#and obviously that means it would double count and not be like a dropped exam grade

[miserye]

I get trying to be a good and nice teacher and district policy and whatnot but I’m just saying if your students don’t do the work, fail them.

[stargirlrchive]

Subtle Chase (Regulus Black)

masterlist // request are open

request: reader is determined to be regulus' friend, regulus is reluctant and wants to be left alone. so why does he despise it so much when he is? // click here to read request

author's note(s): i don't know how I feel about this one yet. but i hope anon enjoyed this! i tried my best and i do like it but i feel like it isn't what anon wanted??? idk im insecure LMAOOO, i just hope whoever requested this enjoys it as well! also i am shit at titles, sorry about it

disclaimer: jealous!regulus but it's cute lmao GIF ISN'T MINE

pairing: regulus black x reader

word count: 1,499

You had no idea when this situation catapulted into where you were now. All you wanted was to make Regulus your friend, your comrade. And perhaps you did have a small crush, who wouldn’t? However it was easier said than done, way easier. To start off, he would not even give you the time of day. He’d ignore you, walk away from you, and even once told you that you’d never be friends.

To be fair, he said you couldn’t be friends, and in your very being you knew it was because of the pressures he had as a pureblood Slytherin. They rivaled every house in Hogwarts, even amongst themselves.

He didn’t have the support of anyone else and he couldn’t risk losing the few friends he did have, even if he did think you were really pretty.

So you made it your mission for the past school year to become friends with him, and since Slughorn’s party was coming up you thought it would be great to go together. Let him see just how intelligent and fun you are.

So as you walked through the large double doors of the great hall you scanned over the heads sporting silver and green until they spotted neat black curls, a smile instantly making its way to your face.

You walked happily, a small beat in your step at the prospect of finally making a break, you were very optimistic despite your track record with him, “Hello, Regulus! Do you mind if I sit here?”

You spoke to him as you placed your books on the open seat next to him. He looked up at you, with all the annoyance of the world on his face and ready to tell you no. But your big round eyes softened him up, made his heart feel mushy and warm, and he despised it. ”You already set your things down, didnt you?”

Your smile remained strong, unwavering as you sat beside him, “So, how has your day been so far?”

Regulus remained quiet, reading over his potions essay and trying his best to ignore you. He didn’t want to crack, he built walls, kept people like you away from him.

“My day was pretty uneventful, just studied for the exam we have for def-”

“Is there a reason you're here? I’m quite busy.”

He waved his parchment paper around in front of you,

“Oh-right. Yes, I was actually wondering if you’d like to accompany me to Slughorn’s party. As friends, obviously. But I figured since we’re the only two people he invited from our year it would be nice to show comradeship.”

Your smile was sincere, “Why would you think I would want to go with you?”

Your face fell, and something dropped in the pit of his stomach but he couldn’t stop the words tumbling out of his mouth, “Besides, I am already taking someone else, and you and I are not friends.”

You cleared your throat, before nodding quickly, “Right, sorry.”

You picked your things up swiftly and left without saying anything. Regulus was trying his hardest to push down the guilt he was feeling in the very center of chest. He kept telling himself that he didn't care for you, the two of you had no type of relationship or friendship. So why in Merlin’s name was he feeling like someone was pulling at his heart?

-

It had been several days since the last encounter with Regulus, and before this you were adamant on making him your friend. But no longer, the last time really stung. So you tried to forget and push him to the far back of your mind and pretend he never existed. He didn’t have to be so mean. And as a last stitch of effort to ease the disappointment you were feeling, you had now made it your mission to forget him.

Regulus knew it too, he was way too mean, and as the days went on and your random pop-ins stopped, he grew lonely. He’d never admit it, but it was true. He’d catch himself looking for you in the sea of people and make himself stop.

However tonight you caught his eye before he even realized he was looking for you. Your gown was a dark green and glittered off the reflection of the light. It complimented you so well and Regulus felt his throat tighten up. He felt warm all around, until he saw the 6ft something Ravenclaw smiling brightly at you, with your arm entangled around his.

It made his chest burn at the thought of you being here with anyone else. How did this even happen? You were asking him to attend with you just a few days ago, and now here you are.

He started making his way towards you, until Slughorn stopped in front of him, with three of his very influential friends and he had no way of escaping him. However his eyes followed you around the room, and the hand that lingered on your lower back.

He was fine with keeping a watchful eye on you, it made the simmering of his chest ease up when he knew where you were. That was until you had both been pulled into a conversation and you didn’t even bat an eye in his direction. Giggling quietly with whatever his name was as he whispered in your ear over the loud music. Regulus cleared his throat, trying to get your attention but you continued to ignore him.

You felt your heart begin to beat harder against your chest as Regulus reached out for you when he was close enough, “Can we please talk? Now?”

He looked insistent, and desperate so you excused yourself quickly and followed behind him as he held onto your wrist gently.

You made it to the most secluded part of the room and it was until then that he dropped your wrist. He paced back and forth in front of you “Is there a reason you took me away from Ph-”

“Why are you here with him?”

His arms crossed over his chest as he waited for you to answer, “I beg your pardon?”

“Why are you here with him? You had asked me a few days ago and now you're here with someone else.”

Regulus knew he was being irrational, but he couldn’t think straight, you just looked so pretty and you were ignoring him and he hated it. “That is none of your business.”

“I know.”

“Then?”

He didn’t know what to say, but you were finally acknowledging him, and he felt shy under your stare so he mumbled out quietly, “I don’t like you ignoring me.”

“You are so bloody confusing you know that? I wanted to be your friend, you didn’t want to be my friend. So I left you alone, but now you don’t want me to leave you alone? I don’t think that is fair to me.”

“I know that too, I don’t know. I just don’t think you need to be involved in all of this and I thought I was okay but then you show up here, with that oaf and-and I can’t stand it.”

“Philip is not an oaf!”

Regulus felt his eyes roll to the very back of his head at the mention of his name, “You know, even if we did become friends, I could still have other friends.”

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“No well after tonight I have seen enough.”

“This conversation is going nowhere, so I’m leaving.”

You began walking away from him but he reached out for you once more, “Okay-okay, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be telling you anything, and I regret telling you no, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I also think you didn’t need to parade him around and ignore me but that's something we can talk about another day.”

You laughed quietly as he continued to ramble, cheeks flushed up as he ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I get it, you desperately want to be my friend, you can’t live without me.”

You pushed at his chest playfully to get him to ease up, and tried to stop the smile that was stuck on your face as Regulus flushed darker.

“I really want to get to know you, and hopefully have you stop thinking I’m such an asshole?”

“I never thought you were an asshole-”

He gave you a ‘seriously?’ look, “Okay, maybe the last time we talked I did think you were. But clearly I just made you nervous.”

His face cracked a smile, “Exactly.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey-”

You laughed quietly and moved yourself away from the wall as he spoke quietly, “So, friends?”

‘’More or less.”

You smiled as you made your way back towards the crowd, feeling a small flutter in the pit of your stomach as he laughed and followed behind you before stopping abruptly, “Wait a minute, where is your date?”

TAGLIST: @swellwriting​ @carolinesbookworld​ @theboywhocriedlupin​ @awfulmoons​ @lumos-barnes​ @fortisfiliae​ @finnofamerica​ @beskarjedi​ @aperrywilliams​ @ta-ka-shi-ma​ @SPENCELUVBOT @la-vie-en-amour1​ (LET ME KNOW IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED <3 (or removed))

[bruhstories]

Dazed and Confused

Summary: You and Connie have been friends for ten years, crushing on each other like a bunch of idiots who can't confess their feelings for one another. Until you go on a trip with your friends. Pairing: Connie Springer x Fem!Reader Warnings & Content: 18+, language, oral sex (female & male receiving), unprotected sex, weed smoking, alcohol consumption, f l u f f Word Count: 4.2 k

A/N: I got so pissed at that last anon that I finished this oneshot quicker lol. @fiaficsxo here it is!

You loved parties. Not the loud music and thick smoke, not the booze and smell of vomit, but your friends. Every time they gathered at someone's place, your heart fluttered, filled with happiness and content and long-lasting memories.

Connie had the brilliant idea of spending a week in the mountains during your spring break, and you wasted an entire night searching for the perfect cottage to rent. Luckily everyone was down with his suggestion, the only problem was how you'd sleep. Historia obviously wanted to share a room with Ymir. Mikasa and Eren were an item now, so they'd have to sleep together. Armin wanted to try his luck with Annie, so no one objected to that. Jean declared that he wanted to bunk with Connie, like the two eligible bachelors they were, and that left you and Sasha to share a room together. You didn't mind it, in all honesty you loved Sasha with all your heart — but you secretly hoped someone would pick up on your feelings for Connie and let you sleep with him. You weren't that lucky.

You packed your bag the night before the trip, obsessively ticking everything on your list and double checking every item and pocket. It was ready, with one item missing — the white lace babydoll smoothed on your dorm bed. You chewed the pen cap, debating whether to bring it with you or not. You bought it for special occasions, but you haven't had a dick appointment in a long time, and you doubted you'd have one this week. With a shrug, you decided to bring it — you never know what might happen. Nighttime passed quickly and you soon found yourself all dolled up, albeit still sleepy from all the tossing and turning, excited to make more memories with your friends.

The train station was packed with people, especially students who went back to their hometowns for the break, and you were relieved to find Armin and Mikasa there. You three were always punctual, followed by Jean and Annie. Eren, Sasha and Connie were always late, which is why you told them the train leaves at 7 am instead of 7:30. It was a dirty strategy, but no one wanted to miss such a fun opportunity because of those lazy fuckers. And lo and behold, they decided to appear at 7:15.

"That was some good thinking." Jean shook his head, hand sympathetically placed on your shoulder.

"I'm only glad you guys rolled with it." You laughed without noticing the way Connie stared at you, and even he didn't understand exactly what he felt. Was he grumpy because he hated morning, or was it Jean's hand on you that irked him?

"It's not polite to stare." Sasha pulled Connie out of his thoughts.

"I wasn't staring, I was looking." Connie rolled his eyes, gripping the handle of his suitcase a bit too tightly.

"I just don't get it why you don't tell her you like her." The girl popped a bubblegum baloon, proceeding to chew it very loudly.

"Are you kidding me? She obviously likes Jean. Look how she's laughing!"

Sasha placed an arm on his shoulder, a sheepish smile on her face. "You, my friend, are a dumbass."

"Takes one to know one."

To say that your friends were loud during the train ride was an understatement. They didn't really care about the nasty glares other passengers shot at them, opting to talk, sing, eat and practically embarrass themselves. But two hours later you arrived, and the fresh, crisp air of the mountains was a blessing. You didn't regret coming, all of you deserved a break after all the exams, studying and all-nighters you guys pulled.

"We could visit the military museum!" Armin suggested, but Connie scrunched his nose.

"We came here to get high, drink and spend time together, why the fuck would we visit some old ass building?"

"I'd like to go to the museum." You awkwardly smiled, earning a 'see?' from the blond. Mikasa, Eren and Annie backed you up, and since it was a democracy, you ended up leaving your bags at the cottage and touring the small town to find the military museum. The building wasn't massive, and inside it was dark, with crimson carpets and dim lights. It was actually quite a romantic atmosphere, had it not been for the weapons and armours displayed in glass cases. Connie watched you intently, taking in every movement, every flinch, every hair tucking, every scrunch of your cute nose. You absorbed the information, hungry for knowledge. This was something you and Connie didn't share — yes, you were down to drinking and smoking, but you were also eager to learn and study, while he always preached how 'you can always retake an exam but you can't relive a party.' He wasn't stupid by any means, but unlike you, Jean, Armin and Mikasa — who alwaysstudied and never skipped lectures — Connie would wing it and somehow end up getting better grades. His strategy didn't always work, and sometimes, when you were in college, he'd ask you to tutor him. Now you were second year undergraduates, and while you were studying different subjects, you still made time for each other.

"That's a nice, uhh..." Connie squinted, "...shotgun."

"It's a musket." You chuckled, your fingers accidentally brushing his as you turned around to face him.

"Shotgun, musket, same thing."

