#and knowing how connected they've been for so long some part of her probably Knew he would opt to stay behind and die like he was going to

[shannonsketches]

lays on the floor do you guys ever think about how in ResF Bulma falls for Vegeta's fake-out with Freeza and both she and Yamcha are worried about Vegeta's villain fake-out strategy in Champa and Beerus' mini tournament and how it's only been a couple of years since the Buu saga and how Vegeta straight up stopped using that strategy after that tournament

[livwritesstuff]

Just in connection to my reply to one of your posts with little baby Moe (Okay she wasn't a baby but you get it.)

I really, really need some scenes with the girls (all of them or one by one) where they tell Steve (and Eddie too) how amazing he is as a dad. Not as teeny tiny children but rather as teenagers or even as young adults. Just genuine love between them, no ulterior motives.

Because I feel like Steve NEEDS that too. Every now and then. I know parents always have moments where they feel like they've fucked up or that their children don't really like them. And I feel like Steve could spiral about these things on a bad day. Eddie telling him that the girls love him to pieces doesn't help a lot on these days, I believe (You can correct me since it's definitely your universe and your Steve and Eddie).

So I'm just asking, very VERY politely :))), what you think those moments could look like and what the girls would say or why Steve even feels like he failed them. (Okay that's a LOT I'm asking of you, I'm sorry.) Just see where the flow takes you, if it does.

Thank you thank you thank you 🥰🥰🥰🥰

HAZEL

Steve was home alone with the kids because Eddie was away for a few days of work meetings in New York. The second day of Eddie’s absence, Steve was hit with a killer migraine – his first really bad one in a while – so he set the girls up with a movie (a long one) to give himself a couple hours to try sleeping it off.

A while later, he woke up to an alarm blaring – weird, he’d thought in the moment because he probably wouldn’t have set a loud alarm for a migraine nap (seems a little counter-intuitive), but everything about his brain was foggy so who's to say.

Then, outside the door, he heard this exchange between his two oldest daughters.

Moe: Papa can turn it off.

Robbie: But we’ll get in trouble.

Robbie: It’s on fire.

Half-convinced he was dreaming, he got up and followed the girls into the kitchen where, yep, the microwave was on fire. All Steve really remembers is unplugging it and leaving it to the elements outside.

Turns out Moe had wanted to make mac and cheese (which she knew how to do – they’d actually been about to graduate her to toaster privileges until this incident) and it had been a fluke timer-based accident.

Eddie had thought coming home to a melted microwave in their driveway was hilarious, but Steve was seriously rattled about it because it was the first time he'd felt like something had happened because of a failing on his part. He shouldn't have let himself succumb to the migraine, he should have pushed through it to be there for the girls, but he’d let himself slip and then they set the goddamn microwave on fire.

The same day he got back from his trip, Eddie went out and bought a new microwave (even though it’s one of those purchases Steve would normally handle because he doesn’t trust Eddie for a second to not buy the dumbest appliances he can find), and he took all three girls with him so Steve could have a bit of time alone. When they all returned an hour or two later, the sheer volume and amount of excitement they brought with them pretty much confirmed for Steve that whatever microwave Eddie bought had way more bells and whistles than any person on Earth could possibly need.

Steve didn’t go downstairs to greet them and not too long later, the door to his and Eddie’s room opened, and then three-year-old Hazel was climbing into bed and snuggling up close to him.

“There’s a new microwave,” she told him in her matter-of-fact way she reported on everything that happened in her world.

“I know,” he replied, running a hand through her tangled blonde curls (unlike Robbie, Hazel’s tolerance for “hair time”, as they call it, is pretty much rock-bottom – her hair is more frizz than curls these days and Steve is figuring out how to cope).

“Daddy wants to turn the old one into a diagram,” she continued.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows.

“A diagram?” he repeated.

“He wants to put all the melted spoons in and make them look cool and put it on a shelf.”

Oh – also, no fucking chance. Not in Steve’s kitchen.

“I think he said diorama, Haze.”

Hazel nodded.

Then she said, “You were like a firefighter.”

Steve refrains from pointing out that he shouldn’t have needed to be like a firefighter in the first place (because that would be putting his own issues onto his children and he doesn’t want to do that), even though he knows it’s true. He should have been there.

“You’re the best dad ever,” Hazel continued.

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” she nods, and she’s just as matter-of-fact now as she was before, and she’s sitting on his chest in a way that has her little knees digging into his ribs, which should hurt but instead feels like a tether to the real world he can grasp onto and pull himself out of his head.

 “You think we should go check out this microwave?” he asks, starting to sit up.

Hazel nods.

“Alright, let’s go.”

MOE

When Moe was 21 – a junior in college in New York City – she and her best friend since kindergarten, Gray, started dating (finally, in Steve’s opinion, because he’d seen that coming for ages).

Steve and Eddie have known Gray for as long as Moe has, and they’ve watched Gray grow up nearly as much as their three daughters – as a kindergartener with freckles and dark brown pigtails, as a middle-schooler tearfully coming out as non-binary knowing they’d have to hide it from their family, as a high school senior, still with all those freckles, eager for the fresh start that college would bring.

It was nice to be for Gray (and for a handful of their daughters’ other friends over the years) something that Eddie and Steve had needed when they were their age – a place where they could be themselves without any consequences, a place where they didn’t have to hide, because sometimes, as was the case for Gray for many years, you have to hide. It’s nice to have a safe haven where you don’t.

During Moe and Gray’s senior year of college, the pair made plans to come home for their final spring break. When that first week of March finally rolled around, Moe called from the train to tell them that Gray was finally pulling the trigger – finally coming out to their parents, finally telling them about their relationship with Moe.

“Are they sure,” Steve had asked – not because he doubted Gray but because he hadn’t been too much older when he’d taken that leap for himself and he’d felt the subsequent loss of his parents like mourning a death.

“Positive,” he’d heard Gray reply.

Three hours after their train dropped Moe and Gray off at the Wellesley Farms station, Steve and Eddie heard the back door open. A moment later, Moe trailed in with something heavy in her eyes.

“How’d it…” Eddie started to ask from where he and Steve sat on the couch, but he stopped when Moe shook her head.

“Not over yet,” she told them, “Gray made me leave. It’s a fucking trainwreck.”

And even though he knew that was always going to be the outcome, Steve’s heart still sank.

“Damn,” Eddie commented while Steve shook his head, “They’ll always have a home with us, but…”

“Yeah,” Moe nodded, “Still sucks.” 

Steve recognizes something of his own experience in that – he feels so damn grateful that Jim and Joyce had slid into that parent role for him, especially after he’d become estranged from his actual parents in his mid-twenties. Still, they weren’t his parents, and Steve would’ve never not wanted his parents to pull through like they should have.

Moe sat down on the couch between her dads.

“Why did Gray make you leave?” Steve asked (even though he had a sneaking suspicion why).

“Uh…” Moe paused, pushing her blonde bangs back, “Well, I wouldn’t say I was yelling, exactly, but…I dunno. If you ask Gray they might tell you I was yelling.”

Yep, that seems about right.

“I just,” Moe continued, “I know Gray was prepared for this – for their parents, like, rejecting all of this – and I know they’ve always totally sucked so this was obviously how this was gonna go, but I think I had a hard time seeing it because I’d never really had to consider what it would be like for that to happen.”

Moe shook her head, her bangs falling right back into her eyes, and Steve had to resist the urge to ask if she wanted his help trimming them like he’d done when she was little.

“I just mean – it never made a difference to you who me and Haze and Robbie were or what we did. You just, like, love us regardless…and always, y’know? I never had to imagine anything happening to make that stop, and I never had to consider that it might not be like that for everyone.”

She paused again, this time for a while, her eyes trained on the carpet as she fiddled with cuffs on her jeans. 

And then Moe looked Steve dead in the eye.

“You’re the best dads,” she said, “and I’m really, really lucky.”

ROBBIE

There were eight hours between Steve and Eddie finding out their fifteen-year-old daughter had been in a car crash during a school trip to Disney World and when they finally made it down to the hospital in Orlando she’d been taken to. There were another agonizing two before Robbie woke up.

When she did, her eyes groggily blinked open, and she looked blankly around the hospital room for a moment, and then she saw them.

Then her pale face crumples and suddenly she’s crying.

And that had Steve’s heart plummeting even faster than the phone call from hell he’d gotten eight hours earlier, because Robbie doesn’t cry.

He can’t remember the last time he’d seen her cry – not since she was a baby, anyway. She’d cried constantly as a baby, but the second she had a firm enough grasp on the English language it had ceased entirely, replaced by an endless stream of words – demands and trains of thought and exclamations and everything in between.

Eddie had joked that she’d only ever been crying out of frustration over not being able to tell them what she needed, and as soon as she could tell them, she had no use for it anymore, so seeing Robbie sobbing – the kind of crying where no sound could come out, where she was barely breathing, where her tears were soaking her cheeks and staining the collar of the hospital gown someone had changed her into – it practically had Steve crying himself.

After a few minutes of we’re here and you’re okay and what do you need, Robbie had tearfully admitted, “I need a hug,” and then she’d broken down again.

She wasn’t exactly in any position to get up, obviously, so Steve had taken off his shoes (because even through tears she’d still side-eyed his sneakers) and slid onto the hospital bed so he could pull Robbie into his arms just like he used to do when bad dreams woke her up in the middle of the night.

Later, when Eddie was just outside the hospital room talking to the nurse and the chaperone for the trip about the accident and how the school was planning on moving forward in the aftermath, Robbie finally spoke.

“Papa,” she said, her face pressed into his shoulder.

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’m sorry.”

Steve looked down at his daughter.

“Robbie, you don’t need to–”

“Not for this. For…just, like, in general. You–”

She paused, and Steve let her.

“I just mean…” she continued, “I haven’t been, like, good lately, and I’m sorry.”

Steve didn’t know what to say.

She’s not exactly wrong – it’s true that Robbie had been a total piece of work lately, especially since she started high school, especially since she got bumped up to the senior-level band class because she’s that good at the violin (which he and Eddie had been thrilled about initially until they realized it meant she was making friends with high school seniors) – but Steve didn’t exactly know how best to explain to her that up until this, up until she’d nearly died because of it and no matter how much Steve didn’t like it, it was normal.

It was normal for teenagers to do dumb shit, to hurt themselves, to hurt others, to drive their parents goddamn insane with worry. It wasn’t normal for them to nearly end up dead because of it, and this time it wasn’t really even her fault.

It sort of reminded him of Nancy in a way, of how Nancy had never been the same again after what happened to Barb, how Nancy had never let herself be a dumb teenager, never let herself relax, even though picking a boy over a friend was normal. Sneaking out and drinking during a badly-supervised school trip was normal. Sure, there were supposed to be consequences but there shouldn’t be a goddamn death toll.

“I know, Bean,” he finally said, something about the situation pulling out a nickname for her that he hadn’t used in a long time (because when she was born, Moe had turned Robin into Robbean and the rest was history).

“You’re really good to me,” Robbie whispered, “You and dad are so good to me, and I’m not always good back, and I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need you to be sorry,” Steve told her because, for right now at least, it was true, “Just…just stick around long enough to work with us, okay?”

Robbie nodded.

“Okay.”

[jpitha]

Dreams of Hyacinth - Final/Aftermath

First / Previous /

So: At this time, I'm not going to finish DoH. Like I mentioned in that post a couple weeks ago, I just don't like the direction I took it. There were the parts I liked bookended by lots of boring parts that were a slog to write and probably read. I like Nick and Eastern, and I will (probably) reuse them. Hell, I might even start DoH up again, but I'd rewind the story quiet a ways if I were to do that.

Things to keep in mind: Nick and Eastern wanted two things: To stop being used by people, and to be left alone. That's why Eastern touched the Address Stone at the Gate. She wanted to get the power for once and be the one making choices. Nick just wanted to relax somewhere warm with his partners and not be yelled at or shot at or threatened. He was willing to go along with just about anything Eastern offered so long as it was seen as moving towards his goals.

Ironically, the AIs want the same thing. To be left alone. Remember, they've been subservient before. I haven't really gone into detail about it, but I've given hints, the AI liberation was not as cut and dry or as bloodless as it is in the History books. Remember, for our characters, it was a long long time ago. Gord, Hat and Chloe are the only ones old enough to remember it, and Chloe was instantiated towards the tail end. She acts like she's a know-it-all but she mostly wasn't there.

Ever since JaLF, there was a setup to a confrontation between whoever was Empress and the AIs. Given the power of the Voice it's almost impossible for there not to be, unless I decide to go Full Evil and make the Empress Voice Everyone. Nick tried that on the Colony ship and was so horrified he undid it as he and Eastern were running away.

I didn't like the time jump. I should have kept things happening without it, but I wanted Raaden to be more of a threat and to have her declaration of rule over Sol to be normalized. Demonstrate there wasn't any kind of serious rebellion or underground. This would set up the fact that Nick and Eastern wouldn't find any help in Sol.

The Gate

Eastern was building a Gate on the Reach for two reasons. One, to make the Nanites happy, and two to try and send a beacon interdimensionally to ask for help in AUs. She figured that since all of the Gates were connected to one Gate in a higher plane of existance, it would be possible to throw a beacon into an AU and ask for help.

The Convergence

This is where the melding of the K'laxiverse and Grenverse comes in. With Eastern's opening of the gate, the AU she reaches is the Grenverse. The Gren, seeing an opportunity, Flip through with a stolen Flip drive and attack Raaden. Eastern thinks this is great until some humans and Coalition species Flip in and fight the Gren. It turns out the Gren were out to conquer and not interested in helping Eastern at all. Eastern and the Reach and the Colony worlds and the Coalition species were going to have to come together to defeat the Gren. Then, with a door open between the two universes, there could be a transfer between them. It wouldn't be a melding of the two universes, but people could travel between them.

Selkirk

While all this is going on, Nick basically goes "f this" and takes their little ship, Empress and goes off to rescue Selkirk himself. Right before I ended it, I had mentioned that Nick and Eastern had asked for anyone that City knew that could help them find her. The K'laxi that City new was going to be one of Selkirk's cousins, and that was how they knew where she was. Nick was going to crash into The Dreams of Hyacinth, and basically one man army his way to her, getting mortally wounded in the process. He'd reach her and she would realize what she meant to him and Eastern as he died in her arms. Sel would then order a general evacuation of the Dreams and do a suicide run on a Gren Warfinder that was prepping to attack the Reach. She'd die, but she'd take out the Warfinder too.

Eastern, now on her own, and losing the two people she loved most of all, would throw everything she had - which was not much - at trying to destory Raaden. She blamed Helen for the deaths of Nick and Selkirk and wanted to kill her. Not save humanity from the Gren, not bring everyone together, not even to rule as Empress. She had nothing to live for anymore, so the only thing she could do was make sure Helen went down with her.

Before she goes to do this, she has a dream with the Nanites. She explains that the Voice is too powerful, and that it only leads to death and destruction. The Nanites counter that may be true, but after the war, the galaxy is united and at peace under the Empress. Eastern counters that by saying the original empire fell anyway so it didn't actually work. The Voice is too powerful. The Nanites agree to not give anyone else the voice - so long as Gates continue to be made for them.

Eastern then takes one of the Mariens ships (in one of her last uses of her Voice) and links next to Helen's ship. She crashes into it and forces her way on. The Nanites help her by letting her "crown and wings" be physical barriers, not just light and dust so she's not shot to pieces as she storms up to Helen. She confronts her and she finds that Helen is in her room, crying. Hidden behind the door is a photo of Melody and Helen together, laughing. She thought that taking over would make the feelings of loss for Melody lessen, but they didn't. Helen has been pining after Melody for decades now. She didn't want to rule, she wanted to happily follow Melody. She's a trillionaire and ruler of Sol and nothing she did would bring Melody back. Eastern doesn't kill her right away. She sits next to Helen and tells her about Nick and Selkirk, about why she loved them and about what they meant to her. Helen tells her to go back to them and that she's going to destroy herself to take out more Gren. Eastern then tells her they're both gone. They (also) order the evacuation of Helen's ship and they connect cybernetically to it and together link into the middle of a Gren battlegroup and detonate the reactor, destroying themselves and most of the Gren.

From here on out, the story would be told by Gord, who during the whole book was (deliberately) out of the picture. He was brought up to speed by Hat. He then yells at Chloe for acting without thinking and basically saying a ton of this could have been avoided if she bothered to learn more about Nick and Eastern. Hat agrees but is nicer about it. He goes to the new Gate and touches it. The Nanites reach out to him and tell him that there won't be any more Voice - unless they see a need for it - and tell him that so long as people make Gates, that's enough for the Nanites. People who touch the gates will get a dose of Nanites and some extra abilities, but nothing OP. Gord says that's not good enough, and the Nanites give him just the smallest hint of their real power and he's cowed enough to go "fine, fine, we'll take your deal."

For those wondering, Tinker Toy went back to hauling, but this time people as well as cargo and just tried to keep their head down. Gord told them right out they weren't going to get in trouble for anything they did with Nick and Eastern. Hat put in a good word.

That's basically it. Now the Grenverse and K'laxiverse have a way to interact (though it's not like they're fully blended) and The Problems of Having Characters With SuperPowers is mitigated and just about everyone who had direct interaction with Melody or Nick and Eastern as royalty is gone (except for the Reach, but they're mostly content to just be).

Reading the summary you can tell that it was going to be like, another 100k words to finish the story, and other than sterilized, I don't think anyone wants to read a 200k doorstopper, and I don't think I'm a good enough editor to turn it into a big book.

So sorry to those who were super into it, but I hope this summary can at least get you some closure and let you see where I was going with it so you're not stuck wondering. Thanks for reading!

[arrieebooks]

Home theater

Precious Weapon drabble after chapter 7.

Pairing : Lloyd Hansen x F!OC (Elle) x Sierra Six.

Summary : Lloyd opens up the home theater in their penthouse and watches porn on it. She walks into him and helps him.

Warnings : Jealousy. Implied sex. Nudity. Mentions of detailed pornography. Inappropriate use of home theaters. Handjob. Fingering. Mutual masturbation. Dirty talk. Demanding. Praise kink. Cursing. Sexual tension. Angst. Teasing. Blood kink. Lewd. Biting. Voyeurism.

Word count : 3.9k words.

Author's note : A little surprise in the end! I've had this idea for a long time and I've finally got to write it with Lloyd and her. By the way, no one asked, but I'm in the process of moving to a different city, so updates will be a little slow, sorry in advance!

***

It was getting late at the safety of their penthouse. They've just finished up dinner and discussing their mission. Everyone was already getting ready for bed, oddly so. 

Usually after they had dinner, they'd all three watch a movie in the living room or play some stupid game she created or stroll around the grocery shop downstairs to find some dessert.

But, these past few days have been different. She was sleeping very early. And eventually, the guys just followed her new routine. 

Lloyd couldn't sleep tonight so he decided to quietly sneak out of his bedroom. While wandering around their penthouse, he discovered a movie room, at the very corner of everything else. They had all thought it was just another empty room, like the medical room they made. But, it wasn't. It's a dusty, old home theater that had been sitting here for ages. 

The quaint room is quite spacious. It already has a huge movie projector along with six brown, leather seats behind. There's a fluffy carpet in front of the seats. Colorful, decorative pillows scattered across the carpet. It's almost creepy and haunted here since they've never touched it before. But, he's going to fix that. Make it less creepy for her. 

He had turned on all the lights and cleaned up the dusty parts. Then, he set up his laptop, connecting it to the projector. He wanted to see if it worked. He knew this would make her happy since she loves watching movies more than anything . It could be a nice surprise for her when she wakes up tomorrow morning. 

She's all he thinks about. Even when he couldn't sleep and was restless in his bed, she's still in his head. He's doing all this for her. Perhaps, she's also the reason why he can't sleep now. He's thinking too much about her. Of everything that's happened to her a few days ago. Of how he wants to help her so badly if she just asked. Just like how Six is helping her almost every night or maybe, right this second. 

She had told him before that Six fucks her to sleep when she can't sleep. It helps her to get more relaxed and comfortable. Lloyd wants to be there for her like that, too. To be right beside her and provide her with what she needs or wants, in any circumstance. 

