#and i nearly honked coffee out my nose

[peridotsarelongterm]

Me: “Maybe it’s unrealistic to headcanon Bones as desperately horny but unable to get any. Dude is CMO, right? Authority figure, pretty eyes, hands of a surgeon, etc.?”

DeForest Kelley, ca. 1982: “Lol, what do you mean ‘headcanon.’”

[loveshotzz]

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Part One of Five? Series Masterlist.

Summary: When you move to Hawkins to start over, your new unexpected friendship with your weed dealer next door is your saving grace. It was never your intention to fall in love with him though.

Word count : 3.3K (strangers to friends - friends to lovers)

Warnings: SLOW BURN. None for right now besides the mention of smoking weed but future chapters will be NSFW. My blog is 18 plus.

Authors Note: If anyone is curious this series was inspired by Meatloaf’s Paradise By The Dashboard Light and the idea of being Eddie’s weed dealing passenger princess. I was also inspired by @boomhauer ‘s interpretation of Wayne when I wrote him in this. If you haven’t read disjointed I highly recommend it. Also thank you to my wife @myobmaya for reading it and convincing me it’s good 💞 comments, likes and reblogs are welcome!

Chapter One: Bat Out Of Hell

Leaving the city and disappearing to a small town seemed like a good idea after you dropped out of high school and got your GED. The excitement of a fresh start and the escape of your problems blinded you from one small obstacle. What happens when you run out of weed? It had only been three short months since you moved to Hawkins, making friends had become a nearly impossible feat. No one ever warns you how hard it is to make friends when you’re not in school anymore.

College was for the rich kids. Selling your soul to the work force at sixteen you were more then prepared to live paycheck to paycheck till your last dying breath. The rainy day fund you had saved dwindling dangerously low, you’ve never been more thankful to start a new job in a few days.

The heavy clank of metal pierces your ears, smashing the top and bottom of your grinder together you hope to salvage enough for just one last bowl. The light green powder from the chamber dusts the top of your black coffee table. After one last hard blow you give up with a huff.

Scraping the keef you’d managed to collect with your ID, it’s a steady hand that prepares the fragile task of getting it into your bowl. Taking your time you slowly edge it to the end of the table doing your best not to spill any precious crumbs. Tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth, you are the definition of laser focused.

“OBEY YOUR MASTER - MASTER”

The sound of James Hertfield’s voice is so loud you’d think Metallica was having a concert outside of your trailer door. The disturbance makes you jump. The plastic edge of your ID bends back before it pops forward sending the remains of your weed flying to the carpet of your living room. A loud honk of a horn sends another unexpected shock through your body, hands flying your grinder hits the floor with a loud thud.

Eddie fucking Munson.

The only reason you knew his name was because you heard the older man he lived with yelling it all the time. You could tell the older man wasn’t his dad, but the simple interactions you’d see definitely told you they were family.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you take a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. Self control dwindling dangerously low, it takes everything inside of you not to storm over there and punch him between the eyes.

When the thought of physical violence starts seeming more like a extreme response you decide a cigarette is better then nothing. Pushing yourself up off the floor you rummage through your purse on the kitchen table. Finding the crumpled pack smashed at the bottom, a relived sigh leaves your lips when there’s still one more.

Crisp October air hits your skin like knives when you step out your front door. The thin material of your black hoodie barely fights the chill in the wind. Sunset filling the sky with hues of pink and orange it crests over the tops of the trees. The crunch of the gravel beneath your feet could still be heard over the sound of Eddie’s van. His music now at a respectable volume since his grumpy ‘roommate’ was standing at the top of the porch steps. The older mans arms are crossed over his chest, the kind of stance that told you he was ready to give the metal head an earful.

Plopping down on at the wooden table in the middle of the park, you cup your hand over your mouth lighting the cigarette. Getting ready for the show, it’s Eddie Munson’s Karma for wasting the last of your weed.

“Boy, what’d I tell you about the volume of your damn music?!”

Jumping out of the van with a slam of his door, he’s wearing the same thing you’ve almost always seen him in. A leather jacket clad with a denim vest, a metal head’s battle vest with a giant DIO patch sloppily sewn on the back. Even at the end of summer when you moved here, you never saw him without it. Nose scrunching up you know a boy like that probably doesn’t even wash it. His hair looked even more wild then usual, long dark waves sticking out in every direction. The extra body in his curls probably from speeding down the back roads with his windows down. Blasting Metallica so loud its a miracle he’s not deaf.

“Uncle Wayne, I didn’t know you were gonna be home.” With his arms behind his back you notice a metal black lunch box, his stance making it painfully obvious he was hiding it from who you now know is his Uncle’s view.

“You didn’t know I was home? You think our neighbors magically don’t complain if I’m not here?” His hands get more animated as his arms uncross, temper flaring at his nephew.

“Look, it’s not gonna happen again can you calm down please?” Moving forward slightly you watch him tuck the lunch box on top of his van tire hidden from view.

Eddie Munson was sneaky.

“Calm down? I’ll show you calm boy.” Stomping down the stairs you watch his uncle flick him between the eyes.

The whole ordeal becoming so entertaining you can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out of your mouth. The noise catches both men’s attention, heads snapping in your direction Eddie’s eyes narrow at the grin on your face. It’s not like you hadn’t seen each other before, but it was only ever awkward smiles or the occasional neighborly wave.

“Can you chill you’re embarrassing me.” Eddie’s tone is hushed when he scolds his uncle.

Inhaling a deep puff of your cigarette you exhale through your nose arching your brow. This was better karma then you could have ever asked for.

“Embarrass you? You should be embarrassed, I’m sure she heard you fly in here like a bat out of hell!” Wayne looks back up giving a short wave before addressing you directly. “I apologize for my nephews rudeness, I hope he didn’t disturb you too much.”

His Uncle was doubling down on embarrassing him. Realizing how much you liked this old man, you were more then ready to play his game.

“As long as it doesn’t happen again, scared me so bad I had to come out and smoke!” You give raising your cigarette in the air the prove it. The smirk on your face only grows wider when you see the glare Eddie’s sending your way. He knew what you were doing.

“It definitely won’t. Right?!” Wayne gives Eddie a look that’s just begging for him to try it.

“Yeah, sorry, won’t happen again.” Grumbling you catch the small roll of his eyes.

“Thanks so much!” Sweetness oozing from your voice, you know it’s the added cherry on top.

“Get inside, Dinner’s on the table and I better not get any calls about that guitar playing at 3am again tonight.”

Wayne doesn’t notice the way Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the hidden lunch box as he pushes him up the steps. Both men disappearing into the trailer leaving you alone in the quiet of dusk. Inhaling again, you close you eyes enjoying the peace and quiet for a minute.The low hum of crickets in the distance calming your previously tense mood. Nicotine hitting the the top of your head, the familiar light headed feeling you’d been craving finally consumes you.

The front door opens again half way expecting Eddie, you’re surprised when it’s just Wayne. His bald head is covered by a baseball cap, paper sack lunch in hand. His heavy work boots stomp down their wooden stairs echoing through the quiet of the park. Kind eyes on you again he smiles before he talks.

“I’m Wayne by the way, I noticed you moved in a few months ago. I’m sorry I haven’t come over to say hi, I work nights so I’m asleep for most of the day.” His voice is gruff but warm when he speaks to you, different then the intensity he spoke with his nephew. You can’t help but feel comfortable in his presence.

Light flashes out of an opening from blinds of the front window catching your attention, big brown eyes meet yours and you realize Eddie’s watching the two of you. The sight makes your lips twitch up.

“Hey, don’t even worry about it. I’m y/n, I moved here from Indianapolis.” Smiling with your teeth you try your best to be friendly with your new neighbor.

“Are you parents living with you? You don’t look much older then my nephew.” Racking your brain you decide to give him the least complicated answered you could muster, forgetting how nosy small town people were.

“Uhhh no, it’s just me. Got my GED and just moved somewhere more affordable. I start at Family Video Friday actually.” Biting your bottom lip, you hope this will be enough information for him to stop pressing and go to work.

“You can’t be older then 20.” He seems just shocked enough not to come off rude.

“I’m 21 actually.” Snuffing the cigarette out all you can think about is how much you want another one.

“Well Eddie’s 20, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind showing you around.” Having noticed your eyes darting to the window he turns around and waves. Eddie’s eyes go wide before the blinds shut quickly. Wayne turns around with a pleased smile on his face, their dynamic slowly becoming your new favorite thing.

“Don’t be a stranger, if you need anything at all just come on over and knock, I’m handy around the house. Don’t let one anyone in town over charge you, they like taking advantage of young women such as yourself.”

The kindness in his gesture stuns you for a minute, so used to doing things yourself there’s something about it that makes you feel less alone. Your new neighbors making this feel more like home.

“Thanks, I appreciate that!” You smile brightly at the older man “Have a good night at work Wayne, I’ll make sure Eddie doesn’t burn the place down.” Winking you relish in the deep chuckle you earn from the joke.

“Glad to have another set of eyes on em’. Have a good night darlin’.” With a wave of his calloused hand he makes his way to his car.

Watching Wayne’s headlights disappear as he turns on the main road, you start a silent count down waiting to see how long it takes Eddie to come collect his mysterious lunch box. When you hit six the front door flies open so loudly you think it might rip off the hinges. Graceful was absolutely not in his vocabulary. Leaning forward on his tippy toes you see him check the road for any sign of his Uncle.

“He’s gone, you can come get your secret little box.” Swinging your leg back over the bench you get ready to head back home.

“You thought that was real funny huh?” Dirty white Reeboks pad down the steps, a playful smile on his lips despite the sassy tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fraying innocence, the smirk that seemed to be becoming a permanent part of your face around him tugs up corners of your mouth again.

Shaking his head, his own smile grows wider as he makes his way to his van. Rings shimmering from the hand on the hood of his car he leans down grabbing the metal box. Pulling it out he shakes it at you letting the contents shuffle around inside.

“Wanna burn one?” Lifting his brows he bites his bottom lip into a smile. Eddie Munson wasn’t just sneaky, Eddie Munson was cute.

“Depends on what we’re burning.” You tease doing your best not to seem too eager. Silently praying to the gods that the man who single handedly wasted your last bowl might now be your new weed supply.

Walking across the unpaved road his fluffy hair bounces with the long strides of his lanky legs, a goofy grin never leaving his face as he approaches you.

The sun having nestled behind the trees leaves you and Eddie in the early darkness of the night. The loud buzz of the street light kicking on drowns out the crickets hidden in the long grass.

“Well sweetheart that depends on what your smoking.” Plopping down across from you, swinging your leg back over you position yourself to face him.

Up close he was even cuter then from the distance you were accustomed to seeing him at. It’s almost enough to make your confidence falter. The plan was to focus on yourself when you moved here, not to get distracted by a boy. Eddie Munson had the potential to be very distracting, especially with the way he licked his lips as he took in your features too.

“Well you do owe me.” Leaning forward you rest your elbows on the table. Chin tucked between your knuckles you look up at him through your lashes.

Noticing the way his breath catches when your eyes meet, your bravado's much easier to keep up with now. Shaking his head with a small smirk he averts his attention back down to his lunch box, flipping the top open to reveal exactly what you’d hoped was inside.

“Why exactly do I owe you?” Mimicking your position he leans forward invading your personal space. His chocolate eyes are deep and all consuming, a flirty playfulness hidden behind his pupils

Despite the redness in your cheeks and your sudden need to remember how to breathe, you refuse to break. He was going to give you free weed.

“Your little stunt earlier made me drop the last of my weed all over my livingroom carpet. Your uncle was right when he called you a bat out of hell.” Smirking, your proud of the fact that you get him to roll his eyes before he leans back to dig a rolled joint out of the tin.

“Just because I’m feeling generous, not because you’ve convinced yourself that I owe you for being clumsy. Consider it a belated welcome to Hell, I mean Hawkins.”

“Clumsy? It sounded like Metallica was outside my front door.” Scoffing, your eyes catch how fat the joint between his fingers is, the sight is almost enough to make your mouth water. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you can’t help but admire how much better it looks when it’s sitting in Eddie Munson’s very kissable mouth.

“You know Metallica?” He asks holding the joint between his teeth, he cups a hand over it to block the wind from snuffing out the flame of his zippo lighter. It’s big, silver, and gaudy just like the rings that littered his fingers. With a devil etched into the metal of it, even just knowing him for a few minutes you could tell it was very on brand for the man in front of you.

“I’m more of a Meatloaf girl but I dabbled in Ride the Lightning.” Eyes trained on the way the smoke exhales from his nostrils, he raises his eyebrows impressed with your answer.

His big hand reaches out passing the joint, the remainder of his hit leaving his mouth as he speaks.

“That album does fucking rock, but have you heard their new one yet?”

Eddie’s eyes can’t stop looking at the way your lips wrap around the joint. It was hard for him to get over just how pretty you were up close. A beautiful girl who smokes weed and has good taste in music? Give him a few more minutes of conversation and he just might fall in love.

Inhaling deeply the smoke hits your lungs in a comforting tightness, closing your eyes you savor the feeling for a second.

“I did about thirty minutes ago.” Exhaling you you can’t help but smile around the white cloud that leaves your mouth.

Rolling his eyes again, he sighs dramatically. “Look -“ Snapping his fingers he points at you realizing he never actually got your name.

“Y/N” Taking another hit you pass it back to him, finger tips brushing together like an electric current.

“Look, Y/N if we’re going to be friends you’re gonna have to let that go. I will not feel bad about blessing your ears with my impeccable taste in music.” Eddie’s grin makes his dimples peak out from the middle of his cheeks.

“Bold of you to assume we’re going to be friends.”

“We’ll be inseparable just watch, I can spot a creep from a mile away.” Handing you the half smoked joint back his smile falters when headlights turn into the entrance of the trailer park.

Turning to meet his line of sight you see a pick up truck with four boys, all of them dawning green letterman jackets. Rowdy and rude, two of them sit in the bed of the truck beer cans in hand. Another with a Hawkins baseball cap dangles out of the passenger window, letting out a loud whistle when he sees you and Eddie.

“Hey! There’s the freak!” One of them yells with a point of his finger as the truck comes to a stop next to his van.

“What the fuck?” Confused you turn around and see all the playfulness drain from Eddie’s handsome features. His face growing cold, eyes narrowing at the nickname.

“Come on Munson, leave the girl alone. I’m sure she’s not interested in joining your little satanic cult.” A blonde haired boy with a face you wanted to sucker punch emerges from the driver side door. His blue eyes piercing in a way that felt almost evil.

“We’ve got 50 bucks and a game to get to, can we hurry this up?” The one from passenger window calls before throwing a wink in your direction.

Gagging dramatically you flip him off. Your anger quickly turning to shock when you see him closing up his lunch box. He was listening to them.

“Are you seriously going to sell to them?” The disbelief is more then evident in your voice as you watch him get to his feet.

“Bills gotta get paid sweetheart.” Its simple when it comes out of his mouth. Knowing better then most the struggles of making ends meet, you feel stupid for even getting mad at him.

A plastic bag with about an eighth of weed slaps down on the table in front of you, the smile you had quickly grown fond of returning to his face.

“This is for flipping that asshole off.” He says in a low voice before giving you wink. With out giving you time to respond he’s gone, jogging over to the impatient group of boys. Turning back around mid way his smile grows even bigger before adding “Definitely not for the loud music though!”

Rolling your eyes you can’t stop the shit eating grin that takes over your face, snuffing out the joint you pocket the gift from your new friend.

Making your way back to your trailer you can’t help but feel a smidgin of hope for the first time in a long time, maybe moving here was a good idea. Or maybe it was just Eddie Munson’s really good weed. Either way you want to bask in this feeling for as long as you can. Something telling you a friendship with the clumsy, sweet, pot dealing metal head next door is exactly what you need right now.

Chapter Two.

[peakyblinders1919]

Collision of Worlds

modern!Tommy Shelby and amish!reader

He barely registered the horn honking, much less that the shrill sound was directed at him. He prematurely stepped off the sidewalk, more concerned with the iPhone in his hand, the meeting coming through his headphones, the hot coffee in his other hand, to notice the crosswalk sign flashing red. 

The white BMW screeched to a halt a few feet from him, the driver laying on the horn and waving his hands sporadically in frustration. Without missing a beat, he stopped, turned, and looked at the driver through his shades before taking a sip and continuing on as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t the first time Thomas Shelby looked death in the eye.

He was mildly perturbed he’d nearly spilled his coffee and had to ask his buisness associate on the other end to repeat his question. 

“No, no, we’ve stopped all trade with our supposed partners in Camden Town until the political upheaval is settled. We don’t want to make ourselves a vulnerable target by extending our hand or being found to associate with them at this time.” A brief pause as he took a sip of his coffee, suede shoes scuffing the pebbles on the sidewalk as he sandwiched himself onto the train. It wasn’t his preferred mode of transportation, but his car was in the shop and his brother, John, had dropped the ball on solidifying a rental car. It was the last time he trusted John with something important.

He was the only one deep in conversation as he held onto the railing overhead, nose tucked into the endless stream of emails he was replying to and the ranting in his ears from the treasurer of his company.

“No, No, Pol, you're not listening. Look at the numbers. We can stand to lose 3% for a week or two max… yes, yes I have it on good authority that whatever this is, it won’t last longer than that before the strike is broken.” He sighed, glaring at the people around him whose noses were upturned by his disruption. Who expected a train ride to or from work to be the most peaceful part of their day? 

“I have it on good authority from Ada!” 

The train pulled into his stop. Signals that the doors were opening rang out. Still heated, he moved to leave. She moved in a blur of color, in a hurry to get somewhere. It was that urgency which sent her out barreling into his chest, piping hot coffee staining his white shirt.

“Fuck.”

“Oh my, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

“Pol, I’ll call you back.”

If he put weight on the superstitions his aunt believed, he’d think it was going to be a day full of bad luck, karma.

Hanging up the phone, he put it in his jacket pocket, a sneer on his face as he looked down at his stained shirt, the coffee seeping through the fabric and leaving his abdomen warm to the touch. It was amazing that he had enough time to stop, to stop and look at his assailant. She was pretty in a natural way, not like the other city girls with their fake tans and fake eyelashes and fake tits. Her hair was shiny, her eyes aglow, her cheeks blazing red with embarrassment.

She was like a little mouse, grabbing for some napkins from her big purse on her shoulder, cautiously trying to wipe up the coffee on his shirt. Normally he’d tell her who he was, some big businessman who didn’t have time for these games, but it was almost more fascinating to watch her act, so unsure as she touched his shirt with the napkins, pressing lighting against his abdomen, his chest. Her touches were light, whether she was afraid to break him further or nervous to be touching him in the first place, he wasn’t sure. 

“I… I am really sorry,” she finally said again, tossing the coffee-soaked napkins in the bin. “I… I don’t have anymore. I… I really should’ve watched where I was going.” “It’s alright. The damage’s done. I’ll send it off to the dry cleaner and it’ll be good as new.” He tried to smile at her, to let her know he didn’t care about his shirt, he had a closet full of them, but something kept him from doing so. Maybe the fact that he hadn’t smiled in years. He tried to tell her it wasn’t her fault, he knew it was his because he hadn’t been looking around him, but he wasn’t used to public transportation and he wasn’t used to people not stepping out of the way for him when he walked by. So instead, he kept his mouth shut, pink lips in a tight line, lost in her eyes, before he felt his phone buzzing to life. 

How peaceful those few moments had been. 

“I’m late. And I’ll be even later having to stop, I… hope your not late either. Here, have a coffee on me. For the trouble.” 

After handing her a few pounds, he answered the phone with a gruff greeting and disappeared.

--

It’d be much easier if you had a phone. Easier to find out who the mystery man from the other day was. You spent all night telling your sister about him, voices dropping extra low when you told her about helping wipe his shirt clean. 

“It was hard, tight, like muscles. And I tried not to concentrate on it, really, but it was easier to concentrate on that than his eyes. A blue like the sky. Like I’ve never seen, hair dark as midnight.”

Although she hadn’t met him, your sister swooned with you over the whole thing, wondering how, if there was any, way for you two to find out his name, what he did for a living, where you could “accidentally” run into him again. 

But that night was all “what-ifs” and little girl fantasies. Yesterday was a moment you could hold onto while you were busy at work, sifting the flour in the kitchen, elbow-deep in it as you rolled out the dough. 

You didn’t need a phone, it wasn't necessary, nor was electricity when you had a fire to cook on and light your way with. It was a lifestyle you’d grown up with, you were used to, you had chosen to live, and you hadn’t once thought differently until now.

That night, you dreamt about your encounter with tall, dark, and handsome, as he was therefore known as in your mind. As much as you wanted to see him again, as easy as it was to remember his eyes and his hair, it was impossible to ignore how he lacked a smile, head bent and far too enraptured and controlled by the little device in his hand, or was it his ear? Thinking back on it clearly, the buzz of everything around him was what caused him to be so careless around you in the first place. And just like that, you drifted off to sleep with memories that turned into nightmares confirming that it was not only too good to be true, running into him that day but it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t ever meant to be.

--

“I can’t find her!” He brought his fist down onto his desktop with hammer-like force. Such an outbreak wasn’t uncommon for Thomas Shelby, but the matter in which it was about was shocking to those around him. His family.

“Tom, we’ve had the best internet hackers on call, working twenty-four hours at a time. We even got some secret service agents from the police tracking what you’ve told them through their database. Nothing.”

“It’s not enough. There’s got to be something else. They want more money? Give them whatever they’re asking for, I want her found.”

His men simply nodded and left, his Aunt Pol crossing her legs and making her disapproval known with her tsking.

“It doesn't take someone like me to know you in love. But I thought Mr. Thomas Shelby didn’t believe in love at first sight?”

“There was something about her Polly. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, but I do Tommy. I do. Love is magnetic, I’ve told you that since you were little. You just chose never to listen. And now that you have, the world has rewarded you with a challenge. A girl who can’t be found.”

“Don’t mock me.” He had risen from his leather-backed chair to pace. His office was spacious, on the tallest floor of the most well-known building in London, towering over the others, the wall nothing but windows that allowed him an endless view of the city, even to the fields beyond. The whole city under his watch and he couldn’t find the one person he wanted to see. He’d paced to get his mind straight but it didn’t work. Quickly, he was sitting back down behind four computer screens that lined his desk, projecting his work onto the flat screens on the wall. The wall to his left was lined with clocks synced up to represent all the timezones of the world, multiple tv screens muted to show the horseraces around the world and the stock market live. The office was always lit in a dim glow from the screens, a soft buzz from the electricity, and somehow it never bothered him. It kept his mind busy, sure, constantly busy, his eyes switching frantically from screen to screen trying to focus on only one thing.

Since meeting her, finding her was the only thing he could focus on. And Polly was right, she didn’t seem to want to be found.

With the best people he could hire already on it, he figured some fresh air could do him good. When he informed Polly he was going out for coffee, and she reminded him they had people for that, she didn’t prod any further.

Down on the ground floor, he nodded towards the security behind the desk, and the doormen, and headed onto the street in one direction, any direction the wind seemed to take him (there was a coffee shop on every block), but he seemed to end up at the one he went to that day he was taking the train. Something about their fresh ground beans. Tapping his feet anxiously while standing in line, it made sense why he employed someone to do this for him. He passed the time by catching up on emails, shoving his AirPods in to listen to the live race at Cheltenham to avoid the elevator-esque music playing from the shop’s speakers. 

He wasn’t really paying attention then, taking a second to realize the line had moved. He ordered the usual; coffee, black, and waited where one picked it up. It was all a series of routine things that came next, listening for his name, taking that first sip to make sure it was right, shuffling around other waiting customers to get back outside. His nose still buried in the phone, he would have missed her completely had he not learned from his mistake the other day and looked up before crossing the street. 

She seemed to be leaving the coffee shop from the back, heading in the direction that led out of the city. He had work to do, he knew that, but the business would run without him. If that little glimpse he’d caught of her held up to be real, he’d save himself a lot of money. 

“Hey,” he called, taking a bit of a jog to catch up to her.

Not sure if that hey was directed at you, you stopped, and looked around you, before continuing on your journey home. You must have been going a little crazy, no one this far out from the country knew you, were even less likely to recognize you.

The coffee cup worked to warm your hands. You smiled, pleased to hear the city’s symphony as you headed home. It was all part of the reason why you agreed to deliver the beans to your best customer; while it came with an excruciatingly long walk, you were awarded the sights and sounds of the city, the excitement of it all, and a fresh cup. 

“Hey!”

It was the same voice as before, and you would have continued to ignore it had you not felt a strong arm grasp your elbow, making you stop in your tracks. Your heartbeat quickened. This was why your father always warned against you doing the delivery on your own, but you’d fought with him more than once that you could handle yourself in the city for an hour or two. 

Now was time to show him the truth.

In a quick maneuver, you dodged the stranger, turning quickly and shoving him back with your shoulder, hearing the familiar sound of coffee sippling as it was dropped to the floor. Ready to run, you caught a glimpse of your attacker before running. What were the odds it would be your Mr. tall, dark, and handsome?

He didn’t look amused, but he didn’t look as displeased as yesterday. He almost looked pleased.

You smirked. “You’ve got to stop wearing your coffee. You're supposed to drink it.”

“I’d be able to if you stopped spilling it on me. I think you have something against me.”

You both shared a smile, a true smile, before your eyes both scanned down to his torso, today’s blue shirt now dark with coffee on it.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll send this one to the cleaners just like the others. I should be scared of you though, that was some quick thinking.”

You blushed, suddenly feeling so small and so seen in the city, a place you certainly didn’t belong but tried to. 

“What can I say? My dad taught me right.”

“That he did.” Tommy used the napkins in his jacket pocket to wipe up his shirt enough to keep from burning his skin underneath, and it provided just enough time to figure out how to get you to stay longer.

“Why don’t I treat you to another?”

“No, I couldn’t. I… I wish I could treat you to one but…” Well how were you supposed to tell someone like him you didn’t have any money on you?

“Come on, my treat…”

Knowing your family would be wondering where you were, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get to know him a little more. You agreed, and he told you he’d be ready to go as soon as he changed his newly ruined shirt, assuring you he had an extra in his office and it was only one block away.

What were you doing following this man to his office? Everything in the building was shiny and new, reluctantly following him into the elevator. It never seemed to stop, crawling higher and higher until the final ding signaling you were at your destination caused you to jump a bit. 

What you stepped into was too much for you to comprehend. It overwhelmed you, so much stimulus in his office with the screens and whatnot. He promised he’d be quick, and you barely noticed his lack of presence as you absorbed the sound and light of everything. The tapping of your foot, the pacing, it was all you could do to try and stay comfortable. You both wanted to know more about how it worked and, more importantly, why, why all this, but you refrained. You couldn’t comprehend a life where one person needed so many screens.

Everything was coming to fruition. It wasn’t meant to be. You were both from two different worlds.

When he emerged in a white collared shirt, pulling at the cuffs and rolling them up, you felt a strong wave of nausea hit you. He must have noticed the unfamiliar look on your face; it was amazing that a complete stranger noticed it almost immediately.

“Is everything alright?”

“Uh..” Opening your mouth to respond, you were suddenly made aware of just how dry it was. “Uh.. what do you need all those for?” You hoped it didn’t sound as rude coming out as it did in your head, but you couldn’t resist finding the answer, knowing more about him, more about a life you weren’t sure you would ever be ready for.

“Oh, those?” He chucked. “Sometimes I forget they’re even there. I need them for business, I can’t be in multiple places at once, though it would be easier.”

Silence lingered as you tried to compose a response, a silence that was anything but silent. You shook your head.

“I’m sorry. I… I hadn’t noticed the time and I forgot I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Oh, are you sure? Well, how about another night?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe,” you swallowed, stepping away from the harsh glow of the screen.

“Wait. Your name. Please tell me your name.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” 

Though you left not a mystery but a mission, a challenge for Tommy Shelby, should he choose to accept, to you he remained a mystery. A mystery behind a screen, something for you to ponder as you took approximately 45 flights of stairs down to the ground floor.

-------

“She’s Amish.”

“She’s fucking what?”

“Amish, sir. They’re members of a church that believes electricity is not necessary for leading a fulfilling life, hence why we couldn’t find her online presence.”

“Ok,” he sighed, taking a hit from his vape and blowing the smoke out to the side. “What did you find on her?”

“We have a home location, family profile, and her background records. That’s it.”

“I want it all on my desk. Now. And a car, one that’s not going to shit the bed in the country. Have it parked outside, keys in the ignition to go.”

With a nod, Charlie was out of the office, but Tommy didn’t get much time alone to consider the grandiosity of the plan already forming in his mind.

“A car? Where are you off to?”

“The country Pol. I’ll be in a few hours. Might not have cell service. Don’t contact me… what?” He asked in response to her chuckle, almost a mocking one.

“Tommy Shelby never puts down his phone, nor does he ever stop business. Unless it’s a girl.”

He saw no reason to lie so, sighing, he told the truth and braced for impact. “It is a girl Pol. The one I’ve been looking for. I know where she lives and I’m going to her. I’m going. I barely know her name and I… I know I did something to scare her off but I… I’ve got to find out why, you know? I’ve got to do something to get her out of my head. For good. Whatever it takes.”

He found you outside the address he was given, his black BMW oddly out of place among the wheat and the fields and the barn and the expanse that was known as your house. You were tending to the horses, taking the pony to graze on the taller grass in the side yard, senses on high alert as the unknown vehicle pulled closer and slowed to a stop. Your dad and your brother, everyone in a 3 mile radius became aware of the unwanted visitor, trying to figure out why someone in a car was on their land. It was surprising how unfazed Tommy seemed to be with a few shotguns pointed his direction. His hands flew up in surrendor and if you weren’t sure it was him, the hair, the eyes, the commanding yet comfortable voice reassured you.

“Y/N, do you know this man? He says he knows you.”

“Yes, yes, this is Tommy. He’s a… a friend.” Pulling him away, into the shadows of the maples where the horses were cooling, you asked why he was here and how he had found you. It was a quick explanation from his end that both left you speechless and wanted to know more. 

“I want to talk to you.  Why you didn’t agree to going out yesterday?”

“We… we can’t talk here. Do you know how to ride a horse?”

It would have been comical seeing a man like Tommy ride a horse, but really he was a natural. He looked like the main character off a romance novel with his dark hair, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his posture perfect and hands tight on the reigns, in control of the horse. Stopping by a stream, you both dismounted and began talking.

“We would never work Tommy. I.. I barely even know you, you know nothing about me, and yet you show up in my yard. I can only imagine how you found all this out.” You shuddered at the thought alone, holding a hand up signaling you didn’t want to know the intimate details.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I feel this pull. This nagging in my stomach thats saying ‘go after her’. I had to come try. What was it? The office?”

“Well, it was all a bit overwhelming. We’re from different worlds. You live by the screen and I… well we’d never come to a compromise.” 

“What if we could.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if we could come to a compromise. Would you give it, would you give us a chance?”

“What kine of compromise?” You asked intrigued. 

He shrugged. “Less screen time. Weekend away from work, from the city?”

You shrugged, suddenly feeling shy under his eye. The space between you disappeared as he entered it, toeing a line he wasn’t sure he should cross. He knew your name, where you lived, and a little bit of the lifestyle you lived, that was it, and so he wanted to know more; your favorite color, the taste of your lips, the softness of your curves. And though you were less sure of what you wanted, you wanted the same thing. You wanted it to work out like a fairytale. 

“Could this really work?”

“Are we insane?”

“Do I live without electricity?” The question, although rhetorical, gave him the answer he needed. Leaning in, he took all the air from your lungs. His lips found yours, the kiss chaste and soft, strong and loving.

“I’d give up everything for you.” 

And there it was. The collision of two worlds, two people in a world of billions, two stars in the galaxy a little too close to each other's orbit, two atoms beginning their journey together headed towards the big bang. 

[vennilavee]

Omg for the kiss prompt 1 w/ Gojo literally has my heart fluttering 💞

warning: jjk spoilers!! also this is kind of angsty and not that fluffy lmao

prompt: whispering ''kiss me'' to your lover

The streets are endless ahead of Gojo as he drags his feet, not quite able to bring himself to go home to an empty apartment. Street lights flicker but he pays them no mind. Despite a day of distractions, he can’t get this vacancy out of his mind. For all of his talents and finesse, he can’t just…shut off.

He can’t even get lost in this part of Tokyo. His Six Eyes won’t even allow for that mindless reprieve.

Cars come and go, honking as they please. Faint but vivid laughter can be heard from several meters away. His eyes are beginning to hurt, the beginnings of a headache forming in his mind. Would his Infinity turn off if he was to teleport in front of a car, he wonders idly.

Ultimately, he decides not to find out.

You’re unsurprised to hear your doorknob frantically turning at nearly midnight. You know what today is, after all. While you had chosen to mourn today unmoving and at home, Gojo had chosen to endure a day of missions and meetings.

He’d ignore your offer to spend the day together. But as always, he comes back to you. He thinks he needs to shoulder this pain alone, that it’s his burden to bear. Gojo doesn’t listen even as you try to reassure him otherwise. Once he gets like this, it’s hard to get through to him.

But, like clockwork, he comes around. He always does.

Gojo has had a spare key to your apartment for a long time. You think he might spend more time in your home than in his, but that’s a discussion for later. His own expansive apartment is barely lived in, the furniture looking pristine and as perfect as the day it was bought.

Your living space is almost the opposite of his. You exist in every corner and crevice of the four walls of this apartment, artwork and little trinkets that are reminiscent of you lining up the surfaces of your walls and your coffee table.

When you finally make the dreadful trek to your door and swing it open, Gojo pushes past you into your own apartment as if it’s his. You roll your eyes but let him have his moment. You know he needs it, after all.

His shoulders finally drop a few inches, tension seeping out of his gait as he removes his blindfold.

“It’s late,” you finally sigh.

“I know,” Gojo replies, peering out at the night sky from the space before your balcony.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” you murmur, moving closer to him a few inches. The sky from beyond your windows is pitch black, only the city lights reflecting in his eyes.

He laughs dryly, the answer the same as always. “No.”

You say nothing, only standing next to him and leaning your head against his arm. It’s quiet between you both. The sharp planes of his face are unreadable, his blue eyes a little dim. You wrap an arm around his narrow waist and side hug him wordlessly, the warmth of his skin beneath his clothes radiating into your palm.

His Infinity is down. You’re not surprised.

“I told you to stay with me. You work yourself too hard,” you chide him, “I miss him too, you know.”

Gojo says nothing for several minutes, only reveling in the warmth of your small hands. He turns a little to finally face you, shadows under his eyes uncharacteristically present. His large hand cradles your cheek and you smile sadly at him.

“I know,” he says throatily, the first words he utters to you all day, “I fucking miss Suguru so much.”

It’s one of the only days of the year that he allows himself to feel everything under the sun from that day. He allows himself to feel the emptiness that comes with killing his best friend as the gaping hole where his heart should be grows and grows. Until it’s unrecognizable. Until he’s recognizable.

Except to you. You always open your home and your heart to him with welcome arms. Gojo buries his nose in your neck when you pull him in for a hug. He trembles with the weight of your hands wound tightly around him like thick vines. Something wet coats the column of your neck and you realize he’s finally allowed himself to cry.

Your throat goes dry.

His shoulders shake as if the weight of this cursed world has finally crumbled. You manage to get him to sit on the sofa with you and Gojo wraps himself around you, on top of you. He lifts his head to look at you with frantic, cerulean eyes, cheeks still wet and bottom lip still trembling slightly.

He holds your face steady in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as he peers at you with the heat swimming in his irises. He’s squeezing you a little too tightly, to the point that it’s almost hurting. Almost. He’s trying to ground himself, anchor himself in reality. The way his heart beats against his ribcage But he continues to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze-

“Fuck,” he exhales, “Kiss me. Fucking kiss me, now-”

It’s messy and sloppy, spit warm and wet on your tongue as he devours you. His teeth knock against yours and you don’t know if he’s drawn blood from your bottom lip or if that’s just the taste of his tongue on yours, but you allow yourself to be consumed. You don’t know what he’s looking for, whether it’s you he sees or whether it’s Suguru he sees.

Still. You allow yourself to be consumed.

tags: @kentobean @aeanya

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 3

You hadn’t quite gotten used to being around Harry in the morning. What would typically be braless breakfasts on Saturday now had you wiping off any traces of mascara and at least throwing on a sports bra before you descended the stairs and turned on the keurig.

But on the morning of what would have been his last day, you came down to hear pots and pans already clanging together and giggles escaping the kitchen.

When you rounded the corner, CeCe was sitting on the counter, Maeve was trying to pour orange juice, and Harry was manning the waffle iron with a bowl of batter by his side.

“Morning,” you said with a suspicious glance. “What’s all this about?”

“Happy birthday!” CeCe smiled, excitement on her face when she turned to see you.

“My birthday’s not for another four days,” you reminded them, a kiss to her forehead when Harry offered a sheepish grin.

It had been long approaching, and thirty-two felt like a number you’d been avoiding in more ways than one. Turning thirty-two probably sounded like no big deal to everyone else. But being a newly-divorced single-mom who’d just lost her father and main support, having a birthday felt like a cruel way for the universe to remind you of all of your failures.

“Right,” Maeve said, “but it’s a Thursday, and we figured we wouldn’t be able to do all of this before school, so,” she shrugged innocently, Harry smiled down at her when you took another look around the kitchen.

It was messy, dishes in the sink and CeCe’s hands looked sticky. Maeve had her hair up but the batter was smeared on her forehead. Harry watched you glance around, his eyes expectant when you then asked: “Can I help?”

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head, amused by your obvious discomfort. “S’not what birthday girls do.”

He shooed you away once Maeve came over and tugged at your arm. “Here,” she said, “come sit and watch TV and I’ll make you coffee.”

“Let Harry make it,” you encouraged, unsure if she’d dump the whole sugar bowl in or spill half and half all over the counter.

“Mom, stay out of it, okay?” She rolled her eyes when she pushed the remote in your face. You looked over your shoulder quickly, shocked by the sight of a man with your daughter by his side, laughing and seemingly enjoying himself.

“Roger that,” you nodded, uncomfortable with the swelling of your heart at the sight of it. CeCe giggled and Maeve hurried back over, laughing when Harry let out a playful yelp at the heat from the waffles as he put them on a plate.

It took them a minute to get everything together, and right when your mug of coffee was returned (a little sweet, but you’d live), the doorbell rang and Maeve jumped into action. She pulled the door open to reveal Tristan, eyebrows arched high on his forehead when realized it wasn’t just any Sunday morning.

You were already on your feet to greet him, worried about the current state of your kitchen but also worried about the type of interaction might occur between your right hand man and the guy in an apron with CeCe tugging at his sleeve.

