#and it feels like they freeze weirdly when he pushes forward

[nattikay]

OmatiCon is holding an art contest and one of the categories was to make some fanart of their little mascot "Teyvì", so here's my entry. Definitely not as polished as I would've liked because I was rushing like mad to get it done by the deadline, but hey it's something!

[revelboo]

Hiii! Can we have an update for (any) Megatron, Soundwave or Shockwave? Whoever you’re in the mood for <3 thank you!!!

I think I’m due to update this one. Constructicons are next. Clumsy Heart, Everything Is Alright, and Worker Bee if i don’t get busy. Maybe I Can Feel You.

Point of Extinction Pt 9

TFP Shockwave x Reader

• Recreate home. You keep turning that over in your head, trying to figure it out and knowing you need more information. Remembering the deer, that twisted fusion of metal and flesh, makes you wonder if his whole world is metal, which you guess might make sense since he’s metal. Weirdly living, warm metal nothing like earth metal. And you wonder if his goal is to do to the world what he’d done to the deer. It’s hard to guess what he’s thinking, hard to follow the way his mind works. Sometimes when he looks at you, you’d swear he’s thinking about dissecting you. Something that’s occurred to you more than once. “What am I to you?”

• Head dipping slightly even though he can’t see you where you’re sprawled warm against the mesh of his neck, he reaches up to find you, muzzle of his cannon bumping against your hip with that unpleasant disconnected thought that there should be a hand there. The simple answer is as it’s always been. You’re an experimental subject. His thirteenth and the longest surviving. Because he never experimented on you. Running the edge of his cannon up your spine, that answer isn’t quite right anymore and he knows it. He’d spared you, wanted to keep you even though he can’t figure out the why. Every time he considers moving you back to the lab, that dissonance in his head grows worse. “You’re Thirteen.”

• Which is no answer at all, but vague or blunt seems to be all he knows how to be. And living every day with the fear that whenever he reaches for you it might be to carry you back to that other room. That he’s going to take you apart out of curiosity or boredom at some point. This uncertainty, the constant dread is almost worse than being physically hurt. He’s breaking you day by day and you don’t even think he realizes. “Yeah, I’m Thirteen.” Shoulders tense as he absently strokes you, your chest grows so tight it hurts. “But what are you going to do with me? Am I a pet now? Still an experiment?”

• There’s a miserable edge to your voice, an emotion he can’t identify, can’t understand but it hurts. Reaching up to catch you in his servos, he sits up and uses the end of his cannon to tip your face toward him. Freezing as he realizes you’re leaking again. Eyes welling as tears slide down your cheeks and that noise in his processor gets worse, those memories that aren’t his clawing at him. Can hear someone screaming. Thinks it might be him.

• Breath coming quick as his servos tighten around you until it hurts, until you can’t really breathe. Somehow you triggered him again, his one optic dim as he shivers with those barely perceptible tremors, lost in the grip of whatever this is. But he’s crushing you and not even realizing. Crying out, you push at his servos, clawing desperately. “Shockwave, stop!” And those antenna lift, servos relaxing around you as you collapse in his palm, wrapping your arms around yourself. Aware of him rocking slightly, frame curling forward around you. The end of his cannon hovering over you, as if afraid to touch you as you shake. “It’s okay.” Not sure if you’re reassuring him or yourself. Because he’d zoned out and nearly killed you without meaning to. “It’s okay.” Even if it’s really not as you reach up to lay your palm on his cannon and he keeps slowly rocking back and forth.

Previous

Next

[causenessus]

cold kisses

part 0.12. MEN ARE STUPID

PLAYING FROM KODZUKEN'S STREAM . . . uncomfortable by eyedress

she feels stupid waiting for him in the kitchen. if he's upset with her she doesn’t want to be the first thing he sees in the morning. but she wants to fix what she did wrong or at least talk to him about it. she wants to show him that she cares.

so she keeps waiting. her head almost gets the best of her and she’s about to take refuge back in her own room when his door creaks open. 

she’s silent as she watches him navigate through the kitchen. she hates this. she’s never had to feel uncomfortable around him, as if she was walking on thin ice and one wrong move could ruin everything.

she doesn’t hide the fact that she’s watching him, and he doesn’t look at her. she looks down at her fingers, splayed on the kitchen counter, and begins to pick at them to try and calm her nerves. “...i don’t mean to bother you, but i just wanted to check in on how you’re doing,” she finally speaks up.

“i’m good,” he responds, placing down a mug he’s grabbed from a cabinet above.

“are you?” she answers quickly and then immediately tries to soften the blow, “i mean, i’m just worried. you won’t look at me. i feel like i did something wrong.”

he pauses for a moment before resuming what he’s doing. “you didn’t,” he replies quietly. it’s clear he wants her to leave it, but she can’t bring herself to. she wants to talk to him. she likes to talk to him. she likes him.

“then why won't you look at me?” when she says it out loud, it sounds pathetic. “i feel like there is something. i don’t want to assume, but i can’t help but overthink this. is it because i was out with atsumu yesterday?”

he finally looks at her but she immediately regrets asking him to do so in the first place. he looks nothing like how he acted and spoke with her when they were texting yesterday. “why would i be mad about that?” he asks. “we’re not actually dating or anything, i don’t care who you're with.”

everything seems to freeze for a moment. the world goes silent. even her pulse she could hear so loudly only seconds ago has paused, and she keeps looking forward. no longer at him, just on the wall past him. she doesn’t blink, she doesn’t breathe, she doesn’t move because it’s all she can do to keep herself from falling apart. she’d been the one to read everything wrong. she had let her feelings get the best of her. they'd agreed to pretend to date and she had selfishly pushed further past those boundaries; he had just played along. “yeah. you’re right,” she almost gives up trying to hold herself together when her voice cracks, “sorry i asked. see you later.”

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

nothing fun about this chapter??

special shoutout to the runnerup songs almost picked for this chapter bc there were many options

after you cry (the anxiety & willow), we had to end it (cuco), pain (pinkpantheress), weirdly enough the mortal boy king (the paper kites) and needs (verzache)

shoutout to my grandma who called my music taste depressing and lonely which is apparently true?? bc there were so many songs that went with this chapter

taglist: @rinheartshyunlix @kettlepop @eggyrocks @cr4yolaas @httpakkeiji @keioover @does-directions @calx-bdo @staygoldsquatchling02 @cherrypieyourface @iluv-ace @kitty-m30w @h3xi2g0n3 @mylahrins @thechaosoflonging @momoriii-i @localgaytrainwreck @a-pastel-edgelord @bugglesboop @polish-cereal @osakis-gf @phoenix-eclipses @faesix @ryeyeyer @skylarkalchemist @kunimix @sereniteav @kodzubaby @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @r0seandth0rns @gsyche @kitnootkat @seillarium @tamimemo @myromanempiree @coldcigarette @eclipticnikki @squiishymeow @vivian-555 @cryptictheseus @eclecticeggknightpsychic @kodzukein @kawaii-angelanne @luvly-writer @kodzuken-hoe @kodzuken88 @bookworm-center @theweirdfloatything @glitch-karma @spicana

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Red Rose

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x reader

Word count: 2k

Notes: imma be real… I am not a period sex kind of person. And then I was on my period while writing this and-

Eddie peeks through the front door and comes in slowly.

“Baby? You around?” 

He sets his bag down and walks into the house. The lights are off, and the kitchen is clean. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He sets the takeout bag on the kitchen counter and looks around. There’s no note, nothing. 

He wanders over to the bedroom, where he finally finds you. You seem to be pacing back and forth, wringing your hands nervously. He immediately comes over, stopping you in your tracks, his hands resting on your arms.

“Hey… hey what’s going on?” His tone is apprehensive and you already feel guilty for making him feel that way. 

“Can you um-“You push at his chest a little and he frowns. 

“Can you go lay on the bed for me? Please?” 

He looks at you weirdly but complies anyway, kissing your forehead before going to lie on the bed. He puts his hand behind his head and crosses his ankles.

“This good for you?” 

You bite your lip, your eyes zeroing in on the soft skin of his tummy as his shirt rides up a bit.

“Mhm, it’s perfect” 

You come over to the bed and climb up on top of him, and his eyes widen. He looks back and forth for a second for a hidden camera, and you roll your eyes playfully. 

“Uhhh you okay?” 

You lean forward, nuzzling your nose against his, and smile. 

“Mhm, peachy” 

“What’s goin’ on? Not that I’m complaining…” He grabs your hips, rubbing them in slow circles with his thumbs and you hum appreciatively.

“I uh- I-“ You freeze up a little and he tilts his head, smirking up at you.

“Don’t get all shy on me now sugar, tell me what you need” 

“Can we take a shower together?” You ask quietly and he toys with the drawstrings of your shorts because now he finally gets what’s going on and he’s already working things out in his mind. 

“We can do anything you want… you sure you’re cool with this? I know that you don’t necessarily like-“

“I know what I don’t like, you know what I don’t like, but if I don’t get what I need I’m going to rip someone’s face off” you interrupt him.

“Shower time it is!” 

Eddie tells you to go to the bathroom first and do whatever makes you feel comfortable before calling him in when you’re ready. While he waits, he takes off his shirt and tosses it aside before looking down at his pants… yeah why not? He gets up and shucks those off too before flopping back on the bed. 

He reaches down and pokes at his cock, like he’s trying to get its attention “I hope you’re ready for this, we need to have it under control alright? Total gentleman mode, anything she wants, she gets, you got that?” 

He strokes himself slowly and sighs, his eyes fluttering closed. 

“Don’t back sass me” he scoffs “Is this making me feel absolutely wild? Yes. Do I feel an undeniably animalistic urge to fuck her as hard as I possibly can? Also yes. But we can’t buddy, you know she’s kinda fragile right now…” 

“Eddie?” He hears your sweet voice from the bathroom and he’s off the bed in a flash, he takes a breath before opening the bathroom door and walks in. The steamy atmosphere already has his senses on high, you’re in the shower, holding onto the glass door, your cheeks are flushed pink and he can’t tell if that’s from the steam or embarrassment but he can’t seem to care, not with the way you stare at him. 

He knows that look, his cock bumps against his thigh with each slow step he takes toward you. He stands tall and confident as he steps into the shower, he reaches out and cups your cheeks, his other hand coming to rest on your hip.

“If you decide you don’t want to do this anymore we can stop okay? Any time you want” 

You nod and turn away, your cheeks flushing deeply and he grins. 

He turns your face towards him, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue dips into your mouth, claiming you fully as his hands roam your curves possessively. He pours all his love and lust into the kiss, determined to show you just how much he wants you, no matter what.

“Can I touch you, sweet girl?”

“I-I don’t know…” you blush and he pins you to the wall, his knee separating your legs. 

“You know this is completely natural right? I’m a firefighter baby, a little blood isn’t gonna scare me off” He rubs your clit in tight circles and you reach down, grabbing his wrist. He keeps his fingers going as you moan, your body melting easily on him. 

“Eddie!” You squirm as he works his fingers in and out of you slowly now, the wet sounds of your pussy echoing around the shower walls and you brace yourself against them, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Hmm?” He can’t get enough of the little noises you’re making, the steam making things hot and heavy as you pant in his ear. He’s losing himself in you already, he can’t imagine why you’d be so ashamed when you feel so good. 

“S-stop that’s- you’re making such a mess please Eddie st-“ 

He kisses along your neck, to your jaw before pulling away and staring into your eyes. His voice drops impossibly low, it’s dark and raw with need. 

“Why deny me the pleasure of knowing your body… inside-“ His fingers are stained red as he trails them up your body, his tongue darts out to lick them clean and your mouth drops open “and out” 

He has to catch your head before it slams back into the tiles as he sheaths himself inside you fully, he doesn’t give you any time to be worried about the mess anymore as his hips piston in and out of you, giving you everything you’ve been craving all day. 

“There’s my sweet baby, so sexy, so perfect” 

Eddie fully loses himself in the feeling of you finally, the slick slide of your body against his, the way you moan and writhe in his arms. 

“That's it, baby, take it," he grunts, angling his hips to hit that spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. "You're mine, baby girl, all mine. Gonna fuck you so good, make you forget your own name." 

He’s fucking you relentlessly, your toes curling, your nails scratching at his shoulders as he fucks you up the wall. He stops for a moment and you finally have the chance to breathe. 

“Don’t get too comfy” He warns you as he walks you over to the bench and puts you on all fours. 

“That’s my girl, look at you, perfectly presented for me” He coos over you, rubbing the soft globe of your ass. He jiggles it in his hands and you arch your back.

“Goddamn” He mumbles, smacking your ass hard a couple of times. With one smooth thrust, he buries himself back inside you, holding your hips steady as he lets you adjust to his size in this position. 

"So fucking tight. I'm gonna ruin you for anyone else." 

“E-Eddie” you cry out, putting your hands up to keep him from fucking you through the wall.

“You can take it baby I know you can” he encourages, his hand sliding around to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. "Gonna fuck you so deep, so hard, make you come all over my cock. You want that, don't you? Want me to fill you up until you're overflowing?"

“I want it, please, please I want it so badly” 

Eddie leans down to bite at your shoulder, marking you as his own. His movements are growing more erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants as he chases his release, he’s willing himself not to cum until you do, his only focus is making you feel good. 

Each rough thrust punches a little high-pitched noise out of you, driving the both of you crazy. His fingers work your clit over and you can feel that red hot coil in the pit of your stomach burning brighter and brighter before it finally snaps.

Your head falls against the bench as you cum, crying into the cold, stone tiles. You sob his name over and over as he fucks into you harder, holding your hips to him so tightly your knees barely brush the bench. He loves to fuck you like a rag doll and you love to be handled like that.

Eddie's hips stutter as he feels you tighten around him, your inner walls fluttering and clenching as you come undone. He pulls you up and buries his face in your neck, breathing in the scent of you as he continues to thrust shallowly while wrapping his hand around your throat, drawing out your pleasure. He grins wickedly listening to the way you babble and moan, incoherent and absolutely delirious for him. 

His other hand grips your hip bruisingly tight as he slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm crashes over him.

"Jesus Christ Y/N" Eddie cries out, his voice raw with passion as he spills himself deep inside you. His cock pulses and throbs, painting your walls with his seed, marking you as his own, something you both love when he does. He’d taught you to love a good breeding kink almost as much as he did.

He falls forward on top of you and you both crash down onto the little bench. He maneuvers himself to give you a little breathing room but stays squished against you. 

“You okay, baby? I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks softly, concern lacing his voice and you shake your head, trying to catch your breath. He knows how sensitive you are around this time, he nuzzles his face into your shoulder and you smile weakly.

“No, you didn’t, I-I’m okay” 

“You feelin' any better?” He pulls your body into him, letting the hot water spray over you and relax your muscles. You snuggle into him and he smiles, kissing your cheek.

“You think you can fall asleep?” 

“Are you kidding me?” You scoff, your voice already trailing off “I could sleep on a log”

“I don’t- I don’t think that’s the correct-“ 

 Before he can even finish his sentence you’re out like a light, his cock pulses inside you and you sigh happily. 

“That’s my favorite girl” He purrs softly in your ear. 

You wake up buried in a soft little nest, there are pain meds a bottle of water on the nightstand and a heating pad plugged in and ready for you to turn on. You get out of bed slowly and after waddling to the bathroom and assessing the situation, you head into the kitchen. 

Eddie is standing in front of the stove, his hips moving in sync with the song playing over the speakers. You lean against the wall watching the way his hips rotate in circles, his pants are hung low on his hips almost threatening to slip off, you bite your lip when you’re sure he’s definitely not wearing underwear.

He’s humming along to the song when he goes to spin around, he screams and nearly drops his pan, making you scream and clutch the wall. 

“Jesus fucking-“ 

“Why did you scream?!” 

“Why did you scream?!” 

“Because you scared me!!” You gesture wildly and he slams the pan on the counter 

“You scared me!!” 

“Well sorry!!” 

“I mean-“ He shuts off the music and narrows his eyes at you playfully 

“I guess I forgive you… how are you feeling?” He comes over and wraps his arms around you, hugging you closely and you nuzzle into his chest, before wrapping your arms around his slutty waist. 

“Really good…” you purr quietly and you can feel him shift as you press your tits into him.

“Oh?” His voice wavers, and you grin wickedly before kissing his chest. He cups your face gently and looks into your eyes.

“I just made you dinner…but I can definitely keep it warm” 

“You went to so much trouble, I can wait” You bat your eyelashes sweetly, fully ready for dinner but he scoffs, turning you around and patting your butt 

“Maybe you can but I sure as fuck can’t. Let me put this back in the oven while you go get on your hands and knees for me, I wanna eat that pussy first”

“Eddie!”

[cocoagenie]

𝙄ñ𝙖𝙠𝙞 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙛𝙚𝙢 | 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿𝘾𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙉 <3

[P💕: i crave him]

[Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !]

Shenanigans

☆ Iñaki can definitely be troublesome if he's bored. I'm talking face/body paint cosplays, hiding your things, pranking you with his perfect acting skills type of trouble

• its truly hilarious and a bit concerning to catch him with his whole face green and a dinosaur stuffed hat clipped around his head

☆ "ki.." he has his back to you and stares at the walls like there much more important

• will scream over games in his phone, for instance if iñaki runs out of time and fails a challenge you can here him crying out from the bathroom

☆ he suggests the craziest things on tiktok and you are a sucker for a good time despite you both hating to clean up behind yourselves. You have an eighteen minute long video of you both slipping on the soapy kitchen floor btw ;p

• iñaki often walks around your apartment a bit weirdly so he's bound to stub a toe or bump his shoulder into the edge of the wall, always cursing in Spanish which makes you burst into laughter

☆ you both truly are unfiltered around eachother and hes feels so lucky that he got two for one, (you're not only his best friend but your his girlfriend too.) Iñaki thinks that's epic

• skating time is sublime.

• "you– geezer, just hold onto me?" You laughed as Iñaki rolled around the skating ring like an elder on life support, he obliged but that cost you with the way he gripped your hands.

☆ "Damn, kiki!"

• "Slow down!!" He wobbled.

☆ "We not going no damn where!"

• on the court he will demolish you. Iñaki's always in your face, running around you as he dribbles the ball and shoots, it hits the rim sometimes

☆ "you're ass.." you kick some pebbles as he jogs for his rebound and runs back to you with a grin. Sweat beading at his forehead and wetting the roots of his curls.

• "oh? well then you make the hoop" you both are nearly the same height but he's still slightly taller. (He looks scrumptious in loose tanktops fyi) The basketball is pushed to you as you roll your eyes and take it. Iñaki situates beside you and watches you move forward but hands on your hips pull you back.

☆ "Do it from here." You got ready to argue but just huffed and dribbled the ball once to make sure it was hard enough and not flat. Your dominant arm bended and launched the ball for the edge of the square. It rolled around the rim but fell off and Iñaki suppressed a laugh.

• he talks so fast in English and Spanish that you often tell him to slow down. He laughs at that because he's still getting used to someone truly listening instead of talking over him

☆ iñaki flexes his facial hair and that often gains your attention so he ends up getting his mustache and sideburns cleaned up while you're on his lap

• "please amor, don't cut it too much."

☆ "shh shh, look?" You raised the mirror and when he saw the results iñaki felt ten times more flashier and he thanked you with a big kiss of course

• bro looses his marbles when he can't find his glasses and you love to watch him suffer as he looks everywhere while their RIGHT ONTOP OF HIS HEAD.

The sweet things

☆ he needs to have you by his side but doesn't like to really admit it so when you're doing something or simply lounging around he'll come to you like puppy and lean on you, or play with/link your hands

• iñaki bites and asks before hand too lol

☆ teaches you his first language and loves how you have your way of pronouncing certain words, he also praises you and says you sound like a natural after correctly saying a sentence

• love love lovesss your cheek kisses since your lips are already plump and soft. Fall is here and it tends to get chilly so iñaki jokingly asks you to prescribe him with some so he doesn't freeze to death

☆ let's you play in his hair especially when it grows out, you put it in ponytails, side cornrows and twists until he's snoring against you

• iñaki doesn't have a foot fetish but will massages your feet when their sore. He's the best at it, courtesy of the practice with his mother

☆ since you love vinyls and CD's he brings you shopping with him at special stores that sell hand me downs, movie cds or song records

• you both enjoy a good thrifting spree!

☆ picnic dates are sweet but getting something to eat downtown and exploring the lower city makes you feel like jasmine and iñaki is obviously your aladdin <3

• "should we jay walk?" You look at the currently empty street as iñaki's hand is gripped in yours, his eyes keep flickering down both ends of the street before he suddenly tugs you across with him

☆ "Vamanos, vamanos!" You snort and run across as you both eventually make it to the car.

• he often asks you why you fell in love with him and you're always ready to provide an answer.

☆ "You have this weird charm that I'm drawn to.. plus you were kinda mysterious with the way you used to sta-"

• "okay okay I get it!"

☆ "Nah you used to stare into my soul remember?"

• Iñaki felt incredibly shy around you, he still does now that you're both together he just knows how to hide it now ;)

☆ matching charm bracelets and rings. 😭

• he's the pure embodiment of "just happy to be there!"

☆ will always polish the hand you can't do

THE END ♡

[A/N: I AM SATISFIED.]

[aka-indulgence]

Something on the Graveyard Wall

Hey are you interested in kissing a Ravioli? Because I want to kiss a Ravioli. Here’s my version of a first meeting :b

(Ravioli x F!Reader No content warnings)

—————

It was a brisk night. You shuddered as you tucked your scarf back around you. The weather’s been steadily cooling over the past month, but it’s really started to bite you.

I wish I brought a hat with me… you thought, as the wind brushed your hair. You grip onto the bag and trudge forward.

Your lips twist when you approach the old graveyard. It was one of those graveyards that’s been around for hundreds of years. During the day you do feel the somber air, sometimes you’ve seen people with black umbrellas visiting on rainy days, but at night you just want to walk past it as fast as possible. The nice thing is, the Bad Vibes™ from it seem to deter most people from it, so strangely, its one of the safest ways home.

You’ve walked by countless times, but you always feel your hair stand whenever you walk past it, especially in front of the wrought iron gates that always seemed to creak whenever you weren’t looking. This night you were especially unsettled- the moon was full and high in the sky, the clouds obscured it, and there almost looked to be a mist in the graveyard.

You keep your eyes in front of you while you pass the gates, the graveyard now covered by a tall wall. You start to relax a bit when you find a strange shadow on the ground.

Your walk comes to a stop as you observe it, from a distance. It was a curved shape, long. That’s not normal. You don’t know why you have a strange sense of premonition when your eyes trail up to where it’s coming from and-

… What is that.

A man? Person? Creature? Was standing on top of the graveyard wall. Two bright, mismatched yellow eyes watched you from within its hoodie. It didn’t… look like there was a face obscured by the shadows, all you saw was darkness behind those eyes.

Something tells you this thing is probably not human! Hahaha!

Your eyes widened and your grip on your bag became deathly.

Its eyes were piercing you.

What is… what is that?! You ask again in your mind, doing your best not to scream. You think- you think your friends talked about different cryptids, but you didn’t like listening to them. You were spooked enough, living near the old graveyard, you didn’t need any stories living rent free in your head to whisper you threats that probably didn’t exist. Except this one, apparently.

You think you’ve heard of this creature, he was pretty popular with the townsfolk, you’ve heard of someone mentioning their grandpa of seeing it back in the 70s, you think. The “smiler”? “Mouth”? “The centipede”?

Inhumanely tall and lanky, jacket wearing… thing, with stitched sleeves and a completely void-black face, save for two eyes. Sounds about right.

Now you wished you had a list of all the cryptid “dos and donts” you’ve heard your friends talk about. What was it you’re supposed to do… don’t look at it? Or was it to nod your head at him and ask ‘how’s the weather, mr. jaws?’? No- wait, that’s for Mr. Jaws, obviously…

You were stuck in a staring contest with it. Your eyes feel dry. The ‘smiler’ blinks its eyes incongruously. You sweat, not knowing if this is making things worse.

You try to pretend that he’s just a weirdly shaped lamp post and start speed-walking, but then- were you supposed to stay still like a statue until it moves on? Or was that for another creature?

You almost start to a sprint when you see it move.

“E-EEeeee!!” you freeze. It comes down arms first, stretching down to the ground, its body sliding down the wall behind it. It falls into a heap on the ground for a few seconds… then its legs and arms together push it up back into standing, stretching and bending in ways that make it look like it didn't have joints. Or bones.

You tremble as it rises to its full height- must be more than twice of you! It looks like it doesn’t have much support to stand on, wobbling ever so slightly. It regards you with… curiosity?

It doesn’t react. Standing in your way from a peaceful, monster-free walk home.

Your mouth tastes sour. You can’t tell if you’re shivering because of the cold or him.

“H… hello?” You greet, hoarsely.

Were you supposed to talk to it? Or was this one of the monsters you should never try to speak with it?

The Smiler’s head rolls to the side like a ball, like something with no neck would be capable of. Its hands hang under him, close to the ground.

It makes a sound you can only describe as “???”

It lifts its hand towards you.

Nope nope nope nope, you stressed in your head as you stumbled back and away from it, but its other hand snatches you around your upper arm.

You squeak as you’re pulled under the towering creature, it’s long arms becoming liquid and stretching in various ways. It leans forwards, curling in a U-shape to be closer to your eye level; which means he’s twisted directly above your head, and you have to tilt your face up to look at him in the eyes.

Your throat tightens and your breath comes out in little puffs. Are you… supposed to scream now? Can you?

Its other hand reaches for your face. You want to smack it away, but your body is filled with cement, and you can’t move. You squeeze your eyes shut as it approaches and… pokes your cheek.

You blink an eye open. Its freed your arm now, and is starting to poke, prod… and pinch your cheeks. All the while its pupils grow in its eyes.

“... soft.”

“Uh… h-huh??”

Its eyes drift down to the bag pinched under your arm. And all of a sudden, both its too-long arms with too-sharp fingers are rummaging through your bag.

“What the- hey!”

It pulls out two things. One of them a little mint you got from work, and another your lipstick.

“Put that back!”

It blinks when you snatch the lipstick out of its hand (You’re not letting it play with your good lipstick!), but doesn’t seem to mind, instead turning its attention to the mint. You lean away as it tears the wrapping apart, and flings the candy into its hood.

You don’t… see a mouth… but you definitely hear him chewing.

Its eye widens, turning a softer, more orange yellow, curving into a happy shape.

“hee…… hehehe…”

Somehow, it both sounds like a young boy and an unfathomably ancient creature. Giggling playfully, but in a way that sounded like you were the toy.

It turns its eyes back towards you and leans closer. You grimace.

“U-um- do you want more? You can have more!” you chuckle nervously, reaching around for your second mint, presenting it to him. It stares at it for a moment, then takes it out of your hand with its long, spindly fingers. It brushes over your palm, and you do your best to hide your shudder. It looks at the mint like you’ve given it a precious treasure, then back at you.

You sidestep your way around it and bring your hands up in surrender. “W-well, I hope you like it, but I have to go home now, so- bye!”

You spun around and walked away, taking steps as big as you could possibly manage, all the while feeling those eyes bore a hole in your back. The ‘very normal walk’ turns into a sprint once you’ve turned a corner. You couldn’t get home any sooner.

… The creature stands where you left it, bent (more like curled) over, holding the mint in its hand. It turns away from the corner you left and back at the candy.

It pokes it, then rubs its fingers together, where it touched you. A smile emerges from the darkness of its face, and its eyes turn red.

“... pretty……”

[cockatrice-writers-guild]

!WET SOCKS!

FINALLY. CONTEXT BEHIND THIS COMMISSION

warnings: swearing

word count: around 1.3k

taglist: @awkwardgtace , @smolcomfycat , @just-a-tiny-bun , @tripodcat-gt

I sat at the end of the dock, feet dangling into the water as I took in the scenery once more in yet another unsuccessful attempt to calm my nerves.

Today was special.

Because today was the day Thad would finally be coming home from college. For good. And the last time we video called, he said we should do something to celebrate the occasion. And now I was here.

I squeezed my arms.

It'd been a while since I'd seen him in person and to say I was nervous was a huge understatement. What if I made things awkward? What if my voice didn't cooperate when he showed up? WHAT IF HE HATES ME?

I stared down at the water with a small frown, focusing on the reflection of the velki sized trees in the distance. If Thad didn't want to meet me then he wouldn't have asked, right? This was okay. Everything would be okay. Thad would get here and we'd probably have an awkward first exchange and then...eventually things would go back to normal (…hopefully).

But I knew it wasn't just the nerves that were causing my heart to flutter. I was excited to see him again. I missed the physical touch and the sound of his real voice and also when he...uh....when the...he…lips.

ANYWAY

Thad was going to be here soon and I was excited to see him again. I really missed him. And I really hoped he’d missed me too.

Luckily, I didn't have to sit there much longer before I could finally feel the telltale tremors of velki footsteps vibrating through the wood below me. I squeezed my arms to prepare myself as best as I could when I heard the trees behind me start to rustle, my heart jumping with every snap of a branch. Finally, something broke through the treeline and with my heart now pounding with anticipation, I took a good few seconds to mentally prepare myself before finally turning around.

And my heart jumped at the sight.

Thaddeus. Thaddeus Kayne. In the flesh.

And he looked like a mess.

His hair was chaos (…more so than usual, anyway). His clothes were wrinkled. He had pine needles sticking out of his jacket and hair. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. But he had an absolutely massive grin on his face, his eyes softening slightly when mine met his.

He stood there for a long moment as we stared at each other, his bag sliding off his shoulder in the quiet.

And then his grin widened as he started walking towards me.

The dock was creaking under his weight and all at once he was right behind me (TOO FAST). This gave me just enough time to start rethinking my life choices before he bent down, his head hanging upside down in front of me. I had to lean back to make eye contact now.

Also his eyes were shining.

Oh no.

"Sy," he said simply.

I just nodded back at him, not exactly sure what I was supposed to be doing anymore.

"Would you say you have any electronics on you at this moment?"

…what?

I mean…I'd left all my stuff in a purse by the shore because I didn't want anything getting dirty. I shook my head.

"Anything you wouldn't want to get soaked?"

I shook my head.

"Hmm."

There was silence in the air for a long moment and I almost considered asking what he meant by that but before I could even fully process what was happening, the ground below me disappeared and the next thing I knew, I found myself underwater, completely soaked in freezing cold water.

WHAT HAPPENED???

It took me a while to get my bearings but when I did finally managed to find the dock again while doggy paddling, I had to crane my neck to maintain eye contact with Thad’s still weirdly hunched over form, looking to him for some kind of explanation. In return, Thad only watched me as his expression started to change.

His grin turned sheepish.

The perpetrator.

I just frowned up at him and then stopped frowning when he suddenly straightened up and somehow even more surprisingly than pushing me into the lake, took a step forward into empty air and fell face first into the water too.

???

The resulting waves from his absolutely terrible dive sent me flying away from the dock and once I managed to resurface again, I looked around only to see no sign of Thad besides the ripples where he’d disappeared into the lake.

I waited for him to resurface but when nothing happened and nothing kept happening, dread started to fill me. I was out in a comparatively bottomless lake and my giant, currently evil boyfriend could be anywhere below me. I started to paddle back to shore as fast as my arms could carry me but almost as if he was waiting for it (which he probably was), something quickly surfaced below me and started lifting me out of the water. I felt the faint twitch of muscles and the slight warmth radiating under me and I recognized what it was almost instantly.

A hand lifted me out of the water and then slowly, Thaddeus’ head emerged from the lake like some kind of river monster. His bangs hung in his eyes and his eyeliner was now running freely down his cheeks but his eyes were still shining, coughing up water in between fits of giggles.

“Sorry,” he just managed to get out between his laughter and despite everything, I couldn’t help but start laughing too.

Eventually, we both calmed down enough for Thad to start swimming back to the shore. He set his hand down on the dock and waited for me to get off before he placed his arms down on either side of me and bent them until my back pressed against them.

For a second, he said nothing, watching me in silence as he bobbed slightly in the water before he started leaning towards me. He stopped once his head was mere meters from my own and I once again considered all the choices that had led me to this exact moment before his lips tilted into a small smile and I could literally feel the tension leave the air.

"Hey," he whispered giddily and I felt my cheeks start to heat up as a small smile wormed its way onto my face.

I tried to speak but found the words jammed in my throat. I cleared my throat silently and tried to feel out the words. Said a phrase in my head over and over before finally just reaching out and brushing a hand over his lips instead.

The gesture made him smile and he actually leaned into it, letting me run a hand over the soft surface for a while before I finally had the courage to lean in for a hug, kinda just…draping my arms over what I could reach before I felt what must have been his arms press into me as he returned the gesture.

"I really fucking missed you," he finally whispered, the sentiment making my heart flutter.

He hugged me for a while longer before finally pulling away, brushing some of the wet bangs out of my face with a finger before pulling himself out of the water. He scooped me up before starting to walk back up the dock.

“I had like, a whole romantic forest picnic thing planned out for us but seeing how we’re both soaked in lake water for…some reason…and to be honest I’m tired as hell and probably need like a shower or something, I think I’m gonna just head home for the day.”

My heart sunk slightly.

“-BUT!”

My heart stopped slightly.

“-you’re more than welcome to join me. …if you want to, of course.”

I nodded so frantically that Thad immediately burst out laughing again, stopping only to give me a small kiss on the top of my head before he picked up both of our stuff and started making the trek to his house, eventually launching into a monologue of what his last few days of college were like and how the trip back was as I leaned back into him and enjoyed the feeling of having him back.

[cruesuffix]

I see your doing random headcanons and I was wondering if you could please do headcanons for mick actually having a boyfriend but the guys had like zero idea and their reaction to finding out mick is fruity and dating some guy they don't know anything abt (bonus points for them being jelly as shit)

oh boy do i love jealous crue!!! also mick dating someone that isn’t in the crue (or even in the industry altogether) is so appealing to me.

a headcanon girl productions presents: the closet mick lives in is made out of pure steel!!

- now let’s say this guy that micks dating is just a random citizen. maybe they met at a bar, or after a show. wherever doesn’t really matter, it’s just a casual meeting. they quickly become friends and this guy is someone mick can really talk to. if there’s something weighing on his mind, he knows his friend can help him through it. if he just wants to vent about his stupid evil band, this guy will let him! and of course mick would do anything for his friend as well, maybe he finds himself wanting to help his friend out with literally anything. he doesn’t even do this for his band. a couple months pass by and for some reason mick starts feeling differently about this guy. it’s not negative at all, but…it’s something probably worse

- we all know how ppl were in the eighties. i think mick would be a bit internally homophobic at first. like, he’s not at all bothered by gay people, he thinks they’re fine. but, he comes from a generation where even having feelings was seen as gay. so, when his feelings for his friend turns a bit romantic he’s very quick to try to push them down and quell whatever desires he might have. like…yes he’s starting to see himself wanting to hold hands with this guy and all that jazz but…he’s supposed to want such things with a woman not a man.

- fast forward all that sad gay stuff, it would take a bit longer for him to fully accept himself and all that, but i still think this friend of his would make the first move! (mick the sub agenda will prevail through me and me alone!) his friend would admit that he’s gay and sorta kinda in love with mick, to micks absolute glee ofc.

- so they start dating! privately ofc, both of them know what it’s like being gay in these times, so mick moves him into his house and they live together. of course, they’d pretend it was because micks friend was bordering homelessness so he just happened to be a nice friend and offer him shelter. nobody thinks twice about this. mick is just that nice everyone believes he’d do something like that.

- who knows when exactly mick decides to tell his bandmates. it would have to wait until he’s entirely sure they won’t take it terribly. he’d ask so many questions. every time he’s alone with one of them he’s going “hey so…what do you think about gay people?” It gets so bad that now the bands sure he’s the homophobic one. cue tommy going up to nikki and going “has mick been weirdly obsessed with gay people around you too or is it just me?”

- (love the idea of nikki going “he asked me how i’d feel if one of us was gay and i’m starting to think he thinks i’m gay…i don’t know though…”)

- after getting pretty favourable answers from the band (and increasingly weird stares), he finally brings out his boyfriend on tour and introduces him to them.

- cue open mouths and disbelieving stares. tommy thinks it’s a joke so he high fives this guy and talks about how funny their little prank is. mick just stares him dead in the eyes and goes “i ain’t joking.”