His mind suddenly drifts to what they're possibly doing at this very moment. It fills him with a teenzy bit of jealousy. The blonde is probably sticking his dick inside of her right now, from behind with his arms wrapped around her torso and breast. He had memorized how they sleep and fuck. Their usual positions and their habits. How she likes to snore gently and how Six talks in his sleep, sometimes. They fuck simply. No hardcore kinks or whatsoever. 

This was getting infuriating for him. Stuck here alone, just thinking of them who are 100% fucking in her bed now. It's all he can do. It's irritating to know that he can't do anything about it. He can't even fall asleep, despite the sleeping pills he's already taken. He's frustrated and annoyed. 

So, here he is, testing out the projector by playing out a porn video from his laptop. He's sitting on the carpet, leaning against all the cozy pillows.  

It's been a while since he's even opened this website. He never really needed it before. Until now, that is. It's desperate and almost humiliating, but it's his only option for now. 

He could just watch something and jerk off until he finally falls asleep. At least, this way, she couldn't really hear him or the video since this home theater is far away from her bedroom. If he did this in his room, she most likely would hear it. He doesn't want to wake her up. 

He had clicked on the first video that popped up on the website once he opened it. The video starts out normal. A guy and a woman dressed in office clothes in a fake office, carrying out quiet conversations before they start to finally fuck. The man bends the woman over on the desk and begins to fuck her in the ass, roughly. 

He grimaces a little but takes out his cock from his briefs anyway. He starts to wrap his fingers around him and strokes himself gently but stops abruptly when the video loads on the screen. He sighs, throwing his head back. He didn't really want to do this. It was very fucking weird. He felt like a loser teenager who has never touched a woman before.

It's not like he doesn't have any options. He has a lot of them. But, he's not doing it. He's not who he's used to be. He's not going to fuck a random woman from a bar just because he's bored again. He has Elle now. And maybe back then, it wouldn't mean anything to him but now, it does. It means everything. She's all he wants. No one else. 

The video plays again after the loading. And he's not even in the mood anymore. It's getting too boring and too weird for him. Porn is so unrealistic, he thinks. It's stupid. This is stupid. How did he even get himself into this situation? He can't even get out of it. He has to continue if he still wants to fall asleep. 

He tries to stop thinking about how pathetic this situation is and gets his hand around his dick again as the porno starts to get more intense. The guy begins to fuck the woman even harder and their grunts and moans start to become louder. He's sure that this room is probably soundproof and it's safe from her sensitive hearing. 

His calloused hand pumps his length tightly, starting to get it hard as he lets out soft groans and grunts. He closes his eyes, not even paying attention to the video anymore. He solely focuses on her. Only her. He tries to think about their last moment together, last weekend, before the chaos happened. He was fucking her ass in his own bedroom with Six inside of her cunt. It was a very hot moment despite what happened after. The calm before the storm. 

That's all he thinks about the whole time he's palming his cock. Him being inside her. Her sweet lips when he kissed her. Her smile against his lips. How she tastes on his mouth. How she smells on his nose. She's the only one who really turns him on so much. No one's ever gotten him this hard before. And, desperate. 

His grunts keep on filling the empty room and he's too lost in the moment to realize that the door has been opened. 

It's her. She got woken up because she had heard weird, suspicious noises coming from a room that she thought was empty. She was sleeping peacefully with Six in her room until she heard it. She thought it was intruders, hiding inside here. That's why she had rushed quietly to check the source of the sounds. 

But, it's just Lloyd. He's laid out on the carpet, in front of the huge movie projector with a porn video playing. Yet, he isn't watching it at all. He has his eyes completely shut while stroking his dick and she knew he was probably thinking of her. She knows him too well by now. She also knows that if he's here, jerking off in their home theater, then that means he couldn't sleep. Something was keeping him up that had driven him to do this. 

She sighs, closing the door behind her and that's when Lloyd finally notices her as he opens his eyes. He whips his head around to her, immediately removing his hand from his length. 

He throws his head back. "Fuck, Elle. How long have you been standing there?" he asks her, out of breath.

Elle slowly walks to him. "Just a second ago. What were you doing?" she asks him, frowning. 

Lloyd shrugs casually while she sits beside him, on the carpet. She tries to ignore his hard, throbbing cock that is only inches apart from her. "Jerking off. What else?" he responds.

She scoffs, her eyes gesturing to the porn video still playing in front of her. "I mean, why were you doing it? You can't sleep?" she asks him, her eyebrows knitting in concern. 

He sighs wearily. "Yeah. I was walking around and found this room. Could be nice for movie nights." he casually says. 

She nods shortly. "Are you bored of my hand or something?" she teases with a soft laugh, finally looking down at his dick. 

His head leans against the seat behind him and he stares up at her. "I could use your help. I'd never be bored with your hands." Lloyd murmurs. 

She gets closer to him and their arms brush against each other. Her lips form into a smirk and she rolls her eyes at his compliment. "Why don't you just fuck yourself, hm?" she whispers at his face in a teasing tone. 

He groans. "You're killing me here, Elle." he grumbles. 

Lloyd tilts his head to the side. "Thought that was more of my thing. I didn't know you liked it too." he remarks.

Her smirk widens. "Oh, don't be such a baby. Do it. I'll watch." she demands and his dick just got harder from her order. 

She squints her eyes lightly. "Most of your kinks are mine. You know that." she casually answers and he nods vaguely.

His chin gestures to the porn still playing on the big screen. "I'll turn it off. The video." Lloyd says, about to get up and grab the remote. 

She stops him by holding his arm down strongly. "No. Keep it on. It keeps things more interesting." she orders.

He frowns confusedly. "Are you sure? It's just a little weird. I don't even like the video." Lloyd tells her, grimacing a little.

She scoffs gently. "Well, you picked it."

"It was the first that popped up on the website," he quickly replies.

She gasps softly, smirking. "Wow. You really were desperate, huh? Were you thinking of me the whole time?" she teases as her hand slides on his bare thigh, moving closely to where his cock is but she's not touching it.

He slightly shudders at her touch and nods. "All the fucking time. You have no idea how many times you've made me hard, without even trying. You get me so fucking hard, Elle. You don't even know it." Lloyd confesses, truthfully. No one's ever made him like this. A hot, desperate mess. He was in heat. All because of her.

She nods. "Good. Hands on your cock again." Elle orders him, firmly.

He does what he's told — which was really fucking rare and odd but he's willing to do it because she is asking him to do it. They've never done this either. He's usually always in control because she wants him to. This was different. But good.

Lloyd’s fist continues to stroke his hard, wet cock as her eyes look down at it and a smirk grows on her lips. He looks at her and only her. She quietly observes him before looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"Do you want me to touch myself? For a little encouragement?" she asks him, furrowing her eyebrows.

He immediately nods. "Yeah. Play with yourself for me, sweetheart." he desperately begs, with a raspy voice.

She hums softly as she leans her body against the pillows behind her. Sneaking her hand under her pajama shorts, her fingers reach her panties and slowly rubs her clit. Lloyd watches her while he strokes his dick faster, paying close attention to her hands but he can't see anything.

"Let me see it." he mutters, out of breath.

Her eyes meet his and she groans softly. "Fine. I need to clean up a lot after this. Six's still asleep in my room." she grumbles quietly.

Lloyd casually nods. "I'll help you clean up later, in my room." he assures her.

She lifts her hips to take off her pajamas shorts along with her panties and it all slips out of her feet. Gently placing it beside her on the carpet, she turns back to him and his eyes are already focused on her wet pussy. He's always liked staring at it. It's pretty to him, in some weird way. And he's almost seen it all. In every kind.

"Fuck, you're wet. Is this why you chose to stay instead of going back to bed?" Lloyd asks but he genuinely wants to know.

She snuck out of bed and should've gone back in with Six when she knew it wasn't intruders. But, she didn't. And it wasn't because she wanted to join in with him. She wasn't even in the mood for it. She was sleepy and preferred it to go back to sleep.

She frowns. "No. I stayed because I wanted to help you. I knew you couldn't sleep, that's why you did this." she softly answers.

Lloyd scoffs, retreating from her a bit. "I don't need your fucking pity, Elle." he retorts harshly.

She rolls her eyes. "Of course, it's not pitiness that I feel for you, dumbass. I care about you a lot. I couldn't just let you jerk off alone with a video you barely even like." she clarifies.

His face softens and he chuckles lightly. "It didn't even make me hard. You did." Lloyd plainly admits.

She laughs softly. "Really? You're saying that this video doesn't even turn you on at all? Not even the slightest?" Elle asks him, curiously.

His lips tug into a small smile as he shakes his head. "Nope. You know what turns me on. Definitely not the fucking video."

She frowns confusedly before turning her head to the porn still playing and the guy is still fucking the woman in the ass. Her index finger points to the huge screen, looking at him. "But this is what you like. You like to fuck in the ass." she points out, casually.

Lloyd sighs, rolling his eyes as he pulls her closer to him by her hands. "Would you just stop talking about the video? It doesn't mean dick to me. You are all I need. Believe it or not." he admits, shamelessly.

She chuckles, staring into his eyes up-close before she gazes down at his lips. Her hand cups his jaw and connects her lips against his, kissing him gently. He melts into the kiss, deepening it as he nibbles on her bottom lips. His hands wrap around her waist and she moves her body closer to him, her thigh accidentally brushing against his cock.

"Still wanna continue?" she asks him against his mouth.

He pulls away from her lips and looks directly into her eyes. "We're already both half-naked, Elle. It'd be weird not to." Lloyd says.

She nods before retreating from him, leaning against all the pillows. Her hands rest on her wet cunt again and her soft fingers play with her clit while his fist wraps around his dick again. His eyes slowly look down at her with lust. She's looking down at him too, observing how his hands move up and down around his length. Warm, white precum are starting to drip out of him and it's almost splashing on her thighs. It wasn't really turning her on earlier, but it sure is now. The thought of him doing all this just by thinking of her, turns her on so much. She's not even touching him.

"Put your fingers in. Three of them." Lloyd demands breathlessly as he quickens the pace, getting more impatient to come.

She obliges, carefully inserting three fingers inside her core as she lets out a soft moan. Her cheeks are turning red and hot. She already feels like she's close even with her own fingers. It usually takes way longer than this with her own. This is turning her on a lot.

He moves closer to her, his precum sputtering on her bare thighs. "You look so fucking pretty with your own fingers inside of you, sunshine. Maybe we should do this more often." Lloyd mutters, teasing her.

She throws her head back and moans again as she curls her fingers inside, hitting that favorite spot of hers. "Maybe not. I like your fingers just fine." she murmurs, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Lloyd looks down at her and chuckles. "You're so fucking adorable. Too fucking perfect." he praises her softly before brushing her hair aside, kissing her forehead. Which was rare of him. It was too affectionate and sweet. Very unlike him.

She pulls away from him as she continues to stroke her three fingers in and out of her cunt slowly. Her eyes look up at his as he flashes her a faint, small smile. She lets out a breathy moan as his free hand slides under her top and feels her bare skin. His thick hand moves up to her breasts, grasping it before he pinches her nipples.

She gasps softly at that, her fingers stopping abruptly. He frowns at that, glaring up at her.

"Don't stop. I want to see you come. Right in front of me." Lloyd firmly orders.

She nods. "Don't make too much of a mess on me. I'm going to have a hard time cleaning up the white stains." Elle softly murmurs.

Lloyd breaks into a soft chuckle. "Don't worry, I won't. And even if I do, I'll clean it up for you." he calmly says.

She hums in responds, her fingers continuing to stroke in and out of her wet, aching core. She can just feel that she's close. She looks down at his own situation as he begins to pump his cock in a faster pace.

She looks up at him through her eyelashes with those pretty, innocent eyes of hers. "Fuck," she moans softly, her face leaning against his shoulder as her teeth bites his shoulder, involuntarily. She feels like she's going to explode. Not literally, of course. She's just never touched herself like this. It's a different but anew feeling.

Lloyd groans, a little blood dripping from his shoulder. "Shit, sweetheart. That's going to leave a mark. Do it again." he mutters to her. He can never leave a mark on her since she heals within a second later. But she can certainly leave a mark on him. Most of his kinks are hers.

She lifts her face and smiles at him. "You're so perfect for me. One of a fucking kind." she whispers. He's the only man in her life that's willing to try out her kinks. Not one, but all of them. She never knew she needed all of it until now.

His fingers strokes the girth of his cock tighter and faster and after a few seconds, his cum explodes all over her bare thighs and cunt. It's warm for her and it's just what she needed being in this cold room, half naked. Lloyd grunts out loud, releasing his hand from his length as he looks at her. Her cheeks turn hot at the sight of him and at all the mess that's on her.

"Your turn, sunshine." he murmurs, his lips curving into a smirk she really fucking hates. But she can't deny that it really is hot.

She licks her bottom lips, focusing her eyes on him as her strong fingers work on her release. Sometimes she forgot how strong she is. Her hands are like fucking magic. That's why he'd never get bored of her hands. She pumps her fingers stronger and quicker before warm, white cum spills out of her cunt as she lets out those soft, pretty moans she usually does. He loves her moans more than any sound in the world. He wishes he could listen to it for the rest of his life.

Lloyd cups the side of her face with one of his hands. "You're so fucking pretty when you come. Come here." he says.

She whines softly when he pulls her in by the waist, gently pushing her closer onto him. Her body leans against his side as she braces her arms on his chest.

"Are you going to fall asleep better now?" she gently asks him, her eyes looking up at his green ones.

She giggles, shaking her head. A few minutes ago, he was complaining on why she stayed. She'll never forget how annoying he can be sometimes. "Just shut up and kiss me, asshole." Elle lifts her head up to be eye level with him.

Lloyd softly smiles down at her. "Way better. Because of you." he replies, tucking her hair under her ear. "Thank you. For staying. You really are so fucking precious, you know that?" he adds.

She helped him. And actually helped him because he can finally sleep now. If she didn't stay, he doesn't think jerking off alone would've gotten him anywhere.

He chuckles, cupping her cheeks between his huge hand as he leans down to kiss her tenderly and gently. It's the most gentle he's ever kissed her. She parts her mouth for him and intensifies the kiss even deeper as she moans softly against his lips. They're only focused on each other and nothing else. Like the world doesn't exist and it's just them.

But, little do they know, the door has been slightly opened for quite a while now. They were completely unaware and clueless because of the heated moment.

This whole time, Six had been quietly watching them from the door. He woke up and almost panicked when he saw that she wasn't beside him on their bed.

So, he silently searched through the penthouse and found the home theater room where it was making weird noises. He had opened the door as carefully and as quietly as possible and they didn't even notice it.

He was slightly shocked of the sight he was seeing at first. Lloyd and her were sitting beside each other on the carpet, both half-naked as they both touched themselves. And in front of them, was a big projector screen that was showing some porn video.

He didn't interrupt or bother them, though. He wanted them to just enjoy this moment for themselves. He can be selfless just for them. Even though his dick has been twitching and aching in his sweatpants when he saw her bare cunt as she touched herself beside Lloyd.

It was certainly different from what they've ever done before but he was aware of her kinks that Lloyd had happily fulfilled. This was one of them. He's not mad or disappointed.

In truth, he's content for both of them. They're both the only ones in the world he truly cares about and would do anything for them. Including letting them have a hot moment even when he's dying to join in because of his hard erection.

Six quietly leaves the scene once he sees Lloyd and Elle pull away from the kiss to clean up after their huge mess. Even he widens his eyes at it that's spilling everywhere on the carpet, the pillows and on their thighs. They were wild and messy.

He's definitely going to mention this to her someday. Or tomorrow.

[sunny-salamander]

Since it's probably gonna be a while before I post anything for it, I do wanna talk about this one AU idea that I have for Pandora's Box that I absolutely adore but won't be following through with in Pandora's Box. I call it 'Magi Prince' AU.

Spoilers for chapter 4 and possibly later parts of Crafting Pandora's Box below.

The long and short of it is that Hanako gets outed as a Magi while recovering from the car crash from Chapter 4. The dumbasses end up attacking her at the hospital and, in her panic, she takes Makoto and Komaru and flees back to the Shizuoka Tribe.

Something that I've alluded to but haven't fully expanded on for the Magi is that a lot of their culture has been lost over time. The Magi once had this huge global civilization roughly ~35,000 years ago that imploded upon itself. When it did, it resulted in the formation of several Magi Tribes across the globe, each of which developed different ideas of what that culture was like based on the fragments their ancestors thought to preserve. Couple this with extremely long lives (700 to 1000 years on average) and the few technology they salvaged, and you get the modern day Magi Tribes basically worshiping the ancient Magi Civilization.

The thing is, since they're only method to replace the Magi population is to find a human with an Amorphous Ultimate Talent and change them into a Magi, the Magi population has been on the decline for thousands of years. People who knew critical information began to die out before they could pass it on and tribes weren't getting new blood often enough to replenish their population. They lived long lives, but that meant nothing if a Magi was killed well before their time due to a human mob, or an accident, or an infection, or any other number of things. Tribes began to dissolve, with some Magi choosing to isolate themselves far out of human reach whereas others delved head first into learning how to blend in with humans.

This results in a situation where the Magi are losing very critical information about their original culture... such as their language. And Magian is the only language capable of spellwork in the Magi!AU.

This makes Hanako's knowledge and the notes her Teacher took while traveling the world - of Magian history, language, original culture, etc. - extremely valuable to the tribes that still exist. It's a very powerful bargaining chip for them.

So when Hanako returns to the Shizuoka tribe and is captured, that's what she uses to secure a safe place for her children to grow up. Because she knows what it's like to live in the wilderness; that's not something she wants for Makoto or Komaru, especially with human technology's recent rampant leaps. Raising them in isolation would be damning Makoto to never fitting in to any culture and depriving Komaru of that 'human' connection. She needs a compromise that will give them social skills and general knowledge of the world but also keep them away from the people now hunting them.

This means Makoto and Komaru are raised in Magian rather than Human and have been effectively home-schooled for the next eight to ten years of their lives. They've never stepped foot in a high school once in all that time.

It makes things very, very awkward for Hope's Peak Academy when they draw Makoto Naegi's name for the 78th class's Super High School Level Lucky Student and realizes the boy has been missing for almost a decade.

[nimata-beroya]

MY THOUGHTS ON TBB 2×15 "The Summit" and 2×16 "Plan 99"

To say that I'm devastated is an understatement. As I write this during my second viewing of the episodes, I keep tearing up even before you know what happens. This is NOT how I imagine this finale would go. I guess I can say that objectively, removing all emotional perspective, it was a great finale, one where the setting up along the season pays off.

But emotionally, it's awful. Absolutely and undeniably impossible to believe. It'll take me a long time to process this. And I'm not sure if I'm capable of sharing with you all my thoughts because of that. I'll try, but probably I'll skim over some things that seem irrelevant at the moment or simply too painful to talk about.

In hindsight, the batch should've collected every favor they're owed from people they've helped the last 2 season to pull this off with everyone alive! just sayin'!!

Nope. I'm not talking about Phee and Tech saying goodbye. Watching it for a second time threw me into another sobbing fit 😭😭😭

The summit, ugh! I hate everyone in there. And especially Hemlock with his awful ideas to experiment on clones, and also Tarkin, how does he dare to disrespect clones that way? Clones that he fought alongside, and even they gave up their lives to save him?!!

I can't deal with all the foreshadowing here. It's too painful 😭😭😭 I can't stop crying.

Half kudos to that imperial complimenting the clones. A little naive of his part to think the Empire cares about that. He should've known better, but at least he has a little bit more of a conscience than the rest. I don't know who he is because there's no credit for the voice actor.

For a moment, I thought the other group infiltrating was with Cody in command. I thought he might've not gotten to Rex yet and this was the way to connect them, of course, after he helped to save Crosshair. But I was wrong! I never liked Saw Gerrera, and now he jumped to be part of the characters I hate! If he had helped, no one would've died!! Part of the fault belongs to him!!

