#and i think this is great for Seeing A Show. i always want this kind of broader Context and also i think it sure really would help for like

[honeyncherry]

all good things ii - joe burrow

summary you thought you'd mastered the art of letting go, turns out you'd just gotten really good at looking the other way

content angst, fluff, idk what im talking about in half this

part one

"Why are you here?"

You don't look up from the glass you're drying when you ask it, but you can feel him settling onto the barstool across from you. Same spot as always—third from the left, close enough to the corner that he can see the door but far enough from the other customers that conversation stays private.

"For a drink," he says, and there's that familiar hint of amusement in his voice, like he knows you already know the answer but enjoys the routine anyway.

Without thinking, your hand finds the bourbon, muscle memory from months of the same dance. The bottle feels heavier tonight, or maybe it's just you. Maybe it's the report waiting on your laptop at home, or the way certain thoughts have been circling back when you least expect them.

“How was Denver?” you ask, sliding the glass his way.

He catches it without looking, thumb brushing along the rim before taking a sip. “Great. Got a good win.”

You lean in, resting your elbows on the bar, giving him your full attention now. "Yeah? How good are we talking?"

"Really good." He grins, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes him look younger than he is. "Like, career-defining good.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself, the pride bubbling up quicker than expected. “That’s incredible. I’m so happy for you.”

He drops his gaze a little, almost shy about it. Compliments still make him weird. But you can tell it means something—coming from you, maybe, or maybe just being heard out loud.

“Actually,” he says, reaching into his jacket, “I got you something. Well, two things.”

That makes you pause. He's holding out a small wrapped box, the kind that comes from hotel gift shops or airport stores. The paper is slightly wrinkled, like it spent the flight home pressed against other things in his carry-on.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know." He places it on the bar top between you and then grins. "But I saw it and thought of you. Plus, I have some news." There's something sweet about it, the casualness of the gesture with no hidden agenda. 

You peel the paper back carefully, and inside is a snow globe, tacky and perfect in the way only tourist gifts can be. Denver’s skyline is centered in the middle, suspended in that fake snow that never quite swirls right.

“It’s terrible,” you say, but you're already smiling.

"Absolutely hideous," he agrees, sipping his drink. "But you collect weird shit, so I figured you'd appreciate it.”

He’s right. Your apartment’s full of it—odd little trinkets that don’t belong anywhere but somehow belong with you. Salt shakers shaped like ducks. Postcards from places you’ve never been. That cracked ceramic owl from your grandma that you still won’t throw out. 

"Thank you," you say, setting the snow globe on the shelf behind you, next to the register where you can see it while you work. "Okay, so what's the news?"

"Remember that California project I mentioned? The sports coverage thing?" He's trying to play it cool, but you can see the excitement barely contained behind his eyes. "I got you the spot."

Your heart stops. "What?"

"I put in a word with the hiring manager. Told them about your work, how good you are with people." He leans forward slightly. "They want you to fly out next week. Production assistant role, technically, but it's exactly the kind of experience you need."

You stare at him, mouth slightly open. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. You're going to California." Quinn's fingers drum once against the bar, a nervous habit you've taken note of over months of Thursday nights. Sometimes Tuesdays too, when his schedule allows it. He'd started showing up around the time you stopped flinching every time you heard calls of a certain name, when you could make it through a shift without checking your phone for messages that never came.

That was just over a year ago now, right when everything felt like it was crumbling—when you'd left that hotel room and came home to an apartment that felt too quiet and a life that suddenly seemed smaller than it had before. You'd been serving drinks like you were underwater, going through the motions of existing without really living in any of it.

The first few times, Quinn was just another regular. Bourbon, two fingers, splash of water. He was the best tipping regular you’ve ever had and never lingered too long. But then one night you'd been particularly frustrated, slamming glasses a little too hard after another rejection email, and he'd asked if you were okay.

"Just job hunting," you'd said, the bitterness leaking through despite yourself.

"What kind of work?"

"Anything that uses a communications degree, apparently." You'd laughed, but it came out hollow. "Four years of college to be really good at serving drinks."

He'd been quiet for a moment, then: "My company's always looking for interns," he'd said, casual as anything. "Might be good experience."

That conversation lives in your mind now, growing roots in the spaces between doubt and possibility. Three months of showing up to offices that smelled like expensive coffee and ambition, of learning that your degree wasn't worthless after all, just misplaced. Quinn had opened a door you didn't even know existed, and now here he is, trying to push it wider.

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll pack a bag." He finishes his drink and leaves cash on the bar, always exact change plus fifty percent, never more or less, and stands to go. "They'll email you the details tomorrow."

He hesitates for a moment, like he wants to say something else, then seems to think better of it. Instead, he just nods and heads for the door.

"Thank you," you call after him. "Really. This means everything."

"You earned it," he calls back over his shoulder. "I just made sure the right people knew." 

When he's gone, you’re left with the rich smell of bourbon and the snow globe that glimmers under warm spotlights. Underneath it all lies the strange, fluttering feeling that comes with being cared about in small, uncomplicated ways.

───

The folder hits your hands like something dropped from a height, thick enough that the pages buckle under their own weight. Sarah's already talking, words streaming past in that efficient way people have when they've explained the same thing a dozen times before.

"So you'll be handling athlete transport today," she says, gesturing vaguely toward the folder while her attention drifts to her phone. "Everything's in there—pickup times, studio assignments, the usual."

You flip the cover open to pages of schedules and headshots, names printed in blocks that your eyes catch without really processing. Sarah keeps talking about the logistics and backup plans, but her voice becomes mumbled as you scan down the list.

Micah Parsons - 9:30 AM pickup, Studio A 

Lamar Jackson - 10:45 AM pickup, Outdoor Setup 

Cooper Kupp - 12:15 PM pickup, Studio A 

Tua Tagovailoa - 1:30 PM pickup, Studio B

Names that mean little to you, faces that melt together in professional headshots. You're half-listening, trying to make sense of time slots and meal breaks, when Sarah's voice sharpens.

"—and Quinn should be here any minute with an early arrival."

The sound of voices approaching makes you glance up from the folder. Quinn appears in the doorway, that easy smile already in place, talking to someone just behind him. You look back down automatically, eyes finding the next line on the schedule.

Joe Burrow - 3:00 PM pickup, Studio B

Your stomach drops like you've missed a step in the dark. The letters blur, then sharpen, then blur again. You blink hard, certain you've misread, but the name sits there like something burned into the page.

When you look up, he's standing three feet away.

And he's already looking directly at you.

The folder stays open in your hands, but the words might as well be written in a language you don't speak. Everything else in the room—Sarah's voice, the hum of equipment being tested, the distant sound of someone setting up lights—fades into white noise. There's just him, standing there in dark jeans and a jacket that probably costs more than your rent, looking exactly like he does in your memory of that morning in the hotel room, except somehow more solid. Real this time.

His expression doesn't change when your eyes meet his. No surprise, no recognition he'd let anyone else see. Just that steady, unreadable look that used to make you feel like he could see straight through you.

"Perfect timing," Quinn says, completely oblivious to the way everything seems to have tensed up around you. "This is our impromptu production assistant I was telling you about." He gestures toward you with the kind of enthusiasm that makes you want to disappear. "She'll be handling your schedule today, making sure you get where you need to be."

Quinn turns to you, still smiling. "Joe got here early—his flight landed ahead of schedule, so I figured we'd get him checked in now instead of making him come back later. Hope that's okay?"

You force yourself to close the folder, to stand up straighter, to remember that you have a job to do. That you're not the same person who used to fly across the country for crumbs of attention.

"Of course," you manage, extending your hand in what you hope looks like professionalism and not the careful choreography of someone trying not to fall apart. "Hi."

Joe's eyes flick down to your outstretched hand, then back to your face. For a second, you think he might not take it. That he'll let you stand there with your arm extended like an idiot while Quinn watches.

But then his hand closes around yours, warm and familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

"Nice to meet you," he says, voice perfectly polite like you're a stranger. As if he's never traced the curves of your body with his tongue in the dark.

The handshake lasts exactly as long as it should and no longer, nothing that would make Quinn raise an eyebrow or Sarah look up from her phone. But his thumb brushes across your knuckles once before he lets go, so quickly you almost think you imagined it.

"She's fantastic," Quinn continues, either missing the tension entirely or choosing to ignore it. "Really knows her stuff. You're in good hands."

The irony of that statement sits heavy in the space between you and Joe. You've been in his hands before and you know exactly how that story ends.

"Alright," Sarah pops her head up suddenly from beside you. "Let's get you set up for hair and makeup first, then we'll run through the shot list." She's already guiding Joe toward the door with the kind of practiced authority that doesn't leave room for argument.

Joe follows, but his eyes find yours once more before he disappears into the hallway. The look lasts maybe two seconds, but it's long enough to remind you of every sleepless night you spent wondering if he thought about you at all.

"Ready for Micah?" Quinn asks, already checking his watch. "He should be set by now." You nod, grateful for something to focus on. Something that doesn't involve navigating the minefield of seeing Joe again.

Quinn studies your face for a moment, "you good?"

"I'm good," you say, forcing a smile that feels more convincing than it probably looks.

"Good. Because we had to shuffle things around. Lamar's flight got delayed, so we bumped Joe up to right after Micah." He pats your shoulder in that paternal way that makes you remember why you trust him. "You've got this, kid."

───

Micah Parsons turns out to be exactly the kind of interview subject that makes your job easy. Charismatic without being overwhelming, thoughtful in his answers, the kind of natural storyteller that probably makes every journalist he talks to feel like they're getting something special.

You escort him from hair and makeup to Studio A, making small talk about his off-season training while mentally taking in the way he carries himself—confident but approachable, the kind of details that might matter for the piece you're supposed to be writing.

Because that's the thing Quinn arranged that makes this more than just a production assistant gig. You're not just managing logistics; you're also shadowing the main journalists, taking notes that will help with a behind-the-scenes article to accompany the video content. It’s what manages to turn this little side gig into real experience that could actually matter for your future.

It had been Quinn's idea, pitched to his partners as a way to get more comprehensive coverage without stretching the budget. "She's sharp," he'd told them, according to what he'd shared with you later. "Give her the PA duties but let her gather material too. Two birds, one stone."

He'd stuck his neck out for you in a way that meant something. Which is why you're sitting in the back of Studio A with a notebook, jotting down observations about Micah's interview style and the way he deflects certain questions with humor while being surprisingly vulnerable about others. 

Quinn had been right—you were good at this. At reading people, at catching the moments between the soundbites that revealed who someone actually was.

Which is exactly why seeing Joe again feels like such a potential disaster.

By the time Micah wraps up, you've filled three pages with notes and feel like you're truly starting to understand the rhythm of this kind of work.

"Joe should be ready now," Quinn says, appearing at your elbow as you escort Micah to his next location. "Studio B."

Your stomach tightens, but you nod. This is your job. This is the opportunity Quinn fought for you to have and you can't let seeing Joe ruin it.

The walk to Joe's dressing room feels dreadful. Each step is like walking through quicksand, carrying you toward something you're not ready for but can't avoid. When you knock and push the door open, he's sitting in the chair by the small mirror, scrolling through his phone with careful focus.

"Ready?" you ask, the word coming out more clipped than you intended.

He looks up, nods once, and stands with no acknowledgment beyond basic professionalism.

The hallway to Studio B stretches ahead of you both, and the silence that follows is different from anything you've experienced today. Not comfortable like it had been with Micah, who'd filled the space with easy conversation. This quiet feels intentional. Measured like you're both working very hard not to disturb something that might break if handled wrong.

"Studio B," you say when you reach the door, gesturing unnecessarily.

"Thanks."

He disappears inside, and you take your position in the back corner. Notebook ready, pen poised. The same setup as for Micah's interview; professional and focused, gathering material for the article.

But something shifts the moment Joe starts talking. His voice carries that familiar cadence, the one that used to lull you to sleep during late-night phone calls when distance felt manageable. You find yourself leaning forward, pen moving across the page in ways that have nothing to do with journalism.

The little things catch your eye. The way he touches his jaw when considering an answer. How his shoulders settle when he's comfortable with a question. The pause before he responds to anything about pressure, weighing what's safe to share versus what's true.

You catch yourself, redirect your attention to actual content. This is work. Quinn's faith in you made everything tangible, you can't let this pull toward someone who used to matter ruin what you've been given.

But it's difficult to ignore the familiarity, the way certain moments remind you of hotel rooms and conversations that felt bigger than they were. 

This is likely the only time you'll see him again. A one-off encounter that doesn't have to mean anything beyond coincidence. You've made progress, moved forward. You can't let a single afternoon undo the work it took to get here.

When the interview wraps, you've filled two pages with notes—half meaningless observations about Joe rather than context about the content. You close the notebook as he thanks everyone with practiced grace, then finds you in the corner.

"All set?"

"All set."

The walk back is similar to the walk there in every way. By the time you reach his dressing room, you're almost convinced you can end this cleanly. You open the door and stand to the side.

"You're done for the day. Someone will coordinate transport when you're ready."

Joe settles back into the chair by the mirror, phone already in hand. You should leave now. You've completed your assignment, same as with Micah. But professional courtesy demands you ask. The same question you'd posed to Micah, the same standard you'll maintain.

"Is there anything else you need?"

Joe hums to himself then looks up, and for the first time all day, really looks at you. Not the careful glances he's been offering, but the kind of direct eye contact that used to make your heart race.

"Just curious," he says, voice level but edged with something sharper. "Are you supposed to say that, or am I just special?"

The question hits hard. You feel it in your stomach first, then spreading outward, a slow recognition that you're not getting out of this room without acknowledgment. 

Because that’s the thing: he was special.

In the way you still dream about his voice. His hands. 

In the way you never really got around to donating the shirt he left behind, even though it stopped smelling like him months ago.

In the way you still scan for his face on the screen when a game is on at work, even when you tell yourself you’re not supposed to.

Something shifts in your face, you can feel it happen. The twitch of your eyes, the press of your teeth into the inside of your cheek, just a second too long. Like your body is betraying the careful neutrality you’ve been maintaining all day. 

He catches it, of course he does.

"Just part of the job, Mr. Burrow." The formality tastes wrong in your mouth, but you need the distance it creates and the reminder of where you are, what this is supposed to be. 

You're already turning away before the words fully settle, hand reaching for the door handle like it might save you from whatever comes next. "Have a good rest of your day."

───

The wine tastes expensive in a way that makes you hyper-aware of everything. From the conversations flowing around you that you can't quite step into, to the way everyone else seems to belong here without thinking about it.

"Market yourself," Quinn had said earlier, straightening his tie in the mirror of his hotel room. "There are some serious people here tonight. Network. Make connections. This is how careers get built."

Easy for him to say. He moves through crowds like he was born into them, shaking hands and remembering names and making everything look effortless. You feel like you're wearing a sign that says imposter in flashing neon letters.

The venue is exactly what you'd expect from Quinn's company—all exposed brick and elegant lighting fixtures, floor to ceiling windows, the kind of casual that costs more than most people's rent. Servers weave between clusters of well-dressed people holding wine glasses that catch the light just right. 

You take a sip of wine and scan the room for someone who might seem approachable. Someone who won't immediately see through whatever facade you're trying to maintain. The conversation nearest to you is about market projections and quarterly reports, which makes your experience feel even more inadequate than usual.

"Why are you standing by yourself?"

The voice comes from beside you, close enough that you feel the words more than hear them. You don't have to look to know who it is, you've been hyperaware of his presence since the moment he walked in twenty minutes ago.

"I'm supposed to be marketing myself," you say, not turning toward him, voice dry with the kind of sarcasm that feels bitter. "Networking. Making connections."

There's a pause. You can feel him looking at you.

"Well, you shouldn't have any problem doing that looking like that."

Your fingers tighten around the stem of your wine glass. The comment slides under your skin in a way that makes you feel uneasy. It’s like you're back in some hotel room where his opinions about you mattered.

You turn to look at him and something in your expression must give you away because his face changes immediately.

"No, no, that's not—" He stops and runs a hand over the bottom half of his face, looking genuinely panicked. "That came out wrong. I just meant you look good. Like, really good. Not that—fuck. That was all wrong."

And despite everything, despite the way your jaw is still tight with irritation, you have to bite back something that feels dangerously close to a laugh. Because Joe Burrow, who takes hits from three-hundred-pound linemen without flinching, who never seems rattled by anything on or off the field, is standing here stammering like a teenager who just got caught red-handed.

You compose yourself, finding that professional tone again. "Okay. Well, thank you." You set your wine glass on the nearest table, already turning away. "Have a good night."

His hand catches your wrist before you can take a step, gentle but insistent enough to stop you. "Wait." You follow his gaze to a quieter corner near the windows, away from people. 

“Can we talk?”

Part of you wants to say no, to keep walking and maintain whatever distance you've managed to create. But a bigger part knows that if you don't do this now, you'll spend the rest of the night, maybe longer, wondering what he would have said.

"Okay," you say, and let him guide you toward the windows.

The space feels more intimate immediately, the noise of the party fading to background hum. Joe runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit you remember, and looks out at the city lights for a moment before turning back to you.

“I was an asshole,” he says. The bluntness of it surprises you, how he doesn’t sugarcoat it or try to spin it. "This afternoon, I mean. And just now. I was just—I was doing what I always do, being defensive because seeing you here threw me off, and I didn't know how to handle it."

You wait for him to continue, watching the way he struggles with words that don't come as easily as the ones he uses for interviews.

“I was hurt,” he says, a little softer now. “When you left. Not just because you did. But how fast it felt. Like one second we were figuring things out and the next... you were just gone.”

There’s a long pause where neither of you says anything. You’re not sure what breaks you down first—his voice or the fact that it’s not angry in the way you last remember it. 

“I didn’t leave because of that night,” you say eventually. “If anything… I stayed because of it.”

Joe finally looks at you and your hands tighten around your arms.

“I meant what I said,” you continue, slower now. Like the words are heavy in your mouth. “I believed you. What you said. How it felt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that before.”

The words keep coming even though your mind is already starting to regret opening your mouth. You should stop. You should just stop.

“I think part of me was already bracing for the quiet,” you say. “For things to go back to normal the next day. I don’t know. It’s like… the moment was everything I wanted, but it didn’t feel safe.”

You see the flicker in his eyes. You almost backpedal, almost say never mind, but you’ve already gone too far.

“It's not that I didn’t trust you,” you continue. “I just didn’t trust that version of us to last. And I didn’t want to stay long enough to watch it fall apart again.”

Joe’s silent. You shift your weight, suddenly aware of how exposed you feel, how fast your heart is beating now that the words are out there.

“I didn’t stop feeling it,” you murmur, eyes darting toward the window. “That was the problem. I finally let myself feel all of it. And once I did, it felt like too much to carry alone.”

He exhales slowly, like your words knock the wind out of him.

“So it wasn’t just the night,” he says eventually. “It was everything before.”

You nod. “Yeah. It was the before. The buildup. The silence. The feeling like I was always one step ahead of you.”

There’s a pause. Then, almost like a reflex, you add, “I know you meant what you said. I really do.” He looks at you then, something raw behind his eyes. “But I think I’d spent so long waiting for you to mean something,” you say, voice tightening, “that when you finally did, I was already halfway through learning how to let go.”

“I get that,” he says. You nod, surprised by the relief you feel at being understood. "So you left because you had to," he says, not a question.

"Because I had to."

The silence that follows feels different from all the others today. Not loaded with tension or unspoken accusations, but something closer to understanding. Like you aren’t standing on opposite sides of it anymore.

Joe straightens up slightly, and something shifts in his expression, still serious but with a hint of something lighter around the edges.

"So," he says, extending his hand toward you with a small, almost shy smile. "Hi. I'm Joe."

The gesture is so unexpectedly dorky that you feel a laugh bubble up before you can stop it. "Are you serious right now?"

"Starting fresh," he says, hand still extended. "New note."

You look at his outstretched hand, then back at his face, and despite everything—despite the history and the hurt and the complicated mess of what you used to be—you find yourself smiling.

"This is ridiculous," you say, but you take his hand anyway. "Hi, Joe,” you introduce yourself in the same manner.

The handshake lasts longer than necessary this time, in comparison to the one you shared earlier. When you finally let go, your fingers feel warm where his touched them.

"Much better introduction than this afternoon," you say, and Joe laughs—a real one this time.

"Yeah, well, I was trying to play it cool earlier."

"How'd that work out for you?"

"Terribly," he admits, grinning. "Clearly not my strong suit when it comes to you."

"Well," you say, and there's something softer in your voice now, something that feels like a door opening instead of closing. "There's plenty of time to get better at it."

The words hang between you, simple but loaded with possibility. Not a promise or a plan, just an acknowledgment that time exists now where it didn't before. That this new beginning, this fresh start, doesn't have to be figured out tonight.

Joe's smile changes, becoming something quieter. "Yeah," he says. "I think there is."

In that moment you realize the difference between starting over and starting fresh. One erases everything that came before; the other builds something new on a foundation that was always there, just waiting for the right moment to matter again.

[omniphilic]

WAIT MARK ACCIDENTALLY KNOCKING YOU UP???, (from the last bit of the other ask) I just got to know how that would play out because omg 😭😭😭

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀18+ content below / MDNI tw: pregnancy stuff, baby stuff, medical intervention (it's reader's choice), angst ig?? but also a little fluffy

You see, if you were the responsible, reasonable, rational individual you should have been, you wouldn’t have let this boy in your bed in the first damn place.

But you did. And at first, you had sense. As much as you can have granted, you are fucking around with your daughter’s boyfriend.

Rule number one: Condoms always. If he's not wrapping, he's not tapping.

Rule number two: He can't linger afterward for too long. He needs to be gone before Amber is even thinking about coming home, and if he's planning to spend time with her then he's not supposed to be thinking about you.

Rule number three: No kissing.

"What?" He said to you, the exasperation on him audacious. "What do you mean no kissing? That's like, the best part?" He's crawling atop you as if he's the kind of boy that breaks rules and you have to be firm, place your hand on his chest and give him the spray bottle.

"No Mark," you shake your head and the boy wilts. "It's too personal. I don't need you falling in love with me or some nonsense like that." It's already too late for that, but he doesn't correct you. "We're already," he gesticulates, finger-in-hole, "You know? That seems plenty personal to me already, so what's a little kiss?" He says with that lilt he does when he's trying to convince you, his finger tucked under your chin to lift. "C'mon," he goads, lips puckered as he leans into you. "Just humor me?" You're not laughing as you place a finger over his lips and push him back. "Aww... not even a little one?" You scoff.

"There are other lips you could be kissing right now." He shrugs in concession. "You right." And between your thighs he goes.

He always was great at wearing you down though, he got into your bed after all.

Mark Grayson breaks your rules because as it turns out he’s not a very good boy at all. He weakens your defenses—warming you up to the idea, he lies—undressing you, starting from the bottom and going up.

He hides orgasms behind paywalls, if you really want to cum as bad as you mewl, then you'll give him a kiss right? It's like a reward, he persuades, for all his hard work. If he’s making you feel sooo good, show him how good, as if your crossed eyes and his fucked up back don't speak for themselves. You want to rationalize it's just "whatever" when you two are tongue kissing on the bed; considering you've already fucked him, which now makes sense in a way it never had before. Your reservations turned to hoops and hurdles, mere obstacles in your race to completion. It doesn't help that Mark comes pre-equipped with justifications as well, ever eager to whittle your boundaries away with those soft brown puppy-dog eyes.

He starts being messy with his entrances and exits. He can start the day in Amber's arms but still somehow in your bed at night, holding you still as the post-orgasm exhaustion sets in, eyelids and limbs leadened, skin tacky with sweat and... other things.

So eventually, it makes sense that you stick your hand up when he pulls out the dreaded condom, waving it away.

"Just put it in, Mark."

And what kind of man would he be if he didn't oblige?

(Assuming you don't have your tubes tied.)

Arguably letting that boy into your bed was the dumbest decision you've ever made in your life. The second was letting him hit it raw. In most cases birth control would have all your bases covered. But this is not one such instance.

You don't know he's a Viltrumite. Which probably needn't be disclosed if you two maintained a more appropriate relationship with the other--but I digress.

You guys haven't seen each other since you've last had sex, and that was about... four weeks ago. Your birth control has been effective with other partners, so you didn't anticipate any issues. Couldn't have, in your stubborn mind, because it was easier to evade the guilt by not thinking about it; however, it is much harder to brush off when you feel that telltale rise of bile in your throat some early morning, a dizzying nausea gripping your stomach and pulling your heart down into it.

Clearblue, Pregnate and Nautilus all come out positive and by the end of it you're sitting on the toilet, wiping hysterical tears from the corners of your eyes as you're frantically flipping through contacts, trying to call Mark. You hesitate. Should you even? He's too young to be a father and he's still dating your daughter. Maybe it's better if he just doesn't know.

If You Tell Him, but you're not keeping it:

He's appalled, ecstatic and terrified all at once. He's fully prepared to commit to supporting you (in whatever ways he can) too, which is what concerned you the most. He doesn't have the time to spare to care for a kid, and you weren't exactly looking to give Amber a sibling at any point. So, you do the reasonable, actionable thing, and terminate the pregnancy.

Mark is devastated in a way he never expected to be. So are you, in a way. You wonder what could have been, almost, then dash the thought.

You're doing the smart, actionable thing. You tell yourself that whenever you feel your stomach turn, the hormones fogging up your reality, forcing tears to your eyes.

You probably stop seeing each other around that time. You realize sneaking around isn't worth the headache or heart attack. Mark is upset about it reflexively, but you drew your line in the sand, and he'd be one to respect that. If you don't tell him, you still break it off anyway.

You Get Pregnant and Keep It:

Maybe it's a bad case of baby fever that seduced you into your second bout with motherhood. Whatever the case may be, Amber is gonna have a baby sister soon! She's excited at first. Then grossed out. "...ewwwww, Mom..."

"Listen, you asked about my belly bump first. As far as I'm concerned, this TMI is all your fault."

Mark is just as frightened as he is aroused by the idea. He likes the way you look laid up and relaxed, how you're a little more helpless, crawling all over him for things. He thinks it's cute when you're needy.

You get really horny, too. It's really fun for you though, cause as bad of a boy that Mark Grayson is, he's at least a gentleman.

He'd visit more often, though his behavior/attitude towards the pregnancy changes depending on how he learns about it. Amber's attitude about little sibling changes depending on who the parent looks like.

What if you don't tell him, but the child looks like him completely? You had a hookup, and maybe it just sort of happened on accident. Or that's what you say, whether you're telling the truth or a lie is for you to know.

But you gave birth to a twin. From his cute brown eyes, to his nose, to the jet-black hair. They even have the same beauty marks. Amber keeps giving her odd looks in the crib. She seemed so familiar, but Amber could never quite place it.

But she's showing her off to whoever she can find, posts about it on her socials. Mark goes to see the baby in person as soon as he can and... he knows that's his kid.

It kind of makes him feel odd, like he's gone back in time and plopped himself in this crib. He feels like he should be panicking, sweating shaking, crying. But he just... holds her.

It's not going to be easy, but maybe not terrible? Of course, his relationship with Amber will end, your daughter is going up and it becomes an unignorable and uncanny resemblance.

Don't even mention when her powers start to come in.

She'd will put two and two together, eventually. Say goodbye to your daughter. Probably most of your friends?

But at least you have Mark, right? Whenever he's not saving the world, you guess.

But he really does love you <3 Though, I think it would be your mortality that saddens him. You're too soft, too sweet for his life. He'd just die if anyone got their hands on you.

Overprotective as shit as a partner, though. He's a sweet little golden retriever up until he sees someone eyeing you up and then he's just in go mode dude. Anybody who steps to him is getting thrown over the bar.

But,,, no Amber. Your daughter hates you. Forever. Would probably keep in contact with her sister, and eventually she's gonna know the truth of her birth. Who knows if she'll want to talk to you after?

But you made your bed, and Mark chose to lie in it.

[mw00nie]

extra credit

you first see him on a tuesday.

10 a.m. political science. long, cold, fluorescent-lit misery. you only took it because the professor was rumored to be easy. except, twist, he now isn’t, and your attendance is locked in for the semester. brutal.

you always sit in the back. fake typing on your laptop, tabs full of shit you’ll never afford, pretending you’re gonna relisten to the lectures on your phone. spoiler: you won’t.

so, naturally, you start people-watching. it becomes your sport.

guy in front of you sexting someone at 10 a.m. on a tuesday? disturbing. girl next to you writing color-coded notes on an ipad that costs more than your rent? pretentious. two girls giggling over tinder and ranking guys like they’re judging cattle at a state fair? iconic.

then you see him.

front row. every single class. white hair, slightly too long, messy like he cut it himself or forgot to. hoodie with a bleach stain on the sleeve. glasses he keeps pushing up with his middle finger. backpack covered in pins that look suspiciously like anime.

the kind of guy who probably owns a sword. the kind of guy who turns in essays early and apologizes for formatting mistakes. the kind of guy who definitely gets hard when girls yell at him.

you watch him answer a question once, voice so quiet, you can barely hear it from your seat, and it hits you like a truck:

this guy is such a loser. i want him in my bed immediately.

you don’t do anything about it at first. just move closer, row by row, like a predator slowly circling.

he doesn’t notice. he’s too busy actually doing the readings.

every class, he types with those long fingers, hunched over his laptop like he’s coding the next great american novel. he frowns when the professor gets something wrong. he wears wired headphones. wired, for god’s sake.

you can feel it building in you every time he pushes his glasses up. every time he mutters a “yeah, i think that’s actually covered in the assigned paper by—” before trailing off, embarrassed.

you want to climb into his lap and ruin his academic career. you want to know if he’s as nervous with his hands as he is with his voice. you want to see how red his ears can get.

three weeks in, you finally snap.

you catch him right after lecture, halfway to the vending machines, headphones still hanging around his neck. his fingers are tangled in his hoodie strings, backpack slung over one shoulder, like he barely remembered to exist outside of class.

he stops in his tracks when you say his name.

“satoru gojo, right?”

he blinks. once. twice. like you’ve just pulled the fire alarm in his brain.

“…yeah?”

he’s taller than you expected. awkwardly so. broad shoulders slouched like he’s trying to make himself smaller. glasses sliding down his nose. messy white hair that looks like he towel-dried it and called it a day. he smells faintly like clean laundry and caffeine. you hate how much that does to you.

you lean in a little. tilt your head. smile like you know something he doesn’t.

“you’re smart,” you say. “painfully. the kind of smart that corrects the professor mid-lecture and then apologizes for it.”

he flushes, stammers. “i– only if they’re, like, wrong? sometimes?”

adorable.

you step closer. just enough to watch his pupils blow out a little. he’s blinking at you like he’s buffering.

“i need help studying,” you say sweetly. “and you seem.. helpful.”

his mouth opens. closes. “uh– sure?”

“great.” you tilt your head. “library at seven?”

he nods, slow and stunned.

you smile wider. “and if you’re good,” you say, voice low enough to make him swallow, “i might let you kiss me.”

you don’t wait for a response. just turn and walk off, backpack slung lazily over your shoulder.

when you glance back, he’s still standing there. frozen, mouth slightly open, entire brain fried like a cheap motherboard.

you laugh to yourself.

this is going to be so much fun.

he shows up to the library that night. you weren’t sure he would. he seemed like the type to overthink it until he got hives. but there he is 6:57, laptop in hand, adorned in what looked like a bunch of different stickers. the etsy type.

“hey,” you say, flashing a smile as he slides into the seat next to you.

he nearly fumbles his bag off the table. “hey,” he replies, voice quiet. “so… what’re you stuck on?”

you don’t even bother pretending to know. just hand him your notes with a shrug and start watching him instead.

he’s so earnest. brows furrowed. lips pressed together. squinting at your writing like it personally offended him.

you’re supposed to be learning about political theory, but all you can think about is what his mouth would feel like on your neck. how red his ears would get if you sat in his lap right now and pulled on his hoodie strings.

by the end of the night, he’s explained two chapters, drawn a chart, and unconsciously flexed his hands at least a dozen times.

you lean back, stretch, and smile at him sweetly. “you’re a really good teacher.”

he turns a little pink. scratches the back of his neck.

“…thanks?”

“don’t thank me yet,” you murmur. “you’ve got office hours again tomorrow.”

he swallows.

you don’t kiss him. not yet. you let him walk home in a daze, probably questioning whether he imagined the whole thing.

you make him wait.

over the next two weeks, you meet him three more times.

once in the library, once at a coffee shop, and once after class in an empty study room.

every time, he gets a little bolder. not much. just enough for you to notice.

his knees brush yours under the table and he doesn’t pull back. he teases you when you mess up a definition. he looks you in the eye a little longer than he did before, until you’re the one who has to look away.

“you’re learning,” you hum one night.

he just shrugs, smirking softly.

“you said if i was good, i’d get to kiss you.”

his voice is low. deeper now. like he’s starting to realize he has some kind of effect on you.

you smile, sweet and lethal.

“maybe next time.”

you invite him over on a thursday night.

you claim it’s for a “final review session” before the quiz. you text him your address, and tell him to wear something comfortable.

he shows up in another hoodie and sweatpants. his glasses are clean for once. his hair still a mess, but in a way that almost looks intentional.

you pretend to study for fifteen minutes.

fifteen.

after that, you crawl into his lap, straddle his legs, and tilt his chin up.

“still wanna kiss me?”

he doesn’t answer. just leans in and kisses you like he’s been thinking about it for weeks.

and god, he’s so warm. so eager. he kisses like he means it, messy and deep, hands hovering just shy of your waist like he’s scared to hold on too tightly.

you grind down once and he chokes on a moan.

“shit– wait–”

you pull back and grin.

“don’t tell me this is your first time.”

he goes red, but his eyes are sharp now, glinting under the low light of your room.

“…why would you think that?”

you laugh, breathless. “because you’re a loser. you raise your hand in lectures. you wear anime pins. you fumble your phone when i look at you.”

