still trying to work on myself. I have lost 60 kilos and broken free from the shackles of a troubled adolescence, when the slightest deviation from the average is frowned upon. It is unimaginable that you can lose so many kilograms, one whole person. It was gradual. After the first ten, you are overcome with excitement. Your reflection in the mirror gets nicer by the week, you gain confidence in yourself and see that it is not difficult to follow your goal. I gained an unstoppable will to keep going, and the most extraordinary things started to happen. I got to play in the backing band of the popular show ' V petek zvečer' ('Friday Night'), and then realised a childhood dream when I managed to join a band as skillful as the Jokers. A time came when I walked around with a huge smile on my face and I hoped that it would not fade from my face for a long time to come. At the same time, I was driven to give it my best shot, because I simply couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

You have used the dark times of COVID for something bright, inspirational. When did you decide you were tired of living in a bigger body?

The stomach pains were the first indicator that I had to roll up my sleeves and work on myself. I had always been chubbier, but I got saved by my height because the kilograms were evenly spread. I was able to exercise, go hiking, [and] be active in water sports, particularly wakeboarding. I wasn't immune to the looks of naysayers, that someone with so much weight could move so capably. I had reached a point where I no longer felt comfortable. I didn't like myself, the walks were getting more and more exhausting, I didn't have a girlfriend for a while, which was a big motivation to change my lifestyle. At the beginning, I was embarrassed to work out in front of others. Would they be thinking, 'What is this fatso doing here now'? So at home I would climb up and down the stairs from the basement to the attic. For half a year, every evening. First for 15 minutes, then I progressed to 45. It seemed like a waste to ruin this effort with unhealthy food, so I changed my diet. I eliminated all the guilty pleasures and after the first 20 lost, I decided I was ready to train outdoors. By running. It might not have been the smartest idea because of my knees, but it all worked out well in the end. Something that I resented for a long time became my norm. To this day, I still enjoy putting on my running shoes to clear my mind. Whenever my mind is in a frenzy, running saves me.

Humans are really odd, shallow creatures. We can't see what's underneath the excess weight. It was only after you have transformed that the requests for more collaborations started coming in. How did you manage to heal these emotional scars from the entertainment business, where the physical appearance still takes precedence over the heart?

That's the hardest part, not to lose faith in yourself. You question your self worth because of the labels the public has stuck on you. Of course, the medical aspect of excess weight is the first signal for a radical change. The results would be significantly better, if people around us were more sparse with negative comments and dismissive attitudes towards anything that is not to their liking. I must confess that I have never felt better than I did after saying goodbye to cigarettes, alcohol, and, for a period, even meat. Imagine you are carrying a 60 kilogram backpack. And then you put it down. A different world opens up.

In all this, music has been your most faithful companion and supporter. Would it have been possible to go through all this without it?

The power of art is amazing. The bass guitar is my lifelong love. Even if I was a butcher or a carpenter, I would play and create for myself. We are used to these kind of stories in the movies, where after a difficult ordeal you find yourself in the midst of your teenage dreams. After the third concert with the Jokers, a girl came up to me and confided that she was contemplating suicide, but our songs had saved her. She thanked us for taking the time for our fans and talking to them. Their honesty is a sign that you are part of something great. The power of music goes beyond the limits of our imagination. There are countless similar confessions. This realisation is also therapeutic for us. You receive confirmation that you are doing something right.

Have you ever wondered why you play music at all?

Many times. The doubts of who will listen to my work, or now our work, are a constant in the career of a professional musician. But if you put your heart first, you quickly get the confirmation that we are not just pretty boys on stage, but individuals with depth and a message.

As a teenager, what motivated you to follow your aspirations?

I wanted to be like my cousin. He is five years older than me and he had his own band. He introduced me to foreign bands, like Led Zeppelin. It sounded rather innocent, but it was the start of a profound passion. Recently, Jan, the guitarist, and I were talking about the role models who have defined us. I told him that there must be an aspiring young teenager in Slovenia who looks up to him and has begun strumming the strings because of him. I am convinced that we have brought a breath of fresh air to the local scene and given a boost to young bands who are not yet established. It is very healthy to encourage others, to be each other's support and competition. I didn't feel that before.

When did you first feel that the stage was your everything?

We had a kind of talent show at the school camp. I wanted to sing the ballad 'Behind Blue Eyes' by The Who, but the teacher wouldn't let me because it wasn't an appropriate song. I cried with sadness, so she mellowed down. I took advantage of her faith, put on my sunglasses and a headscarf. That's when something stirred inside of me. Finally, now that we are touring Europe and are excited to discover how the power of music brings people together, I am calmed. Even as a kid I stood my ground and I am grateful to my stubbornness for getting me this far.

You have a strong bond with your mother. How does she keep track of your exceptional progress?

She is proud to say that she is my biggest 'fan'. She was happiest at Eurovision, which she has always followed. It was the first time she was able to experience it live, she and Bojan's mum cheered loudly and I have to admit that it's the greatest thing to be able to make the most important woman in your life happy. It has only strengthened our bond. We have a trusting, friend-like relationship, but first and foremost she is my mum, with all the worries and all the loving helpfulness. I was not a typical child and she had to endure all my whims. She was constantly encouraging me to take up a sport, but I preferred to stay at home and draw. She tolerated my struggles at school because she knew I wasn't like the others and allowed me to develop to my full potential. My younger sister is also responsible for making me who I am. Her kind words are a balm for a wounded soul.

Have you always wanted to be a musician?

As a child, I had two things in mind - to be a zoo manager, because I love animals, and to be a singer, even though I later swapped the microphone for a guitar. Sculpting fascinated me. In short, expression through art.

Your love for animals has lasted. You have a three-month-old dachshund named Pino in your lap.

Finally! I've been longing for a puppy for so many years, and dachshunds are one of my favourite breeds. If music hadn't drawn me in, I would certainly be a vet. One summer break I was helping out at a wildlife sanctuary instead of playing with my friends. It was a wonderful experience.

You are away from home a lot. How do you maintain your long-distance relationship with your girlfriend?

Some people reassure us that technology helps because we can see each other through the camera. But it is not the same. It's important that all my loved ones and dear ones, meaning my girlfriend, my mum, my family, and my friends, believe in our work and are willing to sacrifice time with me so that I can follow my dreams. But we are in constant contact with each other and we let each other know how much we love each other all the time.

~ -~ - ~ - PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, AND IF YOU QUOTE, PLEASE LINK BACK TO THE ORIGINAL POST!

#nace jordan #jokeroutsubs #joker out #birthday special

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otrtbs · 2 days

Text

BARTYLUS BASEBALL THING

(inspired by this which haunts my thoughts 24/7)

Word Count: 5.2k

Part: 1/?

Summary: every summer begets the baseball tournament of the year. barty drags regulus to the opening game, kickstarting a series of unintended events.

Barty’s whole body hums, the way it always does when he’s around Regulus. Like the old TV his father has that crackles to life in static whirs, or the green boxes in the neighborhood that Barty would sit on until the sun went down. Constant electricity.

“I mean, they’ve been doing this for years now and I have been explicitly forbidden from going,” Regulus returns. Still, he doesn’t seem affected one way or the other. “Mother wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh, mother wouldn’t like it?” Barty snorts, mockingly. “So what? It’ll give us something to do. And it’ll give us an opportunity to see each other since your parents plan on keeping you locked up in the house all summer,” he counters, and Regulus knocks a sharp shoulder into his arm. “It’s good to stick together. Mother doesn’t have to know.”

They’re walking side by side on the pavement. Slow, shuffling feet. Hands in their pockets. It’s the last day of class for the school year. Without school, there’s no way for Barty to see Regulus. Barty went all of last summer without seeing Regulus and it was boring and brutal.

Regulus takes a hand out of his pocket and pushes the hair out of his face. The sun is bright, and it causes him to squint. “Sirius still playing?”

Barty nods. “Yeah. He’s still on the James Potter all-star team. I heard Potter even talked Frank Longbottom out of retirement for one last summer.”

“He’s only two years older than us,” Regulus scoffs.

“Still, he didn’t play last summer.”

Regulus nods slowly.

They walk down the pavement silently, dragging footsteps, trying to delay the inevitable.

“It is good to stick together.” Regulus looks at Barty and traces the bruise on his cheek with his finger lightly. Barty is proud of the way he doesn’t flinch, even if the bruise is still tender and aching. He’s not so proud of the way he leans into the touch, even if it hurts.

This entire time, Barty was worried about leaving Regulus alone for a summer with no one but his parents for company. Now he thinks Regulus was equally worried for him, for the same reasons.

“But, I don’t like baseball,” Regulus muses, pulling his finger away.

“No, but you like me,” Barty grins wickedly. “Besides, we’ll just make fun of the whole thing, and I’ll steal my dad’s liquor and we’ll make it fun.”

Regulus pretends to think about it, but it doesn’t matter. Barty knows him. He knows Regulus is going to give in.

The summer baseball tournament is a local legend among the neighborhood kids, and the kids from surrounding neighborhoods too. The first baseball game began five years ago after they knocked down an old rickety building and reduced it to rubble. It didn’t take long for the land to reclaim the area and grow into tall stalks of grassy growth. That’s when, at age 12, Frank Longbottom got the bright idea to turn it into a makeshift baseball field.

The first year, Frank could barely get enough people together to make two teams, and it was so hot in the daylight that they never finished a full game before the kids scattered back into their air-conditioned homes. By year two, Frank had taken the entire school year to recruit people from surrounding neighborhoods and moved the games to the evening to beat the blazing heat.

This would be the fifth consecutive year that the tournament would run. Some kids still used the lot to play baseball in the winter or the spring, but this? This was official. After five years, the summer games became a thing of wonder for all of the young people in town. Anyone aged 12-17 could be on a team, you had to have nine to a team to enter, and each team wishing to compete in the tournament would have to have an official group name, a poster, and a roster. You had to submit and finalize your team two months before the school year ended.

That’s when the fun began. Students would make fliers and posters advertising their teams. Slips of copy paper folded up into tiny squares and passed down the aisles of desks to avoid the sharp eyes of teachers and administrators. The official list is always posted on the first Saturday of May. One expertly crayola, stickered, and markered sheet listing the teams, players, and field positions was nailed to the hollow oak tree stump in the woods by the creek. All the children knew where it was, and all of the adults would never stumble across it. Once the list was posted, the betting could begin.

Mundungus Fletcher and his group of friends ran the baseball betting ring. They would sit out by the old tree stump every Saturday with their journals taking meticulous notes of everyone placing bets and what they brought in. Nothing was off limits, Mundungus Fletcher accepted everything from stickers to lighters. Packs of bubble gum, nail polish, the two or three cigarettes you could manage to steal from your father, anything. Of course, not everything was of equal value. A lighter was worth two full-size candy bars (and it couldn’t be one of the bad ones like Almond Joy or 3 Musketeers they had to Reece's or Twix) and two small stickers. A nail polish was worth a rubber band ball and a blow pop. Mundungus Fletcher and his team took their jobs seriously, monitoring the conversion rates and doling out prizes. Every Saturday the children of the neighborhood would scramble, bringing in whatever they thought would be best for the pot. A few stray dollar bills, their coins, candy, lip gloss, sunglasses, bouncy balls, yo-yos, marbles, stamps, pokemon cards, queued-up mp3 players, necklaces, baseball caps, and even beloved childhood stuffed animals weren’t safe when it was time for baseball bets.

Mundungus kept all of the bets in one of his mother’s large kitchen mixing bowls, then two of his mother’s large mixing bowls, then in empty shoe boxes as things began to overfill. He said he hid all the betting goods in a secret, secure location, but Barty was pretty sure he was just keeping it all under his bed. Regardless, Mundungus would bring out the spoils every Saturday so that all of the kids in the neighborhood could see their potential spoils, provided they picked the right team. It was a great incentive to get people to partake.

As for the baseball teams, there were eight this year, the most they’d ever had. They would be competing to be number one. The winning team of the summer baseball tournament became town celebrities for the year. They always got first dibs at the carnival that came to town (they could skip the ride lines and take two turns in a row on the Ferris wheel), they got to use the tire swing into the creek whenever they wanted (they never had to wait to use it or take turns), and, because some of the older kids had jobs already, if you were on the winning baseball team you would often get free movie tickets and popcorn, or free ice cream if one of the other kids was working. There was an unspoken rule, a reverence, that the winning team had with the other kids in town, they were Gods among mortals, they would want for nothing, ask for anything, and receive it. The winning team also gets crowned with Coca-Cola canned bottle crowns that Barty thinks look stupid, but everyone else seems way too into them.

This all happens without the supervision of any adults. It was the most sacred vow that everyone tried not to break. No adults allowed. Adults always had the propensity to ruin things. They would think too hard about things, create problems that didn’t exist, and they would shut the baseball tournament down. This year, like last year, the games don’t start until one in the morning, while almost every adult is asleep soundly in their beds, getting ready for work the next morning. Of course, more than a few adults know about this tournament, and most don’t care. Regulus’ mother, like Barty’s father, is allergic to fun, so they’re both banned from going. Some kids have meltdowns over being banned from the games. Two years ago, a game couldn’t be played because two players were grounded and the team had to forfeit.

The stakes and the pressure were always high.

The stakes were high for Barty this year too, even if he wasn’t playing. He looks at Regulus as they come to the end of the street, shuffling feet. Regulus' house looms behind him, and Barty can see Walburga watching from the window on the second floor, peering purse-lipped through the curtains.

Barty’s hands stay in his pockets. “I guess I’ll see you then.”

Regulus nods. His face doesn’t waver but his eyes sparkle with secrecy. “Yeah, later.”

—

Throwing rocks at people’s windows is the worst.

Barty isn’t enthused.

First, he had to collect a bunch of rocks to stuff his pockets with on the way over, second, it was dark and there weren’t any street lights on Regulus’ street so everything looked exactly the same, and third, he was rapidly running out of rocks.

He skims them lightly at first. Tap. Tap. Tap.

They bounce off the glass of Regulus’ window in soft thuds.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Jesus Christ, how long did it take for Regulus to sneak out and come down?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Barty’s annoyed now. Maybe he wasn’t throwing them hard enough?

He throws the next few with more force.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

He keeps throwing them until he’s out of rocks.

Now what?

He stands on the side of Regulus’ house, trying to squint up into the dark window. He’s not sure if Regulus would turn a light on in the house and risk it, but it looks like nothing is going on in there. Regulus had promised him that he wasn’t a deep sleeper.

Outside the crickets chirp in song and the blades of grass tickle Barty’s ankles as the night breeze causes them to sway.

Fuck it.

Barty picks up a much larger rock that’s at his feet, and forgetting himself for a moment, he throws it with all the strength of the last throw and then some. The glass breaks and shatters with a delicious noise, but Barty can't admire it, because he’s already turning on his heel and running.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Past the first house and then the second and then–

Oh.

His feet all but screech to a halt on the pavement as he looks up at Regulus’ house. Regulus’ real house. This time he’s sure of it.

It’s not his fault everything looks the same in the dark.

Barty shrugs, trying to calm his racing heart and catch his breath as he leans down to pick up some smaller rocks from the ground.

As quietly as he can, he stalks over to the side of the house Regulus’ bedroom window is on, and starts the process over.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He uses a much lighter touch.

Thankfully, Regulus comes out after nine stones, no lights ever turned on inside the Black family residence.

“I’m surprised you don’t play,” Barty says as they walk side-by-side to the baseball field.

“Why’s that?” Regulus looks at him like he’s sprouted another head.

Barty shrugs, looking up at the waxing moon. “Your whole family does. Sirius and Andromeda are on a team. And Narcissa’s a pitcher. Bellatrix is on Tom’s team. Also a pitcher. You mean to tell me you haven’t thought about it?”

“Narcissa plays?” Regulus furrows his brows. “I didn’t know that.”

There was a lot about summer baseball that Regulus didn’t know. Barty takes it upon himself to explain on the walk over.

“There are really only three teams to beat in this tournament. Tom’s team, they’re the Death Eaters, that’s their team name. Nobody likes them and everyone is afraid of them because they play dirty. Last year, Bellatrix beamed Remus in the nose so hard that she broke it. Tom ordered it. Then you’ve got the Serpents, they’re my favorites. That’s the one Narcissa plays on. They haven’t won a tournament ever, but this is their year. Trust me. And then there’s,” Barty rolls his eyes for dramatic effect. “The Lions or whatever the fuck.”

“Horrible team name,” Regulus’ mouth twists up into a smile.