He’d been asking a lot of questions, his penchant for all things pop culture left him curious (or just nosy) about the current living situation in your new house. You were surprised, quite honestly, that it took him this long to pop over unannounced just to get a peek behind the curtain.

“Well hello” he looked around, a smirk on his face when his eyes settled on you. “Quite the morning we have here.”

“It’s mom’s birthday breakfast,” Maeve informed him, scurrying off to help her accomplices when you greeted him with a hug.

He kissed your cheek and shut the door behind himself. “A few days for you to panic, still, right?”

“Panic?” Harry called over his shoulder, his role more passive now that Maeve was worried about the presentation of the waffles on a ceramic plate.

Tristan took that as his cue to stick out his hand, head for the kitchen, and smile: “Nice to meet you, I’m Tristan. Second in command at Luna Skincare.”

“Harry,” he greeted, voice a good octave lower than Tristan’s and a firm enough handshake that made Tristan blush. “I’m just the house guest.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tristan winked in his direction.

“Alright, why are you here?” You tried to pull his attention away from the attractive man in your kitchen, a loud sip of coffee when he made a face at you.

He pushed a folder into your hands. “Sorry to show up unannounced." (He wasn't.) "But I wanted to show you these. Mock ups for the new body wash debut. Don’t know how I feel about those bottles, but, your call.”

You took it, opened it with one hand and let him thumb through some pages for you to see. The body wash debut was a long time coming--only about a month away and as always, it seemed to come at the best and worst time. Spring was always busy, you always launched something exciting and then CeCe’s birthday was in April. Then school got out in late May and there were plays and dance recitals and everything seemed to happen at once.

But spring was the perfect time for launches--sunshine, warmer weather, less rain in LA and people were typically ready to start spending money to prep their skin for summer.

“I kind of like them,” you looked up at him, voice hesitant when you showed them to Maeve.

“Clean lines, modern branding,” she nodded, coming back to stand beside you. “I like them too.”

“The council has spoken,” Tristan nodded, taking the folder back. “I’ll get back to them tomorrow morning and have them send a few samples over for us to see in person before we move to production.” He pulled out his phone and typed a few things into a note, Maeve tugged at your sleeve.

“Are you going to eat?”

“Yes, let’s offer something to our guest, though, right?”

“Harry’s not a guest anymore,” she wrinkled her nose at you in confusion. “It’s been way too long to call him that.”

“I mean Tristan,” you clarified with a laugh, eyes glancing over to Harry to gauge a reaction.

He felt like a guest, sometimes--when he asked how to use the washing machine or when he asked if it was okay to use the pool. But seeing him make waffles with your daughters or sit on the couch to watch a movie with everyone after dinner made him feel like more of a friend. And thinking that made you feel insecure and stupid.

Harry’s brows arched in Tristan’s direction. “We do have plenty.”

“I’m stuffed,” Tristan waved him off. “Had an omelette and a green smoothie and now I’m off to a spin class--wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Says the man who shows up at my house before 9am on a Sunday with no notice,” you teased.

He held a hand to his hard for dramatic effect. “I just felt like this couldn’t wait.”

“Right,” you narrowed your eyes. “No other reason you needed to stop by.”

He laughed, Maeve was growing impatient and he could sense it, adjusted his messenger bag on his shoulder as he turned to head for the door. “Birthday dinner Friday night? I already made the reservation based on Zoey’s list of restaurants.”

“I will be there, unfortunately,” you teased. “Even though I said we don’t have to do anything special.”

“Friday night?” Harry inquired, eyebrows furrowed together when he moved to lean on the island.

“You should come,” Tristan decided, an enthusiastic nod in Harry’s direction. “Jeff will be there, Zoey--you’ve met Zoey, right?” Harry nodded but you cut them off.

“You don’t have to, Harry,” you said before turning to Tristan. “He’s probably busy.”

He didn’t have to, that part was true. But your hesitance was also because it felt like another blurred line. Was it weird for him to come? Was it weird for him to sit at a table with your friends and sing happy birthday like you hadn’t just met a few weeks prior?

“No, m’not busy. I was actually going to ask if you wanted me to stay with the girls.”

Another wave of butterflies in your stomach at his words, but Maeve derailed the conversation.

“I’m sleeping over Bella’s house,” she informed.

“Me too!” CeCe chirped with a smile.

“No you’re not,” Maeve shot back. “You’re not coming with me to a sleepover.”

Tristan declined Harry’s offer for you before you even had a chance to open your mouth.

“Do you know the woman? She can afford a babysitter. You should come, we’re gonna have an exquisite time!”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, hands in his pockets when he looked to you. “Is that alright?”

You weren’t going to say no. You weren’t going to stare him in the eyes and tell him he couldn’t come or tell him--in front of your daughters--that it felt weird for him to suddenly be more than just a house guest.

“Of course,” you nodded.

“Perfect,” Tristan smiled, “then I’ll see you on Friday,” he pointed at Harry and turned on his feet, a wave over his shoulders at the girls. “Bye my little devils!”

They both echoed a farewell when you turned to face them. “Okay,” you said, a nod to yourself more than to them. This was fine, it was fine for Harry to come along and spend time with your friends, right?

“Let’s eat already, I’m starving,” CeCe groaned. Maeve reached into the drawer and grabbed forks, Harry got the syrup and helped bring plates to the dining room table. The girls reached for waffles and CeCe let out a cry when Maeve took the one with sprinkles that she wanted.

“CeCe,” Harry reassured, “I made this one just for you. Lots of sprinkles,” he nodded, forking a waffle off of his own plate and onto hers.

She grinned from ear to ear and the butterflies reappeared. Maybe having him around wasn’t so bad after all.

**

Maeve’s sleepover fell through. Apparently Bella didn’t ask her mom in time and when Shelli arrived to pick up the girls for an exciting sleepover at Auntie Shelli and Uncle Irv’s, Maeve was less than thrilled.

The day of your birthday was less than exciting. Meetings in the morning, Tristan brought you a cupcake at lunch and you were doing your best to not honk aggressively loud in the pick up line that afternoon when someone nearly caused an accident.

Take out that night with the girls because you didn’t want to cook and Harry was busy--some sort of meeting with Jeff and other people. You were sat on the couch by 10pm with a glass of wine and for a second, you thought about waiting up for him.

A text at 10:15 informed that he’d probably stroll in after midnight. You climbed the stairs and felt hopeless and pathetic and entirely old. Even if everyone was telling you that you weren’t.

Now, Maeve was going on and on about how unfair it was that you didn’t ever let her stay home alone.

“One day will you let me?”

You gave her a sideways glance, secured an earring in place at your dresser and then turned to see her.

“One day--a long time from now.”

“A long time?” She asked, slumped over in a chair in the corner of your bedroom. “How long is long?”

“Maeve,” you let out a frustrated sigh, thankful for the fact that Shelli was more than fine to entertain CeCe downstairs while you finished getting ready and plastered enough deodorant to your armpits in hopes that you wouldn’t sweat through this dress. “I’m not playing this game.”

“It’s not a game, it’s a question,” she shot back.

“When you’re fifteen maybe.”

“Fifteen?! That’s, like, five whole years from now!”

“I know,” you nodded, offering her some mock sympathy. “However will you survive until then?”

A knock on the open door, an awkward smile from Harry. “Hi, sorry to interrupt--you look beautiful.”

“Ew,” Maeve rolled her eyes but then didn’t say more when you shot her a glance in the mirror.

“Thank you,” you said awkwardly, resting a hand on your hip. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just wanted to say I’ll drive, if you want. That way you can, you know,” he held a hand up to his mouth and gestured throwing back a shot.

Maeve stared up at him, confusion etched on her face but then she looked to you. “So you can drink?”

Harry’s face suddenly looked guilty, his eyes wide when you let out a laugh.

“Yes, so I can drink. But only responsibly,” you informed her, a finger pointed in her direction before you nodded and obliged. “That would be great, Harry.”

If he was going to come, he might as well be useful. It wasn’t going to be that type of night, though. Thirty-two felt like it was way too old to get too drunk to drive or end up on a friend’s couch hungover in the morning.

This was just a birthday dinner, ten people total and fancy wine. You’d order dessert and be home by eleven.

Maeve lugged her overnight bag down the steps, complaining the whole way about Bella and dragging her feet out of the door and into Shelli’s car.

Shelli, who wrapped her arms around you and wished you a happy belated, kissed you on both cheeks and encouraged you to let loose. “You’re not old,” she smiled. “You’re mature, you’re settling into your life. You’ve got years ahead of you to be boring and tired.”

You smiled, let her hug you again when you said: “it’s just been a hard year.”

“I know,” she nodded, brushed your hair with her hand and gave you an extra squeeze. “And birthdays just make us look back at the last 365 days.”

You nodded when she let you go. She kept your hands in hers, though, ignored the way Maeve said something snotty to CeCe in the back seat. “But here’s to looking forward! To the next 365 days and to less headaches. I’ll keep these two under control and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry had wandered out now, sunglasses on to shield his eyes from the setting sun.

“Harry!” Shelli called him over. “Make sure Y/N has fun tonight.”

He let out a laugh but looked in your direction. “I can try.” He had the keys in his hand, pressed a button to make his car chirp to life when Shelli got in hers.

You bent down at the back window, reached in and pinched CeCe on the cheek. “Be good, okay?”

“You be good too, mommy,” CeCe smiled. They waved from the backseat when they pulled out of the driveway and you turned to see Harry, still standing with his sunglasses on a smirk on his face.

“What?”

“Is it really that hard to make you have fun?”

He walked towards his car, you followed his lead and prayed your heels would hold out on the pavement. “No,” you said with a certain level of defense. “She’s just teasing me.”

“Yeah?” He climbed in when you opened the door. You settled in beside him and felt a sudden urge to convince him.

“I’m a fun person, Harry.”

He smirked when he started the engine. “Never said you weren’t.”

“I just have responsibilities, you know? Two children--that clearly would kill each other with their bare hands if I weren’t watching.”

“Hmm, don’t think I agree with you on that one,” he laughed, the tires gripped the pavement of your street when he took off towards the restaurant. “I think they’re more tame than you think. In fact, I think you’ve gotten so connected to the role of mom that it’s hard for you to turn that off.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You sound like a therapist.”

He shrugged, dimples on his cheeks when he stole a glance in your direction from behind his sunglasses. “Does that mean I’m right?”

“No,” you said, looking down at the bracelet on your wrist. “Not completely.”

Quiet for a few moments, a left turn signal before he looked at you again. “I think you’re super fun, by the way.”

You hated the way it made your pulse pick up, another smirk in his direction when you felt your cheeks turn warm and he let out a tiny laugh.

You were both quiet for the rest of the ride, he introduced himself to Zoey and joked with Jeff on the way to your table on the back patio of a restaurant in Brentwood. They’d put up balloons, a toast in your honor after other friends filed in.

Appetizers first, embarrassing stories from your high school friends who seemed to flutter their eyelashes in Harry’s direction. Jeff’s arm was around the back of your chair by the time your dinner plates were cleared.

“The only time I’ve seen you as excited was when our dads brought us backstage for the No Strings Attached tour.”

You shot Jeff a look quickly, hoping he wasn’t planning on launching into the same story he’d told a thousand times--if only to see the look on your face.

“Wait, you mean the NSYNC tour?” Harry was seated across the table, margarita in hand when he leaned in for more details.

“Oh god,” Zoey rolled her eyes when Tristan shook his head. “Not this story again.”

“You mean the greatest story ever?” Jeff leaned down and shot her a look.

“We’ve all heard it,” Tristan whined, “I could recite it as if I was there, honestly.”

Harry’s eyes met yours, a few glasses of wine deep as the tea lights above the patio flickered on. “I haven’t heard it.”

“You certainly don’t need to,” you pointed at him with a lazy finger.

“Were you even alive then?” Tristan laughed.

“For NSYNC?” Harry pulled his head back, “course I was! My sister was obsessed with them.”

“Okay, well the story is literally stupid. Jeff thinks it’s funnier than it is and all that happened--”

“I want to tell him!” Jeff reached over and smacked you on the shoulder, pulling an eye roll from you when the others let out a laugh. “She asked Justin Timberlake to sign her boobs in front of our dads and it was ridiculously uncomfortable for everyone.”

“I was fourteen,” you defended, a smile pulling your lips towards the sky. “And stupid and in love with him and I didn’t think they could hear us.”

“Right,” Jeff waved you off as if everything you said was totally valid. “But the best part is when her dad then goes: ‘if you sign hers, you have to sign mine, too.’”

Zoey let out a snort of a laugh and so did the others, Harry tried to fight a smirk when he looked your way.

Jeff could barely keep a straight face, “Justin Timberlake never seemed so intimidated in his life.”

“I can’t believe I haven’t heard that story before,” Harry said to Jeff, elbows on the table now. “I can’t believe Irv hasn’t made a thousand jokes about it.”

You sipped at your drink and narrowed your eyes at Harry. “Maybe he also blocked it out due to being traumatized by the embarrassment.”

“What year was that?”

“Summer of 2000,” you looked to Jeff. “Their prime, obviously not mine.”

“Oh it was most certainly not your prime.” He shot back with a laugh,

You gave him a shove. “It wasn’t yours either! Your hair was curly and not in the cool JT way.”

“I’ve seen some of those pictures,” Harry pointed at his friend. “She’s right--not in a cool way.”

Jeff played it off and shot something back at Harry, ordered you another drink when you tugged on a jacket in the cooler air. The waiter brought out a cake with sparklers on top, Zoey took a thousand pictures and wrapped her arms around you at the end of the night.

“I have a feeling thirty-two will be a much better year,” she assured.

“Here’s hoping,” you agreed, pulled apart from her when Tristan leaned in to kiss you on the cheek.

“Well, you have a chauffeur for the night, so you’re off to a good start,” he teased.

Harry held up his keys in his hand and raised his eyebrows in a cheeky way. “Door to door service, a good price. Definitely off to a good start.”

You climbed back into the front seat of his car after Jeff shoved the balloons in the back, told you to keep them for the girls. The car ride was quiet, he told you about his album and kept the windows half way down as you snaked back up into the hills. You weren’t wasted by any means, just tipsy and tired and full after good food and better friends.

You keyed into the house with the balloons in hand, Harry was behind you and flicked on a light switch downstairs. You kicked your heels off inside and let the balloons float into the living room. “Want a glass of wine?”

He looked in your direction after clicking his phone shut, eyebrows raised as if he didn’t quite know how to answer. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

“I’d have one if you would,” you shrugged, already walking to the kitchen to grab some glasses.

He smiled, came to the island and ran a hand through his hair when you uncorked a new bottle of Pinot Noir. When you handed him a glass, he clinked it against yours and took a sip.

“Happy Birthday,” he said.

“Don’t remind me,” you laughed.

“Oh come on, s’not that bad.”

“You turn thirty-two and then tell me that.”

“I’ll keep you posted,” he nodded. “Dinner was good though.”

“As good as it can be when you get that group of weirdos together,” you admitted, stem of the glass between your fingers when you headed for the couch. He watched you walk away, paused for a moment before he followed suit and sat a few cushions down on the oatmeal colored sofa.

“S’kind of funny that we hadn’t met before Jeff set this up,” he motioned around the living room as if to gesture to the living arrangement. “I mean--obviously I’d heard a lot about you.”

“Like what?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him as you sipped the wine again. “If not the most embarrassing story of my early teens--”

“Just that you were one of his closest friends. Probably heard just as much about you from Shelli and Irv, to be fair.”

“I think I’m their favorite child even though I’m not actually theirs.”

He laughed at that, lifted his glass as if to agree with you before he angled his body towards you. “What did Jeff ever say about me? Aside from making me sound homeless and pathetic.”

You shook your head a bit and tugged at the hem of your dress. “He didn’t make you sound like either of those.”

“Well you didn’t seem too eager to have me living here…”

He trailed off, like he was waiting for you to protest or something. When you fought a smile and looked up at him, he squinted suspiciously. “What?”

You hesitated, unsure if admitting it would do you any good. Things were starting to feel normal, almost like Harry had a place in your house or your life or like it at least wasn’t awkward to be sitting on the couch with him after a night out with friends.

“Oh it’s that bad? Hesitate before you tell me bad?”

You made a face and laughed, almost embarrassed. “I was mostly focused on the fact that you’re young and that you’d maybe be a bad influence on the girls. You know--the whole rock star vibe.”

He smiled, nodded after a second but then said: “do I pass the test?”

“There’s no test,” you rolled your eyes.

“Right,” he looked at you like you were crazy, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. “You expect me to believe that you didn’t make me meet you for coffee with Jeff that day to scope me out? Figure out if I was a total freak--”

You leaned back into the sofa and let out a playful groan. “I mean I was hoping you weren’t since Jeff always had such good things to say about you.”

He made you list them off, laughed at the fact that you thought you were too old or too uncool to come to the release for his first album. He poured you both another glass and smiled, hopefully you’ll come to the next one.

He showed you stupid videos from his time in his old band, listened to you talk about anxieties at work and how weird it felt to be in your dad’s house now.

“I mean, I’m glad we had a place to come.”

“Where’d you live before?”

“Woodland Hills,” you shrugged. “We bought a house there right after CeCe was born. It was nice, but too small and we obviously needed a change after I found him in bed with another woman in our bedroom there, so.”

Harry’s eyes went wide at that, he let out a laugh when you did, too. “Sounds miserable.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“And he’s not--does he see the girls ever?”

You bit your lip, moved your head from side to side and then sighed. “I mean--I asked if he could come to the funeral just to be with them and watch them since I was so busy, but he told me that he’d planned a weekend getaway with his new girlfriend in Malibu, so…”

“So he’s really a twat.”

You laughed at his word choice, British and confident when he nodded his head. “Yeah.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Luke.”

“Luke!” He scoffed and looked up the ceiling. “No wonder he was a twat.”

“Yep,” you nodded. “So it’s nice to be here.”

“I’m sorry that happened, by the way.”

You waved him off, finished the last of your wine and set the glass on the coffee table. “S’all good. Moving on to bigger and better things, right?”

“M’sure you can do better than someone who didn’t realize what a mistake he was making.”

You nodded slowly, dropped his gaze when you felt butterflies beneath your ribcage. You let out a breath, looked up to him. “I should probably head to bed.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, moved to stand from the couch and reached out for your wine glass. You handed it to him, ignored the way his fingers grazed against yours when he smiled. “Are you drunk?”

You hesitated to answer, followed behind him to the kitchen when he looked over his shoulder, waiting for your answer.

“Are you drunk?”

He pretended to be offended. “I asked you first!”

You lifted your shoulders and then giggled. “Yes, but in a good way.”

“Great, love that.”

“You have to answer, too!”

He turned around after he put the glasses in the sink. “After a bottle of wine here and a few margaritas at dinner? Of course I am,” he laughed. “Red wine goes straight to my head,” he pointed to his temple.

“Well,” you started to walk back to the living room for the stairs by your office, flipping off a few light switches along the way. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Yeah? You plan on getting me drunk again soon?”

“I didn’t get you drunk,” you pointed at him. “It’s my birthday dinner, remember?”

“Yeah--you’ve been throwing them back all night so I couldn’t forget.”

“From the guy who encouraged me to have fun tonight! I’ve been having a great time, totally relaxed, totally cool…”

“You have,” he laughed, his footsteps echoing on the stairs behind you. “Just like you were totally cool when you met NSYNC.”

“Hey,” you turned around quickly and laughed, a tad unsteady from the drinks and the time of night. “That is privileged and confidential information--not something you get to hold over my head!”

“Mmm, okay, so I can’t bring that up in front of Irv and Shelli?”

“Absolutely not,” you leaned against the door frame to your room. “Unless you want to never speak to me again.”

It was dark in the hallway, a glow from the lights on the first floor crept up the stairs when he held your gaze for a second.

“Wouldn’t want that,” he said, voice quieter now.

Your heart seemed to flutter, or maybe it was the alcohol or the fact that you were up way too late. “Mhm,” you paused, unsure of how to respond to the sudden shift in the air between you. “Then I suggest you forget that story.”

“Thanks for letting me come with you guys tonight.”

“Yeah,” you said, eyes down to the ground for a second, suddenly self conscious. Did he have a good time? Was it weird for him to come? “Thanks for driving.”

You didn’t have too long to dwell on the thoughts, though, because soon he stepped closer and let his mouth meet yours before you were able to bring a hand to his shirt, tugging him into you.

He pulled you closer, too, his hand on the small of your back before he pulled away. “Are you--is that--I should have asked first.”

“No,” you shook your head, the word sounded funny in your drunk brain. “I’m not mad about it.”

He let out a quiet laugh, kissed you again when you tugged him back into the room and shut the door with his free hand.

You stumbled backwards, laughed against his lips when he lowered you onto the bed. Greedy hands and desperate moans when he pulled away to tug down your panties. If your life had been a movie, there’d be a cut to the hands on a clock spinning while you giggled into his neck and felt your skin against his beneath the sheets.

But what felt like a dream could only last so long.

Your head shot up from the pillow when you heard it--the door opening and shutting, the beep throughout the house to let you know someone had arrived. Sun shone through the curtains and giggles floated up from the first floor, you heard Maeve tell CeCe something and then you heard footsteps on the stairs.

Morning, the night faded into sobriety and you rubbed your eyes. His face was barely visible beneath his messy hair and the sheet pulled up to his chin.

“Harry,” you shoved him, voice quiet but stern. “Wake up!”

He blinked a few times, squinted in the sunlight and you realized that an 8am wake up call might have been early for him, you know, since he was barely an adult.

“The girls are home,” you said when you shoved him again. “Which means Shelli is here, which means you need to get the hell out of my bed.”

His eyes opened wide at that, he pushed himself up and then scrambled out of the sheets when he heard footsteps in the hall. The door was locked, luckily, but the banging of little fists had you pushing Harry into your bathroom and telling him to not say a word.

He was sleepy, but his lips pulled into a smirk when he took one look at you half-dressed. There was no time for addressing the way his fingers pulled moans from your lips or the way he said he’d been waiting for this. No, because as soon as the thoughts of last night settled back into your brain, you tugged the door open to see your beautiful daughters smiling up at you.

“Good morning,” you said, voice cheery when you tugged a sweatshirt over your skimpy tank top. You forced a smile and Maeve seemed to narrow her eyes.

“You look messy.”

“I just haven’t brushed my hair,” you told her. CeCe pushed past you and ran straight for your bed, a cannonball of sorts into tangled sheets.

“We had the best time with Auntie Shelli and Uncle Irv!” She said, “we watched a movie last night mommy and I stayed up until ten o’clock.”

“You fell asleep on the couch,” Maeve corrected her. “I stayed up until almost eleven,” she bragged.

“That’s great,” you told them, heartbeat rising as you tried to search for a way out of this. “Girls, why don’t you go find Auntie Shelli and--”

“I’m right here, sorry, I hope they didn’t wake you,” she appeared in the doorway, pulling another forced smile from you when you turned on your heels. “Good morning,” she looked you up and down with a smirk, more perceptive than your daughters.

“Where’s Harry?” Maeve asked, crossing her arms as she relaxed back on top of your duvet.

“I don’t know,” you said quickly. “In his room.”

“Door’s open, he’s not there,” she answered.

“Maybe he went to stay at a friend’s house.”

“Oh--did he tell you that?”

“I don’t remember,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders, suddenly feeling put on trial by your ten-year-old.

Shelli had scanned the room, her eyes landing on the shoes by the foot of your bed that were clearly not yours. She smiled, nodded slowly and then said: “Girls, why don’t we go pick up donuts? We can bring some back for mom and she can take a shower and straighten up while we’re out?”

“Great idea,” you smiled, a hurried nod as you moved towards your daughters and ushered them out of your bed. “When you get back we can watch TV or go for a bike ride later today,” you were just throwing shit at the wall now, anything to get them out of your room and distracted enough to not realize that Harry’s shirt was on the floor beside his pants and that his bed hadn’t even been slept in.

“I want a jelly donut!” CeCe informed you when Shelli pushed them out into the hallway.

“Sounds great,” you smiled. “See you in a bit, okay?”

You mouthed a thank you to Shelli and she winked in your direction, a wave of nausea crashing into you once the door was shut. You rushed over to the bathroom door, pulled it open, and found Harry leaning against the wall with his head in his hands.

He looked up quickly at the sound, offered an awkward smile and said: “are you livid?”

You shook your head, unsure how to put your emotions into words but also aware of the fact that this was the exact reason why this should have never happened. You turned around and headed back for the bedroom, looked out the window near your closet to see Shelli helping the girls into the backseat.

“You’re not livid?”

“No,” you said, turning around quickly. “I just--I don’t know--that probably wasn’t a great idea.”

His face fell a little bit, arms crossed over his torso when he asked: “what do you mean?”

“Last night was fun, Harry, but I’m thirty-two. I’m a mom,” you said the word like it was embarrassing to admit.

He made a face like he didn’t get the point but then nodded. “I’m completely aware of both of those facts.”

“You’re twenty-four,” you reminded him. “That’s a seven year age difference.”

“Eight, now that your birthday passed,” he said this sheepishly, like he knew it would lead to another groan.

“Exactly!” You said. “That’s a big gap. I spend my weekends going to birthday parties and playdates. What do you even do? Go to clubs and hang out with millionaires?”

He let out a laugh. “I’ve been hanging out with your kids a lot on the weekends, to be honest.”

“Yeah, but, my kids almost just caught us in bed together and Jeff’s mom is definitely aware that something happened, now, so--”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

A moment passed when you heard the engine start.

“It was fun, though,” he said, a small step closer to you when you let out a sigh. “It was something I’d been hoping would happen.”

Your breath seemed to catch in your throat when he took another step closer, the pad of his thumb making contact with your arm when he went on. “Call me crazy but I feel like we both knew that was coming.”

You took a step back, not because he was wrong and not because you didn’t like it, but because suddenly every thought in your brain was spinning at 100 miles per hour and you knew you had about fifteen minutes to get dressed and figure out what the hell was going on. Or at least craft a story that would explain why his clothes were in your room and figure out a way to get Shelli to completely forget whatever she thought she saw.

“Can we maybe talk about it later? Like--when they’re not coming back here in a few minutes with donuts and coffee?”

“Yes,” he nodded, words fumbling out of his mouth like he’d forgotten how to form sentences. “Later. I’m going to get dressed.”

“Me too.”

He shut the door after he gathered up his clothes and shoes. You sat on the foot of the bed and stared at your hands--the ones that had touched him and run through his hair and traced circles on his chest when you fell asleep.

You were simultaneously mad at yourself for being stupid enough to do that and still completely enchanted by the fact that it happened and you weren’t dreaming and you hadn’t been crazy to think there was some level of sexual tension between you.

You were drunk. The first time you'd had more than two glasses of wine in a while, after all. Whatever type of stupid crush that had developed was nothing more than that: stupid, silly, a complete fantasy that had sparked into a flame once you had a few drinks.

Sure, maybe you had no clue what to do moving forward, but you figured that playing it cool was the only option until you’d had enough time to let your thoughts and feelings settle.

Maeve and CeCe were clueless, you learned, when they sat at the counter and scarfed down donuts. You sipped the coffee that Shelli had returned with and asked about their night.

A movie, popcorn on the couch, so many laughs and Uncle Irv even let them play on the old pinball machine he kept in his office.

The shower in Harry’s room shut off eventually, he descended the stairs with wet hair and offered a timid smile to everyone in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he patted CeCe on the head and moved to fetch the cup of coffee that Shelli offered in his direction.

“I’ll take it the birthday dinner went well?” Shelli brought her coffee up to her lips and let her eyes dance between the two of you. Harry looked at you and you looked at him, a silent standoff to see who would respond.

But it was your birthday, you realized.

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Was great.”

You reached for a bite of donut from CeCe’s plate, she let out a yelp when you plopped it in your mouth, offering her an apologetic look. “Good food, good drinks.”

“You enjoyed yourself too, Harry?”

He was caught off guard by this, lips in a thin line when he set his coffee on the counter and nodded. “It was wonderful, really.”

Shelli wouldn’t care--you weren’t worried what she would think or if she’d judge you. If anything, you knew she’d be the type to encourage you to let your hair down and venture out into the dating pool. Which is what she practically did last night. You just didn’t know if she’d actually meant to encourage you to sleep with the client of her son.

But she didn’t know the context! She didn’t know about the way he looked at you across the dinner table or the way he kept pouring wine. All she knew was that she told you to have fun and then she found you--quite disheveled--with Harry’s clothes on the floor and Harry himself nowhere to be found.

Maeve was off to her room soon enough, reporting that she needed a break from CeCe who was keen to play with a doll in the living room with the TV on. You wiped the counter with a sponge and Harry took a loud slurp of his coffee when Shelli broke out into a full smile.

“It’s none of my business,” she said.

“It’s not,” you looked up at her quickly.

“But,” she lifted a single shoulder and smirked when you rolled your eyes. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“It’s not a secret.”

“Then why was he hiding in the bathroom?” She lowered her voice so CeCe wouldn’t hear.

“How do you know I was in the bathroom?”

“He wasn’t hiding in the bathroom.”

Shelli offered an unimpressed look in your direction but then turned to Harry. “She’s a catch, Harry.”

“Okay,” you held up a hand, embarrassed and uncomfortable and already breaking a sweat. It was fun, you’d been thinking a lot about him and the way he acted with you and the kids and you didn’t need Shelli to be egging on your single-mom fantasy.

Harry blushed at that, a nod in her direction and a smirk on his face when he brought his eyes to you.

“Shelli--people get drunk and do things that sometimes they wouldn’t normally, right? So, I need you to not make a big deal out of this and not tell Jeffrey.”

She put her fingers up to her lips and twisted them, implying that they were locked and Jeff wouldn’t catch wind of your best and most anxiety-provoking hook up to date. She dropped it at that, Harry made some excuse about going for a run and soon Saturday melted back into what you’d hoped it would be: the kids playing outside, cannon balls in the pool after lunch.

Daylight faded and it wasn’t until after 9pm when you had to face him again. He knocked on the door to your office when you had glasses falling down your nose, a sweatshirt tugged over your messy bun.

The side of his mouth twitched into a smirk, arms folded over his chest. “Do you ever take a day off?”

You let out a laugh and turned to see him over your shoulder. “Email never sleeps.”

He watched you for a second, wheels spinning in his head as he planned out his next words carefully: “Is now a better time to discuss what happened last night?”

You let out a sigh, one that pulled a nervous look to his face, but he soon laughed. “Uh oh,” he teased. “Doesn’t sound like a good start.”

“No,” you laughed, unsure of how to save any last morsel of dignity. “I’m sorry that Shelli was so...intrusive this morning.”

He looked down to the ground but chuckled. “Can’t say I’m surprised. She’s always talked about you like a daughter.”

“Yeah, I just--I had a great time, I mean that--”

“But,” he looked at you expectantly, blinked a few times when you smacked your lips together.

“But I think that it needs to be a one time thing. It would be really confusing for CeCe and Maeve if they found out.”

He nodded, took a deep breath and said: “I agree. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Something plucked at your heart, an unidentifiable emotion that made you want to kiss him harder than you did after five drinks and a birthday dinner. He was fine--totally understanding and unbothered by your words that effectively ended whatever mini-fling had existed for less than 24 hours.

Maybe that was it--disappointment. Had you expected him to put up a fight and convince you endlessly to sleep with him again or sweep you off your feet and drive off into the sunset? No. Did a part of you wish that he didn’t seem so accepting of learning that it would never happen again? Apparently so.

You faltered for a second, stared at him awkwardly but then clicked out of your mailbox. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

He looked back out to the kitchen, quiet and tidy after it’s post-dinner clean. “Do you want a glass of wine?” He smiled a bit, watched you with a sturdy dose of suspicion when you stood and rolled your eyes.

“Is this our thing? Turning questions around?”

He laughed but trailed behind you, sat at the island when you picked out a bottle. “Our thing? What do you mean?”

“You know--all friends have a thing, their bantery joke. Apparently ours is asking a question but then the other person turns it back around.”

“Hmmm,” he laughed, thought on it for a second when you uncorked and poured. “Are we friends?”

You looked up at him, matched the smirk on his face when he plucked at his lower lip. You slid a glass over to him on the granite. “Are we not friends?”

“You’re doing our thing.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, took a sip of the Merlot and then cleared your throat. “We can be friends.”

“Friends who don’t sleep together.”

“Right,” you nodded, less self-conscious than you had been in your office. It happened, right? People would accidentally sleep together when they were drunk and they could move on, poke fun, make light of a situation that threatened to bring too many emotions to the surface if either one let their guard down for a second.

“Did either Maeve or CeCe ask any more questions today about where I was?”

“Nope,” you shook your head, let out a breath of relief. “Maeve got too distracted by the donuts and the activity planning of the day and CeCe was oblivious the whole time. So, we should be fine.”

“Good,” he said. A pause when he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?”

He looked up at you briefly, shrugged a little and then said: “Just can’t help but think about what Jeff would say.”

You blushed at that, dropped his gaze and stared at the wine in your glass. “I don’t know about you but I’m okay not finding out.”

Another dimple on his cheek when he asked: “embarrassed of me?”

“No,” you laughed, fighting a smile. “I just know how he can be. He’ll want to know every detail and he’ll have a million questions. If you think Shelli was bad this morning, Jeff would be worse.”

He smiled, tipped his glass back to take another pull. “Right, he might as well be your brother, I guess.”

“He’s just as annoying as one, that’s for sure." You were desperate to change the subject, fearful of what you might say or admit if the topic stayed put. "Do you have any siblings?”

“Sister, yeah,” he nodded. “Just the two of us.”

“Are you close?”

“Super,” he smiled. “We talk pretty regularly despite the time difference. Our parents got divorced when we were young so it kind of feels like we’ve been through a lot together.”

He didn’t realize the way his words hit close to home until you sighed.

“How much did that ruin your life?”

He pulled a face, apologetic and understanding at the same time. “It didn’t ruin my life,” he reassured. “Just don’t think they were meant to be.”

“Well I can definitely relate to that.”

He tilted his head to the side, swirled the wine around his glass. “Why do you ask if it ruined my life?”

“I just worry about them, I guess. I was young when they got divorced, and then my mom passed and that definitely affected my sense of family."

He nodded, his eyes invested when you spoke.

“It was just me and my dad--and obviously we had the Azoffs, but, I don’t know. I guess I just worry that they’ll also grow up feeling somewhat unfulfilled.”

“Did you want a sibling growing up?”

“More than anything,” you laughed. “I mean, I had Alison and Jeff and all of them, but--you know, it’s not blood.”

“Yeah,” he took another sip. “I get that--my step dad was really important to me, passed away last summer.”

“Oh, wow--I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

Great--here you were complaining about losing both parents now, completely unaware that Harry had suffered a similar loss and yet this was the first time you were hearing it.

“I don’t mean to talk about myself so much,” you said quickly, cheeks flushed in a pink hue of shame.

He let out a soft laugh, almost as if he found your sudden retraction endearing or adorable. “I could listen all day.”

“Well, I wouldn’t make you suffer through that,” you said.

He stood, rounded the edge of the island and you wondered if he could hear your heart beating out of your chest, like you were 16 at a summer fair on top of the ferris wheel. His lips were pressed to yours before you could tell him not to, before you could stick up a hand between the two of you and remind him what you’d said only a few minutes earlier: friends.

The moment was quick, though, the tiny thudding of feet on the stairs sent him flying to the other side of the kitchen. CeCe’s hands gripped the railing and she rubbed at her eyes when she let out a tiny wail.

“I--had--a--bad--dream,” she cried, her voice soft in the dim kitchen.

“Oh sweetie,” you hurried over to her, let your arms wrap around her before you scooped her up into your arms. “It’s okay, it was just a dream, you’re here and safe with mommy.”

You looked over to him, a close lipped smile in apology when you turned back to the stairs. Maybe it was for the best. If you couldn’t control yourself around him, at least you could count on nightmares and little feet to be your safety net.

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[sweetbunnykook]

Only You (9)

Word Count: 13,197 // [SPOILER IN WARNINGS] angst (mention of double homicide, gore/blood, miscarriage, mistreatment of a corpse, panic attack), smut (period sex, cunnilungus, blowjob, throatpie, body worship, mommy kink), brief fluff, toxic relationship, manipulation

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.  

A/N: If you are still reading this series, I wish you the best of luck. Please leave a review if you can and let me know your thoughts. - 🐰

You were every mother’s blessing – kind, caring, intelligent, obedient. She watched you stumble and fall many times but you manage to catch your footing with a smile. Despite your yearning for independence, your mother kept you in her embrace as all mothers do. In some ways, it would be loving; things like helping you choose the venue for your wedding and holding your hand while you inquire about using chiffon instead of silk for your veil. You were such a wonderful daughter that she didn’t wish for a son even when you decided to carve your own path rather than follow your father’s footsteps into medicine and entrepreneurship.

It’s why your mother sits in the parking lot of your apartment complex, dumbfounded beyond belief, teeth gritted. She looks up at your window to see Jungkook staring back down at her, unable to read him. She holds his steel hard gaze, daring him to look away or pull the curtains close.

He doesn’t take the bait.  

Pulling the shifting gear and rolling out of the parking lot, she peels her eyes away and takes several deep breaths.

There is no way on God’s green Earth that you fell in love with a middle-class photographer. Of all people, of all the men in your circle, affluent men coming from money both new and old, you couldn’t have fallen for a lowly photographer who doesn’t care about you enough to know his place and leave you be. How could Jungkook not know that you aren’t meant to live like this? How could he be so selfish as to hope for marriage when he could barely afford the ring he wants to slip onto your finger?

Your mother throws back her head and cackles. The only reason you were able to study abroad during college, the only reason why you could walk into an upscale neighborhood and look like you belong there, is because she followed the natural way. She never loved your father, not even once, but he was a good husband and an even better financial asset. Not only did she not have to lift a finger after tying the knot, but she also became part of the untouchables.

There’s a sense of power and invincibility that comes with wealth. It comes softly, like a whisper of wind that keeps a dandelion intact; it’s invisible to the eyes but she can feel it when she shakes hands with politicians, celebrities, businessmen and women, important people doing important things.

It took nearly twenty years of work. Getting close to the Kims, making sure you attend the same school as their children, running into Namjoon when you visit their vacation home, and letting his parents witness what a great wife you would be for him – it was all going so well. Puberty treated you well enough too that she didn’t need to consider getting you minor cosmetic procedures when you graduated high school. Sure, you could lose a few more pounds, but you were healthy and fit to give the Kims, and her, the grandchildren who will guarantee a new generation of wealth and prosperity. Gone are the days when she could only dream about creating the perfect family, respected by the social circle and the general public. You, her lifelong project, made it all come true.