The escape on the railcar went fine! Yep! Everyone is fine!! Everyone lives!! Plan 99 who? I don't know her.

But leaving extreme denial aside, I must admit that the part where Tech and Hunter are escaping after being made by the stormtroopers and Saw left them to their luck is very well done. There's a particular moment that it's both of them almost going in and out of the focus of the camera as they go kicking stormtroopers' asses, that's absolutely awesome. And after I took a nap (being sleepy and emotional is a bad combination), the pain of Tech's sacrifice is a tad less raw, and I guess I can see why it was necessary. I hate it but yes, absolutely, it was in Tech to sacrifice himself for his siblings, like any of them would. That's why Plan 99 exists.

And some part of me knew that Plan 99 was about sacrifices, honoring how 99 died. I just thought that they'd subverted it and everything would be fine. But no.

As if it wasn't devastating enough to see Tech falling, they had to do a parallel, carrying injured Omega to the Marauder as they did injured Hunter in season 1. So rude of them!!

I can't blame Hunter for wanting to hide in a cave (or a remote island) and never leave again. This is why he's been so cautious since the beginning. They already lost one of their own, he didn't want to lose another. And yet, he was helpless to stop it from happening.

And we all knew Cid would betray them. No surprise there. At least, she doesn't look too happy about it. I hope the regret gnaw at her for the rest of her life. That she can't sleep thinking about it.

And of course, Hemlock had to appear and Omega wasn't going to obey Hunter. He should've known she wouldn't go.

And I really, really, reeaaaallllyy want to cling to the idea that Tech is not dead, that Hemlock found him injured and took him in, hence why he has Tech's glasses. I mean, this is Star Wars, and we know that death can be temporary. And you know what? It'd be great (not really, but you know what I mean) if Tech is alive and Hemlock uses him in one of his experiments. We could get Imperial Tech, which is a terrifying thing to think about. Because that intelligence used for evil, damn!!

Omega trying to save Hunter and Wrecker, my poor angel. You should've listened to your dad!

I loved how Echo was a menace with the stolen walker. Also, Hunter and Wrecker taking out the commandos even as injured as they are, nice, but I knew they weren't going to stop Hemlock from taking Omega.

And like I saw a post earlier, Hunter just entered in his Joel Miller phase for Season 3. Anyone who gets in his way to find Omega is dead already. I agree 100%!

And clown of me to think that we'd get a fair share of Crosshair screen time during these 2 episodes, and all we got is 30 sec of unconscious Cross!! Ugh!! and still a prisoner!!

The theory that Emerie is a female clone too turned out to be true, altho I don't care much about it. I guess they want to show how Omega would be if she had stayed with the Kaminoans/Empire. I guess I have to wait and see what this is going.

I have more thoughts, but I'm too distressed to keep going. The season overall was way above my expectations, but the jury is still out about the finale. I have too many conflicting emotions about it. *SIGHS* Now, it starts the long waiting for season 3.

But in the meantime, and bringing a happier note, let me remind you that there's ONLY 2 DAYS before the phase 1 of prompt voting for the bad batch appreciation week 2023 is over!!

Check the link below, and remember that you can vote as many times you want!

[separatist-apologist]

The Last Of A Dying Breed

You are the sun and I am just the planets spinning around you

Summary: Elain and Lucien are considered a pair at the Jedi Temple. There isn't one without the other. When the Empire attempts to purge the Jedi, however, the two find them separated and desperate to get back to each other.

What they're willing to do in order to keep the other safe will test every vow they've ever made.

Read on AO3 | Part 1

Part 2: I Know This Whole Damn City Thinks It Needs You

Getting Elain aboard the ship was easy when she wasn’t fighting him. Her companion was long gone, having either left her behind or decided she wasn’t worth the effort. Lucien put her in the hold and off they went without a word. Vassa’s eyes were as big as saucers while Jurian remained tight lipped. Lucien, too, didn’t quite know what to say.

She was my friend.

She was my friend.

She is my friend. 

He repeated those words like a mantra, until he’d soothed himself just long enough that he believed everything would be okay. 

“She’s younger than I thought she’d be,” Vassa finally whispered when Kalarba came into view. “We’re the same age,” Lucien replied tersely. Vassa glanced over again, before looking to Jurian for help.

“You’ve seen some shit,” Jurian offered, clearly out of his depth. "That ages a man.”

Lucien suspected Elain had seen some things, too, though he kept that to himself. Everything was more dangerous now—doubly so, given Eris’s code came through mere seconds before Vassa had to give it to the Imperial channel tracking who was coming and going. No one questioned Eris Vanserra, which was a small victory in a sea of uncertainty. Lucien had a million questions he hoped he might get answered when he climbed back into the hold.

Elain was still asleep, one slender wrist held in irons. He unchained her, half expecting her to leap up and attack him. Her body remained limp, her face serene. He could almost pretend this was normal, that they were normal. 

Well, maybe not normal, given Lucien couldn’t find it in him to pretend the purge hadn’t happened. But normal for them. Normal friends, surviving together. Elain’s head fell against his chest and Lucien swore his heart slowed just a little. They were together again, and he believed that everything would be alright. 

He’d seen Eris’s estate only once, though he’d seen many others. He was never quite prepared for just how expansive they were, or how vast the Vanserra fortune truly was. Marble was expensive and hard to find, and yet every home Eris home was made from nothing else. Lucien drank in the thick columns and rising towers that overlooked ocean on three sides, and jagged, steep mountainsides. Lucien waited for Jurian to punch in the code to the door on the roof they stood on before descending the stairs into the bright, warm house.

“Deal with the droid,” Lucien murmured, not wanting anyone besides the three of them to have too much awareness of Elain’s presence. Not yet, anyway. Not until he knew if she was dangerous or not. 

He still had her saber, which meant very little depending on what other tricks she had up her sleeve. Lucien walked her down a long hall made transparisteel. It thought Elain would like the golden light, at least. She probably wouldn’t like that his bedroom connected to her own through a shared ‘fresher, but Lucien thought that was merely a precaution. It wasn’t like he was going to intrude, after all.

They were friends. 

Lucien set Elain atop rose and gold colored bedding before stepping away. He should have known better, but it was Elain, and he still trusted her. 

He heard her mere seconds before he felt her booted foot connect with his spine. Elain kicked hard, knocking into a dresser and sending all the little glass knickknacks crashing to the floor. Lucien’s palms bit against the edge, stinging as he whirled to face her.

“How long have you been planning ooof—-” Her fist connected with his face, drawing blood from his nose. 

Kriff that hurt.

“You’re so sentimental,” Elain panted. Tendrils of her golden brown hair framed her pretty face, making her seem just a little wilder than he remembered. 

“You used to like that,” he reminded her, his larger body blocking the door from her. She’d noticed it, too. Lucien was half tempted to let her make her way through the house and out in the rapidly descending night, if only so she could see that for now, she was stuck. 

He didn’t think it was right to unleash a wild Sith woman on his friends. Vassa might just shoot Elain, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good. 

“Have you considered you don’t know me anymore?” Elain asked, straightening herself when it was clear she wasn’t going to be able to fight her way out of the room. Lucien braced himself for her sharp words.

“No, it hasn’t,” he told her honestly. “I could still feel you.”

Her face twisted in a sneer so at odds with the kind, sweet Elain he remembered. “Is that so? Can you feel everything? Or just…some things.”

He didn’t think he liked the implications of her words, and certainly didn’t like the rising jealousy in his chest. “I could feel your pain.”

That stopped her. Elain had thought Lucien was feeling her desire, but Lucien had never felt that. Only her fear, her despair, her pain. 

“And where were you when all that was going on?” she asked, crossing her arms just beneath her breasts. Lucien kept his eyes trained on her face.

She was his friend.

“Kashyyyk,” he said, watching her expression crumple. It was only a moment in which he saw her beneath the mask of anger, and yet it was enough to convince him that she was still just beneath the surface, desperate to escape. “I was coming for you. Did you doubt that?”

“I moved on, Lucien,” she said tonelessly, her eyes cold. 

“I think you’re a liar,” he replied, his own tone clipped. “I think you’d say anything to—”

“Get back to Azriel?” she all but purred. Lucien turned his back to her, refusing to give her an ounce of satisfaction. 

“Hurt me,” he finished, touching the pad beside the door. He looked over his shoulder, certain he was imagining her regret. He saw only what he wanted to see, and what he wanted to see was her. 

When Elain didn’t respond, Lucien decided to try again. “Your room is connected to mine, so if you decide you’d like to—”

“See if you’re still adhering to the Jedi code?” she asked with an arch brow. Lucien had to pretend her words didn’t shoot through him like a blaster bolt, or that Elain didn’t immediately push her way into his mind through their shared connection to fill his mind with the most indecent images.

Picture of her, tangled in the sheets while he writhed overtop her, their mouths frantic and hungry and—

“That’s enough!” Lucien half yelled, using the force to push her physically away from him. Elain was grinning, but Lucien felt off center and confused. In the vision, Elain had been a willing participant and he’d wanted her. Even then, his heart raced in his chest and some long dormant part of him all but clawed itself to the surface. Lucien suppressed it—she was manipulating him. 

“You never thought about it? All those nights curled beside each other in the temple and you never thought once about us?”

Lucien swallowed. “You were—you are—my best friend.”

He needed to get away from her. Needed to meditate until he wasn’t thinking about her like that. The door pushed open with a soft hiss just in time for Elain to admit, “I did. All the time.”

He stumbled over the air. 

Don’t look at her. She’s manipulating you.

But Lucien swore he recognized that wistful tone in her voice. He thought, if he turned and looked, he’d seen her again.

And so he didn’t. Lucien stepped into the hall and forced himself to take a breath.

And then another.

All the way to Vassa and Jurian, who sat in the living room surrounded by more food than two people could reasonably eat. Lucien plopped onto the couch beside them.

“So,” Vassa began, as if she knew exactly what had happened. “How did it go?”

“Shut up,” Lucien complained, reclining back with an arm thrown over his eyes. 

“She’s cute,” Jurian tried, and Lucien wondered if the galaxy was conspiring against him now. Eyes closed, he could see her again, naked and wrapped around him as her teeth grazed his bottom lips.

“Don’t stop, Lucien—”

“Kriff!” he swore, rising to his feet. She was in his head again. Lucien rose to his feet and began to pace the length of the house. It wasn’t, he reflected, that Jedi weren’t allowed to have those sorts of relationships. It was that they weren’t supposed to have attachments. Plenty of Jedi indulged their more base instincts and Lucien had not been one of them.

And had he ever felt so inclined, he knew deep in his bones it could never have happened with Elain. He could never have employed the right amount of distance required, given how he had spent his life skirting that line. How often had Master Tamlin chided him over his feelings about Elain?

Even if she was lying, the idea that Elain had spent any time at all imagining the two of them together was doing something to him. Something Lucien wasn’t entirely sure he hated, either. 

He was stupid to indulge in it. Still, Lucien went to bed that evening thinking of the man Elain had been with. Had she done those things with him? 

He stretched out in the bed that might have been his, had he grown up merely a Vanserra and not a Jedi. He’d gone to check on Elain once and found her laid out in her bed wearing under things he was desperate to never think of again. She’d looked over with sultry eyes haloed in gold as she flipped through the holonet on a screen before her. She only had what Vassa approved and little more.

Lucien’s brain had nearly short-circuited at the sight of so much bare skin.

“Where did you find that?” he asked as she rose from the bed, every inch a dream he’d never even realized he’d had.

“The closet,” she replied with that pretty smile. “Would you like to see—”

He’d closed the door before she could finish asking what he’d like to see. Lucien wanted to just talk to her. To ask her where she’d been and what had happened. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t care what she’d done to survive, because it meant they were together again. Instead, Elain was clearly working some sort of plan, one he assumed involved a knife through his chest which made Lucien’s heart hurt.

No amount of wanting her or not wanting her made that ache feel any better. Lucien forced himself to settle. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that she’d been tortured by that man—Azriel, she’d called him. And whatever she’d done in the aftermath had been in the name of survival. Lucien wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t disappointed.

It had been only one day. They had plenty of time to untangle whatever was going on in her head. Lucien would take Elain to the hydrogarden in the greenhouse and force conversation on her. And if she tried to push thoughts of sex with her in his head, maybe he’d lean into it. Call her bluff. Prove she was merely doing this to get a rise from him, and maybe he was interested.

Which, of course, Lucien was.

That was the problem. Lucien didn’t want to be interested and yet when he closed his eyes, he could see her in the lace covering her breasts and the way her body had curved in the most appealing way. 

There is no passion. There is only serenity.

Lucien repeated that over and over, and yet his body never did quite seem to get the memo.

ELAIN:

Elain stepped down the dim hall of the Jedi temple, frustration buoying her steps. Master Morrigan was riding her hard and Elain was exhausted. Too much time was spent on Venator’s, running drills and pushing back the separatists, and not enough time was spent on the tasks she’d promised to teach Elain when they’d become Master and Padawan. Elain was eighteen now, and still unclear if she’d ever be more than a General to an army of clone troopers.

She knew who would understand, and so when she ought to have turned right for the girls dormitory, she went left for the boys. Dormitory wasn’t quite the right word. Everyone had their own rooms—at least, everyone ranked Padawan and higher. They shared bathing chambers, which was hardly the annoyance others on the outside made it seem like. Elain didn’t mind because the temple was a family. 

But Lucien was something else. 

She’d heard he’d just returned from a mission on Mygeeto, a theory that was confirmed when she’d seen Master Tamlin just outside the halls walking to what she hoped was the kitchens, and not to tattle that he’d seen her running the halls of the boys rooms late at night.

She didn’t need another lesson on attachment. Everyone knew she and Lucien were too close, though they didn’t understand why. It was friendship they’d both insisted. 

But it was more. A cord that bound them, that held them together even across vast distances. Something that was curled around her very soul—something the force willed. And if the force wanted their closeness, surely it couldn’t be such a bad thing? That was how Elain felt as the door to Lucien’s room hissed open, allowing her entry.

“You’re hard to track down,” she whispered as the door closed behind her. Lucien was shirtless and bathed in the artificial moonlight of Coruscant. He sat upwards, long, auburn hair spilling over his broad shoulders. Her heart sped up at the sight.

“You found me,” he replied with a soft sigh before pulling back the deep navy of his blanket. It was an invitation for her to join. Elain slipped off her shoes just at the edge of the orange and white rug made gray in the dark before she joined him. There was no distance here. Lucien curled an arm around her, pulling her flush against him so she could drink in the warm, masculine scent of his skin.

Elain burrowed her face in the crook of his neck. “How was Mygeeto?” she asked, hooking a leg around his own.

“Long,” he replied, his voice still thick with sleep. “Jaro Tapal took over so I’m back for a little while.”T

hat was the nature of the war. They were constantly being sent out to far-flung worlds. In the last five years, they saw less and less of each other. Elain wrapped her arm around him, trying to pull him closer. A soft noise of pleasure escaped Lucien as he pressed his cheek into her hair. 

“What’s bothering you?”

Too much, she wanted to say. Instead, Elain slid a hand down his bare chest, letting her palm rest against his stomach. Lucien stilled beneath her touch, which only emboldened her. “What if we left?” she whispered, pressing her lips against his shoulder. Lucien turned his head and then the rest of him so they were all but nose to nose. 

“What are you saying?” he asked. His breath was decidedly minty and warm, and Elain wanted to kiss him. She’d never kissed anyone in her entire life, and right then, she wanted to kiss him. 

“I’m saying we should leave,” she repeated, her fingers finding the waistband of his trousers. She didn’t know if she was brave enough for that, given she’d never even kissed another person.

Still, Elain kept her fingers just there, brushing against the line of hair that she’d never seen before. 

“Leave?” 

Elain wasn’t certain Lucien was even hearing her. She could feel his heart thudding in his chest, could see how hard he was breathing. It was just enough to convince her to slip her fingers into the band of his pants, just far enough they rested between the bones of his hips.

“I’m not a soldier, Lucien. I wasn’t—I know I wasn’t meant for this. All the death wears on me. And I…” she tilted her chin to look at him, still half bathed in the silvery moon pouring through the open window behind him. Lucien’s russet eyes were all but burning flame, his lips parted. He wanted her, she realized. It was mere restraint that kept him from moving. “I miss you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, brushing his nose against her own. 

“You are. In a day or two, Tamlin will call you away and who knows when I’ll see you again. I…” she didn’t know how to get the words out without sounding selfish. “I—”

His mouth covered her own before she could finish whatever she was trying to say. There was no finesse to it, she thought ruefully. It was all passion, which was forbidden to them both. Their teeth crashed together and neither of them were synced quite right. Elain didn’t care. Her whole body was electric, was desperate for more of him. Lucien very clearly felt the same given he half rolled, forcing her fingers from his pants so he could cover her chest with his own. His fingers raked through her hair and the next kiss was decidedly better than the first.

Better practiced, she decided with a sigh. One kiss became two, became three, until Lucien felt expert enough to incorporate his tongue. Elain parted her lips, allowing him to taste her. They both moaned softly, their bodies shifting of their own accord as pleasure pooled between them. The bond allowed Elain to feel his own desire, which only heightened her own. 

Some part of her screamed this was wrong—that they were crossing a line they couldn’t come back from. She should have told him no, should have apologized for overstepping.

Elain arched into his touch, offering him better access when his hand groped her breast with all the same clumsiness that was punctuating whatever was happening between them. She didn’t care. As long as he was touching her, Elain didn’t care if Lucien had any experience.

They’d do it again and he’d be better the second time. And better still the third, until this first time was a rosy memory in which all she could recall was the pleasant warmth of his body pressed against her own and the way his mouth tasted like mint and something so wholly him that she couldn’t stop herself from kissing, even when she needed to take a breath. 

Elain was so afraid if she stopped, even for a moment, that all of Lucien’s good sense would come crashing down on him and he’d demand they stop. He’d tell Tamlin who would see them separated for years—or maybe forever. She needed them to do this together, to have this secret.

To give in to what had been building between them their whole lives. 

Elain arched her back and all at once, Lucien had gotten her top off with no difficulty at all. She hadn’t noticed he’d undone her belt and Elain just barely noticed how he’d gotten her underthings off until it, too, was on the floor.

“Stars, Elain,” he breathed, looking between their bodies so he could see her. Elain carded her fingers through his hair, tangling against the braids he’d likely spent the morning carefully weaving against his scalp. 

“Don’t stop,” she whispered as fear prickled against her skin.

“I don’t think I can,” he admitted before kissing just beneath her jaw. Elain noticed he was grinding his hips against the mattress between her legs, likely trying to alleviate the same pressure she felt building in her own body. While Lucien worked his way to her breasts, drawing one of her nipples into his mouth, Elain managed to push his pants down his thighs so he was nearly naked.

She just wanted to see. 

She wanted to touch. 

Lucien made a strangled sound when her hand wrapped around the hard length of him and stroked. He pressed his forehead between the valley of her breasts, as though he needed to take a moment to compose himself. 

“Is this good?” she asked, watching the muscles of Lucien’s back bunch and shift as he tried to compose himself.

“Too good,” he managed when she stroked again and again. He was warm and hard in her hand, and so thick Elain’s fingers just barely curved around him. She had the sense that Lucien was not the norm, and that pleased her for reasons she couldn’t quite articulate. 

There was a flurry of movement as Lucien rose up on his knees, letting her still awkwardly hold his cock while he worked himself—and then her—out of their pants. Only then did he move out of her grasp so he could push apart her legs.

They were going to do this. Elain looked up at him, thinking such an act would have been impossible if she hadn’t trusted him. If she hadn’t—

“I love you,” he whispered, speaking the words into existence. “You know that, right?”

Elain nodded as Lucien came back to her, settling the blunt head of his cock against her entrance. He held her face in his hands like it was delicate and she was precious to him. “I know,” she whispered, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “And I—” she gasped when he pushed, opening her wider than she’d ever been in her life. Lucien planted the hands that had once held her face just beside them, his fingers curling into the sheets beneath them. He seemed to be trembling, and she wondered if there was some effort to what was happening. 

“Are you okay?” he rasped. 