“Truly,” Barty nods. “James Potter is the captain, right-hand man is your brother, and they of course have recruited the legendary Frank Longbottom to come back and steal the baseball title from Tom’s Death Eaters. It was a huge upset when Tom’s team won two years ago, so much so that Frank quit the following year, and Tom won again, and now,” Barty shrugs. “I guess he’s back.”

“So the Lions are like the founding team?” Regulus asks, and Barty nods. He’s surprised Regulus doesn’t know this from his brother.

“Yeah, the original team. Doesn’t mean they’re gonna win though, even with Frank. Tom might actually kill somebody before he lets that happen.”

“But the Lions, they’re the favorites?”

Barty fake gags. “Depends on who you ask. Not my favorites.”

“Mine neither,” Regulus says decisively.

Barty wonders if he’s thinking about all of the lion posters and memorabilia that Sirius used to keep in his bedroom. Regulus would always complain about the bright red and gold team colors and the obnoxious designs, but he doesn’t complain about anything anymore now that Sirius’ room is empty.

Barty looked out for him then. When Sirius packed up everything and ran away to James’ house. It was odd, Regulus seemed to be the only one who knew what it was then. Walburga and Orion seemed to be in denial. Sirius would come home, it was an extended sleepover– which they were never allowed to have, Sirius would realize how good he had it and he’d come back. Only Regulus seemed to understand that they’d never live under the same roof again.

Barty was there. He was there while Regulus ranted and raved and paced and shook his fists at the sky. He was there when Regulus crumpled up like a sheet of paper and collapsed in on himself, shoulders shaking in silent cries. He was there when Sirius spent every second trying to convince Regulus to come to James’ house with him, begged Regulus to talk to him, tried to pass him letters in the street that Regulus would let fall to the pavement. And he was there when Regulus picked himself up and pretended as if the entire affair was beneath him.

They were there for each other. Alway had been. Barty would never leave like Sirius did. He wouldn’t dream of it. He’d stick around as long as Regulus would let him, as pathetic as that sounded. He’d like to think that Regulus would stick around too. Regulus with his dark eyes and all-too-serious look of someone always deep in thought. Sharp, gray eyes that narrowed in displeasure at everything. It took a lot of effort to get Regulus to smile, even more effort to make him laugh. Barty had never done something so rewarding. The surge he felt in his chest whenever Regulus would grin or laugh at something Barty had said was addicting. It made him lightheaded and delirious.

“Look what I brought,” Barty grins, pulling out the flask from his back pocket. The silver can glints in the moonlight.

Regulus’ hand reaches to grab at the flask as they walk in time. Barty likes the way their feet sound on the pavement when they’re in step. He hates that he’s been having thoughts like these more and more frequently. He can’t fucking help himself.

Regulus takes a swig and does his best not to shudder as the warm liquor lights a fire down his throat. Barty finds it slightly endearing as he raises his eyebrows at Regulus, waiting for him to cough and sputter. It never comes.

Barty watches as Regulus licks his lips and hands the flask back to Barty, cheeks pink. Barty is overcome with the desire to kiss him, to taste the honeyed bourbon still on his lips and feel the lightning bolts race through his veins, but he contains himself. Another annoying and incessant thought.

In an attempt to recover, he swings hard at Regulus’ shoulder, harder than he should, as he tuts, “Don’t drink it all, save some for the game.”

Regulus turns to him once more, face indignant as he rubs his arm where Barty has just punched. “Fuck you, I barely even drank any.”

“It looked like a big swallow to me.”

Now it was Regulus’ turn to punch Barty, but there was no heat behind it. “Fucking hell, I told you to stop swinging on me like that. I’ll break your nose next time, I swear to God.”

Barty grins. “Is that a promise?”

“Freak,” Regulus shakes his head, but he’s back to being amused.

“You love it.”

They make it to the field early, but there are already people streaming in with bright battery-operated lights for the game, talking excitedly to themselves. A team is warming up the field, practicing their swings and stretching, Barty listens to the clatter of the bleachers that someone had brought to the lot two years ago. He’s not sure how they did it.

He watches Regulus watch the scene in wonder.

“They have concession stands?” He asks, looking at the girl and boy selling things on the pavement in front of the lot. They both sit at a little plastic table with plastic chairs, their sign advertises what they're selling, crackerjack, peanuts, sodas, trail mix, lemonade.

“Uh, I guess,” Barty shrugs. “That’s new. Seems a bit much.”

Still, he buys two bags of boiled peanuts and two cokes for them anyway.

Mundungus Fletcher and his friends are there, calling out to everyone to join in the bets. Tonight is the last night to enter.

Regulus stops by and drops off a few things, about ten dollars, 4 packs of gum, sunglasses with flames up the side that used to belong to Sirius, and 5 spinning tops.

“Regulus Black,” Mundungus fills out his name in the notebook in inky black pen, carefully recording the list of everything he’s brought. “Let me guess, you’re betting it all on the Lions?”

His voice is loud and booming, with the confidence of a sports announcer but the underlying hint of deception like a used car salesman.

“No,” Regulus scowls at him.

“Oh, I just assumed because of your brother that–”

“I want to bet it all on the Serpents. I hear their pitcher is really good.”

Barty smiles as Mundungus nods. “And you Crouch? Any last-minute bets?”

Barty shakes his head. “I’ve already got over $50 in the game. I have to draw the line somewhere.”

Regulus signs on the dotted line confirming his entry and they make their way to the bleachers. Even though it’s dark out, it’s still uncomfortably warm outside. Some kids have brought battery-operated handheld fans with styrofoam propellers to keep them cool. Others have ice packs.

Barty figures that he can just sit behind someone with a fan and benefit from the airflow. The bleachers begin to fill up as the game draws closer. Kids bring signs elaborately decorated with all of their best art supplies. Glitter glue, puff paint, rhinestones, and neon markers. Some have even painted their faces.

Barty and Regulus spot Remus Lupin at the same time. He’s walking towards a group of kids scrambling to set up a radio and microphone at the announcer's table.

“One. Two. One. Two,” Remus says into the microphone and it resounds throughout the lot, as a hush falls in the bleachers.

“He’s not playing?” Regulus leans in to ask Barty, his shoulder brushing against him.

Barty shakes his head. “Not since the Bellatrix incident, no. He’s no good anymore. Flinches when the ball comes towards him, forgets to swing the bat.”

“Remus Lupin?” Regulus’ eyebrows shoot up like he doesn’t believe it. But he doesn’t have to believe it, he can see Remus take his place at the announcer's table.

Remus runs the scoreboard, calls the players up, and explains the plays for the kids who don’t really know what’s going on. Mary MacDonald helps him with the music and the score when she’s not playing, otherwise, Rita Skeeter helps out, much to the annoyance of everyone.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Regulus snorts. “What’s next, they bring out someone to sing the national anthem?”

“Don’t give them any ideas.”

The mood shifts in the stadium as they get ready to begin. Remus clears his throat in the microphone and it emits an ear-splitting feedback. Still, some kids were trickling in, sitting in the grass now that the bleachers were full.

On the other side of the field, sat the other teams that weren’t playing that night, just behind the makeshift dugouts.

“They like to sit and scope out the competition. They keep to themselves,” Barty explains when Regulus asks. “Can’t mingle with the common folk.”

Regulus scoffs, but Barty doesn’t miss the way his eyes search for Sirius across the field. When Regulus finds him, Sirius sits up straighter, already looking back. He goes to raise a hand to wave at him but Regulus turns his head away sharply, making a show of it.

Barty watches as Sirius moves to stand up like he’s going to run over to them and talk to Regulus, but a blonde girl, Marlene McKinnon, grabs his arm and pulls him down as the first players run out onto the field.

Remus introduces the two teams, the Death Eaters versus the Badgers. All around them, kids shake their yellow signs exuberantly, while some sport all black signs with skulls on them.

The Badgers are going to get destroyed. Anyone with half a brain would know it the minute they heard the match-up. While you had to be 12-17 to play, most of the kids on the Badgers’ team were closer to 12, whereas the Death Eaters were all 17. Barty was actually certain that a few of the kids were 18 or 19 and only getting by because they’d been held back a year or two in school.

He starts listening in to what Remus is saying as he passes Regulus his bag of boiled peanuts.

“With starting pitcher Bellatrix Black, and your team captain, Tom Riddle.”

The stands go wild, everyone stomping their feet on the metal bleachers causing a thunderous metal rumble and Regulus’ eyes widen at the commotion.

“Let’s play ball,” Remus called, rather monotone and complacent about the ordeal.

Regulus snorts. “This is beneath him.”

Barty nods in agreement.

Since there were eight teams in the tournament, there would be seven rounds total. Each round was a best-of-three battle to move on, for a maximum of 21 games, 21 nights, of baseball madness. They were guaranteed at least 14. Two full weeks of baseball. The event of the summer.

They watch as Bellatrix takes the pitcher's mound, licking up little clouds of dirt with her feet. He knocks his knee against Regulus’ at his cousin taking in both the crowd’s cheers and boos. Barty pours some of the bourbon into his Coke can and does the same for Regulus.

Bellatrix’s wild hair was long and curly, falling down her back. It was only kept out of her face by a black baseball cap, and she smiles sharply at the stands.

A soft tune plays as a short kid with spiky brown hair walks up to home plate, giving his bat a few test swings in preparation.

“I heard she puts some kind of resin or wax on her baseball cap to make the ball sticky,” Barty whispers like it’s some kind of secret.

“I believe it,” Regulus says, also leaning in. Barty tries to ignore the lightning bolts. The static frequency once again turned up a notch. “She used to cheat in every game we played growing up.”

They share a look as Bellatrix puts her fingers to the brim of her baseball hat and nods, baseball glove at the ready. The atmosphere has gone quiet like everyone is holding their breaths. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

The kid at home plate assumes position and Bellatrix winds up. The ball moves so fast that Barty doesn’t have time to register it, and neither does the kid at home plate, as the ball hits the catcher’s mitt with a hard thud.

“Strike one,” Remus’ voice echoes, and the spell is broken.

The crowd roars to life once more.

Barty and Regulus get lost in the atmosphere, the crack of the bat, the whizz of the ball, the cheers of people telling their friends to steal third. They crunch through their boiled peanuts and slowly work their way through their cokes, which get stronger as time passes, due to Barty constantly topping them up with flask bourbon.

At the top of the third, a Badger player manages a triple on Bellatrix, running in two of her teammates, so Bellatrix beams her at the top of the fourth, and lets her walk. It doesn’t matter though, the score is already 6-2. At the bottom of the sixth, Tom scores the first home run of the night, and more than a few of the silly girls from high school chirp and cheer loudly, making heart eyes in his direction.

“I mean,” Regulus leans in to whisper. “I kinda get it.”

Barty screws up his face in disgust. “Fuck no.”

He makes more than a few sarcastic remarks and snarky comments, all of which make Regulus laugh or smile. Barty is humming with delight, but he desperately tries to curtail it. Regulus is also getting into the game. It’s a gradual interest, but Barty finds that he’s watching Regulus more than the game. He watches as Regulus’ eyes furrow when someone gets an out, watches the slight smile grace his face as Bellatrix throws a particularly nasty screwball, watches Regulus’ vague curiosity at Tom’s simpering smirk. At some point, their knees touch, and they stay that way for the remainder of the night. Regulus, who shies away from any sort of contact, hasn't moved his knee away.

Barty fucking loves baseball.

The game ends at a brutal 11-2 at the top of the ninth inning. Though, to the Badger’s credit, they do not look defeated or deterred. They seem more than pleased with their two runs, all jostling and shaking the girl who made it possible with wide smiles and congratulations.

The bourbon has satiated Barty and left his head perfectly hazy. He offers a lazy smile to Regulus. “Walk you home?”

It’s late, and he’s feeling tired, he’s sure Regulus feels the same.

Regulus nods, finishing off the last of the coke, and subsequently the last of the bourbon.

“Can’t let you sleep through morning violin lessons, or French tutoring, or whatever the fuck your weird-ass family has you do.”

“Piano.” Regulus rolls his eyes as he corrects Barty. His cheeks are tinged slightly pink and his eyes are a little glassy.

Barty bites his lip to keep from smiling. What a lightweight.

They’re almost out of the field, about to slip down the quiet streets, when Regulus is pulled back by a hand on his shoulder.

Barty spins around to see Sirius with a group of his teammates.

“You came?” Is the first thing out of Sirius’ mouth.

“Not for you, for Barty,” Regulus shoots off just as quickly.

Sirius’ teammates stare at the ground nervously. He makes note of them. The blonde girl from before, Marlene, and he’d know James Potter anywhere. He’s never seen James without Sirius. And the redhead, Lily.

“Well, we play in four nights if you want to watch,” James offers a slight smile. “I’m James, by the way.”

Regulus regards him coldly. “I know who you are.”

“I just wanted to, uh, say hi.” Sirius’ voice is stilted, odd. Almost pained. Barty makes it his duty to glare daggers at him.

“Well, don’t do it again,” Regulus says smoothly, and Barty can tell he doesn’t mean it.

So can Sirius, as he smiles.

“You know we could always use an extra player on our team.”

“In your fucking dreams, Sirius.”

“Come on, we want to get uniforms made,” Sirius offers again, as if this fact would entice Regulus.

He doesn’t know Regulus like Barty knows him. Regulus would hate wearing matching baseball uniforms. He would detest it. He’d rather die.

Marlene rolls her eyes. “James just wants to prance about in those tight little pants.”

“Yeah,” James shoots back quickly. “And all the girls want to see me prance about in those tight little pants, and who am I to deny the people what they desperately want?”

Lily scoffs as Regulus turns to leave, dragging Barty with him.

“Wait,” Sirius calls. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Maybe. It’s none of your business,” Regulus snaps as they walk out of earshot.

They’re striding down the pavement, no shuffling feet and no delay of time, as Regulus huffs.

“Wait,” Barty can’t help himself from asking. “We are going back tomorrow, right?”

Apart from the Sirius interlude, he had a good time with Regulus. And he figures if Sirius hadn’t ambushed them, then he and Regulus would be taking their sweet time walking home. Time that Barty craved more than anything.

“Yeah,” Regulus nods shortly. “I shouldn’t have talked to him. I should’ve just ignored him.”

“Well, he did make it kind of difficult to do that,” Barty reasons as Regulus fumes.

“Fuck, and then stupid fucking James Potter trying to be so–”

“Annoying,” Barty says at the time Regulus says charming.

He tries to ignore the funny thing his heart does in his chest as they both fall into stunned silence.

“Well,” Barty breathes out. “Not what I was going to say.”

“No, I just mean– you heard him,” Regulus says quickly, taking on a crude imitation of James’ voice. “I’m James. I wear tight pants and steal people’s brothers from them for fun.”

Barty snorts. “Yeah, what a dick.”

Regulus nods and repeats after him. “A dick.”

But it doesn’t sound like Regulus really means it. No one can be both charming and a dick. It doesn’t work like that.

Barty walks Regulus all the way to his house, doing his best to skirt the home with the broken window.

Regulus smiles at him softly. “It was fun.”

He admits it like a secret, like it reluctantly has to be true.

Barty nods in agreement, fighting off the urge to punch Regulus again. “Same time tomorrow, baseball boy?”

Regulus nods, his hand brushing against Barty’s slightly before he turns to head inside through the propped-open window on the bottom floor.

Barty stands on the street corner, just him and chirping crickets as he waits for Regulus to flick his bedroom lights on and off to show he’s made it. Once he does, Barty heads towards his house, trying to ignore the parts of his hand that Regulus has touched crackling to life.

65 notes · View notes

mothermoth92 · 2 days

Text

Like Coming Home

Pairing: Halsin x female Tav

Rating: E (minors gtfo)

WC: ~5k (part 1 of 2)

Tags: established relationship; post-canon events; chronically ill Tav; chronic pain; porn with the barest whisper of plot because writer needed to justify her choices; emotional hurt/comfort; light angst; domestic fluffiness; marking; oral (fem receiving); vaginal fingering; multiple orgasms; consent is key; mentions of body image issues; plus-size Tav; body worship

Summary: Canon events left Tav to deal with chronic pain, and her healing respite has separated her from her darling Druid for months. They work through frustrations (emotional! sexual!) together when they are reunited at last.

Author’s note: First ever fic. Stopped writing all fiction after a particularly hateful fiction workshop in college, so three cheers for vulnerability, I guess. Pls let me know if there’s anything else you want to see tagged. I hope this isn’t terrible and that you enjoy.

And here is the AO3!

Also, @partially-controlled-chaos, I believe you wanted a tag when this went live.

—————————————————————

He would arrive today. Something in the air had shifted. All morning, the energy all around her felt like she was standing inches from a buzzing hive, warm and electric. Tav could feel it in her body, too. A welcome elasticity had returned to her joints, overriding the tender, heated soreness to which she’d become accustomed over the past months.