“so?” he murmurs, licking into your mouth, voice rough. “i can still make you cum.”

you blink. stunned.

he grins, slow and devastating. glasses slipping again, hands sliding up your thighs.

“wanna bet?”

you don’t even make it five minutes into the “study” session before he’s got you pinned to the couch.

your laptop’s open on some political science quizlet. long forgotten.

your panties are shoved halfway down your thighs, hoodie thrown on the floor somewhere, one of his hands gripping your jaw while the other is buried deep inside you.

“what happened to all that attitude?” he mutters against your mouth, voice low, breath warm. “thought you said i was a loser.”

you gasp, try to buck your hips, but he holds you still. his fingers curl just right and your entire spine arches.

“fuck– satoru–”

“say it again,” he growls, licking into your mouth like he’s starving. “say i’m a loser.”

you whimper. “you’re– fuck, you’re not–”

“hmm?” his thumb circles your clit, lazy and cruel. “what was that?”

you choke on a moan. it’s disgusting how wet you are. slick dripping down his knuckles, pooling under your ass on the cushions.

he’s still got his glasses on. slightly fogged. his hair’s messier than usual, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. he looks deranged. brilliant. completely in control.

and all you want is more.

“please,” you breathe. “just– fuck me– please–”

he pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth like he’s tasting you.

“you ask so nicely,” he hums, grinning like the devil. “but i think you need a little warm-up first.”

you expect him to drop to his knees.

you don’t expect him to pull you by the hips and throw you over his face.

he lays back on the couch, one arm hooked under your thigh, and drags you down onto his mouth.

“oh– fuck–”

his tongue is obscene. messy. insistent. his nose brushes your clit every time he moves, and he groans like he’s the one getting off.

you’re gasping, grinding against his face, grabbing fistfuls of his hair like a girl possessed.

he pulls back once to breathe and licks his lips, eyes half-lidded, voice wrecked.

“sweetest i’ve ever had in my life,” he mutters. “could stay here all night.”

you cum on his tongue twice.

by the time he lets you down, your legs are jelly. your voice is half-gone. and he’s hard. painfully hard. under his sweatpants.

“c’mere,” he mutters, voice rough. “you owe me something.”

you drop to your knees without hesitation.

he’s thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, and way too big for the loser nerd image he gives off in class.

“god,” you whisper, wrapping a hand around it. “you’ve been hiding this from me?”

“was waiting for you to find out,” he says, pushing his glasses up, totally smug.

you stroke him slow, spit-slick and teasing, then lean in and drag your tongue up the underside.

his breath stutters. “f-fuck–”

you take him in deep, hollow your cheeks. he groans and grabs the back of your head.

“god, you’re good,” he mutters, hips twitching. “knew you’d suck cock like a slut.”

you whimper around him, moan at the taste, the weight, the way his thigh tenses under your hand.

he fucks your mouth slowly. not too deep, not yet.  just enough to make your eyes water.

when he pulls you off, you’re panting, spit dripping down your chin.

“get on the couch,” he says, voice dark. “hands and knees.”

you scramble up, bend over, and he groans.

“fuck– look at that.”

he presses himself up behind you, drags the head of his dick through your folds, and leans forward to whisper against your ear.

“you’re gonna let the virgin loser fuck you like this?” he murmurs, kissing your neck.

“yes,” you whine. “please– satoru, i need it–”

he thrusts in all at once.

you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

he’s so deep it makes your stomach flip, one hand digging into your hip while the other presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down.

he starts fucking you like he’s been waiting years. filthy, relentless, fast and hard and deep enough you can barely think.

“not such a brat now, huh?” he pants. “still think i’m just some nerd?”

you’re moaning, crying out, face smushed into a pillow as he hits your g-spot with every thrust like a bullseye

he leans down, wraps a hand around your throat, and groans when you clench around him.

“tight little pussy,” he mutters. “knew you’d be like this. couldn’t stop thinking about it. mmph– gonna ruin you–”

he pulls out and flips you over ignoring your whine of protest. pushes your legs up to your chest, and drills into you.

you cum again, shaking, sobbing into his mouth as he kisses you through it.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, sweat on his brow, pupils blown.

“you want it inside?” he grunts, hips stuttering. “want me to fill you up?”

“yesyes– fuck, please–”

“god, you’re filthy,” he groans. 

he cums hard. deep, slow thrusts, hips grinding into yours, breath hot against your throat as he empties inside you.

you’re both panting. ruined. bodies tangled on your shitty dorm couch.

he pulls out slow, watches his cum leak out of you, and smirks.

“extra credit,” he says, breathless. “you definitely passed.”

[izumiphoenix]

I apologize if this is an old post and not relevant anymore, but I happened to stumble upon it and wanted to respectfully share my opinion.

I’m approaching this purely from the game’s point of view, since, after all, that’s how Astarion’s story is told. I haven’t really seen interviews or developer commentary yet, and while I think they’re a great addition, I believe it’s also valid to form an opinion based only on what the game itself shows.

In BG3, we don’t know for certain what kind of person Astarion was before. Even he doesn’t fully remember that himself.

From what I understand, there are two main interpretations: one - that he was a corrupt magistrate who abused power and paid the price; the other one - that he was someone who genuinely cared about justice and crossed the path of a powerful figure.

Personally, I think it could be both or something in between. Astarion is one of the most complex and well-written characters I’ve seen, and trying to fit him into a black-and-white scale feels too narrow for his story.

I imagine he was young, still figuring out who he was, watching the world around him and trying to find his place. He wasn't perfect, he made mistakes. Maybe he was careless, maybe selfish at times, but I don’t think he was cruel, not intentionally. He probably didn’t consider the consequences of his choices and decisions well. And he probably believed he had a whole life ahead. Not a saint, not evil - just human.

When we meet Astarion, he has a lot of learned cruelty within him and a desperate determination to survive by any means. But he also has this softness, warmth and hope inside, too. He is intelligent, perceptive, and understanding. And he genuinely looks for connection. If Astarion chooses not to ascend, that part of him starts to really shine. And I don’t believe that came from nowhere. I believe it survived, all that time, just like him.

That’s why I don’t believe Cazador’s abuse taught Astarion morality - quite the opposite, actually. It taught him fear, cynicism, and the idea that power is all that matters. He said it himself: that he prayed to all gods he could remember, begging them to save him. And no hero ever came to his rescue. In one of the early dialogues, he plainly stated that it’s foolish to believe in good and bad - there is only what is good or bad for him. And power gives you the right to do whatever you want. This is what he was made to believe under centuries of Cazador’s “teaching”.

And the PC isn’t some moral savior either. They don’t fix him. What they offer him a safe space. A space to be seen, to breathe, to choose who he wants to be. And Astarion chooses to be better. Not for anyone else, but for himself. He chooses kindness, redemption and love over power and fear.

The idea from the follow-up post, that Tav should someday dig up old court records to confront him and “humble” him into reflection... honestly, that isn't helpful. Bringing up Astarion’s possible misdeeds - things he can't even fully remember from a life long gone - feels more like punishment, coming from a Tav who sees themselves as his moral superior. He has already been dehumanized and tortured for centuries, and after all that, he still chooses to break the cycle, to seek connection, to love and be kind. Digging up a past he can’t change, after he’s already made that choice, just sends the message that he will never be good enough. That he will always need to be “put in his place.” That’s not healing, that’s control. And I believe Astarion deserves more than that. He deserves a partner who doesn’t try to keep him on the right path, but simply walks with him. Because he isn't something broken to be fixed - he deserves respect, trust and space to continue becoming who he chooses to be, without someone constantly holding his past over his head as a reminder of who they think he really is.

To be honest, I think it's good that the creators didn't tell us in the game what kind of person Astarion was before Cazador, because his story is not about who he was, but who he wants to be. But I don't think we should dismiss him either. We may not fully know the man buried in that grave, but he is still part of who Astarion is now. Just like Ascended Astarion is still him, too - twisted, afraid, desperately clinging to control. This is painful to see, but it’s another possible path, and it deserves to be acknowledged.

Astarion is layered, messy and beautiful in his contradictions. He shines through his scars. He isn’t good or bad, he’s human. And I believe we love him because of who he is, not in spite of it.

There is a level of deep, bitterly poetic and cruel irony in Astarion's death and his eventual fate as a vampire spawn. Laughable, even. Lamentable.

Where do I even begin. I once posted here my thoughts on who Astarion was before Cazador took him; and all my thoughts were based on what we can assume to be canon from scraps on information in - game and interviews with Neil. That Astarion Ancunin who was laid into the ground at Baldur's Gate cementary was a corrupt magistrate, a shining example of power abuse, indulgence, hedony, existence in privilege without any service to the world around.

We also know for a fact that Astarion is not a good person in a moral sense. Again, Neil Newbon himself talked about it. He has capability to grow, mature, open himself up, soak in the positive influence and feel for others, but he never will be the default upstanding type. That is simply not at his core.

This is why (I am aware we're talking a fictional character, headcanon is free to all in whichever way they think it suits and pleases them) I cannot for the world believe in all the fanfiction based on the notion of the tragic, tortured soul unjustly attacked and turned into a vampire, because to me - it misses the entire depth and essence of Astarion's personality and arc. He was not a "worthy" persona before Cazador; in fact, the beating he got from the Gur was well - deserved and the near - death experience... Probably so as well. Maybe if anything, this would open his eyes and force him to reflect at least a bit on his choices in the position he was occupying. (But given that he mentions begging Cazador to turn him to be able to take revenge, I highly doubt that.) So yeah... The man got what was coming to him. He deserved it.

But what he got in the end once Cazador allowed him to drink his blood and had him in his hold? Two hundred years of misery and abuse beyond description, being completely stripped of any identity and personhood? No one deserves that. Such fate should not be thrust upon anyone. Ever.

It is the cruellest, most wicked twist of fate that it took that kind of ordeal to change a corrupt little elf's view of the world and force him to even acknowledge the existence of evil deeds and abuse of power - something I am quite sure he never gave any thought to before. It took being transformed into an utterly helpless victim to make him truly see that there is good and bad and perpetuating the bad leads to pain and misery for the innocents (and you can never be sure if not for you as well), and only then, at his most pathetic, most vulnerable, after centuries of torment, it took meeting, trusting, admiring, being grateful to, befriending / loving and being influenced by a genuinely good and kind person (probably the exact opposite of who he was before) to shake and cause some shift in his inner moral compass, or rather the way he was choosing to use it. The full circle, a poignant, unwilling journey from the one abusing power, to the enslaved puppet of someone with considerably more power abusing it in the most inhuman ways possible, and this time to his own woe, to the one person able to break the abusive cycle given the right influence.

Isn't that simply poetic in the most sickly sense? A tragicomedy, if you will.

Forget about Astarion Ancunin. The grave was good for lovemaking and sharing an important moment, but whoever was laid there was not anyone worthy of your time (just like "Ascended Astarion" )The one who stands by your side now is. Your Astarion. The new Astarion, the same "lovable rogue" with a taste for theatrics, drama, debauchery, beauty, murder mayhem and loose morality, but - a better person all the same.

[follow up post here

https://www.tumblr.com/glitteryinknotes/733162725841289216/a-little-follow-up-to-my-previous-post?source=share]

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Home Run Hearts

Pairing: Husband!Dad!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Mom!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky take your son to his afternoon baseball game and its a fun , joyful , beautiful summer day with nothing but love and giggles with your husband , kids and their uncle Steve!

Word Count: 3.1k ish

Warnings/Tags: FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFF kissing , flirting (Bucky and reader lol ) , cutie kids , featuring steve and his wife (he's best uncle ever) literally no real warning or tags

If I missed anything let me know!

Authors Note: hey!! i love love love this and its so cute (crying)!!!

My first series' second chapter comes out tomorrow and im estaticcccc!! if you want to have a read here it is >> Muscle Memory

More of my dad!bucky fics here

REQUESTS ALWAYS OPEN :33

The golden sun was already high and bright when you stirred waking up , the ivory curtains in yours and Bucky's bedroom glowing with the shows of a perfect , sunny summer day. 

You started blinking awake  , feeling the warm press of Bucky’s right arm snug around your waist , his breath slow and even against your mused hair.

He started to stir as you shifted , his bright blue eyes opening and a soft barely there smile pulling at his lips. 

“Mornin’ , sweetheart,” he murmured , voice still rough and hoarse with sleep.

“Good morning ,” you whispered back , pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw , nuzzling your face into his neck.

From down the hall , the sound of tiny little feet pattering across the wooden floor reached your ears , followed by your bedroom door slowly creaking open.

“Mommy! Daddy!” James Jr. or “JJ / J”  you called for shorts voice was chipper and excited , his brown bedhead hair sticking up in all different kinds of directions.

Bucky pushed himself up on one elbow , grinning at your guys son as he scrambled onto the bed. 

“Hey, bud. You ready for your big game today?” He said with a yawn.

JJ nodded furiously , his little hands clutching the front of Bucky’s grey sleep shirt. “I’m gonna hit the ball so hard , Daddy! And Uncle Steve said he's coming to watch!”

Bucky ruffled JJ’s hair , chuckling. 

“That’s right. You’re gonna do great out there today.”

You reached over with a smile , smoothing a hand down JJ’s back. 

“Let’s get you some game winning breakfast.”

A tiny giggle echoed from the doorway of the bedroom. Tiny Rebecca— or sometimes she insisted “Becs” , was clutching her favorite stuffed baby pink bunny, her chubby cheeks dimpled with delight seeing her family now up and awake.

She was still in her pink kitty print pajamas ,  her light brown hair was a soft mess of curls and strands stuck to and all around her face.

“Hi , baby,” you cooed ,  reaching out a hand to her.

Bucky swung his legs over the side of the bed and scooped her up in one strong grab , pressing a million kisses to her cheeks and face. 

“Morning, sunshine.”

She squealed and squirmed trying to get out of his hold but secretly loving it. She buried her face in his shoulder out of breath. 

“Daddy stop it,” she giggled.

“Okay , okay im done” He began to sit her down with a laugh.

He shot you a wink over her head , making your heart flip in your chest. 

Even after all these years , he was still your favorite sight in the world—strong and soft at once , his love for you and the kids shining in every move he made and every word he uttered.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖��╞══✿══

Breakfast was a loud blur of energy and laughter. You made scrambled eggs and toast , and Bucky poured coffee into two mugs , singing along to an old song playing on the radio.

“Daddy , that’s silly,” Becca said again as Bucky swung her gently around the kitchen on his hip, her laughter ,  out shining the sun outside.

“Hey , what’s so silly about me singing?” Bucky teased , tickling her sides until she squealed.

You caught his eyes , a warm glow in your chest. “I think she’s got a point,” you said with a wink.

He gave you a mock glare , then leaned over to kiss your temple as you dished out the eggs. “Traitor.”

You shrugged , smiling. “It’s hard to argue with the cutest two-year-old in the whole wide world.”

You walked to the table sitting down and sat to eat your own.

James Jr. was busy with his plate , chattering about how he was going to be the best hitter on the team today. “I’m gonna hit it to the moon , Mom!”

“I bet you will Jay,” you told him , leaning over to kiss the crown of his head. “But just remember to have fun , okay?”

JJ nodded , his face serious. “Fun. Aaaand winning baseball.”

That made you and Bucky both laugh.

After breakfast , you helped JJ change into his little uniform , Dodgers blue cap and all—and packed up the gear he needed. 

As Bucky was finishing washing the dishes from breakfast he heard your booming voice down the hall. 

“James Barnes ,  pick up your underwear in the bathroom!” 

He turned and looked at his son who was headed out the door. “Junior , I know that's not for me.” He said with a hand on his hip. 

James Jr. groaned and dropped his gear bag and went to find you “Coming Mom”

After everyone was changed and there was no more dirty clothes littering the floor you guys headed out the door.

Bucky loaded the lawn chairs , an ice chest full of snacks and drinks , and the kids’ sunscreen into the trunk of the car.

Becs watched from her spot in your arms , pointing at everything her Daddy was doing. “Daddy strong ,” she said solemnly , her eyes wide with wonder.

Bucky gave her a playful grin. “You think so , Becs? Gotta carry all this for my favorite people.”

She grinned , snuggling closer to you. “My daddy so strong”

You melted a little at that , resting your cheek against the top of her head.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

The short drive to the field was filled with music and lots of toddler giggles. 

JJ was already buzzing with energy , bouncing in his seat as you sang along to old rock songs. 

Bucky’s voice , slightly off-key but so full of joy—filled the car.

“Daddy’s singing is soooo silly,” Becs announced in the middle of a chorus.

Bucky’s hand slipped from the wheel to rest on your knee , his laughter was warm. 

“That's so, baby girl? You’re breaking your old man’s heart.”

JJ joined in. “No , Dad it's true , you do sing funny!”

You laughed , feeling the kind of happiness that only this exact moment could bring.

When you arrived at the field , the smell of fresh-cut grass and sunscreen greeted you immediately. 

Parents of the players were already setting up their chairs and blankets , little kids in blue and white jerseys running around with bats and gloves.

Bucky pulled the cooler from the trunk and slung the folded chairs over his shoulder , his biceps flexing under his blue tshirt as he did. 

JJ ran ahead of you , his tiny cleats clacking on the pavement. 

You shifted Becca on your hip , her warm weight comfortable as she watched everything with wide eyes , her brown hair bouncing with each step you took. 

“Hold on tight , sweetheart,” you murmured to her , and she nodded solemnly , her hand fisting in your hair softly twirling what she could grab.

Near the dugout , Steve was already there , wearing a baseball cap and a grin as bright as the sun. 

His wife Betty was at his side , waving as she spotted you.

“Hey there , Barnes family!” Steve called , his voice full of affection. He knelt down to JJ’s level. “You ready to knock it out of the park , slugger?”

JJ beamed. “I’m gonna hit it so far , Uncle Steve!”

“I bet you will Champ,” Steve said , ruffling JJ’s hair. “And we will all be right here to see it.”

The game was everything you could’ve hoped for—hours  of laughing , cheers , and the soft thud of baseballs meeting gloves and bats. 

JJ was a buzzing bundle of energy the entire time , his little feet dancing in the dirt as he waited for his turn at bat.

Bucky sat beside you , one arm around your shoulders , his eyes never leaving the field. 

“Look at him go,” he murmured, his voice soft and swelling with pride.

Becs was nestled in your lap eating up a bag of chips her dad opened up for her.

When she finished her head leaned back and rested on your chest. Every so often, she’d giggle and point at her brother. “Jay running , Mama!”

“He’s so fast,  isn’t he?” you whispered back , kissing her soft curls.

Steve and his Wife  were just a few feet away , cheering loud and proud. Steve’s laugh boomed every time JJ swung the bat , and Becs would giggle even harder at her funny uncle.

“Uncle Steve funny,” she said , echoing the same phrase she’d used describing Bucky that morning.

Steve winked at her. “You’re not wrong , sweetheart.”

By the last inning , JJ’s team was down by one. 

The bases were loaded , and James Jr. was up to bat. 

You could see the nerves in his little drawn up shoulders , the way he twisted the bat between his hands, a nervous tic you learned.

Bucky leaned in close to you , his breath against your ear. 

“He’s got this,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet confidence.

You nodded , with your heart in your throat as you bounced Becca on your lap , your legs bouncing with excitement and anxiety.

JJ looked over at you and Bucky , and you gave him a big thumbs-up , your smile wide and reassuring. 

He took a deep breath , squared his shoulders—and swung.

The crack of the bat echoed across the field , and the ball soared past the infielders , rolling into the outfield. 

JJ took off running , sprinting , his tiny legs pumping as the crowd erupted in cheers.

“Run , baby! Run!” you shouted , your voice ragged with excitement as you stood tossing Becca to Bucky.

Bucky was on his feet throwing his daughter on his shoulders in one swift movement. 

His fists in the air , and Becca clapping her hands , squealing with joy for her brother. “Go , Bubba Go!”

 Steve was whistling loud enough to be heard across the whole field , making some parents turn their heads.

JJ rounded third plate and slid into home , his face lit with triumph and pure joy. 

The umpire threw his arms wide calling , safe! And the game was over. JJ’s team had won. He won.

You ran out onto the field , Becs back on your hip  , as JJ’s teammates swarmed him in a messy and sweaty group hug. 

Bucky scooped  up his son in his arms ,  spinning him around as he laughed and clung to his dads shoulders.

“You did it, Jay!” Bucky said , his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so proud of you, buddy.” He placed a quick kiss on his son's mused hair.

JJ’s face was flushed red , his grin wide and toothy. “I did it, Daddy! I hit the ball so far!”

“You sure did,” Bucky said , pressing another kiss to his forehead. He turned to you , his eyes soft and shining. “Best day ever , huh?”

You nodded , your chest so full you felt like you might burst. “Best day ever,” you echoed , leaning forward and kissing JJ’s cheek and then on one of Bucky's  ,  meeting at his lips.

Becca tugged at your hair softly , her sleepy eyes wide with wonder. “Jay good!” she said firmly.

You laughed, nuzzling her nose. “He sure is , sweet girl.” 

After many congrats from the family and a teasing headlock from his Uncle Steve , JJ was worn through and through . 

The afternoon turned warm and golden as the kids and parents settled in for a little post-game picnic. 

You spread out a big red blanket on the grass , and Bucky set up the folding chairs while Steve helped his Wife unpack the sandwiches and snacks.

Bucky cracked open the ice chest , passing out bottles of water and juice. “Alright , team,” he said with a grin. “Let’s eat!”

JJ flopped down beside you , his cheeks still pink from the game. 

“I’m so hungry, Mommy.” his head now in your lap.

“I bet you are , sweetheart ,” you said laughing , handing him a juice box. ”You did so good today Jay”

Becca nestled closer against your other side , her tiny hand tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Can have juice, Mama?”

You passed her a juice box , brushing a kiss to her temple. “Here you go, baby.”

Bucky sat beside you , his long legs stretched out in the sun , one hand resting on your leg the other bracing his body upright. 

He handed you a sandwich wrapped in foil , his eyes warm and tender. “Here you go, doll.”

“Thanks , Buck,” you said, unwrapping it and taking a grateful bite.

Steve, ever the uncle who never grew up , made goofy faces at Becs until she squealed with laughter , her little hand clapping against his shoulder. 

“Uncle Steve stop it , can't breathe ,” she declared again,  giggling so hard she nearly toppled over.

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m the fun uncle,” Steve said with a wink.

As everyone ate , you leaned back against Bucky’s chest , feeling the solid warmth of him on your back. He rested his chin on your shoulder , his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm.

“Look at them ,” he murmured , his voice soft. JJ was leaning back against the cooler , munching on a sandwich and still wearing his dusty baseball outfit, his eyes heavy lidded. And Becs was curled up in his lap , her sticky fingers holding a half eaten cookie.

“They’re happy,” you whispered back , turning your face slightly so your nose brushed his cheek. “I don’t think life gets any better than this.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple , his voice sweet with the scent of mint. “I know exactly what you mean.”

You could hear the low hum of the other families around you , the distant crack of another bat hitting a ball practicing , and the soft rustle of the breeze in the trees nearby.

It felt like the world had slowed down just for a moment , wrapping you and your family in a perfect bubble of summer light and perfect joy.

After everyone had eaten and bellies were full , JJ wanted to play catch with his dad and uncle before leaving. 

You watched as Bucky tossed him an easy underarm ,  his big hands ever so gentle as he guided JJ’s little glove. 

Steve joined in too after a while , making a show of nearly missing every throw until it had JJ shrieking with laughter. 

Becs was passed out in your arms , her head resting on your shoulder as murmured sleepy things and on and off watched the boys play. “Daddy loves Jay”

“He sure does ,” you whispered , kissing her soft curls. “He's the best daddy in the world and loves you so so much.”

Bucky caught your eye from across the field , seeing Becca asleep , his grin lit up his whole face. 

He winked mouthing “Love you”

You mouthed it right back , feeling the truth of it deep in your soul.

As the sun started to dip lower in the sky , everyone began packing up. 

Bucky slung the ice chest back over his shoulder , his other hand resting protectively on JJ’s back leading him to the car. 

Steve and Betty helped fold up the lawn chairs , while you rocked Becca gently in your arms. 

“Did you have fun today, baby?” you asked her softly, and she nodded , her thumb in her mouth.

“Jay play,” she said, her little voice full of sleepy wonder. “Daddy strong. Mommy soft.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “That’s right , baby. Daddy’s strong and Mommy’s soft.” Laughing , snuggling her closer.

The car ride home was peaceful and quiet. 

The radio played softly ,  Bucky humming , his hand on your thigh rubbing soothing motions absentmindedly ,  thumb tracing soft circles. 

And every now and then he’d glance over at you with that look that still made your heart race and check in the mirror seeing his babies sleeping and safe.

Becs stayed asleep the full ride home , her head on your shoulder and her soft breath tickling your neck as you scooped her out of the car seat. 

JJ woke with drowsy murmurs , his words slurring as his eyes remained heavy.

“Best day ever,” he mumbled, his head bobbing.

“You’re right, buddy,” Bucky said, his voice low and warm. “The best.” as he pulled him into his arms.

Inside , you carried Becs straight to her room , laying her down in her pink princess bed. She stirred just enough to murmur something you couldn't quite make out before she drifted off fully again.

You padded barefoot to find Bucky who was in JJ's room , helping him change out into his favorite dinosaur pajamas after his quick shower. 

JJ’s head drooped as he leaned against Bucky’s shoulder, his little body worn out from the day , as Bucky helped him step his feet into the pant holes.

“Daddy?” JJ asked sleepily , looking up , now fully dressed. “You think I can be in the big leagues one day?”

Bucky tucked him into bed , brushing back his hair. “I think you can do anything you want , Jay. And me and mama and Becca will all be right there with you cheering you on.”

JJ smiled , his eyes already half-closed again . “You’re the best, Daddy.”

Bucky’s eyes met yours over JJ’s head seeing you leaned against the door frame , soft and shining a little glassy from his son's words. “Right back atcha , kiddo.”

When you and Bucky finally made it to your own room , you both showered all the dirt and fun from the day off till you were both squeaky clean. 

Laying in bed , in soft pajamas and tired limbs he pulled you into his arms , his lips brushing your forehead.

“Thank you for today,” he said softly, his eyes full of love. “You make everything feel like it's the best thing in the whole world.”

Your heart melted at that. “I think we all did that together.”

He leaned in and kissed your lips softly , lingering just long enough to make your stomach flutter. “Still,” he murmured against your lips pulling away, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

“And you’re the absolute best mother to our kids and partner to have alongside me.” he said softly , his voice thick with love and slowly falling into sleep..

You wrapped your arms around his waist , resting your head on his chest. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Barnes.”

He laughed, the sound low and sweet, and kissed you again. “Here’s to more days like today.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and sinking into the warmth of him. “Here’s to-” murmuring falling asleep through your sentence.

Outside the window , the last light of the summer sun faded completely into that dusky pink purple glow. And inside , everything was right and safe and full of love—exactly how it was meant to be.

-end

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They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[nialovessatoru]

thinking about academic rival gojo satoru who was mesmerised from the first time he saw you and grew even more infatuated with you as he realized how smart you were.

you didn’t engage much with other people, didn’t care for gossip or drama, never laughed at his jokes in class

only once, you called him a “pretentious mess” under your breath. you didn’t even stick around to see him splutter.

and god, he was obsessed.

he very quickly and harshly had to face how one-sided his infatuation was.

it was a stupid attempt at flirtation, something he didn’t spend too much thought on, because if he did, he would’ve overthought it and never said it.

on second thought, maybe that would’ve been better.

he leaned against the door of the classroom as you were about to leave, with a stupidly cocky grin that concealed his nerves effortlessly as he said something like,

“you know, it’s kind of hot when you get all snarky while explaining”

you blinked.

and blinked again.

then let out a harsh scoff.

“don’t you have somewhere to be, gojo?”

then you brushed past him without a second glance.

from your perspective, it cemented what you already assumed; gojo satoru was a cocky, smug asshole who only talked to you to get under your skin.

so that’s what you let yourself believe.

you became more competitive, tried to get better grades than him on everything and got infuriated when that resulted in the both of you becoming top of the class, equal in academic achievements.

at first, gojo didn’t understand why you always seemed so agitated when he scored better than you. he studied hard to impress you.

but you weren’t.

he entertained the rivalry regardless, seeing it as a game, something to bring you two closer in its own way.

when it finally clicked and he realized that you must’ve taken it as him seriously trying to defeat you, he decided to try again.

he approached you when you were sitting alone in the cafeteria, asked if you wanted to get coffee, real soft, real genuine.

and you just stared at him.

“what?”, he’d chuckled, awkwardly. “coffee. with me. it’s not poisoned, promise.”

your eyes narrowed at him, tone sarcastic.

“oh wow, you must really have too much time. and a great sense of humor too.”

he stilled.

“…what?”

“look, if this is some weird prank or pity thing, save it.”

and you grabbed your bag and walked away. again.

and for a moment, gojo just stood there, stunned.

he didn’t realize you thought he was that much of an asshole. that you took his efforts and the rivalry he assumed to be a friendly competition so negatively.

he didn’t know how to tell you he thought of you more than he should.

that he noticed the way you clicked your pen and poked out your lower lip whenever you were thinking.

the way your handwriting would get messier and slanted more towards the left, when you suddenly came up with something.

that the day you won against him in the debate and that the hint of pride you showed when you countered his claims never left his head.

something in his chest ached at being rejected this way but it ached even more at the realisation that you truly disliked him.

and okay, maybe he deserved your cold shoulder because he was entirely too cocky that one day and made a comment that clearly struck you the wrong way, which he never tried to fix.

but he will from now on.

god, he will.

he swears he’ll show you his true self. not your rival. not the popular prick who charmed girls left and right.

but the satoru whose heart felt like it was struck by cupids arrow from the first time he observed you from his desk on the other side in class.

he’d try.

try hard to make you see him for real.

because he needed you to know that side of him that wanted nothing more than your recognition.

the side of him that had fallen so hopelessly and deeply in love with you.

—————————-

a/n: my fingers are itching to write a full fic about this because oh my god, i need him bad.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Sweet Punishment for a Little Lie (Kicho)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Story Summary: Just before Kicho is set to leave the trading post for a few days on business, you catch a cold. Not wanting to worry him, you hide your condition and act like everything is normal—but there’s no way a lie like that could fool him.

It was already evening by the time I finally wrapped up what I was doing.

Mai: "All done! Gotta say it turned out pretty nice."

I held up the vest I'd made and admired it.

(I wonder if Kicho will be happy when he sees it.)

He has a business meeting and a party with a foreign merchant tomorrow.

Since he'll be showing the newcomer around town, he'll be away from the trading post for a few days.

The vest I made is for him to wear to that party.

(I want to show it to him right now! I wonder how he'll react.)

I stood up, vest in hand, my heart fluttering just thinking about the smile on his face.

[Kicho's Room]

Kicho: "Oh? Impressive. It's quite stylish."

Seeing his face light up as he looked at the vest made me smile.

(I'm so glad he likes it!)

Mai: "I'm happy it suits your taste."

Kicho: "Yeah, I really like it."

Kicho: "And as always, it's beautifully made."

Kicho: "You must've put a lot of work into this. Thank you."

Mai: "Not at all. I really enjoyed making it."

Kicho: "I'll wear it to the party tomorrow night."

Mai: "Great. I hope you have a wonderful time."

Kicho: "If it were up to me, I would've brought you with me."

Kicho: "But the merchant I'm meeting tomorrow is like the Tiger of Kai."

Kicho: "He flirts with any woman he sees, no matter when or where. I can't put you in a situation like that. I'm sorry."

His long fingers reached out and gently caressed my cheek with a tenderness that made my heart flutter.

(So that's why he couldn't take me.)

Mai: "Don't worry about me. Just focus on your work and do your best."

Kicho: "Of course I'm going to worry. I'll be away from you for several days, after all."

Kicho: "When I get back, let's spend some time together."

Kicho: "Will you wait for me until then?"

(I'll miss him too, but being cherished like this makes me really happy.)

Feeling warm and full inside, I gave a firm nod.

Mai: "Yes, of course."

Mai: "Ah—were you still working? Sorry for barging in. I'll head back to my room now."

Kicho: "Sorry I couldn't give you more of my time."

Mai: "It's okay. Good night."

I stepped out of Kicho's room, still a little reluctant to leave.

Mai: "Achoo!"

I sneezed, and a shiver ran through me.

(I feel kind of cold, and my throat's a little scratchy.)

(Could I be coming down with something?)

A bad feeling crept over me as I rubbed my arms.

(I should bundle up and get to bed early tonight.)

Hugging myself to keep warm, I hurried back to my room.

The next morning…

Kicho: "You didn't have to get up this early just to see me off."

Mai: "It's fine. I wanted to send you off myself."

Together with his subordinates and a few maids, I stood in front of the trading post to see Kicho off.

I straightened my posture and put on a smile.

Mai: "There's a party tonight, right? I know it's work, but I hope you enjoy it."

Kicho: "What I'm really looking forward to is wearing the vest you made me."

Kicho: "I'll be back as soon as the negotiations are done."

Mai: "Don't push yourself too hard, okay?"

Kicho: "I'm not pushing myself. I just want to see you as soon as I can."

The way he looked at me—so full of tenderness—made my heart race.

(It makes me so happy to hear him say that.)

Mai: "Hehe, thank you."

Mai: "I'll be waiting, so please take care during your trip."

Kicho: "Yeah."

Kicho: ".........."

His expression suddenly turned serious, and he stared at me.

Mai: "Is something wrong?"

Kicho: "Mai, you don't look okay. Your complexion seems a bit off."

Mai: "Huh?"

(That… hit a little too close.)

Kicho: "Don't tell me—you're not feeling well?"

(H-He's sharp. I thought I was hiding it well.)

The truth was, even though I went to bed early last night, I still ended up getting sick.