"Actually, muskets are muzzle-loaded and fire a single bullet, but shotguns pack multiple pellets in one shell." You explained. "I'm sorry, you're probably not interested in my ramblings."

"No, no, it's... interesting. I just wasn't expecting you to know so much about guns." He rubbed his nape and smiled at you.

"Well, I do study history, in case you forgot."

"How could I forget that?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" You awkwardly elbowed Connie. Why was it so hard for you to just tell him your feelings? Oh, right, because you've been friends for ten years and if he didn't like you back, it would only ruin a great friendship.

"It means you brag about it so much it's kind of hard to forget." He told you, quickly realising just how insulting that sounded.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that's how you felt..." You sighed, eyes darting back to the weapons.

"No, I didn't- forget it." Connie shook his head. Well played.

Back at the cottage, with enough food and booze to last the group a month, you decided to stay in your room for the rest of the day. It wasn't the first time you had embarrassing moments with Connie, but this particular one made you anxious to be around him. Did he really dislike you that much, or was it just friendly banter? If you were to ask him, you could find out, but every scenario in your head had a bad outcome, so avoiding him for now was the smartest choice. Sasha pleaded with you to spend the evening in the living room with everyone else, but you brushed her off, telling her you weren't feeling quite well.

"Text me if you need anything." She told you before leaving. It was immature to act this way, you knew that all too well, but it wasn't like Connie cared, right? You eventually decided to go downstairs after finishing a long episode of your favourite tv show, your stomach begging for nourishment. As silently as possible, you tiptoed behind the couch. The hallway was dim, the sun had already set, and the only lights were the ones from the wide TV screen in the living room where your friends were watching some corny horror movie. You could cut the suspense and tension with a knife, and when you dropped a teaspoon, everyone jumped.

"Sorry, sorry! It's just me!"

"Jesus Christ, Y/N, you almost gave me a heart attack." Jean got up from the floor and walked behind the couch. "How are you feeling? Sasha said you're ill."

"I'm fine, don't worry." You picked the spoon up and threw it in the sink. "It's just a headache, I'll sleep it off."

"Good, we need you here." The man wrapped an arm around you. "You're missing how Connie's crapping his pants at this shitty movie."

From the outside it would seem like you and Jean were a couple, but the truth was far from it. You two grew up together, his family was friends with your family, and what you had was nothing more than a brother-sister relationship. Jean's little remark earned a disgruntled look from Connie, you quickly picked up on that, and so you playfully jabbed him in the stomach.

"Connie's crapping his pants? You're the one who almost had a heart attack." You grinned.

"Oi, that was only because you dropped your stupid spoon. I was invested in the movie."

"Mhm, sure you were."

"Hey, you sure you don't want to join us?" Mikasa waved at you from the living room. You pondered over her question. Perhaps it wouldn't be too awkward to sit with them.

"Alright, sure, why not?"

"Come, sit next to me." Sasha shuffled to the side, but what she really meant by that was 'sit next to Connie', because she shuffled to the otherside.

The following two nights were surprisingly quiet, all you did was play board games, watch movies and walk around the town taking pictures. The tension between Connie and you seemed to dissipate, and you both forgot the unpleasant interaction you had on the first day. But on the fourth night, that's when shit hit the fan. Annie and Armin left for a date, and Eren and Mikasa wanted to spend the night alone in their room, leaving you, Sasha, Jean and Connie unsupervised, bored and tipsy. There was absolutely nothing good to watch on the TV, and you almost wanted to scream when your friends wanted to play truth or dare. It was one of those games you despised, because the whole point of it was to put the players in uncomfortable situations. And you didn't like being uncomfortable, unlike your friends.

"Jean, truth or dare?" Sasha beamed.

"Dare, duh."

"Alright, I dare you to switch roommates for the rest of the week." She sipped her blackberry cider.

"Okay? So, I'll stay with Y/N, then."

Good lord, if looks could kill, Connie's would annihilate Jean and Sasha off the face of the Earth.

"No, no, you'll stay with me. Y/N will stay with Connie."

"Eh? Why does your dare involve us?" You asked, confused and curious of your friend's proposal.

"Because." She shrugged. "Don't pussy out."

"I'm not pussying out. A dare's a dare." Jean scoffed. "I'm gonna go take my shit in your room and shower."

"Y-yeah, I'll go bring mine, too." You got up, using this time to hyperventilate alone. What the fuck was Sasha even thinking? Was this some stupid joke? But your friends wouldn't harm you, so why would she suggest such a stupid thing?

You took a quick shower before curling up in the bed, blankets covering you from neck to toe. Connie wasn't back yet, and you didn't want to go after him, that would just be odd. You were hoping you'd fall asleep before he returned, to avoid any unnecessary fuss, but just as you closed your eyes, the door opened. Maybe you could pretend you were asleep? He struggled to find his pyjamas in the dark, stumbling over furniture and knocking things down, and you turned the bedside lamp on to ease his search.

"Did I wake you up?" Connie bit his lower lip, and through the dim light you watched the way his grey eyes glistened, the way his short brown hair was ruffled, and how the sage green t-shirt hugged his toned abdomen.

"No, no, 's alright. I wasn't sleeping. I can't exactly fall asleep." You clutched the blanket at your chest as you shook the intrusive thoughts away. Connie was your friend, damn it, there was no room for romance between you.

"I can sleep on the floor if you want."

"Oh, God, no, it's... stiff."

"Um, yeah, it kinda is. Alright then, I'll jump in the shower real quick before going to bed." He stumbled into the bathroom and you really wanted to fall asleep now.

But you couldn't. Every time you closed your eyes, Connie's face popped in your head. So much for resting. You tossed and turned on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but nothing helped. It didn't take long for him to finish his shower, and you mentally chastised yourself for not falling asleep when you felt him shuffle under the same blanket that was covering you. For a minute, you didn't utter a word, you barely breathed, afraid to disturb the silence in the room.

"Are you asleep?"

"Nope." You heard the click of Connie's phone and turned around. You couldn't see him, but you could hear him.

"Do you wanna talk about something? Until we fall asleep, I mean." You suggested.

"Hmm, sure." He turned on his side and you felt his breath fanning over your cheeks. You were too close to him. "Actually, d'you wanna smoke?"

"Aren't the others gonna be mad if we smoke without them?"

"They don't have to know. Besides, you and I never smoked together." Connie was already up, rummaging through his backpack with the flashlight of his phone. "And then we can talk as much as you want."

"Alright, I'm down."

You laid on the floor, your head next to Connie's as you looked at the ceiling, smoke leaving your lips. He took the joint from you, fingers touching yours and you blushed, the haze of the weed melting your worries away.

"Do you want me to skip the song?" Connie asked, and for a moment you forgot there was a song playing.

"No, I like it." You confessed. "I didn't know you liked Led Zeppelin."

"There's lots of things you don't know about me, Y/N." He passed you the joint.

"Okay, tell me something else I don't know."

"I like it when you randomly say historical or scientific facts."

"Didn't you say I brag too much about it?" You took one final drag before you stubbed the joint out in a makeshift ashtray filled with a bit of water. By this point you were high as a kite, every trace of rationality gone.

"That doesn't mean I don't like it." Connie smiled and you could feel it in his voice. "Now you tell me something I don't know about you."

"I can't sleep with open doors. It freaks me out." You sat up, a breeze blowing through the window sending shivers down your spine. "It's a bit cold, do you mind if I close the window?"

"Go ahead."

You got up and picked the ashtray up but before you could close the window, you stumbled over a chest of drawers, the ashes mixed with water spilling over your t-shirt.

"You okay?" He quickly crawled to you, concern written all over his face.

"Yeah, I'm just clumsy." You laughed it off and waved your free hand. "I'll go get changed, I should have a spare shirt."

But you didn't have a spare shirt. All you had was that stupid white babydoll, and anxiety seeped through your veins. You couldn't exactly show up in that in front of your crush. And you didn't want to ask him for a shirt either. Fuck it, what else could you do?

You peeked out the bathroom door and saw Connie back in bed, lazily scrolling through his phone. God, this was embarrassing.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." He laughed, but when your facial expression didn't change, he frowned. "Y/N?"

"Um, so, I didn't have a spare shirt and- Jesus, this is awkward." You opened the door and his eyes widened. "Is it alright if I sleep in this?"

"Oh, I get it now." Connie scoffed.

"Get what?"

"You were hoping you'd share a room with Jean, right?" He sounded almost disgusted.

"Excuse you? Where did you even get that idea?" You slammed the bathroom door shut, arms folded across your chest.

"I'm not stupid, Y/N. I've seen the way you two act. Do yourselves a favour and just fuck already."

You were speechless. Completely reactionless. The weed amplified your anger, but his words brought tears to your eyes.

"You... you fucking asshole! You think I brought this for Jean? I brought it for you!"

"Eh? M-me?" Connie was confused, and you were pissed.

"Yes, you. Jean's like a brother to me, oh my God! Ew!"

"Wait, so you and Jean are not in love with each other?"

"In love?? Connie, how high are you exactly?" You walked closer to the bed, arms still crossed.

"But- Fuck, I am stupid." He shook his head, the memories of you flirting with him flashing before his eyes. "I fucked up, didn't I?"

"A bit..." Your muscles relaxed and you sat on the mattress. "Really, Connie, I... I like you. A lot. But you're always giving me mixed signals."

"That's because I always thought you liked Jean!" He threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

"No, you're the only one."

"Huh, guess I've really been dazed and confused."

Calloused fingertips ran across your hips leaving goosebumps in their trail. Your hands roamed his back and the way Connie kissed you was better than any high you've ever experienced. He was touch-starved, and you were just as needy. His knee found its place between your thighs and you moaned when it barely brushed your cunt.

"I've been dreaming for this moment for as long as I can remember." Connie breathed into your neck, the hot breath tickling your skin.

"Me too, you blind bat." You laughed and he turned you over, hovering over you.

"'M sorry I didn't notice quicker." He kissed you again. One hand travelled lower, pushing your underwear to the side before he pushed two fingers between your folds. "Fuck, you're so wet."

"Well, at least now I don't have to finger myself thinking about you." You whimpered with a grin.

"Oh?" Connie arched a brow. "Is that what you've been doing?" He curled up his fingers and you threw your head back with a moan. "I thought you were a prude."

"T-there's lots of things you d-don't know about m-me!" You replied back between oh’sand ah’s, imitating his words from an hour ago. That only earned a sneer from Connie, his head dipping between your thighs. "Wait, what are you do- ooh fuck!"

His tongue lapped at your cunt, fingers pumping in and out of you, and you completely sunk into the mattress, moaning his name over and over again. You gripped the sheets, flexing the muscles in your legs as you squirmed and thrashed. Connie stopped and you almost crushed his skull with your thighs at the empty feeling. He pulled your underwear down and shoved the cotton panties in your mouth.

"Don't wake everyone up, Y/N. You don't want them knowing what a little slut you are, do you?"

You shook your head and Connie went back to circling your clit with his tongue, adrenaline rushing through your entire body with each lick, each suck. Tears of pleasure pooled at your eyes, nose and cheeks red from the thrill of your incoming orgasm. The way he was sloppily eating your pussy and moaning while doing it drove you insane, and within seconds you came undone, thighs trembling with delight. In fact, you were so sore you had to push his head back, begging him to stop so you could return the favour.

"You taste so sweet." Connie licked his lips. You don't know what possessed you to pull him into a kiss after you removed the makeshift gag, but he was right, you were sweet.

"Can I...?" Your eyes drifted down to his twitching cock, your voice soft and quiet.

"You wanna suck it?"

"Yes."

"Later. Right now, I wanna fuck you."

Connie gave you no time to protest, his elbow pushed one of your things to the side, the blushing tip of his cock grazing over your overstimulated clit, up and down your slit. Inch by inch it disappeared into your cunt and he let out a satisfied sigh. You bucked your hips, manicured nails digging into his shoulders with each thrust.

"Shit, you're so fucking tight!" Connie growled, head lowering to kiss you. You could still taste yourself on his lips and that only made you clench your spongy walls around his cock. That seemed to please him, because he rocked his hips harder and faster. "You like it?"