Halsin’s latest letter had hinted at a visit in the coming tenday. They’d been apart more than four months, and while Tav had gotten good at finding pleasant ways to fill her days around her uncle’s cottage, the ones since his letter’s arrival had stretched on in agony. She longed for company beyond that of the hens out back, the stray cat that came and went, and the old ranger a few houses down she visited weekly. She ached for a touch and a voice not her own.

Tav turned to the eclectic collection of apothecary bottles and funny little jars on wall of the bedchamber. Another reason to be glad of Halsin’s impending return—her stores were running low.

It had been nearly a year since Tav and the band of misfits that formed her adventuring party had defeated the Netherbrain. The fight had claimed more than ally and civilian casualties and damaged more than the city’s infrastructure. Shortly thereafter, Tav noticed her body change. She could no longer walk long distances without frequent rests. Her body ached constantly. Her brain felt fuzzy and her focus easily diverted, often to the sorest spot on her body.

Tav would never have considered herself born for adventure. She was a Bard, for heaven’s sake. Before the Nautiloid, she lived a humble if rambling existence. She dreamed of becoming a playwright. She made enough coin to get by singing in taverns, performing with the occasional troupe, and selling tawdry verses to broadsheets while the stack of plays she wrote in her free time collected dust.

She’d always been a bit shocked she had survived even the initial Nautiloid crash, let alone the ensuing challenges. But she was clever, crafty, and good in a crisis. She excelled at finding opportunities where there were few and creating ones where there were none. Her fearsome companions made her better—a stronger fighter and a more tactical strategist. But gods damn, was it hard. The ruthless pace of their adventure had distracted Tav from the effect it was having on her body. The near-constant crushing fatigue and her screaming-hot joints that occasionally kept her awake nights were easily enough chalked up to fitful trances on uncomfortable ground, miles of difficult terrain covered every day, and the endless scrapes and showdowns they found themselves facing. But she’d had a quiet feeling even then that she was giving from a well that might never refill.

Now, Tav required a medicinal boost to get through most days. Halsin was generous with his Druidic magic and always quick to craft a homemade concoction for her, but here, during her healing respite, she relied heavily on the varieties that could be bottled and stored. When they’d traveled to her uncle’s cottage together to get Tav settled, they spent days brewing and experimenting with a wide variety of teas and potions, creams and salves to help ease Tav’s symptoms and restore her strength. Some were pleasant, some were vile. In the end, Tav had picked a few favorites: A handful of the most efficacious topicals, along with some pain-numbing potions and herbs for the worst days, a particularly potent sleeping draught that somehow mimicked the feeling of being cradled in Halsin’s strong embrace, and one potion that had no medicinal effect, but smelled uncannily like his sun-warmed hair after a dip in the river.

Today, the only stiffness she felt was in her neck, and she knew it was from days of repeatedly craning to look out the window onto the horizon line in anticipation. And, true, it didn’t help that her pillow was uneven with the amount of trinkets she’d slid under it. Halsin’s letters always came with a gift—angular hunks of agate and onyx, unusual flowers, which she’d pressed into the pages of her journal, skimming stones perfectly rounded by the passage of time and the rushing current, drawings from the children at the compound where he was continuing work in her absence. Tav liked to keep them close, but any Cleric, and frankly Halsin himself, would be horrified to learn she’d been resting her head on mostly rocks for months. She dipped her fingers into one of the jars and smoothed the salve over the tender spot before shrugging on her dressing gown.

In the kitchen, Tav busied herself by baking: half a batch of the savory scones her ranger tutor favored, followed by a dozen honey buns. One of Halsin’s only indulgences was sneaking sweet treats during the night. To say that encouraging his habit wasn’t part of the reason Tav threw herself into baking would be dishonest. She was eager to find subtle ways to spoil him.

Truth be told, Tav had tried her hand at other domestic hobbies over the past months, but baking was the one she’d found both talent and a passion for. She’d taken on what turned out to be particularly ambitious project of making new coverings for all the various pillows around the cottage. For fabric, she had sent a request to Astarion for scraps and whatever he could spare in his new undertaking as the Underdark’s finest tailor. He’d sent along a large parcel of rich velvets and delicate satins—fabrics much too fine for Tav’s clumsy fingers. The textiles were exceptional (and made for lovely pillow coverings overall, despite Tav’s impatience and lack of dedication to precision), but Tav’s most cherished part of the package was the note inside.

Darling,

Not sure what you expect to accomplish with scraps of this size, but I’m nevertheless happy to oblige. Just tell me you’re not making austere little outfits for the hens. You know how I hate to worry.

It was signed with an exaggerated letter “A,” just two connective strokes shy of the formation that ruled his name.

The note lived in the stack of letters from her companions on the mantle in the central room of the cottage. There were ones that smelled lightly of incense from Shadowheart; pages slightly singed around the edges from Wyll and Karlach (how did they manage to post from Avernus?); hastily scrawled notes from Lae’zel on crinkled pages smeared with rust-colored streaks (was that blood? No. Never mind.); veritable tomes from Gale, margins crammed with his own annotations. Tav revisited them often, especially on days when it was a monumental feat to move from the bedchamber to the overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace, when her body felt like a betrayal. On those days when the hero of Baldur’s Gate felt like someone she knew only from the verses of tavern songs, re-reading her companions’ letters was her favorite way of grounding herself.

Once the scones and buns were set out to cool, Tav fed the hens and collected the eggs, then spent some tending to her uncle’s small herb and vegetable garden before turning to some of her overlooked chores inside. By mid-afternoon, she found herself fluffing the same pillows for the third time and decided to treat herself to a trip to the stream nearby to help pass the time. When early evening rolled around, she was back at the cottage helping herself to a honey bun and impatiently scanning the horizon under the guise of sweeping the threshold for what must’ve been the tenth time that day. The sun was on the brink of setting and Tav was beginning to wonder if she’d been wrong after all. She slipped back into her dressing gown, grabbed the most interesting book she could find among her uncle’s collection, and was preparing to put the kettle on when the birds joined the crickets in an unexpected, joyful harmony. Tav’s head snapped to the window at the front of the cottage. A familiar, hulking silhouette crested over the hill on the horizon.

A feeling of vindication mixed with excitement and relief crashed over Tav as the kettle clattered to the countertop. She rushed to door, flinging it wide. Was she imagining it, or did Halsin’s measured pace quicken now that she was within view? She leaned against the stone exterior of the cottage, unable to wipe what she was certain was the goofiest, lovesick look off her face as she watched him approach.

When he was finally close enough to touch, Tav reached out with two fingers and slipped them under one of the leather bracers that encircled his bicep and gave it a playful tug. Halsin raised his arm in response, sliding his massive hand behind her head to cradle it, tangling fingers in her dark waves as he did. He leaned into welcoming space between her jaw and shoulder and breathed her in, setting Tav’s skin alight.

“My heart,” he said on an exhale. “My whole heart.”

“Hello, my darling. I’ve missed you.”

Nothing in this realm or the next manipulated Halsin’s resolve quite like the sound of Tav’s voice, its low richness when she sang, its constant melodic lilt, exaggerated whenever she lovingly teased him, the rasp it took on in response to certain pleasures of the flesh. Bottled, it would be the color of the deepest amber honey, and just as sweet. He had known from the moment he’d heard that voice bouncing off the walls of the Goblin encampment all those months ago that he was saved, in more ways than one.

He gently extricated his hand from her hair and leaned down just enough to grab each of Tav’s thighs and slide her up the stone wall of the cottage so she was closer to eye-level with him. Were her thighs plumper than they had been four months ago? He allowed his fingertips a moment of greedy exploration and gentle massaging. He felt his cock leap. He’d have to do a proper investigation, soon.

Tav linked her arms around his neck and gasped as Halsin lifted her against the wall and leaned in for a string of sloppy, unrestrained open-mouthed kisses. It was impossible to tell where one ended and another began. He nibbled at her chin, her jaw, her collarbone. With her legs wrapped around his waist, she could feel him stiffen. Her mind went white with the possibility that he’d take her right there in the garden and fuck the old door right off its rusted hinges. Her lover was always passionate, singularly focused. But this was an echo of their stolen encounters during their adventure—making the most of whatever time they had together. His kisses were hungry and desperate, like he forgot all his promises to be cautious with her aching, healing body. Tav wanted to keep him this way. Gods above, did it feel good not to be treated as a fragile, delicate thing. She let out a moan. He bit down hard on her shoulder as he slid her dressing gown open far enough to reveal the tops of her breasts. Yes.

And then, with the shocked suddenness of a child who’d been caught stealing, he pulled away. Puzzled, Tav’s eyes fluttered opened to search his face, half-afraid of what she’d find. But he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, his head was craned downward at his feet. Tav caught a glimpse of a cloud-like gray tail wrapping itself around Halsin’s ankle.

“Small friend, hello,” he greeted the cat. The cat trilled in response.

Tav laughed. “That’s Ash. Or, well, I’ve been calling her Ash. Sometimes she spends evenings with me by the hearth. She comes and goes.”

“Then I shall forgive the intrusion, seeing as she’s been good company to you in my absence.”

His mouth returned to hers, gentler now. At this slower, languid pace, tongues entwined, he noticed a familiar sweetness coating her mouth. Tav felt him smile against her.

“You taste of honey,” he said, his low voice sending reverberations through her chest.

“Mmm, it seems a bear has fallen into my trap,” she said. She pressed her forehead against his. “Honeybuns. Inside.”

Halsin chuckled. “Honeybuns. Now, is that a treat or a new term of endearment?”

“Could be both, if you like,” Tav replied, letting one hand drift toward his backside. “Are you hungry?”

“Ravenous,” he said, his voice a shade darker than the one he used to tease her with mere seconds ago. He leaned in for one more kiss, dragging his teeth across her lower lip. Tav could feel a bruise blossoming in the left corner as he released.

With Ash safely out of the way, Halsin lifted Tav away from the wall and ducked inside the cottage, her legs still wrapped firmly around his waist. He stumbled a bit as he maneuvered the one-too-many pieces of furniture cluttering the main room of the cottage and blocking the shortest path to the bedchamber.

“My love, this is not the way to the kitchen,” Tav said.

“There will be time later,” he said. “The nourishment I seek now comes only from the font which has been denied me these many months.”

Tav felt her eyes widen and her mouth part into a small “O.” She clutched at the roots of his hair as he carried her the remaining distance to the bed. Once they reached it, Halsin stood along the side of the bed and dropped Tav near its center. She tried to focus on the handsome, besotted Druid panting over her, but Tav’s eyes caught sight of her well-used stock of medicines on the shelf behind him, and the walking stick she’d begun using on solo trips to the market leaning in the corner of the room. Reminders of who she was now. Painful reminders of the reason they were lovers reuniting, why her dreams of tumbling exhausted into bed next to him at the end of a long day of caring for dozens of children were on hold. A swirling cloud of insecurity settled over her. Tav’s eyes fluttered shut. Halsin’s worn, deft fingers began to tug at the tie of her dressing gown. She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth and pulled her knees toward her chest. He stopped.

“Something’s changed,” he said. “What’s the matter, my heart?”

Tav kept her eyes closed and shook her head lightly.

“Are you in any pain? If there is something I can do to ease your discomfort, say the word and I’ll—”

“You are sweet to offer, but I am remarkably free of pain today,” Tav said, opening her eyes. She scanned Halsin’s face for traces of disgust or disillusionment and found only that the lust that had softened his features moments earlier had been overwritten by concern.

“Surely that’s cause for celebration, then,” he said. “What troubles you?” He knelt with one knee onto the bed alongside Tav, close enough to be a comfort, but leaving enough space to keep her from feeling caged in. She remembered then the primary reason she’d fallen so hard for the gentle man beside her: He made her feel safe in a world overrun by danger and decisions for which there were no easy choices. When every step was a gamble, he took one unfalteringly at her side. He’d allowed her to carve a home out of him.

Tav rested a hand on Halsin’s massive thigh. She could feel the unrelenting musculature of it beneath his trousers. She swallowed hard.

“I am reminded that I am not the same as I was when we met,” she said quietly. “I miss my old body. I wouldn’t fault you if you did, too.”

She wouldn’t look at him. He sighed above her, then reached out with one hand and cupped her chin, gently tilting her face toward him.

“I will not dishonor you by telling you not to feel whatever emotion it is you are experiencing,” Halsin said. “But my beautiful bird, I hope you believe me when I say that your physical capability has no bearing on how much I love and desire you.”

“But my body…doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t work the same, doesn’t react the same, it doesn’t even look the same,” Tav said. “She feels so far away.”

Halsin resumed standing, taking both of Tav’s hands in one of his. He rubbed his thumbs in comforting circles along the backs of her hands.

“Like the seasons, so too must we change,” he said. “Grief is part of that change; I understand that as well as anyone. I cannot promise that the pain—or the grief, for that matter—will ever cease, or that you will ever exist in your body the same way that you once did. All I can offer is a promise to help you find comfort on your worst days, to shoulder your burdens as you have so selflessly shouldered mine, and to make you feel every bit as magnificent and worthy as you deserve for as long as you will permit me to walk by your side.”

Tav’s chest swelled with a puzzling mix of warm affection, swirling trepidation, and scalding desire. She tugged on his hand, pulling him down into a kiss—her thanks—which he readily accepted. How she’d missed him. Not just his touch, his scent, his voice, but ease with which he soothed the rough storms of her mind, the way he made her feel like a gift when she felt every bit a burden. In this one regard, she’d been spoiled rotten.

Her appreciative kiss turned desperate. Tav’s hands were everywhere. Halsin’s mind could barely keep up with everywhere he felt her touch—a firm grasp of his forearm, a whisper of fingertips dragging down his abdomen, both hands pressed to his chest. She kissed him harder, her teeth pulling his lower lip, tongue grazing the scar that ran just below it. Longing pulsed inside him: want, want, want. She was moving quickly, too quickly for him to feel assured that what he wanted to do next wouldn’t be taking advantage of her display of vulnerability. He broke away from the kiss. She whined.

“You are sure you want this?” he asked, sending a silent prayer to Silvanus that her answer would be yes.

“By the gods, yes,” she said. “I’ve waited months to feel you again.”

“Will you let me look upon you, my heart?”

Tav hesitated for a second before nodding.

“May I?” He thumbed the tie on her dressing gown. She nodded again. He tugged at it slowly, watching the knot unravel, savoring the experience of unwrapping her. Unfastened, the gown hung slightly open at the center.

“On your back for me, love.”

Tav did as she was told, a halo of dark waves forming around her head. Her stomach fluttered as she watched her lover peel back each side of the dressing gown, leaving it to pool around her exposed body.

“Like a canvas commissioned by the Oak Father himself,” Halsin said above her. “These peaks…,” he wrapped one gentle, calloused hand around each of her ample breasts, thumbing her hardened nipples, making her squirm. “The valleys…,” he licked the hollow of her neck before moving downward, pressing kisses in his wake, from the space between her breasts to the lowest point of her sternum. “Gentle curves like a trusted mountain path,” he said, gently pulling both hands down her sides from ribs to hips.

“And these…,” he murmured, tracing fingers over newly formed stretch marks along her stomach. “As if you have been kissed by lightning. My love, your concerns about your body are your own, but this—“ he said, her generous waist filling one of his massive hands “—and these—“ the other hand caressed a sturdy thigh, “—have been tormenting me since I laid eyes on you in the doorway this evening.”

Tav’s entire body felt as if it was lit up from the inside. She moaned. Halsin sank to his knees and wedged an arm between hers, beginning to part her legs.

“Now, if you’ll indulge an old Druid, I’d like to hear you sing some more.”

Fuck. Before she surrendered all cognition over to baser instincts, Tav the presence of mind to toss one silly reupholstered pillow for him to kneel on. After that, she craned her neck back in anticipation. Her breathing became shallow. She gripped at the bedsheets and he’d barely even touched her.

His feasting began with her thighs, kneading each one first before bringing his lips to the inside of the right one, kissing the sensitive spot just above the crease of her knee. It pulled a sigh from his lover. He dragged his jaw along the same spot, grazing it with his teeth, closing with a soft bite. Tav whimpered. This was exactly what he wanted; these were the very imaginings that had spurred him on as he made his journey from the compound back to the cottage in three days instead of four—a record, even in wildshape.

Halsin continued up Tav’s thigh with soft kisses mixed with nips and occasional bruising bites that made her gasp. She was already unraveling. He could tell by her pleading noises and the wetness seeping from the seam of beckoning cunt. She was exquisite. The smell of her made his head swim and his already painfully erect cock throb. With a growl and all of the strength given unto him by the Oak Father, he tore his gaze from her perfect center, determined to make a matching set of her thighs before diving in.