(There's been a cold going around, and one of the maids helping me caught a fever. I probably caught it from her.)

(But I can't let Kicho worry about me, especially when he has such important things to handle.)

(It's just a cold. With some rest, I'll be fine in no time.)

I forced a smile and subtly stepped back, putting some distance between us so he wouldn't catch it from me.

Mai: "It's nothing, really."

Kicho: "Are you sure?"

Mai: "Yes. Don't worry, I'm fine."

Kicho: "………"

Kicho's subordinate: "Lord Kicho, it's almost time."

Kicho: "Got it. I'll be heading out now."

Kicho: "Mai."

He stepped closer and gently brushed a strand of hair from my face.

Kicho: "If anything happens, call me immediately. Got it?"

Mai: "Okay."

(Good. I think I kept him from noticing.)

Mai: "Well then, safe travels."

Kicho: "I'll be back soon."

I smiled and waved as he mounted his white horse and rode off.

[Mai's Room]

Mai: "Haaah…"

(My head's pounding, and I feel so sluggish I can barely move.)

As expected, I started feeling worse and ended up stuck in bed.

(I need to sleep this off and recover before Kicho comes home. If I remember correctly, the maid got better in just a couple of days.)

Wanting to welcome him back with a smile, I closed my eyes, trying to give my body as much rest as I could.

(He's probably already there by now.)

(I wonder if the negotiations have already started.)

Even with my head foggy from the fever, all I could think about was him.

(I hope I didn't pass it on to him. I'm just glad I saw him off before I got too sick.)

(If I'd collapsed before he left, he might've canceled the whole trip.)

Mai: ".........."

Just then, a cold chill swept through me, making my body shiver.

A wave of loneliness and unease swelled in my chest, making me yearn for the comfort of someone I loved.

(I want to see him.)

(If only I could see him—even just in a dream.)

Longing for him, I slowly drifted off to sleep.

(Hmm?)

Something cold brushed against me and jolted me awake.

Kicho: "You're awake?"

Mai: "Huh?"

The moment I opened my eyes, the person I'd been yearning to see stood right there in front of me, making me blink in disbelief.

Mai: "Kicho…?"

Kicho: "I'm back, Mai."

It wasn't a dream.

He was really there, looking at me.

Mai: "Why are you here?"

Mai: "What about the negotiations? Wait—did two whole days really pass while I was asleep?"

Mai: "This isn't a dream, is it?"

My feverish, foggy brain couldn't make sense of anything, and the questions just kept spilling out.

Kicho: "It's not a dream. This is real. And it's only been half a day since I left."

Kicho: "I had a bad feeling something was wrong with you when I left, and it looks like I was right."

Mai: "Ah…"

His large hand gently touched my cheek with concern.

Kicho: "I'm glad I came back. I didn't think your fever would be this high."

His cool touch felt so soothing against my feverish skin that my foggy mind began to clear.

(He came back because he was worried about me.)

(I tried so hard to hide it so I wouldn't be a burden, and he still saw right through me.)

Mai: "Um, then, what about the negotiations?"

The fear that I might have ruined everything for him suddenly gripped my chest.

Sensing my anxiety, he looked me straight in the eyes. His gaze softened, calm and reassuring.

Kicho: "If that's what you're worried about… don't be."

Kicho: "I've known this business partner for a while. Something like this wouldn't be enough to mess up a deal."

Kicho: "I explained the situation—told him I couldn't make it to the party and asked to reschedule the town tour. When I said I needed to head back early, he actually encouraged me and told me I should be by your side."

Mai: "Huh? He said that?"

Kicho: "Yeah. He might be a flirt, but he's considerate when it comes to women."

Kicho: "I told you—he flirts with every woman he sees, remember?"

(Right, that's why he said he couldn't bring me along.)

Mai: "Well, I'm glad it didn't cause any trouble."

I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

(Still, we were just lucky this time.)

(If he'd been stricter or less understanding, this could've ended really badly.)

Even though the deal didn't fall through, I still made him postpone his negotiations.

Ashamed I hadn't even taken care of my own health, I lowered my gaze.

Mai: "Still, I made you worry and made you come back."

Kicho: "Sick people don't need to apologize. Just focus on getting better."

He sounded like he was scolding me, but the tenderness in his voice and eyes made my heart skip a beat.

Kicho: "Even if you'd hidden it perfectly this morning, once you collapsed in your room, one of my men would've told me. I would've come back either way."

Kicho: "So don't go blaming yourself for not hiding it better."

Kicho: "If anything, I should be thinking of a little punishment for keeping secrets from me."

He flashed me a smile, and my heart skipped a beat.

Mai: "P–Punishment?"

Kicho: "You told a lie. You should at least expect that much."

Mai: "R-Right…"

(He's right. I did lie. I can't argue with that.)

(But what kind of punishment does he mean?)

Just thinking about it made me feel uneasy.

When I glanced up at him, trying to read his expression, he only smiled.

Kicho: "Well, that can wait until you're feeling better."

Kicho: "For now, stop worrying and rest."

He gently patted my head, his touch light and reassuring.

Kicho: "I'll stay here until you fall asleep."

Kicho: "So close your eyes and relax."

(Ah…)

He softly stroked my hair, and all the tension in my heart melted away.

(His hands are so warm.)

Wrapped in the comfort of his touch, I closed my eyes and slipped into another dream.

The next day…

Mai: "Um, you really don't have to go this far."

I said awkwardly, hugging my sleepwear around me to cover myself as best I could.

Kicho: "That's enough. Just stay still for a moment."

Kicho: "I'm going to touch you now."

Mai: "........."

He gently wiped the sweat from my back with a warm, damp cloth.

Kicho: "Is it too hot?"

Mai: "No. It's warm, and it feels nice."

Mai: "But I can wipe myself and get changed on my own, you know?"

Kicho: "You've got a fever. Times like this, it's okay to let someone take care of you."

Kicho: "Besides, it's not like you can even reach your back."

Since he got back yesterday, Kicho hasn't left my side. He's been looking after me with such gentle, devoted care.

After helping me clean up and get changed, he eased me back into bed.

Mai: "Thank you."

Kicho: "Are you thirsty?"

Mai: "I'm fine."

Kicho: "I see. I'll bring some rice porridge in a bit."

(He's taking such good care of me. I really am grateful. But...)

Mai: "Um, aren't you falling behind on your work? I'll be fine on my own. Maybe one of the maids could—"

Kicho: "This is something I want to do."

Kicho: "And I don't want anyone else seeing you vulnerable like this."

Kicho: "I've rarely had the chance to look after someone before. That's why getting to nurse the one I love and being allowed to stay by your side like this means everything to me."

His eyes softened as he looked at me. That warm, deep gaze made my chest tighten with emotion.

(He said taking care of me makes him happy.)

As I gripped the blanket tightly, his hand gently rested on my forehead. He leaned in, peering into my face.

Kicho: "Your cheeks are flushed. Did your fever go up again?"

Mai: "It's your fault."

Kicho: "Mine?"

He looked at me, confused.

Embarrassed, I pulled the blanket over my face.

Mai: "I-I'm happy you're the one taking care of me."

Kicho: "Is that so? Then I'm glad."

He smiled and stroked my head.

(His hand feels so nice.)

I guided his hand to my cheek and nuzzled into it like a cat.

Kicho: "Don't look at me like that while doing something so cute."

(Cute?)

I blushed, and he chuckled knowingly.

Kicho: "If that's what you want, I'll keep doing it as much as you like."

Mai: "Ah."

He slowly brushed his palm across my cheek, and I instinctively leaned into it.

(It's so comforting.)

(And his scent—even faint—is unmistakably him, warm and familiar.)

Mai: "Kicho…"

Kicho: "Hmm?"

Mai: "Once I'm feeling better… I want to thank you."

Mai: "So... can you think of something you'd like me to do for you?"

Kicho: "I don't need thanks. Like I said… there's a punishment waiting."

Kicho: "To make sure you never try to hide something from me again."

His sultry tone was followed by a sweet kiss pressed to my forehead.

(There he goes again.)

(But if it's a punishment from him...)

Just imagining it made my heart race, and I turned away, flustered.

Kicho: "Were you imagining what kind of punishment I might give you?"

Mai: "Well, yes…"

Kicho: "Right now, you just need to focus on getting better. Go back to sleep."

Mai: "Okay."

His fingers brushed against me with such tenderness, it tickled my skin in the most comforting way. And that warmth lulled me back to sleep.

Over the next few days, he never left my side—showering me with a kind of devotion I never imagined I'd experience.

Part 1 ╎ Premium ╎ Epilogue

[timeagainreviews]

The Ratings War

It’s nice that the BBC screened the season two finale in theatres. Now I’ll be able to say, “I remember where I was during the last episode of Doctor Who.” Granted, I’ll be a brain in a jar by then and “The War Between the Land and the Sea” will be celebrating its 50th anniversary. Doctor Who will be mentioned in the retrospective documentary as a springboard for the show. A mere footnote in its illustrious history that only the die-hard TWBTLATS fans will sit through. Fans will speculate which Russell Tovey was the best Russell Tovey. I’ll prefer the Twelfth Russell Tovey while the brain next to me, oddly enough, will be a big War Russell Tovey fan. But that’s the future, and this is now. Right now, we still hold out hope that the show will continue. We can't know the future. We don’t know yet about the BBC’s last futile attempt to collect TV licenses through bounty hunters. We haven’t seen the Disney AI eat Russell T Davies at what is supposed to be a productive lunch meeting, swallowed whole like the Rani.

I joke, but one feeling I am struck with after this episode is that aspects of it were not planned. This did not feel like Ncuti’s intended departure. It feels a lot like Disney said, “Film a version where he regenerates and one where he doesn’t.” The ratings were the deciding factor as to which version aired. I’m not just speaking out of pocket here, there are real rumours and even photos of this other version. What that says to me is that nobody truly believed in the central concept. Couple this with yet another bit of stunt casting from the first Davies era, and it all begins to feel like a stop-gap. If you lean on nostalgia with no clear plan, you’ve got yourself a Star Wars problem. And these days, if you’ve got yourself a Star Wars problem, you’ve got yourself a Disney problem.

You may wonder why I say there was no clear plan, but did you also just watch a season of Doctor Who mimic the previous season? Both seasons start with a kitchy space-romp. Both seasons depict a mysterious older woman disguised as different people. I spoke in my review of “Lux” about its striking similarity to “The Devil’s Chord.” “Lucky Day” was a spiritual sequel to “73 Yards,” where a vaguely intriguing folk-horror is reduced to a less interesting political thriller about toxic masculinity. There’s the Doctor-lite episode. And then the second-to-last episode introduces us to a great evil with their names in big blocky text. Both finales include a caricature of a more talky villain with a giant CGI body. Oh, and we mustn’t waste the UNIT set. So if they planned to develop a formula and do that forever, then I retract my statement. That isn’t to say this season has been bad. In fact, I’ve enjoyed a lot of it. If they’re going to do the same thing twice, at least they did it better this time.

Usually, I would spend more time breaking down the plot of the story, but if you want my review of the plot, go back and read my review for “The Empire of Death.” Oh, that Davies, he got us again, the rascal! He made us care about a big, bad guy only to have it boil down to a mundane story about the people involved. In this case, it’s an imaginary baby named Poppy about whom we do not care. Last year, it was Ruby’s birth mother, about whom we do not care. But underwhelming finales are kind of Russell’s thing. They always seem to disappoint somehow, which I think I’ve figured out. Davies has always been far better at character development than plot. Back before the show had to meet the expectations of Disney executives, it might have been ok to eek out a more intimate finale. But now we need to see the production value on screen. You need to go big and bombastic, which puts Davies' skill sets at odds. Ruby Sunday had such a great character arc this season, while the Rani gets eaten by a big skull monster. 

While we’re on the topic, I’d just like to say that Archie Panjabi absolutely killed it. She doesn’t play the Rani like a mad woman, and yet there is intensity in her eyes. You can feel the contempt oozing out of every pore. Her performance only got better with a third episode. Even Mel’s description of the Rani supports my belief that Davies really understands the character. She’s not another Missy. The portrayal of the character is in no way a betrayal of the character. Which is why her abrupt and stupid ending was such a misfire. I’m struggling to understand Davies’ decision to end the storyline in such a lacklustre manner. What I don’t understand is how that felt like the interesting thing for him to do. He said in an interview prior to the episode that “The Reality War” was going to shake up Gallifreyan lore. Considering this, wouldn’t it have been more interesting had the Rani’s plan actually worked?

Losing Archie’s Rani so senselessly was a bit of a gut punch. I felt like the dad from “Walk Hard,” when he kept saying, “The wrong kid died!” But when you think about it, at least we got to see this Rani strut her stuff. We hardly got to know Mrs Flood outside of spooky quips to the camera. Having her be the one to survive means we get to see more of what Anita Dobson can bring to the character outside of her mystery woman status. Sadly, there is no chance of seeing the Rani’s TARDIS. I don’t know why the show seems to think they need to maintain the pretence of the Doctor’s TARDIS being the last in existence. Not just because it isn’t, but because it’s not really that important that it remains the last of its kind. Part of what makes the Master and the Rani fearsome is that they possess the same power and intellect as the Doctor. Some have said that Clara and Ashildr’s TARDIS or Fourteen's TARDIS existing contradicts the storyline. But rule number one- the Doctor lies. Why would you tell someone like the Rani where to find a TARDIS?

I never expected Omega to be a satisfying payoff. The story was already overwrought with Conrad, two Ranis, and a Poppy mucking about. Trying to introduce Omega in a single episode, which also captures his pathos and wrath, is a tall order. He was doomed to be a big, dumb monster, swiping at people and easily destroyed. Had they taken their time, he could have had interesting dialogue. They could have brought back Peter Davison in a shock cameo as Omega. Doctor Who loves bringing actors back as different characters. He could have stayed on playing the badger for years, and his gruff old man voice would have only added to his performance. But even if they weren’t going to bring Omega back in a substantial way, they could have gone one further and found him dead. I mentioned last week that using his body to rebuild Gallifrey is like something from Norse mythology. I stand by that. The point is, people are complaining that Omega and Sutekh were CGI slop, but I think it’s deeper than that. Pixar has proven you can get real emotion out of CGI. It’s not the CGI that’s slop, it’s the writing.

Can you imagine the cliffhanger we could have had? Not one based in sensationalism and stunt-casting, but one based in narrative. The two Ranis restore Gallifrey as its bickering Queens. The might of the Time Lords bolstering the power of the universe’s most terrifying scientist. The Doctor wins by saving the world, but loses by gaining a greater and very powerful enemy. It writes itself if you’re not trying to put a swift end to things before they even flourish. But this is perhaps where the RTD2 era has struggled the most. There is almost a surplus of ideas bashing about. It reminds me of the Rocko’s Modern Life episode “Skid Marks,” where Rocko is repeatedly warned not to get the “fat guy” by increasingly fatter characters. Only in this case, the “fat guy” in question is “The Boss.” By this point, we’ve had a pantheon of characters who could be described as “The Boss.” It’s Trenzalore all over again, in that by the time the Boss finally appears, will anyone care?

Of the trinity of villains, the one with perhaps the most surprising ending is Conrad. I expected the Rani to double-cross him and feed him to Omega herself. After all, according to her, humans are cattle compared to a Time Lord. Which is a weird observation from a person who has implied on several occasions to be a vegetarian. One aspect of Conrad’s ending that I found a bit odd was Ruby referring to his reality as “nice.” I get what she’s trying to say, in that he could have been Andrew Tate, but just wanted people to be happy. But we also get a scene where Rose comes back into existence because Conrad couldn’t imagine a world with her in it. Alright, Ruby, I guess fuck your friend Trudy. But that just feeds into what has been a spike in weird Doctor Who optics. All of that aside, I think it’s nice that Ruby showed compassion to Conrad. Kicking him in the balls would have felt good, but watching Ruby come into her own as a person was far more gratifying. Millie Gibson absolutely shone this season, and I am more than happy to eat a little humble pie in saying so.

In “Wish World,” we were given hope for a bit of espionage with Shirley’s UNIT tablet. But that whole storyline sort of went bust, as I somewhat called it. Instead of Shirley and her group of freedom fighters locking onto Conrad, she and the other UNIT operatives are called back to HQ via subdermal tracking devices. That’s a little more than weird, but we’re gonna ignore it. With that storyline abandoned, the truncated Omega climax, and the Doctor’s surprise regeneration, I have to wonder if anything went according to plan. Not only have you denied Omega fans a payoff, but also the disabled members of the audience were denied their big moment. On top of abandoned storylines, this era feels like a victim of its own hype. Because Davies wants people talking about Doctor Who, he’s been leaving a trail of bread crumbs and red herrings in his wake. The problem with this is that fans often have more interesting ideas than what he had in store. Maybe the Bone Palace is Omega’s body. What if they’re in the land of fiction and Anita Dobson’s casting is a secretly brilliant way to make “Dimensions in Time” and its EastEnders crossover more relevant? We had so many theories. This type of speculation can only lead to disappointment.

UNIT is able to reassert itself back into reality through the Doctor, with a little help from Anita Benn and the Time Hotel. What’s funny is that if you pay attention to the bone balcony from the end of “Wish World,” you’ll spot the outline of the doorway Anita opens to save the Doctor. Had I not rewatched “Wish World” at the cinema, I doubt I would have caught it. I knew we would see Anita again, but I didn’t know how. I thought this was a great use of her character. It was nice to see what she’s been up to and how being the manager at the Time Hotel has changed her perspective. Even if she hadn’t been pregnant, I think they could have gotten away with her only being there to hold the doors to the hotel open. Her constant reminders that she “just works in hospitality” were giving serious “Harriet Jones, Prime Minister,” energy. What’s confusing is her mentioning of the Boss. The last time we heard of the Boss was from the Meep. The Meep is pure psychedelic sunsoaked evil, while Anita seems perfectly nice. I have a hard time believing she felt so spurned by the Doctor and Rogue’s dance as to turn evil. So, is the Boss evil or is Anita just working for an evil person? It’s not very far-fetched to believe that someone who calls themselves the Boss and runs a hotel could be evil. Either way, Anita wields the powerful force of the Time Hotel with responsibility.

Possibly the most thrilling aspect of the episode was when UNIT HQ became the HMS Warspite. Perhaps they were getting the memo that UNIT was looking a bit like the Avengers tower, so they spiced it up a bit. Let's see you do that one, Stark! I used to go to a rotating restaurant in Kansas City called Skies. It sat atop the infamous Hyatt Regency building and gave a beautiful panorama of the city. I used to think a bottle of Boulevard Beer and that skyline were a slice of heaven. But now, thanks to Russell T Davies, my memories are sullied by the absence of Gatling lasers. It felt ironic to give UNIT a battleship upgrade when you consider the upcoming war between the land and the sea. Was this a kind of pilot episode for an upcoming TV series which should have been titled simply “UNIT”? Because I tell you, not once have I gotten that title correct the first time I say it. I think the problem with the title “The War Between the Land and the Sea” is all of the thes. Why not “The War Between Land and Sea”? Or even “Land and Sea.” Or even better, “UNIT.” Either way, the trailer was very blue. And not in that ocean way, but in that governmental way. It’s hard to tell if this is going to be Doctor Who’s “Andor” or its “Secret Wars.” The showrunner is Pete McTighe, so take from that what you will.

The UNIT laser cannons are deployed after the Ranis sic the Bone Beasts on the tower by exciting its atoms. As it turns out, the Bone Beasts are like antibodies that clean up excited atoms that result from the unstable reality of the Wish World. Like the Alpine Ibexes before them, they crave that mineral. They’re like big, bony versions of the Reapers from “Father’s Day.” How they differentiate between atoms excited by Wish World inconsistencies and just regular excited atoms is anyone’s guess. Perhaps I was right when I suggested that Davies just thinks they look cool, which they do. It’s also a good way to show off UNIT’s fancy new tower, which is, admittedly, way cooler than their previous HQ. They have containment units. Weapons out the wazoo. They even have a zero room. Which, if I am not mistaken, is the first time we’ve seen a zero room since the ‘80s. I’ve always found it funny that the Doctor jettisoned the TARDIS’ zero room at one point. It’s the TARDIS, it saves rooms like computer files.

One room in the TARDIS that the Doctor will need to create is a baby room for him and Belinda’s baby, Poppy. The Doctor understands that even though Poppy is a creation of the Doctor and Belinda’s minds, she is still their daughter. Even further, she’s a miracle because the Master’s genetic bomb from “The Timeless Children” left any remaining Time Lords infertile. I wondered if this was what Davies meant when he said he was going to “shake up” Gallifreyan lore. By using a thirty-three-year-old concept like the Time Lords being sterile. One question I know he answered was that of bi-generation. Some of you may have noticed on Davies' Instagram that he was going to explain bi-generation. And by explain, he means the Doctor is going to give his best guess. That guess being that bi-generation is a Time Lord trying to survive. Which, as explanations go, is right up there with why the Twelfth Doctor chose Caecilius’ face. It’s more of a speculation than an explanation. But honestly, I prefer it that way.

While the zero room appeared to save Poppy from the reality shift, it wasn’t enough. As the Doctor and Belinda creepily discuss parenthood together, Poppy’s little jacket slowly folds away to nothing. Until it and she stop existing. The only person who remembers is Ruby. It’s one of those glitches, like Ernest Borgnine still being alive or teal being too blue. The Doctor giving his life to save Poppy reminded me a lot of the Fifth Doctor giving Peri, a woman he had only just met, the sole vial of spectrox toxaemia antidote. This is the Tenth Doctor trading places with Wilfred Mott. It would appear to have worked as the Doctor awakens to find himself in Belinda and Poppy’s garden. In this new reality, Poppy exists as Belinda’s daughter. Except now, Poppy is no longer part Time Lord. No time or space, babies here. Some have complained that this short changed Belinda’s character. But she still has her job as a nurse, she just drinks less expired milk now. It even lends her character a bit of clarity. One thing I found odd was how often they returned to Belinda, telling the Doctor she needed to return. When you add the framework of her being a mother, the insistence makes more sense than “I have work in the morning.” Because of this, it doesn’t feel as forced as marrying off characters like Jo or Leela. It’s also a good reason for Belinda to cease travelling with the Doctor.

Before we say goodbye to Ncuti, we say hello to Jodie. Considering all of the aspects of this season which were leaked ahead of time, it’s amazing they managed to keep a lid on this one. I’d heard rumours of a secret regeneration into Billie Piper. Omega and the Rani seemed to have been spoiled immediately. This might be one of the most spoiled seasons in Doctor Who history. But I don’t believe I saw anyone talking about a Jodie Whittaker cameo. It’s weird that she shows up when she does, as this is when I expected to see Susan. One of the heartaches I always felt from the Whittaker era is that they never brought back Susan. Call me sentimental, but I yearned to hear her say “Hello, Grandmother.” This would have been an opportunity for her to say both! Can you imagine? Sadly, Susan is MIA, which feels like yet another abandoned storyline. As Jodie Performances go, this was a genuine treat. We get to see her be a bit intimidating and confrontational toward the Doctor, if only momentarily. While I wasn’t a Chibnall fan, I never gave up on our girl. Seeing her back after these last three years was a welcome surprise. Even if it was a nonsense cameo that was basically a rehash of “Time Crash,” she still nailed it, and everyone in the theatre gasped when she showed up. Come back anytime, Jodie. Just don’t tell Chris.

Saying goodbye to Ncuti was bittersweet. Yes, it was slightly spoiled, but I never outright believe any rumours I hear. Why would I? I’ve seen some wild theories. I loved that he bowed out gracefully and was not overly sentimental, but this departure felt hasty. We were just getting to know the Fifteenth Doctor. Since he’s left, I’ve seen a lot of head-scratching responses from people saying, “He wasn’t so bad.” I don’t get these people. He was fucking great. Sure, maybe he cried a lot, but I cry a lot. You put on a video of Kermit the Frog singing “Rainbow Connection” and I start welling up. He was dazzling. He was beautiful. He could do weird. He could be intimidating. He could do alien. He was our fearsome Time Lord and saviour, and I will have zero Ncuti badmouthing in this house. I’ll miss his outfits. I’ll miss his flamboyant movements and that cheeky voice he would sometimes slip into. I’m going to miss that guy a lot. Perhaps in time we will learn why he departed the series, but at the moment, it feels like the Mouse and the Beeb lost faith. But I never lost faith. He had another year in him, at least. Come back anytime, Ncuti. Just don’t tell Russell.

Which brings me back to the cause of and solution to all of Doctor Who’s problems- Russell T Davies. I want to mention that while I can be harsh toward RTD, I absolutely love him for what he’s done and continues to do for Doctor Who. But as I said above, Doctor Who has a Star Wars problem. What I mean is that while Star Wars is a vast universe, it struggles to grow outside of the Skywalker saga. If there aren’t the Rebellion and the Empire, the Jedi and the Sith, what is Star Wars? They can’t just have Anakin Skywalker as a kid, he must also build C3PO. Rey has to be related to an important person. She can’t just be force-sensitive. Historically, Doctor Who has never had this problem. The show could regenerate and change its formula over and over without breaking. That is, until Davies took over. It’s not Russell’s fault per se, but his insistence on revolving around the Tenth Doctor and Rose’s relationship has given it too much weight. This insistence that everything must revolve around this one moment in the show’s vast history makes Doctor Who feel small.

I’ve actually heard people say, “They should just bring back Ten and Rose. I’d watch that forever.” These people confound me. Doctor Who is way more than two people’s co-dependence. I don’t know why you would feed into this aspect of Doctor Who other than sensationalism. But the issue runs deeper than that. Because the people in charge at the BBC aren’t really clued into what makes Doctor Who work, they relied on RTD, a proven entity. But RTD was only ever a stop-gap. We need someone to come and keep the ship afloat. Sadly, it’s yet to be revealed whether he’s achieved that or not. You could say the ratings are in the toilet, but TV is such a different animal these days. Who knows what success looks like on television anymore? The theatre I went to had double the people it did last year. Everyone I know who watches Doctor Who has been watching Doctor Who. It’s anyone’s guess as to what the show will become in the future. One thing I will say, however, is that I never needed Disney money and blockbuster special effects to love Doctor Who. If the next season comes around looking like ‘80s Doctor Who, I’d still watch it.

However, as I sit here wondering if this is the last new episode of Doctor Who I’ll ever write about, I’m filled with an odd curiosity. Sure, it would have been far more interesting for Ncuti to regenerate into Jo Martin. And my initial response to Billie Piper was a feeling that the show had finally jumped the shark. But when I rewatched this story with my sister, I found myself smiling at the sight of Billie. Perhaps it was the passage of time, but I’ve warmed to the idea. I keep finding myself asking questions like “What if she’s not the Doctor?” “Could she still fly the TARDIS?” “If she can fly the TARDIS and has the Doctor’s memories, wouldn’t that make her the Doctor?” It’s funny that the choice not to credit Billie Piper as the Doctor is partly why I am curious, and partly why I am annoyed. I'm curious to see what she might do with the role. But I am annoyed because it feels like another one of Davies’ breadcrumbs. “What does it all mean?” Do you know what it means, Russell? Or did you not credit her decisively because you wanted to wait out the fan reaction? I’m kind of at the point where I’d like more answers than a constant string of unresolved storylines. Keep some mysteries alive, but fucking finish something too. Even comic books are written in volumes because people understand that endings are important. Otherwise, you end up with a universe slowly dying like the MCU.

If this really is the end, we’re going to get some seriously weird media starring the Sixteenth Doctor. It will be a second golden age for Doctor Who books and comics. As much as the seething nerd inside me wants to see that, I’d also like it to be a costume designer who creates her look, not some comic book artist. I want to see Billie Piper’s take on the character, not just some writer’s speculation as to how that might be. We’ll know eventually whether Disney will continue with Doctor Who, but that hardly matters. In fact, the only real benefit I feel Disney offers is making Doctor Who more readily available outside the UK. You might say they gave Doctor Who a fighting chance against the Marvels and Fallouts of the world. But lets never forget that Doctor Who never needed to be those things to be great. I said last week that I want Russell T Davies to deliver more than sensationalism. I hoped that he wouldn’t set things back to the status quo. The glitches of the previous universe are a nice opportunity to shake things up. We’ve not seen their full extent yet. Perhaps Adric is still alive. I hope that RTD takes this downtime to regroup. Rethink. And if his plan is to rewrite the same season for the third time, I hope he starts looking for his replacement. I’ll probably never cover every episode of Doctor Who, so I’m not going anywhere. Besides, I’ve got to cover “The War Between the Land and the Sea,” which is the first time I didn’t have to check the wording of that title. Maybe things are looking up. 

[scoops-aboy86]

🧜‍♂️ Delayed Inheritance, pt 4

(pt 1, pt 2, pt 3; also on ao3)

Prince Stephen is starting to like the name Steve. No one has ever given him a nickname before, and the fact that Eddie has—twice, if you count Stevie, which he would be embarrassed to admit out loud is kind of his favorite because it makes their names match—is a good feeling.

But that fades into the background as he hears the unmistakable echoes of truth in Wayne’s story.

He’s always known that he was born on the sea, but in retrospect it makes no sense because the Queen he knows gets seasick just standing on the docks.

His father is a hard man, who takes what he wants and lets the remaining pieces fall where they may without regard for others. Stephen has never had anything the King happens to want, but he’s seen it in his periphery often enough; the way some of the female servants are kept on even with child, then dismissed when the baby is born and turns out to be a girl. Deep down he knows that he himself is a disappointment and would be easy to discard in favor of another male heir, a better heir. The kingdom barely knows Prince Stephen at all because he’s a throwaway prince; there would be almost nothing to mourn.

So no, it’s not like he’d had any idea about any of this, but… he’s not surprised. It’s just as well that Princess Nancy can be spared from marrying into a family where—

Wait, Nancy.

Stephen flexes his legs to jump to his feet—only he doesn’t have either. Eddie has to lunge and grab him by both shoulders so he doesn’t propel himself into the cave ceiling. Still, Stephen tries to wriggle loose, gripped by a sudden, gut-wrenching urgency. “Stop it, I have to go!”

“Steve—“

“I left the castle with Nancy and then disappeared!” he shouts, not thrashing too hard because he does know that Eddie is just trying to help. “They’ll think—I don’t know, we haven’t always been on great terms with her kingdom, what if they think she had me abducted? Or that she drowned me? My father throws people in the dungeons for a lot less!”

Almost immediately, he sees Wayne’s jaw set in grim understanding.

“Who’s Nancy?” Eddie asks from where he’s still half clinging on.

Something in his voice makes Stephen feel incredibly self-conscious all of a sudden. He glances around at Eddie, certain he’s blushing (do merfolk blush?), and meets those big brown eyes head on. Eddie is… striking, to say the least. Wild and fierce when he’d first grabbed him, though that had only been to help—Stephen had realized that as soon as his shirt was gone and he could finally catch his breath. And then Eddie had immediately stollen it away again with his dark hair, dark scales trailing up his sides, and translucent gray fins that tapered to undulating fringes. Something beautiful yet just rough enough around the edges to seem real, staring at him with mouth slightly agape and those eyes, drinking Stephen in like no one, not even his fiancée, ever had in his entire life.

Now Eddie sounds like he’s biting back on something unpleasantly close to disappointment, and Stephen can’t stand it.

“She’s, uh.” Stephen’s tutors would slap him across the back of his hand with a ruler for improper diction if they’d heard that. “Our families arranged for us to marry, I’d never even seen her before a few days ago. I just wanted to show her the beach… She hasn’t done anything wrong, Eddie, if anything happens to her it’ll be my fault!”

Like my real mother, Stephen doesn’t add out loud, because he does want to make sure Nancy is safe but can’t help the new ache in his heart for someone he’d never had the chance to meet. Ariel had been used and cast aside for a throwaway son raised in a gilded prison; for him. That hardly seemed worth it. He’d never known her and had only today even learned what kind of world she might have come from, that he might belong to now that he’s escaped his father’s castle—No, not a castle. A prison.

So yes, he is pleading now; he can’t bear to be King Richard’s excuse for causing any further harm.

He can see the way Eddie softens, even while remaining uncertain. “I hear you, Stevie… I’m just not sure how much we can really do. If she’s on land, how are we supposed to get anywhere near her?”

Stephen clasps a hand over one of the mer’s before even thinking about it, thrilled at the readiness with which Eddie says we. No hesitation to lump himself in without having to be asked. Either that’s just the kind of person Eddie is or he’s that willing to throw in with Stephen even though they’ve only just met; both options are incredibly endearing. “… I have no idea. Maybe if I dry off enough on the beach, my legs will come back?”

Even if that works, he won’t have any clothes or a way to get back inside the castle with any kind of subtlety. The castle guard are mostly indifferent to him but not so indifferent as to let something like that go unreported. But maybe, if that first part works out, the next step will come to him then.

They both jump when Uncle Wayne clears his throat, Steve immediately embarrassed for forgetting about him for a minute.

“Heroic as that sounds,” Wayne says diplomatically—Eddie huffs at Steve’s side, both a sound and a slight current that he feels against his side (against his gills, he’s still wrapping his mind around that), and that’s the only reason Steve catches the gently teasing quirk of the older mer’s expression—“you’re a prince down here too, Steve. You’re probably the only reason King Triton hasn’t retaliated against your father all these years. As soon as you have official recognition of the crown, you’ll have the might of the sea at your back; we just have to get you an audience.”

That sounds reasonable, the smart thing to do even if it’ll take longer, so Steve reluctantly agrees. Wayne just needs to talk to a few former colleagues to get him in to see the King (his grandfather), or at least one of the Princesses (aunts, he has aunts.) Shouldn’t take more than a day.