- everyone immediately freezes. they would have never guessed mick was fruity…like at all!! he’s the most clean cut, midwestern guy they know…they kind of associate all that with being straighter than a lamppost. him being gay was the last thing they’d ever think of! maybe they’d try going back and looking at all his interactions with certain people. do any of them think mick has ever acted gay? absolutely not. sure, he didn’t mess around with groupies that much, but they all figured that was because he was old fashioned! now they’re looking back and thinking “wait, was that just because he isn’t attracted to girls? is he still attracted to girls? what’s going on??”

- they’d have to keep their facial expressions neutral as they introduce themselves to this mystery dude.

- nikki’s stammering, shaking the dudes hand. he’s trying to stay cool and not bust out laughing. who knew their old man would be into guys? maybe he discreetly looks the guy up and down, trying to figure out what mick sees in him. not in a mean “he could do better” sort of way…but he’s definitely still confused. he knows he should think like this cause nikkis sure he himself isn’t gay but…he was kinda hoping if anyone was gay in the band, they’d go for someone in the band at least. he doesn’t want to share a space with some dude he doesn’t know. like, nikki would be the first one to suggest a polycule within the band only because he doesn’t want anyone else coming into the space he very carefully created.

- tommy would sort of grit his teeth but be as cordial as he could towards this guy. he would be jealous only because the attention he always got from mick would disappear and go into this new jackass he barely knows. he can hide behind the fact that he’s just so used to his old man’s affection and he doesn’t want to share it. he would have rather it been nikki. because, nothing would have changed! if mick had started dating nikki, then he’d get both the attention from his terror twin and his old man. they could be the parents he needed while on tour! (meanwhile he just wants both of them to…well what that is will be up to your imagination ofc!)

- vince would put on a fake smile and greet micks boyfriend like he was an old friend. it’s the best he can do for his old man. inside, however, he would be pretty jealous he’s not the only pretty face in the room anymore. he’d be surprised that mick had such good taste. then he’d be a bit depressed that in all the time he’d known mick, he hadn’t gotten to know him enough to not be surprised by this news. micks head nod of acknowledgement towards him were the only things keeping him afloat while on tour, but now he might not get them again because mick will be too preoccupied with his boyfriend…he can’t believe he’s starting to get jealous about this.

- none of the band want to acknowledge they’re jealous over micks boyfriend who they know nothing about. would they want to know anything about him?? maybe not…cause what if he has a cool job and was like extremely smart and cool and not as pathetic as they all felt.

- oh and maybe mick does ends up having a talk with all of them privately. now he’s officially coming out to them. of course, in the typical mick manner, he’s apologizing. he feels bad for not telling them, but he was a bit nervous they’d take it badly. (also let’s say, for this headcanon, he’d be either bisexual or pansexual…like he’s the type to not care about the gender of his lover, only that he likes them and they like him.) the rest of the band would reassure him that they weren’t mad at all and completely understood why he’d keep it to himself. they also assure him that they are 100% cool with him being gay and all that and they don’t mind it at all and that they still love him like a brother (maybe this line is said with gritted teeth and jealous undertones that mick never picks up on). they all hug and all that and then vince asks about his boyfriend.

- cue mick gushing about his lover, heart eyes and all, and everyone has to force smiles on their faces and coo over him. when the talks over the rest of the guys meet up and discuss this boyfriend some more, just talking in whispers. (“oooh he’s a bartender!! ofc he’d fall in love with a guy like that he’s always at the bar anyways.” Nikki would snark, the joke landing flat cause they all know he’s the most jealous and bitter. “Wooow he has curly hair and it’s so soft!! Uh, so is my hair!” Tommy adds in, running a hand through his own “luscious locks.”)

- they’re not going to try to break up micks relationship though. they see that the old man is happy, and that’s the way it should be. will they be holding a prayer circle to somehow manifest a breakup in the near future?? absolutely…but that’s the only thing they’ll be doing! if it doesn’t work, they’ll just sit in silence and watch their old man laugh loudly at whatever stupid joke his boyfriend just made, just stewing in their own jealous feelings. if it were to work (and lord knows they’re hoping it does), they’ll all be able to slink in and comfort their old man. pet him, hug him, let him cry on their shoulders. and trust nikki will be tearing that man into shreds the moment he gets a chance to.

oh how i love writing jealous crue. mick having a boyfriend who wasn’t a member of the crue would be so cute though…like yeah let’s give him a break from these dramatic bastards for a second! you know the band would be so passive aggressive towards that poor man though. mick would have to walk him through band politics and try to figure out why they’re being so hostile towards his lover. the question is, would he remain oblivious or would he finally figure it out. i have no clue…but mick is a pretty oblivious guy sometimes tbh. ok, I loved writing this one so I hope you all enjoy this one too!!

[dude-why-3]

Who Painted the Sky?

Chapter 15: Some sort of couple bracelets

Annie has been tossing and turning in her bed for hours now, and still couldn’t keep her eyes closed. Hitch was out for the night, probably somewhere in the common room playing cards with the others, and her room was growing unbearably quiet.

Annie turns on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She squints her eyes through the dark, counts the stains on the white ceiling, which makes her wonder when was the last time this place was painted.

All she wanted was to sleep. It was already too late, her eyes were heavy, her limbs were tired, and yet her mind was alert. Images she never wanted to see again flashed behind her eyelids whenever she tried to close them. Flashes of light, broken glass–

Annie brings a hand over her forehead. She sighs, and rolls on one side, sits up, putting her legs down one after the other. She stays like that for a while, letting the cold of the floor sweep through her feet and up her body until she gets cold, a shiver running up her spine.

And then she finally stands, puts her silly slippers on, and leaves her room, making sure she pockets the key. For a second she considers knocking on Armin’s door, but there’s no light coming from below it so he must be asleep. She’s already bothered the boy enough.

So she starts going down the stairs.

The common room is empty when she gets there, although the lights are turned on. She hears a few faint voices coming from outside and, through the glass of the door, she sees two figures sitting at the table on the porch, one taller, bigger, and the other more frail, and a faint smoke surrounding them. Annie squints her eyes through the door, trying to make out who they are, but the dark won’t allow her.

Her legs keep walking, and she hears the door being pushed open. The cold hits her in the face, overtaking her whole body, making her tremble, her hand freezes on the doorknob. The conversation ceases, and she feels two pairs of eyes staring at her.

“You alright?” comes a man's voice, low and confused, almost worried. Reiner.

Annie can barely see them, her eyes wandering from one to the other. She squints her eyes, narrowing her brows, trying to focus her vision on them. All she sees is their outline, the smoke surrounding them, and two orange dots floating weirdly in the space between them.

“Annie?” comes a second voice, this time her roommate’s. It sounds equally as worried as Reiner’s.

Annie shakes her head. She pushes her body forward, stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind her. Her vision gets clearer, and she makes out their forms. They’re sitting at a little wooden table with low chairs, both wearing their camp shirts, cigarettes sitting between their fingers, a blue pack and a lighter sitting neatly on the table.

The girl takes the unoccupied seat between them and drops her elbows on the table. She points at the cigarette pack. “Can I have one?”

Reiner and Hitch exchange a look. Hitch draws her lips into a thin line, watching Reiner with big eyes, shakes her head the tiniest bit, as if trying to tell him something Annie shouldn’t know. Reiner looks between the two of them, from Hitch’s demanding eyes to Annie’s stale, empty ones, that held some sort of desperation behind them that he didn’t expect to see from her, almost begging for that damned cigarette, as if it was the one thing that could keep her grounded in that moment. Slowly, wordlessly, he pushes the packet and the lighter towards her.

Hitch’s shoulders drop a little, her eyes casting down.

Annie sketches a short smile. She takes one cigarette out, puts it between her lips, and lights it, taking a deep breath in, and–

She chokes on the smoke.

Annie feels the air leaving her lungs, and she breaks into a coughing fit. A hand hastly lands on her back, helping her regain her breath.

“Have you ever smoked before?” Reiner asks, as he slaps his hand over her back again. Hitch sighs and shakes her head, before taking a drag from her own cigarette.

Annie nods shortly. She hasn’t, but she's also not about to tell him that.

Once she fully recovers from her little fit, she tries again– she brings the thing to her lips, she slowly drags a breath from it, and inhales sharply, then slowly exhales through her mouth. That feels a lot better.

“Are you alright?” her roommate asks.

Annie debates on lying to them again. Hitch could probably tell if she did. Annie sighs.

“I can't really sleep,” she confesses, and takes another drag of her cigarette. She finds it calming, in some strange way.

Her roommate hums. Reiner raises an eyebrow at her.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asks.

Annie presses her lips together. She reaches out and checks the time on the phone he’s recklessly abandoned on the table. 2.32 am. They should all have gone to bed a long time ago, considering a new group will be coming to camp first thing in the morning tomorrow.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Annie retorts, looking between the two of them. “Why are you here?”

Reiner takes a drag of his cigarette, the last drag there is to take, before smashing his cigarette butt in the ashtray. He then takes another, lights it, and puts it between his lips.

“Hitch couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs, not looking at either of them.

“Reiner,” the girl hisses through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t say anything else, pressing his lips together.

Annie narrows her brows, turning to look at Hitch. The girl focuses on her cigarette, staring at it intently as she drags smoke after smoke, making it her point to not face Annie. The blonde stares at her just as intently, her eyes not leaving her.

Hitch finishes her cigarette, smashes it in the ashtray in the same manner Reiner did, and takes another. She inhales deeply, then exhales with a sigh.

“Same reason as you,” she eventually says, looking at Annie from the corner of her eye.

Annie tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. What does Hitch know about her reasons?

“The nightmares,” her roommate offers, leaning back in her chair.

Annie’s eyes widen. “How do you know–”

“You wake up in the middle of the night, almost every night.”

Annie presses her lips together for a moment. “I didn't realize I was so obvious about those.”

Hitch shrugs. “I'm just a light sleeper.”

A moment of silence passes between the three. Annie leans over the table to stub out her cigarette. Reiner wordlessly pushes the ashtray closer to her.

Annie mutters her thanks, and then they fall into silence once again.

She considers asking about Hitch’s nightmares, or the reason why Reiner was by her side through them– the reason Hitch trusted Reiner and not her with them. She didn’t even realize she was getting them. Or maybe she just didn’t pay enough attention. Now looking back at it, her roommate staying out until morning should have been a clear giveaway that she was avoiding something, although she's always just considered it average teenage behavior. She never thought twice about it.

When Hitch doesn’t develop further, Annie doesn’t press her. She knows herself that talking about said nightmares often brings more harm, and she doesn’t want to hurt her roommate– her friend– of all people. She leans over the table and gives her hand a light squeeze, sketching a smile when she catches Hitch's eye, and she returns the squeeze in the same manner.

Another moment of silence passes before Hitch clears her throat. “Yeah and Reiner’s a good distraction.”

Annie tilts her head a little. Reiner snorts, almost choking on his smoke, which makes Hitch break out into laughter. She leans her head back, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Annie looks between the two of them, her brain slowly putting the pieces together– their proximity, the way they always pair up during activities, how they seem to seek the other when left alone, Hitch’s words. They couldn’t be–

Annie gasps. “You guys are not–”

“We very much are,” says Reiner with a grin.

Annie looks between them, her mouth slightly agape. “But– how?”

Hitch snorts loudly. She jerks her head towards the Big House. “The common room is always empty at night.”

Annie slaps a hand over her mouth. “You did not–”

She feels her face warm up as Hitch’s words sink in.

“The couch is great for–”

“We all use it!”

Reiner cackles up at that, and the two both break into laughter. Annie pinches the bridge of her nose, and buries her face in her hands, letting a long sigh out.

She has been blind to what was right in front of her the whole time, which might be the most ironic part of it all. Her sigh soon turns into laughter, her shoulders slightly shaking as she tries to hide it.

“You guys are unbelievable!”

Hitch almost falls off her chair laughing at that. Annie could almost bet her face is turning red, however much her roommate was trying to hide it. Her stumbling only amplifies the others’ laughter.

Not much is said after that, although they keep giggling about it for a long twenty minutes before Hitch eventually says she’s had enough and calls it a night. They’re quick to clean up and throw away any evidence of their late night endeavors, then get back inside and start climbing the stairs. Annie, walking two steps behind the other two, wonders if they would be holding hands were she not there. Their gazes linger on each other for a moment too long when they reach the first floor, and Annie considers climbing ahead to give them some privacy. But when she bids her goodbye to Reiner and resumes to going up the stairs, Hitch is right behind her.

The two wordlessly slip back into their room and into their beds, and while Annie chews on her unasked questions that seem to multiply by the minute, Hitch wishes her a goodnight. So she reciprocates, and turns on her side. Maybe she’ll ask her tomorrow. Maybe she shouldn’t ask her at all.

But one thing is for sure– she should start avoiding that damned couch.

They spend the first half of the day planning out the activities for the week– or rather, going over last week’s plans and making adaptations and improvements based on their observations that week. They decide to always have an alternative to every activity so they won’t be caught unprepared again and experience Marie’s wrath– and also check the weather this time. They move the canoeing to the end of the week so it'd be a nice and not so exhausting way to end camp for the little ones, and switch the little talent show for the second day.

Armin brings their activity notebook out shortly after lunch, wanting to check with Annie one last time before the children get there. They go over the plan over some much needed coffee, and it all sounds good still. They only move the name-picking and banner making parts to the first day.

Armin brings up the yarn they’ve gotten two weeks ago, and excitedly suggests that they should make some group bracelets so the children would have a physical souvenir to hold on to after camp. Annie finds his excitement hard to resist and soon agrees– but the problem arises when Armin says that he’s never made bracelets before. But Annie promises to teach him, saying that she was going to do that anyway before they tried it out with the kids. That earns her a smile.

The second group gets there shortly after noon, in two buses that look as old as time, their red and green paint peeling off. The volunteers gather in front of them, bright orange shirts on, all chatty and ready to show the kids to their rooms. Annie has to stand on her tippy toes to catch a glimpse of the children, their colorful clothes and overpacked suitcases. She finds herself smiling as the realization that they’re about to do it all again sinks in, the sweet taste of somewhat of a routine settling in.

The rest of the day passes by quicker than expected. Once the kids are shown to their rooms and settled, after they all have dinner, the hosts have their generic, official welcoming.

They gather in the yard, the sun setting before them. Under the pink and orange and light yellow hues of the sky, the kids sit on the grass, huddled next to each other. The volunteers are seated on a bench behind the standing hosts, listening to the introductions. Connie and Sasha have been yawning since the very first minute of it.

Marie lays out the camp rules; Annie’s delighted to notice the campers rolling their eyes as much as her and her colleagues are. Even Hannah has to cover her face with her flipchart so her annoyance wouldn’t be that obvious.

Annie finds it hard not to snort at their antics. Hitch dozed off on her left shoulder at some point during the welcoming ceremony, her weight assuring that this is, in fact, not a nightmare. Next to her, Armin buries his face in his knees to muffle an annoyed groan.

And then Marie abruptly ends her speech, much sooner than she usually does. Annie narrows her eyes at her as the older woman turns to her colleague, asking for the repartition lists. The other volunteers quickly stand up and take a step forward, preparing to welcome the campers in their teams. Annie jolts Hitch awake. She shoots her an annoyed look before their surroundings sink in and she quickly jumps to her feet. The two join their colleagues, ignoring the glance Marie shoots them.

And soon after that, they are being put in charge of a whole new group of campers, fifteen this time, and a bit older than the last one.

The sun has long set now, and they’re starting to get cold, so the hosts beckon them inside the activity house. Each of the groups pick a room at random to hold their own little introduction and fill the kids in on their schedule.

Annie finds herself walking on what looks like an abandoned conference room, not very large but good enough for their group. The pale pink walls look absolutely horrendous, with the little black vines painted in the corners, and spiderwebs growing rather big at the windows. The brown carpet is pushed to the side, the floor dusty under their feet. Chairs are stacked against the far wall of the room, a massive table with an office chair by the door, and a whiteboard next to it. The two markers on the table are missing their caps, and likely dried.

She exchanges a look with Armin, wordlessly asking if they should just find another room. But the kids fill it up soon and start putting chairs around the room to sit on. Armin shrugs helplessly, offering a quick smile. Annie sighs slightly and returns the shrug. She briefly studies the office chair before deciding not to sit on it, for it looks way too old and rusty to hold. Instead, she leans against the table and opens their activity notebook, and Armin comes to stand next to her.

Armin takes the word then, a lot more confident than last time. He stands taller, his voice is louder, not as shy. Annie finds herself gawking at his form as he introduces the both of them and asks the kids to be on time for activities, giving them any additional detail they might need. But his words no longer register.

He might be the most beautiful person she’s seen, with his boyish features and sharp jaw, and those big blue eyes of his that held so many mysteries behind them. Has his hair grown? His undercut looks rather outgrown. Not that it doesn’t fit him.

“Would you like to add anything?” he asks.

His voice jolts her out of her own thoughts, and she’s mortified to find that he’s looking back at her with a knowing smile. He’s caught her staring. Annie’s face gets warmer at an alarming pace, not only because she’s been caught staring, but also because she has not been paying attention to what he’s said at all, she wouldn’t know what to add. Armin’s smile only boardens. Annie finds herself irritated by his teasing gaze. Turning to the kids, she finds their tilted heads and confused looks even more mortifying.

Annie clears her throat. “I think that is all,” she says. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

The campers scatter out of the room faster than she can say goodbye, and they’re soon left alone.

Annie stares at her shoes, painfully aware of his gaze on her. Armin closes the notebook and lets it sit on the table. Then he comes to stand in front of Annie, the tips of his shoes touching hers.

“You seemed deep in thought,” he says, his tone teasing. “Care to share what was on your mind?”

Annie chews into the inside of her cheek, her face growing warmer under his unwavering eyes. He tips her chin out until their gazes meet, his fingertips burning into her skin. Annie finds a light pink dusting his cheeks, his smile gentle. Her earlier discovery only grows stronger when their gazes meet. Annie involuntarily smiles. He deserves to hear it too.

“I was just thinking that you’re quite beautiful,” she says, as nonchalantly as she can.

His blush deepens, his eyes growing slightly bigger. “Am I?”

Annie hums, reaching out her hand and lightly touching his cheek. His breath hitches. Annie smiles at him, tracing two fingers against his cheekbone down to his jaw. “Handsome even,” she adds.

Her hand stops where his jaw meets his ear, and he seems to shiver at the contact, but leans into her touch nonetheless. Then she takes the tips of his hair between her fingers. She was right– it did grow longer, but not by much.

Armin clears his throat. “Do you think you could teach me how to make those bracelets tonight? I don’t think I'll be very awake in the morning.”

“Sure,” she nods, dropping her hand. “Did you bring the yarn?”

He shakes his head briefly. “I left it in the room. I didn’t think to bring it.”

Annie hums lightly. “Let's go then.”

And she grabs his hand, steering them away from the table and towards the door. It takes Armin a few seconds to register what’s happening. He catches up to her and they walk side by side, his hand still in hers. When they reach the front door, Annie goes to retrieve it, but he squeezes her hand between his fingers instead and opens the door with his other hand. Annie looks up at him with wide eyes, her face warm, and he smiles down at her, his eyes sparkling when they meet hers.

They start on the small walk towards the Big House. She swings their arms as they walk, earning a small giggle from Armin. His palm is warm in hers, and so soft.

“What do you think of the kids?” Annie asks.

“They seem alright,” he shrugs. “A bit bored if anything, although they might be just tired from the ride.”

Annie hums in agreement. Armin squeezes her hand. “What about you?”

Annie smacks her lips together briefly. In all honesty, she didn’t pay much attention to them. They reach the Big House and, once again, Armin holds the door open for her.

“Or did you have other important things to focus on?” he teases.

Annie rolls her eyes, and doesn’t say anything else.

“You seemed rather distracted,” he pushes as they start climbing the stairs.

Annie feels her face warm up even more. She gives his hand a harsh squeeze. “Shut up.”

Armin laughs softly, but doesn’t tease her further. They climb in silence, with only the sounds of their own feet against the stairs in the background of Annie's beating heart, drumming so rapidly in her ears, she fears he might hear it too. She needs to fill the silence with something. She needs a distraction from the warmth of his hand in hers.

“Did you know about Hitch and Reiner?” she asks then, looking up at him curiously.

For a second, Armin seems confused, squinting his eyes slightly, and Annie fears she might have overstepped. It was not her place to break the news in any way– but it soon dissipates when his face morphes into a smile.

“Yeah,” he muses. He laughs softly. “Man, they’ve been together for so long, and he still gets so frustrated when she’s next to him.”

Annie hums lightly, a small smile creeping into her lips.

“They met at camp,” Armin muses.

“Yeah. They already knew each other when I first came here last year.”

Armin’s smile grows broader. “He’d sometimes come to spend the weekend in Shiganshina. Hitch was always the happiest on weekends.”

Armin drops her hand then, and she only now notices that they’ve made it to their floor. The light up there still isn’t working, and she’s starting to consider fixing it herself. Armin swiftly unlocks his door and turns the lights on, welcoming her in.

His room is the same as always, warmer if anything. The only thing that seems out of place is the thick book on the nightstands, with worn down brown covers.

Armin beckons her to make herself comfortable as he starts fixing her something to drink. Annie sits on the edge of the bed and takes the book in her hands, grazing the covers with the tips of her fingers. She curiously opens the book, the pages inside yellowish, old. On the first page, in the middle of the page, in blue ink and with sharp letters written all across the page, sits what she assumes is a name, the ink too faded for her to decipher. And below it, Armin’s name, much smaller, as if to not disturb the original owner. Squinting her eyes at the two names, she finds that what she assumes to be the surname looks very similar in both signatures.

She leafs through the book, the atlas, her eyes scanning the pictures curiously– oceans of a deep blue, seas of lava, mountains rising so high their tips are hidden by clouds. Some pages have been highlighted in light green and blue markers, some in a fluorescent yellow, some simply underlined. She finds pieces of papers tucked between pages that she doesn’t dare disturb.

“That was my father’s,” comes Armin's voice. He places two glasses of lemonade on the nightstand by her side and kneels to look through the drawers of said nightstand, probably looking for the yarn. “My friends and I wanted to see everything that was in it for ourselves.”

Annie closes the atlas and places it next to her on the bed. “How did that work out?” she asks, a smile pulling on her lips.

Armin stops for a moment. Then he opens the bottom drawer and, sure enough, the yarn is there. “It didn’t.” He hands her the blue and white and indigo yarn and sits cross-legged next to her.

Annie narrows her eyes, tilting her head the slightest bit, but before she gets the chance to say anything, Armin clears his throat. “So, about those bracelets.”

Annie drops the matter, and her questions stuck in her throat much like they did the night before.

She crosses her legs in a similar manner to his, and gets to cutting strings for the bracelets, three for each of them. Armin watches her intently, his eyes wide with wonder. Annie puts the strings in two bouquets, folds them in half, then ties them in the middle, and hands him one of the bouquets.

Finding herself unable to explain the braiding system in words, and in part afraid of embarrassing herself if she tried, Annie resorts to showing him. She brings the outer strings to the middle crossing them over each other, then tightens the braid, and instructs him to do the same. She hums in approval when he mimics her motions perfectly, and moves on to the next one, and then the next.

"And then you put this blue string over the other one," Annie says, demonstrating the motion.

"I think I got it," Armin nods, while doing the exact opposite, his glasses sliding down his nose.

Annie purses her lips, "I don't think you've got it."

Armin looks down at his bracelet and then at hers, tilting his head while observing it, his brows furrowing. "It looks exactly the same."

Annie sighs, dropping her face in her hand to hide a smile. "You put it over the wrong string."

Armin looks at his bracelet again, and then squints at hers. His eyes switch between the two for a good minute before he finally sees it, pink creeping into his cheeks.

"Oh," he eventually says, putting it back.

He steals a glance at Annie’s bracelet, and she raises it slightly for him to see it better. His eyes narrow at it, comparing it to his own for a second time, focus creasing his eyebrows. Annie finds herself smiling at his antics, her own face getting warmer now. His wonder and curiosity are once again fascinating.

He slowly repeats the motion, Annie’s slight shake of her head letting him know he messed up again. He sighs, and Annie almost laughs at his antics. She brings a hand over her mouth to hide her smile, his focused expression and his brows drawn together amusing her to no extent.

"Is this better?" Armin asks, holding it up for her to see.

She raises her eyes, to be met with Armin holding the beginning of what could be a blue and white bracelet up for her to see.

She nods, pleased to see there is improvement, and moves on to the next string, puts the deeper blue one over the lighter one, looking at Armin expectedly. He repeats the motion very slowly, raising his eyes to sneak a look at Annie’s. He squints his eyes at Annie’s bracelet, pushes his eyeglasses up his nose, then smiles shortly.

“Alright, now I’ve got it!” he exclaims, his eyes gleaming.

Annie nods shortly, going back to her bracelet. She slowly moves the next string over another. Armin slowly mimics her, as if careful not to mess up again. Annie hums to let him know he's doing good, then moves on to the next string, and then the next, and the next, and Armin starts getting it right the first time, and not messing up anymore. A smile rests on Annie’s lips, seeing how his eyes are literally gleaming as they keep going.

Annie ties the final knot, holding her bracelet up for him to see. He squints his eyes at her as if not getting it, so she does it again. She forms a loop with the strings, watches Armin do the same, then he looks up at her with big eyes. Annie puts the strings through the loop. Armin mimics her motion, and together they tighten the knot.

Armin’s lips curl up in a wide smile, his eyes sparkling as he watches the bracelet, holding it proudly in his palm.

He excitedly asks Annie to help him put it on. The braided bracelet in two shades of blue and white fits perfectly around his wrist.

Annie’s fingers graze his skin as she struggles with the knot, her cheeks warm up the slightest bit. She hopes he doesn’t notice, that would be embarrassing. Her inability to tie a damn knot is already embarrassing enough.

"Stop moving so much," she berates him.

Armin laughs softly, “My bad.”

She hurries to tie the bracelet around his wrist faster, her blush deepening as she finishes up the knot. Armin beams with joy at seeing his work around his hand, his smile contagious. He looks at the bracelet with pride for a few seconds. Annie’s left to look back at him, observing him with big eyes as he admires his hard work. Seeing him so happy and satisfied makes her chest warm with pride– she did that, she taught him how to do that. It makes her happy that he likes it, and it satisfies her greatly that she’s the one to have taught him that.

Suddenly, Armin’s arms are around her. Annie’s eyes widen slightly, taken aback for a second.

“Thank you so much,” Armin says, tightening the hug. Annie slowly and unsurely puts her hands on his back and pats it slightly. “Thank you for being patient with me,” the boy adds, his voice much quieter.

Annie finally fully returns the hug. There's something so sad in his voice when he says it. She holds him close, once again wondering what’s happened to him to make him this way, this kind and soft and shy.

“Of course.”

They stay like that for a moment longer, silently holding on to each other as if afraid to let go, letting the warmth of the other engulf them.

Then, Armin slowly pulls away, his hands falling from her back to her arms, holding her elbows with a ghostly touch.

“These could be, like, some sort of couple bracelets,” Armin says, looking from his bracelet to hers, still resting by her side, a sheepish smile on his lips.

Annie shrugs slightly, although her spreading blush doesn’t pass unnoticed, widening Armin’s smile. “If you want them to,” she says, eyes darting away.

Armin lets a low hum out, but doesn’t press the matter further. He grabs her bracelet from the floor and holds it delicately, a content smile on his face.

“Let me tie yours too.”

Annie raises a playful eyebrow. “Do you even know how?”

Armin rolls his eyes. “Of course I do, I watched you do it.”

Annie holds her hand out as if in a challenge. Armin puts the bracelet around her wrist, his fingers a little uncertain as he goes to tie the two ends together. The girl watches, amused, as her colleague squints his eyes at her hand. Confusion starts to twinkle in his eyes.

“You sure you got it?” she asks, trying her best not to laugh.

“Yes,” Armin insists, his fingers gripping the bracelet tighter. But he doesn’t move, analyzing the string with focused eyes, his brows drawing together as he tries to remember how she did that just now.

His eyeglasses start sliding down his nose at an awfully slow pace.

Without thinking much, Annie reaches out her other hand and pushes them up.

Armin freezes. Annie stops in her tracks, her fingers still on the frame of his glasses, slightly brushing against his skin. Slowly, Armin raises his eyes to look at her, a blush spreading on his cheeks, and Annie can tell by the warmth in her face that she’s probably just as red.

Her eyes widen as she realizes what she’s just done, and she hurries to take her hand back; she looks away, almost retrieving her hand from Armin’s. But he goes back to the task at hand and quickly and irreproachabely ties the bracelet around her wrist.

Annie drops her hand in her lap, too embarrassed to look up at him, and happier with the idea of making bracelets again than she probably should have been. Maybe teaching the kids won’t be that bad after all.

Armin clears his throat. “So now with this done, should we cross it off the falling-in-love-montage list?”

Annie nods slightly. The boy gets up and starts looking for the turquoise notepad in which they wrote it all down. As he rummages through his desk for a pen, Annie finds herself wishing this falling-in-love montage wasn’t working this well.

“Maybe we should start crossing stuff off the list,” Armin suggests, snapping her out of her thoughts. “We still have seven points,” he narrows his eyes at the paper, “or six, if you don’t count the kiss.”

Annie frowns. “Why would you not count the kiss?”

Armin’s complexion quickly picks up color. “I was just saying that if you’re not comfortable with that–”

“You are the one who suggested it though.”

Armin’s blush deepens at that. Annie chortles slightly, feeling her own face warming up.

“I know, but–”

“Leave it there,” Annie shrugs. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. And nothing’s forcing us to kiss if we don’t feel like it, anyway.”

Armin nods vigorously, a little too quickly. “Right, right.”

He sits back down, notepad still in hand, and taps the pen against his chin.

Annie scoots closer to him, looking over his shoulder to get a glance at the list. “What else is there?”

“A picnic, karaoke… slow dancing too.”

Annie hums, darting her eyes around their list, with only two points out of nine crossed out. They’re already three weeks into camp. If they keep moving at this pace, they will not finish the whole thing by September.

“We could have the picnic this weekend, if you want,” he suggests, turning slightly so he could face her. “After the kids leave.”

“Sounds good.” Annie searches his eyes briefly, smiling when they brighten. “Where would we have it?”

Armin presses his lips together, thinking about it for a moment, his eyes not leaving hers. “What about that little island we found last week? It seems like a good spot for a picnic.”

Annie thinks for a second, recalling the place. The spot under that tree would be great for a picnic.

“That works, yeah,” she nods.

Armin’s smile boardens. “It's a date then.”

[inneedofsupervision]

Intoxicated

Summary:

There Jihoon goes, throwing over his rules for the year, to go with Soonyoung's whim and go drinking. But worse than the hangover that came alonge with partying were these weird dreams he had that night. Who would believe that he met that guy out of the math class on his way home, inviting him over to "eat ramen" at his place, only for him to turn out to be a vampire and get his blood sucked?

Seventeen Fanfic - Pairing: Lee Jihoon (Woozi) / Wen Junhui (Jun)

Fantasy, College Life

Read on Ao3

"Don't walk home alone. Let me go with youuu-umpf!"

Jihoon grimaces as he wipes saliva from his palm. Maybe he should have told Soonyoung to merely shut up instead of planting his hand over his mouth to stop the silly words from coming out. 

"As if I would let you walk me home. You are drunk."

A finger gets pushed against his chest. He is met with a frown on Soonyoung's face when he looks past the arm pinning him in place.

"You are just as wasted. It's unresponsible to let you go alone."

While talking, Soonyoung's body had slumped forward until his head nearly hit Jihoon's chin if the latter hadn't seen his friend falling forward. Before Soonyoung can topple them both over, he catches the latter, dragging him into the living room.

"I swear you weigh a ton," mutters Jihoon as he heaves his drunk friend onto the couch, pressing his shoulders down as Soonyoung is about to stand up. The world spins a bit after Jihoon stands straight again.

"Stay put."

Soonyoung looks up with a frown.

"Jihooon."

He knew what Soonyoung was trying to do when a pair of surprisingly strong arms wrapped around his middle. Soonyoung stares at him with glassy eyes, face pressed sideways against his stomach. It takes a few moments to pry the arms off his waist, ignoring the whining of his friend. Jihoon steps back before Soonyoung can catch him again, sending him are warning glare. Despite being sulky, Soonyoung only watches him walk out of the door. 

"Fricking freezing outside."

The fresh air does help a bit to clear his head. Jihoons lips quiver and start to grow numb as another blow of icy wind hits him. He shivers and pushes his fists deeper into his pockets, wondering why he let Soonyoung talk him into wearing a denim jacket when that didn't prevent him from freezing. He rounds a corner, walking into an alley that had proven to be the fastest shortcut from Soonyoungs apartment to his place.

"Huh?"

Bumping into a wall face first was not what he had expected while walking down the dark path between the houses. The wall charges forward and catches him by the shoulders as Jihoon stumbles back, preventing his bottom from hitting the ground. 

"That's weird," mumbles Jihoon when the wall lets go of him, only for him to realize that he ran into someone and not into an actual wall. How much did he drink again? Should he have stopped when Soonyoung bought that weird purple drink to their table, claiming he had found something fun? He slowly raises his head, catching sight of a toothy grin and sparkling eyes gleaming down at him. Jihoon blinks owlishly. The guy is at least towering over him by a head and a half. 

"Lucky me."

Jihoon doesn't know if someone running into you is considered lucky, but the man seems so delighted that he doesn't want to break it to the guy. Something about the smile and the words seems off, but his head feels too fuzzy to comprehend why alarm bells are ringing inside him.

"Are you on your way home?"

The voice sounds velvety, and Jihoon feels like he has just poured another glass down, intoxicated by the sheer sound of the man talking. His vision is foggy, and he isn't able to concentrate at all. Everything Jihoon can register is the man's voice, which sounds weirdly addicting while staring dumbly up at the pale face. Behind the man's head, the moon breaks through grayish clouds, causing the golden strands bound back into a braid to shimmer in the moonlight. The man blinks as the light hits him from behind, and a flash of gold passes over his eyes. It happened so quickly that Jihoon rubbed at his own eyes, doubting what he had seen. When he looks at the man again, his eyes are back to their dark brown color, although slightly closed due to the bright, predatory grin that overtook his expression. A funny feeling settles inside Jihoon's stomach. Something about the prominent curve of these plumb lips and the slight sharp hilt of eyes seems familiar. But Jihoon couldn't get his head around where he had seen this face before.

"Your eyes-" begins Jihoon as the eyes flare up in the color of melted gold for a second time, even brighter than before. He couldn't finish his sentence as a wave of sleepiness hit him out of nowhere. The small man stumbles slightly, swaying and hitting the wall with his back as the world turns dark. Holding a hand against his head and brows knitted together in confusion, Jihoon notices that he's backed against a house wall, a jutted stone pressing uncomfortably between his shoulder blades. Did he black out for a moment? The man in front of him does not look concerned at all. The latter steps closer, causing Jihoon to press his back further against the wall, the back of his head hitting the stone slightly as he tilts it back to look up. He cannot take his eyes off of that face. Somewhere in the farthest back of his head, there is a voice telling him that he's in danger.

"Do you like them?"

Jihoon's eyes widen slightly at the decrease in distance between him and the stranger. His mouth opens and closes without a word coming over his lips. He vaguely registered his heart stuttering inside his chest before continuing to beat like crazy. His chest tightens as his body reacts to the warning his brain is subconsciously sending out, but he finds himself frozen, unable to move. An elegant eyebrow raises as no answer follows, a smirk taking over. Jihoon's breathing begins to grow shallow. His chest tightens painfully in unspoken anxiety. 

"Cat got your tongue?"

Jihoon closes his mouth and shakes his head, the motion timed. A hand presses against the wall next to him. Jihoon shivers, but it's not the cold wind that causes chills to run down his spine. He feels the adrenaline spiking but strangely, his eyelids grow heavier as the man stares down at him.

"Aren't you sleepy?"

The eyes are about to bore their gaze straight into his brain, seeming to wait for something. Jihoon blinked again, trying to get some clarity, but his eyes wouldn't focus.

"I am sleepy."

He doesn't even notice that he answers until the grin in front of him grows brighter, flashing pointy teeth. 

"Shall I bring you home?"

No.

He has to say no.

Get a grip, Jihoon!

"Sure."

The man chuckles, lips curling upwards. Jihoon finds himself caged between a second arm, every chance to escape gone by now. A gust of wind messes up his hair, and his teeth chatter at the cold. Jihoon shrinks together slightly as his body unconsciously reacts to the force of winter. The shivers don't get unnoticed by the man, amused expression falling slightly. The blond clicks his tongue in annoyance before he grabs Jihoon's chin, pulling his head back up. A thumb glides over his bottom lip, and Jihoon is not sure why he had expected the hand to feel cold when it left a trace of warmth on his skin.