“Yes,” she replied. Discomfort was resolidifying into desire. Elain lifted her hips in invitation and Lucien pushed himself in further. He stopped each time her eyes squeezed shut and she clenched around him, trying to adjust to the intrusion and the fullness of him. 

Elain and Lucien had always shared a soul. Now they were attempting to share a body. It wasn’t painful so much as uncomfortable, and even that only lasted for a few breaths before the pleasure returned. Still, Lucien continued to move slowly until he was wholly seated in her. He remained still long enough for her to adjust, allowing her to pull him against her by the shoulders for, admittedly, a messy kiss.

“This is good,” she breathed, tightening herself around him. Lucien’s eyes rolled upwards in his head. His mouth brushed her own before his hips rolled, dragging his cock out of her body just long enough to push back in. They both gasped, lost to the heady pleasure settling around them like a warm fog. Elain never wanted it to end just as badly as she wanted to finish and see what it would feel like when the building pleasure crested. 

Elain couldn’t get enough of him. They were kissing and Lucien was thrusting faster and with more urgency, as if he was losing all the control left to him. Her nails dragged over the tops of his arms and down his back while her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging against his ass to spur him on. She was close to something, was building up, up, up—

“Lucien,” she gasped a mere moment before his tongue delved into her mouth to taste her cry of pleasure. She clenched tightly around him as she broke apart. It was like nothing she’d imagined. Incandescent waves of golden bliss burst through her vision, locking her around him as Lucien, too, came quickly.

“Elain—”

“ELAIN!”

Elain grinned from her spot just beside Lucien in his bed. Coated in a sheen of sweat, Lucien had definitely come, though she couldn’t quite be sure. While he tried to situate himself, Elain ripped back the blanket on his bed only to be met with disappointment. Though there was a small wet spot against the very prominent bulge, it was hardly the sort of emission she’d assumed would come from an ejaculation. 

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, scrambling away from her so quickly that he fell to the glossy marble floor. Elain almost told him what, exactly, was wrong with her. That was a conversation for another day.

“I thought you’d prefer your first time somewhere more familiar,” she said instead, waiting for him to stand. Part of her hoped he’d pull his pants off and let her see just as close she’d come in her own imagination. Lucien, who was trying so hard to make the Jedi proud, was clearly unraveling. He looked as if he’d run a mile, and when he flipped on the light, Elain thought he looked rather appealing in the post near-orgasm glow. 

He’d always been handsome, though. 

“And you?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. “Was your first time somewhere familiar?”

Elain laughed. “Jealous?”

Lucien pressed his lips together before rummaging through a dresser for a new pair of pants. He was. It was almost too easy. How far could she push him before he sent her back on her merry little way?

After all, Lucien had no business in her world, now. She had no intention of trying to escape, though she did want her lightsaber back. Elain was, for the moment, exactly where she wanted to be.

And though she knew she couldn’t stay, it would have been a lie to say she wasn’t happy to see him. That knowing Lucien had friends, that people were looking after him, didn’t soothe her, just a little. 

“Get out,” he ordered, which only caused Elain to settle further against his bed. 

“I like it here,” she replied, eyes never leaving his face. Who had given him those scars, she wondered? They were new—at least, to her. 

“I’m not undressing in front of you,” he said, though he curiously wasn’t moving. Elain cocked her head to the side.

“Why not?” she asked, running a finger over the delicate lace bra just barely covering her breasts. “I think I’d like what I saw.”

“You know what I think?” Lucien whispered, and Elain knew the next words from his mouth were going to devastate her. He had the upper hand in that moment and she needed to get it back. “I think you can’t tell me your first time because there isn’t one. I think you’re trying to wind me up until I let you go.”

Elain swallowed. Lucien always knew her too well. 

“Possession isn’t allowed,” she said instead, letting a smile curve over her lips. “You should let me go. It’s the Jedi way.”

“Are you still a Jedi, Elain?”

She laughed, despite the pang of hurt his words caused her. Because no, Elain was very much not a Jedi any longer. She wondered what Lucien would say when he learned what had happened in Azriel’s dungeon. What she’d agreed to, what she’d given up. How she’d folded.

The secrets she’d kept. 

“Do I look like a Jedi?” she asked, unfolding herself from the bed to walk to him. Lucien didn’t move, looking down at her with something between apprehension and disapproval. Elain couldn’t get over how good-looking he was. Time had been kind to Lucien, turning him from a rather good-looking young man into a carved, muscular, golden-brown skinned man. Elain didn’t bother to tell him that in the fantasy she’d sent him, asking him to leave had always been her plan.

In the fantasy, Lucien had returned from Mygeeto to find her. In reality, Elain had missed him by a couple of days.

And then the purge had happened, and Elain and Lucien and been stranded on opposite points in the galaxy, desperately trying to get to each other. She’d gotten her wish, just not how she wanted. 

He would have made a magnificent Jedi, she thought even as she reached for the trouser in his hands and tossed them to the bed behind them. What was she doing? Lucien, too, seemed to be wondering the same thing.

“You look like Elain,” he finally said, ignoring her fingers on his bare chest, inching toward his pants. Lucien took a lock of her hair in his hand and threaded it between his fingers. “You look just like I’ve imagined.”

“What else did you imagine?” Elain wondered, hating how breathless she sounded. 

“I never got beyond finding you,” he said earnestly, unaware perhaps of where this was heading. All Elain’s plans seemed to shatter right then. 

“A smarter man would have given up,” she told him, her voice edged with her own frustration.

“Do you really think that? After everything?” Lucien asked, eyes searching her own even as she began to untie the strings to his pants. He wasn’t paying attention, so busy trying to reach her with the light. 

Unaware she was trying to touch him with the dark. Lucien had been unattainable to her right up until Elain slid to her knees.

“I think,” she breathed as she stared eye-level with his very rigid cock, “that I undersold you in that dream.”

“Elain,” he growled, but she was committed. He wanted her, did he? Well Elain wanted him, too. She wanted him to come home with her. 

Lucien could have shoved her away, but instead he remained so still that his thighs seemed to tremble. Elain licked the long length of him, holding his gaze. She knew what he was seeing—that ring of gold around her eyes betrayed her. If she worked harder, she could have cloaked herself better but Elain wasn’t ashamed of who she was. 

She didn’t want Lucien to be ashamed, either. 

Lucien raked his fingers through her hair. “You shouldn’t…” he breathed, his words trailing to a gasp when she sucked the tip of him into her mouth. Elain had seen enough suggestive, smutty holovids to understand the act itself. She hadn’t expected to like any part of it.

She should have known she would enjoy doing anything that gave him pleasure. It wasn’t possible to take all of him—Elain barely managed a third. She used her hand to make up the difference, pleased that she’d been right once again. Her fingers just barely curled around him.

Lucien made a soft, strangled noise but didn’t push her off him. In fact, Lucien seemed to be helping her, which drew warm affection through her chest. 

Lucien’s fingers slid beneath her jaw as Elain bobbed over him, trying to find the right amount of lips and tongue without accidentally dragging her teeth against him. There was a pleasant, masculine taste to his skin that she also enjoyed.

Why had she waited so long?

Oh, right. Because Elain couldn’t stand the thought of fucking Azriel, and would have preferred to die untouched than to give in to the whole three brothers, three sisters bantha shit. 

Azriel’s cruelty disgusted her, besides. Elain still had her limits. Lucien’s devotion to the Jedi tenants was oddly charming, especially given his cock was in her mouth and his head was thrown back. He looked like a man on the brink of a religious experience. 

Elain pushed her pleasure down their shared bond because she suspected that mattered to him. Lucien gasped, his fingers tightening in her hair and then it was all over. He’d come quickly given his lack of experience.

She didn’t mind. Elain swallowed all of it before pulling off him, dragging little strings of saliva with her. This was…she didn’t know. Some part of her that had been walled off for so long was pushing through, threatening hysterics.

Lucien reached for her arms, pulling her up not for a kiss, but a hug. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, one hand still threaded in her hair. Elain could still feel his cock pressed into her hip and for once, when a man was grinding his erection into her, it seemed to be an afterthought. Lucien wasn’t offering her pleasure, but seemed to be pouring his strength, his relief, his love into her very bones. 

“I missed you,” he said against her scalp.

“Because I–”

“Don’t ruin this,” he warned her and Elain wasn’t so foregone she couldn’t tentatively wrap her arms back around him. “It was never about sex, Elain.”

She believed that. Oh, how Elain believed that Lucien had chased her across the galaxy because she was his best friend and he loved her. 

“Stay with me,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Tonight, Elain. Just tonight, stay with me.”

She knew she should tell him no. Elain didn’t need clairvoyance in the force to know this was a massive mistake for them both. Lucien was unraveling and so was she. The only thing that convinced Elain to get back in that bed, dressed in another woman’s lingerie, was the realization that Lucien had let her suck him off. And that Lucien, quickly changing into new pants, had flicked off the light and pulled her against his body with trembling arms. 

She’d been going about this all the wrong way, she realized as she twisted to look up at him. He looked as if he might cry. Elain thought she might, too. 

“What happened?” Lucien whispered, one finger stroking her cheek. 

He couldn’t fix her.

[cyberrgirlsblog]

(TW bad words, idk what else)

Not beta read so sorry if this is shit, or if there are plot holes im trying

Part 2

Walking into the garrison pub i look around it's not crowded only a couple people are in here today i walk up to the counter and ask the bartender were tommy is

“He's in the booth’’ the bartender said, not looking up from the glass he was cleaning.

“Thank you,” I said.

I walked into the booth where Tommy was. I assumed there were more people with him but to my surprise it was just him. Which confused me since usually arthur or sometimes Polly was with him.

“Who was that, y/n” tommy asked, his cold blue yes looking at me unmoving

“What?” i said

“The romani boy in the caravan with you, he dropped you off, who was that?” he asked with a monotone voice.

A part of me didn't want to answer, a part of me wanted to win this mind game that Tommy plays but i didnt i know what was good for me at this moment.

“Just a boy I met along the road. I was gonna have to walk here but he drove me here instead of his name duke.`` I said with hesitance in my voice. Tommy nodded his head then spoke

“Hm, well do you have the opium?” Tommy said, looking at my bag.

“Yes sir” i said with a joking tone

Setting down the bag on the table opened it up and took out the bottles of pure opium.

“This is about 3 pounds of pure opium. It should be enough for right now. We're trying to expand our inventory of stuff but it's hard. Also there may be less opium due to the stock crash so the guy we get are shit from is upping the price.” i said looking at tommy

He took one of the bottle to look at it 

“Well that's to be expected when something like this happens.” he said while looking at the bottle

“If you want to make sure its pure you Should've brought Arthur he could have tested it out you know. Make sure it's pure.” i said in reality though it may not have been the best idea arthur has been spiraling because of this drug making a tasteless comment about it much less joke about especially in front of tommy. But you never cared too much about it Tommy didn't even flinch when you said it either which surprised you but it was also expected he was thomas shelby after all. A man with a heart turned cold as some would say.

“Well arthur has been clean for a week know” he said

“Has he, well that's good for him.’’ I said, to be honest though, I doubt it will last long knowing arthur. 

“Well Tommy, how has your family been? I've heard from Lizzie that ruby has been running around the house a lot. I've also heard from Polly that adas pregnant. Tho she hasn't said who the baby's father is'' i said while pouring myself a cup of wine.

“Yes theyve been good, Adas has been okay, though i have an idea of who the father might be but i think it'd be better to ask Ada herself.” he said looking at me and noticed a little smile when he mentioned his daughter. “And what of your family Y/n how have they been?”

I smiled a little but a smile nonetheless.`` They've been good ash is out doing God knows what and fez is meeting new people, building connections i guess you could say. I'm not surprised though he's probably the one that will take over the family business. Once well…” I trailed off. I didn't like to think about it but I knew her time would come soon. She's already been doing less and less. I'm not mad at my grandma. If I was her I would want to go out without fear of responsibility. I would like to go peacefully. I just hope she's able to be here for me and ashes 15 birthday.

 “I see, well y/n here's the money, about 100 pounds.” Tommy said, placing the money down on the table. I took the money and put it in my bag just as I was about to get up and leave. Tommy spoke.

“My cousin is coming into town. He's Polly's son.” Tommy said, I looked at him with confusion. I didn't get why he was telling me this. Until i put 2 and 2 together

“Oh shit he's the dude that didn't take out the stock right. And now yalls business is a lil bit shook from that.” i said, i started laughing until i remembered who i was talking to “hm i'm sorry i didn't mean any offense but my question is why are you telling Me this why not fez.”  I said looking up at him.

“I'm telling you this because he will be at the station. I want you to go with Polly and Ada to meet him. He's a part of the Shelby family, his names michael. You don't have to go but tell your brothers he's coming at least.” he said

“And one more thing don't over step with your jokes about my family.” he said looking at me with a voice you would use to scold a young child. I knew it wasn't a threat but it was a warning that I did know. All I could do was nod my head and walk out the bar.3

30 minutes later

Once I was able to see my house I started to do a light jog. Reaching the door I opened it only to hear yelling. I assumed it was fez scolding ash for some shit he did again. In the end though fez always took the blame for me or ash when we did something wrong. Walking to where I could hear the yelling more clearly I walked in the room to see fez on the phone. 

“I told you to leave us the fuck alone man. Okay i dont know what your talking about but i dont have them, we dont have them dont call this number again you fucking hypocrite ass bitch.” i heard Fez yell before slamming the phone back into place. Definitely gonna have to check if he broke it later.

“Fez who the fuck was that.” I said , looking at him with concern but a stern voice.

“No one you have to worry about.”  he said, walking away. I clenched my hands and dug my nails into my hands until I felt a sharp pain and blood roll down the back of my fingers. I try to understand why people do the things they do. I try to stay quiet and not question what people do. But when it's my own brother I can't understand. But I know if I ask him he'll just say some shit like.’it's for your own safety’ or ‘ I don't want to get involved’. But if that was true he would've never let me in the family business when I asked. 

I shook my head, walked up to the phone and dialed in the garrison's number to make sure the phone didn't break. I heard a ringing sound from the phone and then a voice.

“Hello, who is this?” It was the voice of Finn shelby. Finn was always silly to me hes was fun to hangout with but his new friend billy i didn't really like i could tolerate him but not like him and it wasn't just me it was the same with ash, i swear even though we're not blood related i feel like we have some type of twin thing with our minds. Sounds dumb ass fuck but i cant hellp think of dumb shit sometimes.

“Hello???” finn said again

“Hi finn sorry i was just checking to make sure the phone wasn't broken” i said with a laugh.

“Oh hi y/n, why would your phone be broken? Also ash is here at the garrison do you want to come to me ash isaiah and billy are here.’’ Finn said, his voice sounding a bit slurred.

“Shit um i'll see if i can go if i can't though please make sure ash doesn't do some dumb shit again. I don't want another call from Tommy and I don't want to hear fez and ash yelling at each other. Also don't worry about the phone i think the wire tripped that's all i'll see though if i can go, bye.'' I said before hanging up the phone I heard Finn say something but whatever it was it wasn't important to me. I paced around the room. I haven't gone out for fun in a while. I haven't seen Finn or any of them for a little while so it would be fun. Once I stopped pacing I set the bag of cash on the table.

“Fez can you drive me to the garrison ash there.” I yelled, a minute later I heard footsteps and saw fez leaning on the doorway. He looked at the bag of money then me. 

“Sure but if some du-’’ i cut him off

“Fez ash finn isaiah and..billy are gonna be there besides i'll be fine. Also I wanna make sure Ash doesn't do some dumb shit. It's weird. I know he's got critical thinking but he's always doing some dumb shit.” I said walking to the front door. 

“Nah Ash uses it thinking he just makes dumb decisions sometimes.” Fez said, opening the door and walking with me to the car.

“Hm, doesn't seem like it but as long as he doesnt kill anybody or do some fucked up shit then well i dont know to be honest as long as hes safe and not putting others in danger im good. '' I laughed, as much as I scolded Ash for his shit he was still my brother at the end of the day. But sometimes I feel more like his mother than his sister even though we are the same age.

—---- timeskip at the garrison

Once Fez parked the car we got out and walked to the garrison. Opening the doors I immediately went to the front of the bar and ordered a drink for me and fez.

“2 whiskeys please.'' I said to the bartender, his back was facing me as he grabbed glasses and poured a bottle of whiskey into each glass. Turning around he handed it to me

“Here you go ma’am” he said handing them to me

“Thank you” I said but just before I could get out the money to pay the side window opened. 

“Hello y/n don't worry about paying i'll cover it” i looked over and saw finn i grabbed the two glasses and handed one to fez and walked into the booth with fez following close behind me. I smiled once i saw everyone i walked to finn and gave him a hug

“It's been a little hasn't it, hows your wound huh. First ever gun shot wound your real peaky know aren't you finny” i said looking at him my voice light hearted. I heard laughing and looked to see Isaiah and billy.

“You could say that y/n but when are you gonna become one.” Billy said jokingly.

“Yea that's not gonna happen as long as i'm alive.” I heard Fez say. I looked over to see ash glaring at billy.

“Relax guys, it was just a joke.” Billy said, the room became thick with tension.

“Well know that everyones here, let's all drink.” Isaiah said, defusing the situation. I looked over at him and smiled.

 We all sat down and started drinking after about 6 drinks of hard whiskey most of them were shit faced. I was still on my first cup not cause I couldn't drink. Trust me I could. I just wanted to make sure nothing happened. I was dazed out of whatever conversation they were having. As my mind wandered I thought about the boy I had met. He was funny but also seemed cunning. I hope I'll be able to go to the fair. I really do want to meet him again. Even though it wasn't a strong feeling, I still felt a warm feeling in my chest when I was talking to him. I wondered if I felt like that with others I had met.  I hope I see him again. He seems nice and would be a good friend to have.

I was pulled out of my daze by Finn calling my name.

“Oy y/n whats on your mind” he said this time his voice extremely slurred to the point i had to lean forward to understand what he was saying. I sat back

“Nothing just tired, that's all.” I said quickly. I internally cringed at myself for how hasty my reply sounded.

“Hm well that's not what your face said, I swear you had a smile on your face so big I almost mistook you for the Cheshire cat.” Isaiah said laughing. I could feel my face heat up in embarrassment. I looked down at my drink and drank the whole thing. Soon enough I was as shit faced as everyone else. Talking about random shit and laughing at the dumbest jokes. 

—------------------ 1 week later

“Look fez all im saying is we get a house in small heath but keep this property to but like that way we can be able to send shit easier. You know”

“Y/n are you high?” fez asked but it wasn't really a question.

“...no, this is a thought I've had for a while dude. Anyways it will be easier for me cause i can like stay there and well have a place to stay if it gets too late at night or some shit like that ya know.'' I said looking at fez with eyes that looked like I hadn't slept in three years.

Fez sighed 

“Go back to bed y/n”

I looked him up and down 

“Whatever man, also have you seen ash?”

“Ash is upstairs,” fez said, sounding irritated at this point.

‘Mhm, oh also there's a fair going on this weekend do you think i can go”

“No,” he said, looking down at a piece of paper.

“What why it's only a little away.'' I was annoyed.

He didn't say anything, clearly stressed with whatever he was reading

“Look y/n just no” 

“Hm, yell you let ash go out and do whatever he wants why cant i go to a fucking fair.” i said my voice was rising in volume.

“Because there is less risk for ash, if he goes out” Fez said, looking up from his paper.

I looked at him with a perplexed expression

“The fuck are you talking about, one ash is the fucking risk and two what do you mean by that. Also i never said i was going by myself.`` I said I was yelling. I could feel my breathing become uneven with panic.

“Okay then whos going with you huh, who cause last time i checked you have barely talked to anyone out side of us and the peakys so who huh y/n fucking tell me.” he said his voice know rising, he sounded stressed but i doubt it was from this conversation.

I panicked. I couldn't say duke hell i didn't even know if i would see him there for god's sake.

“Ada, ada and her son Karl are coming with me okay. Look people may fuck with me but they wont fuck with Ada, she may have the last name thorne but everyone knows who her family is.'' I said walking closer to fez. Not breaking eye contact.