"Oh, God, yes!" You gasped, beads of sweat forming on your forehead as you clawed his back.

"Fuck, I want you to ride me." He gripped your hips tighter and turned you over. You tried your best to get in the new position without letting his cock slip out of you, and when you finally adjusted yourself, it was a whole new challenge. Gravity pulled you down, and his tip brushed your cervix, your eyes squinting at the slight pain. "If it hurts, stop-"

"No!" You cried out, your hands resting on his chest. You bounced up and down, the uncomfortable feeling slowly replaced with pleasure. Connie's hands traced your thighs as you rode him, another wave of heat flushing through your core. His palm met your cunt, thumb circling over your clit. "I can't c-come again!"

"Yes, you can. And you will cream on my cock."

The disgust words worked like magic and you flexed your thighs, bouncing faster, head thrown back, hair cascading down your back. "You're so beautiful, Y/N."

"Connie, I-" The words stopped in your throat, the pressure too much for you to handle.

"You what?"

"I'm- oh, God!"

"Atta girl!" He praised you when he felt your silken walls relaxing and your thighs quaking. The second orgasm was so intense you let yourself fall over his chest, dizzy and tired. You thought he'd give you a break, but Connie wrapped an arm around your back, holding you in place before giving your oversensitive cunt a few more thrusts. "Now you can return the favour."

You mustered up some strength to get up and kneel in front of the bed, between his legs.

"Please don't come in my mouth." You asked him before wrapping your pretty lips around his cock.

"Gotchaah-" Connie choked on his words when he felt himself in your hot mouth. You bobbed your head up and down, cheeks hollowed and eyes on him. You didn't break eye contact when you pulled away and spat on the tip, hand pumping his cock to smear the spit. "Hot." He mumbled before you went back to sucking. You felt the throbbing, tightening your lips around him and picking up the pace. "Y/N-"

It all happened in a flash — Connie yanked your hair and pulled your head back, thick ropes of milky white cum shooting all over your face and neck.

"Eew!" You scrunched your nose, hand under your chin to stop it from dripping down the floor.

"What do you mean ew? That's, like, a billion kids!"

"Actually, a fertile man produces around-"

"Don't start. Do not." He pressed his index finger over your lips. "Let's get you cleaned up."

You woke up sore, especially between your thighs, but damn, was it worth it. Connie wrapped an arm around your waist, mumbling something about how pretty you are, but you assumed he was still sleeping — or still high. The sun shone through the blinds and you squinted, annoyed by the brightness, and so you turned around, watching the way your crush snored peacefully.

"Cute." You smiled and planted a kiss on his forehead, waking him up. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

"Why?" Connie rubbed his eyes. "Waking up to you is a blessing."

You couldn't hide the tinting of your cheeks and the grin on your lips. "I didn't think you were the romantic type."

"There's lots of things-"

"I don't know about you. But I'd like to know those things. If you let me, of course." You bit your lower lip, eyes filled with hope.

"Can I be your boyfriend?" He sat up, his eyes serious.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Okay, so maybe Sasha knew a thing or two when she dared Jean to switch roommates.

You walked into the kitchen after getting ready for the day, with Connie following behind you. Everyone was eating their breakfast, and Jean instantly dashed to you.

"Connie, bro, take me back. Sasha's leaving crumbs all over the bed! I can't sleep like that!"

"I can't, man, I wanna spend the rest of the week with my girlfriend." He sneered and you elbowed him.

"I forgot to mention Jean's overprotecti-"

"Your what? Hands off my sister from another mister, you creep!"

"Creep? You're the one who was sexting someone's sister last night." Sasha chimed in, mouth full of cereal.

"Thanks, Sash." Jean rolled his eyes. "For real, how did this happen?"

"You see, mate, when a man and a woman love each other-"

"Nope. I will not hear this."

[seriouslysnape]

Hi i wanted to request snape x reader where they meet again after not seeing each other since their school days (they were bffs) and severus gets all cute and flustered bc he still has a crush?

STOPPPPP THAT’S SO EFFIN CUTE!

__

Reconnections

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2,005

“I had no idea you were coming. How long have you been here?”

__

He thought about you more than he’d like to admit. Severus hadn’t really had any other friends over the course of his life, so it was only natural that his mind often drifted towards the one person who was consistently there for him. He was devastated when he lost contact with you after graduation. He had known that the two of you would go your separate ways, leading different lives with different goals in mind.

At first, the two of you stayed in touch through writing letters. You absolutely adored receiving letters from him, hearing about how his first year teaching at Hogwarts was going was the best part of your day. Severus began teaching at Hogwarts very shortly after graduation, and hearing about his adventures were thrilling...and sometimes a little boring.

He felt relief every time he received a letter from you. He was always happy to see how you were doing, and what was going on in your life. He would read your letters two or three times, picking apart every sentence and word. He’d try to pick up your tone in every paragraph. He’d look for implications of a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband. A hint or a crumb of detail leading to the idea that you were in a relationship.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss your school days together. He missed pulling all nighters with you to study for a big Potions exam. He wished he could have one more Charms class where the two of you were trying so hard not to laugh that you felt like you were going to pass out. He longed for the occasional nights where you would sneak to the Slytherin tower and the two of you would stay up late telling stories and enjoying each other’s company.

He missed you.

He had always been attracted to you. His schoolboy crush as a child didn’t really go away into his teenage years. He still found himself yearning for you, but he never made an attempt to seek you out. He was too shy, too reserved and insecure to ever go after the most beautiful girl in the world.

Even though it was his biggest regret.

Over time, the two of you became busier and busier, and the letters were less frequent. Eventually, the letter completely stopped coming in. You and Severus lost contact about five years after graduation, and now you had gone over a decade without seeing or hearing from one another. He still thought about you all the time.

He missed your smile, your laugh, your hair, your eyes, everything. He didn’t know how much he loved those things until he didn’t have them anymore. He often wondered if he’d ever see you again.

And then he did.

Severus had been passing down a hallway when he saw a very familiar face. He had to do a complete double take, stopping dead in his tracks and staring blankly. You had been walking alongside Headmaster Dumbledore, the two of you in a very cheerful conversation. Surely, that couldn’t be you. He hadn’t seen you in almost 15 years and suddenly you turn up at Hogwarts?

He felt like he was dreaming, half convinced that he wasn’t awake. But he saw you more clearly as you grew closer, and his heart did a joyful leap. He knew that smile anywhere. His best friend had returned.

“Severus?” You called, questioning and excitement in your tone when you noticed him standing at the end of the hall.

His pale cheeks went fiery red at the sudden use of his name. He hadn’t heard his name fall from your lips in a long time. It was music to his ears. You practically ran up to him, throwing your arms around him with a gleeful squeal. You smothered him in a hug, and he awkwardly returned it with one arm.

It was just like old times.

“Hi.” He replied meekly, but his mind was racing and his eyes were wide.

“Oh, I was hoping I’d get to see you today!” You shrieked.

Dumbledore was watching intently. He had known that the two of you went way back. He was tempted to bring up how flushed Severus looked now, but didn’t say anything about it.

“How nice it is to see two of Hogwarts’ brightest students together again.” Dumbledore declared.

You offered him a sweet smile, but Severus was still shell shocked.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, unable to look away from you.

You had both obviously aged some since the last time you had seen each other. You were still just as beautiful as the last day he saw you. You weren’t surprised that he looked about the same way he did before. Black robes, long hair, and a sour look on his face. Just the way you liked him.

“I’m taking over for Madam Pomfrey for a while. Just until she’s back on her feet.” You said.

Pomfrey was out with a nasty bout of the flu, something that even magic couldn’t fully cure. You’d be covering for her for a few weeks, but were hoping to possibly land a more full time gig at Hogwarts.

“I had no idea you were coming. How long have you been here?” He questioned.

Severus’ heart was beating so fast that he was afraid it might give out. The very person he had been dreaming of for so many years was now standing right in front of him. He was almost scared that you’d vanish if he did look away.

“I arrived this morning. Albus was just showing me around,” You explained; “The castle really hasn’t changed much since leaving...you’re looking well, Sev.”

You pushed some strands of hair behind his ear, something small that you used to always do when you were younger. It never failed to make his whole body feel a flutter at such an act of care. His mind felt foggy now, he could barely form a single thought other than the fact that he couldn’t believe you were there.

It became very clear that Severus was still sweet on you. He was still crushing like he did when he was 13.

“You look good now...uh, I mean, you looked hot before- you were fine before,” He stuttered, mentally smacking himself for his poor choice of wording; “You look great, [Y/N].”

Dumbledore fought the urge to burst into laughter. Severus had never been very flirtatious. You looked sheepishly at your feet, hiding your blush at the compliment. You had always found his shyness rather endearing, it gave him an innocence that was pure and lightening.

“I will leave the two of you to catch up.” Dumbledore said, gauging that it would be best if he moved on.

He left the two of you in the hall. You had a lot to talk about. Severus continued to walk with you slowly, savoring every moment. The two of you chatted, catching each other up on the last 15 years. It seemed as if Severus hadn’t really done much outside of being the Potions professor. As sad as it was, you weren’t really surprised to learn that he hadn’t found anyone to settle down with. He was almost in a vicious cycle that consisted of work, sleep, and eating. He didn’t realize how dull his life had become until you started telling him all the things you had done.

You traveled for a year or two after graduation (which he did know due to your letters in the beginning). You studied wizards and witches in other areas of other communities, learning from their differences and comparing similarities. You totally dove head first into the wizarding world, totally enchanted by how complex it really was. You had seen and done things that Severus could only ever dream of.

He was happy though. He was happy that you had done all of the things that you had always said you wanted to do. You were vibrant, successful, and taking full advantage of any great opportunity that came your way. He was so proud of you.

“How long do you expect to be here?” Severus asked you, hoping that it would be longer than just a few days.

The two of you had far too much to catch up on in such a short period of time.

“It’ll be at least three weeks. Pomfrey found where I lived and sent a letter as soon as she realized she’d have to be out,” You told him; “You know how she is. She doesn’t trust many people to handle her work.”

Severus smiled lightly, and nodded. Poppy Pomfrey was a VERY professional woman and never let just anyone take over her job. He at least knew that he wouldn’t lose contact with you this time. Severus didn’t want to flat out ask the one question that was really on his mind. He was dying to know what your relationship status was.

“I’m sure your husband is thrilled that you’ll be gone for so long.” Severus said as more of a hint than anything else.

He saw the way you awkwardly chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck bashfully. You shook your head.

“Oh, I’m not married.” You admitted.

“No?” Severus asked to confirm casually, but his stomach was doing excited flips.

While you hadn’t been shocked that he wasn’t married, he was totally shocked that you weren’t. He had always thought you’d find someone straight out of Hogwarts and be married within a few years. When the letters stopped coming, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever know how your life turned out.

“You sound surprised,” You noted; “But I suppose I just haven’t found the right guy yet.”

You knew that was a lie. You knew that you never settled down because you had been hanging on to a sliver of hope that you and Severus would reconnect one day. After losing contact with him, you had always said that if you were given the chance to even possibly see him again, you’d drop everything and take it.

You were so glad you had taken that chance.

“I must say I am surprised. You’re so beautif- so kind that I always thought that you’d get married soon after graduation.” He said, covering up another one of his stutters.

“Well, you know. Life has its ways of getting the perfect timing, doesn’t it?” You suggested.

Before he could answer, you took notice of the time, knowing you needed to get back to Dumbledore to finish getting acclimated before the new school week began.

“I need to go. It’s been so nice seeing you. We need to catch up more,” You said, taking a leap of faith; “I’ve missed you...”

He felt his heart speak before his head, but it was the full truth.

“Oh, I’ve missed you tremendously. I’ve thought about you every day since your letters stopped coming.” He blurted out.

Your eyes sparkled at that, you smiled genuinely.

“You have? You really mean that?” You queried.

He was a little embarrassed that he had sputtered it out like that, but he was glad you knew it.

“I do.” He confirmed.