"Blue doesn't suit you." 

A moment later, a coat is thrown over Jihoon's shoulders, not stopping the teeth from chattering, but he doesn't fear freezing to death anymore. Jihoon's eyes dart down. His lips press together tightly as he watches long fingers nimbly button up the coat that reaches down to his ankles. Not feeling the piercing eyes on him, Jihoon's mind feels a little less stuffed with cotton. Various faces play through his brain as he tries to put where he knows the blond. He is sure he has seen him before. Jihoon raises his head back when the hands are done, slightly unfocused eyes staring at the perfectly sculptured face a few inches from him. 

"You're Junhui."

For some weird reason, Jihoon's drunk brain found satisfaction in the flash of surprise hushing over the man's face. A curved bottom lip pushes slightly forward, resembling a pout.

"You know me?"

"You're the guy who sleeps through math lectures."

Considering how Junhui frowns at his words and there still a remarkably constant feeling of danger radiating from the other, Jihoon should probably stop prodding. Something about what he said seemed to have thrown the taller man off. The arms come back to hit down next to the sides of his head. Tilting his head slightly, Jihoon catches the thin network of tears running through the stone from under Junhui's hands. He slowly turns his head back, wanting to morph into the wall, when he finds Junhui's face hovering only a few inches in front of his own. Jihoon's breath hitches at the sudden proximity. 

"Stop wasting time. I-"

The sound of a stomach growling cuts Junhui's words off. If Jihoon wasn't pretty badly intoxicated, tired, and scared at the same time, he might get endeared by the way the other's face grew slightly red in embarrassment at the sound of his stomach interrupting. 

"Want to come and eat ramen at my place?"

Jihoon knew he had done something very dumb the moment those words left his lips, although involuntary. It was like he had no control over his mouth, forming words he didn't mean to flow out this easily. It leaves him in a state of shock because as soon as these words are out, there is no turning back. He watches with growing distress how Junhui's face breaks into a grin, teeth flashing.

"And I thought it didn't work for a moment."

Jihoon frowns at the words Junhui mutters to himself, but he has no time to ponder them. He is pulled forward by his arm and stumbles right against a broad back. His brain needs some moments to register that Junhui has crouched in front of him, but he doesn't find the time to protest when the latter tells him to hold on tight. Having no strength or the right mind to fight him, Jihoon lets his head drop into the crock of Junhuis neck and shoulder. His eyes fall shut under the rhythmic movement of steps under him. The low hum of a foreign melody lulls him into a state of dozing off. Jihoon's eyes open, and he looks around bleary-eyed when he finds himself in front of his apartment. 

"Keys?"

"Left pocket."

Junhui looks excited as he steps closer, steading a swaying Jihoon with an arm around his shoulder as he slips a hand into said pocket. Jihoon gets gently guided towards the door, and his keys get pressed into his hand. Junhui hovers behind him, his shadow falling over Jihoon as the latter feels a shiver running down his back as he unlocks the door. Jihoon steps in first, trying not to panic over the fact that Junhui slips into his house and locks the door behind him. Pulling his shoes off is a struggle, but thankfully, he wears a rundown pair of sneakers. Staggering into the kitchen Jihoon opens his fridge and pulls out some water. He takes a few sips, hoping to sober up a little. He faintly notices a figure approaching him.

"Thank you for inviting me."

The smug grin plastered over Junhui's face as he leans against the entrance to the kitchen makes Jihoon turn his head. He might not be able to avoid the other, but he feels at least a bit safer not holding eye contact. It is intimidating to feel the watchful eyes on the back of his head as Jihoon pulls open a few cupboards, a bit uncoordinated. 

"Wait, are you seriously making ramen?"

Jihoon turns around slowly, holding a small pot close to his chest.

"I invited you for ramen, didn't I?"

Junhui begins to burst into loud laughter, causing Jihoon to stare at him, feeling stupid. After calming down, Junhui beckons to him to go on and cook his ramen, sitting down at one of the two seats at Jihoon's tiny dining table. The clock hits 2 a.m. when Jihoon puts the pot on the table, handing Junhui a pair of chopsticks. The latter raises an eyebrow at the gesture.

"I don't need these."

"I thought you were hungry?"

Junhui looked so amused at the answer that Jihoon got convinced that he must have said something silly. It is a bit unnerving to have Junhui sitting across from him, watching him eating with his legs crossed elegantly and leaning back into the chair as if he's in his place, radiating self-confidence. When Jihoon places the chopsticks down, about to get up, a single look from Junhui makes him sit back down without a word. The chair clatters slightly as the taller man gets up and approaches Jihoon, who backs into the corner. Junhui unceremoniously shoves the kitchenware further to the side before gesturing for Jihoon to stand up. Jihoon quickly follows and watches how Junhui steps closer, his eyes widening slightly when his back meets the table, registering that he cannot avoid the closing in their distance. He lets out a surprised yelp when he gets picked up by the waist and forced to sit down at the table before Juhui lets go of him with a smug grin. The latter sits down in the seat Jihoon had sat before, holding out his hand.

The timer on the microwave shows 02:21 a.m. when Jihoon raises an eyebrow, not knowing what the other wants. He had cooked ramen, but Junhui didn't want it. What else was he supposed to do? Cook him a five-course meal?

"Give me your hand."

Although warily and with his eyes trained on Junhui, Jihoon complied and slowly held out his hand. He watches with a stumble of his heartbeat as slim fingers warp around his wrist. He gets pulled closer a little, now almost facing the other man while sitting at the table. Jihoon cannot help his jaw tensing up and his lips pressing together as he observes the blond bringing his hand closer to his face. He feels a soft puff of air ghosting over the inner side of his underarm, causing goosebumps to rose as Junhui leans in, taking a deep breath. Jihoon doesn't know what is going on, but he feels almost sobered up enough, knowing that he should pull his arm out of the reach of Junhuis mouth.

"Did you drink?"

If he weren't so tired and wasted, Jihoon would have caught on to the slight accusing undertone in Junhuis's voice. He gets confronted by a pair of brown orbs watching him closely.

"You thought I'm sober?"

Junhui shrugs his shoulders.

"You reek of shifter, but now I can smell the alcohol in your blood."

As if to underline his words, Jihoon's wrist is pulled closer a second time, only for Junhui to bring it closer to his nose, smelling him. He raises an eyebrow as the hand tore out of his grasp, glancing at Jihoon, who cradles his arm close to his chest, grimacing at him.

"Stop smelling me. You're not a dog."

"Says the person who smells like a wild cat."

"What?"

He doesn't get an answer, half-heartedly struggling as his arm gets pulled back. Junhui glances at him once before he opens his mouth, revealing sharp pointed teeth, sending Jihoon into a state of panic. Sensing his discomfort, Junhui sends him a grin, putting his hand on Jihoon's knee, squeezing softly.

"It won't hurt."

Despite giving assurance, Jihoon cannot help but tense up as Junhui brings his wrist closer to his mouth, his pulse point facing upwards. Out of instinct, Jihoon breaks his eye away from the sight, not in the right mindset to see someone bore their teeth into his arm.

"How much did you drink?"

The question causes Jihoon to look back at the man, catching him liking his lips before a frown plays onto his face. Had Junhui not bitten him? How come he has not felt anything? A bit puzzled, Jihoon glances down at his wrist only to find two small dots of blood at the place Junhui's teeth had pierced through his skin. 

"I didn't feel anything?"

"I told you it won't hurt. Now, how much did you drink?"

"I'm not sure. Quite a bit?"

Why is that even important? Is Junhui suddenly worrying about his well-being? The latter mutters something under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nevermind."

The shorter man raises an eyebrow at being brushed off, this time not backing away as his hand gets led towards Junhuis mouth. He watches how his lips settle on his skin, trying to concentrate but still able to feel anything until the man begins to suck gently at his skin. It is an unfamiliar and weird sensation, but it does not hurt. Jihoon had expected to flip out and get his blood sucked but watching a hue of pink tint appear at the tip of Junhui's ears, dusting over his pale cheeks, took away some of his wariness. He let the other feed off him for a while, more sleepy than before when Junhui pulls away.

There is more color on the blond's skin, and Jihoon caught a light glassy look in those brown eyes. If he didn't know better, he would assume Junhui was drunk.

"I'm not drunk."

Did he say that out loud? Junhui sends him a glare, the pout feeling a bit out of place after having feared for his life more than once this evening.

"That was not strong. I'm used to stronger stuff."

"You want some more?"

Jihoon holds his wrist out, the tip of his lips pulling up at the frown on Junhui's face.

"No, no. I'm good."

Junhui pushes Jihoon's hand back, earning a chuckle from the small man. He watches Junhui getting up from the chair abruptly, causing him to sway before he steps in front of Jihoon. The latter leans his head back, glancing at the other in question. Junhui seems definitely out of it, having to prop himself up with a hand against one of the cupboards hanging over Jihoon's head.

"Are you alright?"

"Stop making fun of me."

Jihoon raises an eyebrow.

"When have I made fun of you?"

"Stop talking already!"

Junhui sounded mildly irritated, and if being honest, Jihoon got a bit amused by the man who seemed seriously out of it by now. What Jihoon didn't expect was to get pulled forward, his forehead hitting softly against a shoulder.

"Sleep already."

Jihoon's eyes fell shut immediately after the words murmured close to his ear. He vaguely registered sagging forward and into a warm body before passing out. 

_________________________________________________________

"Did you meet someone on your way home?"

Soonyoung's stare feels intense, but Jihoon merely rolls his eyes at his friend. He's too used to Soonoung being a worrywart. They sit in class, waiting for the last students and the professor to come. 

"I got home just fine. But no more alcohol this year. I had the weirdest dream because of you and your weird drinks."

A frown falls over his friend's face.

"It's not my fault you dream crazy things when drunk."

"You know what's weird about it? It felt so real. When I woke up, I checked the kitchen and everything was just like before I left, but I could swear I cooked ramen at 2 a.m."

Soonyoung snorts at Jihoon's words, his pout replaced by an amused grin.

"What did you dream? Sound wild."

Jihoon feels silly and bends forward, not wanting anyone else in the lecture to hear his dream about getting bit by Wen Junhui. When he finished telling his story Soonyoung looked thoughtful, fingers tapping against the table. 

"Did you count the packs of ramen you have left?"

Jihoon snorts at that, shaking his head. 

"It was a dream, Soonyoung. I didn't get picked up and bitten by a vampire after offering him some ramen. Do you expect me to go to Wen Junhui and ask him if he sucked my blood?"

"You do have a math lecture after this."

Jihoon sends his friend a deadpan stare. "I will not. He'll think I'm crazy."

Soonyoung doesn't look happy at the answer.

"Next time we go out, I'll walk you home myself." grumbles the man as he snuggles closer to his friend, only to get pushed away by the side of his head.

"There won't be a next time. Now quit it before I kick your ass."

The pout is right back on Sooyoungs face.

"You are always so angry," he complains, hugging Jihoon's arm. Soonyoung finally backs up when Jihoon takes a ballpoint pen out of his backpack, clicking it once and holding it threateningly tight in his fist.

Talking to Soonyoung had not been much of a help. Jihoon's mind travels back to their conversation, oblivious to what their professor is conveying. When the lecture ends, Jihoon promises to eat with Soonyoung before walking into the classroom where the math lecture gets held. He cannot help it as his eyes are busy searching the room until they fall on a student in the last row. Wen Junhui wears a white cardigan. There is a thick, sky-blue winter coat dropped onto his shoulders. He has his head lying on his arms, probably asleep, the blond hair standing out in the classroom full of black and dark brown-haired students. Next to him sit his friends, two juniors a year under him and are almost always around the blond. So far, everything is just like usual. 

Jihoon rubs his wrist absentmindedly, eyes flickering up when he catches Wonwoo walking through the door. Wonwoo greets him with a small smile before strolling up to Mingyu, one of the juniors sitting with Junhui. Jihoon tries to be subtle as he glances at them talking, observing how Wonwoo points at Junhui with a head tilted in question. Minghao, another Chinese student, throws him a grin, telling him something that makes Wonwoo chuckle before he bids them goodbye, making his way over to Jihoon.

"How are you? You look tired."

Wonwoo looks at him after putting his back down, seeming to be in a good mood today. 

"Fine. A bit hangover."

"Were you out with Junhui last night?"

Jihoon's brows knit together at the conclusion. "No, I was out with Soonyoung. Why are you asking?"

Wonwoo chuckles. 

"Because apparently, Junhui suffers from a mean hangover. Minghao says Junhui always brags about how he can hold his liquor well. But this time, quoting Minghao, he seems to have bitten more than he can chew."

"That's a weird way to phrase it," mumbles Jihoon, staring at the mob of blond hair on the other side of the room. He has to tear his eyes away when the door closes behind their teacher, starting the lecture. Through the class, Jihoon's fingers wander back to his wrist, rubbing at the place where he had felt Junhui's lips in his dream. Glancing down at his wrist, he squints his eyes together, searching every inch of skin for a possible bite mark. A pair of small dots caught his attention, but they were so small and bright that Jihoon nearly didn't notice them. He ran with his pointer finger over them, but he could barely feel the small scars. Jihoon let up from his wrist, frowning at the silly idea when he felt the strange sensation of being watched. He slowly lifts his head, scanning the classroom for his potential stalker, when his mouth goes dry.

Junhui is leaning lazily with his head on his palm on his table, eyes directed solely on Jihoon. He doesn't even try to be discreet about it, openly staring at him without blinking, causing Jihoon to feel a shiver run down his spine. Has he noticed Jihoon inspecting his wrist? Jihoon decides to ignore the stares thrown his way. There is no way the events of last night happened for real. Jihoon shakes his head, earning a side glance from Wonwoo, but the other does not comment on his friend's behavior. A few moments later, a piece of paper slides onto Jihoon's table. Glancing up, he catches Wonwoo pointing at the note before his friend puts a finger against his lips. Jihoon silently takes Wonwoo's note.

"Are you sure you are alright?"

Jihoon rolls his eyes, but a small smile crawls onto his lips. 

"I'm okay. Don't worry."

"If you say so~."

"Shut up."

"):"

Jihoon snorts at the sad smiley face, softly hitting his elbow against Wonwoo's side. When the lecture is over, Jihoon felt relief to see Soonyoung waiting at the door to pick him up. He avoids looking at anyone else, walking straight up to his friend, who beams at him and throws an arm over his shoulder, excited to tell him that Chan found them a free table at the cafeteria.

"And he cooked him ramen."

Jihoon has to hold himself back from shoving the piece of chicken down Soonyoung's throat.

"What in the world have you two consumed at that party?"

For some reason, Seokmin does not seem worried but rather intrigued. Which, in return, leaves Jihoon to worry about the interest. 

"Did he at least eat them?" asks Chan, wide-eyed, thoroughly into the story that Soonyoung had too much fun telling their little circle of friends. 

"No," answers Soonyoung with a cackle, which causes Seokmin and Chan to crack up at the story. Jihoon needs other friends. 

"If you excuse me-." The others don't bat an eye as he stands up to leave the table. He can still hear Soonyoung laughing when he reaches the other end of the cafeteria, catching himself grinning at his friend's silliness on the way to the bathroom. 

He is washing his hands, about to leave, when he sees someone standing behind him through the mirror. Jihoon nearly curses as he spins around at the sight of Junhui standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

"How long have you been standing there."

Junhui is about to answer when Jihoon cuts him off.

"Nevermind, I don't think I want to know. What do you want?"

The blond raises an eyebrow at the words, stepping closer.

"You are bad at pretending, Jihoon."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

He gets backed against the sink, a familiar panic settling in his insides as Junhui places a hand next to his head behind the mirror.

"Doesn't this feel familiar?"

"I wouldn't know. I usually don't hang out with creeps."

Junhui backs up, an amused smirk playing on his lips. 

"You don't get out of this by telling bad lies."

The blond reaches out, putting a hand on Jihoon's shoulder while his other slips a piece of paper into his breast pocket. 

"See you sometimes. Lee Jihoon."

After the man walks out, Jihoon leans against the sink, staring bewildered at his shocked face.

"What in the world was that?"

He pulls the note out of his pocket, hastily unfolding the paper and reading the messily written words.

"You owe me a drink for getting me drunk."

That's it. 

Last night actually wasn't a dream. And to make it worse, Junhui seems to remember it too. 

Flabbergasted, Jihoon stares at the note. There is nothing further, except a row of numbers written under that single sentence. 

Junhui gave him his phone number.

Jihoon has Wen Junhui's phone number.

"This is nuts."

[taegularities]

a/n: Entertainer cont.!!

Jungkook awakens to the leftover heat reminiscent of last night. It tickles his body, warming his blood a little more, as if to tell him that something still remains unresolved. Even though the moment he fell asleep marked a clear end of the day.

But the sudden feeling of slight emptiness stirs him out of the last of his sleep, thoughts jumbled more than they ever are in the early morning. As his eyes open, he realises that the world outside the window is as foggy as his mind.

It looks cold out there; much the way his mattress feels without you on it.

He sighs a deep breath, finding the power in his muscles again; subtly sore-muscled after the additional… physical workout not many hours ago. His senses adjust to the new sunrise, feeling the softness of the sheets across his legs.

And when he listens, he hears it.

A thump and quiet curses, sounding from another room, so much gentler and purer than all that still echoes in his memories.

Long fingers attempting to tame his bed hair, he throws the blanket to the side, freezing when he realises that he yet has to cover himself up. Butt naked and with a hand brushing along the hanging, sore length, he hops off the bed, trudging straight to the wardrobe to fish for new underwear.

He grabs the bathrobe draped over the chair with a weak yawn, still registering the noises outside. Unhurried but not as relaxed as usual.

And then he finally pushes down the door handle, scanning the living room, but finally finding you in front of the mirror in the foyer.

You’re inspecting your wrist, one of your shoes in an upside down position on the ground. The door of the shoe cabinet stands ajar, and your expression suggests discomfort of some sort.

“Are you okay?”

Jungkook’s words, still carrying some sort of odd endearment from last night, are emphasised by an amused, teasing smirk. But the tired joy fades a little when you flinch, looking up in alarm that doesn’t stop chiming.

Hm…

“Sorry,” he adds straight away, launching forwards with an immediate sense of protection, “what’s wrong?”

“Ah, no, nothing,” you rebut, stepping an inch back, subtly but enough for him to notice. “I just. I hit my arm on the open door. Dropped my shoe.”

Your narrative isn’t as interesting as the shield you have drawn between the two of you again. Jungkook’s eyes move to your feet, not quite aligned, your stance weird as though ready to escape.

Did he come off too strong last night? Did he let loose too much, submitting to his wants more than you might have wished for?

He doesn’t know; because at that time, you seemed just as ready to drown as him. You weren’t swimming back to the surface, never indicating defence. Then why are you rushing to the shore now?

Perhaps you deem it a mistake now. You’re co-workers; dating isn’t frowned upon, but maybe you’re one to separate these two sides of your lives.

Whatever epiphany dawned on you, he doesn’t ask for it yet, afraid that you might arrive at a conclusion faster. Instinctively pushing him away without stating a reason; it wouldn’t surprise him. He doesn’t feel like you’re one to think you owe anyone anything.

Least of all an explanation to your actions and thoughts.

Careful, Jeon.

He points to the fallen Cinderella stiletto, a hand in the bathrobe’s pocket, and nears you cautiously. As if you could bite. Asks you in the same coquette, flirtatious tone as on the couch in the room next door,

“Were you just gonna leave without saying goodbye?”

“Well,” you respond, gaining back some of your solid repose, incredibly slowly but surely, “you were asleep.”

Incredibly slowly because you’re still tense. Surely, because you don’t emanate a fight-or-flight-intention anymore.

“Baby…” he tries, nearly whispering the word; you don’t budge, “you can wake me up anytime. I don’t mind.”

Right…

You don’t budge until you do. And when you break, you break weirdly. All composure dwindling bit by bit, though somehow more eerie when your words suggest defiance, but your voice shrinks a little.

“Don’t,” you start. Jungkook, startled, doesn’t notice how immediately his eyebrows knit together, but he does feel your body pushing itself away from him. And then— “We shouldn’t have done that.”

…What.

What?

No, hold on. Rewind. Thirteen steps back; what did he miss.

His stare turns disoriented, lost in a sea of jumbled thoughts, largely filled by questions of confusion until he echoes, “What?”

“We just. We were supposed to stay professional. The flirting was stupid because I didn’t want this to happen.”

If Jungkook could, he’d plant another pair of his eyes into your brain, just to read and understand the messages and pictures floating by. To unscramble the hidden meaning in your actions and statements and apparent emotions.

But he can’t; so all he does is smirk, rolling his eyes and his head to the side until his expression resembles mock. Your riddles might have been intriguing at the beginning, but after that night and those touches and the certainty he felt…

This is ridiculous.

He loses his mental balance, scale tipping off on one side, and part of the patience dissipates. Defending last night, he gestures towards you with an entire palm, uttering, “You suggested drinking together, and I thought it was a date.”

Shrugging his shoulders in irritation, he watches your countenance darken, though with guilt this time instead of the usual mystery. Confident, he breathes in, filling his strong chest with air of agitation as he adds—

“Or a clear fucking sign. You must think this is funny.”

“Well, I don’t!” you rebuke. “And it wasn’t.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I got carried away. We drank. And I— I don’t know. It was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Sleeping with me was stupid?” Jungkook remarks, tutting right away, as if to add a disbelieving Wow to his inquiry.

You shake your head, but then contradict your movements, “No. Or yeah. Don’t fucking know, but I don’t want it to happen again.”

“This is so…”

Jungkook lets out a breath of mock again, half laughing, half miffed; and perhaps you expected something else. A reaction that didn’t make you look idiotic; at least that’s how he’s truly perceiving you right now.

Because you clench your jaw, replacing the feeling of misconduct with your own vexation, and mutter, “That’s just. So frustrating.”

And Jungkook catches it, momentarily barking, “What?”

“Explaining something to you. Telling you that I think it was a mistake just because I need this to remain professional.”

“You could’ve said no or anything at all at any point. You knew what I thought of you, and you let me keep going, like you were baiting me for some reason.”

“No! N— you’re right, I should’ve said something,” you curl your fingers inwards, fists firm, as if you’re about to smack them against your forehead to insert some sense into it. “God. That’s just. Nothing’s changed since the festival.”

What the fuck.

Grave mistake.

You know it as well as he does. Only to you, the slip-up is clear and easily tangible; your eyes, wide as never reveal as much. But in his brain, however, the screws loosen bit by bit, not quite understanding what went wrong and why your words seem so familiar and immediate.

And the realisation is bubbling right beneath the surface, and somewhere in the silence of the deep ocean he’s been drowning in, he hears a noise again. You got him so good. So fucking good that he deemed his certainty shatterproof.

The thought that he wanted you, no matter what. That you’d keep pulling him into the water and he’d keep swallowing the desire.

But right now, none of it remains — last night’s blooming insanity turns a dozen shades darker, and Jungkook’s mind spins in circles, close to grasping the meaning in your fear.

“What did you say?” he nearly whispers, yet keeping his voice steady.

But you won’t grant him the clarification, only ready to flee, blurting, “I need to go home.”

And his hand twitches. Even lifts a couple inches, ready to grip you and twirl you around, teeth gritted and jaw clenched. The back of your body provokes him as much as it intrigued him before, an insult to all he’s thought of you so far.

Brain short circuiting, he, however, never reaches out. Frozen in place and unfocused, lips slightly apart and drying out. The itch in the back of his mind is impossible to scratch, creating profound confusion with the uncertainty about what to do with his body.

But all he knows is that—

There was a better way to point out his mistakes. His past, his memories, the way he approached you. He thought he could decode the enigma you were, dig through your soul and find answers.

He didn’t think he’d find himself here.

And.

Maybe you aren’t what he thought you were.

The misery hangs over the dark room like a cloud of doom.

In some sense, one might find a reason in the nervous atmosphere drenching the hall, or the excited chatter, constant noise from outside. Jungkook has never wanted to succumb to the doubts that usually occur with a nerve wracking situation, but he can’t quite deny the tingle behind his chest.

Or maybe, just maybe, he might find the cause of his fright in your presence tumbling back and forth, always a different object in your hand, fervently and diligently working towards a successful evening.

It didn’t seem to be that case when you abandoned him in his own home, trudging out into the chilly morning to leave him with his thoughts. He’s circled around your words and digested them as far as they allowed; somehow, the poison you spat seemed to corrode his insides, though.

Jungkook, grateful he hasn’t been in make-up and costume yet, runs inked digits through his silky hair for the nth time tonight, messing up the mane further. Didn’t think his first big showcase would be preceded by such insanity.

You take another walk through the backstage room, right past him, barely regarding him. The tension flickers between him and you like a dangerous spark; not quite the desirable type of fire burning priorly.

You’re barely looking at him until he forces you to.

You nearly press the wrong button on the lighting control as he calls your name, flinching and halting. The caution is characteristic and uncharacteristic of you, but if you are who he assumes you to be, then he understands the sudden fear you might be harbouring either way.

It’s similar to his own.

“Hey,” he starts, focused on whether your pupils flicker as you turn to him, but when your expression remains unmoving, he adds, “where were you? What are you doing?”

Despite the lingering shattered mood and the obvious radio silence between the two of you, you resort back to your usual demeanour quickly. 

Your expression isn’t as irritated as much as it’s curious when you observe his eyes, listen into the tone, much like prey pondering whether the entity in front is an enemy in disguise. And then, once convinced you can speak your mind, you slowly say, “Preparing. What else would I be doing?”

“Nothing. Just thought you’d left.”

“I was scheduled to be here way ahead of the show. Why would I—” But your sentence breaks when you crack the unspoken clarification in Jungkook’s eyes; written in them so clearly that he knows you must’ve picked up on it. And indeed— “Leave… the company? Why?”

“I mean,” he starts, the lip nibble half nervous, half agitated, “I didn’t expect you to show up at all.”

You chuckle, a bit awkward, veiling the emotions that might be aligning with his — or not. “On a day like this?”

Another signature smile, tilted head, a former recipe for Jungkook to find salacious craze in you. Right now, it irritates him; sets his chest ablaze in the worst manner possible. Perhaps you notice the stern look and the silence, because you promptly add, “I’m… I’m actually sorry.”

The situation screams for forgiveness, given the need for professional teamwork and the approaching performances, but Jungkook is done falling into your gentle traps and fluttering eyelashes. You’ve kept yourself hidden in the dark too long, and he’ll pull the answers out of your throat and mind if need be.

Patiently, his head moves to the right a tiny inch, lips still in a line that he’s sure portray him as an asshole; yet, uncaring, he smugly questions, “What about?”

“For being rude,” you still answer, not catching his drift or genuinely infiltrated by guilt, “and for leaving so abruptly.”

Are you not sorry for what you said?

He swallows the urge to click his tongue, attempting to keep as calm as you are. His behaviour contradicts the media training he’s undergone throughout the years, shedding blood, sweat and tears; fortunately, this private room does not require control.

So he lets loose slowly, surely.

“It’s okay,” he starts, thinking he can see the visible breath of relief that moves your chest, “I’m not bothered by that.”

“…Good. Okay.”

You nod once, holding eye contact for a transient moment, and then turn around. Busying yourself with a set of buttons you didn’t quite grace any attention before, entirely immersed in the lighting function now, despite ever putting it in your job description.

The stage technicians are sufficient enough, possibly out and about and having tried out all the options already — there’s no need for you to act, and Jungkook reckons you know it as well as he does.

Because the float of your fingers over the keyboard isn’t quite as smooth as your take on your work on other days. You seem underworked, not as quick or enthusiastic as usual, and so incredibly distracted; he can tell without understanding much of the mechanics behind this.

His tongue runs over his upper set of teeth, a tetchy breath escaping his nostrils. This isn’t going anywhere. Has it ever? The brief story unfolding between him and you has been a circle without beginning and end, and he’s sick of it.

Your fingers don’t cease their obviously uninformed shenanigans, even when he so audibly approaches. Your stance straightens, though; even above the layers of clothing that you’ve wrapped your body in, he knows goosebumps are painting your skin.

Unaffected, he starts, “I think what I’m bothered by,” a smack of his lips, fingers touching his strands, ready to run through but then retracting, “and have been for a while is by the feeling that I knew you. And I think I was right?”

He didn’t mean to let the doubt seep through; he wanted to sound resolute, it’s just… no matter how much having met you before might make sense, he can’t categorise you. Can’t assign you to any memory.

Casually, you turn, palms still at the edge of the keyboard, leaning back and balancing yourself. As if a natural fact, you declare, “Yeah. You might be.”

“Oh?”

You whisper a faint, familiar name, starting the conversation at just the place Jungkook expected to make an appearance. The college he went to. And apparently…

“I graduated from there, too. And you were somewhat popular, remember? Of course I knew you… didn’t expect you to have seen or still know me, though.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wasn’t important. You and I weren’t in touch, or even acquaintances. I was a stranger to you. What does this information do for us?”

Sure.

“You’re right,” he agrees, but you hear the telling hint in his voice; immediately following up with another argument.

“And I had a different hair colour back then. It’s not important.”

“No, of course not.” Except, nothing is ever important for you; to you; about you. Except, whenever you brushed your words off, it was to hide something far deeper. “Except,” he echoes, “something’s up with you.”

Mildly stated.

But ironically, his confusion bedazzles you, too.

“Huh?” you voice.

“You mentioned the festival looking all disturbed. Flower festival, huh? So unless you mean something entirely different out of pure coincidence… something must have happened that day to you.”

And something occurred to him, too.

Something life-shaping for sure. Easy to live through the moment, difficult to forget. Improbable to finally lurch out of his nightmares; cruel enough to make it impossible to ever redeem himself.

But how do you play a role in this? You never seemed pivotal. And if it wasn’t for the torn up letter hiding somewhere on the ground in the far back of his shelves, he might someday be able to not allow it to hunt him anymore, too.

Fuck, you don’t play a role, though. Or do you? No.

Nobody ever did but him. Nobody but her. 

He steps a couple inches aside, freeing up some space to breathe; moreso for him than you, even though your chest falls less heavy, too. You lean back a little, arms moving in uncertainty, fiddling until you’re about to remove them from the lighting board.

Jungkook’s eyes dig into yours until your pupils move off his face, and he takes the opportunity to blink. To shift his gaze to the floor for a second, calming his raging heart. Perhaps it’s dizziness, and he can’t say if he’s hallucinating, but a strange, red flicker flashes in his eyesight, and he wonders if he should sit down.

He doesn’t. Instead, he listens as your quiet question forms—

“Did you have a shitty day back then, too, Jungkook?”

Fuck.

Now you’re doing it on purpose. Regaining your power, understanding whatever happened back then, for whatever fucking reason and throwing it at him like a knife. No. Like a boomerang.

He started this conversation. And you’re redirecting it back to him.

The corners of your lips twitch, not quite a smile, but a triumphant emotion akin to pride. You’re a siren; a monster in disguise. Or maybe he’s the devil, and you’re the one walking a seemingly righteous path.

“Are you mocking me?” he snaps, albeit keeping his voice somewhat low, somewhat steady.

“Why?” He gulps. Answer stuck in his throat, he attempts to make a sound, and when the question marks fill up the space in his brain until none remains, you speak again, “Looking back at it… Do you ever feel nostalgic?”

What…

“Or regret that you barely attended the festival?” you continue, your voice turning slowly, scarily, into a subtle snarl. “Were you busy elsewhere?”

“What the fuck are you saying?!”

He knows what you’re saying. He understands so well. But bringing it up again, by no other than a stranger is weird. Dumb. Unnecessary, inappropriate and so, so riddling.

And your cruel, bitchy self is well aware of his inner chaos; how he’s not as confused as he might act. So you don’t reveal it all at once, but rather retort, “You asked me. That’s the answer.”

When the dam breaks, it breaks hard. After a million redundant thoughts and inquiries, he finally snaps, though eventually asking the right question for once after everything else seems to have failed…

“Who are you?”

You sigh.

If he switched to your mind, he’d know that he would’ve never seen you back then. Not because you belonged to the cliché trope of glowing up into a runway model. And not because you shied away from every interaction whatsoever.

But because he had eyes for somebody else. Even though they glew a bright red — demon-like, hungry and never satiated.

You were an observer; saw the superficial, thirsty nature of a beast.

You sigh once more. The way you do anything is how you do everything.

Much like you, he hasn’t changed.

There was a reason you mostly hid in the back of the room and in the shadows of the crowd. You weren’t quite an introvert; that was the wrong word. You just didn’t bother associating and interacting with most of the cohorts at college.

People tended to be cruel or superficial or digging for class notes or seeking any other kind of temporary friendships that they’d forget once the year ended. You did make friends every now and then; fleeting ones who were kind enough to allow you to open up.

They didn’t have bad intentions, but they had their groups as much as you had your own life, and you neither interfered nor tossed each other onto the other. College friendships where you’d go on lunch dates once every other week and then forget about the person when exams rolled around.

But there was one you could never separate yourself from; chained firmly to their wrist, invisible handcuffs glueing you together. Key tossed away years ago.

And she was worth the effort and time. She had a bright smile and brighter eyes; however, drooping sometimes, tired due to prioritising everybody before herself.

“I’ll stick around until my feet tingle,” she’d always say, naive sometimes, keeping people close. Keeping him close.

You loved Jangmi like the older sister you never had. Some people thought you’d been in love with her, but you can neither deny nor confirm it anymore; the time of clarifying emotions has long passed.

And as much as you adored Jangmi, you hated the fact that she dated Jeon Jungkook just the same.

Not because you fawned over him the way so many you knew did. Or because you harboured even an ounce of jealousy; neither because you were one to gatekeep friends like her.

More because you read people as well as you read poetry, analysing stylistic devices and interpreting their innermost intentions until you saw them written in their faces. 

Jungkook’s character was clear enough for you to detect telltale, signature behaviour from afar. He never noticed you because you never tried to get close enough, but Jungkook was so uniquely colour coded that you couldn’t help but understand all about him.

Not least of all due to Jangmi’s pink-tainted stories; in your imagination, all her words were heart-shaped. Even delusional.

In the beginning, when they’d been hanging out for just a while, you admired them. She remained inspirational to you, and he seemed to bring her joy. And you didn’t mind that she spent so much time with her affair, even though he wasn’t quite a boyfriend, not really a pal.

Other than you, nobody had too many thoughts on them; Jungkook hung out with way too many girls for anybody to assume he was dating her.

She must’ve been blind, because generally, she wasn’t the type to wait somewhere in a limbo, right where borders faded and a relationship stayed nameless, undefined; but Jungkook had done a number on her, it seemed.

He bothered you as time passed. When you saw from afar how he looked at her, and then at other girls. And how he spoke to her. Short answers, distracted hums. Responding to all she said, but never quite making as much of an in-love-impression as she did.

You could tell that he wasn’t attempting to commit; that he enjoyed spending time with her, enjoyed remaining under the sheets with her, but that he regarded that rapture as ephemeral and limited. And he only invited her over when he wanted to; would rarely agree when she asked.

And… he’d never been at her dorm; just where you lived, too. Of course he doesn’t know you today. You were way out of his focus. 

But you directed all of yours onto him more than ever the day the flower festival rolled around. Senior year. Close to leaving the campus behind; parting from the relationships you’d built.

Except Jangmi. She’d stay. And she’d never stop being your person, you knew; it wouldn’t change. She was your green.

You thought the flower festival suited her well. In fact, she’d been eager to help with the preparation, though coming in late enough to merely have to add finishing touches. Which allowed her additional time with Jungkook.

One who didn’t perceive the festival quite the way she did.

A symbol and celebration of spring and new beginnings, people like Jungkook rather regarded the day as yet another opportunity to get drunk or tease the girls building stations all around campus.

Some didn’t mind — the ones sitting at kissing booths literally fawned over each other, no tomorrow in sight.

Nevermind that among the crowd mingling with boys like him, there was a girl he promised to meet in the middle of that festival. And honestly, he kept that vow. Steered towards a smile that hoped and wished for tulips or sunflowers, a trip to the arcade.

Perhaps a brief stroll across campus to regard the activities with the usual golden sparkle in her eyes.

Jungkook, however, had wholly different plans.

You didn’t know; how could you? She had even less of an idea, no matter that she’d grown to understand him at least a little. Perhaps not enough. Never enough.

You’d stopped wondering, too. What they did, whenever they did it; and today wasn’t the first time you and her spent time apart because he occupied all of hers. So you busied yourself elsewhere.