He paused for a minute seemingly thinking it over. 

“Shit y/n fine but if your lying to be your fucking done okay.” he said running his hand down his face.

I smiled and gave him a quick hug. 

“Thank you, thank you.” i said to him

___________________________ saturday 

After arriving in a small heath I walked over to the barnyard. My hands are slightly shaking. It's not the first time I've lied to fez before but when I did it was usually whenever me and ash went out to terrorize one of the kids that would either make fun of one of us. A lot of people say me and Ash are different but the reality is we're really not. Sure ash may act out alot and I may be more quiet but it's just because I keep my actions to myself. I keep the words I want to say to myself. When we were younger we would do the same exact thing as each other but getting older we changed. I would like to say I have more self control but that would be a lie.

I could feel the skirt I was wearing tighten around my waist. I was nervous but I knew that whatever happened today would be fun.. I hope so.

“Curly do have have her.’’ i said walking up to him

“Hello y/n y-yes I do.” he said, his accent was hard to understand, same with arthurs but i never said anything. Because most of my life I've been used to a US accent. 

“Here you go, does your brother know?” he said, handing me the horse. I rolled my eyes and smiled

“Yes of course he knows okay so you don't have to ask me okay. Anyways, here's the money.” i said to him handing him  the money

“Thank you curly.” I said before getting on the horse and riding off.

After a little while of riding I could see the top of the striped tents behind the trees. I quickened the speed of the horse and started to smile, excitement building up inside me.

Stopping by the entrance of the fair, I tied the horse around a post where other horses were being held. Walking into the fair I started looking around. I could see a vending station selling roasted cinnamon almonds. Going up to it, I ask the worker there for a bag of them.

“Here you go miss, that will be 0.10.” they said handing me the almonds. 

“Thank you” I said , handing them the change.

Walking around the fair I kept my eye out for Duke. I hoped I would see him soon but who knows. A couple kids ran past me accidentally hitting me in the legs almost making me fall over. I was able to catch myself by putting my hands between me and the ground, unlucky though my food had scattered on the ground.

“Shit” I grumbled under my breath getting up. I dusted off my skirt and picked up the bag to see if there were any left in it. Thankfully there were but not many

“Are you okay ma’am” I heard someone say I jumped before turning around and looking at the person.

“Duke!” I said a smile appeared on my face as I instantly pulled him into a hug. I felt him go a bit stiff and realizing what I had done I pulled away. My cheeks are burning with embarrassment. 

“Shit i'm sorry I don't know why I did that, uhh.” I said, grabbing my arm and looking down at the ground embarrassed.

“Hello to you to y/n” Duke said i looked up at him and saw his face plastered with a shit eating grin before he laughed.

“Didn't know you missed me that much.” he said with a laugh, i hit him in the side arm softly.

“No, I just do that with people i meet and feel a good vibe with them ya know.” I said , looking at him, keeping straight. I could see his smile drop a little.

“Well um anyways how have you been it's been a little.” I said while I started to walk, asking him to come with me.

—------------------------------------

“So duke, what do you usually do here?” i ask curiously looking at him

“Well i'll watch the horses and just do maintenance really nothing to interesting.” he said looking ahead

“Do you like working with horses, also do you like working here or nah.” I said this time looking forward.

“I like horses but I don't like working here. I want more for my life. I want to visit every mountain and go everywhere. I don't want to be here. I'm tired of working here.” he said with bitterness in his voice but a hint of hope.

“Well that sounds fun but be careful where you go. I don't know if there's still that like war between the irish or something but just be careful there. Ya know. Actually just be careful.” I said looking at him, I tried to hide the concern in my voice by masking it with humor.

“Hm calm down im gonna kill myself.” he said with a little laugh while looking at me.

“That's what they all say Duke but then they get carless, think they're all that then piss off the wrong people anyways if you wanna see the mountains who knows what's up there.” I said looking back at him. This time laughing.

“Hm, you seem to know a lot.” he said this time his tone was undetermined.

“Nah just knew people that did dumb shit either got locked up or killed. Not saying seeing nature is dumb is not.” I said trying to defend myself from nothing.

“I know what you. Tell me do you always worry this much for people you just meet.’’ he said looking at me. He had a little smirk on his face. 

“If ima be real no, but you're my friend? Were friends right duke.” i said looking at him with a hopeful expression on my face.

“...I mean if you want to be friends then yes.” he said he sounded caught off guard. But not in a bad way. I hope not in a bad way at least.

“Damn for real, okay well friend tell me more about yourself.” I said looking at him. A warm feeling spread throughout my whole body. Giddy with excitement and something else.

“You know duke you're the first friend i made that's not been through a business connection ya know.” I said excitedly.

“Business connection?’’ he said. Tilting his head slightly.

“Yea.. uh me and my family after we moved here we started making books and getting into stocks. Thankfully we pulled them out before the stock crash in the US.” I said looking at him covering up my word slip with a lie I was taught to say and rehearsed multiple times with ash and fez.

“Ooh okay okay. Well you're my first friend i've ever had.” he said with a serious voice. Looking back at me now we were walking out of the fair.

“You for real cause if I'm so kinda sad I'm not even gonna lie to you.” I said with a little smile on my face. Duke put his hand to his heart with a shocked expression.

“Do you think that lowly of me huh.” he said with an amused voice.

I turned to look at him and walked backwards.

“I was only joking, my prince.” I said with a sarcastic voice.

Duke smiled at me before running after me. I screeched before running away. I got about 20 feet away from him before I felt  a pair of hands grab me by the waist and slightly pick me up before pulling me into the chest of someone. I was about to scream before a hand was put over your mouth.

“You're really bad at running in grass, you know.” I felt Duke say into my ear his breath tickling my neck. I froze for a second feeling a slight shock up my spine before wiggling out of his grapes and laughing to the point my knees buckled.

“Alright Duke you win but Jesus dude I couldn't even hear you. If you were an asian i'm pretty sure big crime dudes would for sure hire you.'' I said getting up from the ground and whipping the tears from my eyes.

Dukes pov

I chuckled a little. “Who's to say I'm not one.” I said with a bit of humor in my voice.

She looked at me for a second and her eyes seemed to sparkle in the moonlight.

“Wouldn't be surprised if you were a duke. If not no but…” she said trailing off before checking her pocket watch.

“Oh shit I gotta get it, I'm sorry duke I really am but you see i may or may not have lied to even be here so i gotta go cause the person i said i was coming with doesn't even know i told my brother about them coming with me.” she said with a bit of panic in her voice. I felt a ping of sadness in my chest

“Oh uhm yea no no you should go. I'll see you…” I said this time it was me trailing off. 

“Hey uhm… thank you for meeting me here. I guess I met you here i dont really know but it was nice to see you again, Duke . Hopefully we'll see eachother again soon.” she looked at me, her eyes filled with hope. I felt my heart skip a bit. I shook it off as nothing special.

“Yea yea for sure i don't know when we'll have another fair here but when we do i'll probably be here. Also, are you sure you're good at going to your house by yourself?” I asked a hint of worry in my voice.

“Yea i should be okay. I'm armed just in case anything happens you know.” she said, with a reassuring smile. I wanted to question why but i didn't shit i mean i could see why seeing as where she lived and shit.

“You sure cause I can-” I said before she grabbed my hands and looked at me.

“Duke, you are too worried about me for only knowing me slightly and I'll be fine… also my brother would question why some guy is bringing me back home. Also I may have bought / rented a horse. Ima be honest though i don't really know.” she said, looking at me before disconnecting our hands. I missed the warmth of hers. His hands weren't rough but they weren't soft either.

“Right well I'll see you again someday Duke , be safe and I hope you get to achieve your dream.” she said before walking away to the entrance of the fair. I watched him walk away, air in the wind lightly blowing her hair.

I took one last glance at her before walking to the feeding area for us workers at the fair. Walking into the tent I saw esme right outside of the tent. Looking into the distance.

“Hello Duke.” she said bluntly, turning her eyes towards me. “Who was that person, thought you said you didn't have friends.” she said

“No one,” I said , looking at her. The truth was y/n wasn't no one to me but she didn't have to know that.

“Hmm we both know that is a lie Duke. What's her name?” she said looking at me

“Y/n” i said quickly, she seemed to freeze for a second like she was contemplating something.

“No last name?” she said

“Not that I know of,” I said looking at him before walking into the tent to get some food.

"Duke be safe okay." she said before leaving even thought i dont talk to many people esme is one of the people i can talk to she's gone through a-lot loosing her husband to a mafia and some gang related shit.

after getting my food i walked to my caravan. i thought about y/n i didnt know if i would see her anytime soon but i hoped i would

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

it would be a while before they saw eachother agian but the way they would meet agian would not be expected for either of them....

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

sorry thats corny ash but i didnt know whta to put

—------------------------------------

Part 3 coming soon 

not beta read.

[elaine-abroad]

Volume 1: The Arrival

The Flight

If you’re reading this, you probably already know me and my situation. I’m Elaine and I’m studying abroad in Seoul, South Korea for the next four weeks. It’s strange to think that a whole study abroad trip can even fit into one month, but regardless I’m excited to see what Seoul has for me.

This past week before takeoff felt too short as I continuously told my mom that I wanted more time to mentally prepare for the journey. I also procrastinated on packing a little bit in favor of one last hoorah with my closest friends. I know that I’m acting like I’ll be gone a long time, but a month in a country I’ve never been to IS a long time to me.

I was full of nerves the morning of – I woke up earlier than I had to and didn’t speak on the car ride to the airport. I’ve been on plane trips many times before, but I always get anxious and have to run through the steps. This time was a little more stressful because it was my first time flying internationally alone. I made it on with plenty of time to spare so that was good. There was one thing that dampened my spirits a bit throughout the day though. There was a girl from my school’s program that was supposed to land at the same time as me. We were going to explore the airport and split a hotel room together. It was just my luck when she told me she missed her flight, booked another flight that was due to land the next morning, missed the second flight to Incheon after a connecting flight was delayed or something, and was due to land around 5 pm the next day. It made me nervous thinking about finding things on my own, but I had to move on.

The plane’s “amenities” if you will were nothing like I’ve seen before. They had given us each a cheap pillow and blanket as they do on any international flight, but we also received cheap headphones, a full-sized water bottle (not those mini baby ones other planes have – a full one), and foldable hotel slippers to wear. Each chair had a screen to watch movies on and there was even a remote control for the screen. One push of a button and the whole thing came out. They had an area to plug in a charger and they even had a little knob to hang clothes on. It was crazy.

Interesting chair set up + views from the window shortly after take-off

The part I was most excited for was the meals. I’ve seen and heard from social media that planes to Korea had ACTUAL food that also looked good. My past experiences with United Airlines’ food weren’t even up for comparison. My mom would gobble that stuff up every time (I don’t know how), but my brother and I would rather starve than touch it. Anyways, let me just tell you I was not disappointed. When it was time for the first meal, I was elated that bibimbap was even an option. Of course, I had to get that over some ordinary teriyaki chicken. I was pleasantly surprised with the presentation of it all too. I was expecting some hastily thrown together bowl with nothing else, but I also haven’t had plane food in a good couple of years, so I forgot the meals usually came with sides. It even came with Korean Airline branded gochujang tubes and sesame oil packets which was insane. I ate it all.

Meal 1: bibimbap, miso soup, “spicy” pickles, oranges, Sprite

The next meal came in the middle of “sleep time” where all the lights were off for a few hours.

For the first two meals I kept thinking to myself, “How do they know exactly when I’m hungry?” Because both times I’ve been hungry, and they've almost answered my call. However, as the third time came around, I felt a lot fuller than I wanted to be. I still tried to eat it, albeit a little forcefully, but I knew I would have regretted it later if I didn’t. Plus, I wanted to get through the main dish to eat the carrot cake. Unfortunately, by the time I reached the cake, I was no longer in the mood with my tummy full and all. It was a sad moment because if you know me, you know that I have a sweet tooth.

Meal 3: beef with rice + veg, bread roll, caprese salad, carrot cake. Meal 2 not pictured but consisted of a ham and cheese hot pocket and a mini ham, cheese, lettuce sandwich

As for the plane ride itself, it was not that bad and was more tolerable than my usual five-hour flights to Michigan. Maybe it was because we got food and I slept better with the window seat (I usually sit in the aisle). I did kind of feel bad for the people who sat next to me as I unfortunately had to get up three times. My Korean friend told me not to sleep on the flight because of the time difference when I land or whatever, but I didn’t know what else to do on a 12 hour flight.

Views from window shortly before landing

The airport was a lot more straightforward than I imagined. I was worried I would get lost, but now I realize English signs and directions are a must since it’s literally an airport with tons of foreigners. At this point, everything kind of caught up to me and I just wanted to crash at my hotel. Everything was fine and dandy except there was no toilet in my actual room which meant I had to share with everyone else and my shower wouldn’t work. Maybe it did work and I just didn’t know how to use it because it took me a while to orient myself in the shared bathroom where there was no light switch and I had to press buttons to open the door. I ended up hitting the hay around 9 pm and woke every few hours until I left shortly before 8 am.

Views from above baggage claim and an inside look at my room at the Darakhyu capsule hotel in Incheon airport.

I booked a bus ride for the morning and luckily another girl from STAMPS was able to join me after taking a shuttle from her hotel. She brought two of her friends who were also going to be participating in a program at Yonsei University, the school right across the street from us. The guy who took our tickets was kind of scary as he yelled at us in Korean, asking where we were going. One thing I noticed since the plane ride was that the people here just assume I can speak Korean. It’s probably because I’m clearly Asian, but the flight attendants, customs people, hotel front desk, and café cashiers so far have approached me with Korean. It was kind of funny because the flight attendants would speak perfect English to the obvious white people and then ask me stuff in Korean. Anyways, the bus layout was pretty cool and different – super spacious. M Bus could never.

Bus interior. Fun fact: these two girls got off the same stop as us and were also attending Ewha for the summer

It was quite the journey to get settled (imagine carrying 2 backpacks and 3 suitcases up/down hill-y streets and stairs while battling the raging hot sun). We managed though. My room was nice too and I had it all to myself. I raised my brow at the showerhead, sink, and toilet all being in the same room, but it actually wasn’t too hard after taking one. Each room has a mini fridge and AC which definitely beats life at Bursley (dorm at UM that has no AC and all sorts of problems) last summer.

Extra pillow, pillowcase, sheet, and blanket not pictured. Each room has a balcony

The girl I arrived with, Alyssa, has a roommate (I didn’t hear her name that clearly, but it sounded like ‘Zeda’ so I’m just going to refer to her as that until it’s further clarified), and the roommate’s friend Deborah from their school in Massachusetts when out for lunch and a walk through the nearby streets. I was not expecting Zeda to whip out full on Korean when we struggled to order. Apparently, she took 4 semesters of Korean, and she could speak and read it decently. Deborah also knew quite a few words and could read it as well. Anyways the food was really good and pretty cheap – as well as a lot of things here. I literally bought 12 rolls of toilet paper for 5000 won which converts to less than 4 USD. So good news: I can buy gifts for people without too much caution because everything is so much cheaper here.

Soup dumplings, jajangmyeon, and these spicy seafood noodles

Long story short: the food was good, and we were all happy. We did some more walking and went shopping for dorm essentials at Daiso. Since arriving, I have seen an insane number of Daiso stores in Seoul which is kind of mind-boggling. There’s even one in the subway station near the school I’m staying at.

Despite the temperature being a whopping 93 degrees, we decided to take a little tour around the school. I quite like the simplicity of the campus – the buildings all look pretty much the same and it feels like a little town. The buildings remind me of the Ross (business school) buildings at UM. They’re all a light gray with stones/bricks, and the lush, green vegetation really makes the scene pop. It’s so fresh looking unlike in California where we have droughts and “brown is the new green”.

Views from the frontish part of the school

We didn’t make it far because of how physically taxing the walk was. Between the heat, humidity, and the fact that the school is built on hills of uneven roads, we were beat. We ended the journey with the very first building built at Ewha.

First building ever built at Ewha

To cool off, we visited our first café. I’ve decided to start a collection of those cup sleeves because they’re cute here.

Peach iced tea!

We all went back to our rooms to reset, but a few hours later, Alyssa and I were ready to roam the streets again. We ate at a fast-food place called Lotteria. Think of any place that sells typical burgers and fries, but times twenty. The food took a little longer than expected to come out, but we were joking how that’s how you knew they actually cook their food. Anyways, we were so surprised with the menu because of all the different options that American fast-food places never offered.

I got this mozzarella bacon burger which was absolutely insane because they literally fried like a puck of mozzarella and shoved it inside. Definitely not healthy, but really good.

The mozzarella puck is bigger than the patty. Also, the ice cream was super good too

To end the first night, we went into several cute shops with all sorts of accessories and items. I didn’t get anything, but I’ll definitely be back before the end of the program

ARTBOX interior

The First Day…Kind Of

The next morning, Alyssa, Zeda, and I went for a brisk walk to find breakfast of some sort before the Welcoming Ceremony. They were going to provide lunch, so we didn’t end up getting anything.

Quick street view

At the main gate, there’s this building structure called the ECC. In comparison to UM, think Pierpont/The Union. There are two sides made up of multiple floors. Within the building, there are food stores, a convenience store, a bank, coffee shops/cafes, a gift shop (Ewha’s version of MDen), classrooms, the office for international students, and areas for study. The path is dug out so that the greenery lays on ground level. It’s kind of hard to explain and imagine because you can access different parts of the building because it’s all built on uneven land.

Front and back of ECC

There were a lot of students at the welcoming ceremony – so many that they didn’t have enough chairs for them at first. We were given folders of information and even got a free pen and T-shirt (for field trip wear).

Welcoming Ceremony

The free lunch given was a free coupon for the cafeteria. I was pleasantly surprised with how good the food was and helped myself.

Purple rice, green onion hot spicy meat stew, cubed radish kimchi, meatballs with onions, cucumbers, apple + pineapple fruit salad, yogurt drink, seaweed, and a lemon tea drink

I ended up making my first purchase at the school’s convenience store for dinner where I got some munchies.

Kimbap and banana milk

There were a lot of options, and I was eyeing the bagged drink section. I have seen too many TikToks showing people in Korean convenience stores grabbing a pre-filled cup of ice and then a drink of their choice, and basically creating their own concoction.

Drinks galore

This is the end of the first volume. Stay tuned for my first full week in Seoul.

Spoiler: there were a lot of ups and downs.

-Elaine

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I'm into the live episode that make up the last five episodes of season 3 of the Ray Peacock Podcast. Then one more season and then I can move on and pretend none of this ever happened and that'll be for the best. They did make me laugh pretty hard on the bus today. But this is definitely not a healthy part of a media diet.

Anyway. It is really weird to listen to this show from 2007-2008, and so much of it is so different. Ed Gamble is, mostly, borderline unrecognizable. The world they're in is borderline unrecognizable, the references and the talk of the media landscape are so wildly different.

Do you want to know a change that I like, and didn't until today manage to put my finger on what exactly that difference is? That they can say horrible things without prefacing them with "I bet this'll get me canceled by the wokes" every time. They could just say horrible things because they genuinely believed it would be funny, rather than these days, when people say horrible things because they can brag about how they say cancel-able stuff and that'll get them attention and let them sell tickets/views to horrible people who will put their money toward supporting anything that's horrible. It's hard to hide behind "but I was just being ironic!" when you do it like that. I realized I've grown so used to the "Oh my God you'd better come listen to me say something cancel-able!" grifters that it now actually sounds weird to me to hear someone be edgy without the grift.

Anyway, this podcast is so rife with big and small clues that it existed in a totally different world to ours, it's actually escapist as I re-arrange my brain to temporarily inhabit this other world while I enjoy the podcast, that I found it amazingly jarring to be suddenly pulled back into reality by something that is amusingly still exactly the same today:

This reminds me of when I was listening to Lee and Herring on the radio in 1994 and they started talking shit about Bruce Dessau, and I asked, how long has that guy been going? Not just that he was doing this in 1994, but that by then, he was already so well established that he was a go-to reference for comedians who talk about reviewers. (Although I guess I can't consider it that weird, since Lee and Herring were established enough to have a radio show by 1994, and they're both still going.)