You stroked his cheek gently with your hand, tempted to kiss him. You knew that this was your professions of love for each other. Awkward and forward. Just like the two of you were.

“How did we go so long without seeing one another?” You asked him, inching closer together.

“I have no idea.” He said, closing the gap and kissing you softly.

It was a tender, appreciative kiss that was full of want that had been built up since you were young students. It felt fresh and like a new beginning. A beginning that would actually be the start of Severus’ life. He would have someone to look forward to everyday, someone to share his passions with. But there was one thing that was most important.

He’d have someone to share his heart with.

[burnedbyshoto]

disconnected

— Kirishima answers a phone call that wasn’t intended for him, and of course he can’t help but be interested in the beautiful voice and soul that angrily began to rant about their day. —

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pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, lil angst (lol sorry), cursing

word count: 7,786

a/n: this was a stupid thought that slammed into my mind, and here it is!!!! now I have a calc midterm tomorrow that I did not look at because why think about double derivatives and integrals when I can think about kirishima????

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It was eleven at night when Kirishima strolled out of his bathroom, ready to go to bed. After a rather long day, he was looking forward to sleeping and not having to wake up at the crack of dawn. Tomorrow for the very first day in a very long time, he wouldn’t have to work at the local coffee shop he was hired at. It was a job he had acquired with his good friends on the promise of it being a manageable job on top of his college work, and of course, the pretty girls who would go in.

From what Kirishima had gathered from the four months working there was that there were a lot of pretty girls who entered the coffee shop — most of which were focused on the angry ash-blond friend of his — and that it was so unnecessarily stressful. 

Some days he was up at four in the morning to open at six for the morning regulars, then he’d go to his afternoon classes, only to return for a two-hour shift in the middle of rush hour, and would leave while trying to keep the peace between a certain ash-blond and two new hires. To say the least, it was hell on Earth at times. 

Regardless, he didn’t have to open tomorrow morning, so he was content! On top of not having classes tomorrow, Kirishima was excited to sleep in.

Falling on his bed with a massive sigh, Kirishima snuggled his face into his pillow, rejoicing in the way that the laundry detergent still clung to the fabric and relaxed.

Sleep sounded so—

RIIING.

RIIING.

Kirishima’s eyes slammed open, his head snapping to see his illuminating phone on his nightstand. He had no idea who the hell was calling this late. There was no way it was Bakugou; he was asleep already at this point. Sero had broken his phone two days ago during a failed stunt and wouldn’t be able to get a new phone until the weekend. Kaminari only called him when there was a bug in his apartment, but he was currently closing… maybe it was Mina? Kirishima shook his head, no, he hadn’t spoken to Mina in ages.

Grabbing the phone, he didn’t bother to look at the caller ID and answered.

“Hello—?”

“Oh my god, I am fucking raging! You can’t believe what kind of fuckery I just went through tonight!” a voice shouted into the receiver, and Kirishima flinched a bit at the loud and angry voice. “So you know how I wasn’t supposed to work today, right? Because my coworker had sex with her ex-boyfriend like an idiot, and I owed her for covering my shift three months ago, but anyways irrelevant. I’m taking the order of this one group of adults. That’s right, A-D-U-L-T-S, adults! They are completely staring at my tits the entire time, and not my face. At first, I thought maybe you know, I had spilled something on my tits earlier, no. No! NOTHING! So I call them out on it, and they say something along the lines of ‘you could be a camgirl with that body, but like not in a sex sort of way’ I’m sorry, WHAT?! Like yes, continue sexually harassing your server who is a college student and therefore has no will to live, so will gladly beat your Gucci belt wearing ass into a bloody pulp! What they gonna do? Sue me? I have one dollar to my name, fucking take it, I don’t care, I’ll find another dollar in the sewer after I beat their asses up!

“But you know, I’m saying all this in my head because I’m broke and can’t afford to be fired from this place because the tips are hella good here. But they continue saying dumb shit, and then the obvious ringleader — I know he was the ring leader because his beard looks like it was the first picture printed on a new ink cartridge and his manspread was ten times wider than all of theirs — have the fucking audacity to slip his number while only tipping TEN DOLLARS ON A TWO HUNDRED DOLLAR TAB!!!!” Kirishima doesn’t know what to say, his jaw on his mattress, breathing having stopped while your voice wheezes from your lack of air. He makes a croaking noise, wanting to speak up and apologize for what had happened and for not being the person you thought it was, but it seemed that you weren’t over. “AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THAT FUCKING KAREN!!! ‘I didn’t like the way you looked at me so I won’t be tipping you tonight!’ yeah, well maybe if you didn’t order enough FOOD TO FEED AN ARMY AND KEPT SENDING IT BACK I WOULDN’T BE LOOKING AT YOU LIKE THAT!!!”

There was a pause, and Kirishima, while feeling entirely sorry for you, finally spoke, “Fuck, that sounds... horrible.”

“Damn right, it was horri— wait, who the fuck is this?” your voice squeaked, and Kirishima almost started to laugh at the difference in the tone your voice took. Once so loud, angry, and entirely ‘fuck the world,’ had changed into a meek and embarrassed voice.

“Um, this is Kirishima. Kirishima Eijiriou?”

“This isn’t Hagakure?” you moaned into the phone. “03-9082-2395? That isn’t this number?”

“2-2-9-5,” Kirishima repeated his own number back, a small smile overcame his features knowing that you had accidentally misdialed a number.

“Fuck my fat fingers,” you cursed, and Kirishima chuckled lightly at the mutterings that were poorly picked up. “Well, um, I am so sorry for calling you and dumping that unnecessary bullshit on you—”

“No, no,” Kirishima interrupted, rolling onto his back, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling. “It’s totally okay! You seem less stressed out now too, and it really isn’t a big deal!”

“You are very kind, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, and Kirishima can’t help but imagine a figure curled up on a couch.

“Thank you!” he beamed, a hand threading through his hair, “um, but what happened with the Karen? And why were you typing in your friend’s phone number?”

“Do you really want to know?” you ask after a fit of bubbling laughter; it seemed that you were not at all convinced.

“I work at a coffee shop for one, so I totally understand the Karen situations! Secondly, all my contacts are on my phone, I don’t have a single one of them memorized!”

“Okay, okay, okay, I do not have this number memorized! Hagakure is my roommate, and she has a new number that she left posted on our fridge and because Mr. Sprinkles left in the middle of my rant, I called her to finish it!” you explain in what Kirishima could only consider being childlike glee. “And a coffee shop? Oof, Kirishima, you might have it just as bad as I do then.”

“Ever had a boiling cup of coffee thrown back at your face?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I wish I was joking!”

“The nastiest thing I’ve ever been put through is a highschool couple breaking up in the middle of the restaurant, and a bowl of cold soup and milkshake were thrown at me! And I had to work for another five hours!”

“That… that beat mine by a long shot…”

“Okay, but like, it was cold. If you hadn’t dodged, you’d be dead!”

As time passed Kirishima soon found himself sitting up on his bed, his back pressed against the headboard, a lamp on so that he wasn’t in the dark while he talked to you. Somehow conversation flowed so perfectly between the two of you, so smoothly, so naturally. You had extremely compelling energy and a pretty bright one at that as well. Your stories were exceedingly extravagant, most derailing into hundreds of side stories before making its way back to the main point, but he didn’t mind. Though there was no proof, he imagined that your arms were swinging around while you talked, a bright smile on your face, and lights shining in your eyes.

“So anyway, I had to beg my professor to let me remake this exam because, for some reason, my brain would not switch back to Japanese. I almost cried because I was only speaking in English, and I think because I am an amazing person, my professor let me do that!” you laughed after explaining an issue with being fluent in a third language. 

“My English skills deteriorated after leaving high school, I’m rather jealous you can speak three languages,” Kirishima admitted, his head falling back onto the cold wall. “My Japanese professors probably think my Japanese sucks too.”

“Just because I am amazing and can speak three languages doesn’t mean I’m perfect at it,” you laugh, obviously trying to make him feel better about himself.

“Mm, I don’t know, you’re painting yourself as a pretty perfect person,” Kirishima sighed. “Or you have an enormous ego…”

A loud scoff came from your end of the phone, and Kirishima waited for your verbal retaliation but was met with a moment of silence.

“Oh! Welcome home!” you called out, and Kirishima quickly put together that your roommate Hagakure was home. “Yeah, no, I’m talking to someone right now! ...who? Oh, um, a friend! ...no, I tried to call you when I got home but misdialed your number and got him instead! NO! You’re not going to get a pic of him! Wait, it’s what time?!”

Kirishima’s eyes fell over to his alarm clock and saw in the dim red light that it was 04:57. 

His jaw dropped.

“Well, um, Kirishima, it seems that our call is going to end,” you whisper into the phone, and Kirishima lets out a breathless chuckle, sudden sleepiness creeping into him. “It was pretty fun chatting with you stranger, thanks for putting up with that ranting in the beginning! Most normal people wouldn’t have picked up or let me rant like that!”

“It’s no problem,” Kirishima smiled softly, his fingers stretching out to turn off the light. He licked his lips, five hours on a phone call with an absolute stranger, and he didn’t have your name, and better yet, a part of him wanted to ask if it was okay to be friends. You were magnetic to him, and he wanted to know more about you, even if this was this weird modern and accidental penpal thing. “I didn’t have anything to do today, and you were fun talking to!”

“Aww, thank you!”

Silence.

Ask, he thought, his teeth biting down onto his bottom lip. Ask!

“Um, I know this is weird and all, but do you think I can keep your number?” you ask, your voice almost timid and meek.

Kirishima’s heart rate spikes at those words, he very much wanted that, but his mouth had a mind of its own it seemed. “Why?”

“Wha— well, I just had a lot of fun talking with you! It was fun, and I don’t know, you seem like a pretty chill guy!”

His fingers gripped his phone, a warmth spreading through him when he relaxed under his sheets. “On one condition.”

“Oof, if you’re going to ask to decide between Crimson Riot or All Might you’re going to be—”

“No, no,” Kirishima lets out a snort, his shoulders rolling while he imagines the curious look coming over your face. “I would like to know your name?”

“My name? Why would you want— HOLY SHIT! I never gave you—” there was a loud noise on your end of the call, and Kirishima heard you apologize profusely before returning in a hushed whisper. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t give you my name?!”

“No,” he laughed loudly, one that was pushed from his belly, spreading warmth through his body. “You never did, but I did learn every name of every person you’ve ever talked with!”

“God,” you groan, a small whine emitted from you. “I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry! Y/l/n y/n at your service!”

Y/l/n y/n, that’s a pretty name, he thought while imagining just what you could look like. 

“Well, goodnight y/l/n, I’ll save your number, and we’ll see if you still would like to be friends when you wake up?”

There was a small noise of agreement, “I’m like a drug, Kirishima, you’ll be back for more.”

“Okay, okay, goodnight…”

“Goodnight, sweet dreams!”

“Sweet dreams.”

Kirishima listened to the line ending, and he pulled his phone away from his ear and no sooner did he do that, a text came in at what he believed to be your number:

don’t let the bed bugs bite! 🕷😱‼️

He snorted and replied back before eventually letting sleep consume him.

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“You’ll never believe what just happened!” you squealed into the phone, and Kirishima laughed while wiping his sweaty face with a white towel. You had called thirty minutes earlier than usual and had caught him leaving the gym.

It had been a bit over two months since your misdial, and things with you had been going pretty well for strangers. The two of you didn’t talk every day, most weeks going by with just a single call, but they were always delightful talks. You worked most nights, and he most mornings, the two of you discovered. So most calls took place the night he didn’t have to work the following morning. 

“You got a customer who complained that there was too much salt in their meal that had no salt in it?” he asked, pulling a random story of something that had happened at his own coffee shop today. You let out an amused snort, a clear indicator that he was wrong, but found his guess to be amusing at the very least.

“No, but oddly enough, someone did ask for an insane amount of salt on their food and hated it!” you sang, clearly happy with how you found their distress to be funny.

“Close enough!” Kirishima laughed, but he was straight out of guesses, so he stopped. “So, what happened?”

“I tried coffee for the first time ever today!” you squealed loudly, and Kirishima cheered happily.