Yet, life proves to be cruel once again.

As soon as she set her eyes on Yori she knew she was trouble. She didn’t object when you stayed out later and wore a bit more makeup than what was deemed graceful for a woman of your age. She knew that if she’d raised her voice, you would be compelled to rebel (it didn’t help that you were as stubborn and thick-skinned as your father). However, she wanted to warn you, just a tiny bit, that Yori is the kind of girl whose eyes strayed to find a new target and you were a hair away from standing right in the middle of that mark. She knew, because Yori had the kind of eyes she had as a twenty-year-old woman who climbed that very same social ladder.  

You were such a good daughter, so intelligent and transparent, that she believed you would have the backbone to come into your mother’s arms at the first sign of danger. It looks like you were just as clueless as the rest of the sheep you called your bridesmaids.

A Jeep honks from the next lane as she swerves into the street and bangs on the steering wheel with the heel of her hand, her Cartier bracelets clanking together in unity. The light turns yellow and she stomps on the accelerator, lurching the vehicle forward.

At the end of the day, she knew it was her fault. She could have warned you earlier, planted seeds of doubt in your mind, even pull Namjoon back into your arms if you realized soon enough; but alas, your day was chosen to be one of desolation and misfortune. Her poor daughter, the apple of her eye, the one precious gem of a person who would propel the family into royalty, whisked right away from under her nose.

She shakes her head, tires screaming as she veers into the next semi-busy lane, watching the sun disappear into the horizon as the familiar roads darken.

Letting you mourn on your own terms was the biggest mistake of her life, second to not following her gut feeling and keeping Yori away from you. She knew about this photographer lover of yours who has the face of an angel and seem to follow you like a puppy wherever you go. From a distance, she’d watched you wrap your arms around him and kiss him with such fervor in a public space she felt bile rise for the first time looking at you – her most precious creation acting like a hussy for all to see.

The boy seemed to be in love with you as much as you depended on him. She waited until you would be sick of him like the ones you took to bed after the wedding night (yes, she knew about your shameful conquests). She waited countless nights, praying that you would come to your senses, that you won’t refuse her advances, until months later she sees you living with him and sharing meals and completely forgetting about her. Yes, she had been mainly focused on making sure the investors haven’t pulled out and that you still had a name for yourself after the wedding. It wasn’t an ideal response as a mother because you needed help and she knew you’d throw a hissy fit but you must understand that while you had been taking men to bed, she had been busting her ass saving what’s left of the family pride.

The Kims also attempted to salvage your reputation, but they won’t do so at the cost of Namjoon’s name. The true reality is that parents will only care for their own blood in the end.

It’s why she finds herself confused and drenched with sweat when the car halts in front of the white villa lined with jasmine bushes. There’s a new gate installed, probably to keep away reporters during the first few weeks after the wedding incident hit the papers, and it momentarily angered her that she must now ask an intercom to enter a space that should have been a gift to you from the Kims.

Her hands tighten around the steering wheel with the intent to squeeze something warm and pulsing. She still remembered the day Yori knelt on the floor of your dressing room and she still remembered the strands of hair that squeezed her fingertips as she tore the whore’s flower hair clip off her head. The yelling, the panic, the uproar, the whispers that came from the guests – it was humiliation to the tenth degree.

Wiping the bead of sweat off her temples with the back of her hand, your mother hushes the engine and places the key in her coat. She steps out of the vehicle and marches up to the gate and buzzes in, huffing when her heels wobble on the cobblestone steps.

A few heartbeats later, Yori’s voice pours through her ears and reached into the crevices of her scalp like a dull headache.

“Hello?”

She leans forward. “It’s me.”

There’s a long pause before the gates click open and the stone stairway up to the front door reveals itself with a moist gleam. The garden sprinklers die down just as she steps onto the platform and makes her way up to the front door where Yori is leaning against, one hand on her stomach, the other hand tucking her fringe away from her face. She notes that the knitted silk dress, tied above the swell of her belly, is from the latest Prada collection.

“What a pleasant surprise,” she smiles. “Come in. Welcome to my home. I apologize for the mess…I had a baby shower earlier today and help is gone for the rest of the week.”

Your mother wanted to rip that smug grin off her face but she kept her eyebrows still and her lips soft.

“Excuse my intrusion.”

She walks into the spacious living room, eyes quickly glancing at the stacks of presents on the couch and the empty bottles of sparkling water and champagne sitting on the coffee table. She can recognize, just from the color of the boxes, that the gifts were not cheap. Had you married Namjoon, this would have been your palace.

“I’m in the middle of decorating the nursery. If you don’t mind…” Yori says, not bothering to look back as she makes her way up the stairs. She didn’t have to turn around to see that steam is coming out of your mother’s ears. “Can you help me with unrolling the mat in the hallway? I can’t bend over very well.”

Your mother trails behind in place of answering, watching Yori’s hip swing side to side as she makes her way up the stairs and then turn to leer down at the older woman. It’s a bit laughable, Yori thinks, as your mother pretends not to ogle at the stacks of Tiffany blue boxes tucked beside the living room couch like shoeboxes. Her face flushes when she meets Yori’s eyes once more but she doesn’t comment as she follows the young woman into the hallway just a few feet away from the stairs. Her head turns at the smell of fresh paint to see the nursery on her left, the door left open as if the room expected her arrival.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Yori fixes her fringe once more. “He needed to attend a conference in Ginza. I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

“There’s no need.” She leers at the stacks of presents next to the crib. More aquamarine boxes, all neatly stacked according to size with the smallest at the top.

The younger woman leans against the tall, heavy vase next to the wall leading into the hallway to the East wing. “If you say so.”

There’s no reason for your mother to be here. It should be you instead, coming back to tie loose ends and perhaps inquire about Namjoon’s injuries if you cared enough. Compared to your mother, you didn’t have much of a backbone when it comes to relationships and it makes it so easy for men to take what they want and go. It’s what made you a bore, what gave Yori the power to pull Namjoon right into her bed and have him calling her name like a prayer.  

“Did you forget basic manners?” Your mother finally snaps, beady eyes darting from side to side to admire the nursery that could have been a snapshot from a furniture magazine. “Not even offering a glass of water?”

Yori only smiles, motioning to the unrolled mat slumped against the wall, adjacent from the staircase.

“I assumed whatever you wanted say would be quick as you came uninvited. You’d probably think the water is poisoned even if I offered any way.”

The older woman glances at the rug – no doubt imported from Dubai with its elegant coloring and silk touch – then walks over to it before tracing her fingers around the rolled edges. She shouldn’t have accepted to do such demeaning housework but given how she pulled into the driveway unannounced and that the woman is heavily pregnant with no help around, it was only fair. She may have left behind her patience with Jungkook but not her manners.  

“Why did you have to pick that day to tell her?”

Yori’s eyebrows raised just slightly before falling back down to its former position. She puts a hand over her stomach and walks towards the giant vase again, rubbing her fingers over the cool lacquered surface. Namjoon’s parents had a thing for porcelain she just couldn’t wrap her head around.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you wait until the marriage ceremony to tell her you were screwing her husband?”

“Husband?” She cocks her head to the side with an incredulous widening of her pupils. “Last time I checked he only had a fiancée he rarely saw who ran away with some pretty photographer the first chance she got. I’d say that’s far from married.”

Your mother shakes her head. “Answer the question,” she looks down, chin trembling. The world is falling apart, her dreams are nothing but a pebble in quicksand, and you no longer cared. “Please.”

Yori watches, in a way one watches a fly buzzing around a piece of fruit, the older woman bring her hands together in front of her like it has taken all her energy to ask such a question. Maybe for a moment she considers telling the woman the truth. She considers telling her that you broke her heart first, that you had the world succumbing to your every need, that your mother’s greed doesn’t only belong to her but you too because you made Seokjin your lap dog while Namjoon promised you a future. She considers telling her about the night she saw you laying like a swooning damsel in distress as Seokjin – the only man she had to beg for attention – suckle your tits like you were getting paid for it. She considers telling your mother that her daughter is the two-faced whore here, not her. She considers telling her that you touched what belonged to someone else first.

But what difference would it make? What would it change? The baby is still due in a handful of weeks, Namjoon is set to take over the company once he gets his shit together and his nose heals, and you’re perfectly happy with a new and exciting boyfriend of yours. The truth doesn’t set anyone free, it just makes sure the shackles aren’t too tight.

Yori turns her moist eyes away towards the living room downstairs. She walks over to the railing, resting her wrist on the copper before she stares down at the half-eaten cake on the coffee table with utmost disgust, as if she can still smell the overly sweet frosting with too much blue and pink dye. Catching her voice, she brings the smile back onto her face.

“I picked that day,” she turns her head, just slightly to catch your mother’s expression. “Just because I wanted to watch her look as pathetic as you do now.”

Your mother’s lips part, hands falling to her sides.

“It just happened. That’s all there is to it.”

“That’s…all?”

Yori chuckles, her empty gaze falling back down to the cake. “That’s all.”

Years of planning, years of giving you the best education the country has to offer, years of making sure you never have to suffer as she had, years of shaking hands and kissing the ground the Kims walk on, only for this girl without new or old money to come and…

Before your mother can think, she lunges forward and grabs Yori by the ends of her hair, twisting the locks around her wrist as the younger woman gasps and shrieks. Her swollen stomach hits your mother’s side as she screeches and uses both hands to grab at her taught hair, pulling away to place as much distance she can. The heel of her ankle catches the edge of the first step and she watches the older woman’s eyes widen as she slams, back first, into the steps and then bounce off the next step as her jaw and skull slams into the copper pipe railing. Yori’s stomach hits the corners of the last several steps before the swell of her belly squeezes inwards, the final gurgling scream ripping out of her throat as her vision turns black and the house falls in silence.

It all happened so fast. Your mother watches with her hands over her ears, chest pounding and bracelets clattering as her limbs turn cold and her knees buckle.  

Her eyes widen, more and more, as the pool of blood around Yori’s head expands until there lays maroon halo around her crown. She’s lying flat on her stomach and it takes another moment for the trembling woman to realize that, in the silence save for her own labored breathing, the bump is no longer there.

“Oh my god…”

Curling over to the side, your mother’s jaw falls open and the remnants of her early lunch spills over one of Yori’s shoes ledged between the railing and the first step. She empties her stomach until there is nothing left, her knuckles white as she grips the railing for support. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she descends down the staircase, back pressed against the wall and eyes darting from the body to the tinted windows with burgundy curtains tied to the side. When she reaches the body, she trips over Yori’s limp feet as she quickly dashes to the living room to draw the curtains close, her neck craning from side to side as she finds any opening where an imaginary eye might witness the ultimate sin. It was only when she finds herself in the kitchen, washing her hands that she realized she had, in fact, stolen two lives.

Yori, and the baby who never had the chance to see daylight.

…

You’re sitting in a bathroom stall, turning over the small flash drive between your fingers when you hear the clattering of heels against polished tile and the sound of handbags slumping on the counter. One of the women walks into the stall next to yours, undoing the tampon wrapper as if she were scouring for the winning lottery number written on the string.

“Did you see Jin with her again?” The woman outside of the stall says and you recognize her by voice. She works for the accounting department and regularly walks into your office for weekly reports.

“I was keeping an eye of him. It’s annoying that they work together now so he’s always all over her.”

No doubt this conversation is about you.

“Tell me about it. I bet they’re fucking, you saw how he looked at her.”

“Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” The toilet flushes and you can hear her shrugging her skirt back up to her thighs.

You hear a gasp. “Oh my god, you’re right. It’s that young guy who keep bringing her lunch, right? She didn’t break up with him?”

The stall opens and both women are in front of the counter. You’re stuck in your seat, not knowing whether to kick open the door or to interrupt the conversation but with Seokjin’s flash drive in your clammy hands, you struggle to even breathe.

“They’re still together. Looks like that photographer dick is too good to give up for the office hunk.”

They laugh like hyenas – that high, shrieking kind of laugh that makes their red lipstick bleed onto the corners of their mouths.

“They’re so out of her league. What do they even see in her? She’s painfully average. The only thing she’s got going on is a good wardrobe.”

You keep your head lowered when they walk past your stall as if they could see you. They pull on the paper towel lever until they can rip a generous piece and wipe their hands.

“She’s rich. She’s probably only working here because it keeps her humble or some bullshit like that. You know how girls with daddy’s money are, thinking they’re doing charity for working like the rest of us-”

You don’t hear the rest of their conversation, glad that your face no longer feels hot but you’re angered all the same. Jungkook’s visits, for this reason, had made you nervous in the beginning because you know they’ll talk and come up with their own little villain fantasy about you. It doesn’t bother you as you keep work separate from life (something Jungkook had been interrupting much to your discomfort) but hearing it in person ignited the kind of angry tears that has you cursing at yourself for letting yourself be disturbed by it.

You grab your handbag off the hook, place the flash drive back in your pocket, and unlock the stall before pushing the door open. You wash your hands in haste as the air had become suffocating in the aftermath of the two women. Wiping your wet hands down your black slacks, you let your wavy hair down and let it frame your face to hide your flushed cheeks, making sure that your eyes are no longer moist and your nose isn’t pink. What a way to end a workday.

When you arrive back at the office, most of your coworkers are gone except for the new interns organizing papers for tomorrow and the occasional workaholics making coffee in the makeshift cafeteria. You just hope you won’t run into the two women if they choose to swing by for whatever reason but, thankfully, it was never a common occurrence. They never did above the bare minimum any way.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you slump back down your office chair, squeezing your nose bridge as a wave of exhaustion wracks havoc in your pulsing head.

“There are some more sandwiches in the fridge, please help yourself if you’d like.” A student intern says as she carries a crumpled file under one arm, peering from above your divider.

“Oh!” You exclaim, your head darting towards the room Sora left in a mess before turning back to the girl. “Thank you, I’ll help myself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She gives a short nod before leaving, the glass door squeaking as the office once again is filled with the sound of coffee machines whirring and papers shredding.

The USB flash drive sits heavy in your pocket as you wave goodbye to the last person leaving your department with a cup of coffee. She nods, smiling, and pushes out the heavy glass door and you silently hope she won’t forget to return the mug before leaving the building. You listen to the clacking of her heels fading before turning back to the work computer still logged into your account. The saturated blue screen is harsh on your vision and you find yourself squeezing your eyes shut, turning to look at the clock on the wall momentarily to keep yourself grounded.

Jungkook can call at any minute as your shift is coming to an end.

Maybe it would be easier to do this with your phone turned off but knowing him, he would worry enough to drive over to make sure you’re safe.

Within the gray walls that surround your cubicle, you should feel secure. Yet, some part of you wonders if he would suddenly appear behind you and wrap you in his arms before asking you what you’re up to. In this nightmare of a scenario, you can also feel the antagonizing gaze of the two women.

Looking back down at the USB, you’ve come to realize that you have bigger things to worry about. Some part of you feels just as disgusting as a cheater taking off her ring in the presence of another man.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

You’ve rehearsed the same mantra in your head at least a hundred times within the same hour (before you had the unfortunate chance to overhear that unpleasant conversation) and it sickens you that this is a phrase that Namjoon would have used to justify his time with Yori. It’s a cheater’s mentality – a cowardly way of shifting responsibility away from themselves without considering the consequences when the truth comes to light.  

With a sigh, you pull the flash drive out of your pocket and flip the black casing open until the lid hangs off its hinges to reveal the silver end. You look around once more, taking a deep breath, and push the end into the appropriate slot of the system unit. The USB flashes a neon green light, pulsing as it loads, before it dims and a small ping pulls your attention back to the screen.

The file explorer window expands, showing a ZIP file among an array of photos that had you squinting to observe. You jolt straight from the seat as your phone rings. Cursing under your breath as you note an incoming call. You’re just about to turn back to the screen when you recognize that the number flashing across your screen isn’t Jungkook’s but your mother’s. She never called at this time and if she did, she would have texted you first to make sure you weren’t in a meeting.

Just as you reach for the phone, it stops ringing and you contemplate turning it off. But something tells you you should have taken the call. When the phone rings again, causing you to flinch, you let it vibrate twice before swiping across the screen.

In exactly five minutes, you will regret ever picking up the call. In ten minutes, you’re running for your life.

…

Jungkook paces back and forth with his thumb between his teeth. If he bit his nails any shorter, he would pierce through skin. Your voice still rings in his ear as you cry into the phone, your tires screaming through the speaker as you speed through the streets back to the apartment. He’s sick with worry, wondering if you crashed into a tree of if you decided – on a whim – to handle this situation yourself. Because you called him immediately after you left work, he has a feeling you wouldn’t do anything stupid but today has been especially unpredictable.

First, your mother coming to meet him. Second, the same woman pushing Yori down the stairs and threatening you to take care of it. If he’d heard you correctly, the old wench even mentioned she would make his life a living hell if you don’t head over immediately. Some mother you are. It pisses him off to no end that you had to live with her for half of your life but it makes him even more upset that you’ve been hiding your mother’s behavior, throwing excuses about how much she worries when she’d call in the mornings and leave voicemails that you delete without listening.

He changes into a pair of jeans and an old university sweatshirt that is a bit too tight on the cuffs. When he hears the sound of your heels clack on the other side of the door, he barely had the time to wrap his head around such a God-given opportunity.

As soon as the door swings open you’re falling into his arms, wracked with sobs as he engulfs your entire torso in his arms. He presses your head further below his neck, reaching behind you to grab his coat off the hanger and wrap it around you before kicking the door close in case a neighbor passes by. You can’t bear to lift your head, trembling as your teeth chatter and your pupils are wide with fear. He’s never seen you like this – not even during the wedding night – and it makes his insides squeeze as if someone had reached in him and pressed a hand against his organs.

“I-I don’t know w-” you sob, “I don’t know w-what to do. I can’t breathe. Jungkook-”

He hushes you softly, threading his fingers through your hair with his thumbs curling around your ear. He tilts your head up towards his gaze, watching your tears trail down your face and onto the coat. Between gasps, you’re wailing, your throat tightened to the point that even his name sounds like nails on chalkboard on your lips.

“Noona, you have to breathe for me. Inhale,” he brings air into his nostrils as demonstration, “and exhale. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, swallowing first before you mimic and close your eyes. Jungkook brings a hand up to your chest, digging underneath the coat to feel it pounding against your ribcage.

“Keep breathing, noona. It’s going to be okay, keep breathing.” He rubs his warm palm over the chiffon and you find yourself leaning your forehead against his chest in exhaustion.

You wish you could stay in his embrace forever. Locked inside this warm and unassuming apartment, away from your mother, away from the past that has now resurfaced in the worst way imaginable – you wish you can curl into his arms and never leave. That…or you just want the world to swallow you in a deep well and leave you to starve.

“We have to tell the police.” You tremble. You can’t imagine the repercussions, not to mention the heartache of seeing your mother behind bars. She’d rather hang herself than end up in prison, you know that much. You’d sworn to your father before his passing that you’d keep her safe and you’re already thinking of running away.

“Noona…”

“We do. We…I have to. I-I mean it was an accident,” you’re suddenly peeling yourself away from him, bringing your hands up to rub your face. “They’ll give her m-maybe three or four years at most, right? If it was an accident it won’t be…”

Jungkook comes up behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders and rubbing up and down. You’re shaking again, tears streaming even quicker than before and the nausea is causing you to falter from side to side.

“Kookie, I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do, I’m going crazy. I don’t know what to do.”

He places his forehead against the crown of your head, staring into the distance. You feel his fingers tighten around your arm before he’s wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his weight upon your collarbones.

“Do you trust me, noona?” He whispers.

The fridge hums in the distance. You nod.

“Yes…I trust you. With my life.”

When he doesn’t reply, you turn your body, slowly, as if you were anticipating a monster and not a man, until you can look up at his face. He’s rubs his thumbs over your tears and moves down to your chapped lips, swollen and pink from your incessant gnawing. Your lips part just slightly as you exhale, keeping your eyes locked onto his loving eyes. He looks so angelic under the kitchen lights, the yellow bulbs blurred by the moisture in your eyes to form a halo around his long fringe. His hair is parted in the middle to form a curtain around his structured face, casting a shadow over his eyes in the semi-darkness. You can’t see him clearly with the lights behind him but you can sense his confidence, his reassuring grip on your cheeks; he’s no longer the boy from the night before but a man who is willing to keep the promise he made to you.

“I can help you.” He whispers softly once more, his voice lowered. “If you take me to the body…I can help you, noona.”

He holds your gaze, his thumbs still rubbing softly over your cheeks as if to coax the words into your skin. The implication isn’t lost on you but your body reacts first, fingers shaking as a fresh wave of sweat prickles down your back.

“W-What do you…” you trail off as your breathing grows heavy. Jungkook puts a hand on your chest once more as he did before, rubbing softly over your chest to calm your pounding heart.

He holds you close, breathing in your skin once more as his own eyes sting with unshed tears. Fate is a terrible thing and for every moment of bliss with you, he must pay the price; except, this price is a new opportunity to secure you by his side and earn your mother’s silent approval. It’s okay, Jungkook thinks, he can do this for you. He has the resources, the will, the strength, the plans – the only thing he can’t predict is your mental well-being in the aftermath.

Will you lose respect for him? Will you still love him? One thing he was sure of was that this was the only chance to keep your mother from arranging a marriage partner for you. He must go through it to not only save your sanity, your mother, but your answer when he puts one knee on the ground and opens the velvet box he keeps on top of the fridge for the perfect time. Oh how the universe responded so quickly to the day’s worries.

“Back then…when you said you would…”

Kill

“…You would do that for me. You really meant it, baby?”

Jungkook brings your head back under his chin and keeps you there, rocking from side to side as if to lull you to sleep.

“I meant every word. I’m not afraid, noona, not if it means I can protect you and your family.” His eyes darken as he tangles his fingers into your hair, twirling the ends of your waves between his fingers. “You love me, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then I need you to listen to me.”

With great reluctance, he pulls you away and holds your palm in both of his larger hands. Your eyes are closed, whether from fatigue or concentration he doesn’t know until your brows scrunch when he speaks.  

“Call your mother when I tell you to and tell her you’re on your way over. If she asks why you didn’t answer her previous calls, tell her you had an emergency at work. Reassure her and make sure she doesn’t touch anything more than she’s probably already touched by now. Don’t mention that I’m coming with you, understand? She might panic and bring attention to herself if there’s any witnesses.”

You nod continuously, creating a mental checklist. Call, inform, excuse, reassure, move.

“And noona?”

You look back up into his eyes.

“You…you won’t hate me after tonight…would you?”

How could you fathom it? With his warm, sincere stare and willingness to walk to the ends of earth for someone as plain and unlovable as you, you should be on your knees worshipping him. You don’t understand how he can think of you hating him when he had so willingly put his entire life at risk without reluctance. You aren’t asking him to fetch a forgotten carton of milk at the corner store. You’re asking him to clean up the mess your mother made, a mess that can tear your entire world apart, a mess that has nothing to do with your boyfriend who has no boundaries to prove his devotion.

You shake your head. “I could never,” you breathe.

You hold him this time, letting his body bow towards your trembling figure as he breathes in the scent of sweat and perfume on your neck. You give him a moment of peace. You wanted him to remember this touch as after this night is over, you don’t know if you’ll be the same person. You don’t know if he’ll be either.

He goes over the plan once more and leads you to his car. When Jungkook straps you into the passenger seat and turns the ignition key, you curl your fingers around your shaking knees. He notices your anxiety and takes the closest hand in his before letting your palm rest over the gear shift. He places his own hand on top of yours, gripping tightly when he shifts and maneuvers the car out of the parking lot and onto the road before unclenching.

The sky is pitch black and the moon stalks from behind. You count every tree, read every sign, tense at every sign of a police car passing by, and sniffle when your burning eyes refuse to calm. You don’t register where you are until Jungkook lets go of your hand on the shifting gear and undo his seatbelt. You’re inside the garage of his studio, surrounded by wires, cardboard boxes, plastic bins, and office supplies. When you grasp his arm, letting out a small cry, he hushes you instantly, bringing your hand up to his lips to place a tender kiss on your knuckles.

“I’ll be quick, noona. I just need to get some things, okay? I’ll be right there-” he points to the very back of the car – “in view.”

You swallow, nodding before uncurling your grip from his arm.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint for Jungkook not to coo at your desperation. He missed this dependency of yours (he had only seen it during the wedding night and the necklace argument) and for once he wonders if he went a bit too far with his role as the sweet and needy boyfriend. He’s not acting in a way that he doesn’t want to but he is guilty of dramatizing some of his pleas and affectionate touches. He knows, in his head, that he is a man. He’s stronger, taller, capable of committing a crime and not just cleaning its aftermath, and will eventually be the father of your children. He’ll tug his collar open to expose his vulnerabilities, but he will show you his strength too. Tonight is a blessing from the universe that will, finally, keep you where you belong: at his side, looking at him, and needing only him.

You watch as Jungkook swings open the trunk of his car and load three large plastic bins and pile photography equipment – tripods, developer fluids, camera bags, lighting equipment, and even a small monitor. And then you see the last box of supplies: rope, black plastic bags, gloves, masks, bleach, towels, and tape. When his eyes meet yours, he flashes you a small smile between his labored breaths, the kind you’re used to seeing after you make love to him and he’s spent, sprawled on the sheets with an arm over his perspired forehead. The car jolts slightly as pushes the back door shut and hop back into the driver seat, adjusting the temperature in the car, muttering something under his breath, and latching his seat belt back on.

He keeps both hands on the wheel. “Noona…make the call now.”

You’re frozen, hands clasped together on your lap.

“Kookie…”

You’re having doubts. He can see it in the way you can’t even bear to look at him. He digs through your pocket and presses your cell phone on your lap. When the lockscreen awakens to the photo of you two, you feel your heart anchor to the bottom of your stomach.

“I-I can’t do it.” You shake your head. “We have to go to the police. I can’t live without you, I can’t live without mom, we’ll get caught and I-” You press your hands to your face, your hoarse sobs lodged deep in your throat before it rips from your chest in the kind of wailing that makes Jungkook’s own heart squeeze. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Yori either e-even if it means my family…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

He sees himself in you. He sees himself as the teen boy who let Taehyung drag his scalpel across his father, then his mother, before encouraging him to give it a try. You’re a virgin. Even if tonight worked out perfectly according to his plans, you’d still be a crime virgin. It was your mother who pushed Yori, not you. Knowing how empathetic you are, how tender you are, it might as well be you who pushed the woman down the stairs. He knows your fear all too well and he knows just how quick your hummingbird heartbeat is underneath his coat that you’re wearing. You’re just like him.

“You’re beautiful, noona.” He places a palm over your clasped hands and brings his other hand up to your face, tucking your hair behind your ears and strumming your cheeks with the back of his fingers.

“No one deserves your kindness. It fucking upsets me,” he swallows, allowing his eyes to water, “that even a mother will take advantage of that kindness.”

You sob into his hand, leaning your temple against the head rest. He’s right. How many times have your mother, before Jungkook came into your life, morphed you into something you’re not? The days you spent trying to please her, comparing yourself to other children she would complement to get a reaction out of you, letting yourself be a pawn for when she wanted something from your father that either required money or the right handshake. You still love her above all because she’s your mother but there’s no denying how much it still touches every part of your life from your relationships to your career. Moving away from her and letting her fade into the background was a true feat and it pains you that all that effort crumbled away and you’re left in a bigger mess to clean than before. If only you hadn’t taken the fucking call.

Maybe this was your fault. Maybe, if you hadn’t been such a hard-headed person, she would never had driven over to Yori’s place and none of this wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have to get Jungkook involved either, as willing as he is.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Jungkook slouches back into his seat, putting his hands back onto the steering wheel. “Don’t you, noona?”

You nod, keeping your head lowered.

“Then be good for me and call. I’ll take care of you and I’ll take care of everything else. I’ve never broken that promise, not now, not ever.”

Jungkook hopes that’ll work. He’s rather annoyed but not at you, never at you. Why couldn’t she tumble down those stairs too instead of giving you such unnecessary stress? This kind of stain would be terrible for the baby had you been pregnant. It’s tearing him apart watching how different you are now compared to this morning, leaving the apartment in comfort only to come falling into his arms in tears. He came to the conclusion that you’re simply too pure for the world.

Oh how romantic tonight would be if you were honest with yourself all along. Claiming to loathe your mother with the strength of a thousand suns only to act like this when she shows up with baggage. Jungkook can’t blame you for you shared a majority of your life with the wench, but he finds it exasperating that you can’t see how little of your pity people like her deserve. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t be the love of his life if you weren’t so sensitive and caring.

It was with great relief that you mustered the courage to swipe across the phone screen and type your mother’s number.

He clicks open the garage door and the vehicle begins to descend down the elevated lot.

“M-mom? I’m on my way now…c-can you tell me where you are? It’ll be okay…I know mom, I-I’ll be there soon…”

…

You feel eerily calm as Jungkook drives past your mother’s car parked in the front of the gate to circle around the perimeter of the fence. He doesn’t recognize the new gate but he’d climbed over the old ones many times to watch you on the balcony. The metal may have changed but the level of security should be the same given that the villas are built a good distance apart between trees and the residents – people with mostly new money – keep to themselves. Lodged between a large tree and a partial opening in the back gate that is no doubt left ajar by your mother, Jungkook step out of the vehicle and press the door close before coming over to your side.

He’s relieved that you’re no longer in tears but your hands are still freezing cold despite the heat turned to the max inside. Your eyes are wandering and your breaths are labored as you press your body close to Jungkook’s.

Your mother is waiting near the door, her head poking out just slightly in the darkness and you can see the familiar row of bracelets on her wrist. She seems to have aged several years in just the last few months and the reason for her demise is standing next to you.

“Are you insane?” She seethes as she pulls you by the arm into the dark house and keep her eyes on Jungkook whose gaze bore into her skull. “How could you bring another-”

Jungkook barely had the time to secure your grip on his arm when you gasp, flinching back to hit the chess table next to where he’s standing when you see Yori’s pale arm stretched out from beneath a mat. The deep crimson shade of blood had congealed on the marble, partially smudged by the mat above her weighing her corpse down. Deep inside you had hoped that at least the baby could be saved, by some miracle, but the damage is far too great. Accident or not, a police officer finding this scene would not consider a light sentence if you mother decided to confess.

The older woman’s jaw is clenched, no doubt suppressing the panic she too feels hammering inside her as you hang off of Jungkook arm, trembling still. She looks up to your boyfriend and finds herself jolting awake when his eyes are peering down at her. He looks kind, sympathetic, soft, as if he is still sitting across her on your couch, eager to prove that he can be the son-in-law she’s been looking for all along.

“You should head home for the night. I’ll handle the rest.”

She scratches at her bracelets, her nails tugging the gold free from her skin. “B-But…where are you taking her? Anyone will find it if she’s buried in the yard.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer the question.

“Please go home and make sure there are no witnesses. I know you didn’t inform anyone before coming here,” he turns his head towards the body, “so go home as if you were never here. I promise I’ll take care of it.”

It’s evident the older woman is relieved by the way her shoulders slump but her gaze is still firm as she measures her trust into the young man who is in full control of your heart. Your eyes are still on the body when your mother takes your hands in hers and gives a squeeze.

“Sweetheart…” she croaks. She knew she gave birth to such a dependable, obedient daughter. You’re every mother’s dream and she makes a mental note to come back to your apartment with more boxes of food and perhaps make amends. There are far too many misunderstandings and miscommunication; it’s no way for a mother and child to live.

However, when you rip your hands away and take Jungkook’s hand in yours, her face crumbles.

“I don’t ever want to see you again.” You hiss, your voice straining. You’ve never spoken to her like this and didn’t think about doing so until you saw the body, the mess your boyfriend has to clean. “You did this to us.”

“Wh-”

“Leave me alone. Please, mom. Get out of here, okay?” Your eyes glisten and you wipe away the droplets before they have the chance to fall. “It’s…we’re putting our lives on the line for you. It’s the least you can do now…so please…”

Between your pleas and Jungkook’s silence, your mother bites the inside of her cheek from saying anything more and turns back the way you came in. You watch her figure recede into the darkness, her shoes clacking softly on the cobblestone path. She turns back to look at you before the door closes and for once, you earn the most genuine apology you’ve ever received and this time she didn’t even need to open her mouth.

When the door falls back into place, Jungkook gives your shoulders a comforting rub and leads you towards the staircase, reminding you to breathe. He feels a bit more relieved that your mother didn’t raise too much of a ruckus. How could she when he’s the one getting his hands dirty? It’s what the perfect son-in-law will do and after this night is over, he’ll no longer have doubts about her approval. She wouldn’t have a valid argument anyway – not when he had just proved that he’s willing to go to the ends of Earth for your family and stability.

You’re too cute, Jungkook thinks, as you breathe through your nose and exhale through your lips. You’re a mirror image of his virgin self coated in blood, panicked but euphoric, angered but more than relieved to be rid of the parasites that kept him in the sewers.

“H-how are we going to do this?” You breathe, looking up the stairs as if you were expecting Namjoon to be standing there.

“I’ll handle the body. You can help me wipe down the stairs, okay?”

And handle it he did. He first fetched the supplies from the car, making sure once more that there are no witnesses while also keeping you within sight. Even without a severe puncture wound, Yori made quite a mess.

The terror didn’t come from seeing your former friend of years lay in a puddle of her own secretions. Nor did it come from seeing how calm and collected your boyfriend is peering down at the body with something akin to annoyance. No, terror came from how easily your mind and body adapted to helping Jungkook. You had no more tears left to shed when he lifted the mat from the body and placed a plastic covering next to her before rolling her body onto it. The sheet rustles beneath her weight and the stench of iron and urine fills your nostrils, prompting you to place your gloved hand over your nose.

Jungkook seems to know just what to do. He orders for you to wipe the railings first, which you do so with the slowness of a snail climbing a brick wall. The smell of bleach kept the nausea at bay and prompted you to focus on the smaller tasks because you can feel your heart already beginning to race with the sound of your boyfriend dragging Yori by the feet to straighten her posture. When you risked a glance back, you catch yourself feeling irked by the way Jungkook places her fingers so tenderly on her flattened stomach. Even when he’s wearing gloves, you catch yourself glaring at his touch on her skin, at the way his fingers brush over the ring on her finger. It makes you clench your jaw harder, pour more bleach onto the staircase, and wipe down each step with vigor.

She’s dead, she can’t take him from you.

You spray the bleach onto the top step, scrubbing with the heel of your palm as your shoulder fights through aches and pressure. You can do this. If Jungkook kept his promise, you must too. You will never find another man who will devote his entire life to you and for that you must not be too forgiving to those who don’t deserve your kindness, not this time.

All your life it’s one person after another coming to take what they want and leave. This is your lesson to finally take yourself back from them all, to come to terms with how much you gave and how little you received, see that Jungkook was the catalyst you desperately needed. It was no coincidence that when the elevator doors opened that very night of your wedding, he was the person standing in front of you. He was meant to be there holding your shoes as he rescues you away from those who would eventually suck the life out of you. He’s not someone you should be afraid of – no – because he’s your savior.

When you turn back again, Jungkook is slipping Yori’s legs into a large, black plastic bag identical to the one she’s laying on. He uses the bag beneath her to fight friction as he slides her body forward, careful not to bend her body before the duct tape comes into play.

And suddenly, your shoulder doesn’t ache anymore. Your heartbeat slows as you take another deep breath, this time through your lips, and watch his shoulders hunch over and forearm veins protrude.

“Kookie?”

He looks up, hair damp with sweat as it falls over his eyes. The lights from the front lawn, as it filter through dark maroon curtains, casts a red glow on your lover’s skin. When he meets your eyes he’s filled with glee, seeing that you’re no longer panicking and your eyes are clouded with a kind of protective apathy that lets him know you’ve gotten stronger. You’re dipping a toe into his world.

“Yes, noona?” He huffs, straightening his spine and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.

“Nothing will happen to us after tonight…right?”

He physically melts at your saccharine voice. You’re worried about him, about whether he’ll still want you after this and if he’ll want you forever. “Of course not, noona. Are you feeling okay? Do you need to rest?” He asks if he hadn’t been the one packing the corpse into a bag.

You shake your head with a sniffle. “…I’m fine.” You’re not sure what to say, so you rub the cleaning cloth between your fingers and shy away from his eyes. “J just wanted to hear you say that.”

A smile spreads across his face, slow but bright as if he had just heard the most amazing thing. You can’t smile back and instead focus back on the floors and the last few inches of the railing.

You make sure to wipe the decorations nearby, in case your mother left any fingerprints on the lacquered surfaces. She can be rather careless in dire situations. You’re lifting yourself off the floor when something catches your eye: a large crib with layers and layers of blankets and fuzzy cloud and star plushies.

“What kind of bedtime stories should we tell our kids?”

Namjoon puts his head on your lap, sighing in relief when his neck is elevated at just the right position to depressurize the knot.

“What about myths? About the constellations and such.”

You giggle, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Isn’t that a little too mature for babies?”

When he doesn’t answer, you wave you hand in front of his eyes. He squints, chuckling. So this is what marriage life is going to be like – he can get used to it. “You’re right, that is a bit too much. Then…hm…they’ll learn about the types of clouds in the sky and we can go from there.”

“Joonie, I love you, but don’t come crying when our kids prefer mama’s stories over papa’s boring myths and random science facts.”

“We’ll see when we get to that point. Either way, you’re stuck with me.”

Asshole.

A fucking good-for-nothing lying asshole.

Gifting the same toys he promised to give to your future children to the same bitch who ruined your life, your family, and your sanity; they deserved each other, you think, and they both deserve to disappear as if they had never existed. The unborn baby inside Yori is innocent but a part of you is elated that he’ll never experience the kind of fatherhood he wanted. You silently wished Namjoon would tumble down the very same staircase you cleaned and joined Yori in a happy couple’s embrace to…

“Kookie?” You call out to your boyfriend who had duct taped the body in a semi-mummified state and used a shibari knot with his jute rope for easy carrying. He’d dragged the body next to the railing and leaned it against one of the stair planks in an upright position so that after he inspects the house for any evidence, he can bring the corpse easily over his shoulder.

“Yes, noona?”

“Where are we going to bury her?”

Jungkook wets his lips. He can’t possibly tell you the process of disposing a body or else you’ll surely fall back into panic so he gives you the simplest answer he can. “I’ll have to keep her body in the freezer in my studio. I’ll look for a place to burn it soon.”