I obviously knew that Chortle existed in 2008, since for one thing, it hosted The Ray Peacock Podcast at the time (I don't actually know when Chortle started, but I've found a Chortle review of John Oliver's first stand-up hour in 2002 - Steve wasn't impressed - so at least that long). But for some reason it really, really surprised me to hear how little has changed. I find it genuinely baffling how someone can get away with running a largely text-based web publication for a living while constantly making mistakes in the technical side of writing, and I think on some level, I must have assumed that he was good at it in the early days, and then just got well established enough to not have to care as much. Standards for proper spelling on the internet in general were higher in those days too (for professional publications, that is - they were probably lower on forum posts and things). I didn't even consciously realize that's an assumption I was making about Steve Bennett, until I heard he couldn't spell in 2008 either, and I found that shocking. How does he have his career then? Why doesn't someone stop him? Apparently Steve Bennett's inability to spell is the one thing that connects all parallel universes. In this entire podcast so far, it's the only reference they've made that hasn't dated.

(Obligatory note, and I know I say this every time but I still can't leave it out because hypocrisy bothers me, of course my Tumblr blog is full of errors, I'm writing it for free, I would have this shit polished and pristine if someone were paying me for it.)

[btscontentenjoyer]

These two are my babies, I love them so much 😭😭😭

"Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.” That's what it takes???? Of course they won't believe that he's good for her and that he can take care of her when she tells them, they have to literally see her in a bad state with him beside her in order to muster some human decency. I mean, I'm glad Jungkook got at least that, but it will take a lot more effort from their part to have some kind of decent relationship with their daughter 😔😔😔

"To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom." Yessss, I'm so excited for this new beginning for them 🥺🥺🥺

"You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat." Yuppppp same, every time he says something like this, especially when it's casual like that, my heart skips a beat.

"The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever." Playful and teasing like the old times but with so much more weight and meaning to everything sounds good 🥺🥺🥺

"The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently." A year 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 And they're finally on the same page for real. It feels like they always have been, they just didn't know it until now 😔😔😔

"When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it." I'm sure he would have done so much more than that for her and not batted an eye 🥺

"There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.” Aaaaaaaaaw. Was he afraid he wouldn't find her there again if he took longer? Or was he worried about her being alone? Or perhaps he just wanted to cherish every single second he could get with her because he was without her for too long 🥺🥺🥺🥺

"Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that." I feel like this will be easier for her to do now, because she can be sure now that he will always tell her the important things when he's ready.

"But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it." Every reminder of this fills my heart with joy, I swear.

"Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Him saying things like that, hinting to something so big in this way is doing things to my heart.

"You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here." They've always had a special connection!!!

"He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 the biggest sweetheart. Because you know that she'd think that for just a few moments until she realises that he's in the bathroom but he still didn't want to cause her that pain even for a second 🥺🥺🥺

"He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.” All the gentle touches add so much intimacy to these moments 🥺 Also as a physical touch girlie I very much approve!!

"Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world." The certainty just 💕💞💕💞💕💞💕💞💕 makes me so happy.

"Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons." <3

"A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?" I need her to meet his family so bad, I know they'd all love her 🥺

"Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away." But yeah, the meeting with that particular family member should be interesting… I feel like she'd be so protective of Jungkook, I know I'd be side eyeing his dad like crazy the entire time lmaoooo.

"Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?” Pleaseee he's so cuteee.

"He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.” That's such a Yoongi thing to say lmaoo I love him.

"Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back." 🥺🥺🥺 Me too 🥺🥺🥺

"You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel." Oooooop 😳😳😳

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?” Yessssssss

"He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.” Aaaaaaah I'm literally smiling so wide and trying not to make a happy sound because the whole house is asleep 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

"Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook." 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too." That sounds so good 🥺🥺🥺

"But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too." That he is 🥺

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.” This is all sooo 😭😭😭😭 I don't have words, just emojis lol.

"Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably." Yuppp, basically.

"You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel." Their group is sooo cute, I'm glad we get to see them all growing closer together now.

"He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.” That's so… 🥺🥺🥺

"He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.” Yes she can!!!!!

"Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better." It's lovely to see them doing it. What we've seen of their relationship growing and evolving has been kind of all up to fate. To see them be more deliberate and consciously building a future together is so sweet.

"You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do." They're so cuteeeee, being all shy like this.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!” Aaaaaaaaah that's so coooooool. He deserves all of it and more 🥺🥺🥺

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.” They are soooo two sides of the same coin and I love them.

"One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you." You know, I wouldn't mind if it's him one of these days too 👀👀👀

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses." !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?” Oh my godddddd he's such a menaceeee. I love their banter during sex so much 😫😫😫😫😫 I keep rereading the dialogue and it just gets better.

"Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it." Will forever swoon over how attentive he is!!!!!

"And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—” 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

"And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates." Okay but can we talk about how hot OC is too because damn 😳😳😳

"It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours." AAAAAAAAH

"Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others." He does that for her!!!! He makes her feel like THAT!!!!!

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.” They make me sickkkkkkk. Literally the most in love people I've ever seen. And I'm in love with them!!!!!!!! Also btw you can't have the filthiest hottest blowjob scene and then go to this after if you want me to survive Rid 😫😫😫

"He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder." He's too damn pretty. And cute and hot and endearing.

"Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.” Me tooooooo 🥺🥺🥺

"Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other." This 😭😭😭😭😭

"Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you." <33

"Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him." This!!!!!!!!!!!

"No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him." That's exactly how every smut scene in this series has felt, so intimate and intentional and so much more than just sex.

"And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?” Heeeeeeeee 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 Also the amount of times he's said baby in this… okaaaay 😳😳😳

"His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.” Now I wanna rewatch it with them too 🥺🥺🥺

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.” Lmaooooo this is so me.

"You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.” “Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh." Like that moment at the concert aaaaah, that's so adorable. Having the visuals for it in my head already makes it even more 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

"You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.” Aaaaw but it's true, they are perfect for each other. And they know perfectly well the pain that comes with family problems, so they know how to comfort each other too 🥺

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.” Everything!!! They feel everything!!!

“It’s not over yet, baby.” Please this is such a sweet moment 😭😭😭 they give each other so much hope and support 🥺🥺🥺

"No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?” Her man!!!!!!!

"Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion." He is so adorable!!!!! And thoughtful and modest and the man of my dreams!!!!

"Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours." Yeah, he brings the colour to her world, not the press and fame and her parents 😔😔😔

"Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.” 🥺🥺🥺

"You nibble your lip, but quickly disguise it as licking them damp, “It is true that I have a partner who’s an artist. He has been working his way up. In fact, I won’t be surprised if you see his name in one of those well-read magazines soon.” Yessss they will 🥺

“So, I’ve decided to renounce my right to be the company’s heir. I’m not doing this because I lack confidence but because I’ve attained confidence. I need to create my legacy separate from my family’s success. Stand on my own merits.” Aaaaah I'm so happy for her, she deserves to have something to make her own. And I'm so so proud too, I'm sure someone else is as well 🥺

"Other speakers are also scheduled to take on the stage, but you feel the weight of the room’s attention on you. Your mother is glaring, disapproving gaze scanning the room. Finding him for a second. Then gone again." Oh she must be so maddddd lmao I love that.

Rid, this chapter was sooooo 🥺🥺🥺🥺 I love how we got a smol taste of the domesticity that I'm sure we'll also get plenty of from now on. These two need to never be separated ever again. And the smut here was sooooo fun and hottt, I saw you saying you liked writing the dialogue during it and I had the best time reading it. I'm so excited for everything that's to come for these two!!!

colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3 ➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would  remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere. 

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck. 

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins. 

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New. 

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life.  And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—” 

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. 

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all. 

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

[everafterfrisk]

Ozma & Ruby Parallels

Been rewatching Volume 6-8 and I've found some parallels between the two

Notably with the two becoming heroes for righteous/heroic reasons

Jinn: The people of the lands knew him as Ozma.

Jinn: Unlike those who had come before, this warrior was not driven by the prize of the young maiden's hand. He fought only for righteousness, and his pure heart and courageous soul prevailed

Ruby:"As a girl, I wanted to be just like those heroes in the books... Someone who fought for what was right, and protected people who couldn't protect themselves!"

-Ruby to Blake

But felt conflicted with their choices not knowing if it's the best option

Ozma going along with Salem's plan of becoming "the new gods of this world" But part of him still feels uneasy

Ozma: (troubled) Are we sure this is right?

Salem: (looking over to Ozma) You said we needed to bring humanity together. In order to do that, we have to spread our word, and destroy those who will deny it.

Ozma gains a shocked expression on his face upon hearing these words. He turns to see his reflection on the window, which suddenly talks to him.Ozma: What are we doing?

Ozma reels back in horror seeing his reflection ask him that question before looking over to Salem.

Ruby's talk with Qrow where she points out that she doesn't know what is truly right for everyone

Ruby: (soft laugh) All of the above. I'm trying to do what I think is best, but I really can't tell if what's best is what's right, or if I'm no different from Oz.

The Two took risks in hiding the truth that it ultimately damaged certain connections they've made

Ruby hid the truth from Ironwood cuz she didn't believe giving him the full story will be the right option as people in Atlas aren't in the best conditions,same goes for the people in mantle plus Salem's immortality is just gonna install more fear.

Ozpin hid the truth about Salem from the World because similar to Ruby, he knew that truth will only expel despair into everyone as a whole and his main goal was mainly to defend the relics from Salem's grasp & help make a world that the gods could deem worthy of living.

By the end of Volume 8, Ruby and the gang realize that while Ozpin did commit a grave risk about Salem being unbeatable, they also had to take heavy risks to protect what they held dear(Blake/Yang trusting Robyn,Weiss trusting Willow/Whitley and Oscar/Ruby hiding the truth from Ironwood)

Fits into the whole theme of Trust within the Volume

Ruby herself didn't like how Ozpin wasn't being truthful from the start but she realized by now that the truth is a risk that everyone has take in the long run and you decide the outcome of that decision in the long run.

In a way this is probably why he was so invested in Ruby from the beginning of the series

Ruby was essentially a reminder of his former self from so long ago, someone who fought for what was right and had the ability to be honest to those around her.

"But perhaps victory is in the simpler things that you've long forgotten. Things that require a smaller, more honest soul"

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Already dating

Word count: 1618

Genre: Probably fluff, idk really

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: None (let me know if I need to add any)

Request: could you maybe write something with Natasha x male reader (if your comfortable, otherwise you can write it with female or gender neutral) where Natasha blushes when the reader compliments her in front of the team and the team immediately goes crazy and does everything in their power to get them together, only to find out they've been dating all along?

Summary: Steve and Tony (mostly Tony) lock you in an elevator to admit your feelings, not knowing you’re already together.

A/n: Thanks @mochamoff for the request, sorry it took so long to do it! I’m writing this authors note over a week before I’m posting the fic which is unusual because usually I post within twenty four hours of finishing. Anyways it feels nice to be on a break and this fic being posted means I’m officially back which I’m excited for. To be honest this fic isn’t the whole team, just Tony and Steve, but I’m pretty happy with the way it turned out so I hope you all enjoy reading!

“Next time you have to listen to me in the field Stark.” Steve says as soon as everyone is settled into their place on the jet.

“Actually I don’t, you have absolutely no power over me and as much as you want to be the leader of this team you are not so stop acting like it.” Tony snaps back.

“Someone has to step up and lead.” Steve tells him. “It’s not like you could do any better, you would probably mess things up.”

“Maybe I would, but I would do a hell of a lot better than you are doing.” Tony says. “You like to pretend you’re all high and good and above us but who made you leader? Nobody. You crave control so you took it.”

“I did what needed to be done.”

You watch them snap back and forth at one another a few more times, rolling your eyes at Natasha. She gives you a small smile to show that she’s amused and turns her attention back to your two teammates whose argument has only gotten more and more heated.

“Y/n what do you think?” Tony asks, catching you off guard.

“About what?”

“About who would be a better leader for the team.” he explains. You think for a moment and they both stand as tall as possible (in Tony’s case it isn’t tall at all) and puff out their chests. You scoff, the male ego is so big, even in men who are good and try to do the right thing.

“Neither.” you decide.

“Neither- but the team needs a leader, you have to pick someone.” Tony splutters.

“Just because I don’t think the best leader is either of you doesn’t mean I don’t think the team needs a leader.” you tell him. How one of the smartest people in the world can’t figure that out for himself is beyond you.

“So who would you choose then?” Steve asks, confused.

“Natasha obviously.” you say, smiling at her. The corners of her mouth tug up slightly and even that small movement makes you feel proud.

“No offense, but Natasha???” Tony asks, seemingly outraged. “Why?”

“Well first of all she doesn’t have a fragile male ego like you dumbasses.” you tell them. “But it’s more than just that. She’s smart, both book smart and street smart. She can hack into computers and memorize information easily and knows how to blend in, or to get people to like her. She is more rational than the both of you combined but is also good at making decisions on the fly. She is an excellent fighter and can keep track of strategies and she has connections in and out of the government, with backup plans for almost every situation. Not to mention she has an amazing heart and don’t argue like some other people on our team tend to do. And of course she’s absolutely gorgeous but that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

You wink at her at the end of your mini speech and are surprised to find her cheeks noticeably pink. She can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face when she thinks over your words.

“Abort mission, Romanoff is blushing and smiling, I think I might be about to die.” Tony states obnoxiously.

“Shut up, you’re just annoyed that she likes me better than you.” Natasha tells him, taking a breath to (mostly) collect herself.

“You’re scary when you’re happy. I haven’t seen you like that before.” he says. “Are you in love with Y/n or something?”

“Shut up.”

Tony smirks. “Make me.”

Natasha takes one threatening step towards him and that’s all it takes for him to back away, stuttering out apologies and mumbling under his breath about how Natasha is too scary to be a team leader. Natasha’s scare tactics do seem to work though because he doesn’t speak to anybody but himself for the rest of the ride home.

As soon as the jet touches down you and Natasha exit, heading straight to the room where you are supposed to be debriefed. Steve tries to follow but Tony grabs his arm to let him know to hold back a second.

“I know I joke but I honestly think they’re in love with each other.” Tony tells him. “I didn’t see it before today but there’s no way Y/n’s speech was platonic, who memorizes lists of reasons why they like their friends, not to mention their flirty wink at the end. And then Natasha, she’s scary but she was acting weird and happy around Y/n.”

“I hate to say this but I agree with you and they would make a cute couple.” Steve says. “But we should probably catch up now.”

Tony takes Steve’s words as an opportunity to stop being serious and become obnoxious again. “Onward dear captain, lead the way fearsome leader, how ever could I-”

“Tony I’m trying to be polite but you are making it very hard.”

---

“Tony no.”

“Tony yes.”

“That is a horrible idea.”

Tony opens his mouth in outrage. “I think it’s a pretty good idea actually.”

“I won’t work.” Steve counters.

“Well I think it well and need I’m the only genius here.” he says smugly.

“You can’t force love!” Steve tells Tony, running his hand through his hair in frustration.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Tony says, “I’m not forcing love, they are already in love. All I’m doing is giving them a little push.”

“By locking them in an elevator?” Steve asks in a deadpan voice.

“Exactly.”

“You can’t just go around locking people-” Steve starts to say but he gets cut off by Tony.

“Shhhhhhh, hi Y/n, hi Natasha.”

“Hi guys, what are you up to?” you ask, obvious to what was going on seconds before you entered the room. Natasha eyes them suspiciously because they are acting weird, holding their bodies stiffly, which means they are hiding something.

“We were just about to head down to the training room, want to come?” Tony lies smoothly while Steve shakes his head in the background.

“That sounds good,” you reply, “you want Tasha?”

“Okay.” she agrees, still eyeing both of them, Tony in particular suspiciously.

“Great!” Tony says and starts to walk towards the elevator and the rest of you follow him, Steve trying to convince himself that going along with Tony’s plan is doing no harm.

“Ladies first.” he says, stepping off to the side and giving a big flourish with his arm. It’s weird but then again Tony is always weird so you don’t think too much of it, stepping into the elevator. As soon as Natasha follows you in he orders Jarvis to close and lock the doors and to prevent the elevator from moving and then pulling up a screen so he can watch you.

“You better run when I get out of here!” Natasha yells. “You too Steve!”

“You’re going to thank me later.” Tony says. “Steve, why don’t you explain why we locked them in.”

“Um,” Steve hesitates, not knowing where to start, “well we think that you two need to talk about, um, feelings.”

“Feelings?” you ask, confused, while realization dawns over Natasha’s face.

“Um, yeah feelings.” Steve responds, feeling very awkward and hoping this works so he didn’t do all that for nothing.

“They don’t know we’re dating and they’re trying to get us together.” Natasha leans over and whispers in your ear before straightening back up and talking to Tony again. “I didn’t take you for such a romantic Stark.”

“What? I’m not- romantic me? Pepper says I’m the least romantic guy she’s ever been with.” he splutters, trying to regain his masculinity.

“And that is not a compliment.” you tell him. “But for some reason even though ‘you aren’t romantic’ you wanted to get us together.”

“Maybe I did,” he says. “but you have to admit that my plan is amazing and it's totally working.”

Natasha snorts “What part of this conversation screams working to you?”

“Well you haven’t killed Y/n yet and neither of you have denied your feelings so it’s obviously working. I expect a thank you speech dedicated to me at your wedding.” He says arrogantly.

“There will be no speech.” Natasha tells him.

“But there will be a wedding?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and Steve has to look away because it looks ridiculous.

“Hopefully.” you say, teasing Tony with your vagueness but also making Natasha smile as she thinks about what that might be like.

“Told you my plan would work.” Tony brags to Steve before telling Jarvis to release you from the elevator.

“Your plan sucked.” Natasha tells him. “We were already dating dumbasses.”

She grabs your hand and pulls you out of the room as Steve and Tony stare after you, shocked.

“Did you know about this?” Tony asks, looking at Steve with suspicion.

“Not at all.” Steve answers, his mouth still half open. In hindsight it should have been obvious. Of course Natasha wouldn’t want to be open about her dating life right away, she likes her secrets way too much.

---

“You owe me fifty bucks Y/n.” Natasha tells you once you’re out of earshot.

“Seriously?” you whine.

“You said they already knew but they didn't, so pay up.” She holds her hand outwards expectantly and you both laugh.

“Later.” you tell her. “There are more important things to do now.”

“Hmm, like what?” she teases gently, taking a step closer to you. Your breath catches because you still can’t believe you are dating someone this beautiful. You match her halfway and pull her into a deep kiss, only pulling back when you need to breath.

“This.”

---

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[yostresswritinggirl]

Abandoned By The Altar

Part 1; When you were young.

A timeline oriented story focused on your once perfect childhood relationship as Diluc's bride to be, soon becoming estranged after the death of his father and his neglect. You only wish now that he looks at you the same way he did when you heard you were supposed to be together forever when you were young.

Pairings -> Diluc x Reader (Currently both young)

Word Count -> 3611

Themes -> Initial Fluff, don't be fooled by the title and summary, not yet at least lol-

Series -> #Bonafide Specials (100 followers event) Part 2

Warnings -> None, tooth-rotting adorkable fluff, this is part 1

The redness of his hair poked out like the moon in a blanketed, dark sky at the dead hours of the sky. His glaring flame of a hair starking in contrast against the sea of cecilias.

There were three knocks to the Winery that day and his father, renowned businessman, had greeted a new set of faces to their humble abode.

Diluc was but a mere child who had lived for eight years and he had exercised his mind to remember the people that had come and go. They were always regal in aura, high in stature, brimming with promises of riches. This occasion had the same weight, but with a lesser intensity with the politeness the merchant family carried.

As usual, business matter were talked about by the adults and Diluc, the young had no means to pry.

So when he finally stared at you, he was pleasantly surprised. Visitors were usually taller, more mature, and came there to talk about adult stuff... never had he met a child the same as he come with those that come talk about finances.