Which is fine. It’s fine! He can wait. He’s used to not having much to do most of the time outside of his lessons, any sparring practice he can provoke out of the guards or knights, and the intensely boring official functions where he just has to stand around for hours in uncomfortable clothes and look regal or whatever. Not like the nerves of meeting a whole new family he’d never known about and what their court functions might be like are eating him up inside, just as much as the worries about Nancy and her people, which doesn’t make him feel like a self-absorbed asshole at all, no sir—

“Stevie?” Eddie’s voice nudges him gently out of his downward spiral once Wayne is gone. “Want to do something while we wait? I can show you the shipwreck my friends and I hang out in sometimes.”

Grateful beyond words for the distraction, with his head still spinning from the revelations and panic, Steve agrees almost on top of Eddie’s last word. Eddie’s smile in response is easy and lopsided, with dimples that make Steve’s heart ache sweetly. Makes him feel like everything’s going to turn out just fine, as long as he takes the mer’s hand and holds on tight.

So he does.

Tag list (ask to be added/removed): @hotluncheddie @sofadofax @sweetiepeabob @wheneverfeasible @yesdangerpls

@hiei-harringtonmunson @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @ape31 @aceadoxography

[aastroopheel]

my beautiful queen do you think you can write another fluffy Cook fic I’m begging 🙏🙏🙏 your last one was so good and I’m desperate

Okay so, um, i had no imagination tbh. BUT, i thought about different headcanons so here you go. (either way you can ask me for something in specific and i'll try to write it!!)

(JAMES) COOK HEADCANONS --

Relationship Cook

Cook! and his name YOU are the only one who makes his name sound good for him. Like yeah, go ahead and call him James, but hey! make sure to give him a kiss on the cheek or he will scowl like his little brother

Cook! who is protective to a fault Cook’s loyalty runs deep. If you're his person, he will not let anyone mess with you — even if it means throwing punches. He’s the kind of boyfriend who walks on the outside of the pavement and subtly checks the exits when you’re out, just in case.

Cook! who is rough exterior, soft interior He doesn't say "I love you" easily — not because he doesn’t feel it, but because vulnerability terrifies him. But he shows it in other ways: bringing you your favorite snack unprompted, staying up all night when you’re sick, or holding you a bit too tight when he thinks he might lose you.

Cook! who is terrible at talking, great at listening Conversations about emotions? He flounders. But when you’re ranting or crying, he listens like it’s life or death. He might not say the "right" thing, but he’s fully there, completely present — and when he finally speaks, it’s always more real than expected.

Cook! who is adventurous and unpredictable Dates with Cook aren’t candle-lit dinners — they’re midnight road trips, climbing rooftops, or crashing weird art parties. He believes in living fully and wants to pull you into that chaos — to make you feel alive, like he does when he’s with you.

Fluffy Cook

Cookie! who secretly loves cuddles (but will deny it) He acts like he’s too cool for cuddling, but the minute you pull him close, he melts. He likes being the little spoon more than he’ll ever admit, especially when he’s having a rough day. If you try to get up too early, expect a groggy “Where you goin’? Stay, yeah?”

Cookie! who just really likes you a lot Loud, loyal, always wants to be around you. He’s constantly touching you — arm over your shoulders, fingers brushing yours, feet tangled under the blanket. When you laugh at his dumb jokes, he gets this boyish grin like he’s just won a medal.

Cookie! who tries to cook for you He 100% sets off the smoke alarm trying to make you breakfast. He's not good at it, but he keeps trying, showing up with burnt toast and eggs that may or may not still be raw. But the effort? Heart-melting. He acts like it’s no big deal, but he watches your reaction like it really matters.

Cookie! who leaves drunk voice calls instead of texts

“Oi, saw this dog that looked like you. Not in a bad way, yeah? Like, cute. You know what I mean. Anyway, miss you.”

Cookie! who falls asleep holding your hand Even when you’re just watching TV or lying in bed, he’ll reach for your hand. If you pull away, he sleepily grabs for it again. It’s instinct for him — like you’re his anchor.

Cookie! who always hyping you up You could be wearing pajamas or talking about something you’re insecure about and he’ll go, “Nah, you’re fit. Like—stupid fit. And smart too. You're mental, how do I even deserve you?” He doesn't say it in poetic words, but he means it. Every time.

Cookie! who heals slowly, but with you He still has nightmares. Still carries guilt. But you’re the first person he trusts to see that side of him. Some nights he opens up, slowly, in pieces. And when he does, it’s raw and real — the kind of honesty that says, “You make me want to be someone better.”

Cook! who pushes you away when he needs you most When something triggers his guilt or anger — nightmares about Freddie, reminders of the life he left behind — he shuts down. He’ll disappear for hours (or days), claiming he "needed air" when he really just didn’t want you to see him unravel.

“Didn’t wanna wreck your day with my shit. I don’t want you to look at me like I’m broken.”

Cook! who can’t believe you actually love him He struggles to believe he deserves real affection. Sometimes when you say “I love you,” he jokes it off, or looks away and mutters, “You shouldn’t.” There’s a deep fear that if you really knew everything he’s done, you’d leave.

Cook! who gets into fights when he feels powerless He still has that hair-trigger temper — especially when he feels like he’s losing control. If someone disrespects you or brings up his past, he’s on edge. You’re the one pulling him back, reminding him that reacting like that doesn’t fix anything anymore.

Cook! who keep Self-Sabotaging When things are going well — like too well — he’ll start picking fights over nothing. Late replies. Passive-aggressive comments. He’s testing you, even if he doesn’t mean to.

“Bet you’ll leave like everyone else. Go on, might as well do it now.”

Because deep down, he’s convinced love won’t last for someone like him.

Cook! who is haunted by his past He won’t talk about Freddie for a long time. When he finally does, it’s quiet. Barely above a whisper.

“He was my mate. I didn’t protect him. Didn’t stop it. Didn’t stop myself.” He still thinks about what he could’ve done differently — and you’ll see it in the way he clutches his fists when he's alone.

Cook! who is scared to let you all the way in Even if you’ve been together for months, there's a part of him you don’t get to touch. He loves you, but he holds part of himself back — a part too dark, too scarred. And it kills him, because he wants to give you everything, but he doesn’t know how.

Cook! who masters unspoken apologies He’s not good at saying “I’m sorry,” but he’ll show it — quietly patching up the wall he punched, buying your favorite snack after a fight, sitting at the edge of the bed in silence until you say something. When you do, he crumbles.

“I don’t wanna lose you, alright? Just don’t know how to be normal.”

Cook! when you become his safe place (which terrifies him) You're the only thing in his life that feels calm. And that scares him more than any fight ever could — because now he has something to lose. He starts taking care of himself not for him, but for you. It’s messy, but it’s real.

Somehting um.. spicy?

Cook! who desperate kisses when it all cracks

You’re both pissed, not because you want to be, but because it’s who you are.

“You’re such a pain in the arse, you know that?” you say, voice sharp.

Cook smirks, eyes flashing with mischief and something darker. “Yeah? Maybe you like it.”

You roll your eyes, stepping closer, daring him. “Don’t push it.”

“Or what? You gonna run off crying?”

The air’s thick, the tension almost physical.

“You’re a bloody mess, James. You don’t know how to keep anything together.”

“And you think you’re any better? Always on my case, like I’m some project.” He’s right in your face now, no space left.

“I don’t have time for your drama.”

“Neither do I, but here we fucking are.”

The tension between you is electric, like the whole room’s holding its breath. You can feel it—Cook’s eyes locked on you, dark and unreadable, but burning with something fierce. It’s that look he gets when everything’s about to break loose, and you both know it.

You both breathe hard, and just when it feels like this is going to explode into something ugly—Cook grabs your shirt, yanks you close, lips crashing into yours like a goddamn storm. Before you even have time to think, he’s moving fast. His hands grab your waist, pulling you so close there’s no space left between you. His fingers press into your skin, rough and urgent.

His lips hit yours hard, no warning, no slow build-up, just pure, desperate need. The kiss is fierce and demanding, his mouth taking control but somehow still searching, like he’s trying to say everything he can’t put into words.

You taste the sharp edge of his breath, the faint tang of whatever he’d been drinking, the undeniable heat that radiates from him. His hands move with purpose, one sliding up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone while the other snakes around your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

Every second feels stretched thin — like you’re suspended in a moment where nothing else exists but the wild urgency of him. His body presses against yours, every movement frantic but somehow perfectly timed, like he’s trying to make up for every second he held back before.

When he finally pulls away, breath ragged and eyes dark with need, that wild grin flashes across his face — cocky and vulnerable all at once.

You can’t help the smile that curls on your lips, heart pounding like a drum.

i tried

[mi55delulu]

lovie ………………. what have you done to me? 😭💖 i’ve reread this review so many times and i feel like every time i do, i unlock a new level of gratuity in your words and kindness. like you are not real lovie!!! im the one that’s in awe of your beautiful brain, heart, and soul. everything that i write and hope that my readers will catch, you do and you break down my words and intentions further than what i can even comprehend. you’re really so special, lovie!!! ty ty ty ugh

and i’m so fortunate for your help with the banner. it was the perfect touch and whenever i’d lose sight of the story, i always go back into my camera roll to look at it. i honestly was in shock of how much the banner matched the story and its essence. like you had gotten minute details from me and you still captured it all based on feelings. just like how you do with your writing 😤

but okay let’s get down to some of the things you pointed out in your amazing review 🙂‍↕️

you have such a magical way with words and this was just another confirmation, in the form of one of the best fics i’ve read this year, if not ever.

im fr gonna combust from this comment. like what am i supposed to do with myself!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭 how am i getting this from YOU

… loved seeing jungkook as the one to pine first and being absolutely whipped until the very end

i’m a HUGE fan of pining and pathetic yearners as a certified lover girl myself. i think it was important for me to make sure that jk stayed genuine and kind with his feelings/actions for oc. even in his past relationships, he emulated kindness and respect (as he should). wanted to show that despite being afraid of getting hurt and rejected in the past, he doesn’t have to be a bad person just bc love was cruel to him. i really could’ve done a 180 on him really and this story wouldn’t have been as healing ahahaha now that’s an AU for sure

… THE TENSION … phd in yearningology … crazy about the first time jk let himself be touched …

oh the tension is ALWAYS so fun for me to write. i love the build up yes yes one of my most fave scenes in the story 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ and yes on jk letting himself be taken care of for once!!! im sure you’ve already picked up on this, but he’s afraid of people leaving him once he gives away that part of him. like there’s nothing left he could offer that’ll make his partner stay afterwards. so he holds out, depriving himself of that intimacy. 🥺 was important that the first time he experienced something was that oc gave it to him not on his request or own efforts, but just bc she wanted to be the one taking care of him. also it was just hot to write too so i had fun as well and miss lovie … if i got a phd in yearningology then it must’ve been from the university of lovie cuz you’re the main blueprint!!!!

YOUR ENTIRE ANALYSIS ON OC!!!!

IM SO GLAD YOU LOVED AND APPRECIATED HER. i can understand on the other side how she can be seen as unlikable or dramatic … but truly? she’s a complex and deep character imo cuz she tries really hard to be this unbothered girlie and leader, but she’s also struggling a lot too (like you mentioned, the ugly and insecurities). when she tries to show that she’s not hurting or struggling, she burns a path everywhere she goes and it further crumbles her persona she’s built all her life. like a candle that’s burning on both ends sort of thing and it can only stop if she learned that multiple realities can exist at the same time. she’s a great leader but also horrid at tackling personal feelings/issues. doesn’t mean she’s a bad person or unworthy of love and affection.

… i will be signing up for drum corps

HEHEHE THIS MADE ME GIGGLE. you would be so lovely in drum corps, lovie. honestly?? in another life, you and i would be spinning together in colorguard yes 🤭

i can’t thank you enough for this amazing review, lovie. you’re fr a gem 😭😭💖 i’m going to be thinking about what you’ve said all month long and possibly even longer. i can’t wait to see what’s in store for you and i will gladly give you your flowers and much more!!! you never need to live up to expectations bc you are the standard. one of a kind. ty 🥺

also??? your music taste??? immaculate and totally the vibes of those two lovebirds. UGH

i am thinking about the moodboards as we speak!!! and would like to see your vision to see if they match up too 🙂‍↕️

i also like to share … oc and jk are the epitome of this pic:

toss up

synopsis: friday night football games, all day marching band competitions on saturday, and sunday schoolwork catch up — the schedule you’ve religiously maintained throughout high school and now college. that is, until you found respite in jungkook’s company.

☼ pairing: tenor drummer!jungkook x colorguard captain!fem reader

☼ wc: 26.5k

☼ genre: marching band/college au, fluff, angst, smut, romcom

☼ cw: jk as loser stuck in a hot body, uptight oc (not too much on my girl ok? i love her) past misunderstandings, miscommunication (i know i hate it too), negative family dynamics, yearning, pining, jealousy, lots of nickname usage, marching band terminology, physical injuries, 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI 🔞, mature language, sexual tension, dirty talk, switch jk & oc, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), handjob, fingering, brief nipple play, spitting, praising, cum eating, semi-overstimulation, oc gets teary from the good o, riding, missionary, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie.

☼ a/n: little miss liar here 😌 got ahead of my editing schedule, so might as well release early. anyway! happy bts month!! we are so back, bangtan babes 💜 here’s a very niche fic inspired by real life events. it’s been over 10 years since i’ve marched so pls be easy on me.

banner by the lovely @lovieku *･☆ i also wanna dedicate this fic to her bc she rly gets me so excited to write! nicest person ever like you don’t even know 🥹💖 (pls come back n also open commissions)

”FIVE, SIX—FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT!” 

No matter the number sequence, your body always knew when to move. 

Having done colorguard since you were 15 years old, you took pride in being section leader for the third year in a row at your university. The band director typically picked their section leaders based on seniority, but skill sets may outrank that on very rare occasions. Everyone was shocked when Director Lee selected you, a first-year at the time, over another fourth-year colorguard member. You would be too had you been in their position.

Except, you weren’t.

You put in the extra hours when no one else did and arrived on time to every practice. To you, that was the bare minimum. 

Being a good leader, now, that was the hard part. 

You took what you’ve experienced from your past captains: stern in how they led practices, soft in how they uplifted the team during difficult times. Director Lee immediately recognized those qualities in you. Older members rebelled against the decision, but eventually followed suit or left the university marching band due to graduating. 

Colorguard was a sport — you’d argue that it rivaled football. Because who could toss a flag, run 20 yards on the field, and catch between your legs? Yeah. An athlete. Above that, colorguard was a form of visual arts — the storytellers of the marching band. You had a love-hate relationship with colorguard, but the final results were always worth it … be it through winning competitions or feeling a sense of accomplishment. It’s the start of the field season and you’re currently at the ‘hate’ part.

“Shit!”

The music and band members come to a halt after Hoseok signals the band to stop. Everyone’s visibly upset, sunburnt, and probably dehydrated. This was the sixth time in the last hour of practice the band was forced to stop and reset for a mistake, which meant another five push-ups got added onto the post-practice punishment. 

You squint your eyes down the field and realize the commotion involved one of your colorguard members and someone from the drumline. 

Fuck. 

“JUICEBOX!” Director Lee yells from his megaphone in the stands. “Fix it before I do!”

You’d assume he was yelling for a beverage, but no. It was common to have nicknames in marching band. One could acquire a nickname for the following reasons: long name, director hated you, director loved you, or memorable moment. Unfortunately, you got yours when Director Lee witnessed you chugging down five apple juiceboxes after your first tryout. Memorable moment … at least he didn’t hate you, so you think. 

You spot Yuri, your colorguard member, arguing with Jaehyun, a tenor drummer. 

“Dude, you fucking hit me with your flag and you want to complain that I was in your spot?” Jaehyun seethes.

“Well, like I said, it wouldn’t have hit you if you weren’t in my spot!” Yuri huffs and drops her flag in frustration.

“Yuri, what’s wrong?” You jog over.

“Mr. Irrational over here is pissed off because he walked into my toss. But look, my drill told me I’m on the 40. Not my fault I need to cut through them to get to my spot.” 

Sometimes the drills didn’t mesh well with the choreography. It wasn’t the end of the world, just annoying to fix. From behind, you hear instruments shuffle — specifically another set of tenor drums.

“Juice.” 

You sigh. Not from the nickname, but from the person saying it. 

“Set #10 shows Yuri with the baritones on the left. She’s not at the wrong spot, but she shouldn’t be cutting through the tenors, instead going around us. There’s 16 counts in this set, so she’ll have plenty of travel time.”

Jeon Jungkook, third-year, lead tenor drum player. You haven’t gotten the chance to know him … how could you when there’s over 200 members, 18 of which belonged in your section. Based on what you’ve heard and witnessed, he’s an average drummer. Nothing noteworthy. And because of that, you don’t understand why everyone fawned over him. Sure, he’s tall and conventionally good looking. Had a nice head of hair and a distinct laugh that’d grab anyone’s attention. Maybe that’s why? Jungkook was like any other boy in college … the only difference was that he knew how to play the tenor drums. 

To be clear, no, Jungkook wasn’t a section leader. That was Yoongi’s role as center snare. Which makes you wonder why he’s trying to resolve this with you when you should be hashing it out with Yoongi. Ignoring him, you walk over to Yoongi to confirm the coordinates.

“Yeah, Kook is right.” He nods after reviewing the drills. From the side, you see Jungkook beam from the acknowledgment. 

“Ha! See, you were wrong,” the other tenor player says to Yuri as he sets his drums down.

“Jaehyun.” Jungkook’s stern voice catches you off guard. 

“What? It’s true!”

“You were two counts early to the spot. Wouldn’t have gotten hit if you were on time.”

Jaehyun scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Noobie ego. If you didn’t nip it early on, it was going to cause issues in the future. You had a few of those in your years of being a captain; consequently, you left some unchecked and those became the biggest lessons for you. 

You look at Yoongi with your brows raised, silently asking him, ‘You gonna take care of that?’

He merely stares back with a look that said, ‘Too tired … it’s my last season. Give me a break.’ 

Yoongi wasn’t lazy. He’s one of the many section leaders you respected and enjoyed working with. He remained factual and cleaned up things before they became a problem. Most importantly, Yoongi was fair and reliable. You’ve got a lot to learn from him before he graduates this semester.

“Alright,” Jungkook stuffs his sticks back into the side pockets. “Tenors, give me ten.”

The other two tenors groan and take off their drums and harness. Jaehyun, along with the tenors, drop to the ground and begin their push-ups. What surprised you was Jungkook also going down to do the push-ups too. You've always been a firm believer of the saying ‘when a ship sinks, the captain will go down with it.’

They’re back up within seconds. Jungkook looked like he barely broke a sweat outside the sweat lines on his shirt caused by his harness.

“All good?” Hoseok, the drum major, calls out from his stand. You and Yoongi throw a thumbs up.

“Reset! Take it from the top.” Hoseok calls out to the other band members. 

Director Lee waits till everyone gets back into position before turning on his megaphone. “You all wasted seven minutes of practice, so add another five push-ups.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Practice ended two hours later with 75 push-ups. Not bad, but also not good. At least it didn’t hit the triple digits. Jungkook always saw push-ups as a way to condition his body.

Long hours of practice with his section, ensemble, and individually filled up his day. A wonder how he manages to juggle marching band and school at the same time, but he gets it done. Jungkook knows he isn’t the best, but he’s a hard worker. He loves a good challenge and what better way to challenge himself by playing tenor? Sure, he could’ve stuck with a single bass drum, but tenors had four drums. How cool was that?

You certainly didn’t think so.

Never once batted a single eyelash in his direction in the last three years he’s marched with you. Jungkook exhales deeply after finishing his Gatorade. “She hates me.”

“Who?” Jimin asks while rolling up his flag silks. 

“Your captain.” Jungkook pouts. 

“Juicebox? Nah.”

“Then why does she always look like she smells something bad when she’s around me?”

“Rude, what if that’s just her face?” It wasn’t. In all his years of spinning with this school, Jimin has a good idea of who you are. You’re strict, but a sweet person underneath that tough exterior. 

“She’s just …” Jimin follows Jungkook’s line of vision where you’re laughing with the woodwinds section lead, Kim Namjoon. “Anyway, maybe it’s because you do smell.”

Jungkook scoffs. He knows for a fact he doesn’t smell. Everyone gets a little musty after practice, but Jungkook prides himself on good hygiene. Literally the bare minimum to shower after every practice and reapply deodorant throughout the day. Unfortunately, not the case for certain band kids. 

“Just kidding. You know the smelliest title goes to Ryo,” Jimin teases, “need to start gifting him some body wash this Christmas.” 

“Don’t bother,” Yoongi chimes in. “This is his last field season. Let the man live a little. Saves you a couple bucks too.” He finishes locking up the instruments and bends down to tie his laces.

“Cap,” Jungkook deadpans, “don’t you think she hates me?”

Yoongi stands up and squints at Jungkook, “I think you need to worry about cleaning up your solo in the opener. JB is the least of your concerns.”

“But—”

Yoongi sticks up a finger to Jungkook’s face. “More drumming, less JB fixation. Gotta bounce to a section leader meeting. Catch y’all later.” With that, Yoongi joins the small group of people at the front of the band room, you included. You look back to where Jungkook and Jimin stood. Jimin waves at you and you wave back. Jungkook does the same and receives a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah, she hates you.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“So as you all know, this year’s show is a spy theme, specifically Mr. & Mrs. Smith.” 

Hoseok stands at the front of the lecture hall, the projector displaying the mood board Director Lee had him make. He wasn’t at the meeting, but he trusted Hoseok enough to get his message across. It’s not that he didn’t want to be here, but he preferred a more hands off approach — thinks it’s building your communication and teamwork skills. Though, Namjoon theorizes that budget cuts to the performing arts department was the driving factor and Lee hasn’t been able to hire any instructors or technicians to help out. Nonetheless, this brought you all closer together. 

“I swear, Lee sees one movie with his wife and gets inspired.” Minji, one of the assistant drum majors, says. 

“Agree. Last year he had us do Pirates of the Caribbean because he went on a cruise with his wife.” Namjoon cackles and the rest of the group joins in.

“Alright, alright. Reel it back in,” Hoseok claps.

“He wants to tell a story … said there has to be an opposite attracts meets forbidden love kind of thing. So I’m going to really need to lean on visuals for this.” Hoseok looks in your direction and you are unphased. The visual part of the show was just as important as the music. Where band members held a stoic expression during the show, colorguard told a story using their body, face, and equipment.

“I’m thinking Juicebox can be one of the spies, but we need one from the band. Any volunteers?” Hoseok looks around the room. 

Namjoon raises his hand. For a moment, you thought he was going to volunteer. “Think me and my section will have to pass on this one. Almost got taken out by Jimin’s sabre last season.”

“That’s cause you were supposed to catch with your hands and not with your head,” you retort. 

“I blame the wind,” Namjoon grins. “Anyway, since sax did something last season, woodwind folks should have immunity.”

“Eh, let’s check in with our sections and see if there are any takers.” Yoongi suggests.

The hour goes by quickly with some distractions here and there. What do you expect from a bunch of college students? Still, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

To your luck, no one volunteered. As a result, Namjoon begrudgingly offered himself to the task. This was his final season, so he thought he’d go out with a bang.

And indeed, he did. During practice, you demonstrated a toss you planned to do in the show. Upon turning your back to get some water, Namjoon thought it was a good idea to mimic what you did … unsupervised, which landed him in urgent care with two fractured fingers.

“Shit … I’m sorry, Joon,” you say after the doctor left the room with the aftercare summary. A minimum of three to four weeks to heal. You know it was no fault of yours. He’s technically not out for the season, but missing a bulk of practices will be too much to catch up on. A duet with you is out of the question. 

“Ha … this was on me. What I get for undermining what you guys do on the field.” He jokes. It was true to some extent, people think all you guys do is twirl around a flag. It was always so much more than that. “I’m the one that should be sorry, Juicebox. Now we have to find someone else for the duet.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just focus on healing. Our first halftime show is in about three months. So you’ll be back on the field at least.” A small part of you worries about not finding a replacement in time. There’s about another 180 band members to ask — one was bound to volunteer, right?

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

snare lord [10:28 p.m.]: Duet position with JB is open. Lmk if you still want it. DON’T be weird. 

Jungkook drops his sticks on his drumming pad and sits up from his bed, eyes widening at Yoongi’s message. He waits about 30 seconds before typing up a response so that he doesn't come off desperate. He threw a mini tantrum when Yoongi (deliberately?) failed to mention that the spy duet was with you, but Namjoon had already volunteered by then. This will be a good chance to get to know you and figure out if you truly disliked him. Plus, he’s always been interested in colorguard — interested in you. 

Jungkook [10:28 p.m.]: waaaat? wat happened to joon?

Jungkook panics when 10 minutes pass and Yoongi doesn’t respond. Fears that he missed his window and someone else said yes to the part. Perhaps playing nonchalant wasn’t for him. 

snare lord [10:41 p.m.]: Injured :/ Do you want to do it or not? Jungkook [10:41 p.m.]: yes snare lord [10:42 p.m.]: 👍👍 I’ll give her your contact and you guys can chat more. 

This entire ordeal felt surreal, like a fan finally meeting their idol. Simply put, Jungkook admired you. Your work ethics, facial expressions … oh, and flexibility. Yeah. Sure, Jimin can do the splits too. Well, 90% of the folks in your section can, but there’s something so captivating about how you’d slowly drop down into the splits like it’s second nature.

Unknown [11:01 p.m.]: Hey. Is this Jungkook?

He nearly falls out of bed. It’s you. Has to be.

Jungkook [11:01 p.m.]: yours truly. juice??? Unknown [11:01 p.m.]: Yep. Yoongi told me you’re interested in the duet. When’s your first class tomorrow? Jungkook [11:02 p.m.]: 8 😬 why? 🧃 [11:02 p.m.]: Cool, meet in the band room at 5:30am tomorrow. Wear comfortable clothes you can move in. Thanks for volunteering btw. 

He reacts to the message with a thumbs up, smiling as he locks and sets his phone down on his nightstand. Jungkook has never been this excited to wake up early.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Early morning practices were not ideal. Having Jungkook as a partner? Not your first pick either, but it’s too late into the season to complain. Beggars can’t be choosers. You’ve got a limited time to train and teach him a routine. You arrive at the band room by 5 to stretch and Jungkook comes through the door by 5:16, eyes and cheeks still swollen from sleep but he greets you with a warm smile. He’s in an all black attire: gym shorts and a fitted long sleeve. His physique doesn't quite match up to Namjoon’s, but you know he’s strong. Got to be when he’s carrying those 35lb drums the entire show.

“Morning,” he sets his backpack to the side and sits in front of you to stretch.

“Hi,” you greet, while going down lower in your butterfly stretch, “thanks again for volunteering.”

He smiles softly with a nod. “So what’s on the lesson plan for today, Cap?”

Today’s practice only involved the basics: ballet positions, floor work, and equipment overview. Nothing crazy. And yet, Jungkook finds himself drenched in sweat an hour into practice. Who knew jazz runs would require him to use all the muscle groups in his ass? 

“Remember to turn out. Do it again.” You say with your hands on your hips. 

This was the 10th time you made him start over. Jungkook was frustrated. Didn’t realize how stiff his body was from drumming all these years. Also didn’t realize how nervous he’d get under your watch. Jimin warned that your serious mode competed with Hoseok’s. He never doubted this. Jungkook wants to crawl into a hole every time your face fights a scowl when he forgets what to do next. He thought you’d be a little more lenient during the first practice. Was Namjoon subjected to this too? 

Practice ends a little before 8 to allow him to cool down and get ready for class. Jungkook watches you put on your hoodie and fix your hair. He didn't think there was a single hair out of place before, but what did he know about perfection when he’s been a total mess the entire practice?

“Good work today,” you say. 

“Don’t lie, that was rough,” he jokes before grabbing his stuff. 

“Yeah, it was.” You agree and Jungkook’s stomach churns from your bluntness.

He goes on with his day in classes, half thinking about the show’s new drill, half thinking about ways to impress you. Would he earn your approval if he came into practice remembering all the 27 points on the flag? Was this desperation? Possibly. He returns to his dorm room later that evening. Sits on his desk chair and mindlessly drums his hands on his thigh. Wonders if he should ask you if practice was going to be that early every time because he physically doesn’t think he can do that again. Jungkook fishes for his phone in his pocket and sees a couple of notifications, but the only ones that mattered were yours. 

🧃 [7:23 p.m.]: No one’s good the first time. Just keep practicing. 🧃 [7:23 p.m.]: Also don’t forget to stretch. You’ll be sore tomorrow.  🧃 [7:25 p.m.]: I know drumline has practice on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. Let me know if Wednesday evenings work for you.

Jungkook didn’t care much for the days of the week, but Wednesdays became his favorite. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Weeks go by and Jungkook has made significant improvements. He’s still somewhat stiff, but his passion makes up for what he lacks. The show is about a third written. Homestretch, as Director Lee would say.

“CUT!” Director Lee yells from the stand, “Juicebox, Jungkook, the work looks fine but I’m not feeling the energy. Don’t know what it is, but fix it. Let’s do a 10 minute water break and we start from the ballad.”

“So … how’s working with Jungkook?” Jimin asks. He’s shirtless and unfortunately sunburnt — almost all the band members are. Hard to avoid when it’s blazing outside. Field season essentials were sunscreen and aloe vera. 

You knew Jungkook needed some whenever he’d flinched from your touch during a specific part of the show. Maybe you’ll give some to him after practice today.

“It’s fine.”

You look over at Jungkook. He’s with the rest of the drumline, gulping down his water and letting some drip down his neck. Yeah. Definitely hotter today. The weather, that is. 

Yuri sighs. “Is it too late to swap, Cap? I don’t mind being Mrs. Smith …” she twirls the ends of her hair and watches Jungkook put on his harness. 

“You wanna toss a six on sabre while spinning under it?” Jimin snorts. 

Yuri immediately shakes her head and you laugh. You had no doubt that Yuri could do it. She’s an exceptional dancer, but lacked the stamina and confidence when it came to weapons. She knows this too and rather have a special part of the show be done by someone more consistent with their catches. 

Jimin turns to you again. “Only asking because Lee has been on you guys for looking … odd.” 

There’s a small period of adjustment when it comes to dancing with someone new. Jungkook was … different. Makes you feel weird how he looks up at you in his kneeled position. Makes you feel weirder every time he tenses when you need to sit on one of his thighs for part of the choreo. Bad enough to where you forgot two counts and you never forget. 

“Choreo is still fresh for the both of us. It’ll take some time.” You reason. “Anyway, can everyone come over here?” Your section huddles closer. “First show is next week. It’s crunch time, so I need you all to stay an extra hour after the ensemble to clean our work.”

There were some complaints, but no major protest. Everyone knows how important the first show of the season is. It wasn’t like homecoming or anything, but everyone will be there — football parents, band parents, and students. 

Director Lee sounds the buzzer on his megaphone and everyone jogs back into position. Jungkook smiles at you in passing and you nod in acknowledgment. His smile drops a little and you feel a small rush of guilt. Maybe you’ve also been difficult too. You think back on Jimin’s question … you know what he’s hinting. You and Jungkook were an important piece of the show. The routine was good. What lacked was chemistry and you knew it was your fault.

How do you go about being more natural with Jungkook when you’ve been holding a grudge? An age old grudge that anyone should’ve forgotten by now, yet you’re reminded of it every time you see him. 

You’re on autopilot as you dance around Jungkook during this run through for the evening. This was the part where Jungkook moved his hands at the last minute so that you could pierce the ground with the sabre. Not realizing you were a count ahead, you pierced his hand instead. 

He hisses in pain. Minji spots the accident and immediately signals Hoseok to stop.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you apologize frantically. Hands were a big part of a musician’s career and you’d be damned if you were responsible for hurting Jungkook. 

“It’s fine, think I just need some ice,” he winces and holds his hand close to his chest. 

“Jungkook, Juicebox, take care of things off the field,” Director Lee calls out, “everyone else, from the top.”

You and Jungkook walk to the bleachers where Director Lee stood.

“Let’s see the damage, kid.” Director Lee holds his hand out. Lee was multifaceted. Truly jack of all trades. The university got really lucky with him … band director, golf coach, and physical therapist. He’s no longer in practice, of course, but he brings a wealth of knowledge and experience to the university. Plus, he’s able to treat folks with minor injuries. You hope this was a minor one. 

“That’s a big one,” he turns Jungkook’s hand to one side, pressing down on the top of his palm to inspect the bones. Jungkook grimaces and pulls his hand back.

“Flex and clench your hands,” he hums, “okay, there’s still mobility. Will bruise and hurt for a few days, but I recommend checking with the school nurse tomorrow if you can’t close your fist. Ice up for the rest of practice.”

You jog to Minji’s special cooler for situations like this. Injuries happened to band kids more than you’d imagined. It is, of course, still a sport. You return to Jungkook with a tied bag of ice. He massages his hand and winces in pain when he gets to the center of the injury. As you near, he masks his pain with a smile and you feel even more guilty. 

“Thanks,” he says when you hand him the bag. He exhales at the icy touch. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again, “I was a count early and I didn’t realize your hand was there,” It’s one thing to be in the wrong, it’s another to admit it. You’re only as good as your pride. 

He shakes his head, “I knew you hated me but I didn’t think you were trying to take me out the season too.” He tries to joke to lighten the mood, but regrets it when you frown. 

“Uh, my bad,” Jungkook apologizes. “That wasn’t—”

“I don’t hate you …” you admit softly. 

He pauses, leans against the bleachers, and exhales through his nose, “I know.”

You and Jungkook watch the show from the bleachers. It’s interesting seeing gaps in your respective sections. The show will still go on, but your absence does not go unnoticed.

“Ah, Jimin dropped his flag. That’s another five push-ups.” Jungkook whispers to you.

You snort and chuckle. Jungkook looks shocked for a moment then softens. You’ve always been closed off around him, strictly choosing to discuss the show as his duet partner. This was different.

He likes this side of you. Hates to be those guys who say a woman looks better when they’re smiling. True and false in your case. Cause objectively, you’re an attractive woman. Finds you super cool when you’re expressionless and in the zone. 