When he had finished devouring the inside of her trembling left thigh, he sat back for a moment to look upon his work. Her legs were marked red, tender and indeed purpling with bruises in places. Tomorrow, he would offer to heal them. Tomorrow, he would offer a lighter, cooling touch to relieve the ache and the burn of being well-loved.

Tav glanced down at the broad elf between her thighs and met his eyes, which danced with mischief and desire. He reached up and grabbed her by the hips, then ran a hand down each of her legs, giving her outer thighs an affectionate squeeze before firmly placing them over his shoulders and pulling her sex as close to his mouth as he could without providing contact.

“Shall I continue?” he asked.

Tav’s heels dug into his shoulder blades as his request ghosted over her heated center.

“We might have an argument on our hands if you don’t,” she replied, twisting her fists further into the bedsheets.

Halsin responded with half a chuckle before maneuvering large hands back to Tav’s hips and pulling her fully to his mouth now, tongue parting her slit to find that she was indeed dripping for him. They moaned in tandem. A spark shot up Tav’s spine at the familiar sound of his pleasure.

Halsin’s curious mouth had missed her as much as the rest of him had. He studied her carefully each time they made love, each time they fucked with enough primal heat to inspire beasts to envy, each time she allowed him to lie with her in wildshape. He knew the combinations that would have her quaking and sputtering in an instant, and exactly where and for how long to lick and suck at her precious cunt to have her dancing on the very precipice of orgasm before finally pitching over. For now, he took his time, savoring and becoming reacquainted with her taste and the way her body trembled with pleasure.

Tav could feel exactly how much Halsin was enjoying himself. His flat, methodical tongue ran in circuits along the insides of her folds, teasing the very edges of her entrance. She untangled one hand from her grip on the sheets and sought purchase instead in Halsin’s hair, careful not to distract him from his task.

If anything, it spurred his hunger. His tongue turned to a point that flicked the aching bud at the apex of her thighs. Tav’s grip on his hair tightened as she cried out a string of half-realized profanities. She nestled her heels deeper into his shoulder blades in a subconscious effort to drive his mouth harder into her.

Sensing her need for more, Halsin wrapped his lips around her sensitive clit, switching between determined pulls and gentle swirls of his tongue. Heat spread through her body building from her core as Tav’s orgasm began to tighten around her. Halsin could tell that she was right on the edge, even before her moans increased in pitch and she began begging him not to stop. He couldn’t imagine a force strong enough to make him.

He grinned as Tav’s thighs snapped shut around his head a moment later and she called his name in devotion. Her grip on his hair loosened as her right leg slid off his shoulder and down along his arm, the left one relaxing, too, as she came down from her peak.

“That was beautiful, lover,” he said, chin practically dripping with a combination of saliva and her wetness.

“Mmm, but are you satisfied?” She lifted her hands to her own plush breasts and rolled one lonely nipple between her fingertips. She watched his eyes flash.

“You know me well.”

It was all the invitation he needed. He grabbed each of her ankles and repositioned her feet at the edge of the bed, spreading her legs wider. He buried his face between her folds again and resumed licking, teasing her clit with a pointed tongue. He gave the bud a few daring nips. He reached one hand up the length of Tav’s soft body and pinched playfully at the nipple within his reach.

The sensations were almost too bright for Tav’s post-climax sensitivity. She squirmed under Halsin’s tongue, gasping, an ache building low in the depths of her belly.

“Inside, my love, please,” she begged. “I need—“

Her thought trailed off in a moan; Halsin was already dragging one long finger along her entrance, coating it in her slick. After a few torturous pulls, he eased it inside her, curling it upward just so. He lifted his mouth from her and placed the heel of his hand on her clit, rocking it back and forth, simultaneously massaging the internal and external spots that sent her reeling.

“More?” he asked. Coherent thought had left Tav behind. Her every sense, every nerve was entirely overwhelmed. She nodded frantically as she lifted her hips in a plea for more friction.

“I see.” His voice caught in a feral place between a rasp and a growl. Without breaking his rhythm, Halsin climbed to his feet with impressive fluidity for a man of his stature. Once he was standing, he slid a second finger inside with less fanfare and warning than the first. Tav yelped at the intrusion; Halsin studied her face for signs of discomfort. To his relief, her head was pitched back in ecstasy and she met his gaze through half-closed eyes. She mouthed the word “yes” before giving a shuddering exhale and biting down hard into her lower lip.

She would happily follow him anywhere, Tav thought, as his beckoning fingers stretched her and coaxed her towards her second climax. He was beautiful towering above her, so beautiful, a smirk playing at his shining lips and muscular shoulders set in his determination to see her come entirely undone. Halsin trailed his free hand, open-palmed, down her body until he reached the spot above her mound where he knew she craved more pressure. He pushed down until he could feel the resistance of his own fingers inside of her. Tav howled at the intensity.

“You’re doing so well, my heart,” he said. “Relax for me just a bit. Do you need me to stop?”

“Don’t stop—just—ah—kiss—mmph!”

His wet lips crashed into hers before she could finish her plea. She tasted the tanginess of herself in his kiss. Tav’s trembling arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed her fiercely, plundering her mouth as he had her cunt. The weight of his body on top of hers—although she knew he was holding back to avoid crushing her—was what pushed her over the edge. Her fingertips clawed at the back of his neck as her walls clenched around his fingers and she cried out repeatedly, dangerously close to Halsin’s pointed ear.

When she was spent, he gently withdrew his fingers from inside her and rolled to her left on the bed. Tav was still panting as Halsin met her eye and sucked his fingers clean with a wanton groan. She shuddered and raised a hand to her chest. He nestled his head in the hollow between her jaw and shoulder and inhaled her, all sweet sex and sweat and a hint of sunshine and creek water.

“Thank you,” he said.

She laughed hoarsely. “I believe I should be thanking you. I do intend to return the favor, but I could do with a break first.”

Halsin grinned wide. “I require nothing in return aside from the pleasure of your company in this bed for the rest of the evening. And no fewer than three of the honeybuns that—now that I am no longer distracted by something sweeter—smell divine.”

“You have a deal, my darling,” Tav replied. “I need a moment to rest, but then I’ll make us a plate to share. Why don’t you get cleaned up?”

He pressed a kiss to her neck before rising. “Take all the time you need.”

#bg3 #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #halsin smut #halsin x tav #halsin x female tav #baldur’s gate fanfiction #bg3 fic #the sex worm in my brain made it onto a page #daddy halsin #plus size tav #mo writes #just let the characters fuck the chubby girls #it’s what we all deserve #anyway #bon appetit #thank you and goodnight

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ooobabymovebabyiminlove · 3 days

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Nothing amuses me more than imagining post-war Levi discovering your past as someone who was quite "experienced" during your prime years.

Picture this: in your teenage to mid-twenties, before you joined the Corps, you were a typical young adult enjoying life. Unfortunately, Levi never had those opportunities, so how could he have known? Unlike some of your peers, you indulged in a bit more fun. You weren't a prostitute—selling your body was never an option—but you were quite popular with the boys. You revelled in exploring your sexuality with a sense of freedom and recklessness, to the point of causing your parents considerable dismay.

Now, imagine Levi, who considers himself to have an average level of experience or, as he modestly puts it, "popular enough” Imagine his shock when you went down on him for the first time after the war ended. He always saw you as a comrade, and though you both had mutual feelings while serving in the Corps, neither of you acted on them, fearing the loss of each other. Given the nature of your job, he only saw your professional side—no jokes, strictly business—and he certainly didn't see or know about your sexual side/life, as he knew little about your personal life.

That night, he saw you in a completely different light. You elicited surprised gasps and groans from him before you even had his clothes off. The poor guy was gripping onto you for dear life. When you started working on him—your tongue, your hands roaming all over his body, your filthy, tantalising mouth—he couldn't hold back. He climaxed prematurely without any warning, and you hadn't even undressed yet. He was utterly embarrassed, caught completely off guard by your prowess.

The morning after your night of fun, where you took charge and led Levi into new, exciting experiences, he brought it up around the breakfast table. As you both indulged in a conversation filled with flirty comments, the effects of the night still lingering in the air, he smoothly steered the conversation to ask where you had learned all your tricks. His question was driven by genuine curiosity rather than disgust—he could never be disgusted by you.

You chuckled, debating whether to give him the full story or keep it short and sweet. You chose the latter to keep things light. “Promise you won't get mad, jealous, or any of that sappy shit?” you teased. He almost rolled his eyes at that.

You laughed warmly at his expression. “I'm a girl of two worlds, luckily, you got to see both of them.”

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #captain levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #fanfic #levi aot #levi smut #snk levi #levi attack on titan #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi heichou #levi headcanons #one shot #levi oneshot

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isoobie · 10 hours

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BAMBI ─── highschool bf heeseung

❔ wc 911 kissing, fmr 𝅘𝅥𝅮 listen! for @okwonyo’s event

“hey! lee heeseung, come here!” a loud voice calls heeseung’s name from across the room in amidst of the calm atmosphere.

“i won’t and what will you do about it!” heeseung responds back and sticks his tongue out before running out of the classroom. however, before he can make it out of the second floor a hand grabs his shirt by the collar to stop him.

“and where do you think you’re going, we aren’t done yet.” its the same voice that screamed his name a couple seconds ago and now he’s looking directly into the owner’s face.

its yn, park yn, class president and heeseung’s best friend who doesn’t know that he has been crushing on her for more than three years.

yn and heeseung are head to head, practically shooting fire through their eyes at each other. if someone from a distance saw them, they would have thought they were sworn enemies but in reality they were having nothing more than fun.

a couple minutes ago, heeseung decided that it was a good (according to him) idea to play a prank on yn and take her favourite lip balm and hide it from her.

he loved teasing her, it was his love language but yn had enough, she wasn’t going to let this slide, it was her last straw.

before heeseung had run out of the classroom yn had looked everywhere for him, the field, toilets, the gym, canteen, even the janitors room but realising he was nowhere, she was mad mad.

but eventually when she found him in her homeroom peacefully resting, she didn’t let this once in a life opportunity go.

eye to eye, neither of them say a word, the silence could speak for itself. yn’s irritation and heeseung’s pleasure was so evident in the air that none of them dared to speak, until.

“so park yn, you gonna’ fight me or what?” his voice was laced with so much sarcasm yn’s bones were crippling with anger.

“give me my lip balm. right. now.” her response was so demanding it shook heeseung more than it should have, he had never heard her speak in such tone before.

“and what if i said no ... ” at this point heeseung just wanted an excuse to stay with her for longer, just to hear her voice for even just a second more.

heeseung couldn’t remember the moment exactly when he fell in love with his best friend but he knew for sure that he loved no one else but her.

all the times they hung out, all the times they video called, all the times she cried about her exes to him, made him fall deeper and harder than ever.

playing pranks and bothering her was the only way he could express his undying affection for her without him accidentally slipping up.

no other words could describe it when he was with her, it felt like the whole world revolved around her and him, and he selfishly wanted to live in that world.

heeseung thinks of yn as a dream, one he never wanted to wake up from. every moment with her was priceless, timeless and worth an infinity. god, he yearned to drown her compliments and make her feel like the most precious person on earth.

“hello? earth to heeseung?” yn’s sharp voice cuts through his thoughts and bring him back to reality. “these games aren’t funny anymore i just want my balm back, please.” he could hear the pleading in her voice, lord, he was so weak for it— for her.

“but yn guess what?” he’s doing it, and he’s only decided it in the last three seconds, he’s going to tell her.

heeseung inches forward like its normal, until he can hear the little ‘thump’ of her back on the brick wall behind them.

“hee—”

he keeps a finger to her lips and doesn’t let her say another word.

“just listen, please” it’s his nth time trying to confess, he can’t let this chance go to waste, he knows it’ll be perfect, “this may seem rushed or out of the blue but funny enough, i like you, park yn.”

yn is shocked, flabbergasted and surprisingly happy, she doesn’t know how all these emotions are tied together but it just happens. heeseung’s bambi eyes stare at her, waiting patiently for a reaction, and only when she smiles a slight smile at him he continues.

“it’s probably been three years, or more who cares, since i have liked you, god that’s long,” he makes sure to whisper the last bit, “i sometimes wonder if you know how i feel, if you reciprocate my feelings back or if you think about me like i think about you. i can’t express in words how i truly feel about you but all i want is you and me, us, please?”

how could yn say no? how could anyone say no? his hands are nervously behind her back while his mouth is slightly open ans his hair messily parted, he was so handsome.

“funny enough heeseung, my answer is ye—”

before they both knew it, heeseung’s lips were already on yn’s while the hand that once was nervous was now on her hips, secured.

“you like your new lip balm, girlfriend?” heeseung’s once soft voice was now back to it’s teasing tone and all of a sudden her anger was all gone.

“oh yes i do bambi, it’s my new favourite”

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guilty-pleasures21 · 1 day

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Dragon!Miguel - kidnapped!

The main fic turned out much more popular than I expected, so I decided to spoil you guys with a short side story 🤭.

@captain-liminal possible art of Dragon!Miguel x Phoenix!Reader ?

Hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: brief mention of violence.

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

He marched out of the throne room, glad that the meeting had finally ended: now he could fly off to his wife’s kingdom to join her while she visited her family for a few days. She’d left earlier that day, wanting to spend as much time back home as possible, and though he hadn’t liked the idea of sending his wife off alone, he could never say no to her.

“Your Majesty!” A palace guard’s frantic voice broke into his thoughts of his pretty little wife and Miguel frowned as he looked up at the man. But then the guard continued and Miguel’s blood ran cold at his words.

“The Queen!” he exclaimed, slowing to a stop in front of Miguel. “She’s been kidnapped! We have received a ransom letter - from a group of rebel orcs, it would seem. They caught her midway through her flight back-” He broke off suddenly as Miguel flew down the hallway, racing towards the front entrance of the palace. The guard followed after him, calling after his King in a panic, but Miguel refused to slow down.

“Your Majesty!”

“Send an army!” Miguel commanded, calling back to him as he soared away from the palace. His body lengthened into its full dragon form as he climbed higher in the sky, his eyes narrowing into reptilian slits and his skin darkening into deep blue scales. He’d make them pay. He’d make sure there was nothing left of those half-witted, foul-breathed, repugnant monsters once he was through with them.

The orc whom she supposed was the second-in-command snarled at her from between the bars of the cage they’d locked her in.

“Just give us a feather, Princess! Or else we’ll have to let Lumdum take it from ya,” he threatened, prompting a gleeful snicker from his friend.

“Yeah!” Lumdum agreed. “Let me at ‘er! I got a few new fancy tools I been meaning to try out on a pretty little birdie …”

X shuddered as the orc leered at her, his cracked lips stretching wide to reveal patches of missing teeth. She grabbed the bars of her cage and drew her brows together to galre at them in what she hoped was a threatening manner - Miguel always said she looked especially cute whenever she frowned at him like that. But she didn’t want to be cute now: she wanted to be taken seriously!

“You and I both know you will not be getting what you want out of me,” she said, glad that her voice came out steady despite her nerves. “The best you can hope for is to let me go this instant so that my husband might take the smallest shred of mercy on you and not obliterate you into pieces!”

The orcs glanced at one another for a moment. Then they all burst into laughter, bending over and clutching their stomachs at how adorable she looked, wrinkling her nose at them.

“We’ll take our chances, Princess,” the leader - Varbu, she thought she’d heard the others call him - assured her. He started creeping towards her and X moved back to the other end of the cage. She sucked in shallow breaths, trying to stop herself from transforming out of fear - phoenix feathers were one of the most powerful objects next to dragon scales, able to wipe out an entire battlefield’s worth of soldiers if they were set aflame at the right angle, so she didn’t want to give these demented creatures a single opportunity to get one of hers. She whimpered as she pressed herself against the bars, wishing she had even an ounce as much of power as Miguel had - then she could have at least tried to defend herself against these brutes. Her heart thudded in her chest as Varbu’s fat green fingers closed around the iron bars, then the both of them froze as a loud roar echoed throughout the valley. X looked up and a felt wave of relief crash over her as she saw her husband swooping towards her, his deep blue scales glinting in the sunlight, his fiery eyes burning with rage when they landed on her.

He drew a deep breath into his lungs, then released it again, bathing the valley in flames. The orcs scrambled around in a panic, desperately trying to put out the fire eating away at their clothes, but Miguel refused to grant them a second of respite before he staged his attack. He dived lower and picked up one of the orcs to throw him over the mountains, ignoring his terrified screams as he flew through the air to his death. Then he swiped at another with his claws, splitting him open as he batted him into the now scorched forest nearby. He descended on the last one before he even had a chance to blink, closing his jaw around his head and flinging him far out of his reach from his wife.