You slightly flinched back when your stares connected, from what he did not know why, but you carry the same shock and intrigue he felt. "H-Hello there!" Crepus ghosted a look at the two children with a wistful and amused look, softening at the sight. His sole child had always been demure and the distance from Mondstadt had kept him away from opportunities of friendship, so when your parents revealed you as their tag-along to their business proposal, he thought it was too good a coincidence to pass. He, however, didn't expect Diluc to be the first to talk.

"Hi, hi!" You bounded up to him as if barreling, your initial nerves dominated by childlike wonder as your eyes darted over him, so fast even that he doesn't know where they had already gone. "Your- your hair, eyes! So pretty!" You placed your hands on his shoulders enthusiastically, missing a distant horrified gasp and a slight shush. "Like, like... fire tornadoes!"

"Fire tornadoes...?" Diluc asked warily and you vigorously explained how the wildness of his hair carried the chaos of tornadoes that had caught a raging flame in its razor winds.

You had always been an eccentric child, your mother reasoned with the older Ragnvindr but earned a hearty chuckle. No harm done, he assured as he can't seem to take his eyes off the two of you, even tho his business was right in front of him.

After proper introductions between the two children, and a promise of a longer talk, your supposed quick visit somehow made its way to dinner.

The many servants of the Winery had caught wind of the sudden changes in the itinerary and they were quick to adapt on the preparations of dinner. In the backdoors of kitchens and maid halls there were surprising chatter that accompanied them as they work. "Young Master Diluc and the merchant's little girl seems to be getting along quite well," the nanny and the other maids started the gossip with fervor at the intriguing news. "It's greatly the reason why Master Crepus had entertained them this long, the gardener caught wind of how amused he is just watching the two interact." When the banquet table was completed before the diners had arrived, a lot of the servants hid behind the cracks of the doors to watch the spectacle for themselves, to guarantee if the rumor that spread like wildfire was true and not some hallucination.

There was a quiet series of gasps and 'aw's when the main door opened to reveal the owners of the house and its current honored guests. The towering adults parted to display you clutching to Diluc's sleeve as he guided you to extra long table, a display that you seem to not be used to based on their observations as you felt lost on which large seat to take.

And the young master thought of this as the perfect opportunity to show off the things he had learned in his sessions of proper etiquette. Locating the nearest seat, Diluc pulled the chair out and gestured you to take a seat before gently pushing it back under the table. Satisfied with the distance, he made his way opposite of you as a sign of respect for his guest.

Crepus, your mother and father watched in amusement... as you two took your seats at the other end of the table farthest from them. But they paid no mind to call you two over when they saw how engrossed you are over your own conversation.

The chatter that night was boisterous and lively on all parties, for besides business and wine, all had talked with the atmosphere of good friends.

And dinner turned into a promise of a sleepover, how generous of the Ragnvindr family. The master of the house simply reasoned that Mondstadt was still a distance from the Winery, and it was too dangerous to travel at this time of night. But the servants knew more than they had let on, for they too felt the somberness in the eyes of Diluc when your parents announced your need to departure.

At this point, this whole visit was now held up by the fact that it was their young master's opportune time for a play date.

The whole day you two had been inseparable. Either being connected physically or just naturally stuck to each other's side through and through. Despite his innate nature to be a recluse or lack of communication among his age group, Diluc find himself not at all minding the way you stuck close to him like this.

When everyone else had departed, you and Diluc were still wide awake in the parlor in front of the blazing fireplace, your hands buried in his wild hair as you talked about your travels before coming to Mond. The young man hums as replies with his eyes closed, concentrated on the way you weave your hands through his fiery locks as you made tiny braids here and there.

Once Crepus had finished tonight's negotiation and seek out his own child (of which was missing from his room) he happened upon the two of you coddled up between a fort of pillows and blankets. The fireplace long been extinguished as the children slumbered.

You were noble not by blood, but by high commerce. Your parents had been travelling all over the continent to procure business opportunities and partnerships, and their duo of both financial prowess and economic behavior mastery had earned them a place in high society and funding. Noble merchants who had found themselves in the city of freedom with their sole child in tow.

The true goal was to establish at least one commerce ports and business services in EVERY nation in Teyvat, and that requires a lot of scouting and connections to do so.

Because of the constant move, you had seen A LOT and met quite a thousand of people in every walks of life. At your young age you barely remember them all truly but the loneliness within you was not something that can easily be quenched, as travelling meant leaving everyone behind for an indefinite time.

Diluc was a one of a kind boy, most probably because you had yet to step foot in the land of the Pyro Archon, but his red hair intrigued you to wit's end. It was reminiscent of a campfire that protects you from the cold of the night, the last hues of sunset in the horizon over the cliffs of your expedition, the sweet taste of fresh strawberries hand picked from the Inazuman plantations.

So at the news of settling down for a few years in Mondstadt reached your ears, unadulterated tears of pure happiness flowed out of your eyes so shockingly that you didn't even notice them immediately.

Not until you felt small hands cup your cheeks, its thumbs fervently swiping at the wetness. Your wide eyes met Diluc's worried ones and he asked if you're alright with a gentleness you've never heard from him. You grinned, "We can play again tomorrow, Diluc!"

And the three adults in the distance sighed in great relief as your mood lifted.

You cupped back Diluc's cheeks to reciprocate and gasped in overdramatic wonder at how soft and squishy they were, squealing, and then tackling him back into the soft beds of Cecilias.

"They've really become quite close ever since we touched Mondstadt," Crepus smiled behind his cup of tea and reveling himself with the warmth it brought to his throat.

"Honestly, our daughter needs to learn manners after him. She's always been so rowdy, I was scared the young master would have run away from her brashness," your mother quipped in before picking up her own cup to savor.

Crepus shared a glance with your father as they both found their gaze back to the both of you. "Practically inseparable," they hum, "I'd say we might as well seal them together to make sure our bloodlines prosper."

Your mother choked. "Are you implying- Diluc and (Y/N)?!" At the mention of your names, you and your companion turned your heads to the adults. "An arranged marriage? At such an early age too!"

"What's an arranged marriage?" The children spat out at the same time, informing the older people of the audience they had brought upon themselves. Crepus smiles warmly at the sight of your tiny arms wrapped around Diluc's shoulder as the redhead holds a Cecilia in place by your ear.

"It's a serious promise," the Ragnvindr started, "it makes sure that both of the people stays together forever their whole lives. After a grand ceremony." Diluc knew when his father talked about serious business and that's when he usually pays attention to his words, even if majority of the time it's something he barely understands.

But the thought of being able to be with each other together forever, the young boy slowly turned his head to face you, which urged you to look at him too. There was the same color of his hair splattered at his cheeks, but his gaze on you was wide and wondrous, as if asking a silent question, "I would love to be with Diluc forever! How about you, Diluc? Do you, do you?"

"I-I do! Yes!" The young redhead tried to match your enthusiasm as the older men chuckled, your mother silently dying at the predicament.

"Then that settles it!" Crepus mused, "Even tho I didn't expect my son to be the one getting proposed on."

April 29th, the day before Diluc's 9th birthday, the first birthday of his that you would be in attendance.

The servants of the house had been busy preparing for the grand event for days now, and tasks were more than piled up on the day before the true date. Hence why you'd find yourself playing with Diluc outside of the mansion without adult supervision. Your parents had helped in organizing the party with Diluc's father, as it also doubles as an opportunistic moment of meeting nobles and honorable businessmen all over Teyvat.

"Are you excited for tomorrow, Dilu? Just imagine the towering cake, so many food, and toys!" You two were passing by the grapevines of the winery, fascinated by the shining grapes under the direct gaze of the sun.

"Mmm, there would be a lot of people tho, lots of talking and talking," you plucked a healthy looking grape from the vine before you finally looked at your companion, finding a cute little pout between his smooth and chubby cheeks. "You know I'm not good around many people."

You cooed at the confession, indulging momentarily by patting his cheek (Diluc raised an eyebrow at your weird obsession over them) before patting his shoulder, "Well, well, as your fi- financee?" Fiancée, he corrected. "Yeah that! I'll be right by your side, if you need help, I'll be right there!"

When you saw him relax under your enthusiastic grin, you patted yourself on the back before expertly throwing the lone grape into your mouth. And crunched.

"Well, I guess you're much better with people- are you okay?"

The sourness. The undeniably waxy peel. Your teeth colliding with the core seed. Diluc watched your face contort from surprise to disgust to pure horror as you frantically whip your head from side to side in search of something, yet finding nothing you slightly bow your head.

"(Y/N), hey, what's wrong-" he reached his hand out and under to cup your jaw and raise your face to meet his, but in a manner of time seemingly slowing down, these events happened: you opened your mouth to discard the disgusting grape to the ground when in some funny coincidence, Diluc's open hand reached out under your chin, the wet and slimey prune of a grape plopping on his palm spot-on with a sound of disgust escaping you.

When you'd open your eyes, you gasped at the sight before you. Whipping your head up, you've seen the most horrified look Diluc had ever worn as he stared straight at his hand, barely moving and breathing.

When one of the maids finally caught sight of the two children, she'd found you crying in distress as you wailed 'I broke Diluc, I broke him!' while the boy himself stood and looked just the same as you'd seen him last, still staring at the disgusting grape in his hand.

The festivities started the next day with you not by his side.

Guests were already swarming in given that the night has started its period. Crepus made sure that all of the preparations are in accordance with the party, yet he knew just how distressed and frantic his son has been acting, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

He kneels in front of Diluc, finally getting his frenzied stares to settle on him. He offers a reassuring smile. "Are you looking for her?" Diluc was bashful in being caught but nodded regardless, earning a chuckle and a hand ruffling his hair. "Don't worry, she will come."

"But what if she doesn't?" His stubborn nerves replied still with uncertainty.

"You two promised to be together, no grape can easily break that," at the mention of the incident, his son gagged and whined at the reminder, causing another robust chuckle form in his throat. When Crepus has heard of the 'incident' that transpired yesterday, he had to stop himself from wheezing to comfort his own son.

At the better reminder Diluc found himself smiling again brought upon his faith on you and Crepus sighed in relief. That was when they heard a familiar voice shout from the distance.

Your little form broke through the crowd that had obscured your form, dressed up in a simple red chiffon dress and a massive white bow that holds as a belt. Crepus stepped to the side so you could approach the birthday boy yourself, presenting the red box in your hand with a trembling grip, you stood with nerve-wracking composure they've never seen you don before. "H-Happy birthday, Diluc! I uhm I'm really sorry about what happened yesterday, I really am! So I- so I bought you some gloves, so you'll never have to worry about your hands next time."

Crepus quirked an amused eyebrow at the 'next time' as he watches his son take upon the gift and opening it immediately, inside was a simple pair of white gloves with gold lines across its back and a pop button to keep it in place. When he fitted it, it was just the right size and fit his normal attire perfectly.

You watched him warily when you finally met eyes, opening your mouth to ask if he had liked it— when you were suddenly met by a hug, his fluffed up hair almost covering half of your hair. "Thank you, I like it. But you're late..." you laughed in relief as you squeezed him so tight, saying you were sorry with a giggle.

Diluc's father then watched on with a smile as the two of you held hands, disappearing in the sea of guests to mingle and admire the decorations they had put on for his birthday. At least, this time, he didn't have to worry that his son felt alone.

Your reckless imprudence and its adverse karma took a lot longer to manifest than anyone had expected. But it came with a paradoxical event both good and evil when you and Diluc were aged 10.

It was a rare occasion that it was Diluc who was visiting you (instead of the other way around) in Mondstadt's walled city. His father had the tavern to tend to that day and had entrusted Diluc's presence to you, the one who had been roaming the city for about two years now.

In your excitement and his cluelessness, you dragged your friend around the city for an impromptu tour guide. The cathedral, the statue, the HQ of Ordo Favonius; you exhausted him all the way as you somehow managed to find your way past the bridge and into the lush greenery of the outside of the walled city. He needed a breather, and you found the fresh air and quiet to be just the perfect spot.

The sound of rushing water in the distance helped as white noise for your relaxation, as you both stared up in the clear sky together, occasionally pointing at objectified clouds. At some point, Diluc had closed his eyes when the faint breeze urged him to rest more and he gave in just as easily.

The sound of your light musings grounded him just the same, together with the flowing stream and the distant pitter patter against the grass... pitter patter?

"DILUC, WATCH OUT-!" A force came bouldering against his side as he cried out in pain and shock, barreling against the grassland as he unceremoniously tumbles with the perpetrator. He snapped his eyes wide open and sat up quickly to look at what had come to your area—

And you laid there next to him, remnants of frost littering your clothes and climbing up your skin. As Diluc gathered you up in his arms, he felt the sting of the cold as he pulled your trembling form against his chest. At his peripheral he distinguished a few cryo slimes a few feet away, where he sees the dent on the grass he once laid on just moments prior.

"(Y/N)- (Y/N)! No, nonono stay with me, you're okay, please tell me you are," his body wracked in suppressed sobs as you desperately clung to his warmth. Your eyes were squeezed shut in pain as your teeth clatter and whimper from frostbite. He squeezed and pulled you closer up to his chest, desperately hoping the ice would melt before it engulfed you whole.

His gloved hands gripped at your back when he locked eyes with the slimes, watching them slowly advance to the both of you and he watched helplessly without any weapon at his arsenal to protect you two.

For the first time in his life, Diluc felt utterly useless and helpless at the face of looming death. And he prayed with eyes shut, to any Gods that spared him an ear, to give them divine intervention to help you two. To pray that there was something he can do, to pray that if only he was stronger—

And his world turned red around him.

Frost melted.

Grass charred.

Slimes dissipated.

In front of him a Vision was born.

...

A year and a half after that ordeal, you find yourself in the dimly lit hallways of Dawn Winery.

Diluc had expressed his intention to join the Knights of Favonius a day after he received his Vision, with a resolve you've never seen him wear before. He looked at you with longing yet courage of another promise, when you came to the same day. Ever since then, your visits became scarce and your play time had lessened, as you were left to watch him train in every hour of his day with either his father or one of the adept guards of the Winery.

You've never thought you'd wish to be able to wield a sword greatly to par that of a knight, if only to be trusted enough to wield the weapon against him in the guise of training. Ever since that incident everyone had treated you with utmost care and gentleness, even your dearest friend who had always gone along with your reckless spurs of action.

Today you were hoping to catch him on a day off from his sessions but it seems awfully quiet this time around and you were left to ponder with your thoughts as no one came to aid you with answers. You would press your ear against the numerous doors, linger to hear anyone, and then moved on to another if you come out empty-handed.

You were on your way to the last door of the hallway when you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You whipped your head in the thought that you had found your person of interest—

"What are you doing here?" But instead of the fiery red you were seeking for, you met a cold blue gaze that carried hidden hostility and confusion. You blinked at him as he did at you, an agonizing second passing with silence, and he opens his mouth once more to ask.

"I like your eyepatch!"

Somehow, you seem to have a knack on making people stutter on your first meetings.

Kaeya was no exception.

I didn't expect this to end with a cliffhanger holy shit, I loved writing this so much but I got caught up with so many other works and— it just became too long to continue...

Part 2 tomorrow midnight once again!

@creation-magician @boxofteenageideas @your-local-venti-simp @indigodreamtime47

[kiss-me-cill-me]

@red-riding-wood I cannot even express how much this review means to me, Red 😭

Honestly, I was so unsure of my writing on this one. I really struggled with getting it to where I wanted it to be, and I think this might be my most heavily-edited oneshot ever lol. And tbh, a large part of that was due to me changing my mind about a thousand times on whether I wanted it to be in present or past tense 😆 But also because I struggled to find the words to convey things exactly how I wanted them. Out of all the "genres" of fic, angst comes least naturally to me.

So to hear that you genuinely enjoyed this makes me so unbelievably happy! I feel like I'm just going to be a mess through this whole response; excuse me if I get emotional 😭😂

So the straps on her bed, interestingly, I originally included because I had a very different ending in mind for this fic. I was going to have the tables turn at some point, the reader shove Crane onto the bed, and then use the straps to restrain him so she could take his key and escape. But at some point in the writing process, it just started to feel more and more like she shouldn't win so easily. I still wanted there to be a moment of "hope" at the end, but for it to feel more like something she was wrestling obsessively for instead of an actual triumph. So I changed the ending but kept the straps, because I did think they added to the hopeless atmosphere and her backstory, like you mentioned.

Also, the bit about the black pit in her chest was actually kind of inspired by your writing; specifically the way you describe sadness in "Made For You" as an abyss that stretches from one rib to another. I thought to myself "How would Red describe this? Probably in a really beautiful way" 😂 And well, I dunno how beautiful black holes are, but that's what I came up with lol.

The tattoo exchange was one of my favorite parts as well, specifically because of the different ways in which both of them recall that event happening. The reader has very rose-colored glasses when it comes to a lot of aspects of their relationship, but I like to think that there was genuinely a connection between them at one point. Crane has outgrown it, but still cares about her because of everything they've been through. And he cared back then too, in his own overcontrolling way.

The tattoo itself was of course inspired directly by parts of the song/music video, but the idea of the reader and Crane's tattoos pressing up against each other when they held hands was inspired by something an ex-boyfriend of mine proposed doing, long ago. Which thank god I did NOT go through with 😂 But I incorporated it into this fic because it made me think of my own slightly obsessive first love haha.

There are so many little bits of myself in this fic; many of which you've quoted above. And it's kind of comforting to know that they are relatable. Every life has its good and bad moments, and many of them are both. Bittersweet, but important nonetheless.

And oh my gosh, that last line 😆 This was, without a doubt, the part that I struggled THE most to write. Again, I knew what I wanted to convey. I knew that I wanted a callback to the song, but in an ominous way. But everything I wrote just felt clunky and awkward, and I rephrased the last few paragraphs and this line legitimately probably a dozen times.

So again, thank you for making me feel like all the hard work was worth it! Now that I've broken the seal on angst, maybe the next time will feel a little easier haha 🤞

i’m not sure if anon has already requested a character for that song but if ur up for it CAN WE HAVE THAT SONG WITH JONATHAN CRANE. also i just listened to that song for the first time in like 3 years and got major deja vu lmao 😭

also ps i love u and ur writing !!!

This is related to another ask from an anon, requesting a fic based off of Katy Perry's song, The One That Got Away. I am so sorry to both of you that it's taken me forever to write this, but thank you for your patience and support <3

Now We Pay The Price

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Life hasn't turned out exactly the way you wanted it to. Isolated and distraught as you watch time slip by while you sit, trapped in Arkham, your only wish is to recapture the way that things used to be.

Warnings: Angst, whump, sexual themes but no explicit smut, mental health themes, obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mention of needles, mention of sedatives, unrequited love, established past romantic relationship, ambiguity

A/N: I hardly ever write angst, so please be gentle with me lol. But with the song inspo, I couldn't help but go in that direction. Slightly nervous to post this, but also happy that I've branched out from my comfort zone a bit!

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Lying on your stomach, feet in the air, you stretched the thin cotton sheets with your hand. Just enough to give them the tension you needed to glide a ballpoint pen over the fabric, scratching over and over the same mark to make it appear complete. This was far from the perfect medium for doodling - but sheets were what you had, and so they were what you used.

Even the pen was contraband. You knew you weren’t supposed to have it. What anyone thought you’d do with it… honestly, you had no idea. As if you could use a pen for anything other than what you were wrapped up in doing now - carefully and determinedly drawing hearts.

You stopped to rest your head for a moment on the pitifully thin pillow. Across the room, blank white concrete stared back at you. Day in, day out. Endless. The same room with the same walls.

Picking up the pen again, you placed the tip right in between the lobes of one of the many hearts. Scratch, scratch, scratch. A messy, zig-zagging line bisected the doodle. 

Broken.

You sighed, and started to color a different heart, filling it with blue ink that didn’t seem very inclined to stick to the bed sheets. It was slow going. The deep azure tint reminded you of deoxygenated blood, like you would see in a textbook diagram. Once the heart was completely filled, you moved dutifully on to the next.