Jungkook always hated the sun — spent his early years in life constantly running away from it whether it be staying indoors or under a tree. He had the choice to pick between taekwondo or marching band. As much as Jungkook hated the sun, he picked the sport with the most time spent in it. Thinks he can make amends with the sun now. 

Because as you smile, Jungkook never thought he’d be so easily swayed at the sight of sunlight hitting your cheekbones.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Practice ends with 30 push-ups. You get down from the bleachers to complete yours — not without scolding Jungkook to remain seated since his hand wasn’t in the right condition to do anything strenuous at the moment. He pouts, but adheres to your orders. 

Yoongi checks up on Jungkook after he sets his drums down. He whistles at the gnarly bruise and shakes his head at you, mimicking something close to disappointment. “First Namjoon, now Jungkook? You’re actually an undercover agent trying to sabotage us huh, JB?”

“You would’ve been my first target if that were the case.” You shrug. Yoongi chuckles and turns back to Jungkook, who looks at you both peculiarly like the cogs in his brain are slowly piecing something together he doesn’t quite favor. 

“Don’t worry about cleaning up. I’ll have one of the guys put away your drum. Just head home.” Yoongi pats Jungkook’s shoulder as he leaves the field.

Before running to get your equipment, you turn to Jungkook again. “Hey, I’m sorry—”

“If you’re gonna apologize again, I’m gonna make Yoongi have you put away my drums instead.”

You sigh. “Fine. I can reschedule our practices if your hand still hurts. Just let me know.” You part ways from Jungkook to wrap up practice with your section. From afar, you spot a hoard of band members gathering around Jungkook to either check on him or admire the injury. He’s cared for by many. If he was anything like the version you’ve conjured in your mind, you don’t think people would be so concerned for his well being. 

People change and maybe your perception of Jungkook should too.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“Juice? Uh, what are you …” Jungkook looks shocked to see you at the doorway of his room. Didn’t even think you’d know where he stayed, but here you are in all of your glory looking up at him like you shouldn’t be here too. It’s Wednesday, the day after you accidentally stabbed Jungkook's hand, but also the day you’re both supposed to be practicing. Jungkook texted you this morning asking you to reschedule practice because something came up. You had a feeling he was lying about his injury to spare you from guilt. 

“How’s your hand doing?” You try to look down, but he has it hidden behind the door.

“It’s alright,” he answers quickly. “Wait, how do you know where I live?”

“Yoongi.” You rock on your heels and look awkwardly around.

“Oh.” He’s unsure why he feels uneasy about this answer. You could’ve just asked him.

“Is there something you need?”

“Not particularly?” God. This was uncomfortable and a part of you wants to apologize for bothering him and leave. 

“Would you like to come in?” He looked back at his room to make sure it was presentable. Other than some laundry on his bed he’s been procrastinating on folding and some music sheets on the floor, it’s not half bad.

“Yeah, just for a bit, if you don’t mind. I won’t be long.”

He opens the door wider for you to walk through. No turning back now. His room was utterly plain. Navy blue fitted sheets, spotless desk, and no posters or wall decorations in sight. It’s as if his only use for the place was to sleep. Jungkook gestures over at his desk chair for you to sit. You set your backpack down, not before grabbing a small jar of ointment out. He sits on the edge of his bed and peers over with curious eyes. 

“Let me see your hand.” You nod your head at his injured hand. He reluctantly pulls his hand to the front and your eyes widen. 

“It’s not as awful as it looks …”

“Jungkook.” 

“Okay, yeah, it’s pretty bad.” He chuckles.

You roll the chair closer to him to examine the bruise. Bruises were common in colorguard — in fact, you’ve got plenty on your forearms and legs. The one on Jungkook’s hand tops them all. You unscrew the cap of the ointment jar and scoop a dime sized amount on your finger. Your other hand holds his from the bottom while you carefully dab the medication on the injury. With years of tending to your own wounds, you’ve learned that you should never rub a fresh bruise, but it always speeds up the healing process when you warm the area. Soft in your ministrations, the ointment quickly melts from the warmth of your touch. Jungkook never expected to receive this sort of treatment from a classmate let alone you of all people. This was expected from someone like his mother — someone that cared for him.

Do you?

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Doesn’t know where he should stare at. Doesn't know if he should feel the way he does. 

“Tell me if it hurts.” You don’t look up, strictly focusing on the task at hand.

His hands were much larger than yours. He kept his nails cut short and clean, palms calloused from all the years of drumming. Yours were no different. Manicures weren’t a necessity as you preferred to keep them short. Despite the roughness of your hands, there’s an unexplainable softness in your touch. 

A couple of minutes go by and you’re quite impressed Jungkook has gone this long without talking to you. The silence makes you wonder if you should say something. After all, you did barge into his space to apply ointment out of guilt. 

“Are you and Yoongi close?”

“Who’d you march with in 2010?”

You and Jungkook look up at one another after asking a question at the same time. 

“Yoongi?” Your brows furrow.

“Yeah,” he relaxes at your touch. Your fingers pull at his to release any tension and Jungkook has to fight the urge to moan.

You think for a bit. Were you close to Yoongi? He was one of the few that didn’t give you shit or questioned your capabilities when Lee initially selected you as captain. The bond you shared was built on mutual respect. You suppose that’s one of the important foundations of a friendship. But you wouldn’t say you were too close to him on a personal level. He’s a friend nonetheless. 

“Sort of? Why?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.” His shoulders drop. “And 2010? Was still marching in high school.”

Obviously. You internally roll your eyes. Perhaps you need to be more specific.

“Summer 2010. Have you done drum corps?”

Drum corps were independent marching band groups. Similar to intramural sports, people from all over the country tried out for these groups and only the best got selected. Certain groups had an age cap. After that, you “aged out” and joined other groups that accepted all ages, typically less rigorous and accommodating to a wider age range. The circuit you’ve marched with was more competitive … maybe because there was a time constraint to be young and good. 

“Summer 2010 …” he repeats back to himself. “Ah! I tried out for Red Angels.”

That was all the confirmation you needed. “I see.”

“Why?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.” You mimic his answer and refocus on your ministrations. 

He's lost. One moment you seem fine, but now it feels like you're shutting him out. “Did you do drum corps?” He tries.

“Yup.”

Jungkook lights up. He’s always been a fan of drum corps. Didn’t know you’ve done them too. Though, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. You’re very good at what you do. Hell, half, if not all, of the band could be marching in drum corps, but it was rigorous and costly. After getting cut from auditions back in high school, he hasn’t tried for drum corps again.

“What? I didn’t know that. Who have you marched with?”

“Phantoms and Red Angels.” You recount. 

“No way! Wait, Red Angels? When?”

“2010, 2012.”

Jungkook pauses. He doesn’t recall seeing you, but then again, he didn’t make the cut after two weeks of tryouts to remember any faces. 

“Alright, I think this is enough,” you say, unsure if you meant the ointment or the conversation. 

He’s learned so much more about you in these couple of minutes than he has in the weeks of practice with you. Feels a bit disappointed as you release his hand to grab your stuff. 

You place the jar of ointment on his desk. “Make sure to rub some on every night, but be gentle with it. Should speed up the healing process.”

Jungkook is in a daze as he thanks you and walks you out. He’d like to think the tingles on his hand were from the ointment worked into his skin and not from you.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You designated Sundays for schoolwork. Because you were rarely home, you preferred working from your apartment, but on rare occasions you’d be forced to go on campus. Today was one of those days. Your internet was down and you had a virtual call scheduled with all the section leaders later. Coffee shops were not ideal due to all the coffee grinding and foot traffic. When in doubt, you head to the campus library to grab a private study room or table. You should’ve known that it would be obsolete, especially on a Sunday. That’s when everyone’s trying to study or get their assignments done. You opt to sit outside instead. Except … the connection was awful and it was warm out. This might be the driving point for you to upgrade your home internet package. 

“Come on ...” You try to move closer to the facilities for a better connection. But you keep getting that circle of death on your screen. Maybe you also need a new laptop? 

“Juice?”

“Oh, Jungkook. Hi.” You wipe away some of the sweat from your hairline. 

Jungkook looked casual in his slides, t-shirt, and sweats. You personally wouldn’t have picked to wear sweats in this weather, but you assume he was just here to pick up his food from the dining corner judging from the greasy brown bag in his hand.

“Whatcha doing?” He asks. 

“Homework. Er, trying to at least. Think I’ll go somewhere else … Internet connection is pretty bad out here.” You place your bag on the bench and begin packing.

“Would you like to study at my dorm? Got air conditioning and the connection there isn’t too shabby.”

You want to say no. That night where you helped him with his hand was to absolve your own guilt for physically hurting him. A one off. But you’ve already driven all the way here and you’re not sure where you would go if not just back home. Plus, gas was expensive. ‘Just this once,’ you tell yourself. 

He looks at you with eager eyes, smiling wider when you nod. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook was on strike two at the 30 minute mark of studying in his room. The first time was when he started practicing on his drumming pad. The second was when he started humming all his parts in the show. He didn’t lie though — the wifi speed was great here and the air conditioning was nice. Since you occupied his desk, he took his spot on his bed. The times you bent down to get something from your backpack, you’d sneak a peek at what he was up to. He had his earphones in and drummed on his stomach with his hands. The color of his bruised hand looks infinitely better. You’d like to think it was thanks to your ointment, but you know a big part of it was because he was diligent with your instructions. Him and his cooperative nature. He was a good listener — valued what you had to say. 

Jungkook turns and catches you staring. You immediately turn back to your laptop. He sighs, “can we talk?” 

“I know you said you don’t hate me,” Jungkook starts, “but I can’t help but feel like I did something wrong. Did I?”

“You didn’t.” Half truth.

He doesn’t buy it. “Come on. We’ve been working together and it feels like there’s always this wall—”

“Jungkook,” you run your hand down your face, “has it ever crossed your mind that not everyone’s compatible as friends?”

His face falls. Jungkook was kind enough to offer his space for you to study and here you are being an asshole. Hell, he’s been nice all season from offering to take on the duet after Namjoon’s injury to showing up to all the practices on time. You’re not being fair at all. You don’t understand why you’re like this. Well, no, you do. Maybe if you talked about it, it would give you some closure too. 

“You tried out for Red Angels that one summer.” You mumble.

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Yes.” It comes out as a question.

“I remember you.”

“Okay?” He sounds a little frustrated and rightfully so since you’ve been dancing around the topic of you and Jungkook in circles. You also feel a bit stupid now that you’re finally expressing what’s been bothering you.

“I overheard you talking to the other drummers that time. You said something about how colorguard are the cheerleaders of marching band.”

“I did? Juice … I promise I’m not trying to be dismissive, but I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

You know he’s not. This shit was over five years ago. It’s dumb and the more you talk about it, you realize how stupid of a grudge it was to hold over Jungkook for something that happened to you in high school.

“During my freshman year of high school, I dated a senior,” you reveal. 

“Yikes. I’m sorry.”

“I know, big mistake.”

Jungkook internally tries to correlate the two pieces of information, but comes short. He’s confused. So you tell him. Told him how your ex was the drum major of your high school marching band. Told him how you thought he liked you a lot. Told him that you lost your virginity to him one month into dating and how he broke up with you the following week.

“Asshole.” Jungkook mutters. 

You smile, “right?”

You clear your throat before continuing, “he said some shit about how colorguard are the cheerleaders of marching band. Was a dig at colorguard and cheerleaders. Like that we’re ‘easy?’” 

“I guess … I was upset when I heard it again at the Red Angels tryouts. Fuck, is that stupid?” You palm your forehead. You weren’t expecting to drop your past lore to someone, let alone Jungkook.

“What? No! First off, fuck him. I’m sorry he treated you like that.”

You soften at his words. You don’t really talk much about the things that happened in high school because … honestly, the only good thing that happened in high school was colorguard despite the situation with that senior. Outside of being a pubescent teen, you never cared to reminisce about the past. Found it odd knowing people who called their high school years “the glory days.” You initially decided to go to this university because of their marching band program, but also, you wanted a fresh start. Seeing Jungkook was a reminder of the past. 

“It was the past. I associated that situation with what you said at tryouts. We obviously didn’t know each other and I didn’t know I’d be seeing you again in school.” You shake your head.

“Juice,” he says softly. 

“In hindsight, it’s stupid. I know. You’re probably a nice dude and you’re free to feel what you feel about people in colorguard—”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupts. “Fuck that dude. You didn’t deserve that. And no, I don’t think of you or anyone in colorguard that way.”

“But you said …”

Jungkook exhales, “this is going to sound dumb, but back then I thought the saying meant that colorguard were the highlight of the marching band performance … kind of like the fact that cheerleaders are the highlight of football games. I honestly didn’t know there was another meaning.” He mumbles. 

“Oh.”

You and Jungkook stare at each other with pursed lips now that everything has aired out.

“I’m glad you told me about your past. That explains some things …” he looks to the side, “I hope you know I’m not that kind of person. And I understand what you mean about people just not being compatible. Friendships can’t be forced and I won’t force that on you either.” 

You nod, “thank you.” You’ve been difficult all this time and now that Jungkook was respecting your boundaries, you feel out of place. 

“Don’t you have a section leader meeting soon?” He nods at his digital clock. 

“How did you know?”

He smiles sheepishly, “Yoongi complains about it in the group chat. Says it’s overkill.”

You snort. “It is, but Lee thinks it’s good for us.”

“Yeah, well … I’ll just be here,” he puts his earphones back in his ears and lays back on his bed. Your stare lingers before you turn back to your laptop. You’re a little embarrassed about how this transpired in the last couple of minutes, but there’s relief in knowing you were wrong about Jungkook. More than that, you realize why people appreciated him. 

Your virtual meeting starts and you assume it’ll be a quick one, that is until Hoseok gets to your updates. “Sooo, Juicebox. Lee has this crazy idea …”

You tilt your head. Whatever Lee wants, Lee gets. Just the matter if he’ll give you enough time to execute it. 

Hoseok smiles sheepishly, “last time, we had Namjoon catch a sabre tossed to him. What if we had a band member toss AND catch something? Jungkook, specifically. Lee was thinking … a five. Is that unreasonable?”

Unreasonable was an understatement. Namjoon’s catch was different … for one, it was just a triple, three rotations in the air. Second, Jimin was the one that tossed it to him. A five? There were people that have spun for years and never reach a five on a weapon. Not that they were bad, but people had different strengths and skill sets. Jungkook was just your partner in this show. You’ve only taught him the basics in the event Lee wanted something extra. You weren’t expecting this.

“I don’t know if it’s possible. I can try to train him, but no promises.” 

“Don’t think it’s a good idea,” Yoongi interjects, “Jungkook is lead tenor. I need him in top condition … if he gets hurt again …”

“Not saying it’s a must or anything. Let’s explore that idea and if it’s a no go, we won’t move forward with it.” Hoseok says. 

Everyone on the call reacts with a thumbs up. The call shifts over to the topic of a fundraiser. “Rehearsathon,” as Namjoon calls it, involved each band member reaching out to sponsors for donations to pledge they’ll rehearse for 12 hours straight. It sounds ridiculous, but Namjoon swears it works. Raises money for the band and everyone gets in extra practice time — hits two birds with one stone. He thinks it’ll be a great opportunity to chat up with some folks at the upcoming football game to get some sponsors. 

Having ended the call an hour later, you think you’ve overstayed your welcome. You pack up and mentally prepare to tell Jungkook you’re leaving. 

“What’s not possible?” Jungkook straightens himself up on his bed. 

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“Guilty,” he confesses, “can’t blame me … I’m literally two feet away and these earphones aren’t exactly noise cancelling. So, what’s not possible?”

“Lee wants to add another wow factor into the show.” You get up and Jungkook stands up as well, “wants you to do a five on weapon.”

“I don’t see why not. It’s worth a try.”

You put on your backpack and look at Jungkook incredulously. “Namjoon got taken out for a couple weeks by accident.”

“Okay, but you’ll be teaching and watching me, right?” He looks at you with those big, hopeful eyes again and you wonder to yourself if you both aren’t as compatible as you deem. 

“Fine. We’ll try it next practice. Thanks again for letting me work here … you didn’t have to.” You mumble. 

“Yeah, cause this space is only reserved for friends.” He jokes. “Kidding, Juice. It’s really no big deal.”

Ever so the gentleman, Jungkook walks you to your car even after you reassured that it’s not needed. He made up some excuse that he just wanted some fresh air. 

You both arrive at your car and you turn to him. “Well, thanks again.” You unlock your car and toss your backpack into the backseat. He waves and tells you to drive safely. The distance between you and Jungkook grows as he walks back to his dorm. 

You don’t know what compelled you to call out his name, but he turns quickly as if he’s also been waiting for this moment. “I never said I didn’t want to be friends with you. And yeah, you’re right. Colorguard is the highlight of the show.”

He smiles, and it’s devastating. How your body warms from just his smile. How it dismantles the walls you’ve built up around Jungkook. The foundation was weak to start, waiting for the right moment to crumble and start anew. You’re sure you can. 

“I know. See you at practice, Juice.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Men in colorguard dominated the weapon line. They had the strength and stamina to toss a rifle with little to no struggle. Pain tolerance though? You question that. Jungkook had the energy, but his control was off. It’s not his fault. This was his first time touching a rifle. The average person isn’t tossing and catching random objects. Anything that goes up, will have to come down. And having a rifle barreling down your head isn’t anyone’s idea of fun. 

“You have to squeeze.” You say after another lofty toss that has you both dodging the drop. 

“What does that mean?” He complains, “I am squeezing, see?” Jungkook shows his hands gripping the rifle harder. 

“No, your core.”

“What even is that?”

You place your hand on his stomach and another one on his lower back. Skinship in colorguard was normal, especially in dance. You’re used to it. You’d think Jungkook would be too. After all, there’s never a point in the show where you’re not touching each other. Yet, he tenses up under your touch.  

“Think of it as sucking in air and a string is pulling from your back.” You look up at him, “try it.”

Jungkook tries to follow your instructions but ends up with his back hunched over like a turtle. You laugh, now moving in front of him as you grab one of his hands from the rifle. Instinctively, you place it on your own stomach. His hand spays over your abdomen — big, warm, secure. You freeze. You shake off the feelings and take a step closer to Jungkook, not quite able to look up from your position.

“Like this,” you demonstrate the technique, “feel the difference?” You press his hand harder against you. You certainly feel it … the lightest change of pressure in his fingertips, the small movement from his thumb. No one would have noticed, but you do. 

You hear him swallow and exhale a shaky breath, “uh huh.” 

“Good,” you step back and let his hand fall back to his side, “reset and do it again.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook’s #1 remedy to a sore body was a hot shower. 

He’d run up the water bill back at home with the amount of hot showers he’d take after practice. At school? No difference. Even better now that he didn’t have his family breathing down his neck for taking up all the water. These days, he finds himself doubling down on his showers. He definitely underestimated the level of difficulty to perform as a musician and colorguard.

It hurts. His feet, shoulders, hands … literally everything.

All worth it though, especially on those rare occasions where your eyes light up after he’d reach another milestone in those private sessions.

He’s greedy for more. A smile. A compliment. A high five. Anything. Jungkook collects them in his invisible stamp book of accomplishments. Didn’t think he’d unlock something new today — something foreign within himself. 

The hot water beats down on his skin. It’s scalding, borderline painful. Even so, it doesn’t compare to how punishing his hand is wrapped around his hard, leaky length. Jungkook supports himself upright with one hand on the shower wall. He shakes. Grunts lowly. He shouldn’t feel this way for you. Shouldn’t think this way of a teammate. A section leader, at that. You’re in his head whether he likes it or not. 

Damn you and the innocent stunt you pulled during practice.

Damn you and those short shorts. 

Damn you and your pretty eyes. 

Because he’s here thinking about how you’d feel pressed against him, shorts pulled down, eyes watery from how good he’d make you feel. Would you praise him? Lose yourself on him? Encourage him to keep going? His hand speeds up.

Then, the unthinkable happens: your name slips out.

Shame needs no welcome. 

“Fucking hell,” Jungkook groans, orgasm slipping away as he abruptly lets go of his cock at the last second. He cranks the shower knob to the coldest setting. This was so wrong. You deserved better — shouldn’t be reduced to some weird fantasy.  

He pushes his wet bangs away from his forehead. Shakes his head as he scolds himself, “get a grip, man.”

Hot showers were his #1 remedy for a sore body.

Cold showers became his #1 remedy for you. 

Jungkook quickly finishes his shower to rid himself of those sinful thoughts. Tucked in bed by 10pm, he scrolls through his social media, praying he’ll find something worthwhile of a distraction. Just as he was going to call it quits and step out for a walk, his phone rings. 

Incoming call: Chaewon. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You never really understood football. Didn’t really bother to pay attention to it when you were in high school since your team was notorious for losing. You were only there to perform for the halftime shows. College football was different. More lively. You still didn’t get the rules of the sport, but you appreciated the school spirit. Also was nice that your band played music whenever your school scored. 

Hair and makeup was done thirty minutes before the show since nobody wanted to sweat off their work during the practice run throughs. You give a quick pep talk to your section. There’s always first show jitters, but you all worked so hard. Mistakes were inevitable and will motivate you all to improve for the next performance. So will push-ups, if Director Lee catches any in the stands.

“Hey.”

You turn at the familiar voice. Jungkook has on his uniform, harness hidden underneath it so it looked like the drums were floating in front of his body. Hat with the signature school feather tucked at his side, he looks polished. 

“Ready to crush our duet?”

“Of course,” you grin, “if you make a mistake, you’re doing my push-ups.” Banters come a lot easier after the confrontation you had with Jungkook awhile ago. You feel more at ease with him these days.

“Cruel. Aren’t captains supposed to sink with their ship?”

“You’re on your own ship.”

“Ouch.” He chuckles. “Hey, can you zip me up? Forgot to ask one of the guys for help before coming over here.” He turns and bends lower for you to reach.

“All done.”

“Thanks, you’re a gem.” He turns slowly just to make sure he doesn’t hit anyone with his drums. Jungkook studies your face for a brief moment, clears his throat, and smiles. 

“I like your eye makeup by the way. Blue suits you.”

“Yeah? Thanks,” you flush at his words. 

Most show makeup was done heavier so that the audience could see. Realistically, no one can see your face from the stands. Perhaps that’s why your parents never came to your shows. Too many band members, too hard to spot. No parent wants to waste time playing Where’s Waldo with their kid.

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks around for the source of voice and he waves excitedly, “Ma!”

You watch a short middle aged woman weave through the crowds. Her bangs were pinned away from her face. There’s an uncanny resemblance between her and Jungkook. It’s all in the eyes. She side steps his drums and gives him a hug with lots of pats on his back.

“I told you I was going to meet you all later after the show, Ma,” Jungkook says with a sweet smile, “how’d you even find me?”

“I always know where my son is!” She chuckles. In a sea of band kids and a filled stadium, it would be hard to locate your kid. Though how hard would it be to spot a boy with tenor drums? There were only four of them in the band. “Look at how tan you’ve gotten. Don’t forget to wear sunscreen. I know you burn easily.”

“Ma …” he grumbles. He knows it comes from a place of endearment. After all, his parents supported him all throughout high school and college by coming to his shows, even volunteering to carpool and host meals for the marching band. It’s a type of community and support he won’t take for granted. 

Jungkook looks out to the crowd, “where’s dad and Junghyun?”

“You know them. They’re in line for some nachos.”

You slowly back away to let him chat with his mom. It’s not that you disliked social interactions … you just really didn’t know what to do or say.

“Oh, Ma, this is Ju-,” he recovers quickly by saying your actual name, “she’s the colorguard captain.”

“Oh! Is she my favorite one to watch, Kookie?”

“Wha-? I thought I was your favorite to watch …”

“We got cameras for a reason.”

You giggle and shake her hand. You can tell where Jungkook gets his energy from.

“Your parents must be very proud of you. Such a lovely performer.” She praises.

Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes at the mention of your parents, but you nod your head in agreement, “thank you.” 

Sensing your discomfort, Jungkook jumps in, “Ma, we gotta go warm up now. Make sure you watch me. I’ve got a special part in the show.”

She pinches his cheeks, “wouldn’t miss it for the world, hon. Good luck, you two.” His mom quickly makes it through the crowd and up the stands. 

“Sorry, my mom can be a bit eccentric.”

You shake your head. “She’s cute. I can see where you get your personality from.” Wait. Pause. That came out wrong and you hope Jungkook didn’t catch that either.

“You think I’m cute?” Nothing flies over his head. 

“I think you need to worry more about pointing your toes during our routine.”

“Ugh, you sound just like Yoongi.”

“Wrong. I haven’t made you do push-ups. Though I probably should with the amount of times you dropped the rifle.” For that reason, you let the director know that the toss won’t be in the show … at least for this performance. It’s still too fresh and you would rather have a clean show with an easy routine.

“Cruel.”

You smile, “I’ll see you on the field.”

“Hey, Juice?”

“Hm?”

“Full out?” He says with a playful grin.

It’s a term he’s picked up from you over practice when you want him to perform at his best. This was your life motto. If you had to do something, you were going to do it full out. Do it so well that when the moment is finished, you could look back fondly and proudly at your accomplishments. 

“Full out.” You mirror his smile. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

The halftime show went well. Some mistakes were made, but what’s done is done. 

“Gah! I can’t believe I dropped when I was on the diva spot.” Jimin complains. The diva spot, a.k.a. the 50 yard line, was every colorguard member’s dream. For a moment, you were the center of the show. It’s one thing to be on it, it’s another if you had to do something big. And Jimin had a major toss that he missed. Nerves probably. Happens to the best, but it’s still not a good feeling for opener night. 

“I hate this uniform. I’m soaked in my sweat.” Yuri says as she carefully wipes her face, avoiding her eyes.

“My feet hurt.” Another girl whines.

Your mind races, still trying to catch your breath from the show. Performing in front of an audience was different. The cheers, the lighting, the adrenaline. You do your best to soak in the moment, but all you want is a bottle of Gatorade and to get out of this uniform. 

“Pain is just weakness leaving the body,” Director Lee comes from the corner. Ah, another one of his sayings he got from Pinterest. 

“Nice work, guard. I saw that drop, Jimin. Tighten things up.” Director Lee comments while noting down something on his clipboard. 

“Yes sir …”

“Director Lee, is there any way we can order new uniforms? It’s like a body sauna in this one.” Yuri inquires.

“Huh? Aren’t you kiddos into that bodysuit look?”

“Not when we look extra sweaty.”

“It’s not sweat, it’s glow.” Everyone groans at another one of his Pinterest quotes. Compared to the rest of the band, he’s a lot nicer with colorguard. He doesn’t know much about colorguard, but knows how hard you all work. As tough as Director Lee was in general, he’s a softie with guard … even with all the cringy dad jokes he makes. 

“Juicebox, I thought the duet with Jungkook was nice. I’m expecting Jungkook to be ready for the five next show. Still think something is not clicking. Don’t know what though,” he writes down another note in his clipboard, “but I trust you’ll get it fixed.”

“Yes sir.” You don’t know what to fix if he doesn’t tell you. One of those moments where you feel like you’re trying to hit a moving target. Perhaps talking to Jungkook about it may help. He hit all his marks in the show. You’re proud of his growth. Think it’s only right you expressed that, just as you do with your members whenever they hit a milestone. 

The band sets up their equipment in the stands again after the show. You look for Jungkook. He isn’t hard to spot. Not because he was tall or anything, but because of the swarm of people around him. Specifically cheerleaders. You liked your cheer team. Their work ethics mirrored closely to colorguard. What you don’t understand is the weird gnawing feeling in your stomach the moment you catch Jungkook and the rest of the girls laughing at something he said.

What’s that about?

He spots you. Smiles wider. Says something quick to the girls before he tries to walk away. Seemingly in your direction at least, but the girls don’t let him leave for whatever reason. 

Like the other band members, you gather around the cooler for some refreshments.

“Damn it. Jungkook is a genius for rounding up sponsors from the cheerleaders,” Jaehyun takes a bite of his granola bar. 

“You say it like they’d give you a single penny if you asked,” another member says. “He’s always been popular with the cheer team. Probably the dude with the most charisma unlike the majority of us band geeks.”

“I’ll have you know that my flirting skills—”

“Anyone who needs to talk about how great their flirting skills are, has none,” Yuri interrupts.

“You’re just a hater,” Jaehyun rolls his eyes. 

“And you look like…” more insults get fired back and forth between the two. 

You take the stairs up to where the guard sat during the games. There’s not much for you to do until call time. If you really wanted to, you could choreograph something, but being at the game was already enough. That’s what the cheer and dance teams were for anyway. 

Yoongi groans in his descent to the seat next to yours. Says he has old man knees. Ridiculous claim for a 22 year old, but you’re sure every band member has some sort of long term injury at this rate. Yoongi juts his chin to the bottom of the stands. “Think they’re gonna date?” 

“Who?” Your eyes zero on Jungkook and the cheer captain. He still hasn’t departed from the group. 

“The noobs.” Yoongi puts his feet on the empty bleacher. 

“Jaehyun and Yuri?” You laugh. “No way. They hate each other.”

“So did Romeo and Juliet.”

“Okay, but they died too.”

“Ugh, JB, you’re such a pessimist.” He snorts. 

“No, just a realist.”

You look down to where Jungkook stands. He’s no longer focused on the surrounding conversation. Has this antsy body language like he’s in search of something … or someone? Keeps looking back and forth between whoever was talking to him and the bleachers. Specifically, in your direction.

“He likes you.”

“Jaehyun?” You avert from the obvious answer. “Not interested in noobs.” 

Yoongi squints his eyes and smirks. “You’re no dummy, JB.”

“Don’t know who and what you’re talking about, Yoongs.”

“He’s not a bad kid,” Yoongi continues, “a little rough around the edges, but he tries hard. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Since when have you started playing wingman for Jungkook?”

“See, I knew you were no dummy.” 

You stick your tongue out. Yoongi takes the hint and drops the topic, choosing to stare at the open football field. 

“I’m gonna miss this,” he says after a beat. “Should I fail one of my classes to be a super senior?”

“I wouldn’t hate graduating with you. We’d get our captain plaques together on senior night.”

“Dad would kill me if he had to pay for another semester.”

You chuckle and lean back. Hoseok calls the band to prepare as the game starts up again. Yoongi goes back down with his section and you’re with yours. Being at the top of the stands, you’re also closer to the stadium lights where all the gnats and moths gather. Can’t help being tempted by the light. You have a lot in common with them. Feel for them, actually. Because much like them, you’re also helplessly drawn to Jungkook’s light.

You don’t understand football, but it’s a nice distraction to put out the little spark of curiosity for a certain tenor drummer. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You’re off. 

Maybe it’s cause of what Yoongi planted in your head. Maybe. Because you find yourself looking for Jungkook on the field whenever Hoseok signals the band to stop. With only four tenors in the band, he’s not hard to spot. Jungkook was always the last one to fall out of attention after Yoongi taps on his snare. You also find yourself fixated on his bare back and how it flexes when he leans to tilt his drums up. You tell yourself you’re only looking because of what his mother said at the recent football game. He burns easily — shoulders look a little raw and the harness rubbing against it doesn’t make it any better.

Jungkook is just as equally to blame for these weird times. He texts you every day and sends you corny marching band memes. Honestly? They weren’t that funny, but you chuckle nonetheless when you see Jungkook follow up with a ‘LOLOLOLOL us.’ Serves to only confirm he’s also thinking about you. 

You spend most of your days in practice with him — you’re bound to think of him outside of it. Especially when you’re at the local drugstore to get some tampons and you come across a bottle of aloe vera. All you have to do is hand it to him. And yet, the bottle remains with you for the next two weeks, burning a hole at the bottom of your backpack. 

Granted, you had plenty of chances to give it to him since you’re over at his dorm every Sunday to study. Don’t know when this routine started, but you’d have to thank your spotty wifi for that. It doesn’t take much to convince you either. Good air conditioning, decent wifi, clean space … and Jungkook. Speaking of which, he’s on the floor drumming on his pad. Your brain tricks you to think of it as white noise at this point — loud and comforting. Not sure if you could fall asleep to it, but probably for the better during these study sessions.  

His drumming comes to an abrupt stop, “Juice?”

“Hm?” You don’t turn around, too fixated on annotating your lecture notes. 

“Do you always bruise around your legs?”

It’s not uncommon for colorguard members to bruise, given that accidents occurred on a daily basis. Whether you miscalculate a toss or there’s overuse of certain body parts, injuries were inevitable. The bruises on your knees are an unfortunate byproduct of all the floor routines you’ve endured. They’re your battle scars. Pretty like the galaxy. That’s one way to view them outside of the pain.

You turn around. Big mistake. 

Jungkook looks up at you with starry eyes. It doesn’t help that his five-inch inseam shorts have lifted in his seated position. You’ve always had a weird obsession with tanlines and the ones on Jungkook’s thighs blend perfectly together. 

His eyes move from your face and down to your exposed legs. He points at one of the bruises on your shin, “that’s a new one.”

“Very observant of you.” You reply.

He goes red. As if he got caught red-handed doing something forbidden. You quickly follow up with a lighthearted chuckle to diffuse the awkwardness. “But yes, I do bruise easily. Takes a while for it to heal too,” you cross your legs.

“That sucks … guess we all have a weakness, yeah? You with bruising and me with burning.” He chuckles, “B&B.”

“The harness doesn’t help with the sunburn, huh?”

Jungkook smiles, “very observant of you.”

You roll your eyes, think this would be a good time to give him the aloe vera, so you dig through your bag and toss him the bottle. Jungkook catches it with ease and fumbles around his nightstand and tosses you an unopened box. “Trade you.” 

It’s the same ointment you brought him a while ago for his hand. You already have some at home, but it felt nice knowing he also thought of you too. 