She transformed into her phoenix form as he released another barrage of flames, allowing the warmth of his fire to heal the injuries she’d sustained when she’d been snatched out of the sky earlier. She cooed happily as her husband made his way over to her, the ground trembling with every step he took. Miguel grabbed hold of the bars and pulled them apart, bending the metal to create a gap for his wife to exit through.

She was so graceful in her phoenix form, stepping out of the wretched cage and arranging her dazzling feathers before she finally looked up at him with those big, beautiful eyes of hers. Miguel relaxed slightly at the sight of her safe before him and grunted softly before lowering his head to nuzzle her affectionately. His wife wriggled against his cheek, delighted to be reunited with him and he sighed at how soft she felt. Dios, she was perfect. He’d never let her out of his sight again.

She stretched her wings as he curled his large body around her and let out another coo to catch his attention. Her husband raised his head in question and she gestured to the sky, eager to get home and see her parents. Miguel snorted in disagreement as he straightened, refusing to let her travel by herself again. Instead, he turned his head to his body, gesturing for her to get on. X rolled her eyes, but flew up to his back anyway, transforming back into her human form and wrapping herself securely around him. He took off into the air once she was comfortable and together, they continued their journey to her parents’ home.

The King and Queen of Risendelle paced back and forth in their throne room, anxiously awaiting any news on their precious daughter. Finally, a palace guard burst through the doors, grabbing both of their attentions.

“Your Majesties!” he exclaimed between shallow breaths. “It is the Dragon King! He is almost here!”

The King and Queen rushed to greet their son-in-law, the both of them holding their breaths as they watched him ascend to the ground. They ran over to him once he’d landed and let out twin sighs of relief when they saw their daughter safe and sound on his back. X slid to the ground and let herself be wrapped up by her parents, hugging them back as tightly as they did her.

“My baby!” the Queen screeched. “Are you all right? Did they … Did they hurt you?!”

“Your brother left as soon as we received the news!” the King informed her before she even had a chance to respond. “He brought some of the army with him, so they should-”

Miguel huffed in interruption, surrounding the three of them in a circle of smoke. He grunted when they all turned to look at him, then shrank back down into his human form. His arms came around his wife almost immediately, pulling her back against his chest and holding her close.

“There’s nothing left of them,” Miguel informed his wife’s father. “The prince may return to spend time with his sister.”

The King reached up and gave his son-in-law’s shoulder a grateful squeeze. “Thank you, son. We appreciate your intervention.”

“My wife-” A growl escaped his throat as he tried to respond and Miguel tightened his grip on X as he took a moment to calm himself down. X brushed her thumbs across the back of his hands where they were clasped around her abdomen and Miguel felt some of the heat dissipate from his body. He cleared his throat and tried again. “My wife is my most precious treasure. I will never let anything happen to her!” His fangs shot out in anger and he let out an involuntary snarl at the thought. The Queen nodded in understanding and brushed a loose strand of X’s hair behind her ear.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she told Miguel, glad that her daughter had found someone so enamoured with her. “Perhaps the two of you would like to get some rest after your journey? We’ll have the maids call you when dinner is ready.”

X twisted her head back to look up at her husband, blinking at him with her curly lashes. Miguel lowered his head to nuzzle the crook of her neck with his nose and she turned back to her mother to place a hand on her forearm.

“We’ll see you at dinner, mother,” she agreed, before walking into the palace. Her husband’s arms stayed glued to her waist as she led them both down the hallway, making her way towards her childhood bedroom. Miguel tugged her back to him once they were alone and bent over to press soft kisses to her skin, his lips making their way up the side of her neck to her cheek. X giggled at the ticklish feeling and turned around to face him, delighting in the feeling of his hard muscles as she placed her hands on his broad chest. She stretched onto her toes to give him a quick kiss, then cupped his face in her hand when she’d lowered herself back to her feet. She brushed her thumb across his cheek and Miguel pouted down at her, allowing himself to be vulnerable enough for her to see the terror that had overcome him at the thought of her being hurt. X wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers making their way into his hair, and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek as she held him close.

He stroked her back gently, focusing on the familiar smoky scent of her to soothe his pounding heart. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, showering her with the occasional kiss as she tickled his scalp softly. Finally, he pulled back and trailed his gaze over her, taking her in and reassuring himself that she was safe. She stretched up to kiss him again and Miguel bent over to repeat the gesture before taking a step back. He shook his arms out and transformed into full dragon form, his large body taking up the entirety of the room. X raised her eyebrows at him in question and he circled her before settling down on the ground, his body curled around her and his head resting on her bed.

She could still feel some leftover adrenaline from her ordeal, but she didn’t want him to panic any more than he already had. So, she sighed and flashed him an exasperated look, her lips curling at the ends with amusement. Miguel gave her a beseeching look in return and she shook her head before transforming into her phoenix form.

He wagged his tail excitedly as she fluttered over to the little nest he’d created for her with his body. She was so beautiful in her creature form, her golden feathers glimmering in the light, her brown eyes wide and alluring, her slender body stretching out so gracefully. He reached over to nuzzle her with his cheek, relishing the feeling of her silky feathers against his scales, then he rested his head back on the bed. He watched quietly as she shifted around, getting herself comfortable. Then she closed her eyes and drifted off into sleep, safe in the knowledge that her husband would protect her. Miguel lifted his head to stroke her feathers again, unable to resist how adorable his pretty little wife was. X opened one eye and cooed at him in irritation, and Miguel gave her one last nuzzle before laying his head back down and quickly falling asleep himself.

The maid knocked on the door to the princess’s bedroom, then gently pushed it open. “Ma’am? Dinner is- Oh!”

She startled as she was met by an enormous dragon filling up the entire space. Miguel opened an eye to look at her, his expression unreadable as he flicked his tail back and forth, waiting for her to speak. The maid gulped and lowered her head before gesturing outside. “T-The … The Queen … D-Dinner … is ready … Your Majesty.”

She snuck a glance at Miguel and he huffed at her request before nodding to his wife, firmly asleep in his embrace. The maid nodded quickly, her eyes widening with understanding.

“O-Oh!” she gasped. “Yes, Your Majesty. I shall inform the Queen that the Princess is still resting.” She fell into a bow as she backed out of the room, staunchly avoiding Miguel’s gaze as she closed the door quietly and left. X wriggled around as she started to awaken and she blinked up at Miguel sleepily before cooing at him in question. Miguel reached over to brush her feathers with his cheek, gently nudging her back to sleep, but she transformed back into her human form instead.

“Miguel? ¿Qué pasó, querido? What time is it?” She patted his nose, then started trying to climb over his tail to get to the door. Miguel transformed back as well and rushed over to grab her waist, turning her around and pulling her against him. His wife laughed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and he sprinkled kisses along her cheek and down the side of her neck.

“Querida …” he whined, not wanting to leave their little cocoon just yet. “Te amo, mi reina.”

“I love you, too, Miguel.” She ran her fingers through his hair, then smiled up at him when he straightened. “But I’m starving, mi amor! Let’s eat!”

54 notes · View notes

miniwheat77 · 7 hours

Text

Slut. (Stepdad!Graves x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, age gap (gap is up to you), slurs, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cheating, virginity loss, virgin!reader, NO MINORS!

“It’s only for a couple months. It’s not ideal for me but she’s really going through it.”

He sighs, crossing his arms as he looks at your mom. “What exactly is she going through? And you know I’ll never say no to that.” He laughs. Your mom sighs. “She broke up with her boyfriend and I guess he started spreading a rumor around their campus and the other college kids really started laying into her. So she’s just taking a break for a while and needs a place to stay.”

He nods his head. “That’s fine. It would be a lot easier if I had ever met the girl.” He laughs. “Yeah. You know how it is though. With her dad and us getting married like 6 months into knowing each other. She didn’t want to be around.” She sighs. “I get it.” He nods. “So when does she come around?” He asks. “She’ll be in tomorrow.”

Phillip nods his head, sipping on his coffee.

This was going to be eventful.

———

It’s about three in the afternoon the following day when your car rolls into the driveway and you’re not exactly what he’d expected. You knock at the door and you seem quiet and shy as your mom opens the door. When you step inside, he stands up and really takes in your appearance. You’re gorgeous but you don’t look anything like your mom which makes him think you take after your dad. He’s never met him, so he’ll never know.

Your eyes are soft yet piercing at the same time and your hair frames your face. You’re beautiful. He gives a smile and introduces himself, shaking your hand. “Hi. I’m Phillip, it’s nice to finally meet you.” You smile up at him, eyes avoiding eye contact.

Your mom shows you up to a spare room, and this is going to be his life now. Once she finishes showing you the room, you’re up there unpacking for a while.

“She.. is different.” Your mom opens up to Phillip later on in the night. They’re getting ready for bed. You’ve been in your room for a few hours now, it’s been nothing but silent.

“What do you mean?”

“She just.. she’s so quiet and coy now. And that was never like her before. When she went off to college I thought for sure she was going to be kicked out within the first week.” She sighs. “I’m sure she’s just growing up.” He shrugs. “No.. it’s definitely not that. Whatever those kids did to her there.. it really messed her up.” Your mom seems distraught.

“Look, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Give it a couple months and I’m sure she’ll be back to her normal self in no time.” He smiles.

———

You don’t spend much time around them. You spend hours and hours in your room or out of the house. They don’t pry too much because you’re an adult after all. It’s almost like you’re not even there. Which is ideal, he imagines. But it’s weird.

During your first week, your mom learns she has to go on a business trip for training a couple hours away, which makes Phillip nervous. She imagines it’ll be good time for the both of you to bond, asks him to take you out to dinner and try to get you to open up. He doesn’t know how to feel but says he’ll try. Although he doesn’t think he actually will. He doesn’t want to bother you.

When she leaves, he takes it as an opportunity.

He invites you down for dinner of course, and for a couple of days, you actually do join him. One of these times he chooses to corner you.

“So. What brought you home from college? Your mom said there was something about a boy.” He sees the way you tense up, and get worried. He shouldn’t have come on so strong. “I.. sorry. That was rude of me. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want, your mom is just really worried about you.” He mumbles.

You swallow hard and look down at the table in front of you. “Uh..” you hesitate. “Well. I had a boyfriend and some stuff happened. And when we first got together I was young and stupid and sent him pictures I shouldn’t have and when we broke up, he sent them around to people and they spread to most of the people at my college. So they were just..” you swallow hard. “Calling me names. Like a slut and whatever.” You breathe. “Didn’t your mom ever have that talk with you? To not send stuff like that around?” He asks. You look up at him. “No?”

He looks confused. “Really?”

“I.. don’t want to be that person, but my mom was never there for me.”

He’s confused. Your mom had made it seem like she was such an active part of your life, hearing this was foreign. “I had no idea. She made it sound like you two were really close.”

You shake your head. “No.. she struggled with alcohol so I lived with my dad. And he wasn’t always the greatest. So no.. nobody really taught me much. But I found out. Unfortunately it was the hard way.” You mumble. “I was reluctant to come here but.. I appreciate you giving me a place to stay Phillip. You seem like a good guy.” You smile, only locking eyes with him for a couple seconds before excusing yourself from the table. He wonders why your mom would lie about being a good mother.

It’s a couple days later when Phillip royally fucks up.

He’s got a couple friends over, he tells you about it before he invites them. You obviously say it’s his house he can do whatever he wants.

They’ve been over a few hours now, they’re watching football and drinking beer. Maybe he’d had a little too much to drink.

He goes to put some laundry away because he hears the dryer beeping that the clothes are done. He knows how pissed your mom will be if he forgets to do laundry while she’s out.

He’s passing by the kitchen to run the clean clothes into the living room, dropping articles of clothing as he walks. He sets them down on the couch to deal with later. He’s too drunk to care about it. He picks up the other clothes he dropped and throws them onto the pile, than sits down. He picks up his beer again, but one of his friends notices something on top of the pile of clothes.

He tucks his finger under the lacy panties, lifting it up. He moves it back and fourth. “This your wife’s?” He chuckles. Phillip laughs. “Nah, not a chance in hell.”

“Must belong to that sexy little step daughter of yours than, ah?”

Phillip scoffs, shaking his head. Groaning when his friend throws them on him.

“Y/N! Come here!” He yells. It startles you in your room and you stand up in a hurry, making your way down the stairs and into the living room. You’re worried it’s something serious but when you step into the living room, you freeze when all eyes are on you. “These belong to you?” He smirks. Raising up the pair of panties that must’ve gotten mixed up in your laundry. “Uh- y-yes.“ you hesitate. He tosses them at you. You catch them. “Maybe you should be more careful about where you’re leaving things like that, yeah? I mean I know people already call you a slut but you don’t want to start acting like one here too.” He smirks. Your heart falls right into your stomach and he can see the pain fill your doe eyes as you look back at him.

“Y-yes sir.” You swallow the lump in your throat. Turning away and rushing back up the stairs, hearing his friends laugh at you as you hurry away. Tears fill your eyes and you barely hold them back until the door is closed.

The moment it’s latched and locked, tears spill over your eyelids.

You were so stupid to get yourself into this situation.

———

Phillip wakes up on the couch, his head is pounding.

He’s still in his clothes from the day before and he groans out. His eyes glances over to the pile of unfolded laundry, his friends have all left. He sits up, trying to remember any of the events that happened the night before. Something feels off. He rubs his eyes, groaning as he stands up from the couch.

He stands up, starting to clean up the mess they’d made the day before. Walking into the kitchen to dig out an energy drink he’d left in there. Once he’s got all the trash, bottles, and dishes up. He makes his way to the pile of laundry. He starts to fold them, stacking them up and when his fingers glide over the lace hem of a tank top, he freezes.

His blood runs cold when the memories come flooding in all at once.

His friend picking up the panties, him calling you downstairs. What he had said to you. He drops the clothes and hurries up the stairs, he needed to apologize immediately.

He knocks at your door, but doesn’t get an answer. “Y/N?” He asks. He hopes you’re inside.

No reply. He tries the door handle and to his surprise, it opens up.

You’re not inside anywhere. But he sees your duffel bag is half packed again. He notices some of your items laid out on your bed, including your phone. Along with a ripped makeup bag. That must be where you went. To get a new one.

To continue to pack your things again.

So you could leave.

Phillip feels like the biggest prick in the world, why would he have even said that to you? What the hell was wrong with him?

He wonders why you’d left your phone.

He wanders in and picks it up, opening it up. He’s surprised when there’s no passcode on it. He opens it right up and he knows it’s not his place to be going through it, but he does.

He goes right to your messages, he wonders if you told your mom about what he had said. He doesn’t see her conversation for a few names down. The first messages he notices are from someone named Dylan. He remembers hearing about him before, thinking he must be your old boyfriend. He opens up the chat which makes him realize this was a mistake.

There’s about a hundred messages of him calling you names. All kinds of names under the sun, most of them being along the lines of a slut or whore. He sees the photos you had sent when you first met him in college. The photos make him sick, your face isn’t in them and they’re not entirely nude. That doesn’t change anything. He backs out of the conversation and sees many others from people you were going to college with. They’re harassing you nonstop and you even receive a few messages while he’s going through it. All slurs.

He goes to the conversation you’d had with your mom. And what he finds, he’s not too happy with.

He finds out that this has been going on for far longer than he thought, and that your mom had actually turned you down for the first few months. Saying that her and Phillip had no room for you and that you’d just have to tough it out, and before that. She had only messaged you maybe twice on your birthdays the few years previously. Other than that, nothing.

It makes Phillip realize the kind of mom she’d really been to you. And that you hadn’t made any of it up. That she really was an absent mom.

“What are you doing?”

You startle him. He quickly closes your phone, standing up from where he had sat on your bed. “I- I just-“ he takes a deep breath. “I came up here to see if you were here.” He starts. You cross your arms, avoiding his gaze. “Listen.. what I said last night Y/N. I was being a fucking idiot and I was just-“

“It’s fine.” You interrupt him. “It’s not fine. What I did was so fucked up, and I’m so sorry Y/N.” He sighs. “And.. this?” He holds up your phone. “It’s mine until further notice.”

“What?” Your eyes widen. “Listen to me.” He sighs. “What’s in this phone? Is a crime. And you and I are going to go on a road trip so that I can take care of this for you. Understand?”

“I don’t need you to do that.” You avoid his eyes. “Of course you don’t. But I’m going to. So please. If you’ll bring your bag with a change of clothes. We’re leaving in 15.” He sighs. Passing you to leave.