Hanging out with yet another tiny circle of friends from your classes, unbothered and relaxed until the sky faded into hues of orange and red. Coloured by the spring sunset, warmth and burning star above.

The flower festival wasn’t anything you celebrated in particular, nothing you were too pumped about. But today had the potential to turn into something carefree, as you’d always expect from college when you indulged in Hollywood movies and campus rom-coms.

Because the beer in your hand, the voices around you, the free-spirited laughter felt pretty; the day advanced into something so unfiltered and nice until…

Until.

Occurrences change the pace of the clock and stretch seconds. When the clouds started passing by, the rain dreading to pour wasn’t the only reason the gorgeous colours dimmed to grey tints.

The day morphed into a big, thunderous cloud, too, rather than the blooming garden it was supposed to be.

Cheeks warm and giggling about some mindless joke somebody made, you stared down at your cold potato wedges, fishing for one of the last. You chewed the unappetising fast food, gulping it down like a delicatesse; licked at your thumb, then your lips.

And then, unsuspecting, you heard a single vocal from the side, a small, “Oh,” before they drew their phone closer to their eyes. The shift in atmosphere caught your attention.

“What’s up?” you asked.

Your friend didn’t react immediately, blinking at the device until you nudged their side. They buckled a little, a hand moving above their waist, but paying not much mind to it, they only spared you a gaze of disbelief and wondered, “You didn’t get anything?”

Weird.

“Hm?”

“Dude just airdropped it.”

“It?”

Judging from the faces around you, something was wrong; incredibly wrong. And you had neither the time nor patience to investigate it by questioning the flabbergasted people around you.

So, instead of trying to decode the situation, you grew irritated the moment another friend blurted, “Is that Jangmi?” And then, wiping your hands on your skirt, you finally grabbed your phone and detected the possible notification in question.

A video.

None that you’d ever expected. Perhaps you thought you’d meet an embarrassed, humiliated face of a best friend, somewhere in an open space, maybe dripping with water or even laughing with his crew. A clip eternalising herself as a part of his gang.

But what you saw proved much, much worse. Dignity stripped, submerging pride, not on any bingo card you’d mentally drawn.

It was a dark recording, and it was short, mere sixteen seconds long. Yet enough to recognise what it was about. And what was happening: morally entirely questionable.

“Yeah, and what about this?” you heard a whisper, though blending it out and enraged by it at the same time.

But it wasn’t anyone around you muttering it; it was coming directly out of your phone. From the same one whose hand now slipped into the picture, lightly and clearly gripping dark tights before pulling at them. Then, digits drifting up a leg, touching a skirt.

Another greedy mumble, “What do you want me to do?”

And when a different voice, much higher in pitch and softer, uttered something back… you knew it was hers. You also knew it was him. Maybe the others didn’t catch on that, because Jungkook had never spoken about his situationship, wasn’t quite famous for ever settling for anyone.

And… you were sure he had others on the side. You knew, heard them, understood the group from observation alone.

Then, with his voice being almost unintelligible, nobody but you could guess that it was him. And they looked surprised, disgusted, mostly confused and staggered.

Odd, because.

When Jangmi’s face became the centre of the camera’s attention, she looked the least bit surprised. She glew in the light that whatever source cast, and you immediately realised that she was drunk.

Grinning; letting him film her as she stripped for him, readying herself for God knew what.

You reacted right away.

Near damn panicking even, on the brink of aggression, when you heard another voice close to the end, babbling something you couldn’t decipher. One you didn’t know, but one that certainly did not belong to him.

Probably a friend. Meaning that. That he truly wasn’t alone, that Jangmi wasn’t alone.

You stood, not quite knowing what to do, because you couldn’t fucking tell where they were. You barely exerted effort into crafting an excuse, rushing across campus and to the department you assumed them to be.

They weren’t. Rooms were locked or empty or occupied otherwise.

Then to his dorm. Nobody there.

By the time you found her, around ten minutes later, they were already done, and she wasn’t defending herself. He was gone. She was standing around near a cotton candy stall, looking at the stars, unaware of how wrong the thing was that had happened to her.

Throughout the next days and weeks, Jangmi became increasingly popular on campus, like a fast-spreading wildfire — but in the worst way possible.

It was her whom people saw. They didn’t know that it was Jungkook, and they wouldn’t for their remaining time in that college. His name hadn’t been spoken in the video, and Jangmi refused to file a suit, no matter how much you urged her to.

You spent the time after the festival talking things through, trying to understand with her what had happened, recounting remaining memories. But she was doubtful; to your chagrin, more of herself than of him, because she remembered the consent she gave.

”Not to film you, though!”

She knew. Of course she knew.

And still, she kept it hidden. Didn’t let you speak up either. Begged you to lay low, so stupidly. She didn’t want to be involved with legal stuff, didn’t want to be confronted with chaos, as little as she wanted to drag you into this.

So you were hushed; big mistake. Because you knew she was blinded; still in love with him and hoping for him to delete the video, or to at least apologise as if it could redeem him.

He didn’t offer an apology. And she didn’t contact him; until she did.

First, messages, left on read. Then, a letter that he didn’t respond to. At the same time, the bullying got worse — and soon enough, she decided to leave campus; and the damn town. That you were entirely devastated might be an understatement.

Lastly, before she left, she paid him a visit, still holding onto hope. But it turned out to be the worst possible scenario she could have conjured; and you didn’t know until she returned to her room. To you. Breaking down in front of the entrance door the moment it moved to shut, spitting the same words over and over again.

“I’m so stupid.”

“I kept hoping, you know? I was just hoping.”

“He said he doesn’t see me that way and that I…”

And more. So much more. A plethora of cruel, demeaning, painful things he murmured.

You tried to convince her to stay. If not for anyone, then for you. You told her you needed her, that you cherished her, that you’d lose the one true friend if she decided to forsake you. But she was firm in her decision; and in some way, you understood.

It takes patience and a strong mind to live through such inhumanity; near the end of the semester, Jangmi was the saddest person you knew. And he’d done that. Reformed her heart until her sunshine nature faded, circles dark under her eyes, not even staying for you.

The last thing she promised you was that she’d come back; keep in touch; love you until she died. She held a speech for you, drenched in tears, watching you sob; and your cries didn’t cease as you watched the bus drive away, forcing you to your knees until you couldn’t see the vehicle anymore.

But honestly.

It wasn’t really about her going away, solely. Despite the sorrow that her absence caused, you wanted her to be happy. If she couldn’t find that emotion and fulfilment here, then be it somewhere else.

No… it was about the things that happened after, and about who knew of them. About unkept promises.

Jungkook pulled the two of you asunder first, and then her.

You stand in front of him with a brain filled to the brim, but a body as calm as a drizzle.

Jungkook doesn't know where to find the start and end of his thoughts; what to utter, which emotions to whip out first.

Should he react with confusion and disappointment, never having expected what the true you entailed? Or should he beg for forgiveness, understanding the severity of the situation and what you could do with it? Or, omit all these frights altogether and swap to anger?

He gulps, attempting to stick to the first sentence his mind allows, spinning it like a wheel and waiting for the pointer to choose a reaction. But by then, it’s too late, and you’re speaking again.

“She caught you before a class the day she left. She was begging you to apologise, just once, and to love her properly. What did you say then?”

He knows what he said. He might’ve forgotten so many details about the situationship — no, relationship? — but he remembers that day well. Mostly, because of the chaos Jangmi decided to pull him into; her own sorrows that’d trigger a butterfly effect.

But he doesn’t answer. You’ll do it for him anyway.

“You said she was expecting too much. Told her that if she wanted to leave, she should, because you weren’t gonna give her what she wanted.”

You suck in a breath, laughing in mock, delivering a headshake before you continue, “Can you even imagine how stupid she felt? Thinking you’d stay together because this idiot romanticised toxicity? You’re absolutely… despicable.”

Nah. He feels something in him snap; his voice raising as he blurts, “I am despicable for not reciprocating her feelings? But you are for all the shit you’ve—”

“What? It’s okay to not reciprocate. But… Why all the other things? All you did before?!”

“It was supposed to be a joke.”

“What kind of imbecile do you need to be to laugh about this?” you lash out, lifting your hands in disbelief, eyes wide. Then, you breathe out again, grounding yourself; but your voice still shakes. “Okay. Sure. Apart from your own feelings, why did you not apologise?”

You step closer, elaborating, “You knew it was wrong, you can’t be this apathetic. You could’ve apologised instead of invalidating her feelings.”

“Because it wasn’t serious. Who even cared?”

Holy shitballs. Do you see the question marks on his face? God, it wasn’t his fucking fault that this naive friend of yours stuck with him. That she didn’t catch that he wasn’t built for anything permanent. He gave her hints; spoke about other women, eyed them, just about ready to disappear in a room with them.

Her, stupid, gullible, hopeful. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t feel the same for her. When has he even wanted a relationship the last time? Not even with you; even during all this blissful, unknowing time you wrapped him around your finger.

Only now, you’re nothing but furious. Strangely, you make his blood boil in return.

“Nothing was ever serious to you! You cared about yourself and everything else was a joke that people needed to get over,” you exclaim, and he holds himself back from steaming. “Bet your joke drowned even more in those little mistakes once you realised she couldn’t do shit about your situation anymore.”

…What?

Situation? Was she going to hand the video to the police, as he feared for so long? Did something happen that prevented her from doing so?

What…

Confusion must be spreading over his countenance, because you tilt your head, eyebrows raised, as if you can’t believe his audacity. You scoff, and then say, “I know you know. You have to.”

Echoing his thoughts, he responds, “What?”

Your ridiculing smirk turns into tight-lipped rage; he doesn’t know how you do it, but it’s like he can see a little inferno in each of your eyes. Even when your eyebrows relax, probably noticing that he truly doesn’t know what you’re talking about, you don’t seem any calmer.

You initiated it all and still didn’t bother to keep up with what she went through?

Is that what you’re thinking?

“After your last conversation, she was upset. Chose the wrong time to leave,” you start explaining, “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like that shook her more than walking away from me. Don’t know.” You lick your lips. “She took the bus to the town her sister lives in and…”

Don’t say it… don’t say anything too dramatic. Don’t you da—

“The bus was caught in a bad crash, and—” This is sucking all the energy out of your body; he can see it. And with all the fright he’s ever felt confronted with, this is his peak, too. “She was one of the few who didn’t survive. As if she was fucking cursed.”

As if she was… One of the few who—

No. No.

Fuck no.

All Jungkook ever wanted was his peace, in whichever shape or form. When he heard she was leaving town, he was initially scared of her running to the police, but then relieved, no denying — that way, he assumed she might’ve given up on the idea of reporting him or letting the issue fester.

In some way and after a while, her absence assured he was in the clear.

But this isn’t how he imagined to gain his freedom. Fuck, he isn’t heartless! Do you think— what, what is it that you think? That he, until now, happily lived off the knowledge that she was dead, that he was saved from karma?

Then again… wasn’t there a news report about a bus crash, about people dying… deep inside, he wondered about the coincidence of her being part of this, miraculously, but then, he never bothered to look up who the victims were, huh…

She’s dead. Jangmi is dead. What the fuck.

No…

He’s fumbling with his thoughts and memories, barely noticing that you’re waiting for an answer until you give up and so cruelly add, “You could’ve stopped her if you hadn’t told her to fuck off. Literally, owning up to your mistakes would’ve been enough. Not recording her, treating her as a human being would’ve been enough, too.”

“I didn’t know it would escalate?” he defends, though the question mark at the very end only adds to his resurfacing agitation. “I didn’t fucking know she died! I I thought she just dropped off the Earth.”

“Nobody ever just drops off the fucking Earth, Jungkook! Not someone who loved you like this.” Love? What led her to this? To an emotion he never actively added to. How did she maintain such a sentiment like this? “But you don’t care. If you’d known, you’d have been relieved, right?”

Your question clogs up his throat. He needs to be careful what he says to you — because of course he doesn’t want anybody to die. Pranks, even heavy ones, might be forgivable, but death, to anyone’s account, is not.

But.

Remembering how he trembled, chewing off his nails when Jangmi stood there in front of him, pleading to take her back; to cherish her properly; to delete the video. To admit to his  mistake.

When he, out of a bursting ego, refused to give into her demands, wanting to be free of her presence, he feared she’d do something to tarnish his existence on campus. He didn’t wish for her death. But if he’d known that night, if someone had told him, would he have sighed a breath of relief?

Honestly… probably. And whoever says they wouldn’t in his stead, is lying.

But he doesn’t answer just that. Doesn’t shake his head or nod. It seems that not responding is just as bad, and you seem certain in your conviction. So he doesn’t even bother; merely says, “I didn’t know it’d lead to this.”

You challenge, “What would?”

“The whole thing. The prank.” You roll your eyes. “I didn’t, okay? Releasing her strip video and making her leave… If I’d known saying all that shit to her would lead to this—”

“What did you say? What else that I might not know of.”

“Look, I haven’t the faintest what you know or don’t know! But I remember telling her I didn’t care how she felt.” It’s unfair — being judged for not giving a rat’s ass about other people’s forced ultimatums. “I—”

As if to test him, you interrupt his confession with another remark, making his patience fade, “You told her she was just entertainment to you.” His eyebrows stir to kiss. “Say that you said it.”

“Is this what it needs for you to let it go? Something I couldn’t control?” He could. He knows he could. Shush, keep talking the way you are, Kook. “Yes, I said it. And a lot more. I remember. I’ve thought about it often enough.”

“Good.”

Good? Is that all?

“…And what now? What do you want from me?” he questions, hiding the desperation. The first thing he’ll do once back at the company is fire your ass.

“What now?” You shrug your shoulders, still positively fuming, but… somehow— at mind’s ease, too? “Nothing. You used her as your entertainment and somehow grew to be an entertainer yourself. So do that now, too, okay? Entertain. You kept me occupied, at least.”

“Huh—”

The light doesn’t register right away. Jungkook only sees the red blinking dot when you move aside, familiar from the last few times he stood backstage. He’s not entirely sure, because this isn’t his department — but if he could use some logic and guess what this is—

He’d say he recognised the button too late. The one recording each of his words, caught red-handed. The video from years ago didn’t show his face; neither you nor Jangmi contacted the police.

So this is it… this is what you’re doing now, isn’t it? Fuck, isn’t it?

Jungkook’s mouth opens wide, eyes following along, heartbeat increasing so violently that he feels it breaking his ribs. Shooting out of his chest. His hands curl into fists, lips twitching. The air is suddenly thin in the room.

And… and it dawns on him. Yes, it all makes fucking sense now.

Why, from the very beginning, you looked at him so cautiously. Why you stood next to him, sporting a mental armour, defence and uncertainty in your movements whenever you didn’t fake your sympathies.

Or… your goddamn glances at your phone. The notification he saw before he undressed you wasn’t any at all, right? It was probably that damn symbol popping up when a device starts recording something. Pity that he dragged you into the bedroom, or you would have tempted your way to his confession.

Is that it?

Is that why you fucked him? Got plastered with him? Opting for him to admit, keeping the sex as a facade; or maybe you were just drunk, victim to your needs. Either a dumb slut disloyal to your friend or a deceiving siren who played along to—

“Are you going to tell me your secrets if I say yes?”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Everything.”

Right. You couldn’t uncover him before, so you’re trying to do it now. What are you going to do with this tape?

Immediately, he darts forwards, turning the recording off; oddly enough, you don’t stop him. The moment the light of the button ceases, he charges for you, jaw clenched, teeth grinding. Grabs your arms, pinning you against the wall, snapping, “What the fuck did you just do? You are not allowed to do this!”

“Let me fucking go,” you try, fighting him, but he stays firm, pushes you back.

“No, you can’t do this to me. To anyone!”

“You did this to yourself!”

“Why fuck me then, huh?” he hurls, face closer to yours; you move your head to the side reflexively, disgusted. “Why all this? Why not go straight to the poli—”

He’s not done yet. He still has a lot to say; most of what you don’t hear anymore, because another voice adds to the conversation, deep and angry. Aggressive hands pull at Jungkook, keeping him away from you, and when Jungkook turns, he’s not surprised to be met with Taehyung’s eyes.

“I’ll fucking break your arms, Jungkook,” Taehyung threatens, absolute disbelief and pique in his gaze as he holds the younger back. “I don’t care how strong you are. Get a fucking grip.”

Jungkook struggles in the grip for another moment before he calms down, freeing his sleeve, vexed before he runs his hands through his hair. He turns his back towards you, hands on his hips, keeping his head from spinning; all the while as he hears Taehyung ask, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He turns, seeing the man coddle you, a hand under your jaw; great opportunity. Acting so kind when he probably wanted the same as Jungkook all along. Fucking hypocrites. No wonder you couldn’t keep Kim’s name out of your mouth.

“She recorded me without me knowing,” Jungkook attempts.

But you, daring behind Taehyung who keeps you there firmly, answer, “For all anyone knows, it could’ve been an accident.”

Jungkook ignores you. Meets his friend’s — friend? — eyes again as he argues, “She wants to blackmail me. You should’ve hea—”

“I heard, Kook. I heard.”

Huh? If he spied on the two of you, why did he not barge in sooner? If he heard, then wh—

“Excuse me, what?” Jungkook wonders, thoroughly irked, leaning forward with squinting eyes.

Taehyung doesn’t seem to want to talk, as if all of a sudden keeping this a feud between Jungkook and you. His pupils move up, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze, and a second later, he hears you gently say, “Let me. It’s okay.”

A blind person could see that the two of you like each other; Jungkook feels embarrassed, always having been the third wheel trying too hard, for a girl who despised him. He watches as Taehyung, very reluctantly, lets you go, yet sticking close to you.

“I thought you knew enough about these things to understand that I didn’t record a clip of you. This is something that isn’t permanent, but the people probably made it something that can’t be deleted. I mean… it was probably recorded, alright.”

You say it so provocatively that it makes him want to lock you up. To grab your hair and throw your head back. You’re not smiling; in fact, your eyes are watery and your voice quiet. But you’re infuriating in every way.

“What the fuck are you impl—” he starts, but you lift a hand to explain, as if teaching him something. Brazen as fuck.

“It was an audio stream, not a recording. See up there,” you point up, showing a mic for whatever stupid purpose, “your voice was brought to the people a little ahead of schedule; people might have filmed or recorded it. You’re for eternity, Jungkook.”

The last bit, despite nothing more than an inflaming whisper, is a direct insult to his goals and dreams. You’ve always known what he wanted, and you served it with a scheme that the devil might’ve forwarded to you.

Unless it’s you sitting on his throne. And to you, it’s him, isn’t it?

It’s like he’s sitting in a human-sized kettle, burned and boiled. His blood heats up, his skin suddenly searing. He notices as cold sweat collects on his forehead, pulse quickening, heartbeat over the roof.

Has he ever trembled like this? Felt this light-headed, needing to sit down, wishing he could pass out. Praying none of this is real. The rapid breathing stemming from anger soon turns into panic, and he suppresses the breakdown, not wanting to cry, not wanting to give you another reason to believe you’ve won.

But you have. You so have.

All the long nights, the effort, the sleep deprivation… all that he worked towards — was it for this? Was it for him to take a fall like this, to never grow, to end before he can begin? Was it? Fuck, was it?!

“No,” he murmurs, the world spinning. “No…”

He barely notices when you move aside, giving him space as he strides forward, eyes wide as they focus on the light. Close to the stage. Closer to the audience. Is there a chance they’d look past this? No…

He can hear them already. Chatting, complaining, amongst themselves, in turmoil. This is all his earlier days all over again.

Self-centred. Egotistical. Manipulative… Fake charismatic.

Different words with the same meaning, spread throughout his young years. Synonyms. And only you dared to reveal those innermost traits, shedding light on them as if you were destined to do it. And oh, you did it in the most wicked of all ways.

You weren’t what he thought you were; in hindsight, you weren’t even necessarily mysterious, right? Just a liar. An actress, thoroughly vindictive. Not the colour green, but a gloomy grey.

Does he deserve it? He doesn’t know. He didn’t perceive himself as a bad person. Selfish, yes, but not bad.

But maybe it’s too late to be thinking about this anymore. Because as he steps out, merely at the very back of the stage, the crowd goes quiet for the smallest moment. Just a second before— the booing and the rage start.

They’re looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and angry expressions, shaking their heads or filming, speaking at once. So, so many people speaking at once. A mess of inquiries he can barely decipher, not much more than—

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Did you know that’s illegal?”

“I want my money back.”

He looks back to the path he came from, but it’s dark. You’re not there; Taehyung isn’t there. Hiding in the pitch black shadow, or gone already, getting you somewhere where Jungkook can’t follow you.

You weren’t what he thought you were. He should’ve known.

Of all the things he’s ever wanted, you gave him one thing, though — you were right with that. You handed him the entertainment he sought elsewhere years ago, becoming just that.

And tonight, the audience’s eyes are truly glued to him.

ALRIIIIIIGHT. this took ages!! so much to do y'all, even wrote an assignment today lmao but i really hope y'all liked it, and if not then I'M SORRY LOL I'LL DO BETTER :'D there are unresolved things, i know – you can ask me about them if you'd like.

there are also hints on jk's personality and past, so if you have any theories or interpretations, let them out! one of the fun parts of this fic could be all the different analyses, so i'm really curious what you'll make of this story – and whom you like/dislike, whether you like them all (rare? you okay, bbg?) or hate them all.

if you enjoyed it, leave a like, definitely do reblog (even if just to boost – i know liking is easy, but do consider rb!) and comment all your thoughts hehe! support really helps writers stick around. also, i wrote this fic with lots of discussions in mind, so it'd mean the world to me if you sent an ask/feedback, too!! okay love you, see you again soon <3

entertainer |jjk (m)

Summary: Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers (or something); angst, bits of fluff, smut!! ➳ warnings: do not fall for this jk i repeat do not f– 🚨 he's kinda hot though; (not so) silent yearning, flirting, a shit ton of sexual tension, sexual fantasies, some jealousy from his side, he is very VERY attracted to her, mystery, oc is a big question mark, full jk pov!, difficult past(s), (mention of) sexual harassment, mentioned past death of a side character, crying, fear, manipulation, confrontation and fighting, aggression, cursing, cocky and selfish kook, overthinking, secrets and revelations, explicit sexual content: kissing, fingering, teasing, drunk shenanigans, sooo much lust, big dick jk, dom jk, oc is odd, oral (f. receiving), spit stuff, handjob, manhandling, orgasm delay, lip ring…, light choking, bit of hair pulling, a spank or two, some cum tasting mmmh, ass stuff, protected sex, rough sex, various positions, masturbation; ➳ wc: 32.3k ➳ a/n: MHMMM, it's finally time!! i experimented with the trope a little; def not a professional when it comes to this genre, but i tried my best. both oc and jk are odd in this one, and you might be on either's side and hate either of them, i can't say :'D very curious tho, so come and drop a message to lmk what you think. let it aaaall out :P <3

➳ listen to the Entertainer playlist! 🖤   

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs 

Jungkook has always wanted an audience to perceive him.

Not just to perceive him, in fact. To worship him.

Jungkook doesn’t consider himself a bad person. Spoiled, a little selfish, but not necessarily bad. He enjoys attention, no matter how temporary or who the giver of it. Feasts on it like an incubus.

What’s wrong with that? Nothing.

Or. 

Maybe there is. Maybe he’s coming on too strong.

Because you’re not part of his audience, sitting over there, middle row, middle spot, with your eyes lowered to the notebook. And when you do look up, there’s nothing but indifference in your eyes.

It irks him. Maybe he is a little narcissistic, and maybe he can’t quite deny it after all — but as part of his future team, you should at least fake a smile, right? Display a certain amount of enthusiasm, the joy of working with aspiring artists.

But no.

You’re occupied, scribbling into your notebook. Jungkook, cognisant of the fact that he hasn’t issued much of significance today, understands that you cannot be taking notes of his words. And he also understands that… if that is true…

You’re not granting him as much fascination as he’s used to.

General admiration thrown into the same bucket as his unwavering talent — that he’s well aware of — might just be the reason he climbed up so high in no time. Sometimes, gentle livestreams and vlogs do the trick — locals have found reasons to adore him already.

At times, a good song and strong vocals aren’t necessary to woo people.

Jungkook, however, is insatiable — that’s what keeps him pondering at times. That it’s just the locals, and on an international scale, there’s still much to achieve.

But he’s not a quitter, he’s a conqueror.

And he’ll reach that mind-boggling status of a well-known, global icon, name flowing as naturally through the seam of people’s lips as a still-lying, tranquil lake.

Jungkook knows it’s cocky of him to praise himself to the skies and to rely on his resolute hopes so much. He knows life backfires sometimes, and that endeavours don’t always pay off. He only started as an insignificant city boy, too.

Survived the cruelty of elementary and middle school; shared a room with his brother, relying on him until he grew and learned to finally rule over high school; every single soul at his beck and call. Then, trudged through college before any of where he’s standing even existed.

But he’s here now. And people acknowledge it.

Except you.

And it throws him off his balance. Which is probably why he shortens the end of his speech, close to slurring distracted syllables before he realises he’s forgotten a prepared sentence or two.

No matter; the relevant and main message should have been delivered by now.

So he leans back in a chair in the back, flashing a captivating smile and waits for the applause. Somewhat proud when the praise needs a moment to cease for his manager to reclaim the mic, freeing the metaphorical stage, much in the form of a simple pult, for the CEO of the company.

Taehyung is savvy of how to regain control over a stage; Jungkook doesn’t know whether he fucked up his final remarks, but Taehyung summarises his ideas well. But the clapping does say a lot.

And between those raising their hands to appreciate Jungkook’s speech, you were, too. He knows because he looked directly at you; still is. And when your eyes drift to his, the two of you hold each other’s gazes for at least a couple seconds longer than the others.

And your smile, while present, is somewhat tight-lipped, a bit awkward but confident, too. Odd, as well; hard to explain, but as though you know what you want. As though you have your priorities set straight and cannot be swayed by anything the world might throw at you.

He doesn’t have a word for it. Poised? Self-reliant? Fearless? Can a single look even say this much or is he being delusional?

But this can’t be true, honestly. Nobody is this unperturbed or passive. He’ll find out.

Your stare aligns with his a couple more times over the next minutes, staying there before continuing the journey over the crowd. Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch just a little whenever your eyes pierce into his, so tantalising and deep, big sweet ires, but so conniving at the same time.

He doesn’t know your name, but he’s sure that it defines intrigue. And maybe, just perhaps, it might serve as the synonym for drop fucking dead gorgeous, too.

When Taehyung leads you to Jungkook’s stuffy studio, the latter hears your voice through the open door several seconds before you come in. Or actually, it’s not quite his studio.

More like a collective office that a couple of the newcomers use. Jungkook has been part of this crew a little longer, but he needs the additional success, more prosperity; he’s been told to yield more results to earn his very own four walls. Carrying his signature flavour.

But it’s okay. For now, this suffices…

The stench of coffee and the sound of the AC. The pot and plants that always rest in some corner of the room, courtesy of Taehyung who insists on some colour in the grey-white, small room. Jungkook has gotten used to it all.

Which is why it’s strange, seeing your splendour enter the small space, delighted by whatever Taehyung might be explaining. Your grin is the widest Jungkook has seen since yesterday.

He didn’t get to meet you properly yet, so he can’t say where your humour lies. Nobody introduced you, despite your new position as his very own, personal work partner. A second manager, here to guide and aid him when Taehyung can’t; and apparently, you’ve found some charm in Taehyung that you didn’t see in Jungkook during the stupid meeting.

Not that Jungkook would ever dare to doubt his friend’s appeal, but you’ve stormed into his life like a present, and so silently, too; and he wanted to be the one to open it. To reveal it.

Not Taehyung. Even if it’s his job.

Okay. Calm down. Jungkook sighs. That again.

A motherly blanket of praises and fatherly pats of pride. That’s what’s gotten his head so riled up. He was coddled too much as a child. Made felt special. That’s over now, Jeon, you’re in an industry filled to the brim with competition.

Chill chill chill.

But now?

With that alluring smile staring up at Taehyung, only hints of it left when your eyes move to Jungkook. Fuck.

But Jungkook’s stance remains steadfast and self-assured when he greets, “Hi there. Welcome at last, huh?”

Jungkook notices when your mind snaps out of the conversation with Taehyung and into the one he started; a gentle hand frees your face off your hair to enable a proper view to it. The other is still dug deep in the pocket of your leather jacket, covering parts of the white top underneath.

Semi-long, silver earrings rest right below your ear, against your neck when you tilt your head a little; your expression so respectful and inviting when you smile. Jungkook inhales you in that one split moment, details stinging into the eye without much effort.

And perhaps he’d observe more, appreciate your stunning, obvious beauty and elegance further; but time passes as it does before you finally utter your very first sentence to him, “Hi. Didn’t think I’d ever be saying this, but… thank you for having me.”

That’s sweet.

Your words are reminiscent of the adoration his fans grant him, but your expression is as cool as a refreshing autumn wind. The perfect balance, possibly.

Jungkook gestures to a small couch in the back, right next to the door, but you raise a rejecting hand, claiming, “Been sitting all day observing Taehyung. Need to walk a bit.”

And you do. Deliver a last farewell nod to Taehyung who waves a little, gripping the handle and locking you in the room with the younger man nearly drooling over you.

The hand hidden in the jacket before has emerged, arms loosely folded as you take in the interior of the studio, allowing no more insight into your thoughts than, “Nice.”

Jungkook hums in distracted agreement, standing at the wall, watching you roam around the humble space in small steps. It’s odd, being in here with you; the atmosphere fizzles, a little less like electricity, just a bit more than carbonic acid.

But the moment was to arrive anyway; you’ll be a close link to Jungkook from now on. Of course you need to familiarise yourself with his space, too. So far, you seem to have an opinion on it already.

“Easy to trigger claustrophobia, but,” you walk through the open door to the darker recording room, tapping the mic for a moment, “cosy, too. Very cool equipment.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Pause, eyes dropping to your fingers grazing the stand of the mic. Then, “I would’ve come to you today… or yesterday for that matter, but things were so chaotic and—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure, waving his concerns off, “I could see people rushing around and preparing the moment I got here. I’m probably not the main concern right now among everybody.”

“Nah, that’s not it. We have a great team here.” You step out again, hands folding behind your back until you’re leaning against the wall opposite of him, mirroring his stance. “I’m sorry you arrived at such a stressful time, though.”

“Not your fault. I decided so myself fully knowing you were in the middle of something.”

Ah. So you’ve seen his interviews, read the news. You came here with sufficient knowledge about him, alright.

“Really though,” you continue, blinking slowly, “I’m just glad to be here at all.”

Ah. Yes — about that.

“What brought you to our company anyway?” Jungkook asks, coating his voice in sugar to decrease the risk of unintentional and prying rudeness. “I mean — it’s been a while since somebody joined the main team, is all.”

“Oh. What brought me here…” You slide down the wall just a few inches, staring at your feet before you meet his eyes again. Something flashes in them for a miniscule second, albeit too brief to be caught and analysed. Then, you say, “Sentiments?”

Jungkook gathers words of confusion the moment you utter yours, a question already on his tongue. Has he been here long enough to evoke sentiments in his followers? Or do you veil a whole different connection to this company than he might understand?

Who knows. It doesn’t feel too deep, at least, when you speak again, elaborating when his eyes reveal his bedazzlement before he can, “I mean, I like your work.”

Okay. So much he interpreted; and he must admit — the feeling of pride is a thoroughly unique one.

“I think you’ve been deserving of your growth, and I just,” you speak, shrugging your shoulders, digging one heel into the solid ground, “I could never stop thinking of what I’d say or do if I was here or how I’d try to help, even though I’m not a true musical genius like you.”

This is so excitingly new.

How poised you remain as you talk about your fascination for him; how carefully you choose your words. He’s met fans before, but he doesn’t think any of them has ever practised such control over themselves.

And harbouring such emotions for a tiny little celebrity like him while simultaneously treating him like a human being is an art you’ve well mastered. Despite Jungkook’s urge to feel loved and worshipped to a dependent degree, you’re an incredibly attractive change in pace.

Ugh.

Dependent degree.

Although, he does wonder what you’d be like if you fawned over him.

Jungkook contains the fantasy; suppresses his sigh.

“So,” he starts, “you’re here because you’re a fan.”

“Mmmh. Kind of. My friends started it and then pulled me into this. Honestly, at first I couldn’t imagine ever getting into your stuff.”

Your gaze moved down to your trainers a mere moment ago; whether to hide your expression or give into a habit, Jungkook can’t say. But the honesty surprises him; even stings a little as he voices, “Oh?”

Your head shoots up, lips forming a circle before you imitate, “Oh. Wait. That was… pretty rude.” You seek confirmation or denial in Jungkook’s eyes, and when his slightly wrinkled forehead, tight-lipped smile reveals the answer, you immediately opt for an apology, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?”

“Just that.” You fiddle in your position, bringing your digits to waist level. Then, you laugh; a rhythmic sound. “Okay, don’t hate me, but. I was one to judge a book by its cover, and you had this young adult too-confident-too-sly something about you. But your music’s surprisingly sentimental.”

Jungkook halts for a moment, moving his head to side-eye you; producing a hoarse Uhhh before he admits, “I’m not sure whether you’re complimenting me or fully destroying me.”

Another lovely laugh. “I am complimenting you. To be fully transparent, I was probably, uh, biased? Because my friend. They have a knack for usually pulling very questionable men, so I probably just didn’t entirely trust their intuition.”

“Fair enough. I guess?” Jungkook matches the softness of your giggle, nodding towards you, “And now you do?”

“Mmmh, well, we’ll see.”

Jungkook must be stupid. Of course you won’t be able to deduce much from the first meeting yet; perhaps the flirting needs to slow down for just now. You seem the patient kind; much like now, letting the quick silence prevail without much struggle.

No sign of awkwardness surrounds your aura; only a hint of… suspicion? Flashing into your eyes when you let them move through the room again, freezing right next to Jungkook’s head. You’re not looking at him, but at something past him; but you don’t question nor voice anything.

Merely return to his stare with a smile, and he uses the moment to pour some courteous manners into the mix, asking, “Do you want something to drink? Coffee, water? A Red Bull?”

But you immediately raise a hand, shaking your head, “Oh, it’s okay. I’ve already got caffeine flowing there instead of blood,” you slide a finger along your arm, indicating a vein under your layers, “I just mainly came to say hi and to introduce myself. And to ask if I can help anyhow.”

“Ah… well, uh,” Jungkook halts mid-sentence, throwing a look around as though he’s searching for something to appear before he concludes, “don’t think so. I was in the middle of some production work, but don’t think I need much.”

“I see. Okay! Then I’ll leave yo—”

“But,” Jungkook intervenes immediately, adamant on keeping you around. Maybe he can wrap up work earlier today? Bring you home? Probably not — not on Taehyung’s watch. “Maybe you can tell me what you think once I’m done?

“Of course. It’d be my pleasure.”

“Would have an excuse for your company, too, then.”

The laugh that follows is so subtle that Jungkook barely hears it. It doesn’t leave your throat, stuck in there, just a tiny sound reminiscent of amused bafflement. 

Jungkook knows his way around words — understands what his utterances and implications usually apply. But somehow, not too many people have been the calmer ones in the room; aside from his superiors at work, not having the upper hand is new to him. 

So you set a fuse loose in him; destroy a nerve in his brain, changing up his communication habits. Because he certainly did not mean to say this out loud. And not in such a sense either.

He adds quickly, “I mean, it gets lonely here.”

“Right…” you concur, albeit weakly and with somewhat… entertained mystery in your eyes? He can’t say. It’s as though you’re wearing your face as a mask, undecipherable. “I get it. Even though your studio is cosy enough to enjoy your own company at times, right?”

“Not mine. But we’ll work on that.”

He cards his fingers through his hair, aware that he is probably more than an open book right now; his usual perfect poker face does not work with you.

Why? 

Weird.

“Got a couple things here that are mine, though. Yoongi and the others allowed me,” he adds.

“Ah… Like…”

Surprisingly enough, you take another look through the tiny room, possibly trying to detect something you didn’t see before. Regarding details. Then, you settle next to his head once again… and once Jungkook moves his eyes off you for the first time since you came in, he sees what you see.

Which is to say, nothing much out of the ordinary. In fact, the most trivial thing in the room.

“Like that?” you voice, pushing yourself off the wall to near his relaxed body. The scent of your perfume wafts through the room before you’re close enough; tenderly grazing his senses. “What’s that?”

Focus.

Your finger points to the object next to him, hanging at a nail at the wall; dark blue with white letters on it. Pretty mundane, pretty basic design.