Through these two months, there were some hard facts that Kirishima had learned about you. One, you were living in the same city as him. Two, you worked at a semi-classy restaurant. Three, you had two roommates named Hagakure and Jirou. Four, you were twenty, just like him. And five, you were a child who only drank hot chocolate and tea because you were afraid of coffee.

~

“Caffeine is a drug you know,” you had snarkily teased him one night when he said he was going to make a cup of coffee. “Nice to know I’m friends with an addict!”

“If drugs were as amazing as coffee, I’d be an addict!”

“You know…” your voice whispered, your voice suddenly taking a guilty approach. “I’ve never actually tried coffee…”

“WHAT?!”

~

“Wow, look at you, becoming an old woman in front of my own eyes!” Kirishima chuckled, starting his walk back home. 

His fingers pushed the headphones to be more secure over his ears, hopeful that there it wouldn’t pick up too heavily on the wind of the outside world. 

“To be honest, it wasn’t that good, your taste buds are just tarnished from drinking that bitter crap all day!” you huff and he half imagined you turning your nose up.

“Okay, okay,” Kirishima laughed, a warmth flooding in his chest at the sounds of your muffled laughter. A visible indicator that you were also amused at this. “I hated coffee until I started working at a coffee shop, and that was because I needed to know my shit.”

“Wow, you only got that job while not being a coffee addict?” you tease. “Seems like a fake barista to me.”

“It’s pretty hard to believe, I know,” Kirishima stated his tone one of fake melancholy. “I’m so sorry for deceiving you, and honestly, I am a shit barista.”

“Aww, don’t say that!” you exclaim, and it seems like you’re ready to fight him. “I bet you put all those fancy TikTok baristas to shame!”

“TikTok?” he laughed, his pace speeding up just a bit so he would get home faster. “Wow, I am honored you think that!”

The light conversation continued, nothing too deep or too intense, just chatter about today's shifts and classes. Eventually, Kirishima made it back into his apartment complex, and stumbled into his room, collapsing onto his bed. 

“Can I ask something?” you ask suddenly, and Kirishima lets out a small hum.

“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”

“What do you look like?” you asked softly as if you were curled up in bed, seconds from letting sleep consume you. “I haven’t come up with a mental image that I like, and well, I want some hints.”

“I can just send you a picture of me,” Kirishima smiles, his eyes closing. “It would be much easier than me trying to explain to you what I look like.”

“No!” you disagree, and there's a long sigh from your end of the phone. “I’m not ready for that kind of information yet, Kiri. I just… I can’t accept a pic of you without sending one back, and I’m not mentally ready for that yet…”

“Don’t tell me the big fat Gucci bougie you is shy?!” Kirishima exclaimed, humor drowning his words as he referenced you to something you had called yourself one drunken night weeks ago.

“Not shy!” you bemoan, your voice muffling out at the end of it. “I’m more scared you’ll find me ugly and ghost me…”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Kirishima interjected, his voice stable and confident.

“Which part?”

“Both parts.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know what I look like…”

“...call it… Kirishima’s intuition,” Kirishima slowly stated, his eyebrows furrowing. “I find your voice and your personality to be attractive on their own, so I would never ghost you. And of course, appearance isn’t anything; plus, there’s no way you’re not gorgeous.”

He says these words with honest truth, and a part of him fears he overstepped and made you wildly uncomfortable with the amount of silence that is heard from your end of the line. But finally, as Kirishima is ready to apologize to you, a soft exhale is heard.

“You’re a dork,” you whisper, and a soft grin spreads on his own face. “Anyways, I’ll ask questions, you answer them first, and then I’ll do the same.”

“Sounds good!”

“Hair color?”

“Black, but I dye it red.”

“Mm, edgy teenager, I like it, and also knew that because you complained about your stained sheets! Eye color?”

“Red.”

“Oh, am I sensing a theme? How tall are you?”

“I’m… a bit over six feet?”

The list went on, most questions becoming more of a joke than anything else, but he was glad that you were asking these things because now he had an insight on how you looked too. You had told him your eye color, your hair color, how tall you were, and a whole bunch of trivial things he would have never thought to ask about to begin with.

“Okay, last question!” you cheered, happy to have finally included Kirishima into your inside joke that revolved around your eyebrows. “Do you have any distinguishing features?”

“Well, I don’t actually...” Kirishima admitted, his fingers brushing against the scar on his eye, and then it hit him. That was one! “Oh, wait—” CRASH. A loud crashing noise emitted from your side of the call.

“Shit, hold on!” you curse and Kirishima can only remain silent while he hears you yelling in the background, it was too far away for him to quite understand, but it was enough to know that it didn’t sound okay. 

Kirishima sat on his side of the call, the phone pressed to his ear while he tried to strip his gross and sweaty shirt from his body. His teeth bit into his lip, his canine pressing into the permanent indent of his lip, an indicator of how anxious he used to be. 

“Fuck, Kiri?” your voice suddenly snapped back onto the call, your tone frantic and quick.

“Everything okay?”

“No, Hagakure showed up drunker than… a drunken drunk, I don’t know expressions, ANYWAYS I know tonight is our unofficial official call night, but anyway I can get a rain check?”

There was guilt that swallowed your voice, a pang of guilt that made Kirishima warm a bit because it showed that you valued these calls, just like him. 

“Of course, I don’t have class or work Friday morning this time around, so Thursday night?”

“That works perfectly,” you sigh, gratitude. “I owe you, text you later if you don’t fall asleep! Goodnight, sweet dreams, love ya!”

Kirishima couldn’t repeat the whole statement before you hastily hung up, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face the entire time he showered. The shower didn’t take too long, and by the time he emerged from the shower, towel around his neck and his waist, he had a text message. 

sero - hey bro!!! i can’t pick up my morning shift tomorrow i know you have tonight to speak w y/n but todoroki and bakugou can’t cover it!

Kirishima sighed, he definitely didn’t have anything tomorrow anyways, he could manage with going in for an extra shift to help a friend.

kirishima - yeah sure what time?

sero - youre a life saver T-T im covering 8 am - 3 pm!!!

Kirishima sent a simple affirmative emoji before finishing up his nightly routine. 

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Kirishima looked at his apron while he was assembling himself in the backroom. The aroma of roasted coffee beans and pastries was almost pungent in the back, and he was eager to get out of there. As per employee regulations, he was to wear a black apron, a name tag, and something to hold his hair because it was a bit too long, for that, he wore a white bandana around his forehead.

“Wait, where’s my name tag?” Kirishima called out, his eyebrows furrowing when he turned out to Kaminari, who was currently in the back with him.

The blond froze and scratched the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly, “About that…”

So Kirishima was in the front of the store with a shiny silver name tag that read Hanta Sero. Because Kaminari was the best barista they had on hand currently, he was busy teaching Midoriya — their newest hire — around the bar. For now, Todoroki was nowhere to be found, and Kirishima was handling the cash register. 

Today was a slow morning, most people had their day off today, so morning coffee rush wasn’t in existence. Sure, there were a few outliers, but it was never chaotic. 

The gentle bell of the front door rang, and Kirishima automatically called out.

“Welcome!”

You had walked into the store, your eyebrows furrowed while you prayed that this was the coffee shop your roommates had been raving about. You’d never been here before, but it was the closest coffee shop available that wasn’t something generic and basic like Starbucks. You looked up from your phone at the voice, a thank you automatically being repeated while you neared the register.

You froze when you saw the red hair and the red eyes of the handsome man at the register. A careless thought entered your mind, Kirishima said he had red hair and red eyes… but he said he didn’t work today… 

A kind smile sat on his face, his eyes taking you in, waiting for you to approach him. 

This couldn’t be him, right?

The last time you had assumed a redhead working in a coffee shop was Kirishima, it had ended embarrassingly. 

“Um, hi,” you drawled out, your eyes reading the board to figure out your own order. 

Kirishima couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, you were exactly what you had described to him, but he wouldn’t ask until he was sure. He would ask you for your name after collecting your order for either tea or hot chocolate, and if it was you, he’d reveal that he was Kirishima. But he didn’t want to be wrong; he didn’t want to pin any other person as you, after all.

“I’ve never been here before,” you confess, your hand rubbing the back of your head. You were transfixed on the caramel macchiato that was spelled in the prettiest font, though, plus Hagakure promised all their coffee was good. 

“Oh, well, welcome! If you need any recommendations or have anything else to order, I can put those through while you look?”

His smile was kind, and you felt blood rush to your face, something you desperately tried to fight off by thinking of anything you didn’t like. 

“Oh! I do have two orders, though! There’s going to be one chai tea latte with three pumps of vanilla, and a lavender tea with a splash of oat milk.”

Kirishima nodded his head, “Will this be for here, or to go?”

His voice sounds so similar to Kirishima, you hoped, studying his face. While you answered that it was to go, you saw a distinctive scar on his right eye. Kirishima had said he didn’t have any distinguishing features… 

“What are your favorites here?” you ask, your eyebrows scrunched in confusion, your thoughts very evident in your face.

Kirishima couldn’t help but find hope bubbling up in his chest, there was always the possibility that you two lived in the same city-based off the same area code, and with what seemed like an incomplete knowledge in coffee, maybe…

Kirishima rambled off about the different seasonal drinks right now, his recommendations leaning towards the teas and non-coffee things primarily after his general and basic list. You seemed to take every word out of his lip like gospel, agreeing and nodding when appropriate, and his lips stretched into a grin when you bluntly exclaimed your ill knowledge of this all.

“To be honest, I only step into coffee shops to take a cute pic and then leave,” you laugh, pressing your hands against your lips and screaming a bit in your throat. 

Kirishima laughed, more confidence blooming through his body over the hope that this was you. It had to be you.

Your eyes then found the nametag on his apron, and like a sinking ship, you read Sero.

Not Kirishima.

“And for you?”

“I’ll have the caramel macchiato,” you decide, a grateful smile on your face while he looks down and writes the orders.

“A name?”

“Penny,” came your automatic response.

You never used your real name in coffee shops.

Kirishima suppressed the way that his mouth wanted to drop into a sad smile, and like two rejected teenagers, the money was exchanged. Before Kirishima could attempt to calm his disappointed soul, you walked out of the shop with the coffees and tea in hand.

“What was that about?” Kaminari asked, his eyes wide. “There was so much flirting and then poof, gone from both sides. Come on, dude, it’s my job to fail at flirting, not yours!”

Kirishima laughed, ignoring the way that his three friends looked at him with concern and curiosity. “Nothing, I just… the customer looked like how y/n described herself to be…”

“Oh… sorry, bro.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Kirishima waved it off, and without so much as another slap on the back, he went back to work.

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“What the hell are you doing?”

Kirishima looked up from his phone, his fingers mid-type pausing only for a millisecond before continuing to text blindly. 

“Oh, hey, Bakubro, what’s up?” he cheerfully spoke, ignorant to the controller in the ash blond’s hand. 

“It’s your turn, shitty hair, pay fucking attention!” Bakugou barked, tossing the plastic controller into his chest. Kirishima grunted, the feeling of the plastic slamming against his chest was less than ideal, but the smile on his face didn’t waiver while he offered his best friend the controller back.

“It’s all good, you can have another turn, I can handle being out this round!”

“Kiri, that’s six rounds in a row,” Kaminari spoke up, his face in a teasing smirk.

It was then that Kirishima’s face turned approximately the same color as his hair. “I didn’t—”

“Awww, Eijirou has a little crush on y/n!!!” Kaminari sang, resulting in agreeing with noises from Sero and Midoriya. Only Bakugou and Todoroki remained silent. 

Kirishima only laughed, he knew he couldn’t deny that fact, but he wouldn’t say it aloud — especially because Bakugou seemed to hate you. It had been now four months since the two of you had ‘meet,’ and while he still had no face to imagine you with, things had taken a slightly flirty route between the two of you.

Calls were much more frequent, nearly all nights the two of you would speak, even if it was just a measly summary of the day and a ‘sweet dreams’ and a ‘goodnight’ and an ‘I love you.’ It always happened nowadays.