Your college was a few hours away.

When he comes back a few minutes later, your bag is packed. “Listen, Phillip. I’m going to go stay with a couple friends a few hours away. I don’t want to do any of this anymore-“

He shakes his head. “Listen sweetheart. I know you’re not mine, but I’m not letting this go. We’re taking care of this. Now come on.” He nods his head for you to follow him. You sigh. He grasps your duffel bag, carrying it down the stairs and out to his truck, making sure to lock the door behind the both of you. He doesn’t tell your mom where he’s going, to be honest he’s kind of pissed at her anyways.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you don’t deserve this. And these fucking assholes that are sending you this shit deserve some repercussions for the way they’re acting.”

“You.. do realize you said exactly what they’re saying about me… right?”

The words sting a bit. “I don’t think that about you. I was just.. being stupid.” He sighs.

The entire car ride is mostly silent.

He’s the one who finally breaks the silence. “The photos. How old were you when you sent them to him?” He asks. You shrug. “I don’t know. Eighteen or something.”

“Did you have sex with him?”

You turn to look at him. “No!” Your eyes are wide. “So why’d you send the pictures?”

“Because he wouldn’t leave me alone.” You sigh. “I don’t understand why they’re calling you a slut if you literally sent your boyfriend photos. Personally.” He sighs. He picks up his energy drink from the cup holder and takes a drink.

“I’m just as stumped as you, cause I’ve never even had sex.” You mumble.

He presses the breaks a little too hard, sputtering on the drink. He coughs violently, seeing you look at him in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“You’re a virgin?”

“Uh… yeah.” You mumble.

“Jesus H- ugh.” He growls.

“Y/N. I’m sorry sweetheart.” He sighs. “I feel so much worse now knowing that. I mean.. Jesus Christ.”

The rest of the drive is quiet, mostly him wiping the energy drink off of himself and his steering wheel.

You reach the campus after those 3 long hours and he pulls up. It’s the middle of the day.

As you approach the doors to the entrance, you’re getting so many stares. “Phillip…” you mumble. “I know. Just keep walking okay?” He mumbles, pulling you closer to him. He’s wearing his military attire, everything but the vest and head gear. It has his name and branch on the front. He’s official.

You sigh. He walks inside, walking right up to the front desk. You’re following close behind him. “Y/N. Back so soon?” She smiles. “Yeah, actually I was wondering who I would speak to about some issues she’s been having with some of the other students.” Phillip talks for you. “Oh.. uh. Right this way.” She smiles. She leads the both of you into the office of someone very important, you can tell by the sheer size of the office. You feel like a little girl following her dad in so he can scold the principal.

“Hi. Take a seat. How can I help you?” He smiles.

“Ah, so you’re the person I’m looking for.” Phillip smiles. “So.. to make a long story short, Y/N and her boyfriend split up and he got mad. So he leaked some photos that she had sent him, that’s not really my issue. I’ll pursue further legal action with him. But a couple of other students who don’t know Y/N managed to get her phone number and have been nonstop harassing her since it happened. I have her phone here.” He slides it over to him. “What.. uh. I’m sorry.” He pauses. “What do you want me to do exactly?”

“Y/N, sweetheart. Will you step out into the hallway for a moment please?” Phillip smiles. You nod your head, standing up and exiting through the door. You take a seat in the chair just outside the door.

“I don’t think we’ve met. My name is Phillip Graves. More specifically Commander Phillip Graves. And I really hope this meeting goes the correct way because if it doesn’t, there will be hell to pay. You have their names and phone numbers and I expect this to be taken care of before I sue the holy hell out of this place, and with my standing, I will not lose. Do I make myself clear?”

The man gulps on the other side of the table. Realizing the severity of the situation he’s in. “Y-yeah. Of course. I’ll get them taken care of, may I write down their names and phone numbers?”

“Of course. And before you deal with Dylan, I’d like to speak with him myself, thank you. It was nice meeting you.” He smiles, reaching his hand across his desk for a very firm handshake. Once he’s done taking down their numbers, Phillip exits the office. He smiles when he sees you and helps you up from your chair, leading you out. “Let’s go find a hotel room for the night, yeah?” He smiles.

He leads you back out the school. Walking as if he hasn’t just raised hell in there.

———

Phillip has your phone in hand. He’s sent Dylan a text. It’s wrong of course. How he’s pretending to be you.

Hey. Can we please meet up and talk?

Phillip is sitting about a block away from the bus stop, where he’d asked him to meet. He sees him approaching, once he reaches it, he sits down on the bench. He looks around for you, not seeing you. This is when Phillip goes in for the kill. He makes his way toward the bus stop, Dylan sees him and gets uneasy.

“You must be Dylan.”

“What is this?” He asks, standing up from the bench. He’s trying to look tough.

“I’m Phillip.” He smiles. “What’s going on?”

“I’m Y/N’s step dad.”

He scoffs. “What, the military freak? She sent you?” He turns just slightly to walk away. “She’s probably fucking you too huh? Slut.”

Phillip swings and hits Dylan with a right hook, sending him back. Before he can hit the ground, he steadies him by grabbing his shoulder and punching him in the stomach as hard as he can. He hears Dylan cough and sputter.

“I saw the messages you’ve sent her. Along with your little friends.” He yanks him up by the back of his collar.

“Now listen to me, yeah?” Phillip is seething. “You’re gonna leave Y/N alone. If I see even one message from you or any of your friends, I will bury you and your mom won’t even know where to begin looking. You better spread the word. You leave her alone or so help me god…” he breathes. He’s pissed. “Okay! Okay- please just let me go!” He breathes. Phillip takes one last swing and knocks him back. His back hitting the ground with a thud. He shakes the pain out of his fist. “I hope you remember this the next time you want to leak nude photos of someone.��

Phillip walks away. Leaving him there on the ground.

———

The following day, he gets the call that at least 7 students have been expelled entirely from the college. Including Dylan. An announcement being made about a zero tolerance for bullying and harassment. It’s going to save your college experience from there on out.

He’s got a hold of your phone for now, and you notice as he drives home that his knuckles are completely torn to shreds. It makes you think that maybe when he’d gone out to get ice the night before, that maybe he wasn’t really getting any ice.

You’re not sure what the feeling is in your gut. His tight white t-shirt and blue jeans. His split knuckles from what you hope was him beating the holy hell out of dylan and how you would’ve loved to have seen it for yourself. Your step dad pummeling him.

You can’t help but clench your thighs together. What were you thinking?

“You know.. I know you’re not mine. And I don’t have any kids. But if you ever need anything at all, don’t be afraid to ask. I don’t have all the answers but I grew up with sisters and I know some stuff.” He looks at you. You turn to look at him.

Your eyes shine under the sun. Your doe eyes looking up at him.

He gets a feeling in his gut that he can’t shake. He shouldn’t be feeling like this.

“Thank you, Phillip. But I’ll be alright. If I ever need anything, I’ll be sure to ask.” You smile.

He smiles. “I think I’ve learned my lesson.” You mumble. He sighs. “Hey. This wasn’t supposed to be a lesson. It’s not your fault that people are assholes.” You giggle. “Besides. Your mom is supposed to be there to help you with this kind’ve thing.” You shrug. “Yeah.. unfortunately I don’t have that.” You mumble. “She’ll always be the victim, you know?” You turn to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“No matter what story. Who was the aggressor, it doesn’t matter if she’s said the most unkind things in the world. She’ll always play the victim.” You rest your arm on the center console. He sighs. “Yeah. I’m realizing that.”

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to marry someone you just met?” You smirk. “Uh yeah. Actually she did. It’s not her fault I didn’t listen.” He laughs, nudging you with his elbow. You laugh. You liked Phillip. He was a good man.

When he’s not drinking anyways.

———

“It was nice of you to do that for her Phillip, but she’s a big girl. She can fight her own battles.”

They’re the first words out of your mom’s mouth, and it really gets under his skin. He didn’t tell her everything. Not about how he’d beat up Dylan or threatened to sue if actions weren’t taken.

“You know. When I went through her phone, I saw the messages between the both of you.” He pauses. Taking in a deep breath. “I have to say I was pretty shocked. I only saw a couple happy birthday messages. Not “how are you?” Not “when are you going to visit?” No “I miss you” nothing.” He looks at her. She pauses, turning to look at him. “What are you saying?”

“It’s just weird. You made yourself out to be this super supportive mom who was always there for her daughter. And you turned her down for months while this was going on. And for what? Nothing?”

She groans. “Phillip. Are we really going to do this? Sometimes I just don’t have the mental capacity to deal with Y/N. She’s an adult.”

He shakes his head. “You make it seem like she doesn’t handle her own issues. When to me, it seems like she’s been fighting her own battles her whole life. No thanks to you.”

When the words leave his mouth, she’s fuming. “You know, I knew this was going to happen when I told her she could stay here.” She growls. “What are you talking about?” He’s confused. “She ruins everything. She’s like a tornado, everywhere she goes she ruins everything.” He scoffs. “This isn’t her fault.” He shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.” He mumbles. She starts gathering her items into a small bag. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stay with a friend for tonight. I can’t deal with this.”

He laughs. “I’m starting to think you’re not who you say you are.”

Those words make her pause.

She looks up at him.

“I want a divorce.” She blurts the words out before she can even process them herself.

“You got it, honey.”

This only pisses her off further, she picks the bag up and leaves.

You’re coming up the stairs as she’s going down them, slamming right into her. “Oh- sorry mom!” You step to the side. “You should be sorry. You ruin everything.”

He hears this, going down the stairs. She rushes down them, you follow after her. “What? What’s going on?”

“You ruin everything. You’ve been here a week and you’ve already destroyed my marriage. If you weren’t a slut, we wouldn’t even be doing this!” Your eyes widen at her words. She slams the door behind herself. He groans. “Look.. she’s just mad alright? She doesn’t mean it.” He sighs. “What happened?”

“I just.. we got into a fight.” He sighs. “Everything will be fine by tomorrow alright? I’m gonna go after her.”

And just like that, you’re alone.

You sigh.

As much as you hated it, she was right.

You ruined absolutely everything you crossed paths with. You only met Phillip a week ago and things have already changed so much.

Every single person around you called you names. When you didn’t do anything to deserve it. You made your way up the stairs and gathered all of your belongings. Shoving everything into that same duffel bag, once again. You made sure you had all of it, tidying up the room. Neater than the way you found it. You made your way downstairs and out to your car, throwing the bag in the back seat and climbing into the front. You know there’s a lake across town, it’s dark and probably not the best idea, but you drive there anyways. You park in the parking lot and lock your car behind you, making your way out onto the dock. Sitting down and letting your feet dangle just above the water. You wish Phillip hadn’t taken your phone.

Phillip follows your mom, wondering where she’ll end up. He has a good feeling where she’s going isn’t going to be good.

He sees her pull into the driveway, a man coming out onto the front porch. Greeting her with a hug. He wonders who it is, until she leans in for a kiss.

He drives past, circling the block to get back to you. He can’t save his marriage but he can save his relationship with you. Step daughter or not, he cares about you. He sees your car is gone, rushing inside to see that all of your things are gone. He’s defeated. He would just have to look for you.

He leaves the house, making sure to lock the door behind himself. He would take care of everything later. He just needs to get to you.

He doesn’t know where to look. He doesn’t know if you’ll get a hotel, so he drives past a few. But doesn’t see your car. He’s about to give up when he passes by the sign, that the lake is only 10 miles out. It’s a shot in the dark, but he takes it anyways. Those 10 miles feel like hours, and when he sees your car in the parking lot, relief flows over him.

He parks next to your car, climbing out. He doesn’t see you inside. Wondering where you’ve gone, when he sees your shadow on the dock.

He makes his way out to you, slow. He doesn’t want to startle you.

“Shouldn’t be out this late.” He mumbles.

You don’t move. “Nowhere else in the world to go.” You sigh. He moves to sit next to you. “Why are you here?” You turn to him. “Well. You’re upset, and I care about you.”

“My mom was upset too.”

“Yeah well. She’s preoccupied. Getting comforted by another guy.” Your eyes widen.

“I’m sorry..” you breathe. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” He laughs.

“I should’ve never come here.”

He laughs. “I’m glad you did. Because you might’ve just saved me a lot of wasted time.” He smiles. “You know.. what she said to you..” he sighs. “It’s not true. You’re not a slut.” You look down at your hands. “I’ve heard it so much these last few months.” You laugh. “I swear, people just hate me. She’s right, I do ruin everything. I don’t know why. I try so hard to fit in and please people. But I always fall short. Sometimes I wonder if the world would be better off if I was dead.”

He shakes his head. “No. It wouldn’t,”

He swallows hard. “Honestly, I think you’d be so much better off if you just told people to fuck off every once in a while.”

You turn to look at him. “I’m serious. You can’t please everyone, if people can’t be nice to you, or like you for you, they can fuck off.” You can’t help but laugh. “You’re a good girl. You’re nice, you’re funny. You’re fucking stunning. I mean seriously, people are lucky to have you around and it’s not your fault that they choose to ignore it.”

“You’re so full of shit.” You laugh.

He laughs, shaking his head. “You gave no idea. That stupid boyfriend of yours really fucked up. He fucking fumbled a good girl. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll regret it.”

“Judging by your knuckles, I think he’ll regret it sooner than later.” You glance in his direction. He doesn’t see you very well but he can. He snorts. “Asshole had it coming.”

“I think you’re a good person, Phillip. I think that my mom didn’t know what she had.” You look up at him. “You might’ve implied I was a slut but at least you weren’t sober when you said it.” You look away. He sighs. “Yeah, I wish I could throw a punch at myself every once in a while.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s not true. I was being a prick.” He sighs.

You snort. "Of course it's true. Virgins can't be sluts." You laugh. He can feel crimson creeping up his cheeks at your comment.

He raises his feet up onto the dock, untying his shoes and sliding them off. Taking his socks off. “What are you doing?” You ask. “It’s hot tonight. Gonna test the water out.” He smirks. He tugs his shirt off, you can see how toned he is. With his job, he’s really fit. You turn away, swallowing hard. He slides into the water, a slight gasp leaving his lips. “You’re crazy.” You laugh. He takes in a sharp breath. "It's not bad. Get in." He smiles. "No way!" You shake your head. "Oh come on. It's no bad once you get used to it." He laughs. He's moving his hand back and fourth to keep himself afloat. You shake your head. "Is this even allowed?" You ask. "Course it is. People do it all the time." You shake your head. “Get in or I’m gonna splash you.” He smirks. “No!” You stand up, backing away from the edge of the dock. “Oh come on, I’m not actually gonna do it.” He laughs. He lowers himself down into the water, disappearing under the surface for a minute before coming back out. He shakes his now soaked hair. You can feel that same weird feeling building in your gut.

He makes you feel so weird, feelings you’ve never felt before.

“Don’t make me a loner sweetheart.” He pouts.

You roll your eyes reaching for your shoes. He laughs, “Atta girl.”

You swallow hard, trying not to go stiff at his words. Once you have your shoes off, you slide your foot into the water. He’ right, it’s not so bad. You slide in, when the water engulfs you, you let out a gasp. He laughs at you. “There we go! See? Not so bad.” He laughs.

“Uh.. Phillip?” You ask. Noticing headlights in the distance. They’re pulling into the parking lot. “Well. That’s not good.” He laughs. “What?” You look nervous. “I thought you said this was okay?” You ask. “Uhhh. Yeah. I lied. Come here!” He grasps your shirt, tugging you along. “Deep breath.” He goes under the water, pulling you underneath the dock, you can barely see through the cracks of them. You hear the tires of the car on the asphalt. He presses his fingers to his lips to silently shush you. You look him in the eyes, looking up at the dock. You hear a car door slam. “Are you sure it’s his truck?”

“Yes!” She shrieks. “And her car!” It’s your mom. How did they know you were here?”

“Look. Let’s just go alright? We’ll come back into town tomorrow and deal with it. The wood of the dock creaks above you. She’s walking out onto it. “Where are they?” She growls. “I saw his truck drive by when you got to my house earlier. He slowed down.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Maybe he knows. Thats why he came here.”

She sighs. “Whatever. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” She growls. “Let’s go.”

They’re leaving town, that’s how she seen his truck. He notices something out of the corner of his eye, something falling into the water beside the dock. Something cloth. “Shit.” He hears the man mumble. He grasps hold of you, pulling you into him. Clamping a hand over your mouth to stop the gasp. He leans over the edge of the dock to grab it. Phillip takes a deep breath when he hears their footsteps leaving. Their car doors close and he hears them driving away.