“Just… a cap I bought back in college.”

You read out the name, pronouncing it perfectly, yet slowing down as if you’re learning a new foreign term. The sudden inquiry is strange, too: you don’t seem as truly curious about it as your question did; perhaps you’re playing for some time with him, too?

He wouldn’t hate it if you did.

“Do you know that one?” he questions.

You nod; a main hint as to why you wanted to know, yet indicating that the knowledge wasn’t of much significance. You say, “Isn’t it a popular one? I had a few friends who went there.”

“Hm… yeah, I mean. I guess it’s a known one. I got a degree there in broadcasting and entertainment like… four years ago.”

You exhale a barely audible puff of air before you whisper-murmur the most infinitesimal, petite, “Damn,” underscored with one indecipherable tilt of your head. He can’t see your eyes too well, so the reaction remains as transparent as you have been thus far.

Until he raises a thick eyebrow, confusion hidden in a somewhat relaxed yet awkward smile as he wonders, “What?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, just. It’s impressive how much you’ve achieved in just four years, right?”

“…Well. If you say it like that, it does sound pretty neat.”

The bubble of pride expands alongside his ego; right beneath his chest. Somehow, the feeling changes his posture, makes him feel bigger. 

Perhaps you notice what your praise elicits; perhaps you’ve already fathomed his persona that he usually doesn’t dare to reveal this fast. But whatever he conceals with his fans, lies in front of you with an open access.

You make it easy to feel comfortable; he doesn’t need to know you too long to acknowledge this much.

“I graduated not too long ago, too. Three years?”

“Oh… then look at you,” Jungkook compliments, using the moment as an excuse to examine you further; head to toe and back. Your legs are crossed, upper body and face confident, but the position somehow delicate. Hm. “You’re quite awesome, too, don’t you think?”

“I mean— took a while to get here.”

“Right. So what have you been doing during this time since graduation?”

Whatever distraction you have found in the cap seems to break as you silently forage your brain for a response; possibly attempting not to divulge too much. And your answer is accordingly hesitant, though never dubious.

“Saving up? Preparing for life, I guess. And waiting for a good opportunity.”

For what? Do you usually keep your statements in fragments?

He prods, “To do what?”

“Well, to do,” you gesture to the wall in front of you, albeit clearly hinting to the situation, “this. Hoping to change everyone’s lives around here.”

You smile wide, the joke obvious as can be, but Jungkook can’t help but think that you might not be too far off. Unique minds alter brain chemistries; there’s something unforgettable and magnetising about them, and Jungkook steadfastly believes his intuition that you might just be one of them.

For the first time ever, he murmurs your name, delighted by how easily it melts on his tongue. It falls out breathier than he intended to, but when you tilt your head, the intrigue in your pupils inexplicably matches his tone.

He adds to your name, eyelids drooping just a bit, “So… you’ll turn out a long awaited surprise, huh?”

And you, against all expectations, lean in for just a minimal, not too inconsequential moment, hands back in your jacket. It’s a playful, harmless motion as you move back on your heels, then steady yourself again, bodies and faces still far away. You could’ve just as well given him a pat on his shoulder.

But there’s something in the way you look at him, tempted and ominous at the same time. He can’t say what you’re thinking because every feature in your face implies something different.

Even more so confusing what methods for success you came into this company with when you finally say, no pretext or further clarifications, “I really do hope so.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

Everywhere he goes, the lights are bright.

The white walls in the rooms of the company building reflect the sun in the summer and maintain a sense of optimism in the winter. They’re what Jungkook imagines waiting halls before Heaven to look like.

Then the fluorescent vibrancy in his apartment. And the sunlit sky, albeit cold in this winter, giving way to the planetary system’s star through the floating, parting clouds.

Even this modern art museum with its complex design, winding staircases, glass walls and high ceiling. It lets through an abundance of light, unaware of the balance Jungkook usually craves.

Dark and light — a healthy mix.

It’s why he cherishes the comfort of the recording studio so much. Its dim walls and the silence, so unlike the hallways outside of it. Or why he prefers his apartment unlit, often merely allowing the few lava lamps to illuminate his rooms.

But again… it’s only a balance he usually craves.

Today, he doesn’t mind the brilliance.

Because you’re part of it.

Clad in a beige long-sleeved cotton top, slight turtleneck included. It doesn’t fully cover your neck, still revealing a mole similar to his. It’s tucked into your light brown skirt; your legs are covered in sheer tights, crossed. A gentle hand holds the strap of your bag. Light academia at its finest; somewhat soothing, and somewhat radiant.

You look at him with an initially neutral expression, surprised that someone spoke to you, but more relaxed when you realise it’s him.

“Oh,” you voice; the faintest autumn-tinted smile tugs at your lips. “Hey! I, uh…” Your gaze flits to the painting in front of you, then back to him. “Not at all actually. Which… surprising.”

You gesture towards him before you grant him more of your silky voice, asking, “Do you? Come here much?”

Your eyes are indecipherable to him, cheeks dusted in natural make up. All the damn time, you sport this relaxed, unbreakable mask, and he can’t quite guess what you might be thinking about.

It’s so easy with anyone else. You’re like a scene from BBC’s Sherlock, embodying Irene Adler’s mystery.

But maybe your guard can be broken, too.

“Not really,” he admits, “only when pretty people are around.”

A weak attempt, but it makes your eyebrow cock in amusement. He knows you are, because the hint of mischief that scurries over your face resembles his own.

“Ah, and you happen to know when pretty people are around. Or did you follow me here?” you, however, ask.

It’s an obvious inquiry, but weirdly enough, he didn’t expect it. You exhibit the first sign of a proper, humane emotion. Delivering three quick blinks, voice quiet, suspicion swims in your eyes, slightly irritated.

Or even… scared?

You can’t truly be.

So he backtracks, slightly angling his head. He sighs — hiding how much his lungs crave a breath of air. He doesn’t want to scare you off just yet.

“No,” he defends, “of course not. I was just joking.”

“So… I’m not pretty?”

Oh. Oh?

Perhaps he misinterpreted your expression. Perhaps you’re merely a good actress; messing with him as he is with you. The smirk suggests this much, at least.

Perplexed, he holds his breath before letting out a choked laugh; the head tilt and click of his tongue carry a sliver of scolding before he admits, “That’s pretty frustrating, I won’t lie.”

“I’m just kidding, too. It’s a big exhibition. I expected a familiar face here.”

Why is there something so devilish about you?

He can’t say; maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s enough to join the game, to be just as cocky and see how you react. 

Perhaps he’s being selfish and too certain of himself, and in the worst case, he might just be imagining the tension buzzing between you like sparks off an electric fence. But does he have anything to lose, really?

Barely ever.

“Then,” he begins, “is it a good face?”

“All the art around us and you want me to admire you, huh?”

“…The art won’t be mad if you do.”

Jungkook is bold, he’ll admit. He hasn’t always been — he remembers a time spent in the back of classes, preferring to eat lunch alone. Did college tug him out of his shell? Was it senior year?

Then again — did that one kill the timidness in his heart or rather the last shred of humanity?

Maybe his cold matches yours, too. Is that why he feels so drawn to you?

Because you’re as bold as him; you don’t sugarcoat words and thoughts. And Jungkook appreciates the honesty, the ingredient to actual success — even if it’s achingly direct.

Like now.

You uncross your legs; your hips move in an elegant curve, and Jungkook attempts his best to keep his eyes off the arcs of your body. Focuses as you say, “You shouldn’t be flirting with a coworker, Mister Jeon.”

“Wait. I thought we were warming up to each other. Don’t demote me from Jungkook to Mister Jeon now.” You chuckle; that’s something, right? “Besides, I was just conversing. We need to spend all our time together now, so better get along, right?”

Right. Right; of course he’s right.

But… what is that?

It lingers for the faintest of moments, just a glimpse of an unspoken feeling, gone with the next blink. In this crowd of unsuspecting visitors you’re the closest to him physically, but your thoughts are miles and centuries away.

“Maybe you’re right,” you still say, as if whooshing away all unwelcome sentiments, “then I should not… dodge your conversation, right?”

“Sure.”

“Behave, though.”

He’s so confused — but not deep in this enough to question it. So he merely shrugs his shoulder before he responds, “I have been. I can converse, alright.”

“Right.”

“Like… first of all,” he steps closer, raising a hand, gesturing for you to walk on as new admirers of the modern piece approach, “tell me, have we met before? Feels like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

You halt in your steps, but immediately resume to the stroll when a stranger nearly bumps into you. “You’re doing it again.”

He’s honestly not. The aura surrounding you like an ominous fog is omnipresent and eerie, yet… you carry a sense of familiarity. But you’re a presence too distinct to ever forget.

Which doesn’t help his case.

“Yeah,” he still agrees before potentially embarrassing himself, kissing his teeth, “sorry. I’ll stop.”

“Why are you the textbook definition of a fuckboy, honestly.”

“Fuckbo—”

“Nevermind.”

If he wasn’t well acquainted with this little game, he would’ve missed your subtle, nearly veiled intent to tease. But he’s done this a million times before — hence, catches the faint twitch of your gorgeous lips immediately.

You’re enjoying this. So he should join… right?

Yet.

You’re not being entirely insincere. In fact, he hates how he picks up on the note of truth in your velvety voice.

Trimmed nails scratch the back of his head, and he barely notices when the two of you halt in front of another piece. Distracted, he doesn’t bear the art any mind, instead asking, “You really think of me that way?”

You shrug a shoulder. Nonchalance a constant feature, but so natural, even somewhat gentle, that he can’t help but feel drawn to you. “A little.”

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the art.”

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, he glances to the canvas. It’s a mess of hues; a random arrangement of spontaneous emotions. Resembles the masterpieces he used to create in Microsoft Paint, back when his legs would still dangle off the chair.

“Then,” he starts, nodding towards the painting, “what do you see in this?”

You hesitate. Or maybe it’s not hesitation — more like… a thinking pause. Sometimes, when Jungkook notices a whirring mind, he sees a steaming brain through a skull. Working at full blast.

But somehow, he only sees a calm ocean as he observes you gather your thoughts. Everything about you is gentle, but wrapped in dark mystery. How much mental training does it require to become this inscrutable?

When you finally speak, you’re saying similarly strange things.

“I see… colours.” Right. Stating the obvious. Jungkook chuckles, delivering a head tilt. “And am wondering how the painter got to create this at all. I mean, this looks so meaningless at first, doesn’t it?”

“And it’s not, yeah?”

“We’re fast to think that. Most of the time, there must have been a trigger, or a thought about something, no matter how small. Something might have been bothering him. This is—” A soft hand gestures towards the painting. “Such a chaotic mind.”

Interesting…

“Is this what you usually think about all day?” Jungkook wonders.

You scoff. “I’m just a person, too. I think about a lot of random things.”

“Ohhh. Like what?”

“Like… seeing all the green in this exhibit made me realise how this colour makes me cry.”

Jungkook takes a haphazard look around. Now that you say it — there’s no hint of a nature theme, but the abundance of green is striking now. It’s as calm as you. No wonder you’d immerse yourself in a showcase such as this.

You continue, as if tracing and reading his mind like an open novel, “It’s soothing, right? And unique. These earthly things sometimes make me feel like not all of us are deserving of seeing such beauty. Like it should be reserved for those who earn it.”

Earn it? How? 

Jungkook can’t see your thoughts as clearly as you’re apparently capable of doing, but he has an inkling of what you might mean. Truly dazzling souls merit the stunning bloom of the world, right?

And then…

If that’s what it is.

He wonders — do you think he deserves to see the colour green? Or is it already over if he has to ask? Perhaps, should he be perceiving it as grey right now? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know how you think of him — doesn’t know anything about you at all. You’re a tough nut to crack. 

“Hmm… that’s a way to think about it,” he says.

“Only because it’s the same for people. And I’ve had this thought about humans a lot… I…” You hesitate, blink, and then grant him your stare. “I knew someone who was the colour green. Not everyone deserved them, either.”

Poetic minds carry a certain pain in their eyes.

He’s been seeing it in yours. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he asks, “What else are you thinking about?”

“Uhmmm,” you voice, straightening your back a little, as if waking up from a dream — nightmare? “I’ve been thinking about trying that, too. Painting, I mean. It doesn’t have to mean anything or be good. Just a great way to capture something that resonates with what I feel.”

Every word you’ve uttered today was otherworldly. You didn’t talk like that when you were in his office, or at the meeting. Your soul is somewhat free-floating here, and he doesn’t understand why.

And it’s a behaviour he usually strays away from. The vulnerable ones can be dangerous.

But somehow… you’re too strong of a magnet.

One who shrugs all the mystery away — and he sighs in despair. Maybe it’s not time to find out what you feel just yet. What resonates with you — even though he’s dying to hear it.

He inquires, “Are you always this open?”

“No. Not at all.” Of course not. Rhetoric question — he knows this much. “But I like thinking out loud sometimes.”

“I’m glad to be a sounding board then.”

“Yeah. I was also thinking how I appreciate that I met you here.” Pause. Oh? What a surprise. Out of the blue, too. Strokes his ego, though. And then, unexpectedly again, “You wanna go to the museum restaurant?”

Jungkook has barely seen half of the exhibition yet. But just for today, he couldn’t care less.

Perhaps it’s enough for now, sitting in this overpriced restaurant, watching you from afar as you inspect your nails calmly. You’re not busy on your phone like the rest of the crowd — entertained by the same media that he’s part of.

Maybe he can be a bigger part of their lives one day — be the one flitting over their screens, the one they adore. The one they worship.

But you don’t seem to indulge in those mind-numbing devices for now. You might be an addition to his team, but privately, you float in your own world. Distracted by the thoughts you won’t disclose.

Your hands retreat, arms crossing on the table and lips curling into a smile once he strolls back to you. Satisfied, he informs you, “One cake with the coffee. As the lady suggested.”

“Oh,” you make, “don’t you want one?”

“I do.”

“So…” You stall, and he waits until it clicks, your head tilting in understanding. “Are we sharing?”

Jungkook lifts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder, back to the register, “Those chocolate cakes are sweet as heck. I’ve got a sweet tooth, but believe that it’ll be enough for the two of us.”

You laugh — a sweet, disarming chuckle before you breathe an, “Alright.”

Jungkook doesn’t know you well enough to feel any skip in his heart; yet, you stir something else in his mind. It’s always people like you who intrigue him the most — those who veil themselves in a coat of secrets.

He sighs.

“That was fast,” you note, eyes at a point behind him.

And he understands when the waitress arrives a couple moments later, two perfectly prepared lattes and a mouth-watering chocolate fudge slice. You thank her with a gentle smile, tuck a hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing the dangling earring.

And he watches.

Watches as you nod towards him, urging him, “Start then.”

Observes your smile as he signals you to start instead. And he gazes at you as your delicate digits reach for the fork, tearing off a piece, wrapping your lips around the utensil.

And then… God.

He feels his guts twist; hears all background noise fade; blood rushing away from his head, through his body as you slowly relish the sweetness and then drag your tongue over the fork. Licking away the leftover chocolate.

Jungkook swears it happens in slow motion. And witnessing your elegance at snail's pace… makes him sick.

When your eyelashes flutter, gape lifting to meet his, the sounds around him come alive again — as does he. He averts his stare from your mouth, covered in the same colour as the coffee, but you notice.

You see him looking. And it makes you… smile? Shit.

But you don’t boast your effect; only digress as you say, “Well… tastes as fancy as it looks. Try it.”

You’re as relaxed with him as you can be. But you always are; with everyone. He craves that bit that’s only reserved for him — then again, maybe he’s too zealous too fast. He hasn’t known you for long.

But making you smile must be an achievement. If only… you didn’t think of him like…

He nods, and then leans over the table ever-so-slightly. His knees brush against yours, a soft but deliberate move. He places an elbow on the table, grasping the fork, close to you. If he lifted his hand, he could touch your cheek.

He wishes he could.

His eyes meet yours through his bangs, the cake’s taste irrelevant to your presence. And when his ego doesn’t let him relax, he finally asks, almost as if insulted, “Do you actually perceive me as a fuckboy?”

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, furrowing your eyebrows, and then giggle before questioning back, “Jungkook… it’s bothering you this much? Mmmh. How would you like to be perceived?”

“Just. As a decent guy who wants to get to know you. And I know you know.” You blink, but he doesn’t buy it. So he elaborates, “I’ve been trying to make clear that I find you lovely. And somewhat attractive.”

People usually display a flicker of glimmer in their eyes upon hearing such praise. But you don’t quite budge; in fact, your eyes remain the same, if not a little darker. Why?

Yet, you cock an eyebrow, sporting a teasing, playful tone, “Somewhat, hm?”

He shakes his head, clicks his tongue. “You’re pretty and I think you know,” he blurts, “and I don’t want to screw up right away.”

Is it the habit of never failing? The urge to solve an enigma? The chance to dive into you until you’re bared to him? Why are you so interesting to him?

You’re just a person.

Maybe it’s just the unsettling need to discover what you’re hiding — it won’t let him rest in peace. There’s something about you that screams to him to unravel. Makes him want you more.

He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know if you’re even from the same world as him — even though you seem to have crossed his realm before. No matter what it is; Jungkook merely understands for now that he wants to take off your layers.

Wants to be the colour green for you. 

“Ah—” you voice.

“In fact, I’m not supposed to hang out here with you.”

“…How come?”

“I should be with Tae,” he admits. Maybe he’s revealing more to you than he should — maybe he should adjust to your level of secrecy and wait. But this is frustrating him. “He dragged me here, so I could get inspiration from all sides.”

You listen; perhaps not quite loving the idea of seeing him in such a way?

Fuck. Maybe it really was a mistake. No turning back now, though.

“He said artists find motivation in art, too, and I do like to paint, so…” He looks at his cup, still left to be tried from, and then stares up from the cream leaf that the barista formed in his coffee. “I didn’t wanna come here, though. I already have an idea of what I want to do.”

“And…” you start, still not addressing the issue on hand; choosing to talk about something else for now, “he doesn’t like what you’ve come up with?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t know about it yet.”

You take a sip of your coffee, softly smacking your lips once to relish the taste. You’re living proof that subtle gestures can make a mind race. Then you say, “Maybe you should introduce it to him then.”

“I will. Just… mmh, need a better grasp on it.” He throws a nod towards you. “I can’t wait to show you either.”

Another sip of the seething liquid.

If the gentle hint of him being bent on your presence flatters you anyhow — stirs anything in you at all — you don’t let it show. Are you, by chance, used to being swarmed from all sides?

Are his advances kindergarten to you?

You don’t budge as he waits for you to respond, setting the cup back on your saucer before you inquire, “Where is Taehyung, anyway then?”

“Uh, I’m sure he’s going around admiring the art?” Jungkook guesses, head reflexively moving to the side, as if his friend and co-worker could materialise out of thin air. “He enjoys it even more than I do.”

“And you separated from him because…”

Because Jungkook ascended a spiral staircase. Because he turned right and halted in front of the second instead of the first room. Because he recognised the familiar curves and edges, as intriguing as ever, from this far distance.

And told Taehyung to continue without him; that Jungkook was going to explore a different corner of the museum.

He tilts his head; his left eyebrow raises just a twitch, fingertips tapping the hot surface of the coffee cup. And then, charisma gathered in the middle of his pupils, he tells you—

“Because I found you.”

There it is.

The slightest of reactions.

Your eyes widen barely an inch, but he sees it. How your lips part a bit, even though you should’ve expected his answer after the conversations hitherto shared. Hm…

“So you did follow me,” you say.

He can’t say if you’re joking or not. But all of a sudden, he wonders if he’s creeped you out. He opted for flirting so clearly, but… maybe you interpreted it vastly differently.

But he keeps himself relaxed; not faltering now when you aren’t either. Answers, “If you want to call it that. I call it finding you and then sticking with you. You’re interesting, Miss Manager.”

You smile.

Genuinely, thoroughly, wholeheartedly.

The beam reveals more than any word could’ve today — that humanity slumbers somewhere in the crevices of your heart. Your eyes suggest it as much as your stance on art did.

Whatever might have scarred you in life, behind all that ache, you hide a delicate soul.

Green, green, green.

And your cryptic worry, uttered a moment later, doesn’t bring him down from his sense of victory. No. Not now.

“Yeah?” You cross your legs, letting out a breathy sigh. “Then I sincerely hope that doesn’t change.”

[6:43PM] Jeon Jungkook: i’ve been thinking about something. and of you

For a bedroom as sparsely decorated and light-coloured as Jungkook’s, he should be surrounded by a brilliant glow. And usually, he is.

The windows occupy half of the wall, the bedsheets a perfect white; had he texted you a couple hours prior, he would’ve found himself in the gleam of a pale blue late winter sky. But if he’d tapped your name on his device earlier, he would’ve indulged in a whole different mood, too.

Wouldn’t have given into fatigued, delirious fantasies. Daydreaming about the curves of your lips and about the single strands of hair kissing your cheeks. Or the way you love exposing your neck, as if to taunt him.

It’s right there, but you can’t touch it, Jeon.

And…

And the mounds of your chest, slivers of it visible whenever you put on those heaven sent dresses. Their cuts are almost as deep as the ones damaging Jungkook’s brain. And not much for the sake of his sanity, the thirst isn’t quenched just yet.

Crossed legs badly hidden under your see-through tights. The movement of your hips when you walk into his studio, placing yet another gruesome schedule onto his desk. Your scent when you lean into him, pointing to another meeting he barely recalls.

You… you…

If Jungkook hadn’t already cleaned up the sloppy mess previously covering his knuckles, trickling down his thighs, he’d possibly give into the urge to sneak his fingers back to where he craves them to linger.

No, you made that mess.

Of his sheets, of him. And you never needed to be here in the first place.

Jungkook is no fool — unlike many of his friends, he doesn’t deny the way his body winds. He knows what he wants; and right now, he hungers for you. Wants you to eliminate the drought on his tongue; wants you to replace it with some taste instead.

“Fuuuuck.”

The word drags into the emptiness of the room, filling the silence that someone else should be lifting. But you’re not here, and you’re not answering. Not yet, at least. Has it been seconds or minutes?

Too long, is all he knows.

His digits are cleaned thoroughly, but he can’t shake the persisting feeling of sheer, dirty lust as they reach his phone again. Lighting up the screen, then curling inwards in frustration.

He repeats the desperate attempt of manifestation a couple times until he throws the device aside, nearly missing the mid-air vibrations, indicating the long-awaited message. Jungkook’s heart falls out of his ribcage and squeezes his guts; your name elicits far more than it should.

And he feels just a little guilty.

Because he doesn’t deny himself any pleasure — so he knows this isn’t love. This isn’t starving for emotionality. Not for sentiments. What you pull out might be his ugliest, beastliest side; his mind is filled with images of you that he shouldn’t be having.

You’re so respected. So tender and kind. Intriguing, a riddle, but inhabiting secrets probably far darker than his thoughts. So he feels odd about the wanton desire; feels guilty.

But just for a bit. Just a little.

The message you sent back is too humble, too innocent. Sometimes he reckons you’re aware of your power, and sometimes he assumes you think of yourself as… ordinary.

But you’re not. And he wants to show you.

Just one touch, please.

“Fuck, shut up, you creep,” Jungkook whispers to himself, scolding his treacherous mind before he reads again.

[6:52PM] You: Oh? Why would you be thinking about me? Of all people?

Should he wait? You did, too.

Or should he make as crystal clear as he can muster that he’s been waiting for you?

Screw it.

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: what else should I be thinking of?

Your next response is immediate — you’re online. Waiting for him to answer.

Good.

[6:53PM] You: Your music?

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: my music doesn’t talk to me as much as you do these days

He smirks. Keeps the beam plastered to his face until the waiting becomes a little too long. Message on read, you leave the chat room empty of you and full of a nervy Jungkook. He opts out of it the same second, keen on patience before it fades again, bit by bit.

Because then, the thoughts flood in.

Are you rolling your eyes? Throwing the phone into a corner of your couch? Has he fucked up before anything could start?

But it’s been going so well. You talk to him every single day. Ever since the museum, the two of you have been orbiting each other; partly due to work, partly because he’s caught you smiling, too.

Your words are too sickeningly often accompanied by a soft touch of yours against his shoulders; against his arms. Sometimes, you brush his back, his eyes wide awake, the smile timid yet crushingly losing against your confident gaze.

All this must mean something.

“Nah. Fuck it,” he mutters again, sighing over his own constant use of curses. “Come back.”

[6:55PM] Jeon Jungkook: actually… I did come up with one tune. It’s just a skeleton of a song tbh, but I need a sounding board.

It takes another one minute for you to come back, and Jungkook angles his legs, relying on the movements of his body to ease the impatience. But then—

[6:56PM] You: Oh, and? [6:56PM] You: Sorry, I had to step away for a sec

Sigh of relief. Even though embarrassment annoyingly adds itself to the mix, an uninvited guest.

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: …do you wanna come to the studio?

[6:57PM] You: Right now? It’s like… [6:57PM] You: 7pm

Unconsciously, Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, unbothered to the bone, just craving, craving, craving…

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: a true artist never rests. [6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: and I’d rather die than stop hustling for my passion

As the next message appears at the bottom of the screen, Jungkook can’t help but bite into his lower lip with a certain pride. He nods as if he caught his prey, trapping it between his fangs.

[6:58PM] You: 😂LOL. now that, I admire, mister Jeon :) [6:58PM] You: I’ll finish my wine and be on my way

Oh.

Are you tipsy? Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but the emoji seems so unlike you; yet, you somehow manage to capture the core of what and who you are in the rest of the message. Six coherent words. That’s all it takes.

Goddamn.

You’re so thoroughly you.

[6:59PM] Jeon Jungkook: wait. really?

And that’s it. You disappear.

Perhaps you’re joking; perhaps you’re messing with him. The sun has already set; and he doesn’t think he’s ever stayed with you much longer than dusk before.

If he met you in the evening, or on other nights, would you make more sense than you usually do? Are you the type to unravel when the world quiets down? Or the one to blend with the darkness more, drawing back further?

If there’s pure truth in what you just said, devoid of all mockery you could revert to… he might find out. And it seems you’re in the right mood today, earnest with your intentions when he feels his phone vibrate against his thick thigh again, making him flinch.

[7:11PM] You: Yes? I’m already dressed. Get your ass up

Oh shit.

Despite your order, his limbs still shut down. His muscles and bones melt into the bed, a fleeting image of your sly smirk crossing his mind and an assured voice surrounding his eardrums.

And if he didn’t overthink each of your movements; didn’t fantasise about the possible rise and fall of your voice, he would’ve discarded his phone and gotten dressed a lot earlier.

How embarrassing.

The fact that his mind doesn’t want to categorise this as a crush, no matter how much he asks. That his body responds to you like that, superficial and intrigued.

Embarrassing. He should focus on more important things.

Yet, he can’t be bothered with the intruding sentiment, shame shoved aside and trampled under his feet as his car turns into a parking lot, perfectly in front of the building’s entrance. Your form is crystal clear in the dark; not even the shadows and lack of light can hide your silhouette.

The radar sensor beeps when he creeps too close to the hood of the car behind him, and he mumbles a curse, averting his eyes from your unmoving self to focus on proper parking. Letting the roaring engine die.

Your shoulders are slightly raised when he approaches you at the door. One hand is stuffed in the pocket of your thin, baby pink coat, the other curled into a fist, possibly resisting the urge to enter the building and combat the cold.

You could’ve waited inside, too. Unless…

Maybe you’re excited to see him, too.

You smile, lips reaching far up; he tries his hardest to believe he’s right. Takes the gesture as a good omen, and the hair pulled up in a loose bun as a sign of hurry. You look domestic, comfortable in your skin, no matter who’s around.

But somewhere between the comfort and the softness, there’s that everlingering intrigue, too. And… some timidness. Showing in the crossed legs his eyes drift over, up to the short skirt barely visible underneath the coat.

And your face… so natural. More than usual. Mascara only? He doesn’t know.

All he knows is that he needs to say something.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you throw back, tilting your head in tease, “where were you? Took you long enough to get here.”

He steps closer; fiddling with his jacket’s pocket, fishing for the keys. And his proximity changes something about you so subtly, a miniscule movement. Hand digging deeper into your coat.

You’re on guard for some reason. And he can’t help but admit he’s on guard with you, too, albeit in a less physical and more mental way. The unfathomable, dichotomous sensation of wanting you near, wanting you far is killing him.

What are you hiding?

If he could, he’d speak it out loud.

“I had to freshen up,” he finally responds, “I honestly didn’t expect you to say yes.”

Your body might be in protection mode, but your voice is as composed, even somewhat amused, as always, “Well.” You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t see why. But I’m here now, and honestly… a little cold?” Nodding towards the door, “Should we go inside?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He sniffles, fishing for the chip to unlock the door. For an ephemeral second right before walking inside, your breath lingers incredibly close to his own, grazing his lip ring. “Don’t forget to dress warm this season.”

Near enough for his fingers to succumb to the impulse and sidle to you, skimming your thigh so featherlightly. He thinks he hears the sharp inhale you suck in. His skin tickles, the shiver icy on his body. He watches you smirk, lowering your head; his fingertips insist on the vicinity just for the tiniest seconds before he says,

“Okay. Let's go inside before you catch a cold, silly.”

But the bitter frost permeates the hallways of the company in the same ruthless manner. Perhaps somebody’s still lingering around in the daunting dark. Revising steps in the mirrored practice rooms or hovering above lyrics and tunes, neck bent and back tired.

But the building isn’t heated; and it shows in your rather quick steps, an arm wrapped around your chest to rub the layers above your arm. The guarded demeanour doesn’t match your usual confidence; aside from the hollow hallways, it seems that you’re scared of more than just the cold.

He doesn’t point it out. And he doesn’t stare for too long.

If he did, you might realise.

Instead, he saunters to the elevator with you in tow, delighted about the light that never changes in the small rectangular space. You let your hand drop to your purse, lazily toying with its zip, and turn your head to observe the closing doors.

And Jungkook observes you. 

The glow of your cheeks in the bright beam, half of your face devoid of the hair tucked behind your ear. As you breathe in, your lips split a fraction, and their gentle, soft curves mesmerise him for a moment too long.

It’s difficult and cruel, being around you. Haunting, agonising, aggravating.

And when your eyes align with his again, sparkling a little in line with your tender smile, Jungkook realises that he’s been holding his breath. Because it escapes between the seam of his mouth in a sudden push, his knees nearly buckling.

He resists the urge to bite into his fist, instead disguising his thoughts when he covers his mouth, teeth digging into his plump, lower lips.

“So,” he quickly adds, leaving no space for you to question his eccentricity, but you initiate another convo in the same tiny second, “It’s…”

You pause, withholding your statement in order to listen to his. But he shakes his head, lifting a hand to sign for you to continue. So you say, “It’s a little scary here at night.”

Okay. Not that tough of a topic.

“Right?” he confirms. “I always imagine getting here and hearing a hum that’s not really there.”

“Uh…” You blink in disbelief, lifting your eyebrows, but when he shrugs your confusion away, your hesitation marker turns into a chuckle. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“It’s just something I imagine. It’s terrifying, but my mind goes places, and I never ask it to.”

“Well, it’s a mean thing of your mind to do.” The ding of the elevator distracts you, and when you step out, your thoughts remain at an afar spot. Kept inside your pretty little head until you whisper, “And? Have you ever heard it, then?”

“Hm? The hum?” You nod, and he suppresses the snicker your curious, cocked eyebrow nearly elicits. “No. Only myself. Humming helps me control my breathing, so I do it to practise.”

“Weird. It’s so different from how I’d imagine you.”

Huh. Seems he’s not the only one sketching your entire being to keep himself awake at night.

“How would you?” he asks.

“As a rockstar?”

“Oh?” That’s new. “As a future RnB slash pop sensation I find this officially peculiar. Why a rockstar?”

You cock an eyebrow; either digesting the confident prophecy or pondering his question. The crooked smile matches his own signature smirk a little, and you puff out a breath before your sombre yet sparkling eyes wander an inch further down, right to his mouth.

Your eyelashes are endless, on their way to brush those delicate apples of your cheeks — in reality, it’s an impossible fantasy written in novels and poems, but it’s exactly how it looks. Exactly how much your curious gaze drops.

Only, the tingling sensation in his chest soon subsides, freeing a path to the realisation that he’s yet again misunderstanding. Because you’re not drawn by his lips, but rather considering a response.

He sighs in subtle disappointment when you point to the shiny metal encircling his lower lip, telling him, “Gotta be the piercing.”

“Ah. Ahhh. Well. First off, this is a very stereotypical assumption.” You shrug your shoulders in amusement, watching him cram for his chip until he halts in front of his studio, keeping you in his vision. “And secondly.”

The lock of the door clicks as he swipes the chip across the reader, defined knuckles paling a bit when he pushes the handle down. He raises his chin by a fraction, pulling out the most-assured smile, and asks, “Do you like it?”

And you, composed as ever, respond, “It suits you. I always wonder how comfortable these are, though.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, like. Do they have a metal taste? Do you ever get hyper aware of them and then get annoyed and want them off? Are they… cold?”

He laughs. There’s something endearing about how your voice quietens further the more your curiosity grows. You’re not quite looking at him, pupils focused on a random spot, hands expressive as you vocalise your thoughts.

“Let’s see,” he mutters, jacket thrown over a chair, “sometimes and, again, sometimes. It feels a bit cold right now because it’s cold outside. I mean…”

He rubs the chill off his tattooed arm, fingers diving under the short sleeves of his white, oversized t-shirt. Attempts never faltering, he leans into you in intrigue, parting his lips before running his tongue over the jewellery.

“Do you just. Wanna touch it and find out for yourself?”

You blink, frozen in place.

The room isn’t too spacious; Jungkook will get his very own studio, name tag and all once he reaches a clear peak. For once, he’s glad about the crowded room, girded by a guitar on the wall, chairs standing side by side, a little couch leaning against the back of the wall.

As ever, he can’t decipher your mood; as ever, you’re still quick to answer, “I… no. It’s okay.”

Why don’t you want him?

Goddamn it.

“Okay,” he simply utters, shrugging his vexation away. “Let’s get started then.”

The excitement in his tone dips, seemingly aloof, but as he walks into the dark square of silence, reaching for the headphones he placed right here mere hours ago, wordless curses dangle off the tip of his tongue.

He makes sure you don’t see the clench of his jaw or the fast and steady fall of his ego, but you’re shoving back the chair and adjusting anyway. Crossing tight-clad legs as you place your coat on your lap, throwing your mane to one side to free that damned neck.

It must be on purpose.

He waits for you to settle, the headphones on the table in front of you enveloping your head. They look way too big on you, and Jungkook can’t decide whether to tut at his anguish or swoon at your stellar being.

Jungkook uses his headphones to communicate through the glass, raising a thumb to ask, “Ready?” You nod, matching his gestures with your own. “Be honest, how professional do I look?”

Carding the fine hair back, he pushes a hand into the pocket of his pants, taking a stand in front of the boom microphone. He mimes a typical grimace of an immersed artist, letting out an immediate, sweet chuckle that you chime in joyfully.

You lean in, long earrings brushing your jaw, pressing down the button for the talkback mic to assure through the intercom, “You look like a born star.”

He rolls his eyes, playfully clicking his tongue, “Ahhh, that’s a nice yet basic thing to say, but. I’ll take it.”

“Why did you go in there anyway? Weren’t you just going to show me a song?”

“Adlibs, baby. I’m still missing those.” He adjusts the headphones again, clearing his throat, almost in position. “But I didn’t warm up my voice, so I’ll need to re-record them anyway.”

“And still you’re straining your voice because…?”

“We’re here to impress you, so let me.”

Your finger lifts off the button, but the movement of your lips suggests to him undoubtedly what your teasing self might be mumbling.

Oh damn. Sorry then, boss.

You raise your hands in defeat until you detect his beguiled smile, raising your eyebrows in a clear question that he answers with two words; a simple title of a song, not as glorious as the tune itself but hopefully as memorable.

Eyes scurrying across the now opened laptop screen, you search for the instrumental until you stumble upon it. 3:54 minutes of what Jungkook prays to be blasted everywhere in a couple week’s time before the big concert, chiming in his ears.

The initial guitar riff drowns the room in a mixture of intriguing anticipation and uncurbed sentiments immediately. Jungkook’s eyes dart to your face, attempting to decode a reaction. And when you notice, hands on the headphones, you nod approvingly.

Most of his vocals are already recorded to perfection; a silky voice laments about a lost time with purity. Jungkook largely listens in, searching for wonky bits or moments to be re-tackled. Of course, he will need to discuss the details with Taehyung tomorrow, but whenever the passion burns the hottest, he can’t help but add an adlib here and there.