Tonight was an exception, of course, because he was out with his friends, and apparently, you were doing the same. 

“You can’t be fucking serious?” Bakugou spat, a laugh spluttering from his lips, but it was cold and held no humor. “You caught feelings for a person who’s too much of a fucking coward to reveal a picture of themselves?”

“That’s not fair; besides, it's not about physical appearance!” Kirishima waved him off, pressing send to his text message.

have fun tonight! text me when u get back home if ur able to!

“Just how naive can you be?” Bakugou sneered, his hand taking the phone from Kirishima's side. “Six months of talking every week, texting every day, and this y/n still hasn’t trusted you with a single picture of them? I know you said that she told you how she looked, and all that shit, but let's be real, it’s so easy to lie about how you look like when you don’t have to provide a picture. What y/n say? Big tits? Big ass? Small waist? What about her did she say that made you so fucking insane over her?”

“N-Nothing! We didn’t talk about our body types!” Kirishima’s eyes widened significantly, the once comfortable atmosphere of the room wholly gone while Bakugou’s vermillion eyes seethed silently. “None of that matters! I told you the truth! I like y/n because of her personality, she’s manly, and I like that a lot! It’s not about her appearance, how pessimistic can you get, bro! I promise you, she’s trustworthy!”

“Is she really?”

“What?”

“How can you be in love with someone who you trust entirely, but doesn’t trust you at all? You said that y/n won’t show you a picture of herself because she’s scared you won’t like her? How is that trusting you? How is that fucking fair? To me, that sounds like some fucked up catfishing thing.”

“We talk on the phone, dude,” Kirishima said softly, but those thoughts were invading his mind. Did you not trust him? He knew he wasn’t the best option in the world, and he had accepted that in time and by improving on what he thought he was best at. But did you, after all this time, really not believe him when he claimed nothing would change when he saw you? “Catfishes don’t even do that… besides, the first call was by accident, why would someone—”

“Dunce face, what’s that one fucking idiotic thing you do for fun?” Bakugou snapped at the blond, not even bothering to look at him.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I do that you—” Kaminari laughed awkwardly, his smile tight and awkward.

“Kaminari.”

“I call… random numbers… pretending to have a big issue to see how they react…” he admitted, and Kirishima’s stomach clenched.

“And?” Bakugou snarled.

“I pretend to be a girl…”

“Don’t be stupid, Bakugou, this is more than one time!” Kirishima groaned.

“It's a voice that you can’t attach a face to, who knows if this is a person you can trust! People with voice acting exist in this world, how the hell do you possibly know that they’re not one of them?! Be fucking real, if ‘y/n’ trusted you, if that’s even their name, they wouldn’t be hiding their face from you.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything else, the acid piling in his throat was too much for him to even look at his friend. The night didn’t really recover from that conversation, and Kirishima eventually found himself back home.

He sat at the edge of his bed, his phone in his hands, waiting for a message from you. He couldn’t sleep, and even though he had work tomorrow morning, he found himself wide awake, unable to let sleep consume.

It was three in the morning when you sent a text, his eyes still wide awake, and with shaky fingers, he read the message.

i just got home can you believe that i drank three cups of wine and didnt get tipsy??????? thats on being a raging alcoholic ;D

Kirishima wanted to laugh; on god, he would’ve found this beyond delightful to read because he knew you couldn’t handle your liquor, but that bitter stream of acid destroyed the humor in his thoughts.

Were you really telling the truth? Was this all a lie?

He didn’t text back; instead, his finger pressed the call button, and he held his breath.

“Helloooo?” a voice picked up on the second ring, but it wasn’t your voice. It was a voice he didn’t recognize at all.

‘Voice actors,’ Bakugou’s voice reentered his thoughts, and the phone in his hand nearly dropped.

“Sorry, hello?” the voice he knew as you finally came through, and Kirishima let out a shallow breath, one so small, so mediocrely weak it burned his lungs.

“Do you trust me?” he asked softly, maybe too softly because you asked with a strained laugh for him to repeat his words. “Do you trust me, y/n?”

There was a pause on your end, too long a beat for Kirishima to be comfortable with.

“Of course I trust you, Ei, are you okay?”

“Do you actually trust me, or are you lying?”

“Woah there,” you said a small laugh on your tongue, but there was only confusion in it, not your contagious sound. “Did you drink? It’s a work night, you never do that!”

“Answer the question,” Kirishima spoke with finality, his shoulders tense, tears pushing past his eyes while he struggled to maintain composure.

Prove Bakugou wrong, please, prove Bakugou wrong.

“Of course I do,” you spoke with genuine clarity, but still, Kirishima was rattled, his confidence blown. “What’s going on?”

Did he want to confess to his insecurities? Was it worth it? His breathing became frantic, almost as if he was going insane just thinking about where his thoughts were. But Kirishima was never good at hiding things, no he was as open as a book.

“Why won’t you let me see you… we’ve been friends for six months, and the only thing I know about you is your eye color and your hair color. It’s so insanely generic that I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, your voice small, almost a whisper of all the energy one could have at this time of night.

“I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t trust me, who’s using me,” he spoke with perfect clarity that hid away his insecurities about this all. “For all, I know nothing about you is real, that this is all just some ploy to hurt me in the end. Six months and you can’t trust me with a single meet up or even a picture? I just… has this been a game for you, y/n? Or is that even your name.”

The call ended and a single message held on his screen, this call has been dropped, but you didn’t seem to want to call him back.

Kirishima didn’t sleep a wink that night, his words coming back to bite him in the throat each and every time he thought he was close enough to sleep. Insecurities riled up in him, consuming him entirely.

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He tried to call back.

For fourteen straight days, Kirishima attempted to call you back.

Every time he called you, he would always hang up before he could take back his words. But each call, after he had prematurely hung up, he would recant his mean words to the unresponsive phone. He did trust you, he was weak, he was unmanly to assume those things. You could take, however long it took to finally trust him again because he would wait for you no matter what. He apologized again and again until the very last one he broke down into silent tears, a single message of ‘I hope one day you’ll forgive me’ hung weakly on his voice and put his phone away. 

It was sixteen days since he had spoken those cruel words to you, and in that time, he didn’t regret finally talking about his ill feelings towards wanting to reveal yourself to him. But he did regret the way it came out; instead of it being a deep and personal conversation, it came out as bitter and one-sided. The two of you were disconnected, and he felt empty.

But he couldn’t focus on it, not today, after all, it was Bakugou’s birthday, and everyone was gathering at the local fancy restaurant to celebrate. 

Kirishima dressed up presentable, wearing a navy blue button-up, and dark slacks. He walked towards the entrance of the restaurant where Kaminari, Sero, and Midoriya were eagerly leading the group of them into the building. Typically Kirishima would’ve been with them in terms of spirit, but he felt energyless at the moment.

With the moon high in the sky, Kirishima stilled when Bakugou called out his name.

He stared at his best friend, the ash blond’s lip curled into a sneer while he huffed, “Listen, Kirishima, I’m sorry for what I said that night.”

“What? Oh, no, it’s okay, Bakugou!” Kirishima laughed, his hand slapping to the back of his neck. “You weren’t wrong.”

“I never said I was wrong,” Bakugou grunted, his eyes locked on Kirishima’s while he shoved his hands into his pockets. Kirishima stilled, unsure as to where this would be leading. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I know that Mina hurt you badly, and you’re too big of an idiot to not see when things arise. Maybe y/n is genuine, but if you aren’t fucking honest with her about your own feelings about how she’s so secretive, it’s not going to work.”

Kirishima smiled softly, a weak shrug moving through him, “I know, thanks, man.”

Bakugou nodded, and without a word, he continued on ahead where Midoriya was yelling at them to hurry up and come so they could be seated. 

Kirishima sighed, rolling out his shoulders before following afterward.

Kirishima followed after the hostess, smiling at her gratefully when she sat the group into their own private room and left. 

“Bakugou’s paying, right?” Kaminari stage whispered to Midoriya while staring at the prices on the menu.

“Eat shit, dunce face, learn how to save up your fucking money the next time you offer to come to this fucking place!” Bakugou roared, hearing the whisper.

“I’ll be covering the bill,” Todoroki informed with a smirk on his face. Kirishima laughed, looking at the prices and indeed agreeing with Kaminari’s statement. Having a wealthy friend was very convenient at times like this.

“Hi, welcome to Eiko, I’ll be your waitress today!” a voice chirped from the entrance of the room, and Kirishima froze, he recognized that voice and face.

It was the person he had mistaken for you all those months ago.

By the smile on your face, it seemed that you recognized them all too.

“And what is your name,” Sero winked, his eyes captivated by you.

“Oh, haha, sorry, my name is y/n,” you smiled, moving the menus you held in your hand to show the silver nametag on your uniform.

“Oh, like Kirishima’s y/n,” Kaminari laughed, pointing a finger at Kirishima, not at all being as quiet as he probably thought himself to be. But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who thought that because while Kirishima was staring at your face, embarrassingly taking you in, you followed Kaminari’s finger.

Your sight sat on the redhead in the middle whose name was Kirishima, and you straightened up in what felt like panic. 

“You’re Kirishima?” you asked quietly, your finger grasping the menus so tightly, your knuckles turned white. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

“The one and only,” Kaminari voiced for him, his arm thrown over Kirishima’s shoulder while he nodded like a scholar. “And why do you ask?”

“Shut the fuck up, dunce face.” Bakugou hissed.

Kirishima continued to stare at you, a million words running through his head, yet not a single one being translated on his tongue. You were beautiful.

What should he say?

What could he say?

Your lips pursed, and you shook your head, a smile of disbelief spreading across your face, “Unbelievable.”

“Y/n—”

“Be quiet,” you snap, your tone angry, but your eyes beyond hurt. “What can I get you guys to drink?”

Dinner wasn’t exactly a pleasant time, you came in and left faster than anyone could blink, and yet none of their drinks went empty, nor did they really have a problem. Much quicker than Kirishima would’ve liked, they were done and were soon piling out of the restaurant after Kirishima decided to leave a very, very generous tip.

“I’m going to stay until I can speak to y/n,” Kirishima said, waving off his friends who were expecting him to follow. But he couldn’t, not when he felt like the world's biggest ass for what he did to you.

“Good luck,” they all wished him well before eventually leaving, knowing better than to stick around.

So there at the outside bench, Kirishima waited.

Two hours he sat there until you emerged from the front door, your hair was no longer put back, you held your apron in your hand, and your purse on your shoulder.

“Y/n!” he called out, his feet no longer cemented into place; he strode after you.

You didn’t seem to pick up the pace, nor did you slow down. You were focused on your car that sat at the edge of the parking lot, and you ignored his calls.

It wasn’t until his hand touched your shoulder, and he appeared before you did Kirishima freeze again. Angry hot tears slid down your face, your face screwed up, your shoulders stiff.

“What do you want, Kirishima?” you spat, but there was only exhaustion in your voice, nothing bitter, nothing at all what Kirishima deserved from you.

“I want to apologize,” Kirishima whispered, his hands struggling to reach out and wipe your tears away. You were crying because of him, he did this to you. “I was a dick, I was… beyond unmanly to you, and I’m so sorry! I just let Bakugou get into my head, and I’ve never been a secure person because, well, I’m just… fuck, I don’t even know, but all I know is that you didn’t deserve this. And I like you so much, but I didn’t — I don’t know what to do?!”

Your eyes stared up at him, they were bright with tears, wounded beyond anything Kirishima could hope to fix.

“That night, you said if I didn’t trust you, but I did trust you! I’ve always trusted you—” your finger jabbed his chest— “but it was you who didn’t trust me! I get that it’s hard to not have a picture of someone you care about after a long length of time, but we were always fine for a while! It was going to happen, but while I trusted you, I didn’t trust myself, okay?! I couldn’t trust myself to see that if you were so much more handsome than me that I couldn’t be confident enough to let myself be friends with you! I constantly fuck up relationships when I have crushes on people because… I don’t know, I just do! But you were someone with no risk and the highest risk, and I wanted to be sure in my own feelings before giving you a picture of me! But… fuck, Kirishima, you didn’t trust me!”