He sits on his bed, grabs his shirt from the back of his collar, and tugs it off his body. Most people shy away from nudity, but band kids are a different breed. You’ve seen people practice in nothing but their undergarments in the past. You should be used to this — to Jungkook’s body. Keyword: should.

You swallow at the sight of his broad back, lean waist, and defined biceps. You should avert your eyes. Again, keyword: should.

Your eyes follow his hands as they reach around his shoulders to smear the liquid on his skin.

“You missed a spot.”

“Huh,” he turns to his floor-length mirror to see and attempts to reach back around. Fails again.

“Want me to help?” The wheels on Jungkook’s desk chair squeak as you roll closer.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” He hands you the bottle and turns around. You squeeze the bottle and watch the dime sized liquid dribble on his back. He shudders and exhales softly. 

You wonder if the deep shade of red on the tip of his ears was just another place he burned easily. Jungkook’s skin feels hot at the touch. Find the freckles and moles on his back endearing. Find it more endearing that he could never see them like you do. Much like his starry eyes, his back mirrors the constellations in the sky, begging to be traced and mapped by your fingers. By you. 

“There, all done.” You close the cap and set the bottle on the nightstand.

He clears his throat, “want me to help?” Jungkook points at the ointment in your lap.

Now it’s your turn to feel shy. “I can do it myself.”

He tilts his head, “I know you can.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You’re surprised at yourself — surprised you agreed for his help, surprised you’re seated on Jungkook’s bed with your foot perched on one of his thighs. You position your hands behind to support you upright.

“This okay?” Jungkook asks as he starts on the smaller bruises around your ankle. You’re not sure if he means this entire ordeal or the pressure he’s kneading into your skin. Regardless, you nod and bite the inside of your cheeks. You never realized how sensitive you were — never realized how much the bruises ached outside of your own touches. It’s been a long time since anyone has tended to your wounds, so this was different. A good different.

“You can go a little harder. Those are old.”

He does as he’s told. Always good, ever so obedient.

Jungkook eventually makes it up to your knees. You’ve let out a few shaky breaths in the time he’s worked the ointment into your skin, all while noticing the way his mouth parts at your reactions.

He eyes the last bruise between your thighs, and back up to your eyes, “there, all done.”

Something shifts in you.

“But you missed one.” You tilt your head, feigning ignorance just to see what he would do. He always does as he’s told, but you sense some hesitancy. Not because he’s uncomfortable, but because he’s unsure what will happen next if he touches you beyond what’s appropriate.

“Juice …”

“What?” You stare at him through hooded eyes, “I thought you wanted to help me.”

“And if I don’t?” He leans in, watches if you’d move away. You don’t, so he takes the chance to rest your leg down on his lap. 

“Push-ups.” You say without another thought, also leaning in. 

He laughs through his nose, “might do something that’ll warrant that anyways.”

“Like what?” You ask, “show me.” You have an idea of what will happen next. At least, you hope. There’s no doubt something changed between you two since that talk. Sure, you feel more comfortable around him, but lately? You’ve also been feeling other things. As much as you’d like to blame Yoongi, you know it’s your own attraction for Jungkook.

“Yeah?” His face is centimeters from yours. 

“Yeah,” you nod, nose grazing his.

He kisses you. 

Nothing more than a small peck to test the waters, but he waits a millisecond, which earns himself a soft whine from you as confirmation to continue. Your hand cups his jaw and pulls him in. 

“Again,” you breathe, “do it again.”

It’s the same order you’d give to anyone making a mistake in colorguard, but this was no mistake. Call it a Pavlov response or whatever; Jungkook always does as he’s told. Tries his best to make it good for you — doesn’t take much. He angles his head a little, does this pouty thing with his lips that has you feeling warm all over. You lick at his lips. It’s tentative, careful, and slow — gets him breathing heavier. 

“Fuck,” he muffles a small groan. 

Jungkook parts his mouth and the rest is history. Every lick, every nibble, every breathy moan felt experimental and deliberate all at once. Thumb tracing your cheek, the pressure of his fingertips on your hips has you keening. Time is an illusion because you’d spend the entire afternoon kissing Jungkook if you could. He pulls away first, lips pink and swollen with a sheen of saliva you’re unsure who it belonged to.

He swallows, “well?”

“Well, what?” You say, slightly out of breath. 

“Do I still need to do push-ups?”

You snort. He beams. You do spend the rest of the afternoon kissing Jeon Jungkook. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“I’ve got to say, Juicebox,” Namjoon pauses to chug the rest of his water, “I don’t think I could’ve pulled off what Jungkook is doing with you.”

You almost spit out your water. “H-huh?” 

Did Namjoon know something happened between you and Jungkook? 

“The duet. You guys are killing it.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you relax, “extra practice helps.”

Practice does help. And so do the kisses in between breaks that Jungkook swears by makes him improve. You don’t require much persuading to fall into his requests. Enjoy it too much to be restrictive of his affections. As a result, things get a little … difficult during ensemble practices because all Jungkook wants to do is pull you away to kiss you silly. Deprivation of each other works out in your favor because Director Lee no longer mentions how you both need ‘more chemistry.’

“Nice. Hoping for a solid show for all of us by the end of the month. My high school is going to be there.” The marching band was scheduled to perform at the end of a high school circuit competition. Director Lee says it’s a good way to get the school’s name out for prospects thinking about which university to attend.

“Also, is Jungkook okay? He keeps looking over here.” Namjoon nods his head from the side. 

You don’t even have to look. Jungkook’s been doing this every practice. Like a touch starved puppy waiting for their owner to come home. As endearing it is, you’re worried. If Namjoon noticed, eventually the other band members would too. 

“Think he’s just zoning out.” You lie.

“True. Eyes are giving pug.” Namjoon stands up and pulls the neck strap over his head, “alright, last run through for the day.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“You need to stop staring so much during practice,” you say in between kisses. Jungkook was over at your place under the guise to troubleshoot your shitty Internet connection. Quite confident it wasn’t your internet tier, but that it was just an old router. Ten minutes into inspecting your router, you end up pinned underneath Jungkook on your couch. 

“Why? You don’t like it?”

“Namjoon said you looked like a pug.”

“Pugs are cute.” 

“They are,” you concede. 

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Just-oh!” You look down at the source pressed at your heat. Jungkook is almost always hard during and after kissing, that much you know. Whether it’s from a simple peck or minutes of making out, he’s sporting a boner. Doesn’t take much to rile him up. Though, he’s never done anything further. Just tells you:

“Ignore that,” he trails kisses down your jaw and neck, “so what’s the problem?”

“Don’t want people assuming.”

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses and sits up on his heels, “right, sorry.”

You don’t mean to hurt his feelings. It doesn’t help that you’re a private person and things feel extremely preliminary with Jungkook at the moment. You like him, but for all you know, he could just be in it for a fun time. If this was going to die out, you rather have the least people know about it. It’s not like you’re actively wishing for an inevitable end. 

Realistically, it doesn’t hurt to prepare for hurt.

Mood completely shifted, Jungkook sits upright and looks around your apartment. It’s neat, feels homey with how you decorated it. Most of your furniture was secondhand or thrifted, but you took good care of it. He eyes the shelf containing your awards, dried flowers, and pictures with all the different groups and friends you’ve marched with. You’re more sentimental than you appear to be. Marching with these groups was no simple feat, but you looked back fondly at all the memories created. You know you’ll do the same for your university years too.

“Wish I could’ve done drum corps,” Jungkook sighs. If he was phased by whatever transpired moments ago, he doesn’t show it.

“Did you try out other groups?” You sit up, knees brought close to your chest. 

“Nah, I don’t think I’m good enough.”

Now, you initially thought there wasn’t anything remarkable about Jungkook’s drumming skills. But let’s be real … you didn’t read music nor play an instrument, so what did you know about drumming? What you do know is that Jungkook tried hard. He was more than capable of passing auditions and marching in drum corps. You’re sure of it. 

“You won’t know until you try.”

“Maybe,” he dismisses the thought with a nod. “Would’ve been nice to join two years ago and claim I was in the season where they had tenors drum upside down.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” you smile, “was pretty cool.”

“You’re the cool one for doing drum corps,” he praises, “did you do a lot of fundraising to pay for membership dues?”

You shake your head, “no, my parents did.”

“Nice of them to support you.” 

“Yeah, I guess?” You shrug, not sure how to reply, “they … never really came to my shows.”

Jungkook frowns, “why not?”

“Work? I don’t know … they just never made the time. I stopped asking them to come after a while, so I guess it’s my fault they don’t know my schedule.”

His eyes soften. You never realized how natural Jungkook was with affection and comfort. So natural in how he tugs at your wrist, lays you down with him on the couch, and cradles your cheek. 

“The way you perform … it’s an absolute privilege to watch you. They’re missing out.” He tells you with so much conviction, “Ma would argue you’re the only one worth watching.” He jokes.

“She’s cute.”

“A menace,” he corrects with a grin, “cause she should pay more attention to her son. But I get it, I’d watch you too.” Jungkook has a way of making you feel special. Like you mattered. Supported. Something you hoped you’d see from your parents in the past, but come to terms you’ll never receive. Now, it’s all coming in the form of Jungkook. And you don’t know what to do with all these emotions except feel guilty and apologetic for what took place moments ago.  

“I’m sorry about what I said about not wanting others to assume. It’s just …” 

“You don’t have to apologize, Juice. I understand where you’re coming from.”

Does he? It’s like him to be nice about it. You wouldn’t put it past Jungkook, but his words feel … withdrawn? Rehearsed? You’re unsure if you want to open this can of worms with him, let alone if he wanted to talk about it. Instead, you press a soft kiss on his lips, “thank you.”

He groans and pulls you into a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Are you tryna make me hard?”

“You’re so easy,” you laugh. 

“You’re telling me you don’t get turned on when we kiss?” He looks at you incredulously. 

You shake your head — a lie. “Nope, all you.” You say as one of your legs hook over his hip.

“I call bluff.” He kisses you, slow, tongue licking the seam of your lips. You lightly suck on his tongue and bite the bottom of his lips, giggling as he moans.

“Wanna check?” Feeling bold, your hand wraps around his wrist and leads it to your midsection, stopping just slightly above your shorts.

“Want me to?” He looks at you through hooded lids. 

“Yeah, I do,” you nod, “prove me wrong.” You let out a tiny gasp as his hand slips past your shorts. 

“Jungkook,” you whimper as his middle finger slips between your folds. The feeling of someone else’s hand other than your own has you feeling hot all over. Jungkook lets out a little wrecked noise before diving back to your lips for a messy kiss. His hand moves slowly, circling your clit, working out some of the prettiest moans.

“Liar,” he chuckles against your lips. His hand goes lower, fingers collecting your slick at your entrance before smearing it all over your clit. 

Your jaw goes slack when his fingers move faster. “N-no, I’m not.”

You feel the vibrations on your lips as he hums. “Think I need to see. Will you let me?”

Such a stupid bit you guys have going on, but you both play it so well. Your shorts and panties are tossed somewhere in your living room, bare ass hanging halfway off the couch. Jungkook kneels on the carpet floor, in an absolute trance. Whatever he’s fantasized in the last month will never compare. Simply spreads and pushes your legs further apart.

“Pretty,” he murmurs to himself. Not sure if he’s talking about you or your pussy; regardless, you smile at the compliment. 

“Done checking?” Your eyes move from his down to your wet pussy.

“Yeah. I guess I was wrong.” One of his hands moves to cup the side of your ass, parts your folds more. His thumb strokes up and down your slit, arousal apparent from your wetness.

“Told you.” You shut your eyes when you feel his thumb apply more pressure to your clit.

“So dry,” Jungkook watches you clench around nothing. “Think I gotta help you.” He lowers his head, cheeks hollow a little before he dribbles a glob of spit onto your bare cunt. You arch your back at the sensation of it trailing down your pussy. Jungkook’s face is centimeters away from your pussy, warm breath fanning over. He waits for your permission, places a delicate kiss on the side of your thigh, eyes never leaving yours. Your hand comes underneath your thigh to hold his hand during this intimate act. 

“Yeah, think so too. Need you to help me.”

Jungkook eats pussy like how he makes out. Hot. Pouty. Whimpery. It does something to your heart when he interlocks his hand with yours, thumb caressing your hand. Soft and soothing. So different from how he has his lips wrapped around your clit, licking and sucking ruthlessly. You let out a broken sob when he suddenly pries your legs further apart before fucking his tongue in you. He pauses in between to spit, uncaring of where it lands because he knows it’ll eventually mix with the rest of your slick. 

“Oh my god!” You shut your eyes, too overcome from the pleasure. 

“Is that good, baby?” Baby. You like that. You like it more knowing he asked that question to check in on you as if your reactions weren't a giveaway. Couldn’t possibly formulate a response in the time he goes back to your clit, head moving side to side. 

The pleasure builds and builds until you gasp. Body curling in and thighs locking Jungkook’s head in place, you cum. 

White splotches fill the back of your lids. Jungkook was absolutely entranced by your orgasm. He groans, eats you out sloppily just cause. You can only lay there and take everything he’s giving you, hand clutching his tighter when it gets too much. Jungkook finally lifts himself off you when your whimpers die down, marveling at your glistening sex. He was a sight to see: disheveled hair, red nose, and wet chin. 

“Wanna watch you cum again. Please?” His fingers circle your entrance.

You sigh prettily. “Come here.”

He obliges. Leans over your body with one of his hands still between your legs. You waste no time in pulling him down to a heated kiss, loving the taste of you on his tongue. The squelching noises intensify as you buck your hips into his hand. Drives you crazy that Jungkook hasn’t put his fingers in yet.

You pull away, “hear that?” You circle your hips. “You did that. Made me so wet — made me feel so good.”

“God, you’re so hot,” he moans, two fingers finally entering your pussy. He’s slow at first, mindful of your previous orgasm. Builds some speed once you pant into his mouth for more, fingers curling and letting the rise and drop of your hips do the work. 

“You’re creaming.” Like a new discovery only he could lay claim on. Like he didn’t know he could get you like this. Because truthfully, only he has ever gotten you like this. He stares at the mess between your legs, white coating his digits and seeping down your ass the more he thrusts. 

You can only whine and arch your back against the couch. That familiar feeling blooms in the pits of your stomach again. 

“I’m gonna—”

He nods, keeps the same speed and watches you with blown out pupils. Doesn’t know where to focus. Decides at the last moment that it should be your face and feels no regret when you cum a second time on his fingers.

“You’re so pretty.” He kisses you through your orgasm, shaking his head when you trail your hand down to his crotch. 

“Oh, you don’t want …?”

“Trust me, I’m more than good.” He pulls you up and giggles at your jello-state legs. 

You’re a little confused why he didn’t want you to return the favor, but decided it was best to brush it off. He helps locate your clothing and guides you into your bathroom to clean up. You back against the locked door, hands coming up to touch your face. Hot. Look over to the mirror and exhale at the sight. The afterglow looks good on you. There’s a drop to your shoulders and light in your irises. You look enamored. It’s all too soon to say, especially after multiple kisses and this one intimate moment … though, your chest swells with hope. Hope for more with Jungkook. 

In the time you spent freshening up, Jungkook pulled out a new router from his backpack he bought in secret earlier that day. Thirty minutes later, your connection and speed was infinitely better. 

“Let me pay you back for the router,” you say as Jungkook puts on his shoes at the doorway. Jungkook stands up and tugs on the strap of his backpack.

“Nah. Just write off the push-ups for the rest of the season whenever I drop the toss,” he smiles cheekily. 

“You wouldn’t have to do push-ups if you caught.” You scowl, “thank you again for the router. Saves me the trips to campus.” But it also meant you won’t have an excuse to study at Jungkook’s anymore. 

Jungkook surprises you with a quick kiss on your cheek.“You’re always welcomed over whenever you want. G’night, Cap.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Envy has a weird way of working. 

You remember it best with your parents choosing to go to your sibling’s sports games or when everyone in colorguard got to their splits way before you did. Just like how you’re feeling now, seeing Jungkook smile and joke with one of the cheerleaders after practice. It’s uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. You’ve never cared this much when you’ve witnessed past partners conversing with other people. 

You encouraged it. Felt secure. 

This was different.

“Yo, that’s the girl that Jungkook’s been talking to? Chaewon?” Jaehyun says in passing to another tenor player.

“I think so. Why?”

You don’t listen to the rest of the conversation. Rushing out the band room, your mind jumps back to all the times he’s stopped moving forward beyond making you feel good. Was it because he was already seeing someone else? It could only make sense if he wanted to be safe about it. Good that he’s thoughtful for all parties involved. Bad because you thought he liked you enough to have it only be you. 

You were right. It doesn’t hurt to prepare for hurt.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook [5:04 p.m.]: hey! u left super early today. did u get home safe? Jungkook [8:31 p.m.]: ?? juice, u ok? You [10:15 p.m.]: Yes, I’m home.

1 Missed call from Jungkook

You [10:16 p.m.]: Sorry, studying atm. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.

This back and forth goes on for the rest of the week. Jungkook tries to talk to you after practice, but you always seem to slip away at the last moment. The one-on-one practices have stopped because the show was as clean as it could get and all Jungkook needed to work on was catching. He could do that on his own. You gave him all the tools he needed to succeed.

You’d like to think that whatever you shared with Jungkook was just a moment of indulgence. Helped you nurse your pride and feelings. If you kept telling yourself that things were okay and how it should be, you’ll eventually believe it. Much like how you’ve accepted that you’ll never see your parents at one of your shows, you'll realize these feelings for Jungkook were also fleeting. Because it starts to look that way once Jungkook starts to back off trying to talk to you.

You had other things to focus on. Cleaning up your section, schoolwork, and raising enough donations for the Rehearsathon. Of course you fall short of the goal. It’s not a big deal, but you hate to be the person who didn’t look like they tried at all, especially coming from a leadership role.

Regardless, you come into Rehearsathon ready for the brutal twelve hours. Practice lasted three hours at max, twelve was overkill. By the end of it all, you were exhausted. Sore and ready to go home for a much needed hot shower.

“Nice work, band. With the money raised, I think it’s safe to say we’ll be getting new uniforms by the end of the month. Just in time for the exhibition show.” Director Lee continues his recap, “also, shout out to our top fundraisers: Toad, Jungkook, and Juicebox.”

Huh? You barely raised a little over 50 bucks … 20 of which came from yourself cause you felt awful showing up with just 30. Did everyone else just do poorly? 

Hoseok comes to you after everyone gets dismissed to pat you on the back.  “Very impressive to get the cheer team to donate that much.” Cheer team? You’re lost. You didn’t know anyone on that team, let alone solicited them to donate. The only person you knew that had connections with the cheer team was none other than Jungkook. But … why would their sponsorship be under you? 

It didn’t make sense.

“Jungkook.” You jog up to him. 

“Sup?” He’s never greeted you like this before, but it’s probably deserved since you’ve been avoiding him. Doesn’t sting any less. 

“My sponsors. You did that, didn’t you?”

He nods. “Yeah, I did.”

You shake your head, “you didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to,” he shrugs.

You try to find the right words to say, but come short. You settle for a small ‘thank you.’ It’s all you can say before you turn the opposite direction. 

He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t question why you haven’t been returning his calls or text messages. Your silence was an answer in itself. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook’s tosses and catches were inconsistent. On his good days, he’s able to stick his catch. Mostly during rehearsal. But come the halftime shows? He’s dropping. You can tell he’s frustrated. No one likes feeling like they dragged down the quality of a show. Some liked to be left alone to process their mistakes; you assumed Jungkook was the type to need extra comfort. You work up the courage to go to him, but see that Jimin has beaten you. Probably for the better. 

Jimin was great when it came to comforting others. In Jungkook’s case, it looked like Jimin was putting in the works. Has him miming a toss and doing a silly dance to show Jungkook how he tries to recover under a bad toss. Jungkook cracks a smile. Jimin transitions to his final move: back hug. You’ve also received those from Jimin before. It’s nice — not your preference after a rough show, but you appreciate the sentiment. Looks like Jungkook does too. Appears infinitely lighter.

The same cheerleader you saw a couple weeks ago, Chaewon, comes up to Jungkook too. Gives him a high five and a hug. And that was your cue to leave. You feel a little pathetic. All this because you don’t know what to do with your feelings for a boy.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Exhibition day. 

Instruments loaded in the trailer, everyone was ready to hit the road. Whenever there was a far off site performance, Lee strung up his contacts to reserve fancy buses for the band. Yoongi theorizes it’s all for show to the prospective graduating high school seniors. He’s not complaining though. Far better to ride on some fancy buses than to coordinate carpool for over 200 band kids. 

“Is your high school going to be there, Juicebox?” Yuri stuffs her equipment underneath the bus compartment.

“No,” you shake your head, “they’re in another circuit.”

“Lucky, my school is going to be there. So I need to impress my underclassmen.” She holds her hands into a fist. You chuckle, pull the straps of your backpack higher on your shoulder as you step onto the bus.  

Colorguard preferred taking the back of the bus only cause it feels like you can do your hair and makeup in peace. Funnily enough, drumline also preferred the back too. Gives them space from the rest of the band when they drum together on the bus. Lucky for you, one of your girls secured the backseats. You volunteer to sit alone since there was an odd number of members in your section. If the drumline came to the back, you had a feeling Yoongi might swoop in to sit with you. He preferred a quieter seat partner despite having to lead some of the drumming sessions on the bus. 

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

There’s no need to look up. Even if you haven’t spoken to him in a couple weeks, you’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Go ahead.” Who were you to stop him? 

Jungkook takes his seat, stuffs his bag underneath the seat in front of him, and places his drumsticks on his lap. He smells like coconut and shea butter — the same scent as the sunscreen you gifted him a while back. It’s sweet and warm — such a huge contrast to how you and Jungkook act towards each other now. Bitter and cold. 

“Alright,” Director Lee announces from the bus intercom. “About a 45 minute drive to the location. No bathroom breaks. If you gotta go, hold it or piss in a cup.” A bunch of band kids grimace and fake a retch from the comment. 

All you could think about is how you’ll be next to Jungkook for the next 45 minutes. The drummers get their rounds of drumming in, choosing to drum on the seats in front of them. You stare out the window, wishing for time to pass by quicker. His elbow brushes yours and time ceases to continue. Something lodges in your chest from the brief contact. You chastise your heart — so weak, so dumb, so fragile. Just because of a boy. 

As Director Lee says, you’ve got to tighten up.  

The drumming continues for another 20 minutes. Your section chatters behind you and Jungkook is turned to his own. Sometimes in a room full of people, or in this case … a bus, you still manage to find yourself feeling left out. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. 

Eventually, the bus arrives at a lot filled with other school buses.

“You guys have 15 minutes to unload and meet at the practice field for warm up.” Director Lee announces. 

Row after row, people file out of the bus. When it was Jungkook’s turn to get up, he stays seated. He motions the folks behind him to go first, bending down to his backpack to get something. Everyone was now outside the bus … minus you and Jungkook.

He sighs. “How long are we going to keep doing this?” Jungkook leans back on his seat, 

“Doing what?”

“Pretend like what we had didn’t happen.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stand up, one of your hands land on the seat in front to support yourself as you wait for Jungkook to move.

“Come on, Juice,” he pleads, “this is ridiculous.”

“I’m glad you agree,” your knee pushes at his leg to get to the aisle.

“Was it something I did?” Jungkook’s voice softens, “I would never do something you weren’t okay with …” 

“Jungkook.” You look at the front of the bus. Thankfully, no one was there, “I was okay with everything we did, well—no, I mean,” you shift uncomfortably as you try to find the right words. He cocks his head to the side with furrowed brows.

You feel your resolve waver. There hasn’t been a second in the day where you don’t think about him. Week after week, you jump between feeling sad, betrayed, and embarrassed. He’d even pop up in your dreams to remind you that even when you weren’t awake, he’s still very much present in your subconscious. Perhaps talking to the source of your problems could help. 

“We can talk about it after the show. There’s not enough time.” You were being honest. Know that everyone is on crunch time now that you’ve all reached the performance site. 

“Okay.” He’d have no other choice but to accept. He gets up and moves to the side. You push away that bitter feeling in your chest. It’s show day. Jungkook eventually emerges out the bus a couple minutes after you do. 

“You okay, JB?” Yoongi hauls his drum from the trailer and moves out of the way for the other members to get their instruments.

“Yeah,” you lie, “just pre-show nerves.” 

Yoongi doesn’t buy it. Realized you and Jungkook were the last ones to get off the bus. Felt the shift between the two of you these couple of weeks. He also notices how Jungkook looks over at you. Something must’ve happened, but he’s not going to push for answers right before a show. 

“Kids these days …” he murmurs to himself.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

High school marching band competitions were overstimulating. Overfilled bathroom stalls, different music playing, and the scent of kettle corn … makes you nostalgic. The rush of being on a field again. Other good, if not better, colorguard you’d meet from all over the country. The award ceremony. The comradery. Maybe you have one more season left in you to do drum corps in the summer. 

For now, you’re lined up at the front of the main field. Everyone is all warmed up and ready to perform. 

Showtime. Director Lee takes over the stadium microphone to introduce the marching band and Hoseok signals everyone to march down the field into position. The show goes smoothly. During the performance, the audience erupts with cheers at every musical feature and toss. Jungkook catches. The band was an absolute hit.

“Oh my god, we rocked out there!” Jimin drops the handful of equipment he picked up on the field. Everyone gives each other high fives and pats on the back. 

“I second that,” Director Lee comes around with his megaphone. “Nice work, band. We have an hour to reload. Do as you like till it’s call time.”

Equipment and instruments loaded up, you and another guard member walk to the concession stands for some kettle corn. While waiting in line, she gets pulled away by some old classmates from high school. Honestly, you didn’t even want kettle corn, but you weren’t ready to face Jungkook just yet. In the midst of your thoughts, someone calls your name. You freeze.

“I thought I recognized you from the stands. Long time no see.” 

A voice and face you long to forget: Wooyoung. Your high school ex.

You step back, unsure how to avoid this interaction. He smiles. To any other person, it’d come off as friendly. To you? Slimy. Icky. You feel more cornered when he opens his arms for a hug. When you don’t lean into it, he pulls you in for one.

“You were great out there. Improved a lot since your freshman year.” He places his hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks,” you reply. Your gaze locked on the object in front of you. A badge that read: YBHS Asst. Band Director.

He notices your stare. “Yeah, I never really left the marching band scene post college. Just kept calling my name.” You don’t like the way he scans your body. The corners of his lips fight to stay neutral. Part of you feels sad for your younger self — didn’t know better than to mistake his lust for interest and adoration.

“Say, if you’re free after the competition, we should get some drinks together and catch up. The school I’m teaching is looking for a dance tech—”

“No, I’m not looking to teach.” You immediately decline. Getting paid to do what you loved sounded tempting, but why subject yourself to torture being employed by the same man that fucked you over? “Thanks for the offer, but I need to go back with the band.” You step back. 

Ignoring your decline, Wooyoung tries again. “We should catch up though. I don’t mind taking you back if you’re worried about a ride home.”

“No thank y-”

“Juice.” You’ve never been more relieved to hear someone call you by that nickname.

Jungkook stands beside you. Saw you looking uncomfortable from afar and it was instinctive to come over despite whatever was going on between you two. By no means was he a confrontational or violent person, but he’s protective of those he cares about. And he cares deeply about you. No doubt about that.

“Lee said he needed us back at the bus.” There’s plenty of time left, but you’re thankful for an opening to leave. 

“Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

“Aw, can’t spare a couple more minutes for an old friend?” Be it his ego or his inability to read the room, Wooyoung doesn’t back down. This doesn’t surprise you. What surprised you was Jungkook’s hand wrapped around yours. Possessive. Alert.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” Jungkook says.

“Oh? Boyfriend?” Wooyoung eyes your interlocked hands. 

“Uh-”

“Yep,” the lie rolls off his tongue effortlessly. You nearly believe it too, “and you are …?”

“Wooyoung. I teach at one of the high schools in this circuit,” he chuckles, “I’m assuming you both march at the same university?”

“We do.” Jungkook answers on your behalf again.

“Cute. Well, I won’t keep you two,” Wooyoung turns to you. “It was nice seeing you again. Hit me up on Facebook if you’re interested in the tech position or if you just want to catch up.”

Before you know it, you and Jungkook are headed back to the direction of the bus. He's still holding your hand, weaving both of you through the crowds. 

“Jungkook,” you say, nearly tripping over your steps to meet his long strides. He lets go of your hand and faces you.

“Was that your ex?”

Your silence confirms the answer.

“Why’d you let him walk all over you like that?”

“I was fine.”

“You were clearly uncomfortable. Had I not stepped in-”

“I didn’t ask for your help, Jungkook.”

“You didn’t,” he steps back, “and I know that. I just … I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I care about you ... we’re friends.”

But friends don’t look at each other like the way Jungkook does with you. A friend’s touch doesn’t make you yearn for more. It doesn’t hurt when they call you a friend.

“We’re not friends.” Guilt seeps through you the moment those words leave your lips. Jungkook runs his hand down his face and exhales a small humorless laugh. It comes out mocking with a hint of bitterness.

“But Wooyoung is?”

That hits a sore spot. He realizes his mistake when your face falls. “Juice,” his voice softens, “I didn’t mean it like that-���

“Just like how you’re friends with Chaewon?”

He pauses. Confusion plastered on his face. Your shoulder bumps into his arm as you walk past him and towards the bus. It takes less than a second for him to catch up to you. Calls your name. Gets ignored. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? What does Chaewon have to do with any of this?” With some band members lining up to board the buses, Jungkook’s voice was loud enough to catch their attention. The last thing you want is people speculating.

“Can we do this another time?” You say through gritted teeth. 

Another time? He’s been waiting to talk to you, but you keep blowing him off. He doesn’t know when he’ll be granted this opportunity again, let alone whether you’ll keep your words. But you look uncomfortable and as much as he’d like to air out his grievances, he holds himself back from making a bigger scene.

He sighs in resolve and lets you queue in line for the bus. In the bus, you expected Jungkook to sit right next to you. Gets surprised when Yoongi plops down next to you. You scan the area and realize Jungkook is a couple rows in front. He doesn’t look back at you. Doesn’t come back for his belongings underneath the seat. 

“Whatever is going on between you and Jungkook needs to be fixed. You’re better than this.” He sighs. 

Yoongi was never one to lecture you. Not because he doesn’t feel like he can’t, but because you’ve always had your shit together. Haven’t seen you act like this before. So … juvenile, immature, and unreasonable. Perhaps he was wrong to think that things would work between you and Jungkook. The bus ride back to the campus was quiet. Going home always felt like a shorter ride in comparison to going to the performance site. Wished it took longer. 

The bus comes to a full stop at the front of the school and everyone immediately gets out row by row. Yoongi gets up once it’s your row’s turn. “Wait, Yoongi,” you point at Jungkook’s bag at the bottom of the seat.

“You can give it to him, JB.” It’s not a demand, merely a matter of fact. You don’t argue back. Percussion is typically last to unload all their instruments back into the band room, so you’re stuck waiting for Jungkook till he’s done.

One by one, your colorguard members leave to go home, bidding you farewell. They don’t question why you’re staying behind, just assume that you have some business you have to see through with the director or other section leaders. It’s late and they just want to be in bed. So do you. But you wait, because it’s what you should do. You owe this to Jungkook at the very least.

Thirty minutes go by and Jungkook finally emerges from the band room. He smiles and waves goodbye to his section. When he sees you with his bag, his expression morphs into something close to disbelief. Walks up to you quickly and takes it out of your hand.

“Could’ve told Yoongi to give it to me,” he frowns. 

“Trust me, I tried,” you sigh, “but I promised we would talk.”

His lips presses into a thin line. It’s late, but if the talk doesn’t happen now, he doesn’t know when it will. 

“Did you want to talk at the dorms?” He asks. 

You internally debate whether it was a good idea to be in an enclosed area with Jungkook. Sure, it offered some privacy, but you felt more exposed. More vulnerable. Limits your likelihood of running away. Doesn’t take you long to make a decision, opting to talk at his dorm after a cold breeze passes through. It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been there. You wonder if anything has changed. Yet, you’re greeted by the same blue bedsheets, detergent, and all too clean of a desk space. Nothing’s changed, except for the two people in there.

Jungkook sits on the floor and you follow. You clear your throat, unable to make eye contact with Jungkook now that you’re in front of him. No more avoiding the inevitable. 

“What’s been going on?” He asks carefully. “Talk to me, please?”

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure of where to start.

“Was it something I did?” He asks again. 

Another moment of silence ensues. “Juice-”

“We shouldn’t have done what we did.” You’re sure this was the right thing to say, but it doesn’t hurt any less. 

“What do you mean?” His voice comes out small.

“I shouldn’t have entertained any of that. It wasn’t right.” That really drove it home. Nail on the coffin. Stings more when you look up and see the hurt plastered on Jungkook’s face.

Yoongi told you to fix things, but it seems impossible when you’re only capable of making things worse. Especially with how he closes his eyes and looks away. You’ve prepped your heart for this moment. Though, this is Jungkook. The boy who willingly volunteered to step into a position no one else would, the boy who’s been vying for your attention and got it, the boy with a smile so warm that you think you’d have trouble forgetting even across multiple universes. 

That’s what scares you. Whatever he says next will hurt. 

“Do you regret it?” Jungkook asks with downcast eyes. You rest your face into your palm. It’s a yes or no question deserving of a yes and no answer. For that, you couldn’t answer right away. 

“I didn’t. Not once.” He answers truthfully, “but if you regret it, I really am sorry.” Jungkook looks at you with those round, apologetic eyes. 

You almost cave. Almost. 

“I just … thought we had something special. I was wrong to assume.” He says. 

You did have something special with Jungkook. He wasn’t wrong. 

Jungkook continues, “I hope we can remain friends, but I get it if you don’t want to.”

Friends. This irked you. 

“Is that what you say to people you’ve slept with?”