“Shit.. that was close.” He laughs. He draws his hand away, moving away from you. He slides out from under the dock and you follow after him. “Can I ask you something?” You mumble. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Does losing your virginity hurt as bad as everyone says it does?” His eyes widen slightly at your question.

He clears his throat. “Uh.. well.” He swallows hard. “It hurts for women, it doesn’t hurt for guys. But… I think the experience is different depending on the person.” Phillip knows the bare minimum. “Some people tear and bleed and others just.. stretch and it’s just uncomfortable for a minute.” You nod your head. “What does it feel like?” You look up at him. Arms swaying back and forth in the water to keep yourself afloat. “It’s really good. I mean- after the first time for you obviously. It will feel better.” He mumbles. “But the way it feels is unmatched. I can’t even compare it to anything because it’s good.” He shrugs. “Have you not ever… tried for yourself?”

Your eyes widen, shaking your head. “No- no. I don’t even know where to begin.” You mumble. He laughs. “Well. Sex is better than anything you can do for yourself but it still feels good.”

You haven’t noticed, but he’s crept closer. The water pushes him into you slightly.

The tension is thick in the air, and Phillip doesn’t miss the way your eyes glow in the moonlight. That look in your eyes. You had it when he was driving you back from your campus.

“What’s got you so curious?” He moves even closer. “I don’t know.” You mumble. “Just.. with everything going on.” You laugh. Shaking your head. “You don’t have to be in a rush just because of what some assholes say to you.”

“Yeah- I know that. There’s just this one asshole who kind’ve changed my whole life around in like a week of knowing him.” He smirks. “Ohhh. It’s like that?” His smile is sly and it makes you roll your eyes. “Hey- Cmere.” He reaches out. His hand slides around your hip and you stiffen up. “No need to be nervous, wrap your legs are me. I’ll hold you up.” He draws you even closer and you don’t miss the way you rest on him. You wrap your legs around his back, the way your body presses up against his has you shivering. “Cold?”

You nod your head. “Little bit.” You mumble. “You know you’ve changed my life a lot too.” He laughs. “You made me realize what a mistake I’ve made.” You laugh. “Those weren’t my intentions.” You mumble. “No, but it was needed. And honestly because of you, I think it was worth it. Cause you’re a sweet girl.” He laughs. You look down. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know why people don’t see what I see.” He mumbles. “What do you mean?”

“Just.. everyone is so mean to you. I just don’t get it because you’re so sweet.” He mumbles. You stare at him, eyes burning into his.

He’s right. Everyone is mean to you. Your own mom is worse than anyone else.

And that’s why you’re here with her husband and she’s off with some other guy. She doesn’t deserve Phillip. And the way he’s looking at you, maybe it’s time you were selfish.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip. You can feel him getting hard from where your center meets his. You lower your hand, sliding it between the both of you, gliding up the expanse of his erection and he gulps. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his, feeling him groan into your lips as you press your hand into him. His jeans are wet and they stick to him. Hugging him. “Shit-“ he hisses. His teeth are gritted as you rub your hand over him, palming him. “This isn’t a good idea.” He breathes. “No, it’s a horrible idea.” You breathe. He tugs you closer, your center pressing up against his hard cock. He can feel you melt into him. Shit, you’re into this.

You hold onto him tight, grinding your hips up into him. Whining out at the friction you feel against your nub. It’s minimal but it’s enough to drive you crazy.

He kisses you again.

He’s got a hand on the back of your neck, you can hear the water moving.

He’s moving you to shore.

It’s tough to walk out of the water, his legs feel like jello. He doesn’t even get you all the way to shore before he’s laying you down on the gravel shore. You don’t care how dirty you’ll be. Or how the rocks dig into you. His lips seem to be the only warm thing about him. His hands are cold as they pin your wrists above your head. He hovers over you, kissing you like he’s never kissed a woman before. He’s animalistic almost.

“Phillip-“ you pant. “Yeah?”

“I want you to fuck me.” You mewl, eyes nearly glowing as you look up at him. “But… you’re a-“

“I don’t care.” You breathe. “Are you sure?” He’s breathless too.

You nod your head and he’s so blinded by the lust that he feels for you, he doesn’t need your reassurance. It’s a struggle to get his cock through the zipper on his jeans. They’re sticking to him because they’re so wet. His cock is rock hard, blushing red even though neither of you can see it. You could feel him through his jeans earlier, he’s definitely going to hurt you. But you want him to.

You’re thankful you had shorts on, he pulls them to the side with ease. Spit isn’t lube but it’s all he’s got. And he’s not going to miss this opportunity. You’re here, and you’re ready for him. The moon is disappearing and the sun is starting to rise. It’s that late?

He sits up on his knees, spitting between the both of you. The glob of his saliva makes you jump, it’s warm on your opening. He uses the tip of his cock to slick up your entrance. Pressing the tip between your folds. You gasp, sitting up slightly. “S’alright darling.” He leans back slightly. “You wanna watch?” He breathes. He’s turned on, a different side of Phillip you hadn’t seen before, obviously. His heart thumps in his chest and his eyes are glossed over. Lips and cheeks blushing a shade of pink. Somehow you can still see it. The glare of the remaining moonlight off of the water seems to help. You can’t see well but can see his cock sliding into you.

You wince as he slides further into you, watching him disappear. You gasp as he bottoms out, his thighs press against yours and he’s resting his hands on them. “Shit. You’re doing so good. You’re taking me so well.” He breathes. He slides back, thrusting back in. You hiss, jumping slightly. “It’s okay. I know you’re hurting but you’re doing so good.” He pushes your thighs further apart. He starts slow, hips moving slow into you. Letting you get used to him stretching you out. He picks up the pace as you get used to him. Pretty soon, you’re panting as he fucks into you.

When you’re used to him, you wiggle your hips lower and raise your thighs up, holding them. You wrap your arms under the bends of your knees and give him complete access to your pussy. It’s sexy, and he moves closer, raising himself up and fucking into you at a much faster pace. He can feel your walls throbbing around him and you’re letting out small sounds. It worries him for a second but than you let out a gasp as he adjusts, and just like that’s he’s found it. That sweet spot.

He’ll have you falling apart in no time.

He grits his teeth, stopping to readjust and line himself back up with that spot inside of you. When he finds it again, he fucks you hard. Snapping your hips into yours, cock pressing right up against that spot.

It’s wet from your clothes and the squelch from him sliding into your wet hole is loud. You’re getting louder, moans uncontrollable as he ruins you. Abusing the sweet spot inside of you. You’re tight around him, dragging an orgasm out of him faster than ever before. This is by far the best sex Phillip has ever had. But as the sun rises, he knows there will be other people showing up for a day on the lake. “Phillip!” You gasp. Your thighs shake and your bottom lip quivers. “I know baby- I know it’s a lot. Just relax.” He breathes. He looks down at you, water dripping from his nose and the tips of his hair as he looks down at you. You shake as he keeps hitting that spot, right on. Over and over. You’re not going to last.

You cry out when you cum, and he doesn’t even stop you. Doesn’t quiet you or hush you. He lets you cry for him, nearly sobbing as your high washes over you. The cold water splashing over your feet is what brings you back down, tears spilling from your eyes. He overstimulates you as he keeps going. Harder than before as he uses you to cum. He’s nearly growling, his grip on you is tight and bruising and he can’t keep it together, eyes rolling back as he cums. Your eyes widen, he’s not wearing a condom and he doesn’t pull out. His warm cum fills you up, and he fucks you through his high before he halts his thrusts.

“Fuck- fuck.” He sighs. His chest rises and falls, heart pounding in his chest. His cock is sensitive and pulsing from his orgasm. “Sorry- I got too into it.” He breathes. “It’s okay.” You sigh.

“I got too carried away. You okay?” He asks. You nod your head. “I feel like such an asshole.” He laughs, he tucks himself away, adjusting your shorts for you. “I should’ve checked more. Did I hurt you?” He helps you up. “No- no I’m okay.” You laugh. Your legs are shaky as you stand there and he feels bad. This probably isn’t how you wanted to lose your virginity. “Hey. Meet me back at the house okay? Let me take care of you.” He breathes. You nod your head. Trying to hide your gasp when you feel his warmth spilling out between your thighs.

“I’ll run and get you something for that too..” he sighs. “I can do that before we meet back at the house, I have clothes inside my car.” You mumble. “You sure?” You nod your head. You make the awkward walk back to your cars. You get inside and he closes your door for you, moving toward his truck. You tell him when he leaves you’ll change your clothes really quickly in the back seat. He nods his head. “I’ll have the shower ready for you. You’re freezing.” He laughs. You smile.

He gets inside his truck and pulls out of the parking lot, and when his truck is gone, you hurry to change your clothes. When you have dry clothes on, you hesitate.

You think about not getting anything.

If you were such a slut, maybe you shouldn’t. Your mom thinks you’re so bad. Maybe you should get knocked up by her husband and see how she feels.

You shake your head. You shouldn’t.

You throw the car into drive, biting back a smirk as you feel his slick between your thighs still. You can’t help but stare at the shoreline where you’d lost your virginity as you pull out of the parking lot. Your head is buzzing, skin seeming hot where he’d touched you.

You’d have to decide on your way home. Should you stop at a store or not?

#call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #mw2 smut #graves x y/n #graves smut #graves cod #phillip graves #graves x reader #cod mw3

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drabblesandimagines · 2 days

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Materia Pops

Vincent Valentine x reader Fluffy nonsense, potential for minor spoilers depending on your knowledge of the FFVII compilation, and Vincent is def out of character at this point in the game but let me dream...

Costa del Sol seems stiflingly hot this visit round, though maybe that’s more due to the manner in which you’d arrived, frazzled and somewhat flustered from the events over the past few days – surviving the trials of Hojo’s laboratory, followed by the Tiny Bronco making a crash landing and then Cid rejigging the craft into a boat to make it back to the beach resort.

It had been hectic and frightening, meaning you were given little opportunity to converse with the newest member of your ragtag crew, one Vincent Valentine, after a more than questionable introduction.

It had all happened so fast – the so-called security guard transforming into a hulking beast, leaving your party with more than a fair number of bruises and abrasions as you fought. The noises were sickening as he had returned back to his body – bones cracking, splintering in all direction, accompanied by pained grunts as he lay catching his breath upon the floor.

Cait Sith had approached, cautiously, saying something about how Vincent was a former Turk and had some history with Sephiroth.

You’d watched as he struggled to get up to his feet, limping back towards his sanctum. You don’t know exactly why you rushed forward when he stumbled, trying to steady him by his elbow. You felt his arm tense under your fingers, before his eyes flashed red and he yanked himself free from your touch with such ferocity, sending you crashing on your tailbone on the concrete floor. Only a second later, Barret’s gun arm cocked behind you, swiftly followed by a gust of air as Cloud readied his sword in retaliation.

You stumble back up to your feet with a poorly concealed wince, holding your hands aloft. “Sorry. I just-”

Vincent lurched forward, resting his cheek against the wooden door to catch his breath before he growled out an order.

“Get out… now.”

It was a complete surprise when he had boarded the plane hours later, after you’d downed a couple of potions and replenished your supplies within Nibelheim itself, somewhat thankful to say goodbye to the odd town. Vincent had made his way to the very back of the plane, giving a polite nod as he sat opposite, legs swiftly crossed, eyes cast down upon his lap.

Every once in a while, you swore his gaze fixed on you – a prickling feeling upon your scalp, though you’d never caught him looking, his chin tucked back under his collar so you couldn’t see the unspoken words on his lips.

Vincent had offered you a gloved hand when you’d hesitated, looking at the gap between the boat and the dock, worried you might fall by how big of a step it needed to be.

You’d taken it without hesitation and he’d pulled you up with ease, immediately releasing his grip once he seemed confident you were on safer footing.

“Thank you-” But he’d already turned and started to walk towards the ramp at an impressive speed.

The rest of the group seemed content to split up whilst Cid hung back to continue tinkering with the Bronco to make sure it could make the next part of its journey.

No-one was changing into beachwear at least – it didn’t feel right to truly relax, ready to set off again as soon as possible, but you decide you can at least wander the streets again, deciding to forego the segway this time.

“Beat the heat with this magical treat!” The vendor yells from his cart as you approach. “Materia pops have arrived in Costa del Sol…”

The small board positioned besides the cart shows iced globes upon sticks – all different flavours. It did look refreshing, especially as the sun bared down upon you.

You pull out your gil pouch, only to find it disappointingly empty. Of course, you’d spent the last of yours on potions and whatnot back at Nibelheim.

The vendor had already spotted you, beckoning you closer. “What will it be?”

“Ah, sorry… Gil’s a little light.” You apologise with a polite smile, putting your pouch back. “Maybe next time.”

You hurry away, deciding to head down to the shaded seats by the Card Carnival. You could spectate any matches going on down there and get out of the blazing heat – probably could even keep an eye on Cid...

It is a little cooler, thankfully – a refreshing breeze coming in off the sea. You lean back in the chair and take a deep breath, deciding to savour the moment of relaxation whilst you could, for you’d soon be traversing across again in search of the Temple of the Ancients.

It isn’t long until you are interrupted by a subtle clear of a throat. You open your eyes, finding Vincent of all people stood over you - a red Materia pop in his gloved hand, held out in a peace offering.

“I had to guess what flavour you would prefer – I hope I chose correctly.”

You hesitate. “You got that for me?”

“Mm. I saw you at the cart earlier. It is my fault you are without gil, afterall.”

“Oh. No,” you shake your head in protest, but Vincent only extends the Materia pop in your direction once more.

“Consider it an apology for how I treated you when you tried to assist,” he pauses a moment, “if you would be willing to accept an apology from me, of course.”

You reach out and take grip the stick as he relinquishes his hold, not wanting to brush him off.

“Hardly necessary,” you shake your head, but take a lick of the pop, aware it’s beginning to drip in the midday sun. It’s refreshingly cold and sweet – made with real red fruits. “Thank you.”

Vincent nods, before he gestures at the seat besides you. “May I?”

“Please.”

He does so with a flourish of his cape, crossing his legs and then his arms, staring out into the horizon, as you eat your Materia pop in companiable silence.

It isn’t long before you hear Cid whistle – signaling he’s ready to depart when the rest of you are.

You swallow the last piece of your sweet treat before getting to your feet, Vincent immediately joining you – whether out of courtesy or urgency, you’re not sure.

“Thank you – again.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face, though mostly obscured by his collar still. “I believe I chose correctly. Red is definitely your colour.”

“What makes you say that?” You raise an eyebrow, eyes flickering between him and the card tables as the two of you weave your way between them.

“It has stained your lips to a rather pleasing degree.”

You stop on the spot, face burning at his compliment, unsure what to say in response. However, the opportunity has passed with Vincent somehow already a dozen steps ahead of you.