Kirishima’s throat tightened, the tears on your face a guilty reminder that this was because of him. But how could he fix this?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands grabbing onto your arms just above the elbow, and his head hung by your forehead, not quite touching you, but just enough that his spiked hair teased the atoms between you. You were taller than he expected, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t deal with, no, not at all. “You’re right, I didn’t trust you, and you didn’t deserve that. I don’t think there’s anything that I can say, or do for that matter, to change your mind, and I’m sorry. I just panicked because who gets into this type of situation, how do I tell my phone friend that I have feelings for her? I was weak, and I am so fucking pathetic, and I just want to make things better. If you’ll let me be your friend again…”

He slowly looked back up at you, and you were frozen in your place, tears falling down your face still.

“I don’t think we can be friends,” you confessed, and Kirishima’s heart broke in two, his hands dropping from your arms in his embarrassment and humiliation.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry still, um… maybe I’ll see you again?” Kirishima smiled despite it all, he kept smiling despite the crack in his chest and his soul.

“You will,” you murmured, and before Kirishima could blink, your fists wrapped in his collar, and you brought him down for an ardent kiss that he was not quick to respond to. It took three seconds for him to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in, kissing you again and again and again.

It didn’t seem to matter to either one of you that you were both now kissing without a care in the world in the middle of a parking lot, because you both had your emotions exposed to the other, and you didn’t want to be friends. At least not when the man who held your heart confessed that you held his in yours. 

The two of you weren’t truly disconnected, it was just a little lost moment in your call.

[decayedflower]

Stranger II

⋆ gif is mine

Pairing: Yang Hongwon x Reader

Genre: Underground rapper!Hongwon, Barista!Reader | angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Don’t get attached. This was his number one rule. Attachment means getting hurt. Attachment means vulnerability. You are the only person you can trust. So how could she so easily sneak past and break the walls he had worked so hard to build around his heart when all she is, is a stranger?

Warnings: cussing, some angst, hamin being a noodle

A/N: Sorry this took forever to upload, life happens ya know? Next chapter should be more exciting as the ball gets rolling. Hope you guys enjoy :)

You told yourself that no matter how in love you were with someone, you could detach yourself from your emotions enough so that—should the day come—you could live your life without them.

Looking at yourself now, you admit you’re a little ashamed. You couldn’t stop bawling your eyes out for 2 weeks straight. You guess you didn’t do as good a job ‘detaching’ as you thought you did.

You mentally slap yourself. You once lived your life without him bitch, you can do it again. 

It was on a rainy Monday afternoon that you found yourself in bed—cheeto dust on your titties—marathon watching Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok-Joo. Curse Nam Joohyuk. How could a man be so goddamn perfect? He was handsome, funny, loving—and most certainly not a CHEATER. 

You sigh and decide that you should probably get up and shower before Hyeri comes home and sees your miserable state. You feel bad worrying her so much. She’s always been way too kind and selfless for her own good.

You grab a fresh set of pj’s and determinedly head to the bathroom. The least you could do was stop moping and try to clear your thoughts of him. For both your sakes.

Just as you finish that thought, you catch sight of the item sitting on top of your dresser. Your favorite hoodie. His hoodie. You scowl and toss it into the trash bin. If only all men were like Nam Joohyuk. The world would be a much more peaceful place.

“Sooo, hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You know how Princess Peach is always getting her ass kidnapped?”

You laugh at the odd question. “I do recall the kidnapping of the Princess Peach ass, yes.”

“Well, it just hit me. Why doesn’t the bitch ever fight back? I mean,” Jin places a hand on his hip thoughtfully, “how is it that she manages to get kidnapped by the same dude every single time? She’s a princess. Shouldn’t she have high level security?”

“Huh. I never really thought about that.”

“How could you not! She has marshmallows for bodyguards. It’s outrageous.”

“Does it really matter?” you ask.

He sounds genuinely offended. “Of course it does. You ever see Daisy getting kidnapped?”

“Well, no but—“

“Besides, isn’t it a little ridiculous how there’s this expectation that Mario has to save her? I mean, he’s not even a prince or a knight, he’s a plumber! An italian plumber! The amount of disrespect is just astronomical considering the lengths he goes to—”

“Seokjin why are we talking about this?” You ask, baffled. You take a look at your workstation and head to the stockroom to get more large size cups. Jin trails behind you, obviously upset with your lack of interest in the conversation.

 “It’s a legitimate concern, Y/N. Someone needs to pay attention to these details and it is the duty of I, the consumer, to voice the—whoa whoa whoa, since when do we have oatmeal raisin cookies?!” He screeches mid-rant, staring at a pack of cookies he holds in his hand.

You whip around to have a look, not believing your ears. “What the fuck?”

It’s true. The box of oatmeal raisin cookies sits atop the third shelf, right next to the double chocolate chip cookies.

“The boss sent an email out on Sunday,” Yoongi stands at the doorway holding a box of promotional flyers. If it were possible, you swear tumbleweed would have made its way between the three of you with the silence that follows as you and Jin stare at each other blankly.

“Which,” Yoongi drawls out, “I guess neither of you read.” he states dryly, walking away.

“Who the hell likes oatmeal raisin?” Jin asks defensively. Personally, you couldn’t agree more. Oatmeal cookies on their own were tolerable—it was the raisin part that completely ruined the entire cookie.

“They’re Satan’s spawn,” he scowls, tossing the aforementioned cookie back in the box as if it had personally insulted him. You chuckle and shake your head, walking back to your station with the box of plastic cups.

You start stocking them back up on the counter, making sure it looks neat. 

“Hey Jin,” Yoongi calls out from the front of the store, “can you grab that window marker and write out the menu again? The rain washed some of it off.” He says, examining the missing bits of letters, nose scrunched in annoyance.

You could practically hear the way the older boy starts seething at Yoongi’s lack of use in honorifics. The tips of his ears flare a bright red, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“I’M SORRY, COME AGAIN?! I couldn’t hear you over the DISRESPECT.”

Seokjin takes great pride in being the oldest of the crew. He enjoys taking care of the others as if they were of his own blood, you included. He has a somewhat sarcastic sense of humor—but never overbearingly so—always exaggerating his facial expressions and reactions, which you personally find charming. Seokjin is also infamous for his constant dad jokes, the younger ones usually cringing at their cheesiness and have you bending over in laughter. (The other boys beg you to stop egging him on as it only fuels his desire to keep them going.) That being said, Jin is not someone who gets easily irritated. When it comes to certain things, he is just, well, a bit of a drama queen.

You stifle a laugh, watching as Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth, very obviously regretting his choice of words. “Hyung, will you please go rewrite the menu outside?”

“Thank you! Can’t you just do that from the get go? I swear you kids are so ungrateful sometimes. I mean, you all seem to forget how I practically raised you brats—”

“Hyung, please get your ass outside or so help me I will go into that break room right now, clock out, take the longest nap of my damn life and just leave you two out here to die.” 

“Alright, alright,” he says, putting his hand up, “I’m going geez. What a drama queen.” He huffs his way to the entrance, shaking his head, marker in hand. “And you guys say I’m the dramatic one.” He scoffs, shaking his head.

Yoongi stands there looking up at the ceiling with his hands on both hips as if silently asking the heavens for a tiny shred of patience.

You snicker behind your hand. You swear hearing those two bicker is your daily source of serotonin. 

It’s 3 more hours into your shift when Hamin shows up at the front counter with his signature soft boy smile.

He first visited the cafe during the summer one day back when you had just been hired. The intense summer heat wave had him coming in search of some shelter from the sun and a drink to cool off. The Grind was promoting the seasonal summer drinks and naturally, as a new hire, you tried your best to advertise it. It was only your second day on the job and in your nervous state you sold him a drink that, to just your luck, wasn’t available that day. You apologized profusely afraid that he would turn out to be a Karen, but Hamin had been very sweet about it. He befriended you after that, making frequent visits to the Grind, declaring that he had found a hidden gem.

After talking to him some more you learned that Hamin had studied psychology for two years at a local college before he decided to drop out and pursue his musical career. Of course he didn’t tell you that last part up until a couple of weeks ago, so you had been under the impression that the reason he spent so many hours at the coffee shop was to study for his exams. You weren’t the type of person to pry into someone’s personal life unless they decided to tell you themselves so you never asked. Ever since Hongwon confessed to you that both he and Hamin were working towards becoming musicians, Hamin began to share more about himself to you. He figured that now that the cat was out of the bag, he could be more open with you. Prior to that day, you knew very little about Hamin’s personal life.

“Hey you! You’re back,” you beam. 

“Yeah, gotta grind,” he pats his bag for emphasis. “Ha! Grind...” he snorts suddenly. “Get it? Cause we’re at...” he gestures to the shop and laughs to himself. He looks goofy standing there in his bright lavender tie dye hoodie, a big contrast to the muted colors of the walls. His tall lean form stands out like a sore thumb. An Adidas baseball cap adorns his head but it’s so washed out you can’t even tell what color it is—or is supposed to be. 

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Oh come on, it was funny,” he says, leaning on the counter.

“It was funny the first couple times Jin said it when I just started working here,” You correct.

“You still laughed though,” he winks at you, making you laugh again. “Anyway,” he straightens up, “Can I get the usual, please?”

You grab a cup and start writing his name. “Just you this time?” 

“Nah, my idiot friend is coming but he’s gonna run late so I’ll just order ahead of him.” He sighs, reaching into his pocket in search of his wallet. “How much is it?” He asks, fumbling through a bunch of receipts and cards.

You wave him off. “On the house.”

“No way, I can—”

“Hamin, dude, relax. You do this every time. I keep telling you, discount: friend. Total: zero.” 

“You gotta let me pay every now and then. I don’t want your coworkers to think I keep coming here to leech off you…”

“Look, if you were really taking advantage of me, you wouldn’t keep disappearing on me for weeks at a time. Consider it an advance payment for when you finally let me hear a song of yours. ”

“Sorry…” He smiles sheepishly, “It’s a deal then. Thanks Y/N, you’re the best,” he grins. You flip your hair dramatically, playing along.

You make his drink and note that work is slow enough, so you head over to his table instead of calling him over.

You place his drink on the table, “so what’re you working on today?” He looks up and thanks you, taking a sip before he answers.

“A solo project. I don’t have anything now that’s worth listening to though…” He says dejectedly. Admittedly, he’s been going though somewhat of a writer's block. 

“That’s okay! I didn’t mean to pressure you. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be glad to give it a listen if you’re still willing to let me. Good music also takes time, right?” You smile encouragingly.

Someone yells out your name before he’s able to respond. You turn at the sound, “Oh hey!” you exclaim when you see your roommate. You turn back to wish Hamin luck on his writing.

“Thanks for the lunch, Hyeri,” you pat your stuffed tummy in satisfaction. “I forgot to prep mine last night so I was honestly just gonna wait until I got home to eat,” you confess meekly.

She showed up during your shift planning to ask you what kind of food you were in the mood for so she could bring it to you, but Yoongi caught on and sent you on your lunch break so the two of you could eat together instead. Min Yoongi was a godsend. 

“I knew it! Y/N, you have to eat your meals! Do you know how detrimental it is to your health if you’re constantly working and skipping your meals?!” you cower as she scolds you. 

“I know…sorry. I just forgot...” you squeak.

“Ugh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice, I just worry about you,” she sighs, taking her seat again.

“And I’m so thankful!” you say quickly placing your hand on hers, “I’m sorry you’re always having to take care of me. I’ll work harder so that I don’t become a burden to you. I promise. I haven’t been myself these days but...just give me some time.”

She grabs your hand with both of hers, “Hey. You’re never a burden to me, Y/N. You’re like a sister to me. And I would never put your emotions against you. You need time to heal and that’s okay. Take it at your pace. I will always look after you, no matter what. Okay?”

Your heart warms at her words. You were so grateful to have her for a best friend. You engulf her in a hug and look at the time. 

“I should head back. My break is just about over. Thank you for everything, Hyeri. Are you staying? I’ll make you a drink. On the house. You can study there?” you ask.