As he sings, his eyes reflexively close, and for a couple dozen seconds, the melodic current pulls him towards a bigger ocean; the sense of freedom and possibility is astonishing. There’s a certain ardour he feels towards music that nothing will ever be able to elicit.

Do you feel the same?

As somebody spending day in, day out surrounded by musicians, does that phenomenon make your heart surge, too?

Maybe.

When he looks at you again, it’s at least something fervent he detects in your gaze. A bit like the longing he feels. Intense fondness, or perhaps, even zoning out — until you’re barely blinking anymore.

Your features relax a little more as the song proceeds, bit by bit, the calmest when the ending notes arrive. Jungkook observes you; freezes at his spot. The change from the built-up chorus to the suddenly calm ending, instruments dying, are as forgotten as the last touches… because you, behind the glass, are much more interesting.

Just staring. Looking at the screen, its brightness reflecting in your pupils. When you blink again, most of the preceding smile is gone, something indecipherable in your eyes.

He doesn’t know whether you actually enjoyed the entire thing or became consumed by memories he doesn’t know of. Some the song might have drawn out but shouldn’t have. There’s… a past in your stare.

He knows because much like the vast existing humanity, he’s been tending to faraway memories for years, too.

And he wants to know about yours.

Gently, Jungkook grasps the headphones covering his ears, the mane victim to the impact before his fingers fix it again. He frees his eyes off his strands, never directing them away from you, and when he opens the door to the small room you drifted off in, you look up.

Your emerging smile is unsuspecting and polite as always, and you deliver a tilt of your head. Jungkook could sign the previous oddness off as just this, or a sinking into arts just as he does sometimes.

But what’s enough is enough; brushing questions off his mind has become tedious.

So he rolls back the second chair next to you to take a seat, placing his arm on the one of the furniture before folding his fingers; leaning in, asking, “You okay?”

You react with a soft nod, a tender hum, “Yeah! I was listening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“You zoned out.”

“Which is a good thing, I promise.”

Jungkook looks for a moment. Waits for you to break or admit that the truth you display might not be as pure as you think; waits for his instinct to wind up correct.

But when you do nothing of that sort, eyes a resolute and solid statement, he sighs. Tongues at the lip ring for a moment before he clears his throat and questions, “Good thing, yeah? What else do you think?”

“It… goes deep,” you confess, an impressed declaration in your expressions, “what are you talking about in that one? I mean, I know, but… it sounds so personal.”

“More or less? I’ve spent most of the last few years dedicating myself to this job. The training, the late night sessions, the failure and lost time. I wanted to depict those hardships.” He nods, emphasising his points. “I want this song to help me look back one day…”

He shrugs his shoulders, thumbs slowly circling around each other, “And comfort my older self that despite the hectic life, things are okay.”

“I see.”

Your tone is neutral, but your chest rises and falls a little too slowly. Your sorrow is quiet. He closes the distance further, nudging your arm, “Hey. Did you not like it?”

“I did,” you defend, honesty and reassurance in your voice, “I do. You have an amazing voice, come on, what’s not to like. And the sound is incredible. Should you manage to release it, it will be celebrated a lot.”

“I will manage to release it,” he says with furrowed eyebrows, resisting the urge to touch your elbow again, but settling on simply calling your name instead, “you’re part of my team. Let’s be optimistic.”

“I am. Teamwork makes the dream work. Etcetera.”

“Right,” Jungkook breathes, word close to a yawn. He throws his body back in the cushioned chair, manspreading as much as the space allows; stretches his arms until his muscles crack. “Ahhh… I really want this to be good.”

His gaze falls to the darkening laptop, soon giving way to pitch darkness, potentially to some screensaver. The title of the song remains still in the opened audio file, and he smacks his lips, blinking only when you voice an approving, “Mhmmm.”

His head darts to you the moment you deliver a subtle nod towards the computer, deducting, “You really strive to be big.”

Well, yeah. That’s been the plan. Always, always.

“Shouldn’t I?” he argues. “It’s a dream.”

“It’s good to have dreams.”

“That’s right. Mine is to… Stand on a bigger stage. I think I’ve reached a solid group, but I think if I keep working hard and with the right team, I can make it?”

“This determined, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he responds with a hint of obvious self-evidence, slight confusion shadowing his mind — have you never wanted something so badly? “The audience’s eyes glued to me. Don’t you have a dream?”

Another deep inhale of air, chest working hard, as if you’re breathing out fatigue. He prepares for another vague answer that might leave him guessing; and albeit clearly seeing the usual curtain veiling your true thoughts, what you say next makes his ears perk up.

“Honestly. I’ll allow dreams again once I’ve moved on. That’s all I want.”

What?

Did you actually want to say that? Was it on purpose? A slip of the tongue?

Because it seems so unlike you. Reveals too much. He doesn’t think you’ve exposed your innermost thoughts like this before, even if still not quite transparent.

“…From what?” The previously relinquished distance dies when he inches closer again, digits sneaking close to your knee. A fingertip floats over your tights. “Hey. Is something bothering you?”

“Ugh,” you say; the sliver of sadness seamlessly transitions into an expression of nonchalance when you wave your concerns off so quickly. “Young adult stuff.”

Nevertheless, you speak on. The biggest development in this friendship between the two of you yet. “I once had a friend that moved away. We were pretty close, and now she’s far away. Which sucks.”

“I’m sorry.”

That’s it.

Jungkook offers to listen, but he doesn’t necessarily deem himself the most expressive guy when it comes to emotions like these; even if he so deeply wishes to read your thoughts. Music is different; speaking to an audience is, too. Articulating gratitude isn’t as difficult as extinguishing someone else’s grief.

And while not quite confronted with anguish, he houses demons that still haunt his nights; he can barely obliterate them.

Maybe he doesn’t need to.

Maybe he can comfort you in the only way he’s ever known. The stupid, selfish way; offering relief and distraction in the most sinful manner.

“Listen…” Jungkook starts, but in all honesty — there isn’t much to say.

Only to crave. To look.

At the curve of your lips. The distance between them. The bare wrist needing to be held, tired eyes wanting to replace the sorrow with something else.

Is he an asshole for wanting to annihilate your heavy breaths of dejection and replace them with sighs of his name instead?

He doesn’t know. He barely hears his thoughts. Only the blood rushing to his ears, and then away from his head, down his body.

Fuck.

The levitating finger drops an inch; you gasp almost inaudibly when the tip touches your knee, skin separated by the tights only. Jungkook loves fashion choices like these, but hates the hurdle right now.

His warm palm opens, placing right above your knee, approaching the meat of your thigh. He knows you’re not breathing because he can’t hear the exhales; and when his eyes, hooded and possibly insane, flit up to you, he recognises the change in your pupils.

You gulp; and then finally push out some air again. Your hand moves to his inked wrist, touching lightly, unsure what to do. But when you don’t resist, his other arm lifts, touch moving to your face, holding it.

The world spins, moving like an earthquake as his mouth draws nearer. You let out a miniscule sound that punches him in the guts; sweet and pure.

He wants to shatter and wreck you so bad; wants you to feel the same poison you’ve fed him. Irresistible, deadly.

But just as the metal of his jewellery grazes your lips, the softness and warmth radiating towards him, your breath shakes. Your face budges enough for his upper lip to feel a brush against yours, but that’s all he gets.

Because you retreat without giving in. And he doesn’t know why.

He clenches his jaw. God fucking hell. What’s your problem?

The sense of failure overwhelms him. Failure. Failure.

That’s not the term his mind should conjure. He knows the moral compass hides somewhere in his dark heart; he knows. Yet, he can never give into it. Is he a bad person? He doesn’t know.

Control was never his domain, after all.

But he keeps those intrusive thoughts inside, intending to not scare you off more than he already might have. So he accepts the dodging of the kiss, moving back, immediately leaving you safe from his touch.

And then, he says, “Uhm— I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer, still catching your breath, back to the heavy sighs that he was going to help shove back. Once again, he tries, “Honestly, I apologise, I just…”

“No, no. Please, don’t be sorry,” you reassure, slightly touching his shoulder. A wave of relief washes over him. “I’m just. Not in the right mindset for it yet. But I’m flattered, really.”

“Okay.” He nods. His eyes drop to his fingers; he still feels your heat on his skin, basks in it for a moment. But when the awkward silence lingers, he suggests, “Then. Let’s call it a night and I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. I’m definitely getting tired.”

“Me too.”

Jungkook rises from his seat, still unable to wrap his head around what happens — or almost happened. Maybe another time. Grabbing your coat from behind you, he helps you into it, avoiding your eyes, trying not to showcase his frustration.

Uncertain what to say, he reverts back to small talk, stating, “Thanks for still coming so late. You really do like the song, yeah?”

“Jungkook… it’s honestly very good.”

You smile; there’s something about your honesty. About the way you say his name. And how hopeful you truly seem for him. How much you seem to mean it when you say—

“If there’s anyone who can manage to wrap the world around their finger, it’ll be you, Jungkook.”

“Alright. I think I have an answer to your question now.”

You down the sip of red wine with a delicate smack of your lips, blinking at the change in topic. The evening has followed a pleasant pace so far, conversations well balanced; even though you still carry a sense of caution that Jungkook sees no reason behind.

Perhaps it’s the fact that after weeks of subtle, flirty undertones and advancing attempts you’ve taken the seat on his couch as he’s imagined for so long now. Maybe he still exudes something that screams for caution; maybe that’s just who you are.

Jungkook, for one, is just glad to receive any kind of recognition from you. But he’d be a fool to not insert all his effort into tonight, from the food to the type of drinks and conversations. He knows where he needs to be and he wants you to want it, too.

“What question?” you ask.

It’s just.

Despite the lightness with which you carry your talks, some of your movements feel off, detached from your body. Not quite matching the grace your face portrays; just that one hint. The one hiding in your fingers, tapping the dark screen of the phone resting on your thigh.

As if you’re waiting for a call or something to happen that Jungkook isn’t aware of. Who knows. Nothing has happened in the last hour, so this might be an unconscious gesture reasoned in nothing but an absent or distracted mind.

Yeah.

You’re probably not even aware of it and he’s just overthinking it.

He takes a breath, inhaling the aroma of the almost finished wine, “What I’d do if I could spend a day in a virtual reality.”

“Wait, does the Wembley Stadium doesn’t count anymore?”

Jungkook smirks, dismissing his own prior answer with a click of his tongue. “C’mon. Does it really? You can ask literally any artist ever and that’s what they’ll say.”

You ponder his response, pursing your lips in thought, and then shrug one shoulder. Nodding along, you acknowledge, “Right. So what is it then?”

“I’d just.” He sucks air through his teeth sharply, leaning back with a signature smack of his lips. “Get into a reality in which this damn song is already finished and mixed and ready to be released.”

This song referring to the concoction of sounds he showed you earlier, yet to be concretised and burnished to what he truly envisions. It’s the only song left that shackles him to the studio; at the upcoming concert, he’ll just sing the demo version as a sneak peak if needed. What a source of stress.

But you don’t see it as much of a struggle; you’ve told him a dozen times that hard work justifies a slip-up. That the progress on his album balances out the artist’s block.

Possibly why you laugh his worry off without mocking it, merely throwing back, “I’m disappointed.”

Oh?

“Why?”

“Just because — the Wembley answer was better.”

Unexpected and sudden — much like the snicker you elicit, throwing his head back just a little. Concurring, he sighs, “Okay, okay. What about you then?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me what you’d do.”

“You didn’t ask,” you remind him, already slurring your speech a bit, though still remaining a stable and solid stance, “dunno. You want the sappy or the basic answer?”

“Is the sappy one a tear-jerker? Sounds like it.”

“For sure.”

“Then the basic one. Don’t dig being sad.”

“Thought so,” you answer, and Jungkook holds back from prodding again this time, despite wondering what image he gets across, “alright. I’d do things I’m unsure of in real life. Like bungee jumping.”

“Oh? Kinda did not expect this.”

“No?”

“Just having a hard time imagining somebody as calm as you jumping off a building. Or yelling.”

You roll your eyes. “Anyway. I’d love to go, but I’m too scared of the risks. Like, rope stuff. Don’t want to be jumping for the last time.”

“Okay, yeah, but,” Jungkook starts, hesitating, “I mean, you could say that about anything. You leave your apartment and get hit by a car and then you’d be going out for the last time.”

You begin shaking your head mid-sentence, already drawing a breath, ready to disagree. Then, “That’s a bad comparison. These things are a once in a lifetime experience.”

“I’m just saying! Why hold back from things that excite you.”

“…Maybe you’re right.”

Jungkook’s proud nod and hum are reciprocated with a soft smile, fleeting when you roll your eyes back to your phone briefly. Absent-mindedly, you drag a fingertip across the device’s side as Jungkook follows your movements.

Yet, unsure what you might be harbouring in this pretty head of yours, he doesn’t ponder but asks, “What was the sappy thing?”

It’s as if you live multiple lives, hiding them in your innermost parts; because once he finishes his question, your sparkle returns, and you smirk a little, suddenly leaning forward.

Wordlessly, you fish a tissue out of the square, wooden box, puzzling him for a second until he understands right before you clarify, “For the upcoming tears.”

His titter is immediate, a reflex. You might be relaxed as a calm river, but your humour does shine through among your other million traits. He shakes his head in rejection, smile still plastered to his lips, and watches you lean back again, clearing your throat.

“Mhh, I’d say,” you muse, “I’d try to get into a simulation of Heaven. Try to meet those I miss.”

“Oh… damn.”

“Yeah.”

“…I don’t know what to say.”

But despite the dumbstruck silence, his mind does conjure prompt associations. Like when the two of you sat in his studio just two weeks ago, you engrossed in his music yet somehow dissociated from reality.

You spoke about lost and faraway people back then, too. And he didn’t ask then, either.

In the depths of his mind, he wants to believe that you’re trying to lead him somewhere, fishing for his hand but never quite reaching it. Drawing back right before pleading for help; or perhaps wanting to make him understand a thought he can’t fathom in the way you form it.

The pattern is repetitive, loud — but he knows you’ll retract the moment he does lean into you, offering his ear to your worries and thoughts.

He can’t win.

“That’s okay,” you say, making up for his lack of proper empathy, and that’s where you leave it. Not hesitating, not indicating another hint to lead to your mind.

Yet, he clears his throat quietly, licking drying lips, and asks in attempt to grip the truth, your whatever-truth, “And, who’d be there? Do you want to talk about that?”

“Mmmmh,” you hum, pondering, before you treat him with the same disappointment he’s suffered throughout the last weeks, “no. I think I’m good.”

Unbelievable, and truthfully, frustrating.

Are you playing this side of yours? Is it an act? Are two sides of you fighting within you?

“Okay,” he simply responds, clearly agitated but unsure whether you notice. You’re looking at your phone again. He sighs. “And… Do you believe in that stuff? Heaven, Hell, stuff like that.”

You shrug a bare shoulder. “Dunno. I like to think there’s something, but then again I don’t.”

“How so?”

“The way I see it, it’s kinda simple,” you explain matter-of-factly, “some people are good enough to deserve a place in Heaven once they’re gone. And some people are terrible enough to burn for eternity.”

Coming from your sweet mouth, uttered in an equally soft tone, the sentence feels jarring. Jungkook has had these thoughts before; he’d be a hypocrite to judge you for yours, recalling moments when he wondered where he’s destined to land once he’s left this realm.

And somehow, it was never the prettier option.

Still, he utters, disguising his own past pondering, “Wow. That’s dark.”

“It’s true. There’s some serious crime in the world.”

Agreed. Perhaps, compared to the extreme sins, he can be forgiven. Right? Maybe…

“Yeah,” Jungkook accords, “then, why did you say that sometimes you don’t like believing in it?”

“I mean, if there’s actually something like Hell, and I happen to fuck up throughout life… I don’t wanna end up there.”

It’s like you’re mirroring his thoughts.

Even if he never quite thought about it to such an extent. Even though his idea of the afterlife built on what he’s already done, and not what he’s still going to do.

But your words give a subtle hope that redemption is possible. Who knows. Who really knows.

Perhaps it’s easiest to stray away from these thoughts and focus on you at this very moment. Even if it’s you triggering innermost fears; he doesn’t quite have a clue how you do it.

No matter. He’ll focus on you. Altruism might be the first step to vindication. Karma points. Karma points.

“Valid,” he says kindly, “can’t imagine you fucking up, though.”

“How would you know?”

“The company grapevine whispered a lil something about you.”

“Ahhh—”

“Good things! Other than that, I just think. Don’t know.” A small gap, well-hidden so far, grows in the back of his mind, tiptoeing to the very front of his mind. Before he’s thought it through, he blurts, “I’ll be honest with you.”

Your ears perk up, eyes suddenly wide.

What was that?

Okay. Whatever. Can’t stop his speech now, “Uhm, I’ll be honest and say that I’m not the best person I know. Like, I’m aware of that. It’s why sometimes, I don’t really understand how people can be as genuine as you.”

…Has he said too much? Or not enough? Because he could swear your face deflates, expression dimming, as if you expected something else.

And all you say is, “I understand.”

A flicker of slight panic creeps into his overthinking head, not usually a trademark of his personality. But you look dispirited, even if just for a second. He tries further.

“And from what I’ve seen, you go through life gently. The way you do anything is how you do everything, right?”

“Hmmm,” you voice again, pupils hidden until you look up. And when you do, he breathes a sigh of relief; deep and obvious, and he doesn’t care if you notice. Smiling sweetly, you tell him, “You said that really well.”

The way you say it is riddled with woe, but within a second, your eyebrows relax, mouth forming an authentic grin. Displaying real emotions suits you better than the mask of the frigid ice queen you keep plastered to your face; you look different right now.

Vulnerable.

And it makes him want you more.

Does it have something to do with the warm light he chose for this room? No. It doesn’t shine brightly enough to really illuminate your face that much. With the intensity lowered beforehand, some of your features hide in the dark when you lower your head a little.

And it’s not the decent amount of alcohol the two of you slurped.

It’s the usual, mysterious shimmer in your eyes, begging to take off more of your mental layers. The fragility behind the pretence of invincible strength. No doubt, you’re still a textbook definition of a femme fatale.

Still, there’s some sweet urge to surrender, visible in your stance. A fragrance luring him in. Warm skin close to his; calling for his fingers.

And he’s at your beck and call, ready and motivated; giving into your wanting eyes — or is that his own desire he’s confusing? — and leaning in. A little more with each tiny moment, advancing until the tips of your noses meet.

Your warmth consumes him; your breathing quickens, resulting in fitful exhales that he takes in with vigour, much drowning in his own head until you gasp and he realises—

“Sorry,” he mumbles, not yet retracting. His hand touches your knee, carefully but with intention. Waiting, he asks, “Is that okay for you?”

“…I’m not sure.”

Your answer takes a seat on his ego and weighs it down. Harsh, sudden, perhaps not unexpected but definitely breaking a string of patience within him. But consent is consent; he understands. He’s grown now.

Yet…

“Fuck,” he whispers under a faint sigh, dejected and confused.

And you hear it. Bambi-eyed, you ask, “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He’d lie if he suppressed the disappointment. Working towards you for weeks was supposed to end in realising his fantasies into a palpable, actual feeling, with a side achievement of a deeper connection.

You don’t seem to want to provide it; he understands, but the agitation courses through him like a fire burning up a forest. The trees are his nerves; alight with different emotions. You’re fumbling with the soft cotton of your winter dress, and he averts his eyes.

Shutting them for a moment, he ponders his options; does he continue the awkward conversation? Or perhaps, ask you for your opinion straightforwardly? Maybe, after all this while, it wouldn’t be so stupid to swap a penny for your thoughts.

And his mouth opens, but it seems you’re faster. Crushing his questions and uncertainties when he hears you gulp, witness to another change of mind as your knee shifts forward. His eyes open rapidly, and when he looks at you again, you’ve moved closer.

Your leg touches his thigh; your eyelids half fallen, lips an inch apart and fingers hesitating, yet advancing towards him. Hope sparks and sparkles in him anew, and he suppresses the cheeky, triumphant smile.

He feels like an asshole. Oh, he feels so selfish — but he can’t be the only one. He cannot possibly be the first or last to give into deepest desires out of self-interest.

Carefully, he matches your pace, moving into your direction much like you are drawing into his. His hand lifts to your arm, and you suck in a breath as he touches your skin, your chest rising and falling deeply.

And his eyes observe. The motion drives him crazy. He wants to pilot his touch to this spot, wrap his palm around your mounds, desperate to feel your nipples perk up under his skin, your mouth fall wider.

Should he? Maybe, maybe—

Not yet.

Instead, he draws an invisible line with his fingertips, up your arm and to your shoulders until he reaches your neck. The sound you let out is so tiny he barely hears it, and you tilt your head to the other side, giving him free reign over your skin.

A spark lights up under his finger, as if he’s touched a defective bulb. He wonders if you feel the same flame when he charges for your jawline, tracing it for a moment before he moves to your seething hot cheek.

You’re burning up.

So he asks in a quiet, gravelly voice, somehow much lower than usual, “Are you okay?”

Your eyebrows are furrowed, and he starts to worry again; but maybe that’s just the same tension unleashing that he’s felt, too. The temptation runs deep; he could scream it out of his lungs and it wouldn’t be enough.

Relieved as you nod, he mimics the movement, whispering an, “Okay,” before he then dips forward, exhaling close to your neck hotly and… leaves a small kiss right there. He doesn’t know about you, but if you did that to him, he’d possibly faint.

One more kiss, and suddenly, your hand is on his knee. His head spins. Must be the alcohol. Must be you.

And you’re probably in no better state, judging the hot cheeks and the slight sway of your body. Must be the wine. Must be him.

And when his lips graze your jaw, your fingers curl in, clawing onto his knee, and his inner voice celebrates, “Jackpot.”

But not really. He’s going with the flow, exploring your preferences, but this needs to be the night of your life. His mind and ego want you to perceive it that way. So what should he do? What do you like?

Are you one to push him into the bed, holding his shoulders down? Straddling him keenly, pouncing on him, eyes rolled back?

Or do you give away all the power you usually emanate; hands bound with a tie, legs struggling between a rope, screams muffled under a gag? Do you wind and go crazy when somebody has their way with you, edging and then overstimulating, refusing a touch and then slapping your ass wound…

Should he let your siren eyes tempt him into submission or will you be the one drilled into his mattress with a hand around your neck and a trail of black mixed with tears under your eyes?

He doesn’t know. Because you’ve disguised all of you; hidden your mind behind a mask of absolute neutrality, hard to decipher. He can usually read women so easily. They lick their lower lips when they want him under them, and quiver when vice versa.

He’d oblige to either for you. So what does it matter in the end, anyway?

No, it doesn’t.

His tongue that lashes out, however, does matter. Tasting your skin as it drags over your chin and then to your mouth. Insane when he reaches your lower lip and you sigh, then back to your neck, blowing, teasing, still not kissing you… touching your thigh, moving inwards…

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

And this time, while still a little quiet, you finally say, “More. You can do more.”

“Yeah?”

You nod as if starved, relieved when his hands leave your leg and venture further in. It’s hidden under your dress, but somehow, not seeing your full glory just yet, but observing your reactions to his movements, stirs his thoughts. If any were left, that is.

The touch to your panties is light, tender as he reaches the hem, driving a finger underneath it in exploration. You don’t say much, but he sees the zeal in your eyes, murmuring a little, “Mhm…”

And when he finally presses against the fabric slowly dampening, lightly as he rolls his digits right where your skin so incredibly softens… you moan. You moan.

It doesn’t sound the way he imagined. But it kind of does. He doesn’t remember what he imagined — doesn’t know much at all. Just that he wanted this sound to echo within his walls. For him to be the one to drag it out. Not for anybody else, but him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Okay. What if he does… this…

Thought so.

Sometimes, human beings have a fantasy unmatched, don’t they? Able to form and reform expressions on people they know that they have never seen. For example, he can imagine what you look like when you cry. Or when you’re mad. Or…

He knew you’d press your lips together, along with your eyebrows, muffling your sound once he sought out your clit and pressed against it. And not because he’s seen other women contort their faces like this; no… it’s an entirely new sensation with you.

You don’t compare to anyone. Nobody compares to you. Nobody, ever.

Sick of watching the invisible movement under your dress, he lets his eyes wander to yours, and you notice, do as he does. Eyes hooded, staring at him as if drunk — possibly, probably drunk.

Just once, he gapes down again, trying to adjust without crushing your knees with his. Comes closer. Then looks back at you. Absolutely astonished by the coloured lips drying up. Seeing your tongue peak behind your upper teeth, pushing against them.

Then you’re blinking, several times, not rapidly, but enough to indicate that you’re losing yourself, too. And then there’s some melancholy behind your gaze; he can’t say where it derives from… you seem to be coming out of a room that you kept dark for long enough.

He can’t say whether he’s further dimming the light in that room or lightening it up — and as he advances, gauging your reactions, he inwardly hopes it’s the latter.

So inwardly. So desperately.

Patience only persists for a moment; Jungkook barely believes in it. People always break. And he does when you lean forward as he drags his finger between your pussy lips, still over the clothing. You balance your weight with your arms, holding yourself up.

And then…

You so tantalisingly, softly, quietly, whisper his name.

Okay.

The snap was expected. The sigh he lets out was expected. And the way his lips finally crash against yours, making you almost fall back onto the sofa was expected, too.

But your taste… Why did he know you’d be as sweet as a cliché, like a perfume made edible? Matches your mystery and your elegance.

And the mellow, yet wanting sounds fit every move he makes. Like the moan-sigh combination when his bold hand wraps around the bun you’ve arranged your hair into. How you breathe into the kiss when he tilts your head a little, and then proceeds to loosen up said bun.

Releases it. Lets your hair fall. Pulls you in, pausing the make-out in the process, and then diving back in with a greed he’s never been met with before.

And as he kisses you, his index finger still dips into the uncharted territory below, ruining your panties some more as he soaks them; fucking loving how you whimper as a result.

No… this is ruining him just as much.

So he draws back from your body, attempting and probably failing not to look at you like an animal glaring down at his prey, ready to devour. He’s never seen this expression himself, but one or two girls have uttered quiet, “Oh-oh,” in such moments before — do you see the danger, too?

Or is he being cocky? But it’s not his fault. You make him cocky because he can never fucking say what you think! Of course he’d need the mental praise to himself — your opinion on him is too difficult to decipher.

He’ll keep the energy up. Make you shrink in his hold.

Hands under your ass, he lifts your lower body a little, amused by your wide eyes and how you wonder, “What are you d—”

Silencing the moment he uses his palms’ position to grab the hem of your panties and pull them down your legs. Over them and then on the other side of the table. The two of you won’t need those tonight.

“What does it look like that I’m doing?” he teases, smirk effective and permanent.

He likes that about himself. Maybe you’ll do, too. If not, then you at least do like how his fingers, impatient, find their way back home again, not before lifting your dress to your hips until you’re bared to him the way he’s craved.

And he pauses.

Oh, this treasure…

“You…” he starts, moving two ring-clad fingers between your folds. Testing the waters. “I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight. You’re staying right here…” He leans forwards, body on body, whispering against your lips. “Trapped under me.”

You want to answer, he thinks. Your eyebrows relax for a second, an inebriated smile playing around your mouth. If he knows you well enough, he’d guess you’re urging to dive back into your witty remarks.

But none of it is possible just yet. Because when he caresses your pussy again, increasing the pace without being too unreasonably fast, you bite your lip. He urges you to release it with his tongue. And when you do, his finger plunges in; as deeply as it can. So easily, too.

He kisses your clavicles the moment your nails get ahold of his arms, wiggling underneath him, but still caged in. And he sees the built-up frustration; how you kept yourself at bay, but can barely do it now. How you yearn for just one or two more right touches here and there before…

But before he can, he stops. Immediately, unexpectedly for you. Once again, mean, but…

“You’ll thank me later,” he utters — and with those four measly words, something awakens in you that was hidden for just the last ten minutes.

“Oh? You… you’re confident like this.”

“Of course I am.”

“Jungkook…” you say in such frustration that he thinks you’ll beg some more. But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head and say. “Men rarely manage to…”

“This isn’t rare. I’m not giving you rare, ‘kay?”

“I…”

“How…” he readjusts your body, pulling you down the couch, shifting until his knee keeps your legs apart. “How fucking insulting.”

Do you hear any of this anymore? Because your eyes are closed again. Hands still holding on; and… and body winding in order for your cunt to shift closer to him, suddenly rubbing against his knee.

It’s all you can get at the moment since his hands are so far out of reach. And the satisfaction of knowing that you’ll strive for anything at all is cosmic.

“You’re ruining my jeans,” he mocks, clicking his tongue as if to reprimand.

“Then…” You hook a finger into one of his jeans’ loops, pulling and then releasing again. “Take them off, coward.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. They say that if you have waited for so long, what’s ten more minutes? But no more. Not another second.

So he obliges immediately as he mutters, “‘Kay,” offering a helping hand when you work on his shirt. Off and to the ground. Pants off and to the back of the couch. He already knows he’ll be finding them all scattered the next morning.

But that’s the problem of just that next-morning-self.

Boxers still on, he returns to give you another initial taste of what’s to explode. The dress moves up from your hip as he slides it over your skin, stopping right under the mounds he’s still so curious about.

He needs to keep this balanced. Rush as much as might be appropriate, but not too much to make things embarrassing. This… the way he leans down again, opening your legs, erection grinding against your pussy and offering the bare minimum… this is good enough for now…

Or maybe not. Because merely a couple seconds later, you halt mid-moan, letting out breathy words that he struggles to understand until you repeat, “Is that… all you’ll be doing tonight?”

“Hmmm, you want more?”

“I— I don’t know.” Pause, a gulp when he presses his clothed length between your cunt. “Are you going to tell me your secrets if I say yes?”

His secrets?

You must be kidding. He has been an open book to you, chasing you around; if anything, he needs to unravel your mind.

But for that, he needs to play along. So he feigns the same mystery you emanate, teasing, “What do you wanna know?”

And you don’t hesitate. “Everything.”

…Hmm…

You’ve never seemed as interested as you are now. Never dove into his thoughts and the dim heart like now. If he agreed now, would you blurt out something specific? Questions that you formed when he wasn’t paying attention?

No idea. Maybe that’s something to worry about later. Pillowtalk. The morning after talk. Just anything… just not now.

He removes the obstacles currently standing between the two of you. The cushion standing against the back of the couch, constantly falling into your face. He throws it on the ground, so you don’t have to keep swatting it away.

Then, the dress covering your body. He gives a sign of wanting to proceed, and you play along, lifting yourself, chasing his lips as your outfit follows the cushion. And then, the phone right underneath the small of your back, having snuck there, undetected until you yelp, “Oh!”

“What?”

“Cold. Don’t know how it got there.”

He fishes out the device, watching it light up, a notification at the top that he can’t decode and that he doesn’t pay any mind to. Puts it on the coffee table. Then… last but not least… the uncertain atmosphere.

He says, “You want to know everything? Then make a list. I’ll tell you if I feel like it… deal?”

“You’re so…”

“You gotta make me. No other way out, baby.”

An answer lies on your tongue, ready to disrupt the moment. He knows because you look distracted all of a sudden, possibly still thinking about the same thing you did before, dissociating as he sat next to you, wine in hand.

It’s probably about work. Or about Taehyung — God, nobody at work but Jungkook would know, but you mention that guy all the time.

But tonight is not the night to think of others. So he shakes your upcoming inquiries away, giving you no time to think about it further as he, thirsty and impatient, picks you up and off the couch.

Right into his lap. Right onto his cock.

Still a layer between the two of you, watching you grind immediately. For a moment, you put him under your spell, urging him to stay right there and not move away until he’s shot buckets of cum into his boxers.

But…

But he’d rather do it in you, with you, because of truly you.

So he wastes no second as he executes his former plan, large hands sprawling over your ass before he stands with willpower and strength. He throws you a couple inches into the air, making you adjust, and then moves.

Away from the couch, stepping onto the clothes on the floor, careful not to stumble and hurt the two of you. The way to the bedroom seems endless, and you so naked… so… so his for the night. Like what, he still needs to wait those couple square metres?

Fuck, how…

No. It must be a primal instinct that hankers him to give up already, having made it halfway through the room and almost to his bedroom when he suddenly stops. Pinning you against a random free spot at the wall, right under a silent clock.

“What are you…?”

Your voice is trembling, for some reason so incredibly small. For the first time since you lay beneath him on the couch, he sees your eyes properly, and they flit back to the couch as if you’re looking where you just departed from — and then back to him.

“What are you looking for?” he whispers. Tantalisingly, he brings his fingers to your chin, pinching it lightly as he raises your head. “Hm? I’m here. Do you want to go back? Missing the couch? Wall might not be as comfortable, huh…”

“No… that’s not a problem. I’m just… surprised by the change.”

You do look surprised. A little cheekier again as your tone rises, your head falling to the side, lips smiling as if to distract him from something bigger. As if there’s anything bigger in existence right now than you.

“It was just sudden,” you conclude.

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all. I’m just curious.”

He doesn’t need to ask what about. He sees it in this expecting gaze of yours that you want to read and decrypt his next steps. And you can have them.

Because he lets you go, making you fall silently on your feet, kissing you once before he falls to his knees. You groan when he grabs your leg, placing it on his shoulder, restless when his lips charge for your open folds.

He offers you, “Curious, huh? No need,” before kissing your clit, adding another, “Just indulge in it… no need to use your pretty brain today,” and then attaching his mouth and tongue to your dripping pussy.

Digging his large nose into you, tickling your nub, he swirls his tongue around, slurping you up like his favourite drink. Holy fuck, you taste good. He could eat you up, down you in one like a shot. Stay right here all night.

You get ahold of a patch of his hair, but don’t pull — somehow, he wishes you would. Instead, you seem to focus on your body, trying not to fall, keeping it upright. You’re winding, your leg moving, and he soon wraps an arm around your thigh to keep you from stirring too much.

And with the other, he targets your cunt, mouth moving up to make space for the digits to easily, effortlessly slide into you. You gasp, just a bit louder when the metal touches your hot sex, calling his name — and for possibly the first time, he hears you curse, “Fuck. Fuck, I’m— I’m going to pass out.”

Oh my God.

If he could lick you to unconsciousness, he’d feel shocked and proud at once. He wants to see you become weightless, wants to catch you in his arms, and then bring you to his bedroom, still delirious, and fuck your brain out of you.

He wants you so bad. He wants to fuck you so fucking badly. His cock aches, godfuckingdamn.

As he rolls his tongue, lips kissing yours, moving his head left and right as he makes out with your pussy, he almost pulls all the way through. Nearly gives into your body language, nose moving over your clit, fingers pumping in and out, breathing into your pussy hotly.

But he has other plans. He wants to see your damn tears; wants you to unleash all your desperation. So, just when your sounds change, less pauses between them, high-pitched, heavy breathing, he stops.

Draws back, watching you press your ass into the wall, head suddenly hanging low. You whisper, “No…” as he looks up in satisfaction, waiting for you to say more.

You’re out of breath, exhaling through half gritted teeth, a palm on his chest as he rises again. You declare, “I’m going to blueball you, too.”

But the adrenaline has poured buckets of confidence over Jungkook already, and he’s drenched in it as much as in your scent, cocking an eyebrow as he challenges, “You can try.”

“I’m gonna suck your dick so fucking slow.”

“Do it,” he keeps the mask up, wondering how much of the effect you saw upon gracing him with such a provocative image, “let’s see if you make it this far. Might just fuck you into space before that, you know?”

He lets out an unsteady breath, a strand of your hair swaying upon impact. His hand taps at your thigh, testing whether you’ve closed your legs again; and as he realises that you haven’t, much to his pleasure, he palms your pussy, heel of his hand pressing against your clit.

“You’re trying to set me off, because you know you can, right?” he questions, for a split moment distracted by the teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “Smart of you. You are truly smart, babe… but you’re also mine tonight. So don’t play games.”

A slap lands on your vulnerable pussy, and he understands your frustration as you open your mouth, the lower lip previously captive rolling back into place. Soft and gorgeous.

No matter the fading distance, there’s still something inexplicable in the air, as if he can’t really separate a dream from reality. As if he needs evidence that this isn’t yet another figment of his imagination; the ones he’s awoken from several times, underwear threatening to burst.

The hand just torturing your cunt wanders up your body and settles around your neck, like a chain or a necklace or a motherfucking leash. He feels home here, just like this. With your fingers on his wrist, gulping under his touch.