You nod, swallowing as your throat tightens uncomfortably once more. The waves of anxiety come and goes. Jungkook knows how you’re feeling all too well and he wishes he could just hold you in your arms until tomorrow comes. Much to his distain, he knows you’re partly living your fantasy of making Yori pay for her involvement with Namjoon. You no longer love the man but anyone in your shoes wouldn’t deny there is a sense of satisfaction in seeking vengeance after a lifetime of humiliation that dampened your reputation in both your personal and professional sphere. Jungkook prays that getting rid of Yori will eliminate your mind of their presence although he highly doubts it; you’re not always rainbows and flowers. It’s only natural for you to be curious about taking another life when anger consumes logic. Most of these thoughts are fleeting ,which is why you had surprised Jungkook by your composure. He expected screaming at the very least but all you could do was cry.

He understands.

After he watched the life drain out of his parents, Taehyung had watched him cry for the longest time and when the next day came, it was like the world had turned its back while he washed the blood off his hands. The anxiety was terrible – at least for the first month or two – and then it was as if nothing had happened.

Like he learned before and like you’re learning now, it didn’t take much to get rid of a person. Over time, it just became muscle memory, kind of like making your morning coffee half-asleep. Now that you’ve gotten your first taste of the power, he wonders how you’ll cope. Will you fall into despair and regret it all in the morning? Will you be hungry for more? How will you return his most tiresome display of affection? These are questions he can’t answer. But what he does know is that you finally understand what love is in his world.

Love isn’t just about a ring on the finger or a baby in the crib. Love has to hurt. It has to infest your dreams and turn them into nightmares, wreak havoc on your heart, rip off the magnet in your moral compass. It’s why the human heart is caged behind ribs – it can hardly be tamed.

…

As the car lurches behind trees and between unpaved roads, Jungkook notifies your mother about what to do next. It would not raise suspicion for her to leave the country for a few weeks, especially since she had been traveling to speak to investors abroad. It would take some of the burden off his shoulders too; your mother is a cunning woman who fears losing money more than losing you so he had no trouble alluding to her demise if she disobeys. While you look away, he quickly sends a notification to Jimin to make sure the older man will take care of the rest. When he receives an immediate response back, his shoulders slump in relief and he pockets the phone back into his jeans.

When he takes your hand in his again, the other gripping the wheel, you give him the smallest of smiles through the silence.

Three is a crowd. The body folded and hidden in the rear space between his photography equipment makes your head turn every now and then to make sure it doesn’t escape somehow. You’re exhausted beyond belief but Jungkook is here, his palm over your hand on the shifting gear once more, to keep you grounded. The night feels like it might go on forever.

The streets pass by in a blur – nightlife still alive and pulsing with neon signs – and there’s a kind of peace enclosed in the car that you can’t find anywhere else. It’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook has always been and will always be there for you. Whether to take you from somewhere or bring you to some place, he’s the only person in your life left that you could depend on. As he expertly drives through tight alleyways where gas station surveillance cameras can’t reach him, you’re dozing off with your head against the window.  

“We’re almost there.” He says while running his thumb over your knuckles. There’s blood on his shirt and your neck but you’re too tired to care.

You awaken with a gasp when Jungkook swings the door open; he had been careful not to wake you but you feel enough residual adrenaline to jolt awake at the smallest of sounds. It takes a moment for you to recognize the inside of his garage, the bright LED lightbulb hanging above causing you to squint as your eyes adjust.

Unaware that you’re awake, Jungkook quickly moves to the rear of the car and swing Yori’s body over his shoulders, tightening the ropes around where her neck and feet are to secure his grip. He carries the wrapped body towards the door next to the shelves and kicks it open to reveal several more stocked shelves before coming to a halt at the buzzing freezer. With a free hand, he lifts the lid open and removes several bags of seafood and miscellaneous food items you can’t quite make out before rolling the body inside the interior. He places the bags on top of the body and latches the freezer shut, securing it with a combination lock from one of his bins.

When he steps back and shut the storage door before turning, he’s surprised to see you standing in the doorway, your hair a mess, his coat hanging loose off one shoulder.  

“Do you remember the night after you took my engagement photos? The ones at that same house?”

His brows scrunch slightly in confusion as he nods. There’s a noticeable flush on your cheeks as you breath in and out from your lips, a puff forming in the chill of the garage. You’re half-asleep, the exhaustion resting well deep in your bones but you can’t bring yourself to find your way towards his bed.

“I left my bedroom door open for you. I-I watched you from the balcony and waited for you to come back.”

Jungkook’s lips part, something foreign stirring in his stomach as the coat weighs down your shoulders and you don’t stop it from sliding down your arms, letting it pool around your feet. You don’t know why you wanted to confess but it felt right. It felt right to confess to something that isn’t about being an accessory in a crime.  

“Why didn’t you say anything, noona?”

You close the distance, putting both of your hands on his chest, over the blood stains on the university sweatshirt. He exhales loudly when you bring him down to your level by a tug of his collar, your lips just a mere centimeter apart.

“Because I wanted you then just as much as I want you now.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to close the gap between your lips, slamming your body onto the car behind you as he brings one of your legs over his waist to press himself against your heat. Your fingers curl around the nape of his neck and he listens to your squeal as he lifts you fully off the ground and lets you wrap both your legs around him this time. You break the kiss and pepper sweet kisses over the mole on his neck and the smears of dried blood that caked onto his sweatshirt.

“I love you so much,” you whisper, moving your head to the other side of his neck to suckle on his warm skin and feel his pulse through the jugular.

Jungkook quickly throws open the door to the studio and steps into the darkness, his memory allowing him to lead you towards the bathroom without his eyes adjusting. Your eyes burn once more when he reaches behind you to shut the bathroom door close and turn on the yellowed lights with the back of his elbow. When your face comes into view, he sits you on the counter next to the sink and pushes his tongue back in your mouth, your name leaving his lips with a whimper.

He’s terribly hard against your thighs, his length straining through his jeans. You tug him forward by the belt as you break the kiss once more and let him rip open your blood and bleach-stained blouse.

“God, you’re so beautiful, noona. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

He moans as you press the heel of your feet up his erection, his voice muffled by skin filling his mouth as he takes the top your left breast spilling from the brassiere on his tongue. You arch to chase the heat of his tongue, back of your head leaning on the mirror behind.

“My good boy…such a good boy…”

The effect your praise has on him is immediate. Jungkook reaches behind his neck and pulls the sweatshirt over his head, ruffling his hair in the process. You watch him unbuckle and tug his belt free from the hoops before unclasping the front of his jeans. Impatient, he circles his arms around you to undo the brassiere, leaning down to kiss the indents on your skin as you slip your blouse off your shoulders and pull the straps down your arms. The coolness of the counter causes a hiss to leave your lips and Jungkook drinks in your state of orgasmic delirium like an aphrodisiac.

It’s a blessing for you to have worn a less difficult pair of pants to shimmy out of. With a short tug, Jungkook slides the waistband of your wool slacks and cotton panties down your ankles. When he pauses, chest rising and falling steadily, you follow his gaze to see a streak of blood in the middle of the light pink fabric.

In the time between your mother’s call and your boyfriend dumping your former best friend’s body in a freezer, your period makes an early appearance. The streak of blood is bright and vibrant, unlike Yori’s blood that oxidized into a deep maroon shade on his tanned skin. Jungkook tugs your pants down your ankles but takes your panties into one hand, his doe eyes coming to rest on the blood before something snaps within him.

He throws the fabric on the floor and hooks his arms beneath your shin, prompting you to gasp as he spreads your thighs apart. He stares down at your dark pubic hair before tracing two fingers up your slit and into the curls. His fingers reappear with your blood, seeping underneath his short nails and the crevices of his nailbed.

“Can I taste you, noona?” He breathes, chest rising and falling even faster. His cheeks are flaming red, the flush reaching his earlobes as his lips part for more air. He feels like he can’t breathe, seeing how beautiful, fertile, and red you are for him.

You’re hesitant, the blood reminding you of what you just done – what he just done – yet the burning in your belly proves that you want this just as much as he does. You barely had the chance to nod before Jungkook pushes his face into your pussy, his tongue lapping the blood on your vulva and clit as his nose buries in your trimmed curls. You taste metallic, as if he’s sucking on a penny, but it’s light and the syrupy texture allows him to take all of your juices in his mouth. When his tongue draws circles around your clit and he presses his lips around the nub like a suction, your fingers immediately grasp his hair from the roots, begging his tongue to fuck your weeping pussy.

Jungkook laps your folds like a starving puppy until you’re arching for him once more, thighs trapping his head where it belongs as your cum gushes out of you with traces with red. Between your blood and your juices, he can’t decide which one tastes better. The metallic tang disappears, leaving a fragrant aftertaste that he can only indulge when he inhales through his nose after swallowing what remains on his teeth. When your knees twitch, Jungkook pulls back to come up for air, watching your expression as your eyes fall to his wet crimson lips, the mess reaching his chin and jaw.

It takes a minute for you to gather yourself together and in your exhaustion a slow but soft smile reaches your lips.

“Does it taste good, baby?”

“Heavenly,” he whispers as he traps your body between his arms and gives you a taste, twisting his tongue deep inside your warm mouth. Your hands stroke the contours of his biceps and triceps, core aching as he groans when you lick your remainings from his chin.

You can tell he’s tired, having to do most of the manual labor. He winces as you knead his shoulders and it makes your chest ache. Even when he’s hurting, he takes care of you first. Your precious boy.

“Turn on the shower for me.”

Jungkook is aching to be inside you but he obeys, turning away to step inside the shower and twist the silver handle lodged into the tile. You stand behind him, moving away just slightly when the water – steadily turning hot – sprays over his hair and onto your breasts. Just as he’s about to turn around you circle your arms around his waist and reach into his jeans, palming his throbbing cock before pulling his jeans and briefs down his ankles. He steps out of the tight fabric, watching the remnants of Yori’s blood spiral down the drain as you kick the fabric in front of his toes.

The shower hose is harsh on his head but he can’t seem to pull away, one arm holding onto the wall for purchase, when you cushion your knees with his wet, blood-stained jeans. He can’t get any harder watching water drip from the ends of his hair down to your erect nipples, sliding down between the valley of your breasts and onto your soft stomach.

You’re delighted to see his cock twitch, taking your bottom lip under your teeth as you look up at him.

“You want mommy to take care of you, Kookie?”

He nods, exhaling as his abdomen clenches.

“You want to cum all over mommy’s tits, yeah? Make me proud?”

“Unng…” He moans in response, hips bucking forward to slide his leaking tip across your lips. He whimpers when you pull away, your smile twisting when his stomach clenches again.

You massage his firm thighs, gliding over every ripple of his muscles and over to the patch of pubic hair above his cock. When you pass your hands over his belly button, you stretch a palm up towards his face.

“Spit.”

The mole beneath his lips appear as he gathers as much saliva as he can produce on his tongue and spits into your palm. There are some traces of blood in your palm but you pay no attention to it as you place your saliva-coated palm over his cock and make a fist around the length.

“Mo-mmy,” he throws his head back, the shower head coming down his flushed pecs. Your fist begins to move slow but tight around his hardness. “It feels so good. Fuck…unng, mommy…please…”

Jungkook can cum just from your warm breath hitting his leaking tip but he doesn’t. When you lean forward and take his entire length in your mouth, tongue stretched as far as you can as you press your nose against his pubes, his jaw drops. You’re warm, wet, and fuck, so tight.

His other hand combs through your hair, reaching underneath the nape to pull your head back until your half-lidded eyes can watch his skin glisten.

With your hands back on his thighs, Jungkook expects you to move. What he doesn’t expect was you to tighten your throat before swallowing with his entire length in your mouth.

“Fuck!”

You gag around him but repeats, breathing through your nose before letting your whimpers and cries vibrate his cock. He’s about to lose it, his tightening grip causing your scalp to burn.

“You’re so pretty, mommy,” he pulls his length back just slightly to let you suction him back inside. When his entire length is warm and pulsing in the back of your throat, you swallow once more and begin moving up and down, your eyes closing as Jungkook backs your head to the tile and fucks your mouth at a steady pace.

“Wanna cum in your throat, all over you, inside you. God, you’re so perfect.” He chants, abdomen clenching when your throat tightens just right over his pink tip.

You hum, hands trailing behind his thighs and up to his firm cheeks to push him forward. His grip tightens once more when he whimpers your name, over and over again, his cock driving into your mouth with a vigor that’s bound to leave your throat sore in the morning.

The first spurt of his warm cum hits your uvula and you cough just as he slides out of your mouth and pumps himself into his fist. Watching his creamy cum dripping down the corner of his mouth intensifies his high, prompting him to burst onto your shoulder blades and over your wet breasts. He doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath before he pushes you down onto the tile, moving away the wet jeans to a corner before finding safety between your legs. His arms, on either side of your head, allows him to prop himself up to lead his tip towards your entrance.

He’d forgotten all about cleaning the blood on your neck when you’re spread for him, your hands cupping his face in admiration. Your eyes and nose are still puffy and red, but he knows the blush on your cheeks come from your need to have him deep inside until you can feel him against your cervix.

“I love you, noona. So, so much.”

You hiss slightly when he pushes inside, your snug velvet walls engulfing his cock and keeping him where he belongs. His body bows in servitude to the goddess that is you.

“I love you too,” you huff, brushing your fingers over his sculped cheekbones and mandible. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You let him take you there despite how painful it was to bear him pounding into your walls with the intent to ruin. You’re not sure how long you lay on the tile, how many times he came inside, how sore and painful your insides will be when he’s done. It was never-ending – how Jungkook muffles your wails and whines, how he pumps his cocks while pressing your shoulders down to bury himself deep, how exhausted you are by the time he’s pushing his cum back into your swollen hole. The last orgasm triggers tears to seep from the corner of his eyes which Jungkook kisses away as he reaches up to the shower cloth and waits for you to fall limp before running the soapy cloth along your body.

You’re freezing cold despite the hot water still coming down onto your boyfriend’s body and, from there, onto you. He’s quick to clean you up and wrap you in the same towel he had laid over you the first time you used his studio shower. You can barely move as he carries you to the bed and lays your damp body on the fresh linen. You can hear the sound of him ripping open a thin menstrual pad and placing it in a pair of fresh panties he fished from the shared armoire closet. He slips the panties up your legs, lifting your hips to pull the fabric over your buttocks, flashing his usual charming grin when you murmur a thank you.

He pulls the towel from your body and squeeze out as much water as he can from your long tresses, careful not to tug. It wasn’t ideal to him that you’ll be sleeping with wet hair but you’re beyond exhausted and, to be frank, he is as well. At least he’s heading to bed satiated.

Jungkook slides under the blankets and brings your body closer by your waist. He groans into your neck, his body immediately softening as the warmth of your skin and the blanket brings him the peace and comfort he craved.

“Kookie?”

“Hm?”

It takes a heartbeat for him to sense your sudden anxiety. “…I’m scared.”

“Why are you scared?” He manages to ask although sleep is weighing heavy on his eyelids.

“I don’t know.” You murmur.

Jungkook is too tired to remember if you said anything afterwards for he falls deep into slumber. As for you, your head won’t let you sleep despite your body pleading for rest. Every part of you can feel Yori’s heavy body in the freezer just several feet away. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel about tonight or if tonight should have happened in the first place but in Jungkook’s arms, you can’t find the smallest ounce of pity for the woman.

You close your eyes, snuggle closer into his firm chest, and try your best to pretend nothing will change. You try to forget the flash drive sitting in your bag, the possible evidence your mother may have left behind in the villa, the corpse in the garage. Most of all, you try to forget how Jungkook looked at the bottom of the staircase, slipping the corpse inside the black plastic trash bag with such ease that makes you wonder if he had done this before. He surely must have, that voice inside of your head says but you wave it away.

I don’t know.

You lied to him. For the first time in your relationship, you lied without guilt. You do know why you’re scared and it’s not because after tonight every knock on the door will cause your heart to pound.

No. It’s because you know your boyfriend – your sweet, loving boyfriend who cries watching romantic comedies on Sundays – is truly capable of murder.

[yuzukult]

effortlessly, the epilogue (m) || jjk & reader

title: effortlessy, the epilogue pairing: jungkook x reader word count: 5.6k genre: the after high school :) + my infamous poorly written smut a/n: it’s shorter than intended but... it’s out guys! because someone asked me when I planned on posting this and I thought that I was the only one who cared about this epilogue. ;u; Thanks for mentioning it to me, because it motivated me to write it again. Enjoy! series masterlist can be found here

"I want to take care of the planet like Greta Thunberg!"

"Noooo, wouldn't you want to be something cooler? Like a soccer player? How about Lionel Messi?"

"Forget soccer! I want to do something even better... make computers like Steve Jobs!"

One of the children frowns, shoulders slouching in disappointment and frustration of his classmates. Leaning down, you brush away the bangs that cover his eyes, gently pinching his chubby cheeks full of love and care. "What's wrong, Jaemin?"

"I don't want to be like Greta Thunberg or Lion Messi or Steve Work!" He exclaims, arms thrown in the air. 

"It's Lionel Messi and Steve Jobs, Jaemin!"

"Okay, okay," You say soothingly, hands cupping and thumbs rubbing against the flesh of his cheeks delicately. "That's fine, Jaemin, you don't have to be like those people if you don't want to. You can choose whatever profession you want, and whomever you want it to be like." 

"I want to be a swimmer, like Jeon Jungkook!"

"Mm," You hum, tapping your finger against your chin as if you're pondering about Jaemin's idea. "You could, if you'd like. Have you ever met Jeon Jungkook before?"

"No," He pouts, his bottom lip jutting out in dismay. "But momma showed me videos of hyung online and he seems like a very kind person." Nodding, your hands fall into the ones of Jaemin's, swaying your arms together to calm his nerves. Children tend to be very emotional, you learn after the many years of experience with them, and Jaemin is no exception. Finding ways to tame their anxiousness was the true challenge. "Want to hear a secret?"

His eyes widen as large as the cartoons he watches on TV. "Yes! What's the secret?"

Pretending to glance out to confirm that the coast is clear and that the other children had walked away to find something more interesting to direct their attention to, you whisper into Jaemin's ear. "Jeon Jungkook was my best friend."

Jaemin gasps. "No way. Your friend? Are you just saying that to me so I can feel better?" Yes, is what you really wanted to tell him, but truth to be told, you weren't lying. Kids were incredibly smart for even noticing that adults would say things to water down the situation, but you weren't just saying anything. "Of course not. Jungkook and I go way back, way before he became a professional swimmer. I used to go to all his practices, hung out with him after them, and even attended classes with him... just like you're in one right now!"

"Do you think... Do you think you can ask Jungkook hyung to come visit us? Maybe? If you're still friends with him..." He drifts, the thought of not being able to see his hero weighing down on his shoulders again. "I'll see what I can do," Standing from where you've been crouching, you ruffle Jaemin's hair with a soft sigh escaping your lips. "Now go play with the other kids. Remember, you can be whoever you want, and everyone else can be whoever they want as well."

Right before the clock hits 3:00PM, you verify that all the little kids are geared up in their beanies, puffer jackets, shoes, and some with gloves, in preparation for their parents' arrival. When the doors open and the children line up, leaving one by one, their nose and cheeks tint pink at the harsh winds, shivering yet at the same time cheering in glee when they see their guardians pull up. 

Watching the smiles on their faces reminds you of the time that you hated the winter; brisk air smacking your cheeks in pain, freezing your face in position, fingers stiff from being exposed to the outside, and constant shaking just to warm yourself up in a clownery large winter coat. Yet, this time around, you find yourself fond of the weather, the thought of being able to spend time with your loved ones approaching and activities that could only be done during this specific season. 

"Ready to head out?" One of your co-workers asks, just as bundled up as you are, learning your lesson after leaving without a jacket that wasn't thick enough before a day ago. "Yeah, I am. Let me just get my purse first, Naeun."

It's a constant cycle everyday: swipe your transit pass onto the bus, get off, walk an obscene amount of distance, if it's a good day then you'd stop for coffee, get to school, and prep for the day before calling the students in to take attendance, then that's when the teaching starts. 

But something about today feels great, despite the snow falling from the sky that nearly has you slipping on the ice from lack of attention to anything in front of you. So, you grab something hot. After all, what's better than a cup of hot chocolate in the morning right before you're stuck in a classroom full of twenty first-graders?

Following your medium sized peppermint hot chocolate (you're rather quite enamored that you're able to find a peppermint flavor because it's your favorite), hopping out of the coffee shop with glee, you're ready to be on route to work again.

Then someone obnoxiously honks their horn.

You show no regard to this, mostly because it makes no sense to. Someone who's driving a flashy neon yellow Porsche is already gaining all the unnecessary attention in the first place, and you're not really in the mood to be categorized within that population. 

But the beeping doesn't stop.

Oddly enough, it actually feels like the car is following you. Sweating profusely, you're debating whether or not to glance to see who the driver is. Just then, your phone dings.

jeon jungkook [6:57AM]: i've been trying to get you to turn around for the past 10 minutes, could you please stop walking faster? at this rate you're going to be a runner?

Instantaneously, you stop in the midst of your steps, sharply twisting on your heel to see the owner of the flamboyant vehicle. There he was, with the driver's side window rolled down, exposing those pearly white teeth of his, paired with a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

Typical.

"Jeon Jungkook, fancy meeting you here."

"Not really fancy if I had to check your location services to see where you've been. It's not fun being ignored, love." He has his arm rested on the opening, watching as you purse your lips and bounce on the tips of your toes. "Mm, wonder why that is."

"Don't be like that," He frowns, chin sitting on his arm. "Come, I'll drive you to work. Maybe we can talk along the way."

"I'm not really in the mood to talk to you at seven in the morning, Jeon."

"Please?" He begs, pools of brown that match the liquid in your cup and the sweetness it entails. Just his voice alone was warm, shooting into your chest and you're trying to convince yourself that it's the drink, not him. "Fine." You respond through your gritted teeth, rounding the hood of the car to enter the passenger seat.

Jungkook looks so happy he could burst.

On the ride to work, you don't talk. He speaks casually, sharing stories about his adventures, ones that you don't really want to hear about or was it that his current attire that's causing your mind to get fuzzy? Baby blue dress shirt with just a couple of the buttons let loose, tucked into those dark grey slacks that hug his thighs so well, that you needed to avert your eyes or else he'd see you checking him out.

He does in fact, to the point that he needs to hide the smirk that dangles on his lips, but he refrains himself because getting you to forgive him is a difficult task alone, and teasing you wouldn't get him anywhere. 

"Pull up here," You demand when he's driving by the perimeter of the building. "You don't need to drive into the yard. I don't need the teachers thinking I'm hanging out with someone driving a construction safety yellow car."

Jungkook is admittingly disappointed, hoping that he gets more time with you but he did choose a work day to meet you. "Can I see you after this?" He's suddenly bashful after approaching you confidently earlier, no semblance of high school Jungkook hinted in his personality anymore. "I don't know. Maybe. We'll see." With that, you slip out the car, greeting the parents that you pass by, sharing that beaming smile that he was wishing was for him instead. You're prettiest when you're working—the way you're talking to your students as they begin to line up to enter class, tapping their noses with your drink in hand, drowning in your oversized coat. You seem at your happiest, suddenly regretting his recent absence from your life.

Reminiscing back to the time of when you didn't know what you wanted to do with your life, where you wanted to go, and who you wanted to be were questions that were constantly thrown up in the air. He recalls those nights where he'd hear your whimpers through the wall between the bedroom and the living room, sitting at the coffee table in frustration while he prepped for bed. Life had been a crazy journey for the both of you, especially when he had gotten invited to pursue in other work opportunities. 

You're thankful when you leave work that day and don't spot the rubber duck colored car anywhere near the schoolyard, yet at the same time, slightly despondent that he didn't return. "You look down," Naeun points out, nose peeking from her scarf with her hands dug deep into the pockets of her jacket. "Expecting someone?"

"Kind of, not really," You confess, letting out a heavy sigh with water vapor in the air. "But not surprised anyways."

"Does it have anything to do with a cheddar cheese looking car?"

Choking on your saliva, you attempt to clear your throat at her recognition. "How'd... you know it had to do with a yellow car?"

She leans over, gesturing in the direction behind you with her chin. "Other than the fact that it's hard to miss a car that bright in the morning, you coming out of it is also attention grabbing. Plus, he's over there, parked in the corner with a swarm of little kids around him."

Flinching, you look in her direction, the sight of Jungkook seated on the hood of his ridiculous vehicle, uncomfortably bending over to reach the height of the flock of little children with their parents, signing autographs and exchanging words with them.

You can't tell if it's cute or making your blood boil.

When you walk over to him with Naeun by your side, he looks up with that annoying smile on his face again. "Jeon Jungkook." 

"See, Jaemin? She does know me." Jungkook teases, messing up the little boy's hair. Jaemin has a look on his face that screams nothing but elation, spilling with happiness that couldn't be fulfilled until he met his idol, Jungkook, the Olympian swimmer. "You were right! He is your best friend!"

"I said was, but you get the point." Jungkook jerks up, quickly shuffling to dip his head in the window opening of his car, pulling out a drink, handing it to you. "Would someone who was your friend get you your favorite drink?"

In a medium Starbucks cup, there's an iced cold brew with cold foam sitting on top—a drink that you had grown attached and addicted to in your first year of University, ordering it so frequently on the daily that you had to wean yourself off it. "Cold brew," You clarify, taking the drink gleefully. "I guess you remembered."

Naeun extends her hand at Jungkook, requesting a shake. "Oh my god, Jeon Jungkook, I'm a big fan. I heard that you were recently sponsored by Nike—crazy! She—" She's referring to you with a glare "—never mentioned that she was friends with a professional swimmer!"

"Didn't think it was important," You add, swirling before taking a sip of the liquid gold. "Knowing someone who swam for your country's Olympic team isn't usually brought up in an everyday conversation."

She rolls her eyes as Jungkook gifts her a warm handshake, hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. He's dressed for comfort, this afternoon as opposed to this morning, and you're curious of his schedule yet you don't ask. "Kids, time to go home, don't leave your parents waiting." You dismiss the children who whine in reaction. "But we want to talk to Jungkook!"

"I'll be back tomorrow!" He confirms, and they run away in excitement, earning a groan from you. "Tomorrow? You're actually expecting to be back tomorrow?"

"Why? You don't want to see me?"

"Jungkook, why are you even back?" You exasperate, fingers running through your tangled locks. Jungkook is starting to frustrate you and all you want to do is go home and snuggle under the covers while watching a movie while possibly grading some papers. "What's the point of all this?"

He pouts, an arm snaking around your waist to pull your frame close. "I literally came to see my girlfriend and all she does is push me away. Isn't that crazy, Naeun? The girl of my dreams agreed to date me then she pretends that I don't even exist."

Jaw dropped, Naeun can't even formulate a sentence with the new information. "I know what you're going to say next, 'why didn't you—'"

"Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend this entire time? Why didn't you even mention that it was Jungkook! You just faked the entire time that you weren't with someone while I was tricking you into going on dates—"

"You set her up with guys?" Jungkook's brows furrowed at Naeun before looking down at you. "You let her set you up with guys?"

"I didn't go to any of those dates she organized," You mention, bringing the drink to your lips again, truly the only thing that calms your nerves despite the chaos unfolding in front of you. "I vaguely said I wasn't interested."

"You could've just said that you had a boyfriend!"

"Well, you weren't around to prove it, so did it really matter?" Shrugging your shoulders, you escape from his grasp to drag the zipper of your jacket up higher. "Anyways, I'm out. Get home safe, Naeun, let me know how it goes with that mechanic guy tonight." Tugging up your sleeve for a better view of your watch, you nod. "My bus is coming soon—"

"—I'm literally standing right here and you're still going to take the bus?"

"I'm going to take this as my cue to leave..." Naeun chimes in, quickly waving goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Jungkook-ssi?" And he nods in return, watching as she walks away.

"I can't believe you would just waltz in here like you can do whatever you want." You hiss, nearly squeezing the cup in your hand but the cold brew inside is too valuable to let go to waste. "This is my workplace, not my house."

"I would go to your house if I knew where it was. You turned off your location yesterday."

"Maybe you shouldn't have outed yourself the first time, then you would've known." He moans, pushing his hair away from his face. The length has grown tremendously since the last time you saw him,  reaching his chin with the ends curling into the shapes of his eyes when he's gleaming with a grin. "Why are you making things so difficult for the both of us?"

"I'm not." You respond nonchalantly, blinking blankly at the man before you. 

Jungkook tugs on your arm. "Then let me take you home, to our home, really, since you decided that you wanted to move out without me here when the lease ended."

"I told you I didn't want to live where stalkers were standing outside my place."

"And I told you that you should call the bodyguard my company said they'd provide for you. Why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell me?"

Truthfully, you didn't want to go through the complications of the process of getting someone to consistently watch over you on a daily basis—it was easier to just up and leave, find somewhere else to reside instead of getting attacked by his fans. "It was too complex," allowing him to pull you in between his open legs as he rests on the hood of his car. "Plus, why would I want to ask help from a guy who wouldn't even come home for our anniversary? Easier to leave instead of being disappointed all the time."

The edges of his mouth drops. "Don't say it like that. I had to work, or else I would've taken the first flight back home. All the opportunities just so happen to be in the States."

"Go live there then, you don't need to come back. It's convenient for you to find a place there anyway."

"I'm not leaving you, idiot." He counters back, irritated that you're even making such suggestions. "I told you this every single time we meet again, every phone-call, every facetime. I won't move unless it's with you." The look in his eyes is hypnotizing mixed along with his words, swaying you into his direction unless you shake your head from the thoughts, stepping back. "Fine. Drive me home, whatever. Your stuff is still there anyways. I guess you still somewhat live with me."

Jungkook takes this as a victory.

In all honesty, he loves the idea of a domestic relationship. Jungkook loves having to wake up in the morning with you sleeping on the other side of the bed, corners of your eyes filled with dry boogers that'll probably hurt when you decide to get up, and brushing your teeth together, side by side, shoving each other just to be able to spit in the tiny little sink in the apartment. He argues that he could help pay for a better place, but you reject him regardless, wanting to stay in a more affordable place, one where you can go halfsies on.

He misses watching you hover over the stove, obnoxiously monitoring whatever it is you're cooking for dinner, only for him to call you out and take over instead. Or when you're doing work on the floor with your papers and laptop sprawled across the coffee table, leaning back when your shoulders get tired, resting in between his legs with your back against the body of the couch. 

So on the route of driving you home, that’s all he can think about as you sit in silence. 

This was definitely not the plan. 

Parked in the garage of your apartment complex, the fluorescent lights don’t do a good job of piercing through the tinted windows of Jungkook’s car, which you’re super thankful for despite the obnoxious primary color he chooses. The steam fills the glass, hand pressed against the armrest on the door as you’re panting heavily, an uneven match with Jungkook’s. He has a grip on both your ass and hips, guiding as you’re grinding yourself on him, wishing to be closer than you already were.

How he has you out of your jeans is unknown. Your jackets have already been throat into the some-what backseat, your dress shirt unbuttoned with your breasts spilling from your nude bra, and his shirt is hiked up just enough to catch a glimpse of his abs. Swimming requires him to keep his body in shape and there’s no complaint from you on that.

Mouth opened, he let out a groan, feeling your tightness around his cock that made a drop of sweat fall from his forehead. “Fuck,” He curses, the sight of you in front of him clenches his heart. Jungkook thinks you’re so pretty under this light— even prettier than when he knew you in high school, it’s like the longer he knows you, the more infatuated he is. When you gyrate your hips aggressively, he suddenly can’t take it anymore, hands trailing up your spine, pushing you down against his chest before he digs his feet into the carpeted floors, hips piston up into you. 

The new angle has your stomach in knots, a soft gasp falling from your lips that only encourages him to go harder. “Can you come like this?” 

“Touch me,” You respond, and it comes out nearly as a whine but you’re too busy being fogged up by pleasure to even care. “Jeon, please,” Begging at this point, he slips himself between the two of you, thumb rubbing against the bud as your grip on his shoulders clasp firms, lips against the flesh of his neck. 

“You’re going to come now, aren’t you?” 

The way he says it hints an arrogant smirk, one you’re bothered with but you’re in the middle of something currently. It’s rhetorical, to him, because your pussy is convulsing around his dick that he’s almost reaching his limit yet he waits for you patiently. “I’m gonna—”

“Let go, baby,” He manages to say through a heave, your eyes tightly shut closed before you reach your orgasm; a melodic moan finally releasing into his ears that he’s been expecting all night, one that you’ve been holding back to showcase that you’re still mad at him. Jungkook couldn’t care— well, just right now, since he has his dick in you, thrusting away until he hits his own orgasm, ropes of cum coating your swollen pink walls.

You’ve grown limp against his body, nose snuggled into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy but slowed from previously. He misses having you like this, bare and close to him, skin feeling light from post-sex. “I love you,” He hums, pressing a gentle kiss on your shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up?”

Nodding, you barely have the strength to push yourself off his body, but he doesn’t let go of the grip he has around your mid-frame anyways, sliding the back of the seat up to straighten yourselves. Leaning over to the glove compartment, he snatches a couple tissues before slipping his limp dick out of you, wiping away your mixed come. 

When he eventually has the both of you dressed, you lead him into the building, in the elevator and up to the floor of your apartment, cheeks still tinted rosy from the act in the car. Jungkook doesn’t mind it though, he thinks it’s cute that you’re embarrassed.

If this is what it’s going to be like forever— the warmth that you give, despite the words that come from your mouth, the affection and care that you distribute just for him, and the newfound confidence you’ve discovered during college that you’re not afraid of showing him... he wants it. Forever.

“Mm, so you’re telling me that you still fucked him even though you said that you were mad at him?” 

Yura is adorable with her little baker’s hat on, working endlessly in the kitchen of her new bakery that she decided to open in Seoul after graduating culinary school. Luckily for you, it’s close enough to your apartment that you found yourself stopping by to visit frequently, stealing the goods that don’t make it out to the display fridge.

“... Possibly. I don’t know. I couldn’t help it— I didn’t get dicked down in forever. And no, don’t talk about using the dildo you gave me last year, I haven’t even touched the thing.”

“What? Nothing in comparison to Jungkook’s meaty, girthy—“

“Oh my god, please don’t continue that sentence,” You wince, palm against your forehead. “It was good, alright? I mean, sure, I finished myself off when I’m alone but yesterday, in the car—”

“You hoe— you didn’t only give your vagina to him, but you gave it to him in the car? You couldn’t even wait, could you? And what now, is he living back at the apartment?”

“I mean... he said he didn’t get a hotel because he wanted to sleep in his own bed again...”

Yura laughs, clapping her hands in amusement as the powder hits her face. “You’re so funny, you know that? Why do you keep playing this charade when you could just... let him back in?”

You sigh, plopping your body down onto the stool by the counters, elbows against the floured tops. Truthfully, caving into all the mistakes Jungkook made was something too common from you, wishing that he wasn’t good with his words and affectionate whenever he’s around you. He missed an anniversary, a 6th year anniversary, and from what you read on the forums online, it’s one of those years where relationships start to get bumpy.

“I just— I don’t want to be easy, you know? I let him get away with everything, and it’s not fair that he’s all the way in the States, doing whatever it is he’s doing, while I’m here, watching twenty to thirty little kids everyday. And I can’t tell him to stop what he’s doing because well— it’s his dream, Yura, who am I to stop him?”

“You don’t,” She responds sharply, glaring at you through her floured lashes. “You should’ve gotten on a plane to the States. It’s your anniversary, as in both you and Jungkook. It’s not his designated job to come here when it’s an anniversary to celebrate the both of you.”

There she goes again, even 6 years later after high school, Yura exhibits the realities of a situation, especially the ones that you’re in. 

“I guess...” You say faintly, slowly reaching your surrender. 

“No guessing. Please leave and go look for him. Tell him that you’re sorry, that you’re not going to be a big baby anymore. You’ve been with him for six years, and no matter how mad you get at him, he’s always coming back for more and attempting to make it up to you. Also, it’s 6:30AM... shouldn’t you already be on your way to work?”

“Oh, right, fuck, okay, thanks, Yura!” Jolting out of the bakery, you’re practically running to the school when you halt in your route at the sight of the familiar neon yellow car that’s parked on the school yard, yet again.

“I’m Jeon Jungkook, and I’m on South Korea’s Men’s Swim Team. I’m training for 800M Freestyle Swim again, and possibly, maybe, planning to retire soon.”

Retire? The word that slips from Jungkook’s mouth is unfamiliar, mostly because he had never discussed this with you before, causing you to furrow your brows in perplexity at him as he stands in front of the black chalkboard in your classroom full of children. 

“I actually lived next door to your lovely teacher here, and we grew up together. She even coached me early in my years since I didn’t have anyone with credentials to show me. We both used to stare at the computer, day and night, renting videos from the library, and spending most of our time together just so that we could improve on my skills...” As Jungkook babbles on to the students, Naeun nudges you in the stomach.

“What?” You hiss in a whisper. Softly, she responds, “You never told me any of this! I thought we were friends! You’ve been hiding from me that you’re dating an Olympian and that you guys knew each other since you were little? What else haven’t you told me?”

“Mm,” You hum, arms crossed over your chest. “I got recruited to shadow coaches back in the university Jungkook and I attended. I rejected their offer and went undecided before coming to terms that I’d teach.”

Naeun is taken aback by all this information, stumbling back to the edge of your desk to regain her balance. “You were recruited to coach? And you rejected that offer? Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because swimming is Jungkook’s dream, not mine.”

During college, evidently enough, you had been struggling endlessly trying to figure out what you wanted to do with yourself. There were moments where you considered taking a gap year— a break from it all, go somewhere maybe to finally understand yourself and what you want to do. Jungkook’s eyes when you mentioned it to him grew wary, sad that he couldn’t be there to help you but just stare at your helpless expression through the screen of his phone. 

One thing you knew for sure, you didn’t want Jungkook to pity you. (Although, he never did. He was just too in love and couldn’t see the girl of his dreams sad.)

So you pushed harder. Met with people, asked about their experiences, requested for a mentor, and just researched. It was exactly like the time Jungkook told you he wanted to swim, so you obsessively tried to find any information on it so that you could teach him and show him things he could do in the water.

You learned that if you wanted something bad enough, you grew a drive for it.

It might’ve been when Jungkook realized that you were great at coaching. When he tried to sway you into coaching people because you were great and motivating people to do better, to try harder, and all of this without overworking them to the point of turning into dust. Despite everything, you didn’t want to coach swimming— and soon learning, you didn’t want to coach any sport. But the closest thing to it was teaching.

And a teacher was what you became.

There was already enough experience in teaching someone, or in this case, tutoring, because Jungkook sucked at it back in grade school. He always needed help, and that’s where you swooped in. Arms filled with notebooks, backpack dragging you full with textbooks while you stood at Jungkook’s front porch, ready to confuse him with letters and numbers that he learned he didn’t even need now.