“What?” He retracts his head back in confusion. “Where’s this coming from?”

There’s no going back now.

“Chaewon.” You straighten up from your seated position, “there’s also something special between you two, right?”

You sound bitter. You hate it. Hate how he looks … so exposed. So incriminating. 

Jungkook quickly shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t let me touch you. Was it because you were still sleeping with her?”

“No! I—”

“—It’s fine if you were. We weren’t anything,” wrong, he was something to you, still is, “but—”

“It’s not like that,” he interrupts, but you press on, fully on autopilot now. 

“—I’m not someone’s backup, I don’t do casual. The least you could’ve done was tell me. If you had any respe—”

The words die on your tongue when Jungkook says your name. Your actual name. You don’t realize how heavy you’re breathing. And Jungkook? Upset is an understatement. 

“I did have something with Chaewon,” he begins. 

You scoff. 

“In our first-year. Things ended because … well, I caught feelings,” he admits with a hint of shame, “I don’t do casual either. I just didn’t realize she did.”

Oh.

“But you’re still …?”

He shakes his head no. “We’re not like that anymore, I swear.”

“Doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t let me touch you,” you murmur, head turned away in embarrassment. 

Jungkook frowns. “It’s not that I don’t want you to. Intimacy just kinda fucks with my head and heart … after what happened with Chaewon, I just …” His voice trails, “I didn’t want to rush and mess things up with someone I care about. Seems like it still happened anyway.” Jungkook scoots closer, knees now touching yours. “Is that what this is about?”

Jungkook cocks his head to meet your eyes, but you keep your head turned away. “Hey, come on. Look at me.”

And when you finally do look at him, you’re met with light and warmth — something you don’t know if you deserve after all the mess your mind created. He hesitates, but trails his fingers against yours. Testing the waters. Jungkook takes it as a sign to hold your hand when you don’t retract. Even with his calloused hands from years of drumming, you feel the tenderness in his touch.

“I never intended to hurt you or make you feel bad,” his voice laced with sincerity, “I’m sorry.”

Jungkook was right. Intimacy does fuck with your head and heart. Made you think irrationally, abandoning all logic for the sake of protecting your heart and pride. Ridiculous that he’s the one apologizing. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I should’ve come to you about it. I’m sorry.” Your eyes water at the admittance.

“Aw, hey, don’t cry …” Jungkook cups your cheek with his other hand.

You sniffle, quickly blinking away the tears because you’re stubborn — not a fan of people witnessing you cry. Instead, you press your cheek into his palm. Missed his touch — missed him.

It’s a little uncoordinated how he pulls you onto his lap, but when you’re seated on him and your head is resting in the crook of his neck, it feels like coming home. There’s a specific scent that clings onto his skin after a long day of being under the sun — slight musk mixed with sunscreen and his cologne. Familiar and comforting. You wonder if he’s just as attached to your scent as you are with his.

“You still haven’t answered my question though …” he swallows, “do you regret it?”

“No,” you shake your head, voice coming out small, “never regretted anything we’ve done.” 

“Do you … regret us?” He asks. 

You shake your head again. You know you said some hurtful things a while ago. Wish you could take it all back. Can’t seem to muster the courage to tell Jungkook that he’s been the best thing that’s happened to you all season, but you try in your own way.  

Torso turned awkwardly and arms sewn around his neck, you hold him. It takes a second for Jungkook to react, body tense and unsure if he’s allowed to embrace you. You exhale, something akin to relief, and he feels it too. Jungkook holds you just as tightly. Tucks himself into your neck and kisses into your hair. Whispers how much he’s missed you and jokes about how foolish you both are — just two enamored fools.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

The day after that night, Jungkook unfollowed Chaewon on all his social media platforms, not before sending a quick message how he no longer wanted to stay friends. You hope it wasn’t because of you. Sure, you had your moments of insecurity about Jungkook and Chaewon and don’t know exactly what transpired between them, but you thought it was a bit excessive to cut someone off cold turkey. But Jungkook had his reasons … reasons for which he’s not ready to talk about just yet. You trusted him and you’ll wait. If he thought this was for the better, you’ll stand by his decision.

The season was nearly over. You’re also over at Jungkook’s a lot, vice versa — made his room a second home. He reserves a section of his nightstand just for your bobby pins and hair ties … no different from your desk chair with a pile of his sleep shirts.

It’s the evening after an ensemble practice and he’s laid between your legs, bare back against your torso. Nothing sexual, just appreciating your company while he drums a random beat on his chest. The warmth of his body feels good on yours, like a heated and weighted blanket all at once. You mindlessly run your fingers in his hair, occasionally earning a shudder from Jungkook if your nails made contact with his scalp. 

“Next week’s our last show,” he mutters.

From your position, you notice Jungkook’s pout. Your hand comes to a stop. “You sad?” 

“A little. Season’s been tough, wanna end it on a good note.”

Part of you wonders if he was talking about the show or his time with you. Both could be true.

“You will,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and give him a reassuring squeeze, “is your family going to be there?”

Jungkook smiles fondly. “Yeah, they are.”

“Good. That’ll be enough incentive for you to catch this time,” you tease. 

“Yah,” he turns, chin propped at your sternum, “I don’t need incentives to do well.”

“Really?” You tilt your head. “That’s not what you said before practice today. ‘One kiss, please? I swear I’ll stick the catch.’” You do your best pleading eyes, but nothing can beat the real deal.

His eyes narrow, lips curving into a playful smile. “You got me.”

Jungkook lays his cheek down on your chest, hesitates with his next words. “How about you though? Is your family going to be there?” He knows family is an uncomfortable topic for you. Hell, talking about hard topics in general was difficult. These days, you’re doing better at communicating your feelings. Jungkook makes it easy — makes the uncomfortable feel comfortable. 

“Didn’t invite them, so probably not,” you shrug.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have them there?”

“Maybe …”

Jungkook thinks you’re so pretty when you’re in deep thought. Brows furrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line. There’s that dimple on the right side of your cheek that only appears when you do that. He’s sure you’re not even aware of its existence. Always been so captivated by you. Built this version of you in his head all these years and you’ve shattered every one of his assumptions in just one season. He's gotten to know different sides of you — like when you’re assertive, insecure, caring, angry, sweet … just, you.

“But I don’t need incentives, unlike someone I know.” You smirk.

He likes to entertain all your sides, but this was his favorite — the side that likes to tease. His body shifts, so does yours as you sink your head deeper into his pillow. 

“I think you’re getting it mixed up, Cap,” Jungkook hovers over your body, nose touching yours, “incentives make me work harder knowing there’s something to look forward to. As much as I love performing for a big audience,” his lips brushes the corner of your mouth, “it’s more special when there’s someone you know watching.”

“Right?” His breath fans over your lips.

You’re not arguing with a man whose eyes competed with stars. Instead, choosing to accept his words because he’s right … just on this occasion. Because all you want is for him to press his lips to yours.

And Jungkook does that.

Drives him crazy when you get all breathless and whiny against his lips. True to his words, he’s been good with taking it slow with you. Sticks to kissing for now because he fears that he won’t be able to get himself out of the deep end if he reaches to that point of intimacy. Took forever with Chaewon, so he doesn’t know how he’ll fare with you … someone he really likes.

But fuck, you make it hard — make him hard. You gasp and pull away slightly when he accidentally grinds himself against your core. Jungkook shudders and mumbles his apologies, lips finding yours again. 

You shake your head. “‘s okay,” you kiss his cheek, “you good?”

“Trying to be,” he swallows and chuckles.

“You don’t have to try to be,” you peer at him through your lashes, “you are good.” 

You make the uncomfortable feel comfortable too. Kisses you again tenderly and lets his body relax momentarily. 

“Can I be honest with you?”

You nod. “Always.”

“When we had that fall out … it was after we got intimate. I’m worried about that happening again.”

“Oh, Kook,” your stomach sinks at the confession. 

“I don’t wanna feel that way with you,” one of his hands cup your cheek, “I trust you.”

“I trust you too. We don’t have to rush into sex to prove anything.” You turn your head to kiss his palm.

He knows. But he wants this badly — wants you. His hard length pressed against you is enough proof. Sensing his turmoil, you push yourself up, making him sit back on his heels.

One of your hands holds his. “You trust me, yeah?”

Jungkook nods, eyes sincere and honest. You lay your back against his headboard, legs spread wide enough to accommodate another person in between. No brainer, a perfect spot for Jungkook.

“Turn around and lay down,” you pat your chest.

Jungkook does just that, no questions asked. He’s right back where he started this evening: between your legs. Except now, there’s a light wave of anticipation floating in the air.

“What do you have in mind?” His voice drops an octave lower.

“Shh,” you hand cups his chin so that your lips could meet his temple. “I got you.” Truthfully, you didn’t know what you were doing. You only wanted to make him feel good, just as he’s done for you.

“You’re always helping others. So attentive,” one of your hands trails down his abdomen, “so good.”

At your praise, Jungkook sinks his teeth down on his lips. 

“Think you deserve to be rewarded for that. Don’t you?” You ask. His hand wraps around your wrist, unsure whether to have you continue or stop.

“Wanna make you feel good,” your hand stops just shy of his belly button, thumb rubbing against his skin, “please?”

He releases a little moan, cock twitching in his shorts. You run your hand between his legs, gentle in the way you let yourself trace over his cloth length. Jungkook tips his head back for a second and immediately looks back down again, afraid he might miss out on what’s yet to come.

“God,” he keens, stomach tightening with every fleeting touch.

“Do you want me to stop?” You whisper into his ear. Simple question calls for a simple answer. Jungkook presents his answer in the form of a tilt to his head, whispering a silent plea for you to kiss and continue touching him.

The angle of the kiss is a bit off, gets Jungkook a little giggly, but he quiets down the moment your fingers fumble at the waistband of his shorts. His chest stutters, both hands coming down to help you pull the front of his shorts to expose his hard cock.

Jungkook’s size was always a dead giveaway. Thank god for his obsession with grey sweats. You didn’t think he was this big. Arousal pools between your legs. Wonder if it’d stroke his ego knowing your mind was filled with images of how he’d stretch you out, sink inside you, and fuck you to the hilt.

But nevermind that. This was about him and making him feel good.

Jungkook lets out a needy moan when your hand wraps around his cock. You give it a tiny squeeze and hum at the sight of his precum leaking from his slit. You let go all too soon, and just as he was about to accuse you of teasing him, he hears you spit into your hand. 

“Baby ...” His chest heaves when you run your wet hand down his shaft again. 

Jungkook was right. It is more special when there’s someone you know watching. Inspires you to perform. To make him feel good. To ignite a reaction, letting you know he enjoys what you’re doing. 

He lets you have your way with his body. Pants and shivers when your other hand plays with his nipple. Doesn’t know where to fucking focus because you’re everywhere all at once and he loves every moment of it.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” His eyes lock at the sight before him: your pretty hand wrapped around his hard length covered in both spit and precum.

“Yeah? Go on,” you coax, “you deserve it.” You understand what he means by incentives. Because it motivates you to work harder to draw out his moans, stroke faster then randomly slow down to tease him, and purr sweet nothings into his ears. Makes you fight the arm cramp just to see his eyes flutter shut. Makes you ignore the pleasure pangs hitting your own core just so you can witness his orgasm. Because you want to so badly make him feel good. 

“That’s it, so close,” you encourage.

“C-cumming,” Jungkook pants, he digs his head back into your shoulders, “I’m cumming.” You watch the thick ropes of cum paint his torso. Jungkook’s body shakes and withers from pleasure. You let go of his cock and you trail your fingers up his stomach to collect his cum. 

He watches with bated breath as you stick your tongue out for an experimental lick. A bit heady for your liking, but who eats cum for the sake of taste? This is all for Jungkook. His fucked out expression was enough reason for you to push your cum coated fingers into your mouth and suck them clean. 

“Oh my god,” he groans, turning around to pin you down on his mattress. “You’re so hot.” Doesn’t think twice when he slots his lips to yours, moans muffled at the taste of him on your tongue.

“Made me feel so good,” another peck to seal the deal. “Thank you.” Post nut clarity usually made people run for the hills. Jungkook? Basks in your company and affection. Trusts you with his body and so he naturally trusts you with his heart. 

He hopes it’s the same for you.

Words aren’t needed to express how you feel for Jungkook. It’s evident in how your expressions change the more you kiss. How your nose feels against his cheek when you nod for him to touch you. How it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart from his fingers.

Jeon Jungkook knows it’s the same for you.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Last game of the season also meant the last performance of the season. You’re warming up with your guard. Nothing too serious since you don’t like to be tired out before a performance.

“Hey, Cap?” Jimin says mid stretch. “There are a couple of folks behind that keep staring in our direction. You know them?”

It’s a sight you weren’t expecting. Your family. Your parents and brother. Not like you don’t see them often. You call home sometimes. Visits happened towards the end of the semester, so you’d never expect to see them on campus mid-semester… especially your own. 

You jog over to them.

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” You ask breathlessly. 

“To see you perform, duh.” Your brother rolls his eyes.

“Uh … but this is-”

“One of your classmates messaged me on Facebook a day ago telling me it’s a very special performance. Honestly, I wished I got the invite from my daughter, but here we are,” your mother exasperates, foot tapping on the ground.

Sensing a bit of awkwardness, your father adds, “we just wanted to say hi and good luck, honey. We’ll be in the stands.” He points in the direction of the stadium. 

“Oh, okay, um, thank you. I’ll see you all later?” You walk back to your section, confused, but there was something else. Excitement? Disbelief? Maybe all of the above.

“You okay?” Jimin asks while gathering his equipment.

You look over to where Jungkook was warming up with drumline. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Director Lee is a man of traditions and rituals. Doesn’t like splitting poles because he thinks it’s bad luck. He also made it a tradition to announce every fourth year’s name to the stadium as the band file to their spot for the last performance of the season. Think of it as an informal send off. Gets the entire band a little emotional before the show.

You feel a lot. The nearly filled stands. Your family in those very stands. Jungkook. The fourth-years. All the practices, mistakes, and injuries led you up to this moment. 

Hoseok salutes to the audience and the stadium quiets down when he turns back to the band. Even from far away, you can feel his presence. It’s commanding, ready to lead.  

And that’s what Hoseok does. Everything blurs when the music starts. It’s all muscle memory. The cheers for the flag and music features fuels the entire band to perfection.

Despite your confusion about your family, they’re here, watching you. 

The stadium erupts in cheers at the end of the performance. You’re the first to break formation to hug your guard members. You remain smiling as you walk off the field, eyes catching a glimpse of Jungkook’s mother waving at him. Your eyes scan for your family. When you finally spot them, they’re all seated and clapping. Your mother’s approving nod doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s a stark difference to the support Jungkook receives from his family. 

As imperfect as your family’s affection and support may be, it fills your heart with a type of warmth you’ve yet to experience till now.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Director Lee’s traditions spanned to post-performance pizza following the senior plaques he’d hand out. New section leaders were also selected. Director Lee knew at a glance who had leadership potential, but he’s always watching throughout the season in preparation for his departing section leaders. 

Jungkook only ever cared about the pizza. Not that he never saw himself as a leader, but he knew there was always someone better fit for the job. This year? Screw the pizza. Screw the new leader. Okay, well, no, he hopes they’re a good pick. At the moment, that’s the least of his concerns.

“So like … are you gonna eat that?” Jimin eyes the untouched pizza on Jungkook’s plate. Jungkook wordlessly passes his plate over to Jimin, far too immersed in the conversation you were having with Yoongi a couple feet away. 

He knows he overstepped by sending that message to your mother. Should’ve respected your decisions … or lack thereof.

You walk toward the front door, look over in his direction, and give him a subtle nod. Doesn’t need to be told twice — Jungkook springs up on his feet and adjusts his bibber.

“Where ya goin’?” Jimin asks Jungkook with a mouthful.

“Bathroom,” Jungkook replies quickly. 

“Well, hurry up. Lee is doing awards and section leader announcements soon.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay,” he answers distractedly, too focused on the direction you’re headed in.

Jungkook was on a mission. He got his apology rehearsed in his head. Follows closely behind you as you head up the stairs to the storage room. Honestly? Wouldn’t have been his first choice to chat here. For one, creepy. Two, dusty as hell. But he’ll go where you go. 

When the door shuts behind him, you turn on your heel to face him. Even with the dim lighting, Jungkook still finds your glittery show makeup beautiful — you’re beautiful. Crushes his soul a little bit when you frown … he’s ready for a round of scolding, so he’ll try to beat you to it.

“I know what I did was out of line. I just th—mmph-” The apology he rehearsed for the past hour dies on his lips as you pull him down for a searing kiss. Your hands untangle from the straps of his bibber to wrap around his neck.

“You’re so annoying,” you say in between kisses. Your words don’t exactly match your actions. You bite down on his lower lip, enough pressure to draw out a tiny hiss turned moan. Jungkook backs you against the wall and knocks over a couple of boxes with flag silks. He’s quick to remedy it with promises to clean it up in favor of kissing you.

The storage room was a bit stuffy … probably loaded with a bunch of asbestos, but it just might be Jungkook’s favorite place at the moment. Just when he thinks all is well and forgiven, you pull away with a glare.

“Don't think you’re off the hook.”

“Wait, huh?”

“JB! You in here?” Yoongi calls from below. 

Yoongi makes his way up the stairs, steps slow and sluggish. You can’t tell if it’s due to his lack of energy or if he’s giving himself enough time to not walk into something he doesn’t want to see. Regardless, it buys you some time. You and Jungkook have never moved so fast. Him, hiding behind a rack of retired uniforms. You, inconspicuously folding the discarded flag silks on the ground. 

“Yep, in here!” You peek your head to the side to see Yoongi lean at the railing. 

“Lee wants everyone in the band room. Doing announcements soon.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

Yoongi stands in place for a moment, snorts before he makes his way downstairs again.

“Need you there too, Kook.” Yoongi says, loud enough for you both to hear. Your head snaps in Jungkook’s direction and you can’t bring yourself to stay angry at the view: his fluffy hair and beat up converse high tops on full display. 

“Whoops,” Jungkook emerges from the racks with a boxy smile.

“Come on, let’s go back.” You say, swiping away the red tint off his lips. Preen him a little. Not trying to hide anything, but you wanted to look presentable for announcements — it’ll be an important one. 

“Shouldn’t we address the elephant in the room?” He nervously chews on his lips. 

You shake your head and hold out your hand. “It can wait. I have dinner plans with my family later … meet me at my place afterwards?”

“Okay … but like, are we good?”

“Maybe.” You shrug and purse your lips. 

Maybe? No, that won’t fly by with Jungkook. Thought you guys were past this whole miscommunication stage of your guys’ relationship. He needs that extra reassurance. Figured he won’t get that till after your family dinner … doesn’t stop him from playing out the possible scenarios in his head as Director Lee goes through his announcements.

People are clapping on and off. Again, doesn’t matter to him.

“Jungkook? Hellooooo?” Yoongi waves his hand in front of him.

“Huh, wha … sorry, what’d I miss?” Jungkook shakes himself out of his trance. 

“Welcome back to earth, Space Cadet.” Director Lee huffs. A bunch of band members snickers from the comment, his section included. 

“You’re the new percussion section leader, Space Cadet.” Yoongi grins. 

He should be celebrating. It’s a feat and honor to become a section leader. He knows nothing about it, but he’s got great role models, so he’s got a good foundation and baseline for what a good leader should look like. Only issue? Jungkook thought he’d been lucky to evade the nickname curse. Now he’s stuck with one … and a not so great one at that.

He looks for you in the room. Spots you instantly and you throw a tiny thumbs up and a teasing smile in his direction. 

You mouth: Congrats, Spacey.

Maybe the new nickname isn’t so bad after all.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Dinner with your family was okay. There wasn’t much to chat about other than your father asking if you are continuing ‘this’ after graduating. 

“We’re just wondering. Eventually you’ll have to put work first,” your mother reasons. “Your body won’t be able to keep up as you age.”

You know it’s said with care and concern, but you can’t help but feel like you’re being lectured for doing something unconventional. God forbid you be happy with activities outside of a typical 9 to 5. The conversation moves over to your brother and what he’s been doing. You’re thankful the attention is off you for now. You’d much rather be home with a particular drummer anyway. 

You [8:39 p.m.]: I’ll be home in about 30 mins.  Jungkook 🥁 [8:39 p.m.]: ok, be safe. see u later ❤️

You smile down at your phone. Yes, you were still upset and made it a known fact to Jungkook. Hated seeing him confused, but that’s life. He'll have to sit with the consequences of his actions.

Kind of like how you have to sit through this dinner.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook arrives at your doorstep about four minutes after you get home. In his hands were a dozen of sunflowers he picked up after Director Lee dismissed the band. Thought it would help his case a little. It does. You accept them with a smile and step to the side to let him in.

“Pretty,” he compliments. You look down at the simple sundress you put on for dinner. Realize Jungkook has only seen you in t-shirts and athletic wear. Though, you could be in a potato sack and he’d still find you lovely. 

“Thank you.”

He follows you to your couch. Usually he likes to sit right next to you, but thinks space is what you’d prefer for this type of conversation. He had plenty of time to reevaluate his actions in the shower and even more time while he waited for your text to come over.  

“I truly am sorry. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. Just thought they should come out and support you.”

You sigh and place the flowers on your coffee table. 

“How’d you even find my mother?” You ask.

“Um, it wasn’t that hard to sift through your friends list. Plus, there’s not a lot of middle aged women that you look like. Could’ve passed as your older sister, honestly.”

“Funny,” you smile, “she’d love to hear that.”

“Score.” Jungkook grins.

You mindlessly play with the fringes on your dress, unsure what to say next. 

Jungkook reads you perfectly as always. “What’s up? You okay?”

“Just have a lot on my mind.” You fold your hands in your lap. 

“I get it,” he nods. 

“I don’t think you do.” You pause, chewing on your lips before you continue. “The show, offering me a place to study, the sponsors, Wooyoung, and now my family …” you recount, “you keep doing these things for me.”

Jungkook frowns, “do you not want me to?” 

You shake your head. “It’s not that I don’t want you to. I’m just not used to it.” You’re not used to being taken care of nor understood. It’s always been like this. With your family, friends, even some of the folks you’ve marched with in the past. But in the time you’ve gotten to know Jungkook, that’s all he’s given you.

Feels like he knows what you need better than you do sometimes. Feels like he does things out of care and not obligation.

It’s not a feeling anymore when he pulls you onto his lap, resting his chin on top of your head.  

“I know you’re capable of doing everything and more, Juice. But unless you don’t want me to, I’ll always want to help you,” he says. 

You nod, fingers playing with the ends of his shirt. “I know, and I appreciate that. It’s just hard letting go,” you shrug.

“Of what?”

“Control?” 

He chuckles, “you don’t say, Cap.”

You roll your eyes, “you’re a section leader now too.”

“Ah, that, I am,” he agrees, “means we’ll be working together more. You gonna give me a hard time?”

“Ask Yoongi.”

Jungkook laughs and holds you closer. He clears his throat, “need to make sure, though … am I forgiven?”

“Wasn’t that upset, Kook.” If you were truly mad at Jungkook, you wouldn’t have kissed him back in the storage room. “But yes, you’re forgiven. No more messaging my mother on Facebook though. She thought you were a bot for some reason.”

“Huh? I don’t know why she’d think that …” Jungkook pulls out his phone to show you the message thread.

The first line read: To Whom It May Concern … 

“This screams scam, Kook.” You snicker, skimming through the well-thought out message. Punctuated perfectly and straight to the point. What a stark difference to the silly text messages you receive from him on the daily. Could barely tell it’s him. The only glaring similarity? Jungkook doesn’t sugarcoat his intentions — never when it comes to you.

Jungkook pouts, “they still came to the show …”

“Yeah, they did,” your eyes soften, handing his phone back to him, “made me really happy seeing my family there.” You tuck his hair behind his ear.

“You deserve to be.”

And you also find happiness in when you press your lips against his. Happiness in when he giggles, nose scrunched and all. Happiness in when he moans as you roll your hips over him. 

Jungkook pulls away to trail kisses down your cheek and neck. “You said you’re worried about letting go of control … we can work on that.” 

You whimper at a particularly harsher suck, “how?”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You’ve always preferred being in the mentor role. There’s no ambiguity in teaching someone what you already know. Never have to anticipate the unknown.

You find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, watching Jungkook take off his shirt. So ready to welcome the unknown. It comes to you in the form of Jungkook’s sunkissed body and hooded eyes. He’s well-loved by his friends and family. Only natural to be well-loved by the sun as well. The sun will spend eternity chasing Jungkook and it’ll never come close to seeing all that you will in this lifetime.

“You trust me, yeah?” He walks up to you, legs bumping into your knees. Jungkook cups your cheek and tilts your head up to look at him. Needs to see you. 

“‘Course, I do.” You smile. 

“Good,” he steps back, “turn around for me.”

You wordlessly get on your hands and knees, chin turned at your shoulder to look at Jungkook, “like this?”

“Just like that,” he praises, gaze dropping at your ass where your dress falls perfectly around your hips.

One of his hands trails up your back and gently pushes you down. Your forearms cushion your drop, not that you needed it. You’re pliant for Jungkook. 

You hear him shuffle behind you, both his hands are at your hips as he leans into down to kiss your shoulder. One of his hands goes under the skirt of your dress, knuckles grazing your inner thigh as if he’s asking permission to do more. You turn your head to the side with a visible pout.

“Are you going to be edging me or something?”

Jungkook snickers. “What? You want me to?”

So it appears edging wasn’t his goal. 

His hand cups your sex, middle finger trailing up and down your clothed slit. “You’re soaked through, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, “‘s cause you were thinking about getting edged?”

You shake your head no. “Can’t help it,” your fingers grip your sheets as his fingers move a little quicker. “You got me like this.”

Jungkook groans at your confession. “I did, didn’t I?”

He reluctantly lifts himself up and away from you. Almost regrets it when he sees your brows furrow in disappointment. Makes a mental note to make it up to you one way or another. Season’s over, but Jungkook has all the time in the world with you. He pushes your dress up and over your ass. Feels his cock stiffen in his pants at the sight of your beige colored panties. He always had a thing for your ass. Shamelessly looked at it in the past whenever you were busy stretching. Proud to know that this view belonged to him and only him. He lets his gaze linger at the sight of the dark wet patch at the center of your panties. 

Yeah, he got you like this.

“You still with me, Spacey?” you tease when you notice him staring at you longer than anticipated.

He shakes himself out of stupor. “You’re lucky I like you.” His knuckle trails up and down your slit. Got you shuddering again.

“What do you want me to call you then?” You ask. 

Jungkook feigns deep thought, humming as he throws out random nicknames.

“Baby?” He pulls your panties down your thighs.

“Honey?” You giggle as he taps your knees to fully remove your underwear.

“Boyfriend?” He parts your ass, lets a dribble of spit trail down the center and to your cunt. Your hole clenches around nothing. 

“You liked that one?” Jungkook asks, spitting directly at your hole this time. “Hm?” Trails kisses down your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit till he gets an answer.

“Kook,” you mewl. 

“Tell me,” it comes out needy, “please?”

“I do, yeah.” You confess, “I like it a lot — like you so much.” 

That’s all he needed. You choke on a moan as Jungkook licks one long strip from your clit to your entrance. He rocks your hips to his face, pistoning his tongue into your tight pussy. Pushes your ass up a little higher so he could have better access to your clit. He licks, sucks, moans, and repeats as if he knows nothing more than to please you. 

Jungkook’s moans come out muffled, face stuffed so deeply between your legs, you’d think he’d suffocate to death. On the contrary, he’d argue that life’s worth living even more now. You catch a glimpse of him with his eyes closed and his arm moving fervently between his legs. So shameless and impatient — needs to wank himself for some relief.

“Pretty baby, so fucking wet for me,” he praises against your sex, hot and breathless. Your hand comes around to hold his. Your absolute favorite part of his body. Love it on your body and even more when woven between your fingers — keeps you grounded and secure as you reach your orgasm. And even before you’ve fully come down, Jungkook pulls away and stuffs your cunt with two fingers, curling and thrusting in you with a type of speed and precision that has you gasping. Doesn’t give you room to breathe, prefers having you like this anyway.  

“Baby, y-you’re gonna make me cum again.” You cry, eyes fighting to stay open. A certain numbness pools at your stomach, begging to snap at the curl of Jungkook’s fingers. 

“I know,” he encourages, “make a mess on my fingers, come on.”

You come again, eyes rolled to the back of your head and moans stifled by your sheets. Jungkook draws in a breath, absolutely hypnotized with your pussy clenching and suctioning his fingers. After a couple seconds pass, Jungkook slowly pulls his fingers out and rolls you down onto your back. He clambers his way on top of you. Wants nothing more than to kiss you and be in your arms. You, on the other hand, had different plans. 

“What are you …” Jungkook grunts softly into your mouth. You slide your hands down into his pants and wrap your fingers around his hard cock. Give him one, two, three good pumps before you break away from his lips.

“Honey is a little old-fashioned, no?” You breathlessly ask, your free hand tugs at his belt loops. Jungkook gets the hint and swiftly pulls down his pants and briefs all at once. 

“Honey is cute.” He argues, tugging your top down to expose your breasts. 

“For married couples, sure. Not suited for a boyfriend.” You correct. 

He nods, nicknames don’t really matter to him anyway. Just wanna be yours. Instead, he chooses to latch his lips to your nipple, hand groping the other breast. Bites down on your nipple and immediately soothes it over with his tongue. Jungkook goes back and forth between the two, loving your reactions. The pleasure builds again. He hisses when you roll your hips up at him.

“Tonight’s about you letting go, remember?” He reminds, “I'll take care of you, promise.” 

“Want you to feel good too.”

“I do,” he swoops his hand underneath your thigh and pushes it up, “so much, with you.” He guides his cock in between your folds. It’s wet and messy, just how he wants it. You wince at the over sensitivity, but ignore it because Jungkook is falling apart above you. He looks down between you both, mesmerized by your slick coating his length.

You watch him, watch as he slides his cock up and down your core, watch how the head of his cock knocks and moves against your clit. 

“You feel so good like this,” Jungkook holds your jaw, nose caressing yours, “wonder how you’d feel inside.”

You whine, hips pushing upwards, “please …”

He shushes you with a kiss, requesting you to be patient with promises of making you feel good. It’s dizzying, but you listen and let him take the reins. Jungkook shifts his hips and you gasp into his mouth at the feel of his hard cock at your entrance. Your pussy flutters around him, so wet and ready. The head of his cock nudges in, stretch so minimal with how well he’s prepped you. You moan and let your head sink onto your pillow. He doesn’t push into you any further, just the tip. 

“Mm, you are edging me,” you accuse, unable to move as Jungkook has your hips pinned down to the mattress.

“You wouldn’t like me if I edged you, Juice.” He smiles.

Impossible. Don’t think there’s a universe or lifetime you wouldn’t be drawn by him and him to you. “Need you inside me, Jungkook,” you say, “please?”

He savors the moment for a little longer, tempted to do as you request. God, he would. But Jungkook has a promise to uphold and a lesson to teach. He keeps his word as he slowly inserts himself inch by inch, watching your brows furrow and mouth drop open in frustration.

Jungkook’s just as fucked out. Involuntarily bucks his hips, drawing out a surprised, high-pitched moan from you. Big mistake. The need to hear that again fuels something primal in him. His arms swoop underneath your head. Has you in an embrace as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear — such a contrast to his ruthless hips. Jungkook’s whole life has been about music. Over the years, he saved music sheets from his favorite pieces and shows. His most favorite melody? Your broken moans and cries, spurring him on to continue fucking you.

He’s not sure how long this goes for until he finally lifts himself up, immediately misses the warmth of your body. The view below him makes up for it: your dress bundled up around your waist, breasts bouncing after every thrust, and your wanton gaze. His eyes drop lower at where you both connect — groans at the cream coating his cock and how it gathers at the base after every push. Your breath hitches when his reaches between your bodies and toys with your clit. “Yes, yes, yes, oh, Kook, right there.” 

“I—” you can’t even finish your sentence as you cum again for the third time. Jungkook’s eyes close, head tipped back at the feel of your walls squeezing around him.

“Shit,” he trembles and pulls out, trying his best to delay his orgasm. Doesn’t want any of this to end so soon. 

Jungkook lays down next to you, hard cock smearing your cum on your stomach. You smile, one of your legs tossed over his hips to keep him close. You’re so tired, but there’s this glint in his eyes — he wants more. Far from being done, he pulls you on top of him, dark locks falling prettily on your pillows. Claims how much he likes your dress as he helps you get out of it.

“Couldn’t have liked it that much if it’s off me now.” You tuck Jungkook’s hair behind his ears and his expression shifts. Fondness. Warmth. Devotion. Jungkook drinks in the view before him — cock twitches at the sight of your fully naked body. Thinks he needs to block out a day to just kiss all your moles, scars, and freckles — adore them one by one. He settles for a small kiss on your palm, and positions his cock for you, eyes pleading at you to sink down on him. Your hip lifts and lowers slowly, stuffing yourself full of him again, fighting the over sensitivity. 

“You feel so good,” he rasps, “take me so well.” 

You nod, hands pressing his abdomen to hold yourself up. You move first, slow and deliberate to take in his expressions. Jungkook lets you take control for a minute. Just a minute. Because eventually, his fingers dig into your hips, maneuvering you up and down how he likes. Your legs shake, too weak to keep you upright. 

“Come here,” he tugs you down so that your chest presses down on his. The new position makes it easier for him to bounce you down. You cry out into the crook of his neck. You trust Jungkook, trust that only he could take your pleasure to another level. Trust him with your body — your heart. 

“So good for me,” he grips harder, feeling that familiar heaviness pool at his balls when he’s close. “You can give me another one, right?”

You feel your slick drip down his length with every drop of your hips. You whimper, shake your head, “n-no, I don’t think I can.”

He kisses your temple, “‘s okay, can you hold on for me? I’m so close.”