You can only hope the heat in your cheeks has died down by the time you take your places back in the back of the boat.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

Comments, reblogs and likes make my whole day x

#ghostdogwrites #vincent valentine x you #vincent valentine x reader #ffvii x reader #vincent valentine fluff #i haven't posted anything in a while so flinging this out

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johnslittlespoon · 3 days

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all the actor/celebrity au posts lately combined with troye bringing ross on stage last night for one of your girls has got me thinking...

a musician x musician au where gale is a troye sivan–esque ultra–famous queer pop star, and john's the singer of a well known indie rock band, and he gets asked by gale's team to star in a music video similar to one of your girls...

to everyone who doesn't know him personally, gale feels like this untouchable pop star. he's been in the industry for years, one of those classic 'i used to make music in my bedroom in my small town' stories, working his ass off before finally a song of his blows up and gets traction and then it's such a fast rise to stardom that he doesn't have time to wrap his head around it.

he never gets used to it, but he doesn't get an ego from it; he still hangs out with the same group of friends he's had since high school, and his team does most of his social media posting for him, because it freaks him out having all that attention, as grateful as he is. he's not shy by any means, not like he was when he started out, but he's not the biggest fan of all the fanfare and interviews and being put on a pedestal and all that. he keeps himself pretty distant online, and that coupled with the diva/superstar energy in his music/projects gives him this air of being on another level– a rare type of star all around.

john has a similar story, the whole growing up on the internet thing, making music in his basement in high school with the friends he's now in a pretty popular indie rock band with, working tirelessly to make a name for him and his friends. but that's kinda where their similarities end.

because john is known for being an absolute shit–poster, a little fiend online, a running joke in his fandom that 'john doesn't know that he's famous', 'should someone remind him this isn't a finsta?' type of vibe. he feels so accessible and down to earth, and while he's just as level headed and humble about his celebrity status as gale is, he displays it by being more present and trying to show the human side of it all, vs gale trying to create distance between gale cleven and the gale persona the world knows.

the band is first and foremost john's thing, but as he's grown in popularity, he's of course gotten offers for other avenues here and there, and at the insistence of his manager he decides to agree to try out a modelling shoot one day. he's not naive; he's more than aware of all the comments going on about his looks, stumbles across more tiktok thirst trap edits of him sweaty and shirtless on stage than he can count, isn't all too sfw in some of his band's songs, either.

he finds it all funny, but he also is someone who will always jump on new opportunities/experiences, and he ends up having a good time modelling, and picks up more gigs as time goes on. this is how gale becomes aware of him, somewhat because gale does occasional modelling too, but mostly because he's worked with a lot of big fashion names for tours and videos, so his and john's circles occasionally crossover, though they never actually meet in person.

so then comes this music video shoot, one that gale's been agonizing over for months, planning every little detail and making sure everything is perfect. it's something that drives his manager (marge? <3 gotta include the angel in every au obvs) insane because gale's got so much on his plate as is, but he likes to be so hands on with his projects, and she knows by now there's no talking him out of that. and everything is going great, until the person who's meant to be starring opposite gale has to pull out last minute due to a scheduling conflict or personal emergency or something.

and the usually very collected and put together gale is freaking out. it's the day before the shoot, everyone involved has already travelled to be on location, choreography is set in stone– this is his nightmare scenario, never doing well in situations where he has a lack of control. it's half of what scares him so much about being as famous as he is, is that he doesn't have a lot of autonomy or control over his own image or how he's perceived in the public eye (and digging deeper into backstory, probably stems from wanting to take back control after a childhood filled with being controlled by family.)

but it's situations like these where he's reminded why marge is his manager and he isn't, because she leaps into action the moment they find out about the cancellation, calming gale down so they can put their heads together to find a replacement. they reach out to a few of the names they have connections to, but it's too short notice for all of them, so maybe marge even just resorts to going through the people gale follows on instagram, and stumbles across john's page. he's got a good rep in industry and has worked on less 'conventional' projects before, so marge shuts down gale's fretting over "would he be comfortable with something like this?" by telling him there's only one way to find out, and contacting john's manager.

john agrees before he even hears the full pitch, and he's just as keen afterwards (albeit a bit nervous because by no means is he a professional dancer), knowing it'll be good publicity, and curious to explore a more artsy/out there gig, but also curious about the illusive gale, who he'd been surprised to receive a follow from a few weeks back.

john is flown out that night to the city of the shoot location, barely having a few minutes to change and head to the rehearsal space, where he meets a very frazzled but very thankful gale for the first time.

maybe they both have some preconceived notions about each other, despite having mutual respect and no actual interactions; john probably expects gale to be a bit stand–offish or conceited given his high celebrity status, but finds gale's actually bashful and quiet and easygoing when the cameras are off (when they're on, it's like he flips a switch, slipping into this persona, exuding confidence and sexuality and it honestly blows john's mind to witness in person).

gale probably expects to john to be loud and abrasive based off his well known social media posts, maybe even a little uncomfortable around gale, who is openly queer, whereas john isn't– maybe john hasn't ever stated his sexuality, has never given much thought to it, it doesn't matter much to him. instead he finds john's actually a little shy, much less bravado than he'd anticipated, but very enthusiastic and eager to learn and get the choreo and everything else right, assuring gale repeatedly that he's down to do whatever is needed.

so the two of them rehearse till the early hours of the morning, john taking it as seriously as though it's his own project he's invested months into, and gale gains such admiration for his commitment and willingness to stick his neck out for a borderline stranger (even though he's obviously aware this is a big boost for john's career). john gains a newfound appreciation for gale's work ethic and how much effort goes into every little thing for a huge artist like him.

and inevitably... there is sexual tension during the rehearsals. they're both overtired and sweaty and it's such a strange situation to meet for like five minutes and then jump right into dancing together so intimately, having to shed any inhibitions and self consciousness, but it's a blessing in the sense that they have to get comfortable around each other so quickly. there's no room for modesty or shyness, and john is genuinely speechless at how gale puts business first, and after double checking that john isn't uncomfortable, how he has no qualms about physically directing john, moving him how he wants him.

it's hot to john, the way gale knows exactly what he wants and is so passionate about his vision, and he'd be lying if he said the combination of being starstruck and being lowkey manhandled isn't getting to his head a bit. which is a whole other thing to unpack, because aside from vague acknowledgement of some men being attractive/beautiful, he's never actually found himself flustered by one like this, and it catches him off guard. he stays professional, but he still can't help but let his naturally flirtatious/joking personality slip out as the night drags on; he's like that with everyone he works with or hangs out with, and he thinks it would be weirder if he wasn't like that with gale, like everyone else would somehow notice.

meanwhile gale is fighting his own demons because he's got a very sought–after, very hot, very straight man dropping everything for him and letting him puppeteer him, on top of being so stubborn that even though gale can tell he's exhausted, john's refusing to call it a night until gale does, and THEN as if all that's not enough, john's effortlessly witty and complimentary and flirty. and gale's not one to mix business and pleasure, so he's not even entertaining these emotions, but he can't help but feel flattered by it all, while also reminding himself that john probably doesn't swing that way.

basically they both are discovering they have competence kinks lmao, like objectively they both find the other attractive, but it's not like they aren't constantly surrounded by beautiful humans in their lines of work, so it's more so the emotional side/work ethic that gets them both flustered, coupled with the inherent sexuality of dancing with very little clothing, hands on sweaty skin and toned muscles. but neither of them act on it, too tired by the time they call it a night even if they'd wanted to, and then it's back to their respective hotels to get a few hours of sleep before the shoot.

john isn't called to be on location until mid afternoon, and when he wakes up to his phone ringing and glances at the time, he freaks out, thinking he's slept through the shoot or something because he'd expected to be called early in the morning. he's told that he didn't sleep through it, but he's disoriented until he shows up, when he's told that gale had moved things around, filming as many scenes as he could without him before john was needed for his part, so that john could get more rest. (john swoons. just a little.)

he gets swept up in the capable hands of hair and makeup and wardrobe in his own trailer, and he doesn't see gale until it's time to film, and when he does, he almost doesn't believe it's gale. the glam makeup, the long blonde wig, the form–fitting sheer black dress and heels– gale's pretty as is, but with his features accentuated like that, john doesn't even know what to do with himself, feels like he's going through a midlife crisis at the ripe age of 25. he'd known gale would be in some sort of getup for their choreo, but nothing could've prepared him for this.

it makes it even more endearing that gale seems so awkward about it when he greets john, clearly out of his comfort zone in the ensemble, but john knows there's no way gale doesn't know how stunning he is, it's not a lack of confidence that's making him awkward. john keeps it together, reminds himself to be professional. tells gale it was really sweet that he let him sleep in, that he didn't have to do that, to which gale waves him off like it's no big deal. and he compliments gale too as they walk onto set, tells him, "you look great, wow," tame as he can be, and gale tells him "could say the same for you," and john snorts, gesturing to his simple jeans and boots and lack of shirt, says "feeling a bit underdressed, actually," and it gets a laugh out of gale.

when the cameras are rolling, any of that visible discomfort or awkwardness in gale disappears like someone's snapped their fingers and rid him of it, movements fluid like water, not an ounce of anything other than confidence and power and sensuality seeping through as he commands the camera with his energy. despite his aching body, john's grateful they ran the routine into the ground last night to the point that it's nearly muscle memory, because it's hard to concentrate when gale's looking down at him through long faux–lashes and gloss–plumped lips, caressing his jaw, playing with his hair, the sway of his hips and roll of his waist beneath john's hands so mesmerizing, john's half convinced he's being serenaded by a siren.

the tension would be insane, but equally confusing because neither of them would be able to discern what's an act and what's not, or if it's all just an act, pushing and pulling at an invisible line but never quite stepping over it even once the shoot wraps, both for the sake of professionalism but also for fear of rejection.

maybe after it all, john's on his flight back home and realizes in the whirlwind of everything, he never got gale's number (has a moment of 'why would i need it? this was just a gig' lol okay yearner). john's not even sure at that point what/how he's feeling about gale, the conflicting emotions of feeling attraction to him while in borderline drag doing nothing to help the confusion, especially because he can't excuse the attraction as just that when he was feeling things during rehearsal in casual clothes too.

he knows he could easily ask his manager to reach out to gale's manager for his number, but then he gets in his head convincing himself that if gale had wanted to talk further, surely he would've asked for john's number, since gale has way more reason to be selective with his own with his status.

he doesn't realize that on the other end of things, gale's realizing he also never got john's number, only he's talking himself out of reaching out because he doesn't want to read into john's friendliness as something flirtatious when as far as he knows, john is straight, and this was likely just a job for john, as well as they seemed to get along.

cue miscommunication when one of them actually works up the courage to dm the other on instagram since they're mutuals– either john dms gale something simple, a 'thanks again for the opportunity', and because gale is never on his socials and gale's team doesn't check messages much, it's weeks before anyone clocks john's message, during which john becomes sure he's nothing more than a coworker to gale, which he understands but is sad about. or, gale dms john, but from a private account with an innocuous username that he has just for friends and family, and john never even opens it because the lack of profile picture and generic user blends in with all the other message requests he gets a day.

they only end up reconnecting when the music video actually drops, because obviously it breaks the internet, and john happens to be doing promo interviews and radio shows at the time for his band's new album and tour, so an interviewer of course asks him what the experience was like working on a set like that and working with gale. john gives a glowing review, goes out of his way to praise gale– "the nicest guy you'll ever meet, and the craziest work ethic i've ever witnessed firsthand in hollywood."

when the interviewer asks if john would ever consider working with him again, y'know, the classic question an interviewer has to ask so they can drum up clicks with a 'john egan hints at possible future project with gale cleven!' title, john lays it on thick the way he always does with a wink at the camera and a "he can call me up anytime," but then adds a serious "no, really, i would love to work with him again, he was great."

predictably, the people who are already losing their shit over the music video and making edits and fan theories about the two of them go even crazier, spam–tagging gale and his team in the comments of this interview post, which leads to it eventually making its way to gale, and gale then realizes that john hasn't been uninterested; he must've just not seen his message since surely he would've replied if he had (marge looks at him with so much disappointment when gale mentions his attempt to reach out– "gale, no one with that kind of following is going through dm requests from faceless, private instagram pages, you of all people should know this").

gale hasn't told marge about his possible feelings, but marge isn't dumb; she didn't stand on set for nearly 24 hours with her eagle–eyes and not notice the way gale had been looking at john. to anyone else, it might've just seemed like he was leaning into his persona, but marge has known gale for a long time, and she could tell it wasn't all him playing it up for the cameras.

so marge puts her manager–brain and best friend–brain together and decides that with all the hype surrounding the new song and video, the two of them being seen together in public and making a few posts together would be a great boost for both of them. but she knows gale will never go for it if she voices this to him, because he'd see it as using john for popularity; she reasons that if he doesn't know, it can't be using. so she reaches out to john's manager and figures out when they'll both be back in the same city, and relays her plan as if it's just business, asking for john's manager to let john know that gale will be in town the next week if he wants to set something up, and she gives the manager gale's number for john to contact.

when gale wakes up one morning to a 'hi, this is john! my manager passed on your number to me, hope that's okay. i was told you're in town next week? :)' and then 'egan. btw. lots of johns out there.' and then 'the music video guy.' (john, absolutely panicking on his end, worrying that gale might not even remember his name, not knowing gale's been stalking his socials and confusion–pining just as much as john has been doing the same.)

and then more miscommunication after they arrange to hang out, because john assumes this is just for publicity based on what his manager told him, and he understands, as much as he wishes they're hanging out properly. but gale assumes this is a genuine hangout, because john never says otherwise, until the end of the evening, when gale has to leave for a dinner event and john says "we better take those pics for the 'gram before we say goodbye, or the big guns'll have a fit."

and either gale masks his surprise and then disappointment and goes along with it, thinking maybe he missed a memo or misread things, and this conflict and miscommunication is dragged out even longer, or gale doesn't hide his confusion in time, and john is then equally confused, says "your manager didn't...?" and gale says "sorry, i didn't know; i guess i misread your texts," feeling stupid that he's been thinking the hangout is anything other than a pr stunt. and then there's the awkward "no! no– well, yeah, i was told that this was to promote the video, so i thought– i mean, i would've liked to hang anyway, i just didn't think you wanted to?" from john.

gale is slowly connecting the dots in his head and he's so embarrassed, but also relieved that he hasn't misread things and made a fool of himself. john looks on the verge jumping out of his skin as gale sits quietly, so gale puts him out of his misery, smiles and pushes his irritation about the incident down and says "i do want to, john. i think marge– it doesn't matter. it was a miscommunication, i guess." and all the tension evaporates out of john's body, and he lets out a laugh, and a "oh, thank god. fuck. i was about to walk into the street," and gale lets himself relax too, scoffing at john.

so they decide to have a redo the next week, since they both do feel obligated to take their stupid pictures now to please their teams (and the internet), and thus a tentative friendship is born, the two of them dancing around each other and around feelings because everything is confusing as is, let alone with the way their careers affect every aspect of their lives. so much slowburn, lots of john trying to figure his attraction out and gale keeping his walls up because the thought of literally becoming the person he's singing about in his music video is laughable, he doesn't wanna be strung around or used as an experiment for john.

and john respects this unspoken boundary and also appreciates that they can get to know each other as friends while he tries to stop freaking out every time he pictures him and gale doing less than platonic things. probably a whole lot of chaos on john's end with the absolute tornado that he is, ie: '4am 'am i gay' quizzes taken in the dark of his bunk on a tour bus, asking an openly queer friend from his band if his feelings toward gale are normal, rumours started by a fan that they saw john in a gay club after a show, etc.

because john doesn't do anything halfway– he's ready to literally go out and kiss men and explore his newfound feelings, not just to prove himself to gale, but to figure himself out, because he's terrified of hurting gale since john doesn't have the best track record with relationships. overthinks the shit out of everything and doesn't realize it's not that deep, that liking gale doesn't mean he's suddenly attracted to all men, that all gale wants is for john to be confident in himself and his feelings for him before pursuing anything.

there's a lot of back and forth and messiness and emotions stacked on top of their already crazy hectic schedules and lives, the theorizing and prying from fans and paparazzi, caution from management, but when they eventually have their point of no return moment and cross that line from friends to more, the chemistry is so intense that both of them feel stupid for dragging things out for so long.

when the initial new relationship shyness wears off, the sex is also insane, all the exploration and playfulness (and inevitability of the whole feminization thing coming back into play since that's what starts everything in the first place lol). they're barely able to keep their hands off each other, almost always spending the night at each other's places, stealing as much time as they can to make up for the time apart when there are tours or other events separating them.

they try to keep things private for a while, but with how active john is online, he slips up a good few times– tiktoks where a hat or something of gale's is accidentally left in the background, story posts where john's wearing one of gale's hoodies unthinkingly, mirror selfies where there's a mystery hand or leg in the background. the internet is torn, some convinced it's coincidence, some certain it's all a pr stunt to get people talking, some adamant that they're in a secret relationship. gale's never upset about it; they both just know how much things will change if they go public.

months are spent sneaking around, rarely going on public dates, the odd paparazzi shots still leaking out until it finally gets to the point that there's no point hiding things anymore, it's obvious that they're not just friends. they never actually announce it or make some relationship launch post; they just stop caring, and it's freeing and neither of them expect to be so affected by being able to publicly show affection for each other, but it's such a sweet thing and makes things feel so much more real.

john goes to gale's sold out arena shows and stares up at him in awe and can't believe that gale chooses him every day, and gale goes to john's band's high energy festival sets and watches his golden boy light up with joy every time he glances at him side stage and can't believe john chooses him too.

:-)

lol this post was meant to just be the two lines above the cut but then i got to thinking about origin stories and whoops new au drabble because i'm a master at getting carried away!!

#thx for coming to my ted talk jesus christ sorry #buckbucky #johnslittlespoon aus #johnslittlespoon brainrot #johnslittlespoon writes #4k words FUCK. i started writing this at noon. 9hrs ago. it should've taken an hr and been 1k but i spent the day bouncing btwn 3 wips oops #i will always be a troye–gay at heart clearly. growing up watching him and discovering i was queer at the same time he did? formative lol.#anyway. kinda wanna draw/write this. can't stop picturing how they'd look and how fun the dynamic/slowburn would be #all i did was picture them in the mv idek how this happened (me every time i post a drabble. yet i mean it every time irdk)#i could've written another 4k words ab the sex alone lbr but i need to actually stop jumping btwn docs and Write <3 sry #i tried to proofread and then got bored LOL my bad #i shant even name this au i already know i won't have time to write it rn with both the fics i have going

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