“Did you know he was thinking about retirement?” Naeun sneaks in again. You shake your head, watching your boyfriend answer questions from the crowd. “No, I didn’t. He’s never even mentioned that word to me, ever.”

Just as Jungkook finishes, you holler out for the class to settle down, pushing him aside as he bumps back into the wall with a grin on his face. “Ok, class, since it’s 5 minutes before recess, I’m just going to let you guys go off. It is a Friday, so enjoy yourselves!”

Jungkook joins in when you’re zipping up the jackets and tying the shoes of the kids; they’re all too excited for an extra five minutes of recess time, saying something along the lines of, “we should ask hyung to come more often, he makes her happy enough to give us five extra minutes!” and Jungkook stifles a laugh.

Standing against the brick masonry of the building, Jungkook accompanies you. “You’re going to ask me about the whole retirement thing, aren’t you?”

“Was. But you didn’t seem like you cared enough to bring it up to me.”

He sighs, adjusting the beanie on his head. “I didn’t decide until yesterday. I’m going to be in the next Olympics then I’m retiring. I’ve made enough money from the sponsorships and I’m sure I’ll be able to keep my affiliation with Nike ‘til past that.”

Glancing over at him before looking back at the children playing in the yard, you snuggle your nose deeper into your scarf. “Why’s that? Isn’t swimming your dream?”

“It is,” He says, voice genuine and filled with honesty. “I might do some things here and there, maybe train some kid with potential. I just... I don’t know how much longer I can do this thing between us. I’m never going to give up on swimming, and there’s so many opportunities out there for me to do that includes it. But this whole... training for the Olympics thing— I’ve done it already. It’s great, I’ll do another year of it. But by the time the second time I enter, we’ll be hitting that age where it’s time to settle down.”

“We don’t need to have a set time to settle down—“

“I know that we don’t but I’m tired of this whole long distance thing. You’ve been so supportive of my dreams, and I’ve accomplished them already. It’s time that I’m here, by your side, supporting yours.”

There’s silence between the two of you, despite the constant screaming and laughing that’s coming from the playground. 

“I’m sorry,” You blurt and he only looks at you with bewilderment on his face. “I should’ve came to visit you on our anniversary instead of expecting you to come here. It was selfish of me.”

Jungkook laughs, beaming brightly with the sweetest smile upon his lips. “You used to be so timid and shy back in high school. You’ve developed into this woman who’s confident and fierce, sometimes scaring me because I never thought you could ever be like this.”

“Does it make you like me any less?”

“No,” He turns to you, tightening the scarf around your neck in prevention of slipping. “But... it makes me love you more. You’re also admitting things and apologizing. Very huge character development if you asked me. Say, how about we go home tonight and celebrate our anniversary, to make up for the one we miscommunicated about?”

“I’d... like that, very much.” You respond, chewing on your bottom lip bashfully. 

“Now,” He begins, pinching your frozen cheeks gently. “I told you I love you about... a million times since I came back. I’m still waiting for you to say it too.”

He’s still somewhat the same Jungkook from back then, hidden underneath the blanket of adulthood and experiences through college but nonetheless, just as much as he changed, you’ve loved him through every stage he’s gone through. He felt the same. “Love you too, Jeon.” And there it was, the smile that tugs on the edges of your lips that he’s been waiting for, dedicated just for him.

[kosmosguk]

Bloody Artistry (M) ~🥀

pairing: celeb! kim taehyung x journalist! reader; minor pairings: jungkook x reader, coworker jimin x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 8K

Summary: when the scrutiny of fame becomes too much, perfect kim taehyung finds his peace within a lavish bathroom located two blocks away from the nearest club, a corpse in the bed with him. the fans have never questioned his behavior, not when his company is much too good at cleaning up his mess to not have done it before, but when a reporter with too many questions threatens to break the peace he’s established, he finds himself in a tango with the devil that he can’t bring himself to want to break.

[Warnings: MURDER, death, literally Taehyung being a sick bastard 25/8 (but only in fiction), company corruption, violence, yandere themes, mentions of noncon smut (intoxication, mentions of being drugged, fingering), blackmail, obsession, stalking. EVERYTHING that happens in this fic is FICTION; plz don’t go busting nuts for serial killers]

A/N: Thank you to yoongissugarmommy for requesting this! Part 1 of a short series starring Taehyung. Was going to do smth similar to Lineage with him, but this has been staying in my drafts for too long (like i wrote most of this before I even wrote Lineage, which is why my writing for part of this is a bit different from my current one), and I feel like going a bit modern now to take a break from Lineage (taking a bit to write pt. 4 just because it’s the end of the main story). Thank you for 2.9k followers! We’re only less than 50 away from 3K which is so wild to think about; kisses and hugs to everyone who’s supported my work! 

“Today, in the studio, we have our nation’s golden boy, the first love of all of our viewers: Kim Taehyung. Everyone, please clap your hands for him!’’

The MC turned to grin at the audience as the audience cheered loudly; her glossy black hair swept down and framed her face delicately in perfect shiny strands. The lipstick that coated her unnaturally wide smile was a deep shade of red, stark against her pale white skin. Dressed in her primly pressed suit, she looked lovely, like a blooming rose, but as she turned to face the guest star, his presence seemed to easily outshine her own.

“Thank you for having me. It’s an honor to have an interview here and have an opportunity to see all of my lovely fans,’’ Taehyung’s deep voice rang out as he smiled in his heart-swooning way, flashing pure-white teeth handsomely in a carefully maintained and practiced way that made all the fans, both in the studio and watching from beyond a screen, unable to resist letting out shrieks and screams.

“Now, Taehyung-ssi, with a record-breaking album that topped the charts as soon as it came out and a modelling gig that sells out magazines faster than before, how does it feel to have really made it? It must stress you out. Any tips on how to relax?’’

Taehyung leaned back slightly in his seat, his smile flashing coy for a brief second before settling into a rehearsed contemplative expression. He shrugged his shoulders, letting them drop out, as he made a soft hmm noise.

“How I relax? It’s not that big of a deal, really, but that’s an interesting question to ask, noona,’’ Taehyung widened his eyes slightly, looking ever so much like the golden boy persona he had stickered upon his reputation,’’ When I’m really, really stressed, I like to play with Tannie, my dog, and eats lots of yummy food that my mom sends to me when I get stressed. Also, my manager Namjoon is a good person to talk to when I’m really stressed; he always knows what to do and say.’’ Taehyung tapped the tip of his nose lightly, scrunching his face in an expression that made fans coo in adoration. “I also like to think of my fans and read all the letters they’ve sent me. I saved all of my letters from my beloved fans since my debut, and I like looking through them.’’

“Hey, Kim Namjoon, fucking hurry up,” Taehyung hissed into the cellphone pressed against his flawless cheek,” My shoes are going to get stained at this point. You know blood is a pain to properly get out of letter.’’

“Were you at least careful this time? We don’t want rumors getting out,” Namjoon’s voice crackled over the receiver, barely a hint of emotion in his voice. The beeping and honking of cars on his side of the phone call signaled the rush his manager was making towards his location.

Taehyung huffed in agitation, clicking his tongue sharply in annoyance as he skimmed his nails for any trace of dried blood. “Oh, come on, you think I really even care at this point? With the way the company takes care of everything, you’d think perfect ol’ me was…well perfect. But still, aren’t you guys way too good at this job? 7 girls and not even a peek from the public. Who else do you do this for, huh? Suga-sunbae? J-hope-sunbae?”

There was no reply. Taehyung threw his gaze over to the practically mangled body. Too bad, he thought to himself, she was really pretty this time. Red lipstick, silky black hair, wanted to become better acquainted with such a famous celebrity after her little interview, the whole fanatic spiel tied with a pretty bow of the title of an mc. She would’ve never thought that she’d go from being a bed-warmer to being so cold.

“I must be right then, huh? Suga-sunbae I can see, but J-Hope-sunbae…’’ Taehyung whistled lowly under his breath. “I thought you’d at least deny that. It’s the bright ones you gotta watch out for.’’

A dial noise was the only response. Did…Did this bastard hang up on him? Taehyung grimaced before three knocks rang on the door of the hotel suite, a signal from his asshole manager that Namjoon had finally arrived. Taehyung rolled back his shoulders, his joints crackling a little, and made sure all of his jewelry was perfectly back in place before he opened the door.

As Namjoon shuffled in with some of the staff members, Taehyung clasped his silver watch around his wrist with a soft click. He rolled his neck, trying to get the stiffness out of it, and exposed purple marks and bruises from the bites the now dead girl had given him when they had been fucking earlier.

Finally, his headache was gone.

You chugged down a cup of stale coffee and wiped the dribble of liquid that escaped the corner of your mouth as you clicked off some article about a newbie mc receiving slander after rumors of her making moves on a popular idol was exposed and disappearing to avoid the backlash. Squinting at your screen with dry eyes, you pursed your lips and snapped the laptop shut, pushing the device away from you in an agitated huff.

“Wbat’s got you in the gutters, huh? Let me guess…,’’ Park Jimin, your desk mate, rolled his chair over to your side, his glasses askew on his nose,” Ah, your favorite celebrity go into a dating scandal? Let me think, who was it that recently go into a scandal… Oh, is it that pretty boy from a new idol group?’’

You gave him the stink-eye, and your sigh this time was even louder.

“You’d think there’d be something more…interesting going with these celebrities that we could get our hands on. Too much money, lots of stress, yet no story that’ll really seize the audience by surprise, and don’t you dare say a dating scandal would do it. Boss’s been on my case for the whole week on writing an article to shock the audience and wants me to release a major headliner story in two weeks, or that asshole’ll fire me. Damn it, Kim Seokjin!” you hissed out before slamming your forehead onto the desk.

“Man, be careful with your volume; if he hears your tone, he’ll chew you out for another hour that you could be using to research. Boss Kim is picky like that with everyone because our company’s a small piece of seaweed in a system dominated by crustaceous predators.” Jimin poked you in the side jokingly, his plush lips spread in a wide smile that lit up his exhausted face. “Just think really hard; use that big brain of yours and focus on a celebrity. Come on, no one’s perfect, even that one super famous idol Kim Taehyung must have some flaws, so don’t sweat it.”

“That golden boy? Man, the whole nation’s pussy-whipped for him. He couldn’t possibly be anything bu—,’’ you sharply inhaled before pushing your seat back and rapidly swiveling to face Jimin,’’ Park. Fucking. Jimin. Oh my God, you’re a fucking genius! A whole career with not even a speck of dirt… Come on, even pure-faced idol Soyeon was caught with a scandal last month. There must be something on the nation’s golden boy!’’

Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise with your sudden outburst, and he opened his mouth to speak. “Be careful about the way you go when you try to fish out info on him. His company’s security isn’t something easy to get through, and not a single celeb from that company has gotten into a single scandal. No reporters been able to get any dirt from them…”

“Which means that…there’s something sketchy happening. Jimin, Jimin, have I told you I’m in love with you?’’

You turned around quickly in your chair, spinning in glee. Jimin dropped his mouth open to sputter something, and his cheeks were tinging red, but you weren’t looking at or even listening to Jimin at hat point, having already cracked open your laptop to furiously type Kim Taehyung into Naver. This was it! Your big break! Your motivation sky-rocketed, and you felt the first rush of energy that wasn’t fueled by some caffeinated drink in a long while.

Two hours later, you were ready to throw up.

All of the results were sickeningly the same bullshit, as what was expected for someone as beloved by the nation as Kim Taehyung was. You couldn’t fathom the amount of fancams and magazine spreads of him posing on some brown leather sofa and fact pieces—hell, you even knew what kind of socks the man liked—that you had spent the past hours scrolling through.

Realizing that the office was nearly empty, and that the sky was dimming into a dark hue, you were about to shut down your laptop and call it a long fucking day when a tweet on someone’s SNS caught your eye.

@truth-teller: kim taehyung? nation’s golden boy? are you all really sure about that nonsense?

The tweet was spammed with angered replies, so many that the thread seemed to stretch on for at least a mile, but your interest was piqued. This was the first word of slander you had ever witnessed against Taehyung. You quickly pounded out a message to the account.

@name_01: hey, I saw your tweet about taehyung! Do you perhaps have any more information on him? I find him suspicious too.

You tapped send and waited with bated breath for a reply. Minutes crept by, and you were about to turn off your phone and head out of work when you noticed three dots pop up, dancing before disappearing.

@truth-teller: you fr? I had to suspend my acc because of all the spam I got. No one’s believed me on it, but I have proof

You chewed on your lip. What if this was a joke, and you were just wasting your time on some internet troll with too much time on their hands. It seemed like you were taking too long to reply because another message popped up.

@truth-teller: if you don’t believe me then that’s fine. I don’t have to waste my time

@name_01: WAIT! Sorry, it took me a second to comprehend this information… Please tell me more.

You were worried that the account wouldn’t reply anymore, and that you had ruined your opportunity before the three dots popped up again and another message was sent.

@truth-teller: ok, if you want to find out more let’s move to a better messaging platform, just in case my acc gets suspended by more fans. here’s my number: xxx-xxx-xxxx

It was a gamble to send some stranger on the internet your number, but at this point, you were too desperate to really give a damn. There was a story just out of the reach of your fingertips; you would be a fool to deny the carrot on a stick you were being provided.

@name-01: okay, I’ll message you.

Name: hey! Truth-teller right? This is me from the messages

JK: yeah that’s me. I prefer JK when I’m not on sns tho

Name: I’m (y/n). I don’t mean to sound like I’m hurrying you, but I want to hear what you have to say about Taehyung.

JK: lol r u a reporter or smth? Real bossy of you keke

You sucked in a breath. Should you reveal that?

Name: haha would it be bad if I said I was?

There was no response for the next 15 minutes. Exhaling a long sigh, you decided that you should at least maneuver your way home; the office had been cleared out completely during your conversation with this JK, and you couldn’t help the creeps that the emptiness gave you. If anything, the walk back to your place would give you some outlet for the nervous energy radiating throughout you. You were nearly at the door of your apartment when your phone vibrated in your pocket, signaling a message.

JK: just checking. Makes sense that you’re one though. It’d be nice if you could break this story out, but I hope you trust me enough after I tell you what I know

You clicked the door shut behind you, your eyebrows creased as you stared at your phone screen.

Name: don’t worry. I trust you!

You dropped your bag down onto the sofa before throwing your body onto the seat. The three dots under JK’s name popped up for several minutes before disappearing. In the place of the three dots, a long message had been typed out.

JK: I didn’t really think much of taehyung when I first heard about him since he’s the nation’s golden boy or whatever bs title they call him nowadays, but my sister’s friend was a big fan of him. she went out with my sister and they met him in some shady club in gangnam. my sister’s friend got to talk to him exclusively and my sister got separated from her and got a text from her friend saying that she had smth come up and she already went home. she tried to contact her friend the day after, but she got a text back saying that her friend wasn’t feeling well. my sister’s friend was “best friends’’ with her but she didn’t contact my sister again until a week later saying she got a job opportunity overseas and already was about to board on the plane because it was important she got there fast. my sister’s friend didn’t contact her again like she dropped off the face of the earth

You pursed your lips in contemplation as you tapped out a message back, your nails clicking against the screen.

Name: ?? Are you sure that isn’t a coincidence?

JK: yeah, I thought so too but it was rly sus that my sister’s friend who had known my sister for 12 years to suddenly go overseas for a job opportunity without telling her at all. and when my sister tried to get new contact info from her friend there was no reply. but I got curious and since I do some computer work for my job i wanted to see if I could track the ip address of her phone but there was nothing. her last previous ip was all the way back in gangnam and my sister’s friend lived in incheon. that was a red flag so I decided to go talk to the landlord at my sister’s friend’s old apartment and the landlord said he didn’t see her come back since before that night but woke up to a fully paid lease and the apartment cleared out 

You squinted your eyes at the screen, unable to properly process the information that this so-called JK had just given you. Chewing on your lip, you closed your eyes briefly before opening them back up and typing back a message.

Name: anything else? Sorry…just seems a bit far-fetched.

JK: think whatever then. I have to go to work now

Right when JK’s message popped up, another message pinged on your cell. You refused to let yourself ponder more on JK’s last message as you clicked on your friend’s text notification.

Platonic LOML <3: BAE, R U FREE TONIGHT? I’m lonely n want someone to come with me to this club— ik you’re not into clubs but pretty please

You were about to reply with a refusal when JK’s words came up to your mind again. You didn’t know why, but there was a sharp feeling in your gut that told you that you couldn’t miss this opportunity Call it silly intuition or some coincidental fabrication spurned by your mind, but that feeling persisted until you typed out a reply to your friend.

Name: okay fine. Come over in 30.

Taehyung swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the deep burgundy of the wine stain the glass a soft pink. His head was hurting again, and the new medication he had been taking for them on advice of the company didn’t work.

He scanned the dim, musty club, watching the pulsating lights cloak the dancing bodies in sallow shades of pale yellow. This club was a downgrade from his previous celebrity-exclusive club that he had gone to the previous week, but his manager had told him that if he really wanted peace, he should choose an area where no one would really know him.

Taehyung knew the real reason why his manager had insisted on this. Deaths of other celebrities were much harder to cover up after all.

Pity he actually followed his manager’s advice for once. The wine in here, despite the bougie price tag, was complete shit and provided him a slight buzz at best. And there was no one who really caught his eye out of the crowd of people. As he was about to get up from his seat and leave the club for somewhere with better—he contemplated going back to that celebrity club just to fuck with his company—pickings, he caught sight of someone entering the club.

You looked absolutely gorgeous, swathed in a black shift that you kept fighting to keep over your ass—and god, was it a plump ass too, the kind that made Taehyung’s cock hard in his tight black pants—with hair framing your face in a breathtaking way that showed glimpses of sparkling jewelry. Your friend, some chick with dyed green hair that Taehyung didn’t bother paying attention to, was clinging onto your arm, dragging you near the dance floor.

Taehyung knew.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you.

His head seemed to clear from the mind-numbing throb it always had when he spent too much time without another victim to take his aggression out of. Feeling the cool metal of the blade he always had tucked near his body, Taehyung sat back down in his seat, a playful smile perking at the edges of his lips. Funny enough, the blood thirst that never seemed to properly leave him was gone from his mind, an occurrence that was as rare as the pills the company liked shoving down his throat actually working for once.

You maneuvered your way over to the bar, to him, your friend pouting as she noticed you leaving before melting away into the crowd of grinding bodies. Taehyung swore then and there that the attraction between you and him was absolutely magnetic, with the way you seemed to pull the other towards one another.

He watched as you ordered some pretty-colored martini, adorably scrunching your face as the burn of alcohol coated your tongue and hit the back of your throat with a singe.

Maybe, Taehyung though to himself as he propped his chin lazily on his palm, he should really start listening to his manager more often.

Your mind was in a haze, and you didn’t even notice the man next to you until he was nearly pressed to your side, barely leaving a gap of space between the two of you.

You glanced at him, your tipsy mind suddenly sobering up as you realized who the man sitting next to you was. Kim Taehyung? What the fuck was he doing here?

“Another drink for a pretty lady?” Taehyung’s teeth showed as he charmingly flashed an award-winning coquettish smile at you, his already extremely handsome features seeming to increase in beauty from the grin.

You remembered JK’s words and a chill ran up your spine. God, his messages didn’t seem so implausible now, did they? Goosebumps rose up on your skin, freezing you to the bar table. Were…Were you his next victim?

You swallowed dryly as you tried to calm your racing heartbeat. The side of you that was a reckless journalist wanted to take a nosedive at the headliner just out of reach, but the rational side of you knew that leap of faith had a much bigger chance of you ending up disappearing off for a new job opportunity overseas, as Taehyung’s company would have it. You couldn’t write a good story if you were dead, after all.

“Thank you, but I can pay for my own drinks,’’ your lips twitched slightly as you forced them into a hopefully convincing gentle smile, refusing his offer softly before moving your body casually a few inches away from him,” Having drinks bought by strangers isn’t really my thing.”

Your smile must’ve looked a hell of a lot less nervous than you actually felt and a lot more convincing too because Taehyung’s shoulders, which had previously been winded like he was a predator getting ready to pounce on prey, seemed to relax at your words.

There was a dark gleam in his eyes when he again invaded your personal space and pushed his body near yours. He leaned in and whispered softly into your ears, his voice clear despite the early 2010s hits blaring from the speakers by the dance floor.

“If you’re scared of strangers, why don’t we get to know each other a bit?’’

Your fake smile grew stiff on your face. You felt like you were going to hurl the convenience store meal of ramen that you had scarfed before coming to the club all over the bar and Taehyung’s expensive luxury bran clothes. You could feel a sense of dread in your bones, the kind a prey animal would feel as a predator focused its carnivorous attention on them.

You forced a fake laugh, trying to drive the message that you were just not interested to Taehyung as loud and clear as you could manage.

“No thanks; I have enough people I’m close to. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve left my friend alone for far too long on the dance floor.”

You pushed yourself off the bar table, flashing a strained polite smile before you headed over the dance floor, trying to keep your pace slow and steady instead of breaking out into the outright run you wanted to do.

Taehyung inhaled the linger scent of your perfume, a natural smell that sweetly layered itself over the damp musky air of the club. His eyes, even as you tried to focus on the pounding music and forget the fear embedded deeply in your gut, never seemed to leave your form. Even when you burrowed yourself deeply into the crowd away from his view, you could still feel it.

You found yourself painfully sober after that encounter, trying to look normal in front of your friend for the rest of the night that seemed to painstakingly drag on for eternity. Even when you had the short 2-minute walk from the cab you took to your front door, you didn’t stop looking over your shoulder, still feeling the chill that came with the thought of Taehyung’s gaze. When you got inside your home, the bubbling nausea in your stomach took control over you, and you ended up heaving your dinner down the toilet.

When you managed to somewhat pull yourself together, you typed out a quick message with practically shaking fingers to the only one you could think of in that moment would understand what you were feeling, You stared at your unsent message before hastily pressing send.Name: I didn’t know who to talk to, but I saw Taehyung at the club today. I think you’re right about what you said about Taehyung.

Name: I didn’t know who to talk to, but I saw Taehyung at the club today. I think you’re right about what you said about Taehyung.

Ping!

You barely managed to fall asleep that night, and your eyes painfully ached when you peeled your eyelids open, hurriedly grabbing your phone and turning it on to check your messages.

JK: what happened? Sry for late response. Job keeps me busy all night

Your fingers flew over the keyboard as you typed out your message, furrowing your eyebrows in concentration as you tried to relay the events of your night in hopefully comprehensible words.

Name: I went with my friend to some sketchy club idk what area at this point but I went to the bar and I felt someone come up to me ?? I turned and realized it was Taehyung, and he offered to buy me a drink but I declined. Makes me sick how I could’ve been his next victim, so I tried to leave and go back to where there was more ppl in the club, But I can’t stop thinking about the look in his eyes. There was something sickening in them, I couldn’t put my finger on it.

JK didn’t respond for a bit, and you exhaled a trembling breath when his message popped up.

JK: be careful. Im glad you managed to get away

Name: I’m scared. I didn’t know what to do, but hopefully I’ll never see him again once I get this scoop out.

JK: stay safe. Thx for telling me. Text me if anything else happens.

You let out a shaky breath before clicking your phone off, your nerves still rattled but slightly more calmed down after talking with JK. You had to get ready for work, but at this rate, you weren’t even sure how you would be able to get through the day. Maybe you should take a sick day? No, you couldn’t.

The elevator dinged closed behind you as you stepped out of it into the office. As you were about to take a seat at your desk, your boss rushed out of his office, relief, something he never showed to you, evident on his expression once he caught sight of you.

“(Y/n)! Come into my office; I have an important job for you,’’ your boss ushered you into his office without another word, practically pushing a baffled you into the room frantically,” You know the company that manages Kim Taehyung? They reached out and agreed to an exclusive one-on-one interview with Kim Taehyung only, and only, if you agreed to the interview.”

You stiffened, your body frozen as you tried to process the words your boss had just spoken. Your brain seemed to be running a marathon as you computed the words your boss said, and you could only meekly respond with a limp,” Why me? Can’t somebody…Can’t someone else take over? Boss…you know I’m not that experienced.”

Boss Kim barely paid any attention to your words as he rested a hand on your shoulder with a confident look on his face.

“Then, use this opportunity to get more experience. You want to show the world that you’re a journalist by getting a scoop? Then take this interview! You know the company never agrees to exclusive one-on-one interviews unless they’re all staged, but there wasn’t even talk of this being staged at all. If you can use this opportunity and get something big, won’t this be your biggest step towards a great journalist career?’’ your boss exclaimed,’’ If you back out, another chance like this won’t come again!”

As much of an asshole Boss Kim was sometimes, you could find the logic in his words. Besides, it must be a coincidence that Kim Taehyung wanted you specifically to give him an interview; maybe he wanted a newbie, so they wouldn’t have much experience trying to fish out personal details and twist his words.

That’s right. There was no way he even remembered what you looked like. You guys interacted for, what, a solid 2 minutes last night. And if you did this interview right, you could use it as a building block as evidence for the headliner you intended to release with what JK had told you.

You exhaled, nodding your head firmly.

“I will. I’ll take this interview.”

Boss Kim’s face brightened, making him look much more like the stereotypical handsome CEO character found in dramas. Since he always looked exhausted and stressed out, he always seemed more intimidating, an aura that seemed to scare off any thoughts about how gorgeous he actually was. You had to admit: your heart did flutter a bit at his face.

“Excellent! He’s waiting in the meeting room right now! You only need, what, six hours to prepare, right?”

Fuck, you take back that heart flutter. Boss Kim was an asshole.

“S-Sir,’’ you sputtered,” I can’t…’’

Before you even finished your words, Boss Kim was already ushering you back out of the office.

“I believe in you! You got this!”

He closed the door behind you. You swallowed back the mouthful of swears you wanted to spew before scrambling towards your desk.

You weren’t prepared, but you knew you would do anything for a scoop.

Exactly 6 hours and seventeen seconds later, you were primly seated in front of Kim Taehyung.

The seats were annoyingly too close, and you cursed Boss Kim in your heart, knowing that the reason why the chairs were placed in such an unprofessional manner was because Boss Kim wanted to create the perfect intimate setting for no cost. If you tried to extend your legs, you’d end up smacking them straight into Taehyung’s legs.  

You, although disgruntled, had to admit that there was a reason why so many major brands wanted him as their model. He was handsome under the shitty lighting of the musty club last night, but here, with his hair and makeup carefully done despite the fluorescent lighting of the room, he was every synonym of the word beautiful combined into one person.

Blond strands of his hair brushed his chiseled features, and his eyes, curved attractively and framed with delicate long wisps of eyelashes, was intensely focused on your face. He looked ever like a marble statue, carved with attention and detail to be the most perfect specimen artistry could ever create. But he wasn’t perfect; that was what you knew. And that would also be what would you get just one step ahead of him.

You swept a piece of hair and tucked it behind an ear as you scanned your hastily scribbled notes. His eyes clung to that movement, as if he was mesmerized by your every action, and you peeked a look through your lashes. Your eyes met, and you forced a stiff smile.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi,’’ you rolled your shoulders back into a proper posture, gingerly extending a hand out for him to take,” Good morning. It’s an honor to be able to do an interview with you.”

The edges of his lips tilted upward, and there was a playful glint in his eyes as his previous fiercely predatory state melted into the façade he put up in front of the public. He reached out and took your hand, throwing you off guard as he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

“Likewise, it’s an honor to have an interview with you, (Y/n).’’

Yuck, you were going to have to wash your hands later. Anyways, what kind of person even kissed the back of people’s hands nowadays? This was the 21st century for fuck’s sake. You somehow kept your grimace to yourself.

You nervously laughed as you practically yanked your hand back out of his grasp. You casually wiped the back of your hand on the fabric of your skirt, disguising the movement as simply brushing off dust. Taehyung’s eyes didn’t leave any of your movements, and he laughed a little as he realized just what you were doing.

Oh, you were so interesting. You weren’t like the rest of them, the fans that threw themselves at him adoringly; hell, he was sure you weren’t even a fan. He was entranced. When he was close to you, the headaches seemed to fade; he didn’t want to drown himself in another body when he was with you. He didn’t want to kill when he was with you.

You ignored his burning gaze, breezing through the beginning parts of the interview. Finally, you reached the part that you had been anxiously preparing for.

“So, I heard that you’re trying out a new actor role. As a model and an artist and now an actor, we have to admit that your talents are incredibly versatile, Kim Taehyung-ssi.’’ You continued speaking. “Could you tell us a little more about this role?’’

“You flatter me too much, (Y/n).’’ He purposefully had left any formalities to the wind in this interview, a move that made you want to grind your teeth. “Yes, I was offered one of the leading roles in a new thriller movie. I’ll be acting as one of the charismatic but complex characters. I hope to show you and all of my fans a new side to Kim Taehyung.”

“Ah, a new side,’’ you nodded lightly,” Your new role as a charismatic serial killer who targets his admirers is certainly what many would call…complex. How do you go about preparing for such a twisted role?”

“Hmm…,’’ Taehyung’s lips curled up menacingly for a brief moment before fading away into a breezy smile,’’ It’s quite difficult to immerse myself into a role in which I have limited experience in, so I like to read through the script and make a map of what the character is like. What motivates him; what makes him so…complex, as you called it. I pretend to be like the character. How do I make myself think like him? That’s the question I like to try to find an answer to.”

“Ah, this is simply my personal opinion, but to truly play the character requires some true life experience…Is it possible that you’ve ever done anything similar to what the character has done in real life?”

A pin seemed to drop in that very moment from the silence that crowded the room. Everyone in the room froze and stared at you, their glances less than pleasant. You bore it all as you stared intently into his eyes. Slip up, you prayed, do something that will make you slip up. There was not even a brief soft sound in the 10 seconds that it took for Taehyung to respond.

He was rigid, the smile plastered on his face barely fading. Come on, you begged, expose yourself just a bit.

“Your response is lagging for just a bit, Kim Taehyung-ssi. It makes you seem guilty just a bit, doesn’t it?’’

He snapped out of it right then and there.

“I was simply contemplating my response. Your impatience is something not so befitting of a formal interview. To answer your question, isn’t a role just a role at the end of the day? If you think about it, I’m not the only person to have played a role like this. Many actors and actresses have done so without any thought of relating it to their real life. After all, a role is simply an imaginary self.”

You both stared into each other’s eyes, and you felt the gazes of other people around you burn into you.

You settled on a retreat. It was fine; this interview was just the first building block. You laughed lightly, throwing off the previous tense silence easily.

“Of course! We wouldn’t expect nothing but, right? We hope to see your talent truly shine through in this new role!’’

The tenseness in the room seemed to slip away right then, and the deathly gazes on you flitted away, like they were never there in the first place.

You let out a sigh as you left the interview room. God, that was terrifying, but you knew that you had to do what you had just previously done. What you had just done asserted the theory that you had. His company was hiding something about him, and that something was nothing less than downright horrific.

JK, you thought to yourself, I’m going to expose this story, just you wait.

“You weren’t just going to leave, huh?’’

You heard a familiar voice speak behind you, and you quickly spun around.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi,’’ you forced out of your throat,’’ I believed you had already left.”

“I was going to, but I wanted to speak to you about the interview. The company rarely lets me do interviews, so it was really refreshing to have one done with you. We worked so well together, and I would like to thank you for the pleasant experience you had given me with dinner. You must be starving, right?’’

You had been starving earlier, but one word from Taehyung left your stomach churning in nausea.

“No!’’ your voice was a bit too loud, so you hastily softened it,’’ No, that’s not necessary. You don’t need to thank me.”

Taehyung took steps closer to you, and you unconsciously took a step back. Noticing your movements, he looked at you and flashed a grin that might’ve looked harmless to others but outright menacing to you.

“Are you scared of me?’’ his voice was almost like a purr. You fought back a shiver, straightening your back and looking him straight in the eyes.

“No,’’ you stabilized your voice, keeping a waver out of it,” Why would I be scared of you? You’re not some higher being than me just because you’re a celebrity. You’re human, after all. But, as you can see, I have work to do, so I will have to politely decline your offer.”

“You can have the rest of the day off.”

You spun around on your heels, your gaze colliding with Boss Kim’s. When did he arrive?

“Sir! Boss! No, if I skipped out on work, I’d be a burden to everyone. Besides, I—,’’ your voice was cut off by another voice.

“It’d be good to establish a positive relationship between your company and ours. Your boss would usually be the one to go to a dinner, but I believe he already has plans. Any work you were unable to fulfill today will be taken care of.”

The voice seemed to chill you to the bone. You turned to make eyes with a man. Was he…Taehyung’s manager? Although he was handsome, the kind of handsome that was comparable with Taehyung’s, something about him churned your stomach. While Taehyung was like a predator waiting to pounce on his prey, the man behind this voice was already sinking his teeth into the neck, wringing out the… You snapped out of your thoughts.

Snap out of it, you mentally scolded yourself.  

“How about it?’’ Taehyung’s manager coldly smiled, his tone like glaciers.

You opened your mouth to try to refute, but with the burning gaze from your boss, you could only dip your head in a bow, your voice low.

“Thank you for the offer. I accept.”

They couldn’t kill you, right? It’d be too obvious.

You followed them out, and when you passed by Boss Kim, you made a panicked glance at him. What greeted you made you halt briefly in your pace.

When Boss Kim made eye contact with you, he patted your shoulder in what should’ve been reassurance. His lips spread out in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Don’t disappoint me, hmm?’’

His words, spoken low and steady, left a chill in your veins as you kept walking, and the sliding doors of the elevator dinged close behind you, effectively trapping you with Taehyung and his manager.

You somehow made it out of the elevator and through the tense car ride alive. Now, you were seated next to Taehyung himself in the private room of a restaurant. Smoke rose from the grill, briefly obscuring your view of his manager from across you.

You tried to think positively of the situation. If Taehyung was drunk, maybe he’d slip up, but…you made a furtive glance at his manager from across the grill, slightly jolting when your eyes collided with his own. The fear that nearly overcame you made you nauseous.

“A drink?”

Taehyung’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned to see him already raising his glass. You stiffly smiled, barely managing to keep the nervous twitch out of the curves of your lips.

“I don’t drink.”

“It’s impolite to decline a friendly offer. Come on, a toast to a wonderful…partnership.” Taehyung chuckled, raising his glass, as he leaned his chin onto the propped palm of his hand,” And we wouldn’t want a bad start to it.”

You were panicking by now, but you could imagine what Boss Kim would say if Taehyung’s company pulled out because of something so miniscule. You couldn’t afford to lose your job, not with the way you had fought tooth and nail to get your position; you wouldn’t last a month without your job or the meager protection it gave you.

You made your decision, a decision you would’ve done anything else but avoid, and tilted the glass up, clinking it against Taehyung’s glass. Turning away, you made it look like you were lightly sipping the drink, but you only allowed the liquid to slightly wet your lips. You set down the still-full glass and smiled pleasantly.

“I can only drink this much. Anymore, and I would experience terrible side effects.”

Taehyung didn’t seem even irked by your feeble attempt at pretending; instead, his eyes filled with amusement. He didn’t stop staring at you, and the threatening vibe of it caused you to unconsciously delve into your habit of gripping your glass of water and drinking it in an attempt to calm your nerves.

You placed the empty glass back down before resuming anxiously picking at your food. A pair of chopsticks—specifically Taehyung’s chopsticks—placed a piece of barbecued meat on your bowl of rice.

“Not feeling hungry? You need to eat. Skipping meals is bad for your health,’’ Taehyung beamed as he watched you carefully pick up the piece of meat and eat it. It would’ve been delicious any other time, but the churning in your gut made it taste like sand in your mouth. You dryly swallowed it.

“I’m heading to the restroom.”

You heard Taehyung’s manager speak in his flat tone, and you threw a skittish glance at him as he stood up and walked out of the private room, closing the door with a soft click behind him.

“Ah, now that that nuisance is out of the way, why don’t we talk more?’’ Taehyung’s tone was playful, and you flinched as he leaned closer to you, his breath brushing against the outer shell of your ear.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi,’’ you gritted the name through your teeth,” Please respect my personal space.”

He laughed lowly before he dropped a hand on your thigh. You were about to make a move to push him away, but your body suddenly felt tired, like you weren’t quite in control anymore.

“Come on, do what I say, and your little news company will do so much better. Your boss didn’t tell you this, but your company’s going bankrupt. One peep from me, and your company will rise in ranking, but I can only do that if I’m in a…happy mood.”

Taehyung pressed even closer to you, his nose against the curve of your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply in. His hands moved from his side and he ripped open the buttons of your shirt, groping your bra-covered tits. You let out an incoherent mumble in response, trying to flimsily kick at him.

Where was the waiter? Why was his manager taking so long? They planned this!

Disgust and heat coiled in your gut, but you were too dizzy to move. Something…that bastard…Did he spike your water? You were too careless, fuck. Taehyung moved one hand to tilt your chin up before his lips met yours. Despite how sloppy of a kiss it was, you could tell he was experienced, practically tasting every inner crevice of your soft mouth with his tongue, and you should’ve continued to be revolted, but whatever pill in your system had you melting into his mouth.

Taehyung seemed to sense the turmoil and conflict in you and the soft give of your will, and that seemed to make him even braver. He slid a hand up your skirt, his touch hot even through the fabric of your stockings, and you let out a startled moan against his lips, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth. He pulled back, and you could barely see through the teary haze of your eyes. It had been too long since the last time you had a good fuck. You just wanted to be touched…wanted to be fucked so hard his cock would press against your womb.  

“I just want to see you let go a bit, baby,’’ there was the triumph of domination in his voice. The sober part of you wanted to rebel, wanted to push and scream and kick him away, but you weren’t sober, weren’t clear-minded. Your legs spread as if begging for more of his touch.

He ripped his fingers through your stocking, and the material easily gave way underneath his strength. You could feel the damp spot on your panties, growing as he rubbed his fingertips against your drooling pussy. You shivered slightly in delirious pleasure as his finger rolled over your throbbing clit.  

“Mmph!’’ you let out a sound as he pushed your soaked panties to the side and pushed his fingers deep into your pussy. You couldn’t object, not when your pussy was stretching with a spine-tingling ache around his fingers, and especially not when he begin to set a teasing pace. He pushed his fingers in, and you shut your eyes in shame as your moans grew louder.

Your toes curled as his movements grew faster, reaching deep into you, and you were so, so close. Oh my god you could feel…and you were cumming hard. Your walls shivered and twitched around his still moving fingers, and you murmured a dazed plea as he finally stilled and pulled his fingers out. You, still twitching from how hard you came earlier, were ashamed to see the way his fingers glistened with the remnants of your arousal and orgasm.

The sound of his pants being unclasped drew you out of your drugged state. No, he wasn’t going to…Come on, snap out of it, snap out of it.