Of course you can. Anything for him. Anything to see him cum. Because of you, for you. He hugs you close, plants his feet down on your mattress, and fucks himself up into you. 

You’re a liar. Body betrays you as he has you bracing his chest and digging your fingernails into his shoulders. Pretty crescent moons on your sunshine. So perfect. Even when you sob from the intensity of his thrusts, you want nothing more than for this feeling to last forever. Because Jungkook has you cumming again, pussy fluttering and milking his length for all he’s worth. It surprises the both of you — surprises Jungkook more when you press your face into his neck and he feels wetness on his skin. 

“Baby,” he huffs, “wh-where should I—” hips losing rhythm and stuttering from your clenches. 

“Inside, please cum inside me,” you use all your strength to lift your head to kiss him. That’s when Jungkook sees it: your watery lashes.

"Gonna cum," Jungkook gasps, eyes squeezed shut, both hands now pushing your ass to meet his hips, “oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans loudly into your mouth, shamelessly sucks on your tongue and pumps himself two more times into your cunt before finishing inside you.

Jungkook stills. Pants hard. Mentally snorts at all his past dumb fantasies because they’ll never compare to how he feels with you right now. Doesn’t think he’s ever cummed this much and this hard. But it’s you, the girl he’s fancied for so long. You and Jungkook stay like this for a while longer. His hand trails up and down your back, nearly lulling you to sleep. Jungkook knows you — would rather go barefoot on lego pieces than sleep dirty. You made it clear that showers are a must after practice and before bedtime. Sex was no exception.

Another thirty seconds pass and Jungkook slowly pulls out of you. You wince and close your fists against his chest.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes with kisses on your shoulder and gently rolls you onto your back. He looks a little silly rushing to the bathroom while hopping into his briefs. Comes back with a warm cloth to which you realize seconds later was your favorite face towel. 

“Jungkook,” you whine as he parts your legs to clean you up, too weak to put up a fight. 

“I know, baby, I’ll get you a new one. You okay, though?”

“Yeah, ‘m good.” You smile, eyes filled with adoration.

How could you not be? Jungkook kisses the old bruises on your knees just as he’s kissed the old wounds in your heart. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“Whatcha doing?” Jungkook hums into your ear.

“Signing us up for auditions.” You reply naturally, fingers typing away on your phone. 

“Uh, what?” He lifts his head up from the pillow, one eye shut from the brightness of your phone. 

“With the Tridents.”

“Drum corps? Wait, Juice, I don’t know if I’m ready. There are a lot of good drummers out there …”

“Why not? You’re literally a section leader. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“But—”

“We’ll go together,” you turn. “Come on, we age out of this circuit soon.” 

He looks uncertain. Hesitation stirs in his irises. 

“If any of us don’t make the cut, we’re both out. Kay?” Half lie because you’ll encourage him to stay even if you were to get cut first.

Jungkook stares at you, bites his lips as he contemplates his decision. Caves in under three seconds at the sight of your pleading eyes, “Alright, let’s do this.” He’s jittery in your embrace. Can’t believe he’s doing this. Knows he has to go for it.

Because life’s too short not to go full out.

fin.

a/n: fun fact! my high school crush was in the drumline too. funnily enough, i recently saw him after years of radio silence. guess what i did 😎 anyway, lmk if you have any thoughts/feedback/questions ♡

[badkitty3000]

Losing Control

Five Hargreeves x Female OC, 6.2k words, one-shot

Summary: Five finds himself helping out his ex and driving her home one night. A lot of past feelings start to surface for both of them, leading to a very high-stakes moment that has Five wondering how much he's willing to let go to get what he wants

Warnings: Smut, blow jobs while driving, car sex

The call comes at 1:25am. I’m awake… I’m always awake. I glance at the screen that is rudely lighting up my apartment living room, that had previously only been lit by the dim glow of whatever shitty tv show was on. I guess I must have dozed off, because when I look at the tv, my eyes bleary, I can see it’s playing some asinine reality show. I certainly wasn’t watching that before. 

I take too long to answer and the phone goes silent. I sit up and the empty tumbler that had housed my scotch earlier, rolls off my leg and onto the floor.

“Shit,” I mutter, leaning over to pick it up.

When I set it on the coffee table, the phone comes to life again. It’s a voicemail. I roll my eyes. It’s probably Klaus calling to tell me something that can’t possibly wait until morning, like a new idea for a can’t-fail business he’s cooking up with Ben. I sigh, combing my fingers through my hair and running my hand down my face.

Without looking to see who left the message, I tap the screen and lean back against the cushions of the couch to listen. The voice that blares forth into the quiet of the room is not Klaus’s.

At first, because I’m not expecting it, I don’t understand what I’m hearing. Then, after a second or two, it dawns on me. 

“Hey, uh… it’s me.” 

There’s a lot of noise in the background. People talking, laughing, yelling. Faintly there is thumping bass music. 

“Sorry to call… it’s late I know… fuck this is embarrassing. Look, I lost my phone and all my money and as much as I hate to admit it, yours is the only number I have memorized, so…. “

There is another woman’s voice, sounding annoyed and probably drunk, bursting through. “Are you almost done?” 

“Yes! Hang on!” There’s some shuffling noises. “Ok, so I’m at The Charming Oyster… remember where… of course you remember, what am I saying? Well, I’m here and I’m kind of stranded and you know I wouldn’t call you unless I absolutely had to, so if you can find it in that blackened heart of yours to come get me that would be great…” She swears under her breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Now you really won’t come. Fuck.”

The message ends.

I stare at the screen for a while. I swallow down a lump in my throat and bite at the inside of my cheek. How long has it been now? Five months? Six? I never thought she’d even talk to me again. I snort out a little laugh. 

Well shit.

I think briefly about ignoring it altogether. It’s not my problem that she can’t function as a fully grown adult and figure out her way back home. This is exactly the type of shit I told her would happen. I’m sure there’s plenty of desperate guys at that bar who would be happy to give her a lift. Or something more.

It’s the something more that makes me change my mind.

I call the random number back and listen while it rings for a while. I think it’s going to go to voicemail, but then someone picks up. I can hear all of the same things in the background that were in her message. 

“Hey! That’s mine!” someone yells, and it sounds like the other woman’s voice that I had heard. The drunk one.

“Shut up,” comes the other voice, the familiar one, and I immediately smile because how many times has she told me to shut up in that same exasperated tone? “Five?”

“Yeah,” I say, as nonchalantly as possible.

There’s an audible sigh of relief on the other end. “Thank you for–”

“I’ll be there in twenty,” I interrupt. “Try not to fucking wander off or get yourself kidnapped,” I tell her gruffly.

There is a long pause and I think she is going to start yelling at me, but instead she answers with a short “Sure.” I can almost hear her teeth grinding together as she manages to not tell me off.

This should be fun.

Before I go, I drink a glass of water and brush my teeth. I smell myself and it’s not great, so I take a quick shower and change my clothes. Not because I think anything is going to happen. I just don’t like looking like a bum, no matter where I’m going. Even if it is driving to a dive bar on the other side of town to pick up my ex-girlfriend in the middle of the night.

The shower cost me about ten minutes and I said twenty, and I know goddamn well she’ll give me shit if I’m later than that, so I haul ass through the city streets, ignoring a few stop signs at empty intersections as well as the posted speed limits.

On the way, I wonder if she’ll look the same or if she’s cut her hair or decided on a new look. The last time I saw her, her face was streaked with mascara as she cried and hurled insults at me.

That fight wasn’t anything new. It was always about the same thing. But it was special in that it was our last one. She had packed up her things and left and I haven’t seen or talked to her since. I hadn’t even bothered to try, honestly. Maybe I should have at least made an effort. But I had enough of arguing with her. I let her go.

I can still hear her accusations.

I am not yours to control

You can’t treat me this way

It’s insane

You’re insane

She wasn’t wrong.

So, I have a bit of a control issue. I know this because it’s been told to me by each and every one of my siblings, multiple times. And by her.

It’s not my fault I have trust issues and enough trauma to fill the fucking Grand Canyon. It’s not my fault I don’t know how to process things like a normal human being. Yeah, I can calculate the quantum mechanics required to travel through time just as easily as I can count to ten, but I don’t know how to be in a relationship with a real woman. And that is definitely not my fault.

I tried to ease up when she brought it to my attention. I really did try. I backed off for a while and things got better. But then she started doing stupid shit like going out at night alone or talking to strangers. She really lost her mind when she went out with a group of girlfriends one night and I followed her. She called me a psycho. That one kind of stung.

It wasn’t always bad, though. In the beginning it was good. Really, really good. So good I was terrified of fucking it up. Oh, the irony. 

We met at a CIA work function that I was told by Derek I had to attend, the little shit. So I did attend, and I sat there in that crappy banquet room of our government’s finest bureaucratic basement, ignoring most everyone and counting down the minutes until it would be acceptable to leave. I usually pride myself on looking unapproachable, but she didn’t get that message.

“You’re Five Hargreeves, right?” she had said, sidling up to my table with a watered down drink in her hand. 

“That’s the rumor,” I said with a smirk. Ok, so I was a little drunk.

She sat down next to me. No, not sat. Plopped. Right into the seat next to mine, her bare knee touching my leg. I openly stared at her tits, much to my chagrin. She tossed the rest of her drink back.

“Want to get out of here?” she had asked with a smile so mischievous and sexy that I will never forget it.

She hadn’t even told me her name yet.

The next hour was a blur. Stumbling blindly into my office. Lips bruised and bitten. Hair a mess. Quiet grunts and loud moans. Papers and files flying everywhere. Her skirt hiked up. My pants hitting the floor. That smile she flashed me before turning around and bending over my desk. I couldn’t believe my god damn luck.

When it was over and we were panting and sweating, she held out her hand to shake mine as she introduced herself. 

“Lexi,” she had said breathlessly with a grin.

I took her hand and squeezed it. “Five. Nice to meet you.”

If I believed in love at first sight, that might have been it. 

From there on out, we were together. She worked in accounting, which was on the opposite side of the building. But if she had stayed over the night before, I’d drive her to work in the morning or we’d meet for lunch in the cafeteria. We’d fuck in empty store rooms or in the car in the parking lot. Once we did it in Derek’s desk chair while he was out of the office as payback for him stealing my sandwich the day before. She thought it was funny. Derek not so much.

It wasn’t just the sex, though. We actually got along. I liked having her around. In fact, I liked it a little too much, apparently. About three months in was when my neuroses started to rear their ugly heads.

I hated not knowing where she was or what she was doing. I didn’t think she was running around on me, but I just wanted her with me. I got paranoid that something was going to happen to her if I wasn’t around. I needed to keep her safe. I’ve seen so many fucked up things in this world and I just couldn’t stand the thought of something bad happening to her. Or worse, me being the cause of it somehow. She accused me of being possessive. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point,” I had stupidly argued.

She put up with it for a while longer until she didn’t. I didn’t want to lose her, but she was the one that told me I was suffocating her. So I let her go. 

Last I heard she had requested a transfer to one of the regional branches. She hasn’t talked to me since. Until tonight.

I pull my black sedan up to the curb outside the bar. Our bar. I try not to think about how many times we had too much to drink and made out heavily in the cab on the way home. Maybe a little more than making out.

I put the car in park and roll down the window. I see her, leaning up against the brick building. She’s looking down at the ground so she doesn’t see me. She looks good, unfortunately. Her dark brown hair is swept over one shoulder and it looks like maybe she had curled it earlier in the evening because it’s wavy when it’s usually straight. The dark green dress she has on is short and tight, and also very familiar. When we were together, it never stayed on her for very long.

The bar is closed now and it’s much quieter than when she had called me not that long ago. A few drunk stragglers walk past.

“Lex!” I yell and it feels so weird to say her name out loud again.

She looks up and sees me and she actually looks relieved, which is something I wasn’t expecting. She comes jogging barefoot up to the car, carrying her heels in her hand, and pokes her head in the window.

“Twenty-one minutes. You’re late.”

“Get in the damn car, Lexi.”

A tiny smile plays on her lips for a second before she opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. She avoids my eyes while she puts on her seat belt and I pull away, merging into the lane. We don’t speak for what is probably several seconds but feels like an eternity.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” she says quietly and I know it’s killing her to do so.

“You’re welcome,” I say stiffly.

There’s more silence. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs, looking at her hands in her lap.

“It’s fine,” I say. “What the fuck happened anyway?”

She chews at her top lip, probably trying to decide if she should tell me the truth or not. But she knows I can read her like a book, so there’s not much point in lying.

She lets out a long sigh. “I was on a date.”

My chest immediately tightens and I have to tell myself not to say anything stupid. I’m sure she can read my body language, though. She was always good at that. I let her continue.

“It was a blind date. We met through one of those stupid dating sites, you know? Which was probably my first mistake,” she explains, and if she’s trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.

She clears her throat. “Anyway, I suggested we meet there…”

“Why there?” I ask, now clearly annoyed. My knuckles briefly turn white on the wheel, until I remind myself to relax them again.

At least she has the decency to look a little ashamed. “I don’t know. It was just the first place I thought of.” I don’t comment and let her go on. “God, this is so embarrassing… he robbed me.”

I almost laugh out loud, but I manage to hold it back. The shit-eating grin, on the other hand? Well, I can’t do anything about that. “Go on…” I tell her.

She bristles. “Of course you are loving this. Yeah, so he ended up stealing my purse when I wasn’t paying attention. Then he said he was going to the bathroom but instead he just fucking left, taking all my shit with him. Happy?”

“Immensely,” I say.

After another few seconds she makes a frustrated growling noise. “Just say it, Five. I know you want to.”

I shrug and look in the rear view mirror. “Say what?”

“You fucking know what. ‘I told you so.’”

I really do want to say that, she’s right. Instead, my smile fades and I glance over at her.

“Didn’t you tell anyone where you were going?”

She shakes her head slowly. “No.”

I grind my teeth together. “God damn it, Lexi.”

She puts her head in her hands and groans. “I know, I know… I was really stupid. And it serves me right. And I could have been killed or worse. And I should have listened to you. And why didn’t I listen to you? And if you had been with me, this never would have happened.”

She looks up at me. “Did I hit all the points?”

“All the main ones, yeah,” I answer.

“Well, rest assured I have learned my lesson. And you can also sleep easy knowing I am utterly humiliated.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Five, I went out on the first date I have had since we broke up; the guy robs me and leaves me stranded at a bar. I have to borrow a very drunk girl’s phone to call someone to come get me, and the only person’s number I know is yours. My ex-boyfriend that I haven’t talked to in months. I’d say that falls under the utter humiliation category, wouldn’t you?”

I don’t have a lot to say to that, except for one thing. “This was the first date you’ve been on since we broke up?”

“Shit,” she curses under her breath. “Yes, it was.”

“Huh… interesting.”

“God, Five, please don’t make this into a big deal.”

“I’m not making it into a big deal,” I protest. “I said it was interesting.”

Lexi disagrees. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a big loser that can’t get a date. I’m sure you have been very busy moving on, considering there was practically a line of women back at the office that were just waiting to get their claws into you. I have no doubt you got right back up on the horse again.”

I shake my head, but I don’t look at her. “No. No horse.”

She waits a beat. “What do you mean?”

I have no idea why I’m telling her the truth, but I am. “I mean there was no horse to get back up on.”

“You haven’t… since we…”

“Nope.”

She pauses and I don’t look over but I can hear her smug smile. “Huh… interesting.”

I stop at a red light and meet her eyes. “Lex, ” I start to say, but then my voice catches in my throat and I stop. What is there to say?

Her eyes pass over my face and then my body. I do the same to her. I can’t help but notice the smooth skin of her thighs that aren’t covered by her skirt. I am hit with the visceral memory of those same thighs on either side of my head while she sat on my face.

This light is interminable and I am suddenly very aware of our proximity to one another. I swallow and it’s audible in the quiet of the car. 

“It wasn’t all bad, was it?” she asks. She has leaned in closer to me and I can smell her perfume. The one that I couldn’t get out of my sheets for weeks no matter how many times I washed them.

“No. It wasn’t all bad,” I answer quietly, my gaze drifting to her mouth. Her lips, the ones that used to belong to me, are slightly parted and I am struck by a very intense urge to slide my tongue across and inside them.

When she rests her hand on my thigh, my leg reflexively jumps. She doesn’t move her hand.

“We had some good times,” she says, leaning in so close that her breath tickles my neck. 

I nod, swallowing hard again. Why am I producing so much saliva? “Yeah, we did.”

Her hand slides to the inside of my thigh and I try very hard not to react to that, but it seems my dick has different ideas. She notices and smiles, brushing her lips over my cheek. I close my eyes for just a second, lost in the familiarity of her touch. I exhale a noticeably shaky breath.

“Remember that time in the car on the way home from the movies?” she purrs.

“I could live a thousand years and never forget that,” I tell her, sucking in a sharp breath. “It’s a miracle we didn’t crash and burn.”

Lexi makes a little noise of agreement, her lips still touching my cheek. “How about we try to cheat death again? For old times sake?”

“Fuck,” I breathe out and then there’s a loud honk from the car behind me and I jolt in my seat. Lexi giggles. I look at her, this time with a salacious grin. I don’t even say anything. I just floor it and the car takes off.

When she starts undoing my belt and her mouth grazes my neck, it’s almost over before it starts. I can’t exactly help it. It’s been a long time. Not to mention I know how very fucking good she is at this.

“Just stay off of bridges and away from sharp curves,” she tells me, her breath rushing down my shirt collar.

Luckily for both of us and probably other drivers, it’s late enough that there is hardly anyone else on the road. I grip the wheel tightly, already telling myself to focus. My backup plan, if I lose control, is that I will blink us both out of the car and (hopefully) onto some nice soft grass. But, I’m not anticipating having to resort to that. Control is kind of my thing.

I’m speeding, changing lanes without signaling to get around the odd car here and there, and the moonlight and street lights are filtering through the windows and flickering across her face and body. I can hear, rather than see, her increase in arousal as she unzips my fly and she tests the waters by shoving her hand firmly inside. 

“I may have missed this more than the rest of you,” she says and I know she means it as a mild insult but I don’t really care.

“Trust me,” I say with a short, breathy laugh. “It missed you too.”

She laughs a little at that. Then I see her do a quick glance at the speedometer. Then she looks at me with another one of those killer smiles and her head disappears into my lap.

“Oh fuuuck,” I moan, trying not to let my eyes close. 

When I feel her mouth on me, it’s like a tidal wave hits me, and all I can think about is how stupid I am that I let her get away. My foot skitters off the accelerator for a second and the car slows before it lurches ahead again when I correct myself.

There’s a laugh, causing a warmth to drift across my cock, that is doing nothing to help me think straight.

“Careful,” she says, taking a second to look up at me.

I can’t help it and I laugh out loud. “Sorry.”

She goes back to what she was doing, still smiling, and my teeth jut into my lower lip so hard I can taste blood. I take in a loud, stuttering, gasp of air and hold it for a few seconds before letting it out in a combination of a whine and a groan. 

Did it always feel this good? Probably. I’ve just been so fucking touch starved and pent up for the last several months that I can’t remember.

“Lex…” I breathe out. I want to rest my hand in her hair, like I used to, but I’m afraid of taking it off the wheel.

She makes a little whimpering noise and I swear I’m going to crash this fucking car and I’m not even going to be sorry about it.

I look at the speedometer. 65mph. I don’t even know what the speed limit is right now. Probably not 65. The streets continue to be mostly devoid of cars and so far I haven’t hit any lights.

My head is filled with so many things right now. I’m overstimulated and confused as buildings and trees and sign posts whip past me in a blur. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time. It’s like being high and it feels so fucking good.

Her lips tighten around my shaft as she goes down again, all the way, until she gags and has to let up. I can’t fight it and my eyes close for just a second. When I open them, the lights ahead abruptly change from yellow to red and the car comes to a screeching halt as I slam on the brakes at the last second.

I’m breathing hard, gripping the steering wheel like I’m going to rip it off the car, and she sits up. We stare at one another, panting. Her lips are swollen and her eyes are wide. Her hand is still on my dick and even though I almost just killed us, I am annoyed she stopped.

“Are you ok?” I ask between heaving breaths.

She nods. “Yeah. You?”

I smile. “All good.”

Lexi grins. “Shall I continue?”

“Only if you want to.”

Her tongue flicks out to lick at the corner of her mouth. She shrugs. “Ok.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. She’s practically swallowing me whole and I growl loudly.

“Sshhiitt,” I hiss between gritted teeth.

The light is green again. Luckily there is no one behind us, because I momentarily get the pedals mixed up and I press the brakes again and we don’t move. When my one remaining brain cell kicks back in and I put my foot on the gas, Lexi uses her tongue to swipe across the head of my cock. The car flies ahead and if one of these traffic cams doesn’t capture my license plate to send me a ticket in the mail, it will be a miracle.

It’s getting to be too much. She is not letting up, even for a second and I can barely focus on the road. The last time we did this, I was able to last until I found a random parking lot to turn into so I could come down her throat without becoming a tragic news story.

This time, I see a wide alley that looks like it’s used for deliveries to the building next to it. It’s empty now and I crank the wheel so hard to the right that the tires squeal and Lexi digs her fingers into my thigh.

I throw the car in park just as she is lifting her head to see what the fuck is going on. I don’t bother with an explanation. I undo my seat belt and then reach across to unfasten hers. I curse the fucking power seat adjuster as I impatiently wait for it to slide back. We don’t say anything. Once there is enough room, she is climbing over the console between us and onto my lap.

It’s not easy and there’s not a lot of room, but I know I don’t care and it doesn’t seem like she does either. She takes my face in her hands as she kisses me hard and frantically. My hands are under her skirt and inside her underwear, already fingering her. She gasps against my mouth and starts to grind against my hand.

“Five,” she breathes out between kisses.

“Let me fuck you,” I tell her and I hate that it comes out sounding desperate rather than demanding. She has a way of doing that to me. Always has.

Since my cock is already out and twitching just at the thought of being inside her again, I push aside her panties and she lowers herself down. As she does that, though, her ass hits the steering wheel and a loud horn honk echoes off the alley walls and makes us both jump.

She starts to giggle and I grin back at her. I know I don’t have to ask her permission or warn her in any way, because I can see she’s thinking the same thing, and I blink us into the backseat. There’s not a whole lot more room back there, but it’s better. She uses the short interruption to yank her underwear off before she’s climbing back onto my lap.

When she sinks herself down, engulfing me in one quick motion, we both groan loudly. The windows are already starting to steam up from all of our labored breathing and she kisses me again. I have one hand on her waist and the other in her hair. 

“I missed this,” she tells me.

“I missed you,” I answer truthfully, against my better judgment.

She buries her face into the side of my neck as she starts to move on top of me. She is warm and tight around my dick, just like I remember, and all of those feelings start rising up again. I can smell her hair and feel her soft skin under my hands. Her lips press against my neck and my grip on her tightens. 

“Five,” she whispers. “Don’t stop. Ever.”

“Baby,” I say because I know that drives her nuts. “Look at me.”

Just about the only time she ever listens to me is during sex and she meets my eyes with no hesitation. The lighting in the car is dim, but I can still make out the tiny specks of green in her otherwise soft gray eyes.

What started as a fun and casual blow job has now turned into something else and we are locked in to one another. It’s like no time has passed. She knows just how to move; slow and rhythmically, with her hips grinding down against mine as she undulates seductively, like a belly dancer. I tip my head back against the seat and close my eyes while she bruises my neck with her rough kisses. I draw my fingers down her spine and I wish I could feel her entire naked body against me again.

I open my eyes to look at her again. “Lex, I never meant–” 

“I know,” she says breathlessly while continuing to fuck me slowly out of my mind. “I know.”

Her hands are in my hair and the sides of my face and her touch is maybe what I have missed the most. I let my eyes fall shut again and our kisses deepen. My cock is still buried inside her. When it’s obvious we are both giving into our feelings, she starts to quicken her pace. We’re breathing hard into one another’s mouths and I move my hands to her ass.

She’s pounding away on top of me now, whimpering and moaning, her fingers tangled in my hair and her eager mouth placing frantic kisses everywhere. My mouth, my jaw, my neck. All I can do is make guttural groaning noises and thrust my hips up to meet her.

The windows are fully fogged up and my senses are overwhelmed by the thick air and her scent and the weight of her body on mine. We’re so completely in sync and lost in one another that a bomb could go off right outside of this car and neither one of us would notice. 

I let out some sort of weird noise that might have been a moan. “Lex… oh fuck,” I gasp. 

She knows what she’s doing to me and I feel her smile against my neck. But she’s about to unravel, too. I know her too well. The sharp, high pitched breathing that almost sounds like she’s hiccuping. The desperate clutching at my shoulders. The incoherent cursing.

When she says my name it sounds like a sob.

I jerk my hips roughly up, at the same time that I push her down, driving my dick deeper inside. 

“Tell me,” I rasp out and I know she knows what I want. Despite her not wanting me to control her, she has always been good about feeding my narcissistic tendencies in bed.

“No one can fuck me like you, Five,” she says. I grunt loudly as I thrust up into her again, making her cry out. I can feel her slick walls start to tighten. “Your cock was made for me.”

I can feel it. That familiar urge to claim and own her. To tell her she’s mine and no one else’s. I used to do that when I fucked her. I’d wait until she was so far gone she couldn’t argue with me and I’d tell her how I wanted to keep her with me all the time, just so I could see and hear her. It’s rising up, along with my impending orgasm, just waiting to be unleashed after being dormant for so long. But I don’t. Not this time.

“Shit… Lexi, honey… “ I pant, my fingers digging into the flesh of her perfect ass cheeks.

“Come inside me, Five,” she whispers next to my ear.

I do just that, spilling inside of her with a long, husky groan while I hold her down, tight against me, and she starts shuddering in my arms. She clings to me, her body pressed to mine and her pussy contracting around my cock, and I don’t want it to end. She kisses me again, softer this time, as her body slowly starts to become less rigid. We’re still spasming against one another, involuntarily, like we’re shivering from the cold, although we’re both burning hot.

I return her kiss, my hand lacing through her soft hair again. She settles into me, my dick still inside her, and our muscles relaxing. I don’t want to stop kissing her. I’m terrified that it will break whatever spell this is and things will go back to being broken.

She pulls away, but she doesn’t move off my lap. She stays straddling me, and gently pushes a piece of hair off my forehead. My hands slowly trace down her sides, taking in her curves, and rest on her hips again.

“I didn’t want to leave,” she tells me quietly.

“Then why did you?”

She doesn’t answer that because we both know why she did. Instead, she looks away. “You didn’t try to stop me.”

“I know.”

“Why not?”

I laugh bitterly. “Because for once I decided to listen to you. If I came after you, I’d just be proving your point.”

She thinks about this and she tilts her head. She runs her thumb softly over my lips and I kiss it.

“I don’t know if I can change, Lex,” I admit. “I think this might just be me.”

She nods. “I know, Five.”

“I’m sorry,” I say and I truly am.

“I don’t want you to be sorry. You’re just built the way you are and it’s not wrong. It’s just you.” She pauses. “And right or wrong… I’m in love with you, Five.”

I’m at a loss for words, which never happens to me. Even when we were together, we never got to the ‘I love you’ stage. It was close and generally implied, but neither of us ever said it out loud. Hearing it now makes me realize how stupid that was. What had I been waiting for?

“I’m in love with you, too, Lexi,” I say sincerely, stroking her cheek gently. “Is that enough, though?”

She nods with a small and kind of sad smile. “I think so. Maybe.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I will try. I’ll try harder this time.”

“I’m going to try, too. I wasn’t entirely fair to you before. It’s a two way street and sometimes I let my stubbornness get in the way of me seeing that.”

She leans in to kiss me again and I trace a finger down her jawline. I feel like something has been stitched up inside me. Like I’m not quite fixed but there’s no longer a gaping hole.

I rest my forehead against hers and all I want to do is hold her. But we can’t stay in this alleyway forever. “Come home with me?” I whisper.

Lexi smiles. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

After we clean ourselves up as best we can and I get my pants zipped back up, we climb back into the front seats. Lexi grins over at me, holding her underpants up by one finger. She slips it over the gearshift with a laugh.

“There you go. A nice little decoration for you.”

I chuckle. “Makes me look like a major player. I like it.”

As I pull out onto the main street again, I look over at her. “Hey, that guy tonight… the one that took your purse… you know his name?”

“Well, yeah I know his name. It was supposed to be a date.” She pauses. “Now that I think about it, though, I bet he used a fake one. Asshole.”

I nod thoughtfully. “Want to get your shit back?”

“That would be nice, but I have no idea where he lives or anything. I just have a face from the dating app.”

I give her a sideways glance and roll my eyes. “You realize we just might have access to that kind of information?”

She gasps dramatically while smiling. “Five Hargreeves! Are you suggesting we break into the CIA and illegally obtain information?”

I frown. “It’s not breaking in if you have full clearance. Not to mention I have a very handy mode of entering undetected.”

Lexi giggles. “I would really like to get my phone and ID back. Plus I really liked that purse.”

“Good. We’ll swing by the office and then we’ll get this bastard.”

“Oh shit, you’re going to kick his ass, aren’t you?”

I shrug, not really wanting to commit to an answer right now. She just grins and leans in to kiss me on the cheek.

When we arrive at headquarters and security lets us into the lot, I park and then blink us both into my office. It’s quiet and there’s no one around. It doesn’t take long before I’m pulling up all sorts of dirt on this guy. Including his address and current employer. If I really wanted to make this guy’s life a living hell, it would be so easy. But I might just settle for a good old-fashioned punch to the throat. We’ll see how I feel.

“Ready?” I ask.

Lexi nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

We head out into the hallway and I stop, turning to face her with an evil grin.

“What?” she asks.

“I just remembered. Derek borrowed my favorite pen yesterday and never gave it back.”

She returns my look with a gleeful smile, catching on right away. “Well, then I think we should stop by his office. Have a look for it. Maybe on his desk?”

I pull her in for a kiss while we both laugh at our brilliant plan. As it quickly turns heated, it dawns on me that I should be thanking that guy that stole her purse. Maybe I will, after I kick his ass. But right now I have more important things to think about, and I blink us both into Derek’s office. 

[hkthatgffan]

Irrespective of any debate on whether or not such a follow-up should even happen, if there were to someday be a sequel series to Gravity Falls of some kind, what if Mabel were to be its central protagonist while Dipper took on the supporting deuteragonist role that she originally had? Could you see that working somehow, giving Mabel the central arc and a new overarching mystery to be invested in just as Dipper had in the original series, or not really? This is something I've pondered for awhile now that I've thought about asking a broader audience (such as say, r/gravityfalls), but figured that it'd likely just get sidetracked by either Mabel-Critics or naysayers shooting down any notion of a sequel series to being with.

Interesting question. I think a Mabel focused spin off or sequel would be interesting. Plus, I think it would fit in pretty well with the other Disney TVA shows with protagonists like her personality type. The question really would have to come down to what would the plot and overall goal of the series be?

Maybe it could be a series about Mabel and Ford having adventures or us seeing more into her day to day life. Maybe even a mystery or big goal that only really she can take on. It would be fun especially given the crew may try to explore more in depth ideas with her besides just the usual Mabel tropes and personality type mainstream fans assume she's about; romance plots and boy crazy episodes.

That's something I've said already I feel Disney seems to find itself stuck in with Mabel, in that all we've seen from her post GF in Disney Channel projects not canonical to the main show, is Mabel trying to get a date. The Call Me Mabel song was about that and her dedicated Chibiverse episode was about that.

Now, of course, these are non canon and more Disney projects than Gravity Falls which probably rely on core character traits rather than expanded lore and while they are still great fun and I enjoyed them a lot, if Mabel is the be the main character for a show, I would want us to see more to her than just that so that the average viewer realizes she is more than just a catchphrase machine that likes boys. That's something Alex Hirsch has said he always wanted Mabel to be seen as and it's sad to me when people just devolve her down to that.

Of course, the show had its issues with that and it's something many do still debate and discuss. I wouldn't know 100% where such an idea would go and how it would be tackled, but I think whatever it is, Alex would need to approach it differently to how he did with GF. I have faith he could do right with Mabel given she's a character he wouldn't ever wanna butcher, but he needs a team that understands her in ways that perhaps he may not as well get.

IIRC, when Matt Braly was working on Amphibia, his 4 person writing team had 3 women on it, as he felt that was necessary for a show where the main human characters are 3 high school girls. We all know that Gravity Falls infamously had issues with that type of development regarding characters like Wendy. And even Pacifica, who Matt Braly was a huge factor in for her season 2 development, did not get all the way to the end given the series' direction. I think Matt learned that off GF and made sure the same issues didn't arise on Amphibia, and similarly Dana Terrace given how fast but well done Amity's development in TOH was. It's still something I love both those shows for.

So, for a show where Mabel is the main character, I think a similar approach would be needed so that Mabel has the absolute best possible team writing her out to be the best she can be. A team that is like her and gets her in a way that even the show's creator may not.

That or just get Ariel Hirsch to be the main writer given she is basically THE Mabel, lol.

[lesbianraskolnikov]

I always feel like his kindness towards children does reflect his true character well. Both notable incidents are intense moments but his reactions well. With sonya sister feels super kind and sweet hes so sweet to her and the burning building will sound silly but he was also altruistic enough to save them himself which is still crazy to me. What more must be written to show you his altruistic core. What else

[unproduciblesmackdown]

costume design, set mockup, and rehearsal photos from this guide to the show that's like really thorough in providing Context like, mini articles about the creators of the original movie, musical, and movie musical, about other versions of productions, the history, quotes of other commentary, interview quotes, context of other / preexisting genres like b movies, faustian stories, "what if a plant was weird" stories, glossary of terms (such as references that may generally be less obscure if you were in the '60s, e.g.), suggested further reading....haven't read it top to bottom but i think it's fantastic, link to the pdf as post source

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

-.-