Pinned firmly against the wall, he looks down to where you’re dripping and he’s standing tall, gripping the ever-twitching length that is begging for more. Begging for relief. He’s doing this to himself — because his body is burning up, as if scorched by sun flares.

He’s doing this to the both of you.

The kiss underneath your ear as he leans in. And the still harmless yet sinful touch between his tip and your folds. How he holds the shaft firmly, leading the head between your pussy lips, teasing until just an inch intrudes your awaiting hole.

He moans the moment you do, moving, fucking just the first of the tip into you; scrambling his own thoughts as he says, “God, I could just slide in… you’re so, so wet.”

“What… why say this if you won’t do it?”

Guess you’ve figured him out well enough. Guess that’s the cockiness you implied when you called him a fuckboy in that stupid museum. Or how you kept a safe distance — because thinking about it, maybe Jungkook could be someone to break somebody’s heart.

No. He knows he is. But…

He shakes the thought off his brain, returning to this very moment where you’re waiting for his answer, a heart made of steel. You won’t let him hurt you; you know better than that. You could dodge him easily.

Mentally, at least. Physically, you’re under his mercy.

So he uses this weakness, muttering under his breath, “I will, I will… but not here. We can do better than here.”

Wasn’t this just a pit stop after all? What he’s seeking is still waiting in his bedroom, soft sheets spread over the cold mattress, waiting for a body to warm it up. Or two.

Already hot and bothered, Jungkook lets you go entirely; and the next minute happens in a blur, as though he’s struggling with recognising his own apartment. Suddenly self-conscious about everything and nothing at once.

With you in his grip, he walks along the dark, small corridor; then past the paintings, through the door, into a well-managed, tidy bedroom until he’s sat your ass down. It happens within the tiniest moment — he could narrate how you got here but he can barely recall it.

Dick at the same height as your mouth, he wraps his hand around it. You don’t initiate anything of what you promised, looking into his eyes with a question; he knows you want to avenge yourself and provide the same vanity, but you’d rather skip to the best part.

He wants to, too.

So he doesn’t ram his cock into your mouth, hitting the farthest spot until you gag. Instead, he relishes the image mentally and quietly, fantasising about the warmth of your spit, about the tongue swirling around.

And then… then he goes a step further and imagines the even extended pleasure if he dug into your pussy now, maximising whatever your mouth could make him feel.

Are his thoughts too straight-forward? If he spelled them out like this, one by one, would you find him weird? Too eager? Obsessed?

Maybe he should slow down. Just a bit.

Which is why he holds his shaft closer to you, still surprised when you don’t open up, hints of the past confusion alternating with your confident, mysterious, teasing self. It’s weird to witness. But your eyes are still hazy at least. You don’t seem to want to stop.

God. He can’t figure it out. Not figuring out is agitating even in this moment.

But… good energies. Good energies. All the pent-up frustration needs to be morphed into sheer craze. He can do that.

“Spit on it,” he orders.

You only hum. Something in your gaze changes again, eyelids fluttering, as if awoken from trance. But you’re willing. Immediately mimicking him as you bring a thumb to a mole on the protruding veins. Tracing them, all the way back to his balls until you touch them just lightly, but enough for him to nearly lose his shit.

“Fuck, I said,” he reprimands, though delighted by the sudden rapture, “spit on it.”

You nod as if carrying out a task given by your manager; perhaps used to the last days and weeks when he’d command you around. Ask for another meeting, or for your opinion on a song, or just to keep him company to keep him productive.

Or, to keep you close to him. Lost in thoughts. Many thoughts. And even though none of them became a reality in that room, none of the equipment shoved aside to sit you on the desk, this… this right here is more than enough.

You suck in your cheeks, collecting spit, and when you lean forward… you make such a mess. Spitting onto the tip, a string still connecting your lips and his dick, leftover saliva dripping down your chin and then on your tits.

The view is… worth diamonds.

Do you even know?

“Okay,” he utters, no real direction in his mind, no real sentence to utter. “Okay.”

But you’re equipped with ideas, immediately getting onto the trail you left, spreading the spit over his cock, down to the base. The tip and the slit glisten, traces of precum mixing with your drool, but it’s not enough to cover his length all over.

So he mutters a mental, “More,” to himself, tapping your lips until you open, sticking two of his fingers in and pressing against your tongue. Lubricating his digits, he rolls them over your tongue, far enough to nearly make you gag until he draws back.

Watching you work on him rolls a wave of satisfaction over him. He’s proud, enduring like this. Because judging from the creature you are, as if jumped out of dark mythology, he truly expected to give up way earlier.

But he remains steadfast; eager to not explode until he’s filled you up first. Drawn out your own highs.

“Sweetheart, aren’t you a good one?” Jungkook praises, helping you out with whatever his fingers gathered in your mouth. Then, grabs your wrist, pushing you away, hovering above you with a, “Turn around.”

You gulp again. Then shift back on his bed, sighing as you feel the soft silk underneath your skin, kissing and hugging your body. The sight is gorgeous, with you fleeing to the back of the mattress, obliging so easily. Prey.

And…

“Holy fuck.”

Holy fuck, how you look when you finally get into position. Ass up, upper body down. And the arms over your head? What in the world.

Okay… okay…

Wait. You’re saying something.

His knees dig into the mattress, hand unconsciously pumping his cock — he doesn’t even know when he started — as he moves closer, over your body. Kisses your shoulder, bringing his ear close to hear before, “Huh? What’d you say?”

“I’m already so spent.”

“Ah… do you want to stop?”

“No… you made me feel spent. But you’re not done, are you?”

Pause. Bright smirk. Then, “Of course not. Does it feel like it?” Another kiss to your shoulder, wet this time. “Condom or not?”

“Oh.” Seems you hadn’t even thought about this yet. Kind of nice. “I’m… I use an IUD. Have you… slept with many people lately?”

No answer yet. He thinks. Thinks back to the several weeks since he met you. Should he say it? Would you back away if he did? Years ago, there’d be no debate about it — he wouldn’t have told you. Kept it to himself.

Perhaps there’s still a part of him that’d dodge your question, but he somehow feels like you’d see through him. Hear the insincerity. 

Fuck, is that selfish? Maybe. Doesn’t he already know that he is? But he’s not bad; and people are selfish.

So a second later, he truthfully admits, “Once. Two or so weeks ago. Nothing special though, just dumb, drunk shit. Some girl from a club. And I tested after.”

As soon as the sentence finishes, he wonders if you deem yourself just another one of those. But… in all honesty. She was a one night stand whose sounds, name, dirty talk did nothing to him.

All he could imagine was you. Perhaps not out of loyalty, but surely out of curiosity.

He can’t fathom his thoughts into feelings yet; he still wouldn’t describe his attitude towards you as falling in love or anything. That’d be too far stretched. But he thought about it — that maybe he liked you too much.

Yet, his heart remained empty; but his body never did. He feels bad; and still, he won’t deny whatever his skin and mind whisper to him.

Other than that, he could probably declare with quite a firm certainty that you don’t feel any different about him. You can’t be.

So maybe this is good enough for now.

“But know what?” he says, voice lower, repeating his thoughts. “Could only imagine what it’d be like if it was you. This pussy,” strokes his cock along your cunt, “and this body,” touches the small of your back, “these thoughts got me going. And you’re so much better in reality.”

“Mmmh,” is all you utter, nearly hiding your face in the pillow before you say, “maybe… maybe we can still use a condom then.”

Shit. Expected it.

But okay. Okay.

Where are the condoms again… bedside table? No. He used the last one ages ago, before he knew you. He gets up; walks to the closet; somewhere near his socks, there must be a new pack. A moment to think.

For a second, he looks back at you. You’re still the same, only with the ass having dropped again, losing balance and energy. And maybe, you’re still drunk, too — probably, because even he still feels the world spin, careful not to close his eyes for too long.

Okay. One… no, two foils out. As he turns back to you, nearing you, his head is just a little calmer than a minute again, and he wonders… were all the thoughts his own? The past half an hour or however much passed, didn’t he spiral more and more?

Did you notice? He shakes his head. Who cares?

Not him, not right now. He keeps telling himself that with a goddess waiting in front of him on all fours, he probably doesn’t need to worry about anything unless there’s a reason to. You’ve been cooperative and the night has been successful, minus the strange gazes you keep throwing at him periodically.

“Alright, baby. Up you come,” he mumbles, bringing your ass back to his crotch. His hands are already trained and incredibly skilled; doing work on the condom doesn’t take him more than a couple seconds. “I should tell you now.”

You pause. Suck in some breath, as if expecting something in particular. You agree with an unmatched thirst for knowledge, “…Tell me.”

“I don’t tend to go easy. If you need me to be, you’ll have to tell me. ‘Kay?”

“I… I can take a lot more than you think.”

Fuck. He’ll wreck your shit. “Perfect. You’re honestly a good one, huh? Such a good girl for real, no— no, you’re the best.”

Is he just saying whatever now? Perhaps he should stop boring you and get to it. Right? Please, the goddamn, blood-filled tower down there is desperately imploring him to.

He collects spit like you did before, targeting your glinting pussy, one blob right onto it. Then, he brings his fingers back to where they love to be, distributing the filth between your folds. And then, two fingers into the tightening hole.

Right before moving north, between your ass cheeks, thumb rolling over your other clenching hole. 

And you tense immediately, without saying a word, taking it quietly. Then… then he finally starts.

Brings the annoying rubber to your soaked pussy, poking for a second before he gets serious and eventually dips in. The free hand raises your ass some more, and he shifts forwards, your butt backwards, helping him get in further.

He hears the reaction. Hears the almost-screech in a second, nails biting into the pillow over your head. You hold onto it for dear life as he slowly bottoms out, your sporadic breathing and high-pitched moans mingling with his own bursts of lust.

Deep creases appear between his eyebrows, lips bitten sore, and once his waist has finally connected with your ass, he takes a deep, long inhale. Watches your face disappear deeper into the pillow, sounds muffled.

Enjoys it for a moment before he starts moving slowly. Out, in. Concentrating before he might spill too early. Beads of sweat shimmer on his forehead, dampening the hanging strands of hair. You feel good. Too fucking good—

He wants to go off right away. But… focus.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Stop… stop talking.”

Oh. Bold. But a good sign, isn’t it? If you wanted him to stop, you’d say it. So he keeps going… dares just a little more, courageous, encouraged by your cooperation. Explores your ass and what lies between the cheeks more, groaning before he says, “You stop that.”

His hand reaches for your wrists, keeping you from tearing his pillow and leading your fingers to where his touched your ass before. You keep your touch there, unmoving until he says, “Keep them apart.”

And you seem to understand. His thumb returns to your unoccupied hole as his cock impales your pussy whole, still going at a tormenting pace. Thick and soaked, he’s splitting you in two; maybe that’s why the slow plunges are such a plague. Because both of you know there could be more.

Pulling your ass cheeks apart, you remain with your face in the sheets, arms trembling as he circles your hole again. He doesn’t know if you’re into this; doesn’t know if you’ll protest. So far, he’s been pretty obvious with his intentions, and he’s sure you must understand this one, too.

And you’re not fearful; if something bothered you, you wouldn’t hesitate to voice your displeasure. So he spits one more time, right onto his thumb, using the lubrication to carefully, curiously dip the tip of his thumb into your ass.

You yelp immediately; as your hole tightens around the little bit of his thumb, your pussy narrows around his cock, too, and he nearly loses it. Nearly drools onto your back as his mouth drops open, blinking rapidly for a second.

God, your body reacts with such intensity. Still, he makes sure, “Too much?”

And you, candidly, reply, “I don’t know. I… think so.”

“Okay. Then I’ll sto—”

“No. No, wait… I want to— I want to know what it’s like.”

Thought so. He knew that underneath all the chic charade, you crave just as much as he does. And if it’s him that you long for, then what even stands between him and the rocket shooting his ego to the sky?

This feels good. Really good… not just physically. You lift his spirits.

Ready with an exhale, he dares his thumb deeper, letting more of it disappear in you. Out of all the women he’s ever been with, not more than a handful has been willing to venture into this part of sexual desire. Most of them can’t stand the discomfort, and some of them don’t feel any particular way about it.

But you lay open to him in every way possible. An open book for once; easy to read, as if calculating how you wind, planning how to sound, guiding him fearlessly.

Soon, he’s adjusting his thrusts to your moans, and you’re adjusting your moans to his thrusts. Synchronised, the two of you groan and cry out together, and he makes sure to keep you filled to the brim, reducing the pauses between the shoves bit by bit.

Until…

“Hey,” he whispers, waiting for you to react, but as he pumps into you, slowly yet balls-deep, you don’t do anything much but scream into the pillow. So he just continues, “How much do you think you can take, baby?”

“I… I’m—”

You’re attempting your best, but you’re tongue-tied. With each push, he catapults your body forwards, but your mind is long lost in the stratosphere. With gritted teeth and a rising, heavily breathing, golden chest, he leans in close to you, hand snaking under you and around your neck as he retries, “So?”

“I don’t know,” you blurt, and as you raise your head and look back at him, he sees a sight to behold — mascara underneath your eyes, lipstick smeared, a quivering chin. He’s fucking you so good; he must be, because you soon add, “Just do an—and I’ll let you know.”

“Good idea. Very good idea.”

He’s fucking you good. But it’s not all he’s got; not all he’s wanted for days and weeks.

No. If he unleashed all he’s been fabricating in his mind, he’d drench your cheeks in tears. And now that you permitted him to, he might just go ahead, right?

Right.

Which is why the next steps come easy to him, naturally, as if you pressed a button he’s been waiting to smash. A big, red one, like the ones in games urging you to not touch or you’d lose. But by God, right now, he’s not losing.

If he looked into his reflection in the dark window, he’d see a winner through and through.

A fiery rage courses through his burning veins. A face contorting when he lets you go, only to move his fingers back, wrapping them around the back of your neck. Shoving you into the mattress, ramming his cock into you, once more keeping the familiar pace and then—

And then he closes his eyes. Matches an expression to your yelps. Drives into your deepest core and picks up speed until, all of a sudden, it turns jarring.

Jungkook doesn’t get enough. He doesn’t know if he ever will; damn the approaching end of this. There shouldn’t be one; he should be capable of ruining you forever. Maybe he will be.

For now, he directs his thoughts fully on how you feel and how you sound, uncaring about the jagged breathing that burns up his chest. Leaning forward, he attempts twice until he catches your ears, nibbling at your earlobe.

At first, he doesn’t know if you register the touch, given that he’s occupying you with far crazier sensations. But then you reach out a hand, panting into the pillow, grabbing a patch of his hair. 

And he, fired up and insane, leans back, gripping your wrist, removing it from his mane and pinning it to your back instead. Your face moves to the side, not muffled by the pillow anymore, and you gasp for air before you beg, “Please, I’m about to—”

That’s all you get, because he soon interrupts with a cheeky, “You can hold on for a bit longer,” pausing on purpose. He wants to see you when you come. Wants to wipe more of your make up across your face. Wants to kiss the colour of your lipstick onto his own lips.

Letting your orgasm fade, he waits, just a couple seconds, allowing you to catch your breath until your eyebrows furrow. You blink repeatedly, then looking up into his eyes, and it’s all he needs to feel his patience dissipate again.

Jungkook gets into a new position, leaving one knee deep in the mattress while angling the other leg, planting its foot on the sheets. He keeps his cock from falling out, leading the tip and the shaft back in before he resumes to fuck you wound.

Your arm is still hostage to his grip, the nails of your other hand gripping the sheet for dear life. It’s gorgeous, the view from where Jungkook looks down at his meal. Crazy how you purr and whine when he leans in, touching your swollen clit, electrifying you. And he keeps looking at you.

At the upper body waving a white flag, too weak to keep yourself upright anymore. And then, the ass in the air staying firmly at its place, his dick aiding you, the flesh of your cheeks wobbling with each thrust, like an ocean wave. Whenever it collides with his hips, the slaps resound temptingly, and Jungkook soon mimics it by letting his hand fall hard on your ass.

You mewl, calling out his name twice, the second cry half uttered, half of the Jungkook omitted. And when you catch the tiniest of your breaths, still working with drying lungs, you say, “L-let me come, please—”

“Wait,” he says again, still sadistic, still masochistic, absolutely out of his mind before an idea lights up his mind. “This isn’t it yet.”

The finger working on your nub was an evil tactic, he’s got to admit. Perhaps he led you to believe something he’s not ready to give you yet, and once you seem to realise, you let out a sob.

And he’s positively delighted once he stops. Lowers his head to look at you. Sees the dark, smeared mascara on his pillow when he digs his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back as he says, “I know. You thought we were done, right? We’re not done, though.”

“Wha—”

He lets his body fall onto the mattress, right next to you, and pulls you in, back against his chest. Hand under your tits, pressing against them, moving them up and down before pinching your nipple once.

“I said,” he repeats, probably unnecessarily, because he doesn’t think you actually demand an answer, “I’m not done. Understand?”

And as expected, you don’t nod or answer. You only push your body further into his, and he reckons that’s a mighty sufficient implication already.

As you lay sideways with a breath as heavy as his, his exhales hot against your ear, you let out sounds reminiscent of marathon runners. You’re exhausted, sweaty, and so is he — but neither of you are finished, and he’d be damned if he permitted the night to end like this.

Diligently, he throws your quivering leg over his; your impish remarks have lessened since he took over, and in turn, his own insolent emotions are reigning supremely. He leads his submerged, rock-hard, twitching cock to your battered cunt, pushing in so easily he thinks he’s dreaming.

It’s like putting a key into its lock.

“Ahh, fuck.” It’s hard to fully bottom out in this position, but he can touch you so much better now. He lets his hands explore your bare body, fondling with your tits, kissing your ear and jaw. “Hold tight. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

It’s cruel, he knows; the gentle praises as he wreaks havoc down there. He crosses your wrists against your tummy, holding them tight, and you close to him. Fucks you dumb and stupid as you wail in his arms. Moves to your clit and gives it pleasant, gentle rubs, so opposite from the rest of his ministrations.

And the pressure builds. His balls, hard as steel, prepare to shoot their load into you, his cock impossibly stiff, but… but…

You haven’t come yet. And this position won’t do. Can’t do, won’t do, he needs to see you.

So he echoes, “Won’t do,” as he gets up again, keeping the previous position short lived. Doesn’t stay away for too long before he’s on his knees, pulling your legs apart, after the briefest interruptions deep inside again before he leans into you.

And then, everything happens crazy fast.

How he keeps you from wrapping your arms around him; instead, capturing your wrists once again, raising them next to your head. How he moves to kiss you for the first time after quite a while, intertwining your tongues, moaning hard as he feels his high approach.

The fast pace changes a little as he loses his mind and focus, one of the strokes stopping as he almost pulls out, and then plunges in again. Your fingers curl in, nails sharp enough to dig into the digits that hold you, and he cries out in delight, letting a breathy chuckle fall.

He says, “Alright, yeah. Next time… we’re tying you up. Love how you whine.” He lets one hand go, gripping your face again and you move your touch to his shoulder immediately, gasping. “You always p-play the mysterious girl, huh? But you’re so pathetic right now.”

The inhibitions are out the window. The overthinking, too. Whatever he thought might make you run away from him has long exited his mind, because he’s got you right here, under his control, nearing the end.

There’s no going back. No return to his yearning, because you’ve satisfied it so thoroughly.

Time to give it all back to you. One last time before he submerges himself in all his glorious egotism.

“There we go,” he says as he watches your expressions change. You open your mouth but don’t say anything. He doesn’t know what your orgasm feels like, but he knows you’re going through it. “Let it all out. Cream my cock, I fucking dare you.”

He’s saying whatever now, he knows. But he doesn’t have the capacity to think much as creases appear on your forehead and between your eyebrows, tongue mingling with his for a short moment when he goes in for another kiss, barely succeeding.

You’re trembling, lifting your hips as much as the weight above you allows, wanting more friction, more of a touch inside your pussy, on your clit, everywhere. And then, when you do come… when he brings the stars from the sky into your eyes…

Yours roll back into your head. Throwing it back, giving him access to your neck. Lips still apart, and he uses it to push a finger into your mouth, on top of your tongue. And fuck… how your pussy constricts. How it tightens so fucking much.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t affect him.

So much so that his head spins; and as he feels himself getting dizzy, he buries his face in the pillow next to your head before moving it to kiss your shoulder. Barely looks at you anymore; doesn’t care, it’s his high now, he wants to fucking come, and that’s it.

Finally, finally he’s gotten to this point.

Will he hate himself for these thoughts later? Is this too over the top? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care.

His thoughts are occupied, alright, don’t need another string of questions to intervene. His attention remains resolutely on his movements, vigorous, rhythmic, your sounds perfectly matching each of his strokes.

And your hands, the poor little palms, unsure where to settle. This isn’t new; across this broad back of his, every girl’s touch wanders like this. Your nails scratch the small of his back, then up his spine, across the muscles of his shoulder blades.

The fact that you’re a goner as much as him, giving yourself to him is probably the last of reassurances he needs — as if any more were required. Because still panting into your skin, eyes shut tight, he works towards the peak of his sanity, exhausted but eager as he relishes the wet tightness of your pussy; surrounding him just right, still clenching, unclenching from your orgasm.

And then—

“Ohhh, fuck,” he whispers.

His voice is shaking uncontrollably; he barely recognises it. Which… must mean this is new, right? Experience be damned, apparently you spark off phenomena nobody has ever acquainted him with before.

And oh, how you make it worse once he finally emerges again, as if catching his breath after holding it underwater for too long. Your eyes are hooded as he gets on his knees over your body, caging your hips in between his legs. Gripping one of your tits, you nibble your lower lip for a second before letting out laboured breathing, nose flaring.

It’s all he needs. All that’s left when he rips off the condom and envelops his filthy cock with his veiny hand, stroking immediately and hard. Close to the end as he rushes to ask, “Where do you want it?”

You understand what he’s asking, and nod, back to yourself when you utter mysteriously, “Anywhere but inside…” Okay. No time to ask why not — but he wouldn’t have anyway. He obliges, giving his all, one more second left before you tell him just in time, “Here.”

Your palm rubs across your skin, moving over your tits and your stomach. So he’s quick to opt away from your face and redirect his aim to where you pointed, moaning out a couple last, broken vocals before he finally spills.

Milky white, multiple blotches scattered over your skin, like a modern art painting. He’d rather draw these all day than be stuck with you in a museum restaurant, staring from afar, wishing he could reach out under the goddamn public table.

Going until he’s empty, he senses a relief unknown to him thus far, mind suddenly vacant. Once again, the ocean; he feels like the ocean. Like the water as it stills and calms after a thunderous storm. You lifted the waves of his sea high above and have now turned him into a lazy, peaceful lake.

God, he should fuck you more often; you make him a poet.

Okay. Okay, where was he?

When did he unfocus? Dizzy all of a sudden. He puffs out a breath. Then takes another look at you. Watches as you spread the sticky substance over your mounds, touching your nipple, so indecently messy.

The smirk is unintentional but inevitable, reaching far as he shakes his head at you. You smile back wordlessly, and he lets his fingertip run over his cum, too, bringing it to your lips as he asks, “Taste?”

You don’t answer. Thinking for the barest second before you scoff, stretching out your tongue before he puts the finger on it; closing your eyes, sucking it clean. He groans at the feeling; luckily, he’ll be immobile for the foreseeable future, or he’d bend you over again.

“Okay. That should be enough for now,” he breathes, letting himself fall next to you. “I promise I’m a lot more energised on other days. But…” He turns towards you, pinching your chin, bringing your face close. “God, did you take me out there. I’m beat.”

He doesn’t kiss you; only drops back, still filling his lungs with new oxygen. Pity — he still wants you, but his muscles are aching. Eyes shutting.

Then opening again when he hears you laugh, right before you say, “You don’t need to prove your endurance to me. I’ve got a pretty good idea of it now. Besides— let’s be honest. I didn’t do much.”

“Oh, you did more than enough, sweetheart,” Jungkook retorts with a snicker, giving his eyes some relief. He sighs, and then adds, “Your existence did it for me already. Wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

He shoves his arm under his head, the other untidily covering the two of you with the blanket; whatever. He’ll wash it tomorrow. For now, the two of you should probably get some rest. Although—

Did you say you wanted to stay? He didn’t catch it if you did. Perhaps he’s also just inattentive; suddenly remembers that he still has a long way to go socially, remembering that permission is courtesy. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Uhm,” he starts; this is awkward. He doesn’t do this often — not many stay overnight anyway. Strangely, he didn’t question it with you; maybe because he wants you to. “Do you want me to bring you home?”

“In all honesty, I… I don’t think you can drive tonight. We’re both not sober yet, so I’ll just leave in the morning. Need to be in the office by noon.”

“Ah? Why?”

“Meeting with Tae. I forgot that he wanted to go through a few organisational things for the upcoming concert.”

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company.

Jungkook forgot about it all. Responsibilities still exist. Of course, he needs to be in the office tomorrow afternoon, too. This is his dream, his goal, everybody’s eyes on him, the biggest source of entertainment in the country.

Feels so stupid, forgetting you’ll leave at some point. That he can’t flip you over again all day tomorrow, that you’ll be occupied somewhere else, with someone else. Jungkook grits his teeth.

“You wanna come over again tomorrow night?” he asks.

And all of a sudden, despite the last hour, you seem lost in thoughts again. Probably tired, but he can’t help but overthink. You don’t answer immediately, keeping him on the edge, and as he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, he looks over, seeing your eyes open when you say, “Don’t know. Might have a couple things to tend to.”

Ah… okay. Sure.

Where’s your mind right now, he wonders?

Maybe circling around work. Maybe your urge to go is as little as his? All these things, they don’t sound too delightful right now, do they?

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company. Tae.

When did you start using his nickname like this? Weird. Didn’t know the two of you were so close. Then again, does it matter? No. He shakes his head.

Shakes it slowly, making sure you don’t notice, sighing again before he breaks into a smile. It’s okay. You’re next to him. Not next to Taehyung. His friend. You’re covered in him. So he doesn’t let another’s name fog his brain, instead seeking peace and succeeding until—

“Don’t worry, another time,” you say, following up with a goosebump-inducing, “I’ll stick around until my feet tingle.”

Somewhere… at some point in his life… under probably not the best circumstances— 

Wait.

as always, tumblr hates content creators and has a 1k block limit. which is why you can read the rest of the story in this reblog hehe we're almost at the end (refresh if you started reading before i reblogged with the rest of the story!) <3

[tlexx]

When Sam Met Danny

Summary: Short Blurb on how Sam found out he got his twin flame.

The boy from the alley had been asleep on the couch for more than sixteen hours. It made sense though, he was pretty badly beaten. Josh and I knew what Jake had planned the moment he shooed us away. He never let me watch him turn anyone before, I’m not really sure why it was just them drinking his blood, but it seemed like some type of intimate moment. I remember the pain I felt when he changed me, so maybe Jake was trying to be considerate of their privacy more than his own.

Josh was yelling at Jake in the other room for bringing one of his offspring home. He never really has done this before, he will send them away to his little camp of newborns he had up near the Great Lakes. But, for some reason he brought this one home. Jake knew something that the rest of us didn’t, so I had to trust him. Trusting Jake was easier than trusting myself, he knew what I needed more than I did. He looked out for me more than I looked out for myself. Sometimes I wonder if Jake cared more about if I was alive than I did myself.

But, in all honesty, what is there to really live for? I mean I love my brothers, they are my family. However, I am left out. They are twin flames, they have conversations I never get to hear. The twins will have a connection together that I will never understand, and it simply just gets lonely.

Jake asked me to watch this stranger, just in case he woke up before Josh was done berating him. So, now I am twirling my hair around my fingers staring at Jim Morrison on the wall when I could be out on the boardwalk finding a group of broads that would keep me company.

“We don’t have room for another! What if he says something? Outs us?”

“Who are you to question me? I’m the one that always is protecting the family, Josh! I know what’s best!”

One day those two will get into a fight that ends all fights, and if I’m honest it’s probably going to be about some chick. I laugh to myself, a little too loudly, and the stranger on the couch stirs. I freeze in hopes that he doesn’t wake up, not wanting to deal with his shit. However, my leather pants are slippery and my foot slides off my thigh with a loud bang on the concrete floor.

“Shit.”

His eyes flutter open and instantly land on me, for a moment he was serene but quickly was pushed into full panic.

“Who are you? Where the fuck am I?” His eyes darted around the room, obviously taken aback by his heightened senses. “What the fuck is happening to me?”

“You’re a vampire.” The shrug I gave him may have been a little too nonchalant, but he really does need to calm down.

“Stop joking around, this is serious! I need a hospital!”

“No you don’t.” He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could I showed my fangs to him to prove my last statement. He cowers back into the couch, whole body shaking from fear and Jake’s blood. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re fine, this is really no big deal.”

“No big deal? Vampires are real? You’re a fucking thing out of Twilight!”

“That’s rude, the Cullens have nothing on us.” He sticks his pointer finger in his mouth, feeling the sharpness of his own fangs. “Your name is Danny, right?”

“Yeah, and you’re Josh?”

“You offend me Danny. No, I am Sam.”

‘The curly one must be Josh.’

“Yeah, he is the one with curly hair.”

“I-How-What just happened?” Danny stopped hiding in the couch and sat like a civilized being, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.

“You said Josh had curly hair?”

“No, I thought it.”

“No man, you said it.”

“Wait, can all vampires read minds?”

“No, well kinda, but not really. It’s complicated.”

“Tell me what I’m thinking!”

“I can’t, only twin fla-“

‘Tiger Woods is overrated.’

“You golf? Isn’t that kinda boring?”

“See you can read my mind! Wait, can I read yours?”

“Um.” I run my palms on the red leather, weirdly nervous about all of this. Have I found my twin flame? My best friend? I doubt it, but there really was only one way to find out.

‘I said maybe, You're gonna be the one that saves me’

“AND AFTER ALL” Danny screamed at the top of his lungs. Both of us stood straight up from our seats in a rapid excited movement.

Together we finish the lyrics, “YOU’RE MY WONDERWALL!”

“What are you screaming about?” Josh looked like a pissed off mother with his arms crossed and tapping his foot. Jake wasn’t far behind him, leaning on the wall with a cocky smirk he wore so often.

“I, uh, found my twin flame.”

[percabethfeelsfandom]

Writing Prompt AU: Childhood Best Friends to Lovers

PART 2: Age 9

Annabeth’s laugh cuts through the air as she runs away from Percy’s outstretched arms. 

“You can’t catch me Seaweed Brain! I’m too fast for you,” she screeches as she winds between other students in the playground and the play equipment. 

“I’m never going to stop chasing you,” he calls back, but he’s laughing as well which is detrimental to his speed. 

He can hear Grover cheering him on, mixed with Thalia’s cries at Annabeth to run faster, faster. Percy’s legs burn with exertion but he keeps going, keeping his eyes firmly trained on Annabeth’s bright hair as she runs further and further away from him. 

Another voice joins the two and Percy feels his feet stutter. 

“Come on Annabeth, you can beat him!” Luke shouts. Annabeth turns back for a moment, giving a wide smile to their new friend who moved to their school at the beginning of this year. Percy uses this to try and gain some ground on her, but she’s still just out of his reach. 

She ducks below a low hanging branch laughs as leaves catch Percy in the face. 

He pauses, catching his breath and tries to not get annoyed when Luke’s laughter joins Annabeth’s in teasing him. 

“Come on Seaweed Brain. You should be able to catch her, she’s just a girl,” Luke says and clamps a firm hand on Percy’s shoulder. He shrugs it off and looks around the playground for Annabeth’s familiar golden head. 

“Thalia and Annabeth are both faster than you,” Grover points out and Percy holds back a laugh while trying to catch his breath when Luke’s face goes pink. 

“Shut up Grover,” he answers and gives Grover a light push. Percy rolls his eyes and finally catches sight of Annabeth at the edge of his vision. 

He takes off again without saying anything to either of his friends and manages to get within a couple of feet of Annabeth before she sees him coming and disappears again into the crowd. 

She has a knack for becoming practically invisible during hide-and-seek tips, and Percy secretly hates when he’s it and has to go against her. 

Regardless, he pushes forward until his lungs are heaving. He leans against a brick wall and looks around, he knows she’s close, but he can’t see her, it’s like she’s disappeared into thin air. Fighting back an annoyed sigh he sits himself down and closes his eyes to rest. 

“Okay Annabeth you win, I’m tired. I give up.” He says, raising his voice so he can be heard amongst the other students playing around them. No one pays him any attention but he sees movement in the corner of his eyes and watches as Annabeth jumps from a low branch of a tree. He rolls his eyes at her hiding spot and watches as she slowly claps while she walks to him.  

He closes his eyes as he rests, not wanting to see her smug smile, but he hears when Annabeth joins him in sitting down. 

“One of these days you’ll catch me, don’t worry,” she reassures him, with a soft nudge against his shoulder.  

“One day,” he replies with a smile. He can’t stay annoyed with her for too long. She’s his best friend after all (after Grover of course). 

“Just not today.” 

Percy laughs and leans his head on her shoulder as they watch other students play in the playground. He expects her to push him off but she doesn’t and he stays there for a moment, finding comfort in her existence. He’s still catching his breath, but Annabeth seems hardly puffed out. “I can let you catch me tomorrow so that Luke stops laughing at you,” Annabeth says softly. 

Percy scoffs and turns to her, suddenly feeling a bit more serious. 

“No, that’s not fair on you. Luke is dumb. He doesn’t think girls can run fast, but you’re one of the fastest in the grade. It’s okay. I’ll be faster one day.”

Annabeth smiles and turns away, but Percy sees the blush before she does and the sight makes him blush as well. He sits up straighter so that he isn’t leaning against her anymore, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Unless of course, you don’t think I can catch you.” He tells her with a teasing tone. 

This time she’s the one that’s scoffing. 

“Whatever Seaweed Brain, come on, they’re probably looking for us.” She says and stands up, holding out a hand to him. He grabs it and lets her haul him to his feet. His legs are like jelly and he wobbles a bit when he stands, but she catches his arm before he falls. He gives her a smile in thanks and shakes himself a bit to reawaken his limbs. 

“Please stop calling me that,” he asks and she shakes her head, a wide smile on her face. 

“Hmm, I think not. It’s very fitting for you.”

“It happened one time, and it was an accident,” he complains and she laughs, walking backward as they talk. Seaweed Brain is a nickname she gave to him the first time they went to the beach together. He had ducked under a wave and come up with a head full of seaweed. It had been funny that day and they hadn’t been able to stop laughing, but three years later, the nickname had stuck. 

“It’s funny, Percy.”

“Not when everyone else does it. They don’t know why it’s funny,” he argues. He doesn’t mind when Annabeth does it, weirdly enough, but he gets a bit of an upset stomach when he hears other people like Luke calling him it. Even Nancy has caught wind of the name and calls him that when Annabeth and his other friends aren’t around. Percy isn’t scared of her anymore though because Nancy doesn’t have any friends to hide behind and Percy’s mom has taught him that people who hurt other people only do it because they’re sad. Which means Nancy is very sad. So Percy leaves her alone. 

Annabeth shrugs. 

“Then I’ll tell them off if it happens again, okay? Only I can call you that. It’s my special name for you. Agreed?”

Percy thinks about it for a moment. He can live with that. 

“Agreed.” 

They find their way back to their friends who are setting up a new game of hide-and-seek tag. 

“Not it!” He shouts as soon as they’re within earshot and Annabeth startles a bit next to him before echoing his words. Grover does the same, then Thalia. 

Leaving Luke frowning. 

“But I don’t want to be it.” 

“That’s the rules Luke, you’re it. Go count,” Thalia says with a shrug. She begins to jog backward, leaving the others, her spikey black hair disappearing moments later. 

“Sorry Luke,” Annabeth says softly and gives Luke an apologetic smile before following Thalia’s lead. 

Grover and Percy are right behind them, Luke’s voice counting down from 100 lost in the wind of other voices. 

Percy is out of breath again as he hides behind a bush. Luke has for some reason chosen him to be his target for this round, which isn’t really fair since Percy just spent the entire last round chasing Annabeth around the entire school, but Luke isn’t listening to him and it’s getting on Percy’s nerves just a little bit. 

He can hear Luke’s voice calling out to him, taunting him as Percy hears his footsteps pass, but he holds his breath as if that will help hide him better.

“Psst Percy!” 

He looks around wildly and catches sight of Annabeth at the top of the stairs. She beckons him closer and he looks cautiously out from the bush. She notices and shakes her head, urging him to be quicker. 