He drew back closer again, and you sucked in a breath, trying to push through your daze. He leaned in. You managed to bring your arms up to the table, grabbing the nearest object that you could reach. Your trembling fingers closed around your nearly empty water glass, and you took it, raising it and smashing it as hard as you could over his head. Water, ice cubes, and glass shards struck as the glass broke. Taehyung, not expecting the blow, had a temporary moment of weakness, and you managed to push him off you.

You shoved yourself up onto shaky legs, wrapping the ripped blouse around your weakened body, and forced yourself into a run outside of the room. The hallway of the restaurant around the private rooms was empty, devoid of any person. You frantically looked over your shoulder, relieved that you didn’t see him coming after you. This was a public place, though it was late at night, and you knew Taehyung wouldn’t risk his perfect reputation. But still, you remembered his manager was still out there.

You couldn’t let them kill you…You had to survive! You broke into a blind run, ignoring the strange looks and the calls you got from the restaurant’s staff as you pushed out of the restaurant into the street. You kept running despite the dizziness of your mind, and you could barely see what was in front of you before…You crashed into someone, slamming into their body so hard that you were sent sprawling to the ground.

“Please…,’’ you choked out, your voice strangled, crying out a desperate plea as you grabbed onto their clothes,’’ Please help me.”

Your mind was dizzy, splotches of colors splattering your blurry vision. Your body had overexerted yourself, and you prayed that you wouldn’t end up a dead body on the news as your grip around the clothes went lip, and you collapsed into the road. Through the buzzing of your ears, you could hear a startled voice call out, feel a firm touch grab your shoulders and try to shake you awake. Some strange hope rose in you; maybe…maybe…?

You murmured desperately one last mumble, your words barely making sense, as you spiraled into unconsciousness.  

“JK…please help me.”

A/N: if you want to be added to the taglist for the next part, reply with a  ❤️. If you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment or a detailed review below <3

Next work will be a fic for Jungkook’s upcoming birthday. Poll will be released soon for what kind of plot it should have! 

[starpollen1998]

Uber Allergic: A Romance - part 1 / ?

I don’t know what it is with me and cars lately.  Maybe because I haven’t driven one in nearly 4 years, or maybe because I had a plot bunny about a hired driver and then couldn’t decide which direction to take it.  So, naturally, I wrote 2 stories. A warning: I have never taken an Uber.  I have used a similar company in the country where I live, so I imagined it would be the same.  Apologies for any mistakes.  Hope you enjoy!

The Ride - Part 1

When I saw him standing on the curb waiting, I couldn’t help but blink. And then swallow hard.  The man was stunning: tall, broad-shouldered, long-limbed, with a perfect jawline and dazzling smile.  His hair was that rare coiff that crested like waves from his head, barely brushing his ears, thick and tawny like a lion. When he dropped into the back seat, I saw his eyes were a stunning shade of blue.

I’ve had attractive men in my car before, sure.  But none quite as mind-blowing as this one.

“Heya, darlin’,” he quipped, firing off a devastating wink at me through the rear view mirror.

“Hi,” I replied, barely able to get that single syllable past the lump in my throat.  I prayed I could focus on the road in front of me and not the Greek-god-incarnate in the back seat.  He was headed across town, a trip that would take us roughly 40 minutes.

We rode in silence for almost a full minute, him tapping away on his cell phone while I gritted my teeth and forced my gaze at the horizon. Occasionally I glanced at the GPS, checking that we were on track.

Then…

“heHH?...”

I couldn’t help it.  My eyes darted up to the rear view mirror.

I watched as Greek-god pinched his nostrils shut, rubbing in hard, tight circles, finishing with a small shake of his head, blue eyes blinking furiously.  Was it my imagination, or did those eyes seem to be getting red?

I kept driving.

Not even a minute later…

“heh-heHH?...”

Once more, my eyes snapped like magnets to the rear view mirror.  My passenger was frozen in classic pre-sneeze expression: eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, lower lip trembling… nostrils flared, the tip of his prominent nose visibly twitching.  His elegant head turned left, then right, and then…

“heght--SHHzzztT!!”

He sneezed - snapping into his elbow at the last second.

“B-... Bless you,” I stammered, sure I was blushing red as a tomato.

But Greek god wasn’t done.

He raised his head, eyes still shut, shoulders bouncing with stuttering hitches.  My eyes were darting between the road ahead and the rear view mirror, terrified that I was either going to rear-end someone … or miss one second of the spectacle in the back seat.  

Then - a red light.

Thank you! I screamed in my mind to whatever higher power was listening.

When I came back to the rear view mirror, his right hand was raised, hovering loosely cupped, nostrils stretching into little round O’s, his upper lip curled back from gleaming white teeth…

“hegt--SCHgtT!!” he snapped down, visibly misting the hand. This time he stayed down, and I could almost see his abs rippling beneath his button-up shirt.  “eegh--SCHHtT… aAH-SCHTch-u!!”

“Bless you,” I barely breathed, glad that this particular red light seemed to be taking a lot longer than usual.

His voice - husky and a little congested - floated up from behind the hand still cupped to his nose.

“... snfll… thanks, darlin’.  … sdrfl…. Don’t suppose you h-have… sdrffl…  any tissues?”

Fumbling, I opened the glove box and pulled out the stack of drive-through napkins I kept stashed away for emergencies.  Usually spilled coffee.  Twisting in my seat, I set the stack on his left knee, fingertips brushing the hard muscles of his thigh.

Peering through the tawny strands of hair that had been knocked loose by the fit, his eyes crinkled with a smile.  “Thanks.”  

An impatient honk made me jump.  Heart pounding, I whipped back around to face the road and eased us forward through the intersection.  His soft chuckle made my ears burn, sure that I was blushing fire-engine red by now.

I heard soft blowing, more wet sniffles, and managed to catch in the mirror when he stretched two KFC napkins between both hands and muffled a wet double: “t’SCHmp--g’SCHHm!”

“Bless you,” I managed, happy when my voice sounded even and calm, even though my hands were gripping the steering wheel hard.

“Darlin’ you don’t… hH!--... have to say that every time… snffl---hHehH!--... l-looks like I m- muhH!-HGK’tSCHHt!... excuse me.  I might be at this a while...”  Taking another napkin from the dwindling stack, he pinched it around his nose and rubbed again in small, fast circles, brows drawing together in concentration.

Grateful for another red light, I stared into the mirror.  My passenger had a fist full of crumpled napkins in one hand, the other pinching and rubbing desperately at increasingly pinkening nostrils.

“Does… this happen often?”

Another husky chuckle, which deteriorated into more hitching breaths and another itchy-sounding sneeze. “hgz’CHHT! … Depends,” he breathed, bringing the knot of used tissues up to dab at his watering eyes.  “Do you have a c-... hHihh!... a cat?”

The Ride - Part 2

 My mouth dropped open, eyes wide.  He saw my expression in the mirror and gave another chuckle.  Swiping a knuckle under his nose, he flashed me a wry grin.  “Well, that explains it.”

 “I’m sorry,” I looked back at him, stricken.

 “Nah, don’t worry about it,” he gave a dismissive shake of his lion’s head.  “You couldn’t know.  heh-GSCHhtu!... And it’s not like there’s a box to tick in the app, or anything. ...snfl…  ‘Driver has pets.’ ...sdrfl … A lot of people do.  Have pets.”

 “I know,” I replied softly, turning the wheel smoothly as we rounded a corner.  “But I can still be sorry that you’re… you know…”  I couldn’t bring myself to say it.  I couldn’t even glance in the mirror.

 But I heard the smile in his voice when he said, “It’s fine.  Really.  It h--hH!  hg’zCHHt!-heh’GZShht!... excuse me.  It happens a lot, actually. snfl.”  

 That did make me glance at the mirror, brows raised in surprise… and interest.  “Really?”

 Greek god had placed the growing pile of used napkins in the seat beside him, frowning down at both his watch and the small stack of napkins still on his leg. The tip of his nose was flushing a tell-tale pink, blue eyes definitely red-rimmed.  He blinked rapidly and sniffled constantly, dabbing at his eyes or wiping at his nose, overall looking the very picture of ‘itchy’ and ‘allergic.’

 “Yeah,” he replied, breath spiraling in preparation for another sneeze… but it left him last-minute, causing him to give a frustrated cough. “I’m allergic to most animals, but you might say I’m… uber allergic to cats.”  Those stunning blue eyes twinkled at me in the mirror, followed by a mischievous wink.

 “Why risk taking an Uber, then?”

 “Well, as cliché as it sounds... my car is in the shop.”

 “Oh?”

 “Yeah, snffll, I got a… hH!--... a recall letter.  Better safe tha-… heh-GSCHt--ahh-GSCHu!... ugh. Apologies.”

 We chatted a little more during the ride, about his job as an IT consultant and my 3 jobs: kindergarten teacher, waitress at Olive Garden, and Uber driver.  By the time we reached his destination I had counted no less than 56 sneezes, nearly always he followed up with ‘excuse me,’ or some other polite apologetic. He had used my entire stash of emergency napkins, and his handsome face was a bleary, blotchy wreck: nose red, eyes puffy, voice croaky and thick with congestion.

 “I’m sorry, again,” I said when we stopped at the curb in front of his building. 

 “Add - agaid - you dod’t have adythig to be sorry for,” he rasped, palming the pile of used tissues and reaching for a few that had fallen to the floor.

 “Oh, I can do that,” I got out in a rush.  “You don’t have to--”

 “Oh, doh,” he chuckled, voice breaking on the second word like a prepubescent.  “I cad take by owd dirty tissues, darlid’.”  Glancing up, he gave me a soft smile.  “You’ve beed padiedt edough about all this.”  Maybe I imagined it, but it looked like he blushed just a little.

 “Well it’s my fault,” I insisted.  

 He opened his mouth to reply, but instead turned and gave a tired-sounding sneeze into his elbow. “H’eISCHt!... gkm, pardod.”

 “Bless you,” I murmured. 

 “You dow, sdrfl, I usually dod’t like it whed people say that…”

 “I’m sor--”

 “But sobehow whed you do,” he glanced back, swiping a knuckle under his nose and giving that same, soft smile.   “I dod’t mide.”

 He exited, leaving me staring after him with a mixture of warmth and confusion.  Definitely one of the most… unusual... rides I’d ever had. 

 Throwing the lever into park, I got out to do my usual check of the interior in case the passenger had left something behind. A flash of white tucked by the seatbelt latch caught my eye.  Thinking Greek god must have missed one of the used napkin wads, I reached for it. 

 And pulled out a business card.

 “C. B. Decker - Sunfire Technology”

 I turned it over.

 “Thanks for the ride...  Have dinner with me sometime?”   

I pulled my head out of the car, staring over my shoulder at his building.  I wasn’t sure, but it looked like someone was standing just inside the glazed doors, watching.  Turning back to the card in my hand, I bit my lip.  It was a violation of my Uber contract if I said yes.  

 But.

 That guy...

 Aw, hell.  I could get by without the income.  Probably.  

Maybe.

 I looked back at the building, and was now sure I could make out his tall silhouette, tawny mane just a bit disheveled.  The figure suddenly bent forward, and I knew. 

 I kept my eyes on the building as I made a show of putting the card into my pocket.  It wasn’t a no.  But it wasn’t a yes.  

 Not yet. 

 As I drove home for the night, my imagination spun out as I deliberated whether or not to accept.  One, he knew I had a cat, was apparently ‘uber’ allergic... and wanted to see me again, anyway.  Two, I had been getting tired of driving 30 hours a week, and maybe I could arrange to suspend my contract.  Or I could quit, and then get rehired if things didn’t work out… or, if they did... 

 I crawled into bed, reaching up to stroke Sheba where she always slept on the second pillow. She made a little mew, flipping her head upside down and curling tighter into a furry ball. 

 As I drifted off to sleep, his delicious sneezes echoed in my dreams…

[yelenasdog]

talk to me? (spencer reid x fem reader)

genre: fluff 

summary: cold nights and warm coffee can be so compelling.

words: 2.2k 

warnings: mentions of having intrusive thoughts and spence being insecure, reader and spencer sleeping in the same bed. that’s all i can think of, lmk if there’s anything else!

a/n: yo! so uhhh i kinda love the start of this and dislike the end of it, but idk i think it’s still pretty snazzy!! also SPENCER IN GLASSES HAS MY HEART ok bye enjoy!!

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

It was the type of cold where no matter how brightly the sun was shining, you could still feel the fresh molecules of coolness linger on your skin, hiding under the tip of your nose. It made horribly irritable little dry patches that would have to be remedied with some form of lotion, but that wouldn’t quite return back to complete normal until the end of the winter time.

But despite this, Y/n and Spencer were out and about, doing their jobs in total normalcy.

Minus being stationed in France, that is.

Although it was rare that the BAU was called overseas, Emily had needed the team’s help, and who would they be to decline a trip to the beautiful France, no less to see Prentiss as well.

So after a grueling day of blood and bad-guys, the pair made their way back to their Parisian hotel room, walking (quite wobbily, Y/n would add) along the cobblestone walkways, both of their boots clicking loudly against the rain coated stones.

It was ironic, as Spencer had attempted to wear his converse, but was denied by a worried Y/n, hearing her say “You’re going to get those things soaked, and you’ll freeze your toes right off, Dr. Reid!”

And as not to disappoint the girl, never wanting to see her mood turn as gloomy as the French sky, he complied begrudgingly. Though Y/n could swear she always saw a hint of a smile at her telling off.

Spencer was also advised by her to wear his contacts, to avoid the fogging up of his readers, but he refused, not wanting to bother with said contacts. He grew to regret that as he walked, every so often and reaching a large hand up to wipe his glasses, almost like the wind shield wipers of the bug that had been driving them around.

He chuckled at the not so distant away memories, thankful for the girl and her requests, as it turned out.

The hotel was far different from the usual dingy motels the team usually occupied when traveling, that was for certain. This one happened to be a master suite with ivory walls and silky sheets, quite opposite from the thin and scratchy yellowed covers they usually made do with.

And even though It was early in the day, the mixture of odd sleep schedules and just the heavy weight of sleepiness pressing down heavily on their shoulders, they opted to go to bed at the oh-so late time of 1:37 PM.

Daredevils, those two are.

Ignoring the first bed by the door, Spencer made a beeline for the plush queen size mattress he knew Y/n and himself would be sharing in an effort to cuddle up for warmth, sinking down into it. (After removing his shoes, of course.)

He was originally donned in just a grey Caltech shirt and some blue pajama pants, but due to the chillier weather (that he couldn’t quite seem to shake despite the thermostat in the hotel room being turned up to 76) he layered on a maroon MIT hoodie, one that he was aware Y/n would try to thieve from him, perhaps even sneaking it back in her own suitcase.

Y/n walked out of the bathroom in pale green shorts and a large and worn Led Zeppelin shirt, earning a very confused stare from Spencer. She simply shook her head and continued on her way over to the large window that was currently projected bright streams of melted gold through the glass, that would have been heated if it wasn’t for that damn cold.

“I get warm when I sleep, it bothers me.”

He nodded, watching intently as she opened and shut the blinds a few times, soft krrrrs and clicks sounding through the room as she did.

“You doing alright?” He asked, his eyeline never faltering. She turned and he picked up his copy of “A Farewell To Arms,” something she had been the one to reccomend to him, ranting on and on about Ernest Hemingway and his precious 6 toed cats. 

It was one of Spencer’s more realistic goals in life to take Y/n back to Key West to visit the Hemingway House, after her having said a childhood trip there was one of her happiest memories.

He quickly flipped to a random page, not wanting her to catch him being what he considered to be creepy, even though Y/n thought it was quite adorable.

She bit back a giggle and a smile, settling on leaving the window half open half closed. She padded over to where Spencer was, laying back onto what she imagined a cloud would feel like.

She reached over, taking the blue colored book from his hands and his thickly rimmed glasses off from where they were resting on his perfect button nose. 

She smiled to herself fondly at the items in her hands, particularly at the novel. She placed them on her bedside table (why hers and not his, Reid wasn’t too sure, but also was not going to complain), and then moved to slide between the slick tightly-tucked sheets.

“Our options were A, not be able to sleep because of Mr. Sun being out right now, or you freezing to death because Mr. Sun was blocked totally by the curtains.”

He looked over at where she had been messing around with the heavy drapes.

“I see you went in between.”

She smiled graciously, which Spencer returned immediately.

“That I did.”

A few more awkward moments of silence (not including the occasional yelling and honking from those riding on motorbikes below) passed, before she finally settled into the sheets.

She turned to the side table to her left and tugged on the chain of the old timey lamp. The room went quiet, but the pair’s minds were anything but.

Y/n’s head was swimming in intrusive thoughts, while Spencer’s was a hazy cloud of self deprecations and his own voice keeping him awake, staring at the painted ceiling.

“Spence?”

“Mmhm?”

“Can you talk to me?”

Spencer’s brows furrowed. He shifted around in the creme sheets of the bed, finding a cold spot quite quickly.

“What do you want me to say?”

Silence.

“Anything.”

She turned over to now be facing the lanky boy, their noses nearly touching. She held her breath, sucking in a bottom lip.

He looked to her eyes, to her lips, and back to her eyes again, quickly gathering a list of things to ramble about.

“Well,” he began, “Paris was originally founded in the 3rd century BC, and was a Roman city called Lutetia, and to prove it, there’s even remains of Roman ruins in the capital. And speaking of monuments, in total, there are 1,803 of them, and 173 museums in Paris alone- Y/n?”

To his surprise, Y/n’’s idea had worked. Spencer looked over to see a sleeping Y/n, a peaceful expression resting upon her features.

He smiled at the idea that he had played some role in that, closing his own eyes. The cloud that was previously keeping him from long awaited slumber was now a light film, nagging at the back of his head quietly. 

He simply told the voice to quiet down and was then able to lull himself to sleep, Y/n’s presence calming him to no end.

It wasn’t until 8 hours later that they had woken up, first Spencer, followed by Y/n. She peeked open her eyes, pleasantly surprised by the lack of light shining through the curtains. 

She wiggled around, stretching from her neck down to her toes. Spencer smiled at this, finding her resemblance to a cat who had been sunnapping, quite endearing.

She moved to her side, placing a hand under her chin to get a better look at the Doctor who was nearly finished reading her copy of “A Farewell to Arms”.

“Did you at least mark my spot?” She asked, voice raspy from sleep.

He scoffed, flipping to and then showing her the bookmarked page of the story.

“What do you think I am, a monster?”

She chuckled, sitting up next to Spencer.

“I mean, I don’t know, sometimes it seems like it”.

He rolled his eyes, setting down the read and hopping out of bed.

“What are you doing, Spence?” She asked, not amused in the slightest by the idea of having to get out of bed.

“We are going to get coffee.”

She shook her head of messy hair, the wispy bits flowing around her like a halo in the hotel room lighting.

“You can go get us coffee and bring it right back over here, alright? Thanks, you’re a doll.”

He did that thin lipped smile that seems to be his equivalent of a smirk, grabbing a hoodie from the inside of his suitcase that was perched on top of a dresser.

“Come on, we’re going on an adventure. Use this and the idea of coffee as an incentive.”

He tossed her the hoodie, the jacket landing by her feet with an audible plop.

She loudly groaned, shrugging it on and pulling herself out of bed. She also managed to tug on some jeans and an overcoat, as well as her boots, shaking her head at Spencer’s lack of preparation for the cold temperatures, as always. 

“Spencer, I am not about to go to this and have you complain about being cold the whole time, put on your coat, please.” She gestured to where it was hanging in the closet with her hand still concealed by her trench coat’s pocket, her eyes shutting and her head lolling to the side.

“If you insist.”

“Yes I do, put it on, lets go.” She said drawing out the “o”.

Spencer’s eyes widened and he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “My apologies, good morning to you too.”

She only rolled her eyes and smiled, opening the door to the room and leading the way.

By the time she had found a coffee shop on Yelp that she had deemed satisfactory, (which was extremely difficult due to the language barrier) the time had passed even later, and the temperature was even lower.

The lights on the streets sparkled, reflecting in the puddles of the water that lined the asphalt. Y/n was quite enchanted by the little light shows, slowing the journey to the shop significantly. Spencer didn’t mind, though, he enjoyed every second he got to spend with her to the absolute fullest, and found her fascination with every part of life inspiring.

When they finally reached the quaint little coffee shop, they walked inside, finding refuge in the warmth of the establishment.

Spencer ordered for them, and Y/n found a table (as that’s what they always did, taking turns between ordering and scouting a place to sit).

She located a cozy little corner by a window, a perfect place to observe those who bustled about at night, watching them and coming up with back stories, whatever they may be.

She enjoyed doing that, it made her believe she had a better understanding of the world around her, why those she works on catching every day behave in the manner they do.

And what better place to do so than Paris?

So she flagged Reid (who now was in possession of the two drinks) over, taking hers from his hand. 

“Latte with two creams and 4 sugars for the lady.”

She smiled graciously, allowing the heat of the cup to spread through her system.

“And what did you get? Let me guess, a shot of espresso with 12 sugars?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, not wanting to admit she was more correct than he had hoped.

“Ha ha, very funny, Y/n.”

She smiled over her small mug, quirking a brow.

“Oh, I know.”

He shook his head and glanced out the window with a low chuckle, watching as people from all walks of life went about their business, some with dogs, some with children, some of them even walking along with a cup of coffee in their hands, similarly to Spencer and Y/n. Some of them, in fact, had all three.

As the two sat observing, sipping away at their respective concoctions, Y/n spoke up, her voice soft, although considering they were the only two in the shop, it didn’t need to be.

“Spence?”

“Hmm?”

Only then did she tear her glance away from those on the street, her full focus now on Reid. She admired his bone structure, in awe over the way the soft light reflected off his strong jaw and high cheeks. At that moment, he looked like he belonged in the Louvre.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” He finally looked towards her, his hand never moving from where it was positioned under his chin.

She simply shrugged, wrapping her coat tighter around herself.

He darted his eyes to the table and then her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”

She smiled and nodded at once, satisfied with his response.

While she looked out the window once more, she began to wonder about those around her. If they felt the same strong emotions that she did, if they held the same hope and desire for the future that she did.

And as she took another sip from her drink, closing her eyes and slowly was drifting off with the sounds of the city, she could only hope that they did.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

i hope u enjoyed that bc i feel like the imagery in the first paragraph was immaculate 😁 also! i ask that in the reblogs no cussing (and on my blog now in general) is used for personal reasons :) kk luv u bye bb! go take an electronics break and drink some water+ eat some protien (cashews, cheese, whatever ur feeling!)

xx hj 

[miracleonice87]

Homecoming

a Mathew Barzal one shot

a/n: I feel like I was gonna have to write a stereotypical bubble burst reunion sometime! Might as well be with pretty boy MB.

summary: Boyfriend Barzy is welcomed home post-bubble by his girlfriend.

warnings: smut!

_____

I stood in the parking lot outside the coliseum, watching as the bus carrying the boys back from the airport pulled in slowly. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and pulled the sleeves of Mat’s worn-out Isles crewneck, a favorite of mine, down to cover my hands. After a hot, dry New York summer, there was finally a distinct chill in the September evening air, which, coupled with the anticipation of seeing my boyfriend for the first time in nearly two months, sent a shiver down my spine. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears as the bus finally rolled to a stop, the mechanical whirr of the doors opening only slightly drowning out the sound of my pulse. I began taking inventory of those exiting the bus one by one, shifting my weight from side to side as I stood at the back of my Lexus, impatiently waiting.

Trotz, and Jim, and Anders, and Casey, and Tito, and Brass, and Ebs, and Brock, and Leddy, and...

Mathew.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in. Every muscle in my body, which I was unaware I had been tensing, relaxed all at once. I consciously fought the urge to sprint and jump into Mat’s arms in front of all of his teammates and coaches — that is, until he finally looked up at me and abruptly dropped his bags on the concrete beneath him.

“What are you doing standing there?” Mathew inquired, opening his arms wide. “Get over here,” he instructed with a chuckle.

I felt my face contort as tears welled in my eyes, my body desperately carrying me the twenty or so feet into Mat’s grasp, my dignity and reserve flying out the window. As I saw his waiting face, I knew that neither of us cared what we looked like to anyone around us. My chest finally collapsed against his, arms locking around his neck. He immediately hoisted my thighs around his waist before wrapping his arms tightly around my torso. Neither of us said anything for what had to be a full minute, just holding fast to one another, grasping at one another, as I heard the noises of other similar reunions happening all around us.

I finally pulled back a bit from Mathew and, after a shared smile, cupped his jaw in one hand, closely examining his recent battle wounds, the remaining evidence somehow looking even worse in person than it had on television. As I stared at his busted eye and slightly less-marred nose, I knew that he could sense my unease, my grin fading.

“I know, I know,” Mat prattled. “I swear it’s not as bad as it looks.” I pursed my lips, not believing him. For now, I decided to let it go, to not allow it to ruin the moment.

“Okay. Hi,” I whispered, my smile returning and his strong jaw still resting in my fingers.

“Hi,” Mat replied, smirking. “Missed you,” he added simply, but in a voice flooded with relief, more so than I had ever heard from him.

“Missed you,” I whispered in response, leaning in to kiss him firmly as one hot tear fell from each of my eyes. I had sworn to myself I wouldn’t cry in this moment, and I was angry that I hadn’t kept my self-made promise, but that was quickly overshadowed by the joy and peace I felt being in Mathew’s arms again.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” I asked, stroking my thumb across his chin before placing another hard kiss to his lips. “God, yes,” Mathew breathed, putting my feet back on solid ground. “I’m so ready.”

“Me, too,” I told him as he gathered his bags once more and we walked together to my car. I popped the trunk from the key fob in my hand before extending the device to Mathew.

“Wanna drive?” I asked, grinning. “God, yes,” he said again, lifting his suitcases into the trunk easily before accepting the keys from me with a kiss to my cheek. “Anything to feel normal again,” he mumbled. I nodded knowingly, and he squeezed my forearm when we crossed paths on our way to our respective doors.

I watched Mathew climb into the driver’s side as I reached for my seatbelt, still in shock that this long-lost familiar figure would be driving me back to our home. As soon as he adjusted the seat to accommodate his long legs rather than my short ones, Mathew reached his arm across the console to push some hair back from my face.

“Hey, baby?” he asked, inching his face closer and closer to mine. “Hmmm?” I breathed, gazing into his hazel eyes, completely entranced. Our mouths were only centimeters apart when he whispered, “I really fucking missed you,” before crashing his lips into mine with a force and passion I had never encountered from him. A moan involuntarily left my lips, causing Mat to smirk against my mouth, eyes still closed as he pulled his face back from mine.

“God, it’s so good to be home,” he told me as he gave me a lazy smile from beneath hooded eyelids. “Mmmm,” I moaned in agreement, my hand curling in as he nuzzled his stubbly face into my knuckles. “So good to have you back,” I spoke. Mat leaned in for another kiss, this one quick and sweet, before pressing the button and turning over the car’s engine.

“Now let’s get outta here,” he announced, waving at Anders and Grace in the car nearest mine and honking once, before pulling my hand to his lips and pressing warm kisses from my fingers to my palm.

“Time to go home with my girl!” he exclaimed, smiling brightly. I smirked at him as he glanced in my direction, pulling away from the parking lot and heading toward the highway.

“Now let’s talk about that fucking eye of yours...”

Mat groaned dramatically.

_____

“We’re home!” I said in a singsong tone as I turned the key in our apartment’s lock and ceremoniously pushed in the door, holding it open so Mat could take in the scene. He stepped through the doorway, bags in tow, and I watched a smile spread across his cheeks as he entered.

Before him, on the coffee table in the center of the living room, were gathered an array of Mathew’s favorite things — a refill of his Gucci cologne, a couple cases of his preferred fall craft beer from a brewery upstate, a giant box of our favorite brand of microwave popcorn, and an enormous bag of Sour Patch Kids, his candy of choice. Against the glass doors leading out to the balcony, directly across from us, was a message spelled out in gold helium balloons: “Welcome Home Mathew!”

“Babe!” Mathew exclaimed, excitement seeping from his voice as he walked closer, dropping his bags on the way. “What did you do?!” He began laughing, smacking his thighs as he bent over, in awe of the gesture. I approached him and rubbed his back with one hand as he stood upright again.

“I just wanted to give you a warm welcome,” I mused. Mat pulled me into his body and tilted my chin up to look at him. “Because you deserve it,” I told him.

“No, I don’t deserve this!” he tried to protest, hands finding my lower back and pressing me against him. My brows knitted together as I argued his point. “Of course you do. It’s pretty clear you worked your ass off this postseason,” I said, my fingertips ghosting over his healing wounds before curling some of his black hair behind his ear.

“No, I don’t deserve you,” Mat muttered. “You’re too good to me,” he whispered, mouthing at my jawline before trailing his lips behind my ear. I tipped my head skyward as he trailed hot kisses down my neck, pulling down the collar of his crewneck I wore so that he could place open-mouth kisses across my clavicle. Before I knew what was happening, Mat had backed me into the nearest sofa, turning and taking a seat himself first before pulling me down to straddle him as I let out a squeal.

“Missed this,” Mat told me through firm and passionate kisses. “Missed your body. Missed your lips.” I sighed blissfully at his admission. I rested my hands against his toned stomach as I agreed, “I missed this too. You. All of it.” Mat grunted, and I felt him already growing hard beneath me. I smirked into our deep kiss, pushing his golf shirt up and off of his body.

“You’ve been through a lot, baby,” I breathed into Mat’s ear, hands traveling up his chest and across his wide shoulders. “Let me spoil you.”

“I feel like I should be spoiling you, love,” Mat protested, letting a whispered curse word fall from his lips as I kissed the skin just in front of his ear. “I’m the one who left you alone.”

I pulled away and shook my head at him. “Don’t say it like that. And how about I spoil you first and then you can spoil me later tonight?” I suggested, pressing my lips against the thick column of his neck, feeling him gasp and then sigh with pleasure.

“Mhmmm,” he agreed, licking his lips, eyes fluttering closed. “Yeah, that’s good.” I smirked at how much he was enjoying our first intimate encounter in far too many weeks.

In a moment, I was kneeling in front of Mat on our living room rug, tugging off his black dress pants as quickly as I could. I pulled down the waistband of his boxers, his thick length springing free as he let out a relieved sigh. I wasted no time in wrapping my hand around him, kissing the tip as I looked up at Mat through my eyelashes. He hissed in pleasure, muscular arms resting on the back of the couch, head falling back in pleasure.

“I missed this,” I told him as I took his tip into my mouth, bobbing my head and taking more and more of him each time my mouth moved toward his stomach, finally touching my nose to the skin there as he hit the back of my throat, causing Mathew to cry out.

“Ah, fuck! Oh, my god, baby girl. Fuck yes,” he praised. He allowed my mouth to pleasure him only for a short while longer before grabbing my wrist.

“I’m gonna cum right now if you don’t stop, and I need to be inside you when I do, baby girl,” he admitted, cradling my head in his hand. I released him from my lips with a pop, causing him to swear before he fumbled to pull down my leggings and thong, guiding my hips to his own.

“Later tonight, I’m gonna eat your pussy for hours,” Mat told me, making me whine at his plan for the evening. “But right now, I just need to be buried in you,” he told me, somehow pulling my crewneck from my body with one hand and throwing it aside. As I sunk down onto him, so eager to be filled at last by the man I loved, his breath caught in his throat.

“Fuck, baby girl,” Mathew groaned. “Oh, fuck me. I’m not gonna last long. You’re so tight, baby girl. Feel so good around me.” He lifted my hips and maneuvered them back down continuously as he spoke, allowing me time to reach behind me and unhook my own bra. The lacy garment fell to the side as Mat pushed himself even deeper into me, the sight of my breasts causing his movements to become even more frantic.

“Mathew, oh my god. Mathew!” A deep moan left my throat as Mat leaned forward, responding to his name, taking one of my nipples into his mouth to tease it, then the other. His hand found my clit and rubbed circles against the sensitive area, tipping me over the edge after only a handful of seconds.

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. You gonna cum for me, huh. I feel it,” he coaxed. “Good girl, baby. Let go for me.”

I squeezed my fingers into Mathew’s shoulders as I rode him desperately, my release rolling through me. I watched as his eyes darkened, gripping my waist as he thrust into me and I ground my heat against his.

“Oh, yes, baby, yes! I’m gonna cum. I’m cumming, baby. Oh, fuck,” Mathew cried out as I felt him spill into me, his legs and hips twitching beneath me as I collapsed against his chest, head falling to his shoulder as we each struggled to find our breath.

“Oh, my god, baby,” Mat finally said, and I heard the smile in his voice. He kissed my forehead, cradling my head in one hand and my ass in the other. “Even better reunion sex than I pictured,” he told me. I smiled up at him, unable yet to pick up my head from his sticky skin.

“Welcome home, Mathew,” I whispered breathlessly, kissing his collarbone and pulling his chain between my fingers. “Welcome home.”

[johnkrrasinski]

Dear Lover... ❥

full masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 5,689 

Warning: pure fluff. pure feelings. a little bit of angst but with a happy ending 😌

Summary: you dance with bucky barnes in the obscurity of your room as you recalled the first time you met and how three years later you ended up tangled in each other’s arms. (based on the song “lover” by taylor swift) 

a/n: this one’s a love letter to the love of my life aka bucky barnes. it took me awhile to find the will to write about him because i truly wanna write something that gives him justice, because this man deserves nothing but happiness and love. hope you like it. please leave a like & comment. 

It was a quiet Thursday evening, precisely at 8.35 PM. The rain outside of the Avengers tower was pouring, splatters of misty droplets bedewed the window glass. Through the lens of your shared room, transpierced the lights of the bustling city of New York. The city that never sleeps, as one would say. You could hear the sound of honking cars and sirens going off somewhere and it truly eased your mind.

You loved New York. You were born and raised in this vivacious city. Though your parents took the chance to move to Manhattan and fought to survive the exorbitant living cost, they managed. They taught you to fight hard and work tenaciously if you wanted to make it. The city was all you knew your entire life. But most importantly, you loved the man you were sharing this bedroom with more.

You had been dating Bucky Barnes, aka the former Winter Soldier, aka the White Wolf, for three summers now. Your first encounter with him wasn’t exactly the most romantic “how I met your mother” kind of story.

You were in the kitchen, late night, trying to make yourself a nice hot chocolate to cool down your nerves. Moving into the Avengers Tower had truly wearied you. Of course, you were aware that you weren’t supposed to be since there were literally a super soldier, a former Pararescueman, a man with a highly advanced iron suit, two highly trained assassins, a powerful witch, a (part-time) green beast, and an actual living human android helping you with your belongings. You couldn’t have asked for better movers.

But the adaptation of change still drained some of your energy. Maybe more mentally than physically, but whatever, you just needed a nice, sweet warm drink before you can finally sleep in your fresh, new, never used before bed. It was nearing four am and everyone had returned to their private quarters, except you.

You walked into the kitchen leisurely in nothing but your Bambi pyjamas, as you reached for the kitchen cabinet to search for a jar of instant hot chocolate. “Make yourself at home,” Tony said earlier as he was giving you a quick tour around the tower. The tower was so spacious and palatial, it was easy to get lost. “We’ve got everything here; food, snacks, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, ice creams and more… But don’t eat the half-eaten fried egg chicken on the fridge, though. That one belongs to Clint and he wouldn’t hesitate in shooting an arrow through your skull if you stole it.”

You poured the hot water into the glass and then you were ready to drink it up. You were so pleased by the taste of hot chocolate streaming through your tongue, you didn’t hear the faint sounds of footsteps approaching. Bucky had just returned from a solo mission to Brussels and he hadn’t had the chance to properly introduce himself to you. He had only heard about you through Fury and Tony’s narrative when they informed the team that they were going to have a new addition to the team.

Steve had texted him a picture of her earlier, picking up her boxes to her new bedroom… She looked lovely. She was only wearing a simple white shirt with high-waisted, ripped blue jeans to complete the casual look but, she didn’t have to try hard to catch his eye. He couldn’t wait to go back to the tower and talk to her. He crossed his finger hoping that he wouldn’t mess it up or embarrassingly stutter his own name whilst shaking her hand.

Bucky soundlessly walked towards you as he placed a hand on your shoulder, trying not to startle you but you weren’t expecting anyone to be awake, and you didn’t know that Bucky was supposed to return today. Your brain had been so occupied with moving in, that you forgot there was one member of the team missing because he was on a solo mission and that he was supposed to return in the early morning.

So you accidentally dropped your glass, spilling your little taste of heaven all over the counter, as you turned around and punched him on the face. You shrieked as soon as you felt a palm touching your shoulder, thinking it might’ve been a ghost or worse, an intruder. For a second there, you nearly forgot that you weren’t living all by yourself in a tiny apartment anymore. You were in the most highly secured building in New York, surrounded by vigilant superheroes that had fought bigger guys than a callow thief or more lethal than supernatural forces.

Bucky’s hand immediately went to his face, as he shrieked in pain. He absolutely didn’t expect a punch from you, considering he meant well. He slightly backed away on his feet, clutching the nose that had bled due to the robust force. You soon realized that he was Bucky Barnes, the Avenger that had just gone back from a solo mission Steve told you about, and you had just realized that you punched… The Winter Soldier. Oh my God. Your guilt rushes through your gut and you immediately covered your mouth with your hand in panic.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was still awake, I’m so sorry.” You reached out to his hand, trying to see the damage that you did.

“No, it’s okay, doll. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that, I’m sorry.” He wiped the blood that leaked out his nose.

“No, no, no, it wasn’t your fault at all, I shouldn’t have reacted like that… Please, let me help you with that.”

“I got it doll, really. It’s nothing.”

“I insist. Please, otherwise I’d feel really bad.”

You moved to the couch in the common room, as you began patching him up. You both finally introduced yourselves properly this time, and you talked for about an hour until the sun was starting to rise. When you realized how late it had gotten and how exhausted Bucky must’ve been, only then, you returned to your individual bedrooms. And thus, a friendship was born. The beginning of something eternal and profound.

The next morning, things changed. Bucky would act differently around you whenever the team was around. Or anyone, at all, was around. Bucky would often avoid your eyes and act awkwardly around you. You didn’t see the man that you had a warm conversation with at 4 in the morning on that first day anymore. You felt like talking to a stranger that you had to walk on eggshells with. When Steve asked Bucky whether he had met you or not during breakfast, Bucky with his head down simply responded, “yeah… We’ve met.” That elicited a furrowed brows from you.

Steve later counselled you about it, “don’t worry. He’s like that with everyone. It’s not easy to start a small talk when you are the former winter soldier.”