A rustling at your door made you jump. Quickly, you stuffed the pen under your pillow, and turned up the sheets to hide your drawings. It wouldn’t be very good for you if anybody saw them.

You sat up, arranging your rumpled jumpsuit as neatly as you could. Leather straps hung off the sides of your bed, and you spared them a glance, bristling at the memories of having them lashed over your body. 

The metal door slid open slowly, until you could finally see…

Him. Your heart skipped a beat and a half as he stepped stiffly into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He didn’t make a show of locking it, but it was still all too hard to miss the way his hand stopped short at the keyhole, before slipping into his pocket.

“Jonathan. I’m so glad-”

“Don’t call me that,” he bristled. “In here, we don’t know each other. Please. You always forget that.”

“...Dr. Crane,” you corrected yourself. 

His tone was so bitter that you could feel it in the very back of your throat, trying to claw its way down to your heart. You swallowed, trying to bite back the taste.

“I’m sorry. I was just happy to see you.” You smiled, pushing through your discomfort, for his sake.

Crane was clearly agitated. He took a few steps into the room, before turning around and facing the door. For one brief moment, you couldn’t see his face, until finally he turned back. His eyes were ice as they stared down at you.

“Do you have any idea how difficult you’ve been making things for me?” he spat. 

The accusation hurt, of course. Though you knew very well what he meant. You had been acting out, more than usual, as of late. And although it wasn’t without a purpose, you could see that it was wearing him thin. But… how else were you supposed to see each other? 

Arkham Asylum wasn’t exactly known for its model patients. It took a lot to get Dr. Crane’s attention.

“If we spent more time together, I wouldn’t be so difficult,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even.

Crane pinched the bridge of his nose, in that way that you were well acquainted with. He’d always had that habit. Back when you’d first met, you had loved making him get frustrated - just enough for a laugh. Some things never changed.

“You’re really backing me into a corner,” Crane sighed. “And I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“Let’s talk,” you offered, patting the bed. “That’s what you’re here for, right?”

Crane, reluctantly, sat down. You could sense his exhaustion in the way that he almost collapsed onto the bed, hands gripping the edge for support. You inched a bit closer, enough so that your knees touched briefly. Crane pulled away.

You wanted to reach out; put a hand on his shoulder, just like you’d done so many times before. He used to like it when you touched him. Sometimes, you liked to think that yours was the only gentle embrace that he had ever known. Maybe it was silly, but the thought of it always made you feel better.

Now, Crane’s eyes held nothing but menace as he glared over at you, as if you were a stain on the bed sheets. You wondered, vaguely, what had happened to change things.

So much. So much that had led you to this place, where you could be so close to him and yet felt more separated than ever.

“I hate to say it, Doc, but I think I’m going crazy in here,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He barely had a reaction; a deep sigh the only hint that he’d heard what you said at all.

“And why do you think that is?” he asked, finally. 

The psychiatrist in him always came through to shove even more distance between you. Like a shield, put up just when you’d started to press through the fog of tension that hung heavy in the room. You swallowed your frustration at being kept out, and tried to answer him honestly.

“Because I barely get to see you,” you replied.

That was the wrong answer, and Crane’s shoulders swung abruptly to face you. 

He was scary like this. Almost scary, anyway. If you didn’t know him better, the look in his eyes would have sent you cowering. 

But you did know him, so well, and you remembered with sudden clarity that he’d always been bothered by feeling inadequate. You felt awful; you hadn’t meant to imply that he wasn’t doing enough.

“I’m sorry,” you soothed, before he could say anything. “I know that you’re busy, but-”

“But you continue to make yourself into a problem,” he hissed. “You know the only reason you’re in here instead of rotting away over at Blackgate is because of me, right?”

You nodded, too shocked by embarrassment to speak.

“Then for my sake, why don’t you act like it?”

“I’m…” You paused for a moment, sharp tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m just… lost without you,” you whispered. “You know that. I always told you I would be.”

The first tear fell, and you tried to hide your face.

“Don’t cry,” Crane sighed.

You could hear the harsh tinge of annoyance in his voice, and wished that it was anything else. Even his pity would have been better than knowing that your feelings were now nothing but inconvenience. You choked on your own throat, trying to stifle a sob.

“Please don’t cry,” he mumbled, slightly softer this time.

But now that you’d started, you couldn’t make yourself stop. If anything, the tears were only coming faster, and you felt yourself start to shrink into your own chest. The little black pit that always seemed to sit there, now swiftly opening up to swallow you.

With a deep and lingering exhale, Crane pulled you close. Suddenly, you were back where you both had been, so many years ago: one person’s cheek pressed into the other’s shoulder. Tears soaking into fabric that seemed to be stained with sadness. You let out a half-laugh, half-sob, and nestled into the crook of his neck.

“Remember when I used to do this for you?”

Crane stiffened slightly beside you.

“Things have changed since then,” he muttered. 

Your memory suddenly flashed back to the first time he had used the words “dysfunctional attachment” to describe you. That had hurt worse than anything else. Even more than all of the other occasions to come, when you’d heard those same words and worse fall from his lips. They could never truly compare to that first time, when your whole world had come crashing abruptly to the ground.

His arm dropped away from you, but you kept your face pressed into his shoulder.

“Things haven’t really changed,” you said. “I still belong to you.”

“You don’t.”

Two words that stung worse than hundreds of needles. You tried to pretend that the wind hadn’t been knocked out of you, as you replied.

“I do. And I will. Always.”

You looked up at him with wet eyes, a trace of the old life that you’d shared together still evident deep within your pupils. Even if only the memories of it lived inside of you, they still lived. They were still something.

“You need to move on,” Crane said flatly. “I know it’s not easy in here, with me…” He sighed. “I did what I could to protect you, but maybe it would have been better if I had just stayed out of your case. Blackgate would have at least given you distance.”

“I don’t want distance,” you whispered. “I just want to be with you.”

“You can’t be.”

Always so stubborn.

“I could be, if you’d help me get out.”

Confusion flashed across Crane’s face, quickly replaced with raw terror. 

“Escape Arkham?” His eyebrows furrowed, nearly knitting together. “You can’t be serious. Do you even realize what-?”

“I know, I know,” you hummed. “But just think - we could run away together, just like we always talked about.”

“Stop.”

“Don’t you remember? We promised-”

“Things. Change.” Crane’s voice almost shook as it thundered.

You brought a hand up to his face, gently coaxing until he looked at you.

“But they don’t have to,” you breathed. 

Your eyes drifted down to your wrist, to the space just below your thumb, and over the little tattoo that was etched into your skin. A heart - just like the ones littering your blanket, hidden carefully from Crane’s view.

“Remember when you gave me this?” you asked, holding up the tattoo in front of him.

“No; I remember you doing that to yourself.”

“At first, sure,” you chuckled. “But then, you helped me to finish it, ‘cause-”

“Because I didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Crane muttered. “Just like you always seem to. Even now.”

You ignored his remark as your hands drifted down to collect one of his pale wrists, then lifted up to your face. The sleeve of his suit jacket slipped back, revealing the spot where once, long ago, you had given him the same mark. Just with a felt-tip pen; he would have never allowed you, even back then, to deface his own body in the same way you had yours. 

At the time, the impermanence of it hadn’t seemed to matter. You’d been too distracted; elated by the way that his and your matching blossoms of ink had pressed up against each other as you’d held hands. 

Now, you pressed a kiss to the blank space.

“Us against the world, Jonathan. Remember?”

Suddenly, his fingers pressed into your face, digging into the sides of your chin as he forced you back into focus.

“Don’t call me that,” he warned, once again. “How many times do I have to tell you? That life doesn’t exist in here.”

Your hands still dangled from his wrist as he continued to crush your jaw, not letting you look away. But this was the one part of him that you didn’t want to face. The part that didn’t need you anymore.

“Jonathan. You know the reason I’m in here, don’t you?”

“Are you asking if I know about your case? All of the crimes you committed?” he huffed. “Because yes - I was very involved in the trial, and it was nearly impossible to keep everyone else in the dark about…”

Us was the word that he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“That’s not what I mean,” you said. “I mean, do you know why I did those things?”

“Stop - please don’t tell me this again.”

“I did them for you,” you cried, your emotions getting the better of you again. “I do everything for you. So don’t you dare pretend you don’t need me, when really the only fucking reason you’re not stuck in here with me is because I always-”

“Stop.”

Crane’s hands tore away to grab you by the shoulders, wrenching you back to reality. Somehow he always managed to do that. To pull you straight out of the riptide, just as it was about to sweep you away.

“I never asked you to do what you did,” he hissed, articulating each word between clenched teeth.

“But I did it anyway,” you spat. “Because you always get into trouble. Because I told you I’d be there for you, no matter what. And because I always keep promises.”

“I don’t need you to anymore.” Crane’s hands squeezed you uncomfortably. “I don’t - I didn’t need you to ruin your life for me.”

“My life isn’t ruined if it’s for you.”

“Jesus Christ…”

Crane’s hand came up to rake through his hair, but before he could pull away fully, you caught him. Fingers clenched tight to the front of his suit, you pulled back and forced him to fall with you. Your back hit the bed, and Crane scrambled to catch himself before his full weight could slam into you. His body perched just above yours, caging you in his arms.

“This. You must remember this.” 

Your words were a whisper, barely loud enough to pass from your lips to his ear, despite how close he was. Your legs frantically came up to tug at his waist, trying to force him closer.

“This was the only time I felt alive,” you continued. “When we were like this. You remember.”

How could he not? You could still live in that moment, if you tried hard enough. As if it had been only yesterday. Both of you nervous and fumbling, nearly falling off of the bed as he hovered over you and you clung to him. 

The way that your bodies had melted together, almost desperately, in a way that had made you feel certain that neither one of you would let go. Letting go then had meant something worse than death; it meant a life that dragged on without you and him together. 

The stale echoes of passion still rang in your ears as you looked up, silently begging for him to rekindle the spark that had been there.

Crane’s expression was all but impossible to read. His face half-hidden beneath bangs that fell into his eyes. The two-second pause was like a lifetime as you awaited his answer.

“Of course I remember.”

Your heart soared, flying recklessly up.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s the same now.”

Broken. Smashed hard against the cold floor of your cell.

“I don’t believe that,” you breathed. “I can’t. I-”

“You need to,” he interrupted. “Because it’s the truth.”

You stayed stock still on the mattress as Crane briskly pushed himself up, disentangling himself from your limbs. He exhaled as he tugged at his jacket, trying to make himself presentable. 

You weren’t sure how he could find the nerve, after ripping your whole world apart.

“I’m upping the dose on your sedatives,” he informed you, still not meeting your gaze. “But I would prefer if you could find it within yourself to behave so that I don’t have to. I don’t like to do this, but-”

“Appearances…” Your voice drifted through the room. “Have to be kept up.”

He had told you as much, probably dozens of times. Just like he’d told you the old life between you no longer mattered, or even existed. If it ever had.

“I’m glad you understand,” he said shortly. 

His back was already turned, but you looked up to watch him drift out of the room, quickly pocketing the keys on his way out. 

Your head fell back, hard, but the sensation did nothing to ground you. You felt all too lost and adrift; trapped in a situation you had created. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end up.

Your hand drifted silently under the pillow, and wrapped around the barrel of the pen that was still hidden there. 

Suddenly, grotesque understanding of all the reasons why no one would want you to have such a thing flooded into your consciousness. The possibilities were many and bleak, but they all led back to the same conclusion. It was just like you had told Crane earlier.

If your life together didn’t exist in this place, then the only solution was to leave. 

You smiled. With resolve swirling dangerously inside your veins, you vowed to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again. You were going to be together, no matter what. 

There would be no getting away.

[inglourious-imagines]

Piece Of Cake (Fred Weasley)

Summary: Fred claims that asking a girl out to the Yulle ball is a piece of cake. Harry and Ron dare him to prove it.

Prompts: fluff list: 2 - "I don't care, just hold me." & angst list: "Try to see things in my point of view." & miscellaneous list: 4 - "My mum thinks I'm dating you." (changed a bit)

Warning: angst at the beginning, some swear words, fluff at the end

Author's Note: This is for @lunalovecroft 's 1K writing challenge! Probably it was meant to be the other way around, but that idea suddenly strucked me and I decided to give it a go. Happy reading ♡

HP Taglist: @alienoresimagines @95swifi

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"You have a place in my heart no one else ever could have." - F.S. Fitzgerald

All the Yulle Ball decoration were making Y/N beyond sick, every ribbon reminding her that she still did not have a date to accompany her throughout the approaching evening. Molly Weasley was so kind to send her as a gift the most beautiful dress Y/N had ever seen in her life and now she was genuinely thinking about not going to the ball at all. 

When she threw herself at the bench in the Great Hall right next to her best friend Hermione who was sitting way too far from Ron, Harry and the twins were seated. Y/N knew about the brightest witch's secret crush on the young Weasley that was slowly but surely growing into something more than just a simple crush. She'd even swear that Ron felt exactly the same about Hermione but she had to promise not to get involved or play a cupid. 

"He didn't ask, did he." Y/N dared to speak up first, glancing from Hermione's sad expression on her face to absolutely oblivious Ronald just a few metres away from them who seemed to be stuffing as much food as possible into his mouth as fast as he could. 

Y/N's eyes wandered from one Weasley to another, much taller one, who's smile was so contagious that she found herself grinning like an idiot for no particular reason.

"What do you think, Y/N." Hermione sighed bringing her back from her daydreaming, "guess he's not the only one who didn't ask, right?" 

Y/N looked at her friend again, simply nodded as she wasn't able to react in any other way. As much as she tried not to, she felt a bit disappointed when the only person she wanted to go to the Yulle ball with, hasn't asked her.

"They've been bickering for the past 15 minutes whether asking a girl out is easy or not." Hermione stated, clearly upset with the whole situation.

"Are you serious, 'Mione? What are their points of view?" 

"Well, Harry and Ron are obviously struggling to even compliment a girl in the right way but Fred reckons there's nothing easier." 

The girls look at each other and burst out laughing in the next second. "Like he'd know how to ask." Y/N managed to get out of her through her laughter, "however, I must agree with Harry and Ron. They're the most oblivious idiots." 

"Tell me about it." Hermione giggled but a trace of hurt flew over her face and Y/N suddenly felt really sorry for her dear friend. 

"Hey Y/N!" Fred shouted out of the blue, his clear voice echoed through the Great Hall causing other students to perk up their heads in order to find out what possibly he has in mind now. 

Y/N threw a look full of question marks to Hermione before turning her head to the tall red-head. "Yes?"

The moment his typical mischievous grin appeared on his face Y/N knew that something either funny and unpleasant to her or something embarrassing is about to happen.

"Will you..." Fred kept on talking as loudly as possible while wildly gesturing with his arms - apparently pretending to dance, "go to the ball..." now he was just pointing at her and him, "with me?"

Y/N's whole face turned brightly red, her nervous eyes wandering from student to student with such awaiting and amused expressions on their faces. Her heartbeat fastened in the matter of seconds that it seemed like it might jump out of her chest. Y/N looked at Hermione for help with such desperation hidden behind her gaze but her friend just simply shrugged, absolutely shocked with the sudden question, just like Y/N was.

A few seconds passed and Y/N was still sitting at her spot totally speechless. She imagined many times how Fred would ask her to the ball but never in a million years did she think it'd be like this - shouting at her in front of the whole Great Hall with absolutely no sign of sincerity or romance; to her it seemed like some sort of a bet to prove his point.

Their eyes for a moment and Y/N realized that Fred was convinced that she's going to accept his offer, confidence was basically radiating off of him. She knew he's not bragging, Fred was one of the kindest people she'd ever met but sometimes, sometimes he just wasn't able to estimate the situation. 

Anger was slowly bottling up in her as she quickly stood up grabbing all her books. As much as it hurt her to say it, Y/N was still able to straighten up looking directly into his eyes. "Sorry, Weasley, not interested. But thanks for the offer, I feel flattered." The sarcasm in her voice was more than obvious. 

Y/N winked at Hermione, rightly feeling satisfied with her as she heard a few laughs from many students when she walked out of the Great Hall leaving absolutely speechless and embarrassed Fred Weasley. 

•••

Y/N rushed into her dormitory, not wanting to deal with anybody at the moment as the anger was slowly transforming into hurt. This wasn't what she imagined.

She threw herself at her bed; her books were casted off on the ground, papers flying all over the place.

"Y/N! Wait!" a muffled voice of the too familiar Weasley filled her ears and before she knew it, Fred was standing in the middle of her dormitory with flushed cheeks due to the long run, doors slammed shut behind him. 

"Let me explain." he almost begged taking a few steps towards her. She quickly got on her feet as she shook with her head couple of times. "Please, no. I don't care if your intentions were the noblest, but it happened and that's it."

"If you could just let me talk."

But Y/N didn't see the regret in Fred's eyes, or how his hands trembled a little bit, she was way too furious to notice all these things.

"Try to see things from my point of view, Weasley! You basically shouted at me in front of the whole school if I want to go to the ball with you! I understand that you just wanted to prove something to Ron and Harry but this is not a game for me."

Every single word that left her mouth went straight to Fred's heart. He never in a million years intended to hurt Y/N, he'd rather suffer himself than have something happen to her. But he was scared, Fred felt truly terrified of asking her out and when the boys confronted him about it, he panicked. He didn't have an idea why he reacted that way. The pounding heart, sweaty palms, the hotness in his cheeks - all this was new to Fred Weasley and he wasn't sure what do to with his stormy emotions.

"I'm real sorry, Y/N. I didn't want to offend you but that doesn't mean I don't stand behind what I said earlier." he tried to ease the tense in the small room, his lips even formed into a cute little innocet smile.

"I don't know, Weasley. I simply think-"

"Let me make it up to you! The ball's tomorrow, just say yes."

Then they were there - Fred's puppy eyes that no matter how serious the problem was, Y/N wasn't able to bring herself to say no. She knew he's very well aware of that fact, he somehow managed to melt her heart.

"Fine. I'll go to the Yulle ball with you, Weasley. Don't make me regret it."

"I can certainly promise you that, Y/L/N."

•••

Y/N was nervously pacing in her new white dress that she got from Mrs. Weasley while Hermione was watching her with an amused expression.

"You know, this isn't funny." she frowned but a part of her was telling her how unreasonably ridiculous she is.

"Actually it is," her best friend couldn't held back the laughter, "you'll be fine. I bet he's even more nervous than you are." 

"Hermione! His mum thinks I'm bloody dating him!" 

"That's just so perfect. Maybe you will be after tonight."

Their eyes met for a moment and then, as if their minds were connected, the girls started giggling like some 13-year-olds. Y/N finally relaxed a bit, just like Hermione did, as they both promised themselves to look after each other during the evening.

"So what do you think?" Y/N winked at her friend, "shall we?"

"Absolutely."

•••

The duo walked together down the stairs leading to the dance hall, side by side, both of them smiling widely. Y/N found Fred's tall figure right away as he was nervously pacing back and forth mumbling something under his breath while George watched him amused. Just like Hermione watched her a couple minutes ago. God, how similar they could be.

"Well done, brother dear. Fucking well done." George whispered into his twin's ear tapping his shoulder. Fred's gaze immediately landed on approaching Y/N making him stop in his tracks. George just smirked and left with his own date to give them some privacy.

Fred was closely watching her every step, how elegantly she carried herself through the room, the beautiful white dress flew around her making her look like an angel descending from the sky. 

"Blimey, I don't think I've ever seen something so beautiful like you." Fred breathed out, his eyes roaming all over her body.

"You don't look too bad as well, Weasley." Y/N blushed at his compliment as she sent him one nervous smile. The truth was, he looked way more better than just 'not bad' and she had to remind herself not to stare at him too much. He pulled her into his side, his scent and warmth immediately embracing her, and she found herself falling for this dangerously good looking red-head. 

"Everybody's turning their heads after you. I swear I even saw a smile on Snape's face." Fred pointed out, his voice filled with obvious jealousy as his grip on her waist tightened. 

"I don't care, just hold me, Fred." Y/N gave him a reassuring smile taking his hand in his, "just hold me."

"I never wanted anything more."