“It’s clear I promise. He’s looking for Grover. Come on hurry.” 

Percy takes her for her word and darts off in her direction. As he’s getting closer to her he hears footsteps follow him and watches as her eyes widen in a panic. 

“Percy run!” 

He turns back briefly and adrenaline fills his body as he sees Luke catching up to him.  

Annabeth has started running as well, and Percy trails after her, but he’s not as nimble and quick, accidentally bumping into students as he runs. He jumps over an upturned trashcan and whoops as it slows Luke down. Annabeth leads the way back to the play equipment and makes a leap onto it. 

“Is he still following me?” He calls to Annabeth as she climbs the monkey bars for a higher vantage point. He starts slowing down as she looks around. 

“I don’t know, I can’t see him.” 

There’s a loud cackle and Percy feels his body get tackled to the ground. Sharp pain shoots up and down his arm as it’s pinned to the ground and he cries out as he feels a crack. 

For a moment everything is simultaneously too bright and too dark. 

“Percy!” Annabeth’s voice cuts through the pain and he blinks, trying to regain his vision but black and white spots are still floating behind his eyelids. 

“Luke, why did you push him so hard!” 

Luke’s voice is panicked and high-pitched as he stands over Percy, casting a dark shadow over him, “I didn’t, he just wasn’t looking. It’s not my fault...He was just, he just stopped out of nowhere, he was going too slow.”

Percy groans and tries to sit up, but his arm is screaming at him, and he doesn’t want to look down because it feels wrong. He turns his face the other way, away from the sore arm and he meets Annabeth’s eyes briefly, but she gets back up and gestures wildly at Percy then at Luke.

“Oh my gods, Percy, your arm. Luke, get a teacher!” Annabeth’s voice is rising in panic and though he still can’t see clearly he can feel her join him on the ground and she cradles his head in her lap. 

“Come on it’s not that- oh ew,” Luke says, with a tone of disgust. Percy squeezes his eyes tightly so that the tears don’t fall and he hears Luke’s footsteps quickly retreat and leave them. 

Other voices start coming closer but all he can hear is Annabeth. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Percy. You’re okay, Percy. I promise. I’m here.”

He feels a small hand grip his good arm, and he peeks open one eye. 

“I’m okay,” he tries to say, but he shifts and accidentally moves his arm, sending another wave of pain down his body. 

“Don’t you dare move.” Annabeth sees the wince and hushes him, commanding him to stay still. 

“But-”

“If you move, you’re not my best friend anymore.” 

Percy freezes every single bone in his body and holds his breath as Annabeth inspects him, carefully arranging his limbs so he can be comfortable. It doesn’t work, but he manages to feel some sort of gratitude towards her for trying. He can tell she’s scared. He knows because they’re best friends and he knows Annabeth as good as he knows himself. Her hands are shaking and she keeps blinking because she’s trying not to cry. Percy wants to reach out to her, but he holds himself to his promise not to move. 

Moments later Luke arrives with a teacher in tow. 

“He tripped and fell…” He can hear Luke saying. 

“That’s not what happened,” Annabeth says with a frown, and gets up, leaving Percy. 

Their voices start to quiet as Percy feels himself get lightheaded. Footsteps come closer to him again and hands grip his shoulders, nudging him lightly. 

“Percy! Breathe! You can move, you can move,” Annabeth cries, her eyes wide and bright with fear. “You idiot, why did you hold your breath.” Percy tries to laugh, but it kind of hurts so he gives a half shrug, and takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with much-needed air. 

“I didn’t want to move. I still want to be your best friend,” he admits truthfully. Annabeth laughs, but it comes out sort of like a cry and she wipes at her eyes and pats his head softly like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. 

“You’re so dumb. You’re always going to be my best friend, Seaweed Brain. Come on, stay awake, the ambulance is coming.” 

She doesn’t move from her spot by her side the entire time. Not when Thalia and Grover come to see why Luke hasn’t found them. Not when the teachers tell them that the ambulance is on their way. Not when Percy’s Mom, Sally, is called and is told to meet them at the hospital. Not even when the ambulance arrives, but when a teacher comes and softly tugs her away from him, her hand finally leaves his. 

Percy has never been to the hospital alone before and the fear sets in as they’re pulling him onto the stretcher and telling them where he’s headed.  He starts crying for his friends. Screaming at them not to leave them. Grover is crying into Thalia’s arms, scared and overwhelmed at the loud sounds of the sirens but Annabeth is screaming back, begging the teachers to let her go as they hold her back. 

Mr Brunner, Percy’s favourite teacher joins him in the ambulance and reassures him that Annabeth will be able to visit once he’s at the hospital, but that doesn’t ease his anxieties until he sees his mother waiting for him when he reopens his eyes at the hospital. 

The sight of her brings an immediate calm to his body, and he feels his bones relax. They take x-rays of his arm and put him in a cast, telling him that he’ll be in it for a couple of months. He’s still shaking with pain and shock but his Mom brushes his hair out of his face and softly hums him to sleep until his eyes close again and he falls into a dreamless sleep. 

When he reawakens there are multiple people in his room. The first he sees is his mother still at his side, biting her thumb as she watches him wake. The next is the face of his disgruntled step-father Gabe, who leaves the room once he sees his eyes open. 

And then his friends. 

Grover. Thalia. Luke. 

And- 

“Percy!” Annabeth throws her arms around Percy before he’s even fully awake and he gasps in surprise before returning the hug and pushing his face into her shoulder. 

“You scared me,” she whispers, so quiet he can barely hear her. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he says back, equally as quiet. 

She finally pulls back and sits back on the bed. 

“I’m glad you’re okay now.” 

He manages a smile and nods. 

“Me too.” 

His other friends join him on the bed, and poke at his cast, asking him questions about it and the ride in the ambulance. They talk well into the night, and even though it’s late and the sky is dark, their parents let them all stay, keeping Percy company until visiting hours end. 

Before his friends leave, the doctor comes in and hands Percy a pen. 

“Do you want your friends to sign your cast before they go?” 

Percy nods enthusiastically and they all take turns writing something on his cast before waving him goodbye. 

Grover draws an assortment of plants and flowers. Thalia draws a wide smiley face and Luke writes luke was here. He rolls his eyes at the silly drawings and their names on the cast before handing it to Annabeth who is the last one left. 

She carefully takes the pen from Percy and holds his arm carefully, before writing. 

I hope you get better soon, love annabeth (your best friend)

(PART 1)

[causticsunshine]

LTWT PORTLAND NIGHT TWO RECAP

(i was going to make a video update so i could just my ramblings out but tumblr didn't like that so i'm mostly just transcribing what i said in my last Attempt at a video recap here, and second i'll go through my pics and post some after i get some sleep!)

SO portland night two was..... i'm gonna say we truly won so far, okay?? the energy was just so on, like, i don't even know how else to describe it. it was a goofy, fun time without sacrificing any of the hard work or performance—like the band came out in onesies from what i'm assuming was a lost bet, there was cereal eating, a handstand, push ups, oli (with maracas??), and sun room dancing and jumping around with louis during kill my mind, fun little comments and anecdotes from louis... it was just such a great show and a great time and i'm so so thankful it went as well as it did!

(we also saw oli go run off somewhere while we were waiting in line? idk where he went but it took all of us by surprise lmao)

now let's talk louis: my man came out 20 minutes after expected in the outfit equivalent of a 'fifteen minutes late with coffee'—like the perpetually cold british man was wearing shorts in portland in march, when i, who have lived here for 9 years and never acclimated, was freezing my ass off before and after the show??—and gave me heart palpitations?? yes now i'm eagerly waiting for a tanktop thank you sir and no one better take this weirdly, but that man is truly a short king.... like he's still got a little height on me and harry was shorter than i thought too (like he's only 6 ft without heels on and he's often times wearing heels?), but still... that is my short king.

his energy was amazing; he was smiling and moving around nonstop, he was playing rock paper scissors and pointing out signs, he was looking at our section—his left side balcony—quite a lot like 2/3 of the show and his note changes? *chef's kiss* just immaculate. beautiful stunning gorgeous talented show-stopping incredible etc. etc.

aaaand from my pov, we could both see and hear well so my pictures and videos actually turned out decently for once, AND while i didn't get a big reaction for my sign—which i should've held up earlier and maybe not upside down for three minutes rip when he was paying a little more attention to our side—i did get a tiny smirk and some eye contact, AND earlier in the show i made a big hand heart for him fully not expecting to be seen, but he saw me!! he was standing directly diagonal to me and stopped bouncing around when he did, then made full eye contact, smiled, pointed and nodded right at me!! and i have witnesses to support my claims!!

usually some eye contact or whatever isn't something i get really into caring about BUT some really obnoxious people were standing behind us at the show tonight, like, complaining about people being 'in their seats' when i'm pretty sure they just sold 'assigned' seats so balcony wouldn't be oversold, and how they were going to 'talk to venue management' about it like a bunch of entitled, middle aged white women—to start! because then they kept trying to get louis' attention by constantly flipping him off and shit—constantly whacking my friend in the back of the head in the process too!—so when they were like 'omg he saw us!!' when i got my little moment... sorry but nah bitch, that shit was for me and me alone because i wasn't being rude or obnoxious, and i have witnesses so <3 sorry for you!

but yeah just, genuinely an overall amazing show. it was incredible to finally be able to see louis live and see him in such good spirits having what seemed to be such a genuinely great time and giving it his all. i feel truly so lucky i got to catch him tonight and got to take part in such a fantastic show, i honestly cannot wait to see him again and i hope he's feeling good and getting some much needed rest rn <3

mister tomlinson i truly look forward to the day we get to reminisce on this moment while i'm making merch for you in the hopeful near future

[corysmiles]

Friendly Giant - Puffy and Foolish side of the story:

Would there ever be a moment where one of the crew members or Puffy fell into the water, and Foolish scoops them up, placing them back on board? (What if Puffy accidentally fell when trying to give Foolish some of the meat-?)

Tossed to the Sharks

——————————

Friendly Giant AU- Admiral Puffy Spinoff

Giant Foolish- Tiny Puffy

CW: language

Notes: I didn’t plan on writing an actual fic about Puffy but this ask was just too good to pass up

——————————

As soon as the crew disappeared into the lower parts of the ship to sleep Puffy got to work.

The twinkling stars above her lit up the deck in pinpricks of light while the steady rocking of the ocean tried desperately to knock her off her feet. Even so, she marched across the deck like a steady machine, throwing almost-spoiled meat from their food barrels onto the wooden floor. The smell was rancid and the sound of it slapping against the deck was disgusting, but she knew Foolish wouldn’t mind. And the crew mates wouldn’t notice the absence of a couple pieces of spoiled meat.

As the pile grew steadily she stretched her arms up in the air, taking a deep breath of the freezing air. The bristly feeling of fresh air in her throat was refreshing after so much time in the belly of the ship. Her crew always complained about the darkness of it but there wasn’t much she could do so far from their home.

They’d been out there for weeks with still no sign of land. But they’d stay out for at least a month more. She really hoped that this time they’d find the land they’d been searching for, and it didn’t hurt that this time they had a new “crewmate” following them along. Even if the crew wasn’t fully aware of their new giant “friend.”

Puffy stomped over to the edge of the ship and stared down into the dark churning water. A long winding shadow passed underneath which would scare any reasonable sailor.

But Puffy didn’t become admiral for being reasonable.

“Dinner time!” she whistled before chucking a large slab of beef into the water.

It didn’t even touch the surface before a flash of dark gray scales burst out from the water. All Puffy saw was the reflection of moonlight against jagged teeth before the leviathan disappeared again. The only sign he was still there was the occasional iridescent fin that popped up through the water.

“Still hungry?” Puffy called out as she hauled another large chunk of meat into her arms.

Almost immediately the tip of the giant’s massive tail poked out of the water. Even the tip was easily three times her height, and when it splashed down again small drops of water fell against Puffy’s skin.

The admiral grinned as she stumbled towards the edge with the meat tucked under her arm. When she got close enough she could just barely see the reflective gloss of Foolish’s eyes from under the water. It was weirdly cat-like but she didn’t really mind.

“Got a couple more for you big guy,” Puffy smiled as she pushed the meat up onto her shoulder. Slowly she trudged forward until her chest pressed against the railings. The harsh rocking of the ship didn’t help her catch her balance, but she thought she’d be fine. She was a sailor after all. She was used to it.

Except the storm above them didn’t seem to agree. The moment she felt the meat leave her hands a wave crashed into the ship. She frantically tried to grab onto the rails but the water slammed into her body and before she knew it she was tossed into the sea.

A loud scream left her mouth as water flooded her lungs. She tried to push herself to the surface but ever time she got close a wave would push her head back underwater.

She tried to scream for help but it only let more water into her throat.

She was going to die.

The thought crashed into her like a bomb. She clawed again at the surface, but there was no use. Every moment she spent under the water was a second closer to her death.

There was nothing she could do…And no one was awake.

Slowly, she felt her vision darken as she lost her last breaths of air. She couldn’t even feel her arms anymore, everything felt numb.

That’s when a weight slammed into her sending her flying into the air. She gasped like a fish out of water the moment she hit the surface, feeling the world come back to her like an explosion.

The heavy weight pressed into her chest as she fell back into the water, but this time her head stayed just above the surface. When she looked down she saw giant curved claws wrapped around her chest.

“Oh my- are you okay?” Foolish gasped as two giant eyes peered at Puffy.

The admiral blinked away her confusion as she recognized the person- well, giant- in front of her.

“You saved me,” Puffy breathed before she let herself relax into his massive hand.

“Yeah- yes of course,” Foolish hummed. The scales above his eyes scrunched down at her words.

Puffy smiled and pressed her face against the cold wet scales covering the giant’s fingers. She wouldn’t tell Foolish but part of her had feared that he would mistake her for another piece of meat…She doubted she’d feel much different to him in his mouth.

But even so the giant held her like she’d break at any moment as large concerned eyes bore into her own.

Carefully, she felt herself be lifted until she was dangling far over the water. Foolish nudged his face against her chest before dropping her back down onto the deck of the ship. The feeling of solid ground under her was like a breath of fresh air.

“Are you going to be okay?” the leviathan murmured nervously as his tail wrapped around the side of the boat keeping it steady.

“Mhm,” Puffy nodded. She knew the giant was worried but she was so exhausted she could barely finish her thoughts.

Nearly dying did that to a person she guessed.

“Alright uh okay,” Foolish mumbled, “I’ll stay here just sleep, okay?”

Puffy nodded again before letting her head fall back against the wood. It was nowhere near as comfortable as her bed below deck, but the thought of getting up made her feel sick. The floor would have to do.

Just before she drifted off to sleep she felt a heavy weight rest over body like a blanket. With blurred eyes she saw the smooth tip of Foolish’s tail rest on the deck beside her as it draped over her body.

She wrapped her arms around the thick muscle and within seconds she was out.

The leviathan only unwrapped it’s tail from the ship when the sun rose over the water again.

[hstyleshoney]

hey! could u maybe write something where h notices Y/N is distant after he comes back from tour? like she doesn’t feel stable in the relationship anymore bc he’s always away or something like that but he doesn’t want to break up. lmao this is weirdly specific but I really hope u get over your writers block <3

This has been in my drafts for a couple months now. Finally had time to finish it. Sorry it took so long. Hope you like It! <3 

WC: 5.3K // angst, fluff 

April.

Harry is tired.

He’s only been back in London for two days but he is completely drained. Mentally and physically. All he wants to do is snuggle down on the sofa with his girl and relax. He wants to hold her as close to him as humanly possible; feel her warmth and her smooth skin against his. He wants to spend all night just giggling away at nothing in particular with her because they’re both just so happy to be around one another again and whisper sweet nothings to her all night to let her know how much he missed her and loves her.

He has 21 days home before the next part of his tour kicks off - in Australia. He wants to make the most out of their time together before he has to leave again.

But something is wrong.

She is distant. She’s not letting him hold her, she hardly smiles when she sees him and she’s being off. It’s weird. Harry doesn’t like it.

He noticed it the second he arrived at her flat Monday night. She didn’t come running when he walked through the door. She didn’t talk non-stop for hours like she usually did when they had spent an excessive amount of time apart. She didn’t dig through his suitcase to get a look at all his latest purchases of clothes just because she loved fashion and got excited about all the designer items he owned. It was odd.

They didn’t even have sex.

Harry told himself it was probably just because it was late when he arrived and she was probably just tired. She’d be fine in the morning.

But she is still being as off with him as she was on Monday night, despite the fact that he has been back home in London for a couple days now. Harry doesn’t know what to do. Usually being back home with her brings him comfort and lets him relax after weeks on the road. Now it only has the opposite effect. It’s disheartening. He doesn’t understand it.

On Friday night they go out for dinner with a couple of friends of his. Harry hopes it will lift her spirits but she stays quiet for most of the evening. She is gloomy, not her usual self, and the twinkle in her eyes is missing. It’s awkward and when James shoots him a questioning look from across the table Harry knows that everyone has noticed that something is wrong.

Harry feels sick.

He is worried. Stressed. Anxious. Maybe even a tiny bit angry.

And he is afraid to ask her about it because he has a bad feeling about the whole thing. His gut is telling him that her lack of affection is because of him. He knows he has to ask her about it, but he is holding off for as long as he possibly can. Because asking her about why she is being distant makes it real and he is not ready for her to confirm his suspicions. He is still holding onto the small hope that her mood is because of something that happened at work or with her friends.

But she usually tells him everything and now she hasn’t said anything.

So the only explanation Harry can think of is that he is the reason for her low mood.

And he is not ready to hear it.

He knows her though. He knows she hates upsetting or disappointing others and will avoid it at all costs, even if it means neglecting her own thoughts and feelings until she’s too overwhelmed by it all. She has the kindest heart he has ever met; she is perhaps too kind for her own good.

Which is why he knows he has to ask her and get her to open up about whatever is going on in her head. For her sake but also for his own.  

The car ride back to his house after their dinner is, unsurprisingly, quiet and somewhat tense. Harry wants to ask her right there and then why she is being so off, but he also knows he won’t be able to focus on the road if he does. He can hardly focus enough as it is. So he stays quiet and glances over at her whenever he gets the chance, and his heart sinks from how sad she looks.

She doesn’t look at him once though and only rests her head against the window as she watches the other cars around them, picking at the skin around her nails; a sign Harry has learned means that she is either stressed or upset... or both.

Once they make it to his house reality kind of hits him like a ton of bricks and he is one hundred percent sure her mood is because of him now and he is anxious to find out the reason why that is and fearful of where the conversation might lead. What if he loses her? He is not sure his heart can take it.

But she lets him put a hand on her back as they walk into the house and it’s nice to have her close again, she smells so good, and he has to stop himself from falling into her. He wants to wrap his arms around her and never let go.

“I’m gonna go get ready for bed,” she tells him quietly when they get inside, avoiding eye contact, and swiftly disappears up the stairs before he gets the chance to ask her about anything. Harry almost calls her name to stop her but decides to give her a couple of minutes before he approaches her about the elephant in the room.

Also, he needs some time to get his own head together and prepare for whatever might be thrown his way. As scared as he might be there is also a frustration building up inside him from her shutting him out. He had been gone for almost three months and they hadn’t been able to see each other as much as they would’ve liked to. He had been looking forward to just coming home to her and getting a couple of weeks with her before continuing his tour.

There is a lump in his throat as he makes his way up the stairs. His palms are sweaty. His head is spinning. And he realises, for the first time in his life, that he is absolutely terrified about the possibility of losing someone. Her. He has been in love before. He has gone through break-ups. But none of them have made him feel like this. It’s like someone is suffocating him.

And the break-up hasn’t even happened yet. He doesn’t even know if it will happen. He just knows that the girl who has his whole heart in his hands is being distant and won’t talk to him after weeks apart. It’s not a good sign.

She is still in the bathroom when he comes upstairs. The door is open and he takes a few seconds to just watch her, leaning against the doorframe with a fond look on his face. He can’t take his eyes off her. Her hair is pushed back by her pink fuzzy headband and her face is free from all the makeup she had previously worn. She is beautiful, he thinks and closes his eyes for a second to savor the small moment.

It’s just so familiar. He has seen her get ready for bed a hundred times before and he never gets tired of it. It’s the simplest thing but it makes him feel home.

She feels like home.

And then she spots him by the door and a small squeal escapes her lips which brings him back. “Bloody hell Harry” she breathes out and puts a hand over her chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he replies and shoots her a weak smile.

“I’m almost done, just give me a couple minutes and then the bathroom is all yours” she says and picks up one of her many skin care products to continue her routine. She speaks fast and avoids his gaze. Harry clears his throat awkwardly.

“Actually,” he starts. “I was wondering if we could talk?”  

She freezes for a brief moment and Harry almost feels bad. Silence falls over them again and it’s all the confirmation he needs to know that whatever is going on has something to do with him. Harry is almost certain she’s going to tell him she’s too tired to talk or come up with another excuse, but eventually she nods.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” he nods as well and tries to give her another small smile to ease the tension between them but it’s useless. The knot in his stomach weighs him down too much. “I’ll let you finish and you can just come find me, yeah?”

Harry waits for her in the bedroom. He sits down on the bed before standing up almost just as fast. Then he sits back down again. His throat feels dry and his heart is beating so hard inside his chest it feels like it might burst. He’s trying to come up with what to say to her but as soon as she walks in his mind goes completely blank. He wants to believe that he is wrong, that it’s just a big misunderstanding, but her sad eyes make it hard.

She looks so soft and small as she takes a seat next to him and Harry has to fight the urge to just pull her into his arms. It’s strange and he doesn’t understand why she is being so distant. Everything was fine between them before he left for his tour and as far as he knows nothing happened while he was away.

“Have I done something wrong?” he begins.

She sighs and looks down at her hands, still doing her best to avoid eye contact.

“I’m sorry H,” she says and her voice cracks a little at the end. Harry feels sick again. “I know I've been acting weird. Distant. I’m sorry.”

“Will you please look at me?” he begs because he can’t stand her shutting him out like she is. It’s never happened before. So when she looks up at him with tears in her eyes both relief and pangs of agony washes over him. It kills him; fills him with worry. Harry doesn’t know how he is going to get through this. This wasn’t how he had planned his return home. Far from. “What’s going on?”

“I love you,” she tells him and swallows thickly.

Harry nods and tries to stop his head from spinning so much.

“And I love you.”

“I... I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

There it is. He knew it was coming but hearing the words come out of her mouth is a punch to the face. He doesn’t know how to respond to it. Silence falls between them just as heavy raindrops start to fall against the windowsill outside.

“Okay,” is all he can say.

“I just - I hate missing my best friend every single day.” A tear rolls down her cheek and she’s quick to wipe it away, taking a shaky breath. “I feel very alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Harry says and reaches out to take her soft hands into his, holding them tight. She gives him a sad smile and laces her fingers with his. He never wants to let go.

“I know,” she replies softly. “But it feels like I am. I come home to an empty flat, have dinner on my own and watch some stupid reality show to kill time. I can’t even call you whenever I want to because you’re on stage or busy with something else. I feel like I’m just constantly waiting for you. It feels impossible for us to build a life together.”

Harry wants to tell her it’ll change. That it’ll get better. That he’ll be better. But it’s a promise he can’t make because he’s leaving again, soon. He still has shows to do in Australia, North- and South America. He still has a tour to do - and hopefully more tours in the future as well.

And he loves his job. It’s his dream. He is so grateful for everything he gets to do.

But he has never hated his job as much as he does in that moment right there, and he hates himself for that too.

“I’m here now,” he says weakly and tightens his fingers around hers.

“Yeah, I know,” she croaks and when she cups his cheek in the hand he’s not holding Harry can’t stop himself from leaning into her touch. “But you’re leaving again, what happens then? We’ve been in the same time zone and country now for three months and barely had the chance to talk - what happens when you’re on the other side of the world?”

“I’ll make time for you. I promise,” Harry tells her and blinks away his own tears that are threatening to fall.

“But you won’t be here,” she replies sadly and pulls away from him. Harry feels cold as soon as her hands leave his. He wants to scream but there is no air in his lungs. He’s losing her and he doesn't know what to do or say to stop it. He’s helpless.

And when a strangled sob escapes her he thinks his heart might shatter into a million pieces. It’s the worst sound he has ever heard and it kills him knowing it’s because of him. “I hate this,” she cries. “I’m so sorry Harry. I’m being so fucking selfish.”

“Stop,” he huffs and angles his body so he can move himself closer to her. Desperate to fix whatever is happening between them before it’s too late.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles and bows her head, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t want to make you feel bad because I know how much you love what you do and I would never ask you to stop. I love watching you on stage, it’s my favorite thing in the world... but I just- I just don’t know if I’m happy like this. I don’t like the person I become when you’re away.”  

“What can I do?” Harry begs even though he knows there’s not a lot he can do right now. “I’m not losing you.” He takes her hands into his again, running his thumb over her knuckles. “I love you.”

“I love you too Harry, so much.” Her voice trembles as she speaks and Harry feels his whole stomach drop as the next few words fall from her lips. He’s sure he is going to pass out. “Sometimes love isn’t enough though, is it?”

“What are you saying?” he whispers as he tightens his hold on her hands. She looks up at him, her glossy eyes meeting his green ones, and Harry can no longer hold back his own tears.

“I don’t know yet,” she admits, her voice low and thick. Harry tries to think of something to say that will change her mind but his head is swirling with a million different things all at once. He can’t think straight. He only knows he refuses to lose her. He won’t lose her. So he tells her that again.

“I’m not losing you.”

That night they fall asleep on different sides of the bed with their backs facing each other and Harry might just break.

.

May 19th.

Harry Styles ❤️ 11:34 AM We just landed in Australia. I wish you were here. I love you. xxx

.

May 31st.

Harry Styles ❤️ 5:47 PM Last show is done. I’ll be home on Tuesday. Let’s talk then. xxx

.

June.  

She is tired.

The last three weeks have been brutal. Or, actually, the whole month has been brutal. Ever since she told Harry about her insecurities regarding their relationship she felt like her whole life had just fallen apart. She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Nothing.

She went to work and when the day was over she went straight home and watched every episode she could find of ‘The Great British Bake Off’ to numb her mind. Her co-workers express their worry when they see her come to work with the same outfit for the fourth day in a row, greasy hair and big dark circles under her eyes. They tell her to take a few days off.

But she doesn’t.

Because she needs work as a distraction. She can’t just sit at home and think about everything that happened between her and Harry before he left for Australia. The morning after their talk they hardly said a word to each other and she could see that he was hurt. It killed her knowing it was because of her.

It was just that the European tour had been harder on her than she ever could've imagined. Other than the London shows she had only been able to go to the one in Manchester and the one in Paris, but that was it. She couldn’t get more time off to go see him and whenever she finished work at the end of a long day and had time to call him he was already on stage or about to be.

They hardly spoke and it made her sad. The reality of how different their lives were slapped her hard in the face that first leg of his tour. So hard she couldn’t bring herself to be happy when he came back home to London, because she knew he was leaving again.

She figured that maybe she just needed some time to get used to having him around again and that things would go back to how they usually were after a day or so. They didn’t. Instead all she could think about was the fact that he was leaving again and how every hour that passed was an hour of their time together that was gone.

She had been stupid to think he wouldn’t notice.

When he asked her to talk she knew that she would no longer be able to keep things to herself. It all just came crashing down.

She hasn’t seen Harry in almost a month now and her whole body is aching for his touch again. At the same time, she knows she has no one but herself to blame for her heartache.

She loves him. She loves him so fucking much.

She just doesn’t know if she can handle the distance. She doesn’t know if she can handle only speaking to him through text messages because of the time difference and/or because their schedules don't add up. She doesn’t know if she can handle all the rumors circulating on social media whenever he has been seen with someone she doesn’t recognize. She’s become jealous and she doesn’t like it.  

But she loves him.

She knows in her heart that he is The one.

And maybe that’s why she is so fucking terrified of him leaving, because what if he never comes back to her?

She’s not sure she’s going to be able to handle it.

So when she told him she wasn’t sure if she could be with him anymore she did it so she could leave first, but then he looked at her like she had just crushed his entire soul. After spending every night for the last couple weeks replaying the moment over and over again in her head she realises she won’t ever be able to leave him. She doesn’t want to.

And now he is coming back again, after spending two weeks back home in Holmes Chapel with his family to clear his head and two weeks down under in Australia doing what he loves most, and she is still terrified.  Because he might show up and tell her he’s had enough of her games and leave with her heart.

She takes that Tuesday off from work and cleans her entire flat, anxiously waiting for Harry to show up. He texted her earlier to let her know he would arrive in London by noon and would be coming over, to which she only replied an ‘okay’ because she was overthinking and didn’t know what else to say.

They never officially said the words “we are over” so she has no idea if they were still together or broken up, and she didn’t want to say something that could be misinterpreted in any way.

Then she gets another text from him asking her if she could come over to him instead because he is too jet lagged and wants to just go home and have a shower. And she convinces herself it’s only an excuse from him. An excuse to get her to come over and get all her stuff she has left laying around his house the last year, so he can remove any traces of her ever being in his life.

She still tells him she’ll be there in an hour.

That hour ends up being one of the worst hours of her life. She’s an anxious mess as she tries to get ready and ends up spilling her coffee all over her shirt and the freshly mopped floor. Her favorite cup with a small dachshund painted on it, the one Harry got her after their first date when she told she was obsessed with dachshunds, falls to the floor and breaks in half. She has a mini breakdown over it all.

She’s also about two seconds away from running over an old lady by the crossroads leading up to Harry’s house.

Then when she arrives at Harry’s house she has forgotten the code to get through his gate. She has another breakdown thinking he has changed it because he doesn’t want her to know what it is anymore.

Turns out she only missed a number.

Before she knows she is knocking on his door and just stands there waiting for him to come let her in. Normally she wouldn’t knock and just waltz right in but it didn’t feel right this time. She isn’t sure if she is even allowed to anymore.

So she waits.

When Harry finally opens the door and she is face to face with him again she feels like she might actually collapse. He looks tired, eyes puffy and cheeks rosy, but he still smiles when he sees her. And even though he has his grey hoodie up she can still see the little hair clip on top of his head that’s holding back his damp curls from falling in his face.

“Hi,” she breathes out and clasps her hands together in front of her because she doesn’t know what else to do. Her heart is beating painfully hard inside her chest.

“Hi,” Harry says and takes a step forward as if he is about to pull her into a hug, but he stops himself and takes a step back again. They stand in silence for what feels like an eternity, just taking each other in, before Harry clears his throat and opens the door a little wider for her.  “Come in.”

As she passes him she catches a whiff of his perfume and it’s so familiar and calming that she forgets for  a moment that they’ve been in a downward spiral for the last month.

But she is quickly reminded of the situation when Harry awkwardly leads her to the lounge and they sit down on opposite ends of the sofa. Her fingers tremble a little as she pushes a couple strands of hair behind her ear. The room is quiet and cold. The whole house smells like detergent and soap, it always did when he hadn’t been home for a while, and she hates it.

“So, um, how was Australia?” she asks, keeping her eyes on the bright colorful painting that hangs on the wall above Harry’s head and avoiding his green ones that are staring her down. She’s positive he can hear how fast her heart is beating.

“It was alright,” Harry answers and tilts his head forward a little, brows drawn together, as he tries to get her to focus on him rather than the painting behind him.

“Good,” she mumbles and takes a shaky breath, still avoiding his eyes. Harry sighs deeply and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. This isn’t like them. Far from. She wants to crawl into his arms; wants to feel the comfort and safety he always brings her when he holds her. Her whole body is screaming for his touch again, but her head stops her - what if he didn’t want to hold her anymore?

“We can’t go on like this,” he tells her then and her blood instantly runs cold.

This is it.

Harry is going to tell her he can’t be with her anymore and it’s her own fault. She pushed him away.

“Okay,” she whispers. Tears are already welling up in her eyes and she is quick to blink them away before they fall. But her vision is still blurry. Her throat feels tight and dry. The room is closing on her and she has to wipe her clammy hands on her pants to make sure she’s still in her own body. A huge part of her wants to run, although she is not too sure her legs will carry her. This is what she gets for pushing him away though she supposes.

“I need to know if you’re leaving or not.”

She snaps her head in his direction as soon as the words come out of his mouth.

“What?”

She’s not sure she’s heard him right.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Harry continues and a small curl falls out of his little hair clip as he shakes his head. “I need answers from you. These past few weeks - I can’t...  I need to know where we stand. I need to know if I’ve lost you.”

She blinks.

“Harry, I-“ She can't find her words. She had been so sure that he was going to tell her he was leaving her, that he was tired of her selfishness and wanted nothing more to do with her. Now her whole body is frozen as her mind tries to catch up with what Harry just told her. He looks worn out, sad, and she feels so incredibly stupid. Guilty. This mess is all her fault. “No.”

Harry inhales sharply through his nose and gives her a short nod.

“Alright.” His lips are pressed together, jaw tense, as he averts his gaze to something other than her face, refusing to look at her any longer.

“No Harry, I mean, you haven’t,” she is quick to say when she realises he had misunderstood her words. Her head is spinning. There is so much she needs to say but she doesn’t even know where to start. “You haven’t lost me. I didn’t think- I thought you were leaving me.”

“What?”

And just like that it’s all just too much. The last couple weeks washes over her as soon Harry looks at her again and she notices how glossy his eyes are. She’s overwhelmed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry H,” she cries and hides her face in her hands, finally letting her tears spill over and run hot down her cheeks. “I’ve been so fucking stupid.”

She lets a sob rip from her throat and buries her face deeper into her hands, wishing she could just disappear. Guilt is eating away at her conscience knowing that Harry had walked around thinking she was leaving him while having to go out on stage and put on a good show for thousands of fans. She should’ve talked to him before he left. She should’ve replied to his texts. She feels like the worst fucking person in the entire world.

“Heey, noo, don’t cry.” Harry moves over to crouch down in front of her. His touch burns through the thick denim of her jeans when he puts his arms down on either side of her on the sofa, his thumbs rubbing small circles on her thighs. “Talk to me, Love.”

“I’m so stupid,” she repeats.

“You’re not,” Harry says softly and gently pushes some of her hair away from her face, tapping her fingers lightly to get her to get her to remove her hands from her face and look at him again. When she peeks at him through her fingers she’s met by his small dimple. He takes the opportunity to carefully pry her hands away completely and holds them in his own. “There we go,” he murmurs. “S’just me. You can talk to me.”

“I’m scared,” she admits and runs her fingers over his rings. Harry frowns but doesn’t say anything, just lets her take her time to gather her scattered mind. It’s hard though when he is finally so close again and all she can think about is how good he smells and how familiar and soothing it is to have his hand in hers again. “I don’t know - I guess I just worry that you’ll get tired of me or feel like I’m just holding you back or that you’ll meet someone much more exciting than me while you’re away. I’m terrified that you’re going to wake up one day and realise I’m just some loser who lives a boring life that you actually have no interest of being a part of...  And I don’t think my heart could take it.” Her voice cracks with the last part.

Harry holds her hand a little tighter in his.

“I don’t think my heart could take it either,” he tells her.

And even though he is right in front of her, holding her hands in his, she can’t stop the feeling of hopelessness coming over her again. She doesn’t want to lose him. Refuses to be the one who leaves.

But he is going away again soon and she doesn’t know what she is supposed to do when he does. The issues of her feeling alone and insecure are still going to be there, and what happens then? Is she going to put them both through another tortures couple weeks again, where neither of them know where they stand? She can’t do that to him.

“Do you think we can make it work?” she asks him and presses her lips together to stop herself from letting another sob escape her.

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully and swallows hard. “But isn’t that part of it? Not knowing. Life is far too short to worry about what might happen in the future. There is alway going to be some bad and some good. The only thing I know for certain right here, right now, is that I love you and that I want to be with you. I don’t want anyone else.”

“Neither do I.”

Harry smiles.

“Okay then,” he says softly and moves himself a little closer to her. “Maybe we can just leave it like that then? And we’ll just figure it out as we go.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.”

There's a moment of silence and she wants to stay in that moment forever. Just the two of them. It’s all she wants. Always. To just be with him.

And when Harry stands up and simultaneously pulls her with him she falls into his arms. His body is so warm against hers and as he grabs her chin and tilts her head back so he can press his soft lips to hers she knows that things will work out between them. 

She loves him too much to not at least fight for it.

It will by no means be easy and she knows that when he leaves again in a couple weeks that he is going to take a piece of her heart with him.

But she also knows that she has a piece of his heart with her at all times, and that knowledge fills the small void inside her chest for many years to come.

.

Let me know what you think! <3