You tried to tell yourself not to overthink it or take it personally. Of course, you were aware of the history. It was told in every history class. But you still couldn’t shake the need to get to know him more. You’d do it deliberately, you weren’t going to force him to break out of his shell, but you wanted to let him know that he had nothing to be ashamed of with you.

And so, you would often knock on his bedroom door since your bedrooms were on the same floor when you brought something from your favourite bakery shop. Or when you hear the excruciating screams at night, because he couldn’t tame down the demons in his sleep, reminding him of his inevitable, vicious past that spilled a lot of blood and caused him a lot of pain. Mentally, emotionally and physically.

At first, he would give you a sardonic look as he asked you of why you were here. You’d tell him that you thought he could use a company and so, the friendship, or whatever that you had with him would bloom through the murmured secrets and the late-night rendevous. It turned into a nightly thing that only you and Bucky shared. Nobody else had to know.

During the day, there were a lot of stolen glances and lingering tension in the room, everyone could sense it except you and Bucky yourselves. But yet, you didn’t speak many words about it to each other. Everyone who saw you two knew that you two hid some amount of feelings for each other. But yet, neither of you dared to make the first move.

Sam, Wanda and Nat were your closest friends and therefore, they knew the most about your unspoken feelings for Bucky. Starting from the awkward chats to the time where this new agent shamelessly flirted with Bucky in front of you. Of course, you were aware that anyone could flirt with Bucky, he wasn’t yours, to begin with. But it was still rude and disrespectful and you being the irrational, jealous person that you were, you’d often ramble to either Sam, Wanda or Nat in their private quarters until you felt better again.

One night, where this agent, Samantha or whatever her name was, had boldly touched Bucky’s arm at one of Tony’s flamboyant parties, in front of you, you immediately texted Sam, Wanda and Nat in the group text called “Besties” to gather up in your room because you needed to vent.

“Look, y/n, if you’re so annoyed by her flirting, then why don’t you just tell Bucky how you feel?” Wanda said.

“I don’t understand…” You squinted your eyes at her. It’s not like you didn’t actually understand what she was saying, but the concept of confessing your feelings to Bucky sounded like an absurd idea.

“Look, I’m just saying, what’s the worse that could happen?”

“Okay, Wanda, now you’re just talking shit.”

“Y/N” Sam interposed. “He might like you too. He may not say much but we all caught those stolen glances, don’t you think we didn’t see it.”

“You don’t know that for sure, Sam. Besides, it’s not just about him not liking me back… What if he’s just not ready to date? What if he likes me but not in that way? There are a million things that could go wrong. So, please, let’s cross out the idea of telling him how I feel because it’s definitely not happening.”

Sam, Wanda and Nat exchanged a look. “Okay, it’s your life anyway. But y/n, if you don’t move now, then you might lose your chance forever. Samanta could be seducing him into her bed right now as you are rambling about her to us.” Natasha closed it.

Her words had truly struck you light lightning. You never thought of it that way… You always thought you had every second in the clock, just waiting for you to be ready. Or him to be ready. But you never thought of the possibility of Bucky and Samantha actually going on a date… What if she had asked him to go out with her next weekend? And what if he had said yes? The thought hurt. It crushed your heart like a shredder. It twisted you inside out like a sickness.

And so, after Sam, Nat and Wanda returned to the party, you stayed in your room. You told them that you’d catch up, you just needed to rest your feet from standing in heels for too long. You were lying. You needed some time alone with your thoughts, as you were trying to plan your next move. You recalled all those late-night rendevous and midnight conversations, and you felt it in your heart. That mighty urge in your heart. Like the entire crowd you were standing before are chanting the words loudly to you. “Tell him! Tell him! Tell him!”

You felt all the feelings you contained inside for him rushed through your veins, like a power surging through your cells, bestowing you the courage to stand on your feet, put on your heels and reapplied your lipstick. You straightened the frowns of your dress in front of the mirror as you took a deep breath. “You got this.” You stared your reflection dead in the eye and convinced yourself.

When you were satisfied with your fixed appearance, you immediately went back to the party. You couldn’t wait to find him. Giddiness, nervousness, and anxiety were swirling in your chest. You ordered Friday to take you to the lobby, where the party was held, as you leaned back on the glass wall of the elevator and you folded your arms around you, trying to ground yourself. You tried to stand steadily and not face-plant yourself on the marble floor in front of Bucky. You would never be able to live with yourself.

When the elevator finally reached the main lobby, the metal doors separated, showing you the people in fancy suits and dresses chattering with one another, with a glass of sparkling Champagne in their hands. You immediately searched for Bucky. A slick black, long dark hair, clad in a black dress shirt and black pants. Your eyes gazed into every corner of the room, focusing thoroughly on the large chunk of a man.

You finally spotted him by the bar. He was sitting with a glass of tonic and gin in his hand, as he took a sip of it, then he put it down on the bar counter. It would’ve been a tantalizing sight that you’d love to sit back and observe if it weren’t for the person sitting next to him. Samantha was sitting with her legs crossed beside him, her body was fully faced to Bucky as she tried to reach out to feel his bicep again for God knows how many times that night. She was laughing and even from the distance, you could see the glint in her eyes at something he just said.

You felt like you had been hit by a truck. The butterflies in your stomach turned into a monster that was devouring your insides with its tapered fangs. You felt dizzy as you felt like you were going to drop on the floor if you don’t hold onto something. Steve happened to be walking past you thankfully and as soon as he saw you looking unwell, he immediately grabbed your arm, awakening you from your daze.

“Y/N, are you alright? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine, Steve... I’m…” You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself back into consciousness. “I think I need to lay down. I’ll see you in the morning, Steve. Please tell Tony that I’m not feeling well.”

“Alright, yeah, go ahead. I’ll inform the team if they ask about you.”

“Thanks, Steve.” You nearly stumbled on your feet as soon as you took your first step.

“Whoa, do you need me to walk you to your room?”

“No, it’s fine. I got it. Night, Steve.”

“Goodnight, y/n.” He watched you warily, feeling hesitant whether he should really let you walk to your floor alone or not. As soon as you went inside the elevator, and the mental doors had closed, you slumped on the wall as you tried to muffle your cries. Nothing could hurt you more than seeing the man that you were secretly in love with, flirting with another girl. You couldn’t find it in you to give directions to Friday. So you just stood there, listening to the Jazz music playing in the background.

Until you were finally wearied enough to say the word to Friday. The AI politely responded, “yes, miss.”

As soon as you reached your floor, you took off your heels as they swayed with every step that you took. Your cheeks were tainted by ruined mascara, and your hair was slightly dishevelled. You couldn’t care any less. You should be dancing to the slow music or even kissing him drunkenly at the bar with your hands wrapped around his neck right now. But no, he was probably doing those with Samantha. You knew you were being unreasonable, crying over a man who was never yours, to begin with. But you allowed yourself to feel the pain and then, you can figure out a way to move on. You just needed to unleash it all out first.

You put your heels in the corner of your bedroom and stripped yourself out of the white cocktail dress. You immediately ran for the shower, your limbs felt more ponderous than ever. The last time you experienced a broken heart was in eleventh grade when you ran into your senior crush, Peyton at the mall with a girl who didn’t go to the same school as you, in his arm. You nearly walked up to him to say hi but your plan was instantly crushed before you even found the courage to talk to him.

Ever since then, you made a pact with your heart that you were never going to fall in love first ever again. You were okay with being single, you weren’t the kind of person who constantly needs romantic love. You focused on self-growth, you focused on your skills which is martial arts and military tactics. You invested your mind and energy into self-love, friendship and your education.

When you were finally ready to roam around the city at night as a vigilante, you’d sneak off every night to sit building rooftops and you looked after the small guys around the neighbourhood. Until your small vigilante works were heard and Fury snuck into your apartment to recruit you himself.

After your shower, you changed into an oversized grey hoodie that you once stole from Bucky’s closet, one night while having one of those clandestine rendezvous in his room. You were cold and you were only wearing a thin-layered white shirt with a worn-out pair of old swimming shorts that still fitted you.

“Here, wear my hoodie.” He walked to his achromatic closet and revealed the tidily-placed pile of black and white shirts and pants. He didn't have that many clothes but, it was enough to secure his enormous figure cosily. He pulled out one of his fresh from the laundry sweatshirts from the heap. He handed them to you and inserted yourself into the aromatic material.

When you were both finally too somnolent to keep your eyes wide open. He walked you to your room and you didn’t realize you were still wearing his hoodie until you said your final goodnight. When you tried to take it off your body, he said, “no, it’s alright. You can return it to me in the morning.”

But you never did. And he was okay with that. At least you thought. Because never once he asked for it back. You’d even catch his demure smile when he saw you wearing it.

You did your nighttime skincare routine and went to bed. The scent of his hoodie was faint but enough to make you yearn for him. It’s ridiculous, really. To miss someone who was never yours, and someone who practically lived right next to you, considering how long he could spend hiding in his own room.

You felt the tears brimming in your eyes as they ran down your cheeks and soaked your pillow sheets. You sniffled as your mind harked back to the shared moments in the gloom and the timid touches when words could no longer bear the intimacy. The moon knows more about you and him than anyone ever will and if you could no longer feel his skin against your anymore even for just a second, you were going to hold onto the memories.

You were lost pacing down the memory lane until you heard a subtle knock on the door. Three taps and you instantly knew who was standing on the other side. You tried to neglect it, hoping that he would get the message of leaving you alone. You weren’t ready to face or talk to him. But he wouldn’t relent. He knocked once more, telling you that he wasn’t leaving until you answered him.

You stayed in the exact same spot until you were peevish enough to keep listening to it. You finally stood on your feet and opened the door with a sour look on your face. He greeted you with a nonchalant smile, his hair now was tied in a low bun.

“Hey, Steve told me that you weren’t feeling well, what happened?” His expression was filled with concern.

“I’m fine, now. You can go.” You sneered. You tried to shut the door, not even wanting to face him any longer or listen to his unprompted “I got a date!” story.

He was appalled by your anomalous behaviour, as he immediately stopped the door with his hand from being slammed on his face. “Hey, hold on a second. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I said, I’m fine, Bucky. Just leave me alone, please.”

His chest tightened at your sardonic words. You had never acted this way around him before. Did he say something wrong? Did he wake you at the wrong time? Were you on your cycle? He was bewildered.

“I just wanna know if you were alright. Steve said you looked really pale at the party and you had to leave early and if you are then maybe I could bring you a soup or something.”

“I just need to be alone, Bucky. Alright? I was feeling much better until you showed up.” You didn’t mean to be so spiteful and blunt. You just needed some space. And his presence was intoxicating and the longer you see him, the harder it would be for you to let go.

Bucky didn’t respond immediately but the look on his eyes was enough to beckon his hurt. “What did I do? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Bucky, it’s not you, it’s just-” You inhaled. Trying to cool yourself down before you continued. “Just not tonight, alright?”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” He puffed himself up, masking his frustration. No, no, he wasn’t ready to let you go before he could even tell you he loved you. So if planting himself on his feet would make you enlighten him, he was going to do that.

“Okay, then just fucking stand there all night, I don’t care.” The cool in you vanished, turned into a small flame of counterwork.

“Why are you acting like this? Huh? You can’t just knock on my door whenever you feel like and shut me out like this.”

“Well, why don’t you just vent to your new girlfriend, then? I’m pretty sure she’ll be more than happy to listen to your ramblings all night.” You stormed into the room, trying to slam the door behind you but Bucky stopped it as he followed you inside. It wouldn’t be wise to keep this argument in the hall where the whole tower could hear you.

“What? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend!”

“Oh, of course, Bucky. As if you hadn’t practically just gone on your first date with her at the party.”

“You’re being ridiculous, y/n! We were just talking.”

“Bullshit! Like no one could see the bedroom eyes she was giving you. She was practically fucking your brains out at the bar. Oh and not to mention, how she was groping your biceps like you were the only two people in the room!”

“What is this? Jealousy?”

“No! Stop flattering yourself, Bucky.”

“Okay, so what is it? I can’t fix whatever this is…” His fingers motioned to the invisible string binding the two of you. Who are you kidding? You both knew there was something more than a platonic bond between the two of you, you were just too dastardly to admit it with words to one another. “…If you don’t tell me the truth.”

Deep down, you knew the jealousy was senseless but in the heat of the dispute, you couldn’t stop your mouth from conveying the words out loud.

“Because I like you and I don’t want you to be with anyone but me, okay? There. I said it. Are you happy now? I like you and I know I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t like the thought of you being with someone who’s not me.”

Bucky was aghasted by your vehement declaration. Did he get it right? Did you really just tell him the words that he had always wanted to hear? The words that nearly escaped his lips more times than he could count, but never found the courage because he thought he wasn’t good enough for you? Was he dreaming? This felt surreal.

“You… You like me?”

You scoffed. “Yeah. I do, Bucky. Unfortunately. But now, I understand if you wanna go out with Samantha or if you never speak a word to me again, I get it. But at least you know that I li-”

He abruptly grabbed your face and pressed a brief kiss on your lips, taking your breath away like a typhoon. It was short-lived but enough to knock you off your feet. He retreated and gazed deeply into your eyes, hoping that you could see the suppressed emotions you made him feel whenever he was with you. He wasn’t a man of many words, after all, but after spending months of excavating each other’s secrecies, you got the message. Words were futile, anyway, when the feelings that you had were stronger than anything else you had ever felt.

“I like you too, y/n. So much.”

“You do?”

He nodded, a grin spread across his face, making his eyes gleam in the obscurity of your room.

“What about Samantha?”

“Sweetheart, I never had any feelings for her. She can flirt with me all she wants, but you gotta know that I only have eyes for you, darling. And there’s no one else I wanna be with other than you.”

“You mean that?” Your smile had made its way back to your face. The smile that only Bucky could evoke. Your eyes were twinkling with hope.

“Every word.”

And that’s you ended up here now, three years later, sharing a reposeful room with the love of your life. You had just returned from a late sparing session with Natasha in the training room. Crazy, how three years ago, you’d incessantly ramble about the same person and the same topic, which is Bucky’s cluelessness whilst running on the treadmill with her but now, you talked about various random things like two normal friends would. As if the issue that you had with Bucky had been resolved. All’s well that ends well.

You spotted your boyfriend, who had a much shorter hair now, sitting contently on the bed with a Sci-Fi novel in his hands. His long fingers sophisticatedly enveloped the cover as he thoroughly focused on the words on the pages but, it was quickly disrupted when you walked into the room, greeting him with a smile. “Hey, baby. What are you reading?”

“This sci-fi novel that Sam got me for my birthday but I didn’t pick it up until now. How was the training, sweetheart?”

“The usual. Nat, being the competitive little shit that she is, kicked my ass but I got her back at least. Twice.” You had showered in the gym bathroom before you went upstairs to see your boyfriend so you didn’t have to bother concealing your musty scent due to the sweat.

“That’s my girl.” He got on his feet and walked towards you, as he looked at you with so much admiration and love in his eyes, it overwhelms you sometimes. The way he’d hold you whilst being starstruck by every feature on your face, and the way he’d tell you he loved you, with so many sincerity behind the words, even after three years of being together. You were lucky. You both were. To find a home within each other.  

He kissed you deeply like he hadn’t had the pleasure to see you in three months even if you had only been gone for an hour. His lips enthralled you every time and he wouldn’t mind giving you the solace as much as you desired. He needed it more from you, anyway.

When your lips were apart, he pressed his forehead to yours. The vague light from the table lamp beside your bed illuminated the room along with the dimmed city lights, casting a dainty glow on the two of you. Like a spotlight on a stage, and you were the star-crossed lovers of the tale, illustrating a true story of unbreakable love.

“Dance with me.” Bucky said.

“Well, then, I shall put on the perfect song, sir.”

You ordered Friday to play the song “Lover” by Taylor Swift, as the first hits of the drum immediately moved your bodies against each other, his hand seized yours as you tucked your head under his chin. His other arm wrapped itself around your waist, holding you as close as possible like it was your last dance. But certainly not. This was merely one in a thousand dances to come.

We could leave the Christmas lights, up ‘till January

This is our place, we make the rules

You swayed to the nostalgic song playing in the background, echoing the words of love all around the room. Like you were the only lovers on the grand dancefloor, as the singer harmonises only for you.

And there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

You leaned your head on his chest, his slow heartbeat thumps in your ear. The beat grounds you like gravity, reminding you of how the term ‘home’ isn’t only a structure with four walls and a ceiling, but rather, a figure with serum-injected blood coursing through his veins, an injured skin layering all the organs, fashioning one magnetic force of a man.

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close?

Forever and ever

His gentle hand rubbed your back, as his feet swung with the tune. He was a man out of his time. Despite being alive in the modern world long enough now, he was still taking baby steps in adapting to the culture and that includes music. Back then, this wasn’t exactly the kind of music he’d ask a girl to dance along to, but he learned to appreciate your musical preference and slowly, he grew fond of them too.

And ah, take me out and take me home

You’re my, my, my, my lover

Because the lyrics had truly hit close to home. If someone had delivered him a mail during his Winter Soldier years, that he was going to find a beautiful, loving woman who willingly took his hand; scars and all. Despite the demons in his mind and the ghosts in his past, she was going to love him faithfully and she would offer her own hand to guide him through the path of daylight… He’d laugh on their faces and told them to piss off because they were wasting his time by speaking baloney.

We could let our friends crash in the living room

This is our place, we make the call

But he was wrong. You walked into his life and gratefully punched his face on that night and he will forever thank the lucky stars for that. Because what he didn’t have a single clue of was that, it was the beginning of something tangible and something that became his religion. Something that became his lifeline. Despite still dealing with his own demons that he wasn’t sure whether they will ever truly leave him or not, he was a happy man. He didn’t think it was possible to say that. He was a happy man, in love. And it sounds strange to accept that as the truth but, it was what it was.

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

He twirled you around gently. Careful not to trip you. He caught you in his arms as you bent your body with peremptory trust, his handsome face never failed to mesmerize you.

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

You swayed on your feet once more, but really, you were just spending time, embracing the security in each other’s arms. You don’t care about the past heartbreaks or the haunting memories. You are not even stressing out to think about what tomorrow promises, you simply wanted to live every second of this moment with him.

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be over-dramatic and true to my lover 

But whatever the future plans for you, you knew there would be no hurricane violent enough to shake your ground as long as you had Bucky by your side.

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover

You were going to hold onto him through the agonizing mornings or vicious nights. You were going to hold onto him through Spring until the first drop of snow starts to cover the ground in white again. You were going to hold onto him through the Christmas Eves and New Years. Whether it be when you’re sharing a midnight kiss or when you’re hungover for all the drinks from last night.

You took a vow that no matter what happened, there would be no more unspoken words that would be an emotional barrier between the two of you. You only wanted to have eyes for him because everything fades into the background and the stars align when your bodies were intertwined, unable to tell where you began and he ended.

You’re permanently stuck with each other and that’s all you ever really wanted.

[seacottons]

Rewind.

▷ pairing : yunho x reader

▷ genre : fluff

▷ wc : 1.4k

summary : a compilation of yunho’s favorite moments captured on film.

APR. 16 2018 08:32 P.M

Despite the first video being merely a few seconds long, it was enough to capture the chaos that ensued in your apartment at the sight of a large flying beetle. The camerawork is shaky and extremely unstable in Yunho’s hand, his other within frame and grasping a neon yellow fly swatter. Your blurred, panic stricken face was captured for a brief second, along with the sounds of a shrieking Jongho and San, who dramatically threw off their headphones and gaming consoles to the floor in search for safety behind you. Yunho’s laugh rung out along with the deafening sound of rustling clothes and heavy footsteps.

-

MAY. 19 2018 07:06 P.M

Long fingers worked on adjusting the lens of a camera, and the blurred image of colorful bokeh dots focused to reveal your form in between the many booths of an amusement park, arms struggling to carry the human sized carrot plushie Yunho won for you. As you waddled after your tall boyfriend, your goofy grin flashed with every bob of the carrot’s leaves, eyes sparkling underneath the various flashing lights, “You’re the best boyfriend in the entire world.”

“Why? Because I won you a carrot?”

“Yes.”

-

JUN. 03 2018 04:47 P.M

“I think I did something wrong, Yunnie,” you grimaced as you eyed his slicked back hair. Your gloved fingers hesitantly rubbed a patch of his hair, the pink and orange product in his locks staining your gloves easily, “I think we should wash it off and start again.”

He hummed and rested the camera onto the bathroom sink to go wash off the dye. You handed him a towel to rub the excess water out of his colorful locks, and you gasped audibly as soon as he revealed his damp hair, “Oh my gosh.. it’s bad. I didn’t think it was that bad- I told you to not trust me with your hair-”

“I love it!” he cut you off with a laugh, hands working on filming a 360° of his pink and yellow tresses, “I look like ice cream!”

-

JUN. 27 2018 02:03 P.M

Yunho’s wheeze was the only thing you were able to detect in the next video. The black screen then flashed white, before the lens adjusted to the brightness to reveal your scurrying form and frightened face, hands clutching at a bag of corn kernels and a small flock of geese angrily chasing after you, their loud honks and your whimpers joining in with Yunho’s laughter, “I don’t know what’s wrong with them! I think they preferred the rice we bought them last time!”

“Poor baby,” Yunho snickered as a goose hissed and attempted to bite the hem of your coat.

“Yunho! Stop laughing and scare them away!”

-

JUL. 01 2018 09:00 P.M

Yunho blinked down at the camera, brows rolling into a subtle wave, before he turned the device to pan the room filled with commotion and bickering as the rest of his friends joined together in one of their apartments for a game of mafia. The camera zoomed in on your disgruntled expression as Seonghwa and Wooyoung bickered back and forth on either side of you, before panning to San who repeatedly slammed his hands onto the coffee table in protest, and finally resting on Yeosang’s calm form as he dipped his hand in Hongjoong’s bag of chips.

“So you’re saying you think I’m the mafia because of clothes I’m wearing!?”

You eyed the camera and then up at Yunho’s face, pleading for him to butt in.

“That makes absolutely no sense—”

Wooyoung practically leaned over onto your lap as he squawked incredulously, accusing finger pointed at Seonghwa’s face.

“Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, but you’re all a bunch of cowards who are— ”

“Please, let’s play another game?”

-

JUL. 07 2018 07:05 A.M

A gentle finger poked your cheek. Rays of morning sunlight peeked through the gaps of the blinds, and Yunho’s finger continued to poke and draw circles onto your sleeping face, “Baby, wake up.”

Another poke.

“Baby.”

The camera leaned in towards your cheeks as Yunho made smooching noises from up above your sleeping form.

“Did you have to to party that hard last night, love?”

He zoomed in on your nose as he prodded it upwards to reveal your nostrils, “Little piggy, wake up.”

You snuggled closer to the carrot plushie in your arms, eyelids fluttering open to send a mocking glare in his general direction, “Little piggy?”

“Be flattered. I love having bacon for breakfast.”

The camera zoomed in uncomfortably close at your flustered and flabbergasted expression, “Jeong Yunho!”

-

JUL. 09 2018 05:45 P.M

Yunho’s fingers wriggled into frame as he made peace signs around your figure. The video displayed your concentrated expression as you carefully dotted black icing along the edge of the sugar cookie. The shiba inu cookie was soon starting to look well put together.

“Let me see, baby,” Yunho chimed in. You shook your head, mumbling something about it not being ready.

He grumbled and walked over to where Yeosang and Mingi had their respective plates and bags of different colored icing, “Make sure these are perfect for San’s party. I have more ready made eyes incase you need mor—”

The video blurred as Yunho‘a grip accidentally slipped around the camera. The device smacked onto Yeosang’s nearly perfect cookie, his startled hands accidentally squeezing around a piping bag, orange icing spurting onto his arms and clothes, “Yunho!”

Frosting smeared onto the lens of the camera, and Yunho worked in circular motions of wipe the surface clean, his distorted and blurry face flashing clearer with every few wipes, “Sorry, sorry!”

You and Mingi cackled in the background, and Yeosang had a difficult time deciding who to attack first.

-

JUL. 10 2018 06:09 P.M

“Happy birthday, dearest Sannie,” eight voices sang in a dimly lit room. You, along with Wooyoung, scooped frosting onto your fingers and smeared it on San’s visage, earning you a soft yelp of protest in return.

The camera zoomed in on the birthday boy’s grimace as he sent the device a look of disbelief, “I even get bullied on my birthday, can you believe it?”

“Make a wish, you bum,” Hongjoong smacked the other’s behind encouragingly.

San tipped his head, cheeks puffing over-exaggeratedly as he took aim. The fire from the candle ever so slightly licked the streamer strands on the tip of his party hat, and a series of gasps from the others startled the boy upright. The tip of his hat burned and if Yunho hadn’t captured the moment, you would’ve forgotten it just from how fast the events played out in front of you. Wooyoung’s shrieks and Seonghwa’s panic stricken expression were the only things your mind registered before Jongho determinedly and impetuously splashed the large bowl of cider onto San’s head, the soda distinguishing the flame and also soaking your frame.

“Did you wish for us to die!?”

-

SEP. 06 2018 01:36 A.M

The city lights were a blurry mess in the video as Yunho’s ran with audible footsteps and boisterous laughter, “Baby, why so slow?”

Albeit the shakiness, you were seen scrambling to catch up after him, the plastic bag filled with snacks and strawberry flavored milk swinging rapidly in the air, “Why are you too fast!?” you wheezed, gripping onto your cap with your other hand, the cold night wind leaving a subtle flush onto your cheeks, “We weren’t all born with skyscraper legs!”

He suddenly paused and turned to face you just in time for you to collide with his chest. You nearly smacked into the rolling camera if it wasn’t for his quick instincts, “Want a piggyback ride, piggy?”

-

OCT. 24 2018 08:00 P.M

“Jeong Yunho! Jeong Yunho! Jeong Yunho!”

“(Y/n), your cheering is distracting me from winning!” Wooyoung cried as he attempted to steal the basketball from Jongho, “Cheer for me instead!”

You held onto the camera and zoomed in much too close to capture the determined expressions and grimaces of the eight boys as they passed the ball from one to the other. Their sweat slicked skin glistened underneath the fluorescent street lamps.

“Jeong Yunho!” with every cheer of his name, you quickly zoomed in and out on his grinning face. He sent a hasty wink in your general direction before jumping up to pass the ball towards Mingi.

“Who the hell put all towers in one team!?” San cried as nearly toppled over from Hongjoong’s foot.

“Hongjoong! He needed to prove height isn’t a factor in sports!”

“Yes, it damn is!”

You cackled and zoomed out to pan around the surroundings for a brief moment, before returning back to the battleground. Your grin faltered as your eyes trained on the screen to watch the basketball rapidly flying in your direction.

“(Y/n), move!”

[wireddless]

Codeine Scene (Five H. x Reader) [2]

Codeine Scene Masterlist

Authors Note: Here this is! The rest of the story is in the works and hopefully will be finished in the next few weeks. I only expect this to be about 12-20 chapters long, depending on how much my friend and I edit this. This chapter mentions what it’s like to experience ADHD, as it’s not common within the writing community. I myself have struggled all my life with it, and only wish for it to be more represented in the writing community 💕

Summary: After getting settled into the Academy, Five and the Reader make a quick journey for some groceries. Things don’t go according to plan.

Warnings: Drug use (Marijuana), descriptions of mental disorder (ADHD), Mild gore (not terrible, you’ll know when you get there.)

Word Count: 2432

(Y/n)’s head rested on Klaus’s meditation floor pillow, the rest of her body on a pile of miscellaneous blankets from the linen closet. The high was really setting in, she was now feeling it in her body. Not half an hour after getting settled into the academy, Klaus offered to smoke (Y/n) out. And by god he did. 

(Y/n) never had stuff this good before, and certainly not out of a rose petal joint. She could expect something as extra as a rose petal joint from Klaus, but she didn’t. It was really fucking pretty though, she’d admit. Klaus was sitting against the reading pillow at the foot of his bed, laughing with (Y/n) about something said in The Twilight Zone that sounded outrageous when out of context. 

Mixed with the smoke of lavender incense, the remaining smoke from the weed lingered, allowing them to get higher without needing to smoke more. (Y/n) had taken an interest in how spiritual Klaus was. She herself was agnostic, but found Klaus’s overall method very tantalizing. 

A record played in the background, on a suitcase turntable Klaus bought from a department store like two years ago. The Moody Blues, if (Y/n) recalled correctly. The song was slow, and physically felt good. Like laying down, but in the air. Of course she was also extremely high. 

The song was reaching one of its many peaks, and (Y/n) swore she could feel the electric guitar supporting the vocals. Klaus filled his pipe with another bowl of weed and took a long, deep hit, before passing it to (Y/n).

“Mine already?” She gasped. The mere sight of the pipe being handed to her sent a euphoric feeling down her body. She sat up and took the pipe and grabbed a lighter from a bowl of them to her right. Inhaling, she held the flame over the bowl. The smoke felt terrible, but she held it in as long as she could. (Y/n) let out a long exhale, clouding up the room even more. She could feel someone at the door. 

“The house reeks of weed, just to let you know.” Five spoke, leaning on the doorframe. His harsh words earned a chuckle from Klaus. 

“It always does, stop trying to make (Y/n) feel bad.” Klaus took the bowl back from (Y/n) and took another hit. She ignored Five, and let the music in the background hold her attention. The song was called Nights in White Satin. She’s heard it before, but never appreciated it. 

“Klaus where do you get your vinyls? I haven’t found a Moody Blues album anywhere I’ve looked.”

“Oh, I just snag them from Luther’s room.” He started. “After he and Allison finally figured their shit out and fucked, they moved in together just outside The City. They didn’t have enough room for his entire collection, so he took a box of them and left the rest. It’s really convenient if you ask me.” 

“Seems like it.” (Y/n) hummed. She looked over at Five again and stared for a second. “You’ve time traveled right?” 

Five tilted his head like a confused dog. “Yeah, why?” 

(Y/n) spoke again, “Have you seen, firsthand, how large a dinosaur's cock is?”  Before Five could even begin to think of a reply, Klaus sat up and chimed in.  

“You know, that’s a really interesting question.” He complimented (Y/n)’s thought process. “Five, how large is a dinosaur’s dick?” 

“I have never seen a dinosaur‘s Penis!” Five spoke, flustered. 

(Y/n) hummed in response, amused. “Why do you think there aren’t like, fossils of dinosaur dicks? Like did scientists think it was inappropriate?” 

“Because it’s made of muscle and tissue, those don’t fossilize, bone does.” Five groaned. Klaus and (Y/n) snort, their bodies scrunching up in laughter. 

“Bone.” Klaus said in a pause between his giggles. Hearing the word makes both of them laugh even harder. 

“I live with children.” Five muttered and walked away. 

Klaus and (Y/n) continued to giggle like little children who stole their preschool teachers keys. 

The reek of weed slowly started to fade. Five definitely had a contact high, but he didn’t mind too much, as he was still beyond functional. In a quick blip, he found himself in the kitchen, looking to make himself a quick snack. Upon opening the cabinet, he found no bread.

“Damn it.” He released an angered sigh, holding back the urge to kick a hole in the cabinet. The air around him constricted, and in a blue flash, he was back in Klaus’s room. 

“Holy shit!” Klaus almost jumped out of his skin when Five blipped in front of him, and (Y/n) sat up quickly, not expecting him either. 

“We’re out of bread.” Five spoke immediately, not even waiting for the two in the room to adjust to his presence. “I’m headed to the store, do either of you want to come?”

“Oooh I can’t.“ Klaus frowned. “My stomach hurts. But (Y/n) can go!” He looked over at (Y/n). “You can go right?” She nodded, not minding Klaus speaking for her.  

“Yeah, it’s a little stuffy in here.” She lifted each hand up and down, keeping the heels of them on her leg. Five looked down at her and scoffed. 

“Well come on then.” He walked out of the room, not waiting for her to get up. (Y/n) scrambled up and followed after him. 

“See you in a bit, Klaus!” Her voice carried through the hallway as her feet hit each stair quickly. Five was a fast walker, she noticed, not taking any time to wait for her. Asshole. 

Five’s car was in the alleyway next to the house, hidden from the peering eye of those walking along the street. (Y/n) grabbed the passenger door handle, and as she was about to open it, Five spoke. 

“You might want to get in the back seat.”  His voice became muffled as he plopped into the driver’s seat. 

“What why-“ Before she could finish she caught sight of the tons of disposable coffee cups. “Ah.” She shut the door and got into the back instead. She awkwardly tapped her foot as Five put his car into gear and pulled out into the street. 

The drive to the market was quiet, except for the putter of the engine, and gentle taps of the rain landing on the roof. Five found a parking spot rather quickly, it being a cool weekend and all. 

“Just stay in the car, I’ll be right out.” Five grabbed his keys and slipped out of the car and walked through the parking lot to the market. With no music to focus on, (Y/n) tapped her foot quietly, trying to ignore the slight panic caused by the lack of stimulation. 

The rain only slightly calmed her, but it hardly did anything. Her hands came together and the snapping sound of her knuckles cracking filled the car momentarily, before falling silent. Her eyes darted around, looking at the soaked ground, then at the gray sky, then to the cars driving by on the freeway. 

(Y/n)’s ADHD had gone untreated for years. When her parents passed and she was placed in her aunt and uncle’s custody, they took her off all medications. She had become quite used to the inability to wear certain fabrics, the anxiety caused by lack of or overstimulation, always moving some part of her body, or the dirty looks she was given when she overspoke when trying to make friends. 

The sound of the door opening quickly shot her out of her thoughts. She was about to greet the person getting in, when she realized that it wasn’t Five. 

“Shit shit shit shit!” He spoke under his breath, clearly panicked. (Y/n) was completely still, except for her hand, slowly creeping to the big silver wrench next to her. She was losing time as he quickly attempted to pull the panel off of the area next to the ignition. 

Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the wrench, and she quickly pulled it towards her, trying to stay as quiet as possible. She inhaled as deeply and as quietly as she could, before speaking. 

“Hey asshole!” The man in the driver seat jumped, not expecting someone to be in the back seat. He turned and looked at her before reaching in his pocket to attempt to grab something. (Y/n) lunged forward, attempting to hit him with the wrench, missing him as he fell back against the door, his hands whipping out a gun of some sort. Fuck. 

She was lodged between the front and back seat, not able to move back in her panic. She was close to tears, but could hold them back. Her hands slowly raised, showing she wasn’t going to hit him. 

“Ok, n-now put the wrench down.” His gun was still pointed at her. She slowly lowered her hand with the wrench in it, earning his trust. But now was the time to think fast. Before she let go she aggressively grabbed the barrel of the gun and pushed it up, giving her an opening to swing the wrench at his face. 

A sickening crack and the loud scream of the man filled the car as she broke his nose. She wasn’t done though. She ripped the gun out of his hand, tossing it in the backseat before grabbing this man's head by the hair and slamming him into the steering wheel. A series of small honks from the car echoed in the nearly empty parking lot until she was done. Her hands were covered in the blood from his nose, a slight splatter on her shirt as well. 

“Oh my god.” He was unconscious. (Y/n)  managed to slip back into the backseat, no longer fearing for her life. She quickly stepped out and ran around the car to the driver's seat. “Oh my god.” She opened it and pulled the man's head back, resting it on the seats headrest. She had never really done anything like this before, so she was beyond skittish. Her heart and mind felt like they were going a million miles an hour, and she barely had a clue of what to do. “Oh my god what do I do?”

It took a moment before common sense truly hit her and she checked for breathing and pulse. Her first two fingers could pick up a heartbeat, a rather strong one as well. Her fingers moved to his Cupid’s bow, checking his breathing. She concluded that he was just knocked out, but she was still panicking. 

“Hey!” Five’s voice made her jump. She quickly peered over the car and saw Five walking towards her with a few bags. “I thought I told you to stay in the car.” 

“I know but something happened!” Five walked around the front and she stepped to the side, revealing the unconscious man below her. Fives eyes widened, surprised to say the least. 

“Now the question is; what happened?” Five looked at the man, and then her once again. 

“I-I was in the back of the car like you told me and this guy just got in and he tried to steal the car!” Her hand was shaking frantically. “He tried to-“ the word took a moment to process, her fingers showing that she was searching for the word. “Hotwire the car! He didn’t even see me and tried to rip the steering column cover off to get to the wires and everything!” (Y/n)’s voice shook. She was about to cry.

“Ok, ok, that’s a start. What did you do?” Five looked to her for more answers as he leaned down to check the man's vitals for himself.

“I grabbed the-the wrench and I tried to hit him with it but I missed and he pulled a gun out on me.” (Y/n)’s body slumped on the car, needing any support she could get as the adrenaline left her system.

“I don’t see a gun.” Five looked all over the man, not finding the weapon, before his gaze landed on it in the back seat. “Oh, go on.” He stood up and leaned on the vehicle as well. The grocery bags, now forgotten by his feet. 

“So I made him think I was putting the wrench down, and then I grabbed the gun and threw it in the back seat, and- and then I hit him in the nose with the wrench and it got his blood all over me,” She gestured to her messed up shirt. “And then I,” her voice broke, the weight of what just happened now settling on her. “I started hitting his head on the steering wheel, and- and I couldn’t stop.” She was full on panicking now. 

“Well you got the job done.” Five looked down at him again. “I think you broke his nose.” 

“Oh my god I did?” She started panicking more now. 

“Yeah, yeah but it’s fine, you didn’t kill him.” Five attempted to comfort her without pulling her into an embrace. He was awfully bad at it though. “Let’s just get him out of the car and go home.” 

“We can’t just leave him here!” (Y/n) glanced down at him. “That’s fucked up!” Five scoffed and replied. 

“Trying to steal a car is fucked up. He’ll be fine.” Five scooped his arms under the man and effortlessly pulled him out of the seat, dropping him on the ground next to the car, before grabbing the groceries and getting in himself. The groceries landed on the passenger seat with a plop before Five stuck his head out. “Get in the car.” 

“Fine.” (Y/n) took one last glimpse at the man she assaulted before getting in, slamming her door shut in unison with Five.

“You got blood on the steering wheel.” Five sighed and wiped it off with a tissue from the box he kept in the center console. As Five pulled the car back out onto the freeway, he spoke. “I didn’t know you had that in you, back there.” His Mazda came to the set speed, giving him the opportunity to glance at (Y/n) through his rearview. 

“I didn’t either.” (Y/n)’s voice was quiet, and shaky still. Brow furrowed, he spoke again. 

“Well, you did a good job.” He chuckled, knowing she’d be fine. “Klaus would be proud. Now let’s get you home so you can get cleaned up.”

[rosyfingereddawnn]

only the black rose (chapter 2)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: mature language (a given), fluff, and a (possibly) pretentious description of the rain song

words: 4k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: not beta’d. this story does follow a playlist of mine, because i put too much thought into things. i hope you enjoy :)

masterlist

playlist

chapter one

----------

Tearing down the hallway, cheeks still flaming red from the encounter with Jimmy just minutes ago, Layla nearly runs into Peter, with one John Paul Jones trailing behind him. She rushes past quickly, head down, darting into the washroom that Robert, thankfully, had the mind to point out during the tour of the facility, ignoring their worried glances and aborted questions all the while. The young woman bolts the door shut and rushes to the sink, splashing her face with the frigid water flowing from the tap.

“Shit! This can’t be happening!” She whispers, concern etched on her face at the thought of all that has happened that day. Her jumbled thoughts are soon interrupted by a knock at the door. From behind it, a familiar voice sounds.

“Layla, it’s Peter! Jonesy is here too. Can we come in?”

Silently, Layla unlocks the door, and returns to her vigil at the sink. The two men enter, giving her worried looks that go unseen. Unexpectedly, it’s Jonesy that breaks the silence that has cultivated between the trio.

“Layla, are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“...”

“Well, I think what Jonesy means is that... You’ve had a stressful day, dear, and you looked anxious when you ran in here. Also, Robert walked by just a few minutes ago, smiling ear-to-ear. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Peter, he didn’t do anything wrong…” Layla sighs, debating whether she should tell them the whole truth. Remembering the key she had discovered earlier, she pulls it out, and reads the address carved onto the bronze surface. “I’m fine, it’s just… Everything that happened today, it just sunk in? I don’t want to bother you all more than I have already, but I don’t exactly have a car, and I should really be getting home.”

“Of course. I’m sorry we kept you this long, Layla. Though, before you go,” Peter says, fishing a notepad and a ballpoint pen out of his pocket, scribbling a number down onto the paper and ripping it out of the small book. “Here. This is my personal number. I’d like it if you called every so often. As much as they would hate to admit it, these boys have taken a bit of a shining to you.”

“Actually, Peter, could I drive Layla?” Jonesy cut in, smiling lightly at the woman. “There’s something I’d like to talk to her about. Only if you’re okay with that, Layla.”

“Of course, Jonesy. I’d like that.” Layla smiles at Jonesy, and the three of them exit the washroom, Jonesy leading Layla to his car parked out back. Once inside, Jonesy starts up the radio, an Elvis song crackling through on low volume. The man pulls the car out onto the street, and starts the drive over to Layla’s house. Lost in her thoughts regarding what she might find once she gets to her destination, Layla almost doesn't register Jonesy’s deep voice calling her name.

“Sorry, Jonesy, what were you going to say?”

“I know you’re not from here.”

“God, again with the accent? Fine! I’m Canadian, and after high school I moved to—”

“No,” Jonesy sighs, steeling himself for the conversation. “I mean… I know you’re not from this time. You aren’t supposed to be here. In 1975.”

“John… How…”

The man in question, sensing that this wasn’t a conversation to be had while driving, pulls over, and turns to the dazed woman beside him. Her mouth is hanging wide open, lips moving as though she was trying to form words, though nothing comes out.

“Look…”

“What the fuck?”

“I know you’re shocked, Layla. I was too, the first time I witnessed it,” Jonesy puts a gentle hand on Layla’s arm, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. “I know you’re not from now, for lack of a better term, because I have seen this kind of thing before.”

“Jonesy, I don’t…”

“When I was a session man, working with plenty of different bands, I saw a lot of weird things. The weirdest, however, was when, right in the middle of a session, the band’s guitarist disappeared.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Never halting his comforting ministrations, Jonesy continues, sympathy dripping from his voice. “He was in the producer’s booth, listening to a playback while we were fooling around with our instruments. We heard a huge crash, and saw sparks, so we all rushed over to check on him.”

“Then what happened?”

“We couldn’t find him,” Jonesy sighed, eyebrows furrowing. “He was gone for about a day or two, but we were all incredibly worried, so when we heard that he was found, we rushed over to see him. The only thing he said about what had happened to him, was that he ‘figured it out’.”

“That’s all he said?”

“He did say later that he wanted to write a song about time travel,” Jonesy laughs softly, Layla joining in. “Not sure if it ever came to fruition though.”

Layla sobers up now, glancing at her companion helplessly. What if she can’t go home, to her own time? What if she can’t ‘figure it out’? Almost as though he could see the cogs turning in Layla’s brain, Jonesy moves his hand from her arm to rest on her knee, a grounding weight for the anxious woman.

“Layla, I’ll help you figure it out. We’ll get you back home. We can figure it out, just like he did. It will be okay.”

The woman in question can only nod wordlessly, struck by the devotion of her new friend. Jonesy, deeming her to be okay, starts up the car again. A couple minutes pass as Elvis is traded in for Buddy Holly, until Jonesy finally breaks the relative silence.

“So… You and Jimmy?”

“Nothing’s going on with Jimmy.”

“Right,” Jonesy laughs, shaking his head, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Because you didn’t look at him like he hung the stars the first time you saw him, and he certainly didn’t rush past me in the hallway earlier, face the colour of a tomato, Robert’s laugh echoing off the walls behind him.”

“How did you…What?”

“Layla, I’m very observant. Just… Be careful with him, okay? You have to go back sometime, and I know him. He’ll take it hard, and… Things happen, I know they do, but please… Just try and be careful.”

“... John Paul Jones… Are you giving me the shovel talk?”

Laughter fills the small car as they drive through streets that become increasingly familiar. The pair finally pull up to their destination, and Layla is shocked to find that she’s staring back at what looks to be her flat, from her own time. With a hug and sincere words of gratitude, Layla climbs the stairs to the front door, and pushes the key into the lock. Holding her breath, she pushes the door open. Everything is exactly the way it was the day before. The empty coffee mug by the sink remained, and the mail on the dining table hadn’t moved an inch. She rushes upstairs, to find that the turntable was still there, open, though there was no record inside. There were scorch marks on the carpet. Layla throws out a hand, pressing it to the turntable, expecting sparks once more.

Nothing happens.

----------

“Hello?”

“Is… Is this Peter Grant?”

“Layla! I was beginning to think you’d never call,” A chuckle sounds from the other end of the line, tinny through the aged receiver. “How have you been, dear? The boys have been asking about you.”

“Oh? What are they saying?”

“My Goodness, it never stops. I’m surprised they’re not right up against me listening in. It’s always ‘Peter, when is Layla coming back? Peter, Layla could get a job here, as a roadie! Peter, we need our little dove, she’s our good luck charm!’”

“Well… I can guess who the last one came from. Peter, would it be okay if I came down again today? I really did have a good time, despite the circumstances.”

“Of course, of course! You’re welcome anytime, my dear. Here, I’ll send one of the boys out to fetch you. Lord knows they need it, they’re bouncing off the walls with energy.”

Another bout of laughter crackles across the line, and Layla pictures the kind, comforting smile almost permanently etched onto Peter’s face. “Wonderful! Thanks again, Peter. I’ll see you soon!”

“Goodbye, Layla. See you soon.”

“Oh! Peter, before you hang up! I gave the clothes you lent me a wash, and I’ll return them right away!”

Silence, only for a second, seeps into the conversation, until a scoff from the older man cuts it like a knife. “My dear, keep them. Jimmy won’t miss them. In fact, I remember hearing him say to Bonzo earlier, that they ‘look better on Layla anyways.’ Well, I should let you go. We’ll see you soon.”

The line goes dead, and it is not hard to imagine the grin on the man’s face before he hung up. Regardless of if he was telling the truth about what Jimmy had said, the young woman couldn’t help but swoon a little, shades of red dancing across her cheeks. She looks at the neatly folded pile of clothes beside her, and, pressing her nose to the fresh fabric of the sweater, she puts it on. Even with the magic of the washing machine, it still held a foreign scent; one of cigarette smoke, pine and citrus, which harmonized with the subtle smell of the detergent she had used. It was a scent that, on paper, sounded like an odd combination, yet Layla could hardly get enough of it. She had smelled it just the other day, in the studio, when Jimmy was above her, jade eyes boring into hers, curls a midnight halo framing his porcelain face.

The honking of a car horn shatters her concentration, and as she looks out to the street for the source of the disturbance, she sees the grinning face of John Bonham, who is hanging halfway out of the open window, waving frantically.

“Layla! Get in, you slowpoke!”

“God, Bonzo, you’re gonna wake up the whole country if you keep that up!”

“As if that wasn’t the goal, birdie.”

“Birdie? Seriously? My God, you guys are just asking to get hit.”

“By you? Birdie, you couldn’t even reach my face if I was sitting down.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d go for the face first,” A smile of feigned innocence, blooms on Layla’s face. “Question, Bonzo. How much do you value your kneecaps?”

“Ah!” Bonzo exclaims, laughing loud, carefree. “Smart girl, smart girl. Maybe we’ll call you whenever we have arguments.”

“Jonesy’s short enough, just call him. I reckon he could do some damage from down there.”

Peals of laughter ring through the car, just audible under the din of the music that Bonzo insisted on blaring as the newfound friends cruise to the studio. Finally arriving at their destination, the drummer sends a glance over to his companion, taking into account the sweater she is wearing. He lets out a sudden snort, and hides his laughter in his hand. Layla, noticing this odd display shoots him a concerned look.

“You okay, Bonham?”

“You know, birdie, there are other ways to become Ms. Page...”

“...Get out.”

“Layla, you realize this is my car, right?” Layla gives him a heated glare, and as though he could physically see the daggers she was aiming at him, Bonzo exits the car in a huff, mumbling about how “it was just a joke…”

Allowing herself a private smirk, Layla exits the car, hurrying to catch up with her friend, short legs working a mile a minute. Reaching the man, she slings a companionable arm around his waist, and immediately feels an arm wrap around her shoulders in response. The two friends enter the building, giggling anew.

“Layla!” A chorus of voices echoed off the marble floors of the lobby, accompanied by a stampede of approaching footsteps, and the woman in question was swiftly bombarded with a chorus of arms around her, squeezing tightly.

“Really feeling the love here, guys, but I can’t breathe…” The arms relinquish their hold immediately, and Layla is met with the ecstatic faces of her new friends.

“Nice sweater, love.” Jimmy pipes up, sharing a subtle smile with the woman.

“Jim, don’t be surprised if you never get that sweater back. She’s attached now!”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I think she looks stunning in it.” Gone is the bumbling, shy man from before, replaced by confidence and charm. Layla smiles, enjoying this new side of the raven-haired guitarist.

“...Anyways… Little dove, we were just about to rehearse, would you like to sit in?” Robert hooks his arm through hers, an innocent wink tossed haphazardly over his shoulder at the guitarist, who only smirks and shakes his head.

“I would love to, blondie, but enlighten me real fast,” Layla says, giggling at the golden-haired man. “What exactly are you rehearsing for?”  

“I’m glad you asked, Layla,” Jimmy says, swiftly taking her other arm, uncharacteristically playful. “We have a very important tour of North America coming up, and it would be a shame if we came in unprepared, wouldn't it?”

“That’s really cool!” Layla exclaims, exhilaration clear on her face.

“We’ve got some practice shows in Belgium and the Netherlands, and then we’ll be off to the Promised Land.”

“‘The Promised Land’? You guys really need to get out more.”

This is met by raucous laughter by the band, much to the confusion of the woman.

“Oh, sweet, sweet, naive Layla…”

“Remember what I said in the car, Bonzo? About the hitting?” This is accompanied by a friendly smirk, typical of the woman.

“You have so much to learn…” Jimmy continues mischievously, green eyes glinting, earning a strong glare.

“Little dove has such attitude, she’s basically one of us,” Robert sighs dreamily, no doubt playing it up for Layla, earning a chuckle from her in response.

“Okay, now that that’s all over and done with,” Jonesy’s steely blue-gray eyes survey the group, stern as they lock onto the eyes of the band. “Let’s actually play for her. Once in a lifetime opportunity here, Layla.”

“Glad stardom hasn't gone to your head, guys. Truly the most humble group I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.” Laughter accompanies the group as they make their way to the studio, intent on blowing Layla’s mind.

----------

“How about a little Rain Song, boys?” Jimmy says, tuning up the acoustic guitar in his hands, as though it was delicate and precious.

“You just wanna impress Layla, don’t you, Pagey?” Jonesy smirks, teasing the guitarist. Jimmy flushes, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, the shy man from before making his brief return.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Jonesy,” Jimmy shoots back, trying for nonchalance, the slight waver in his dulcet voice giving him away. “Does ‘Rain Song’ work for everyone, or are we picking something different?”

A smattering of “works for me,” sounds throughout the studio, and the boys launch right in. Soft sounds of falling rain pour out of the guitar, and Robert’s golden voice floats out like streams of sunlight. Jonesy’s piano trickles through, a mist amongst the downfall, Bonzo’s soft drum beats claps of thunder. The music picks up, becomes harder, like wind in the face of a torrential storm, and then all is still, Robert crooning all the while. Layla is mesmerized, unable to look away at the boys, seemingly glowing with the influence of the music they play. A fragile silence follows the last tinkling of raindrops, one that the occupants of the room are afraid to break.

“... So? How was it?” Bonzo is the first to speak, an apprehensive grin gracing his face.

“It was… You just…”

“Never thought we’d make you speechless, little dove.”

“Ignoring that. It was truly incredible, guys.” Layla’s face lights up in an excited smile, chestnut eyes sparkling as though reflected in a clear pool. The young woman locks eyes with Jimmy then, who sends her a shy smile her way, arresting her where she stands. Layla looks away quickly, cheeks warm.

“Jonesy, your keyboard playing was incredible! It sounded like tiny raindrops! Bonzo, your drumming was just… It was so good! It sounded like thunder, and broke through the rest of the instruments perfectly. Robert, as much as I truly hate to say this…”

“Hey!”

“You were beyond words. You owned those lyrics, and made them almost come alive. I truly felt them. Jimmy… Your guitar. It drove the whole storm, and paired with Jonesy’s little droplets... It was great.  I can’t say enough about this whole performance.”

“I knew we kept her around for a reason.” Bonzo snorts, closing the distance first to hug the young woman, Jonesy following with a smile painted on his aristocratic features.

“Little dove, has anyone ever told you that you should be a music critic?”

“A few times. Now get over here, blondie. You too, Page.”

The embrace is interrupted by the click of the studio door being opened, revealing the hulking figure of the usually soft-natured Peter Grant. Taking in the scene before him, he chuckles heartily, his smile never slipping. Walking over to the group, he claps his hands together in delight.

“I’m glad you’re all getting on. Boys, that was another wonderful performance. If you perform like that on Saturday? God, we’ll rule the world!”

“We’ll need our good luck charm, though.” Jimmy gestures towards Layla, winking at her conspiratorially.

“Peter, is there any way we can bring Layla over?”

“I’m sure we can work something out, Percy. Layla, would you like to join us?”

“Well… I’m sorry, but I’m not sure if I could manage, with the finances of it all. I don’t exactly have a job at the moment...” Layla says sheepishly, eyes cast downwards in embarrassment. Peter scoffs and shakes his head in response, placing his large hand on the young woman’s shoulder.

“My dear, you wouldn’t have to pay even one pence,” Pete explains, kind eyes reassuring as they gaze at the woman in front of him. “Though, if you are worried about something like that, we do always need help in the wings, if you’re interested?”

“Peter, are you sure? I couldn’t just—”

“Layla, for the love of God, just say yes?” Jonesy mutters, huffing out a laugh at the display of stubbornness in front of him.

“I mean, if you’re sure… I’d love to.”

“Wonderful! Now, we leave on Friday. We’ll pick you up at your flat, just make sure you’re packed, dear. We’re happy to have you on board.”

----------

As the calendar pinned to the wall is steadily painted in royal blue ink, Layla’s excitement grows. One more day, and she’ll be on the road, living it up. January 10th couldn't come any faster, it seemed to Layla.

The shrill ringing of the phone interrupts her musings, and as Layla hurries to answer, a smile grows on her face at the thought of the days ahead. As much as she tries to deny it, Layla felt quite fond of the boys already.

“Hey, little dove, I’m leaving right away to pick you up. I’ll explain what’s going on in the car. You don’t need to bring anything. See you in 15.”

“Robert? What—”

“Oh, and Layla?” Smugness dripping from his voice, Layla can already see the cheshire grin the man is sporting, “Wear something nice.”

“Robert—”

Click.

Shock freezing her in place, Layla shakes her head, a featherlight smile gracing her lips. Flying up the stairs to her bedroom, Layla picks out a pair of merlot bell bottoms, paired with a cropped bell-sleeved shirt, a snowy white in colour. Rings scattered across her hands, Layla looks in the mirror, applying some light makeup. Seeing a car pull up to her house, a sleek, rich red against the stormy gray of the curb, she rushed downstairs, waving at the driver. Stepping into the vehicle, she turns to her friend, who smirks, looking her up and down.

“I said to dress nice… This is gonna kill the man.” Robert scoffs, mutters under his breath, tugging playfully on a perfect brown ringlet of Layla’s hair.

“Robert, what’s going on? Why couldn't you explain over the phone?”

“Well, I couldn’t let a certain someone overhear my master plan, could I?” This is met with a blank look from the passenger of the vehicle, and, glancing over quickly, Robert cackles.

“Listen up, little dove,” Robert says, whispering mischievously, starting up the car and pulling away from the flat, “It’s Jimmy’s birthday, and the lot of us were planning something. It would be a shame if we didn’t get his favourite girl in on the secret too!”

“Favourite girl?”

“Oh come on, Layla. Don’t tell me you’re that oblivious!” Robert scoffs, lazily throwing his head to the side to look at his companion, golden locks flying every which way, “The man can’t take his eyes off of you. It’s a whole subject of conversation when you’re not around. I can tell by the colour of your cheeks that you might feel the same…”

“If I say yes, will you drop it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Should have known… Anyways, what’s the plan here?” Robert winks at her in response, ocean eyes glinting in the warm afternoon sun.

“So, you know quite a bit about guitars, hey?”

“A fair amount? I used to play. What does that have to do with Jimmy’s birthday, though?”

“Well,” Robert starts, grin growing at the confusion of his friend, “We’re gonna throw a little get-together at the studio, but I was thinking, his favourite acoustic keeps breaking, and he hasn’t had much time to fix it yet. This is where you come in, little dove.”

“Don’t leave me in suspense here, blondie.”

“You’re gonna pick out a new acoustic for him.”

“Robert, I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry about the costs,” Robert exclaims, shaking his head vehemently, “I got it all covered. Perks of being in a famous band, I guess. Jim’s not the best at words, you’ve experienced this firsthand. He speaks with his music, and by doing this, you’re speaking his language.”

��I get that, but what… What if he doesn’t like the guitar I pick out?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Robert laughs out, stealing a glance at his fidgeting companion. “Little dove, you could give him a trash bag and he’d still cherish it. He’ll love whatever you pick out for him.”

Robert parks the car, and turns towards his friend, taking a small hand in his, a comforting smile on his tan face. Giving the hand a squeeze, Layla steps out of the car, and, arm in arm with Robert, they walk into the store.

Strolling through the aisles, Layla was struck at the sheer beauty of the instruments in front of her. Shades of sepia and seafoam green blend into starry blues as she walks on. A body of rich mahogany catches Layla’s eye then, and she knows immediately. This is the one. The pickguard is a deep maroon with swirls of midnight black, thin rings of pristine white surrounding the sound hole. It’s perfect. Layla can’t help but stare, until she feels a tap on her shoulder, accompanied by a light peal of laughter.

“I take it, that's the one, Layla?”

Turning around, caught, Layla’s cheeks warm, and, smiling ever-so-slightly, she nods. Turning to the guitar once more, she trails her fingers across the smooth polished wood of the guitar.

“It’s perfect…”

“He’s gonna love it, just you wait.”

Layla plucks it from it’s resting spot on the wall, and, cradling it with the care of a new mother, she walks with Robert to the front of the store to pay. After a couple of autographs, and a few weird looks, the pair return to the car, finally setting their sights on the studio. Guitar case resting safely in her lap, Layla allows herself a private smile, picturing the face of the guitarist, emerald eyes filled with elation, upon seeing the gift.

“Why are your cheeks so red, little dove? Are you feeling okay?”

----------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis (let me know if you want to be added!)

[sada-siva-sanyaasi]

Stains - Part 9

Series Summary: An artist goes through a lot of things, sure, but having to deal with her ex on a constant basis wasn’t something she signed up for.

Words: 3,625 words.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern!AU)

A/N: Words under the cut. Also been a long long time, eh? I honestly had a rough patch these last few months, and also didn’t have my laptop with me to update even though I had written, so I apologise a thousand times. I am so so sorry everyone! Hope the next few weeks of updates and story can make up for my loss of inspiration! Love you always, and as usual, feedback of all forms is greatly appreciated!

Series Masterlist / Twitter Profiles | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

 Y/N watched Peter walk into the building and sighed to herself, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, this is it, you dropped your toddler now you go shooting.” She didn’t realise how long she was just sitting inside until she heard someone honking behind her, making her snap back and drive on.

Each step she took towards the studio was heavier than the one before, her heart racing and her hands shivering. Y/N stopped in front of the door and let out a shaky breath, cracking her knuckles. “It’s just another project, why am I getting so worked up? Fucking relax, Y/N, this is not a big deal. This is like every other project you’ve had with models.”

“Although I don’t mind the whole ‘talking-to-yourself’ thing,” Y/N jumped and turned around to see Loki stand there, a smile on his face, “do it inside the studio while you’re setting things up, won’t you? That way no one stares at you like you’re a weirdo.”

Y/N beamed and smacked Loki’s shoulder, a small yelp escaping his mouth. “Good morning, Loki. I was just giving myself a pep talk. It’s a shoot for Tony Stark, right?” Loki hummed, opening the door and ushering her in while they set their stuff down.

“Yeah, someone you already shot for if I remember. And you shot him too,” Loki added, making Y/N close her mouth and turn away with a scowl. “So I really don’t see why you’re getting so sweaty. Unless of course, it’s because your ex is coming here.”

Y/N stopped fixing her lens and turned to Loki, who looked busy setting up the lights. “How do you know so much?” Loki snickered and walked to his laptop, noticing more support staff walk in. “I just am very observant, my dear. Especially with your Twitter shenanigans, it’s hard not to know really. I think even Thor knows, I heard him laugh at your tweet for about ten god-awful minutes.”

Y/N grimaced and connected the main camera to Loki’s laptop, a hot red blush spreading across her cheeks. “We do not speak of my Twitter shenanigans, Laufeyson. It’s a dark subject.” Loki rolled his eyes and smirked, bowing in front of Y/N just as Thor walked in. “My humblest apologies, oh revered one.”

Y/N smacked Loki again and both of them laughed as they greeted Thor, settling down in their chairs. “When will the models get here?” Thor huffed, looking at his watch, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“They’ll have to get here, set up, dress up, and pose. Oh it’s a long day, and it’s only day one. There’s five more days till we go back to shooting other things again.” Y/N frowned, biting her nails as she looked up.

“Wait, what are we shooting for again?”

Loki and Thor burst out laughing, Thor even leaning forward to ruffle Y/N’s hair. “Are you sure you’re the photographer and not just an assistant, Y/N? We are doing endorsement shoots for today and tomorrow while the rest of the three days will be personalized shoots of the models.” Y/N’s scowl deepened as she stared at the door.

“Oh God I’m regretting these shoots already.” The doors opened and her breath hitched, only to see people with makeup kits walk in, and she stood up angrily.

“Oh, they’re taking so long! I’ll go get a coffee, you want something?” The brothers shook their heads and she walked out, stuffing her hands into her pockets and humming under her breath.

As she walked into the Stark cafeteria and waited in the queue, she heard an all too familiar voice laugh. “Oh I know, Bucky has made it his life mission to screw himself up in front of the world. Now he bullshits about Tony’s work, what an idiot. Jesus, my head hurts whenever he decides to use his brain. Ow, what the fuck!” “I’m standing right beside you, asshole.”

Y/N bit her lip to stop the laugh from leaving her mouth and silently stepped towards the counter. “I’d like a chocolate cappuccino with two shots of espresso and extra chocolate please.” The barista looked up and smiled. “Long day ahead? It’ll be $3.50 please,” She said, and Y/N smiled, nodding.

“Almost never ending, and here you go.” Y/N’s smile widened when she got a sandwich along as the barista winked at her. “It’s on us, hope you a great day.”

She turned and nearly bumped into a person when two strong arms wrapped around her, holding her steady. “Easy there, coffee girl.” A smooth voice said, and Y/N froze entirely, her blood turning cold. “Don’t call me that, Barnes,” she mumbled, looking up, and Bucky smirked. “Why not, Y/N? Wasn’t that how we met?” She glared at him and gestured towards the drink in her hand. “Want to get drenched in something hot again?”

Bucky stepped back from her, still not letting go. “No, I don’t think you would voluntarily drench me in that chocolate-y coffee goodness. I know you enough to know you love your coffee a lot, and that it costed a lot too.” Y/N huffed and sipped her drink, her eyes closing momentarily when the hot liquid flooded her mouth.

“Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t, but I would like to go now, so if you leave me.” Bucky hummed, his grip not faltering a bit. “No, I don’t think I will let you go, Y/N. you and I need to go to the same place anyway, and I like holding you, it’s been a while.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she noticed Pietro behind them, waving and grinning at her as Bucky ushered her to the studio.

“Fucking let me go, asshole!” She barked, not caring about how many people were looking at them, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Oh, hush child. We have the same destination, and so I’m making this journey along with you.”

Y/N mumbled a soft “what the fuck” as Pietro opened the doors and bowed down, allowing Bucky and Y/N to walk in. She finally shook him off and stormed over to Loki and Thor, setting her coffee down. Loki watched as she cracked her knuckles and bent forward, picking her sandwich and taking a bite of it.

“You said you didn’t want anything!” Y/N hissed and he shrugged. “With how that lady just ate our brains, I got a little hungry. I’m not sorry,” She looked around and her scowl deepened, fist clenched.

“The witch has already arrived, I see.” Loki nodded, his hand creeping towards her coffee only for it to be smacked away.

“Alright,” Y/N yelled, walking to the models in the middle of the room, “let’s get this show on the road. We got three hours today, and I want them to count. Get dressed, you’re having shoots with products.”

 --

 “No, I don’t like the shade of lipstick; don’t you think it’s too dull? How about blood red?” Dolores said, looking through the makeup as Y/N sighed out loud for the tenth time, sipping her coffee.

“How is your coffee still not over?”  Thor said, sitting beside her, and she glanced at him. “I’m trying not to finish it so that I’m busy till she decides to end our misery and just model. Jesus Christ, this is why I hate shooting with living creatures, such monsters.”

Thor coughed to cover up his laugh when Dolores shot a glare in their direction, and Loki leaned towards her. “When will you tell her this is a monochrome shoot?” he whispered, and Y/N turned to him, a coy smile on her face.

“I want to see how long it takes before she figures it out on her own.” Both of them grinned at each other and Y/N turned, only for her breath to be snatched right out of her lungs.

Bucky stood a couple feet away from her, his hairstylist fixing him up as he unbuttoned the top part of his shirt, checking himself out in the mirror. She didn’t want to admit it, but he looked like he dropped straight from heaven.

“He looks good, huh?” Pietro said, making her jump and turn to scowl at him. “What did you say?” Pietro smirked, “You heard me,” Y/N rolled her eyes and finished her coffee when Bucky said, “I heard that its monochrome today.”

She nodded, picking her camera and fiddling with it.

“Well, what colour is it, then?”

“What colour is the background, Barnes?”

“Black.”

“Your clothes?”

“Black and white.”

“Bingo.”

Dolores stopped applying her blush and glared at Y/N. “You’re telling me that after I spent twenty minutes trying to pick out the right shade of lipstick for this cream dress?!”

Y/N stared at Dolores. “Did you bother checking with me if you needed blood red lipstick and coral blush? He asked me, I told him. You should’ve asked me, Miss Smith. Would’ve saved you and us a lot of time.”

Dolores continued to glare at her as Y/N stood up and said, “I hope you’re ready. Your products have been placed there; we will be going with you first. Loki, I need you to set a diffuser over the light falling from the top and Thor, a reflector to the left please. Let’s get this done with.”

Bucky watched as Loki and Thor stepped away from Y/N while she knelt forward, looking into her camera. She adjusted the lens and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, scrunching her nose a little as she said, “Thor, move closer. Dolores, adjust your position a little to the left, chin higher in the air, thank you. And smile, don’t smirk.”

A smile unknowingly made its way onto Bucky’s face, his heart feeling light as he kept watching her. It had been three years since he spent so long with Y/N, and he was more than happy that he was getting to see her like this. Emotions and memories he kept buried for years resurfaced, his chest tightening as he remembered the little things about her.

Pietro watched Bucky, and scoffed silently. “Bro, you are whipped. I bet you even know what’s happening in her head.”

“She’s not happy with how Dolores is posing, she’s constantly correcting her but her eyebrows are still furrowed and her tongue is not sticking out yet. It shows she’s angry, not concentrating.  Y/N will stand up and walk to correct Dolores and her posture anytime now.”

Not long after the words left Bucky’s mouth Y/N stood up, walking to Thor and angling the reflector before murmuring to Dolores, moving her hands and adjusting her. Bucky’s smile turned smug as Pietro stared at him, shock on his face. “Did you fucking study this girl? How do you know so much after so long?”

Bucky’s eyes never left Y/N as she set Dolores’s hair, rambling about the position of the fans beside them. “Fall in love, Pietro. You won’t forget what makes them who they are that easily. Look, her tongue is peeking out, she’s finally satisfied and she’s concentrating.” Pietro turned to where Bucky was pointing and chuckled, noticing how he was indeed right about Y/N yet again.

“You really love her, huh.” Bucky’s smile softened and he sighed, nodding. “I do. I didn’t prove it to her then, and I don’t know if she’ll believe me now. But I won’t give up, not after I have her right in front of me.”

“For five more days, Buck. You don’t even know if you’ll see her again. And you can’t make someone fall in love with you for the second time in so little time.” Bucky frowned, looking down as his stylist walked over to him, checking his outfit. “I could tell her the truth,” he mumbled, almost a whisper. “And then what? She’ll magically let you back into her life?”

Bucky turned to Pietro, who stared right back at him. “I’m serious, Buck. You think she’ll just let you back? Do you remember the look on her face that day?”

 Flashback

 Tears made their way down Y/N’s cheeks as she took in the scene in front of her, Dolores on top of Bucky and her hands on his chest. “S-So all of this, whatever Natasha told me, it’s true? I thought she was doing it out of spite, Bucky.”

Bucky pushed Dolores off him and stood up, the stench of alcohol from him reaching Y/N immediately. He looked at her; eyes swollen and cheeks red as she struggled to contain her sobs. The fight seemed like it happened so long ago, neither of them remembered what it was really about, but it had gotten out of hand. The people around them faded, non-existent and not mattering. “Just tell me it’s not real, James. I’ll believe you. Not Natasha, not Dolores, nobody. Please,” she whispered, stepping towards him only for him to step back.

“I think you need to leave and stop assuming things, Y/N. I’m drunk, and not in my senses.” Bucky mumbled, loud enough for her to hear every word. “So, that’s it? It’s the end?” She laughed, the sound hollow.

“Did it ever begin?” Bucky hissed, and Y/N looked like she had been slapped. “A year, Barnes.” She croaked, her nails digging into her skin. “We were together for a year and friends for two years before that. And you tell me none of it was real? I was in love with you, for this? Fuck you, James Barnes. I don’t want to ever see your face again.”

“Oh, the feeling’s mutual sweetheart.” Bucky said, turning back to the counter and grabbing his beer. Y/N turned and left, slamming the door shut behind her and Bucky slumped into his seat, tears leaving his eyes. Dolores rubbed his shoulder in comfort only for him to swat it away harshly. “Get out, Dot. I don’t want you.”

Dolores scowled, biting her lip.

“Here?”

“Ever. Out.”

 End of Flashback

 Bucky rubbed his head as Y/N said, “Alright, we’re done here! You can go change, Dolores. If the boys step forward, it’ll be great,” and stepped forward, watching her thrust props into his hands. “Hold these and pose right,” she mumbled, turning to leave when he grabbed her hands.

“I’d rather hold you, if I’m being honest.” He tugged her closer and smirked when Y/N pulled away, blushing profusely. “Shut the fuck up,” she seethed, glaring at him, and he bent forward to her level, tilting his head.

“Make me, sweetheart,” Bucky’s eyes went to her lips and his smirk widened when Y/N stepped away, calling his stylist to set his suit. Pietro sighed and elbowed Bucky, shooting a sharp glare. “Stop being a flirt, you’ll scare her away, asshole.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and punched Pietro’s shoulder. “You shut up, Maximoff. Don’t teach me how to get my girl back.”

Pietro watched Y/N talk to Loki, pointing at the lights and camera and rolled his eyes, grumbling, “What a cocky bastard.”

 --

 “Today was a long day,” Y/N sighed, falling into her chair and looking through her laptop at the pictures taken. “Longer than we wanted, Dolores spent so long getting ready. Wow, all ladies like this?” Thor grumbled, chugging his coffee.

“Slow down Thor, that’s not beer.” Loki chided, shaking his head and sitting closer to Y/N. “We were supposed to finish shoot in three hours, took us four and half because Atomic Blonde kept complaining about her fat face and wrong angles, what a drama queen.” Y/N chuckled and went on to making basic edits in the pictures, before sitting back. “Be careful with your words, Loki,” she said, nodding towards the models walking to them. “I heard drama queens have powerful ears, especially around things they shouldn’t hear.” Bucky and Pietro got their chairs and sat down, Pietro beside Loki and Bucky squeezing in between Loki and Y/N.

Dolores spared Y/N a glance before dragging a chair and sitting down in front of her, as if trying to squeeze herself between Y/N and Bucky. Y/N cleared her throat awkwardly and said, “Uh, I need to see the laptop Dolores, and you sitting here is making it impossible to do so. I need to show the final results to the other two models too, you’re not the only one.”

Dolores shot her a glare before pushing her laptop back a little, and Y/N rubbed her face. She stood up and grabbed the laptop, setting it down in her lap and turning to Bucky and Pietro.

“Since these are mostly close up shots focusing on the products, not a lot of your face is in the pictures, and we will be shooting in colours as well tomorrow. I hope you’re ready for it.”

Dolores scowled and looked into the laptop. “Don’t you think my angles are bad? My face looks swollen in these.” Pietro snorted. “That’s because you got here hungover.”

Loki coughed in a poor attempt to stop laughing while Thor made no such attempt, making Dolores fume. “You talk like you look great, Maximoff.”

Bucky rolled his eyes while Y/N said, “Please, he’s a Maximoff. He’s hotter than you and five generations of your family.” “I’m sorry; I think I need a minute. Can I hug you, Y/N?” Pietro said, while Bucky shot him a glare.

“Not now Maximoff, see your pictures and then you can.” Y/N kept scrolling through her laptop as Loki raised his eyebrows, looking at the pictures. “Your pictures look fabulous, Barnes.” He remarked, and Bucky smirked, resting his head on Y/N’s shoulder. “I’ll have to thank the hot photographer for that. She seemed to have paid special attention to-” “-the product, that’s why the pictures look great. All of them do, and if you guys have any problem with how you look, go to Loki. He’s doing the editing. And get your head off my shoulder, Barnes.”  

Bucky stared at Y/N and mumbled, “I never noticed, you have a double chin.” Y/N’s hand crept to her jaw as she turned to Bucky, whose head was still on her shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get off me, please.” He shook his head, nuzzling closer to her and said, “I don’t want to.”

Y/N huffed, reluctantly settling into her seat to make it more comfortable for him. She didn’t know why she was doing it, but she did. Bucky smiled to himself, slowly wrapping his arms around her too.

Loki and Thor looked at them, and then turned to each other, eyebrows raised, before shrugging and standing up. “Who wants coffee?” Thor asked, and Bucky grabbed Y/N’s hand and raised it, while Pietro nodded and Dolores shook her head in disgust.

“I’d like a green tea; coffee is so bad for health.” Pietro scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, and getting shit-faced is not, Dolores. Come on, let’s go get coffee. What’s your order, Y/N and Bucky?”

“I’ll have a black coffee, Y/N will have a cap-” “I’ll have a café mocha, and I’m coming with you.” Y/N, with surprising gentleness, lifted Bucky’s head off her shoulder and stood up, brushing his arms off her.

She glanced down at him and bit her lip, before walking towards Loki. Bucky sighed and stood up, watching her. “Looks like some stuff did change in three years. She hated mochas before.”

Dolores rolled her eyes and glared at him. “You’re hung up on her even now? After three years?” Bucky stared at her.

“Well what else should I do, move on with you? I didn’t realise I had such a splendid option available.” Bucky pushed past Dolores and she scowled, stomping her feet. “Three years later, and nothing fucking changed.”

 --

 “See you tomorrow, gentlemen.” Y/N smiled and hugged Thor, before moving to Loki. “Send me one picture after editing it so that I know how it’ll turn out.” “Yeah I know, stop doubting my abilities.” He pulled her into a hug and sighed. “You know Barnes is trying hard, right?” He mumbled, and she pulled away slightly, her gaze unsure. “I know, and I also know what I saw that day. He didn’t stop her then, Loki.”

“And he doesn’t spare her a glance now, Y/N.” Her gaze hardened. “Once a cheater, always a cheater. Doesn’t matter how hard he tries to be different now. People don’t change, Loki.”

“But people change people, Y/N.” Loki sighed, rubbing his face. “You’ve known him for three years, and you’ve been away from him for three years. He must really miss you if he’s trying so hard even after you dumped whatever was in your hand on him.”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head, stepping away from him. “Whatever you say, Loki. Dolores is still stuck to him, see?”

Dolores was indeed stuck to Bucky, blabbering on as he stared at her with disinterest and discomfort. Pietro was watching their interaction and trying not to laugh, albeit unsuccessfully.

Loki rolled his eyes. “She’s trying to get you jealous, and you’re letting it work.” Thor nodded, munching on a cookie. “I’m sorry, where did you get that cookie from?” Thor grinned sheepishly, shrugging. “The barista found me hot.”

Loki nodded, pulling two cookies out of his pocket. “She gave me two.” He smirked, only for it to fall when Y/N pulled a croissant from her bag. “Complimentary goods from the chef, many more inside. Back down, peasants. Anyways, even if Dolores is trying to make me jealous, it’s not working.”

Thor patted her shoulder and shook his head. “You said her name and crushed the top of your bag. Like heck it’s not working.”

“Fine, she’s making me jealous and annoyed. What about it?”

Loki smirked and looked at his brother, who was wiping cookie crumbs off his face. “What are we here for?”

---

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