“Well, I was planning on going to my school’s library, but I guess I could use a drink…” She paused for a moment. “Is Jungkook working today?” She asks, hopeful. 

Her crush on your coworker was so amusing. “Unfortunately for you, not today, sorry.” She pouts cutely.

“I’ll make you a green matcha latte?”

“Pretty please.”

You giggle, “Okay, let’s head back then.” 

It was a good thing the two of you decided to eat at the chinese restaurant across the shop, so the walk isn’t long. You came here so often that the kind elderly woman who owned the restaurant had memorized your order. You couldn’t help it that their sweet and sour chicken was bomb as hell. What you would give for that recipe.

You’re internally groaning at the thought of having to go back into work when Hyeri stops in front of the entrance and lets out a low whistle. 

“Whoa, hey. Which one of your coworkers drives a damn motorcycle?!” She points to a sleek, graphite motorcycle parked on the curb, two cars away from yours. 

“Whoa. Uhh...no one, not that I’m aware of. Jin drives a Honda Civic and Yoongi ubers cause of car issues.” You shrug, opening the door. “Must be a customer’s.”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s just me, but that thing is screaming big dick energy.” She says, following behind you. You laugh and smack her shoulder. 

“You say that but what if it’s some old bald dude that listens to metal?” You ask, leading her to a table farther in the back so she can study peacefully. 

“Well err...hopefully not. I’m just saying whoever rides that thing, I wouldn’t mind riding too. Hell, I could ride all night…” she trails off. You bury your embarrassed face in your hands and try to hold in your laughter so you don’t disturb the customers. 

“Oh my god. Stop talking. You’re gonna get me in trouble.” You point at a chair, “Sit here and I’ll bring your drink. Behave,” you warn playfully.

“Yes ma'am,” She winks and points shooter fingers at you. You laugh with a roll of your eyes, heading back to clock in. 

“You seem...distracted.” Hamin says, amusement lacing his words.

“Huh?” Hongwon turns at the accusation with wide eyes.

He sighs. “I mean,” he says crossing his arms, “ever since you got here 15 minutes ago, it’s like you keep looking around for...something.”

“So, you’re saying for the past 15 minutes you’ve been watching me like a creep?” He turns his attention back to the music software in front of him. “I told you I don’t swing that way.” he says, clicking random notes on the half-finished project.

Hamin snorts. “Don’t change the subject. What‘s got you so distracted dude?” He asks, slurping up the remains of his drink through his straw.

“The only distraction here is the eggplant sitting in front of me...” He trails off when you enter the coffee shop with your friend in tow. You’re laughing, giving her a smack on the shoulder playfully at a joke she tells you.

Hamin stops his obnoxious slurping when he follows his friend’s gaze. “Ohhhhh!” he grins.

“What?” He snaps. “No ohhhh. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now.”

“I’m not thinking anything.” Hamin brings his hands up defensively. “Brain empty. No thoughts.” He taps the side of his head with his index finger. “Buuuttt if you were so interested you could’ve just asked, you know.”

“And what would I have asked exactly?” He asks with a tinge of annoyance.

Hamin tsks under his breath, exasperated. “Oh come on. I mean Y/N. You wanted to know if she was working. Am I right or am I right?”

“Why the hell would I wanna know that? I don’t even know her. ”

“Hongwon!” He’s caught off guard at the sound of your voice. He internally slams his own head against the table and forces a smile when you approach the table, avoiding Hamin’s gaze.

“Y/N, hey…”

“Hold on, you know each other already?” Hamin asks obnoxiously, “I only briefly mentioned you to him, but you already know his name!” Hongwon shoots daggers at the side of his head.

“Actually,” Hongwon says through gritted teeth, “we talked for a bit when I was on my way out the other day. It would have been rude of me to not introduce myself since she’s your friend.”

“He was even kind enough to walk with me on the way home even though it was raining. Thanks for that by the way, you really didn’t have to do that.”  Hamin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Shit. The smile you give him is so sincere that he almost misses what you say completely.

“Really!” Hamin grins, clearly enjoying the situation. He pats his shorter friend’s head in mock endearment. “That’s so sweet of him! I mean, considering he lives in a completely opposite di—” Hongwon sends a swift kick to his shin underneath the table.

“Fuck!” Hamin rubs the spot and laughs through the gritted teeth. “I mean...that’s sweet of him considering he’s normally so shy.” He growls at Hongwon and plasters a smile when he looks back at you. You probably think they’re both lunatics.

“Right…” You laugh, unsure of what’s happening. “By the way, did you want a drink? I’ll make it for you.” You tell Hongwon.

“Oh, uh yeah I was just gonna get an americano. Let me just—” He starts to stand up and take out some cash when you stop him.

“Are you sure that’s okay?” He asks. “I don’t want to get you in trouble…”

“Don’t worry, I get free drinks and pastries since I work here.” You say.

“And she shares them with me because I’m her favorite customer. Right, Y/N?” Hamin wiggles his eyebrows at you. You laugh and pick up his empty cup.

“Is he always this much of a moron when he comes here?” Hongwon asks, scrunching his face in distaste. You laugh and ask them to wait while you bring them coffee. 

Hamin waits until you’re completely out of ear shot before he begins his interrogation. 

“You know, for a pair of strangers, you two seem very well acquainted.” He states, eyes narrowed.

Hongwon scoffs. “You know, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but somehow you have a really punchable face.”

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re a terrible liar.”

“Oh shut up. I didn’t lie. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think I needed to.”

“‘I don’t even know her,’” Hamin mimics.

“I don’t know her. I know her name, that’s it. Not the same thing.”

“So you like her.”

He laughs. “What are you, five? How could I like her? I just met her, idiot.”

“You walked her home.” He says pointedly.

“Part way. I only did it because it was getting late and she’s your friend.”

“Ha! Since when do you care about my friends?”

“She’s a girl, it’s different. If something happened to her because I looked the other way, it’d be on my conscience.”

“You live in completely opposite directions.”

“So what?”

“You wouldn’t even do that for me.” Hamin deadpans.

“Yeah but you’re not a cute girl.” He shrugs, crossing his arms.

“So you think she’s cute!” He slams both hands onto the table, leaning forward to peer into Hongwon’s face accusingly. 

“So what? She is cute.” He shoves him away, “that doesn’t mean I like her.”

“Hmm. Okay.” Hamin smirks and leans back in his seat.

“What?” He snaps.

“Nothing,” He says with a look on his face that screams everything but nothing.

Hongwon drags his hands over his face. “You really piss me off, you know that?”

“You may have mentioned that before,” he replies, appearing unbothered.

He’s lucky you decide to come back at that moment. He swears he’d have slapped the smile off his face had he been left alone with Hamin for a minute longer.

You set down the coffee and start to walk back to the counter. “Well, I shouldn’t bother you guys too much so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait, Y/N!” Hamin shifts in his seat to face you. “Are you busy Friday?” This puts Hongwon on alert.

 “Hmmm...no, I don’t think I have anything going on actually. Why what’s up?”

“You’ve been wanting to hear some of our music for a while now, right? Well,” he loops an arm around Hongwon’s shoulder, “guess who has a gig that night?”

“No way!” You squeal, covering your mouth with both hands. “Wait, but I thought you didn’t have any music that’s finished.” You frown.

“Well, it’s not that we don’t, I just kinda wanted you to hear our new stuff first. But now that I think about it, this is as good a time as any. If you’re interested, a friend of ours is hosting a party and he asked a couple of artists to play for him. It’s at the Henz Club.” 

“You mean that scary looking club in Mapo-gu?”

“Scary? I mean sure, some odd looking people hang around there, but they’re all pretty chill for the most part. Right Hongwon?” 

Hongwon slaps his arm away. “Right. Well, you’re welcome to come but you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.” He supplies. “We’d understand if—oof!”

“Nonsense!” Hamin butts in, shoving his elbow into Hongwon’s side. “You can bring your friend over there if you want, so you don’t have to worry about being alone.” He motions his head in the direction of Hyeri who—not so discreetly—pretends like she hasn’t been trying to make out what the three of you have been talking about for the past 10 minutes.

“Ah, but either way we won’t ditch you after the performance, I promise. How about it?”

Hongwon is still recovering from having the wind knocked out of his lungs and before he knows it, somehow you’re agreeing and Hamin is giving you the details. 

“I’m so excited, I can’t wait to hear you guys.” You say cheerfully. 

“You should see this guy on stage,” Hamin gestures to Hongwon, “he really puts on a show. Like a true rockstar.”

 “You know, you saying that doesn’t make me feel good,” Hongwon says with a frown, sitting back in his chair defeatedly. 

 “Oh and don’t be surprised if you hear a lot of screaming.” He ignores him, “There’s always a lot of fangirls, especially for Hongwon. They literally come in swarms, it's crazy.”

“Oh my god. Stop. You’re so embarrassing.” He groans, looking away.

“Wow, you’re really hyping him up,” you laugh.

“Ignore him. He’s just saying whatever the hell he wants.” 

“No way, it’s really the truth.” He insists, folding his arms across his chest.

“Y/N! We need you in the back!” Yoongi calls out, his head poking out from the staff only door. 

“I gotta go. I guess I’ll see you guys on Friday!” You say, waving. “Coming!” You call out, following after your coworker.

Hamin smiles stupidly as you leave. “Isn’t she sweet!”

Hamin and Hongwon hang around at the café for a few more hours until they decide to grab a bite to eat. For the remainder of the time they spent working on their music, Hongwon had not uttered a single word. The most Hamin had gotten out of him was a “sure” when he suggested they get burgers before heading home.

He exits his car, watching as Hongwon removes his helmet to fix the mess it makes of his hair. 

Sighing deeply, Hamin leans against the side of his car, hitting the park button on his remote. “Come on, don’t be so cold. How long are you gonna give me the silent treatment for?” 

He slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans, dreading to ask but needing to know. “Are you really that pissed off because I invited her?”

Hongwon slips the hollow side of his helmet onto the handlebar and mimics Hamin, leaning against his motorcycle. “Depends,” he says, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket to light one up, “why’d you invite her?”

Hamin considers his answer carefully, shifting his weight onto the other leg. It’s obvious that Hongwon is already upset, so anything he says will probably get him angry anyway. “I was hoping maybe you guys could hit off,” he says at last, deciding to be honest.

In truth, Hongwon isn’t surprised to hear this—he actually suspected it—but it still pisses him off nonetheless. It wasn’t the first time Hamin tried setting him up with someone. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. This was something he had told him countless times and yet, he continues to pull stunts like this.

“I know you said you aren’t looking for a relationship,” Hamin continues when he proceeds to bring the cigarette to his lips without a reply, “but I just think you could at least talk to her and—“

“And then what? We fall in love, get married and ride off into the sunset?” He cuts him off abruptly.

“No, I just—“ he starts to say but stops when he can’t think of how to word it correctly.

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking Y/N went through a bad breakup, and so did I. You think maybe the two of us can find the comfort we couldn’t find with our previous relationships, in each other.” He pauses to take a drag of his cigarette. 

“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but that's a load of shit. This idea you have that love can just make me forget about all my trauma, is a load of shit.” Hamin flinches at the sudden aggression in his tone. This really didn’t come across the way he intended it to.

“Guess what, I’m fucked up Hamin!” He continues, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. “I have too many damn issues and I don’t need some chick to try to figure me out or fix me. I told you already, I’m happy with the way things are. I’m not gonna play into your stupid games just because you want to play fuckin’ cupid.” Hongwon scowls, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Hamin keeps his gaze on the ground, frustrated with how easily and accurately Hongwon is able to guess what he’s thinking. He didn’t realize how terrible it all sounded out loud. He racks his brain for something—anything—to say and argue that those aren’t his intentions, but Hongwon is speaking again before he’s able to do so successfully. 

“I don’t care if you invite her. Just don’t go expecting anything out of me.”

He nods his head weakly. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, bro…” He says scratching his neck, “I’m not trying to find someone to fix you...” he trails off.

“It’s cool.” He sniffles, the cold air getting to him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap like that.”

Hamin is taken aback for a second, not expecting him to apologize. He kicks the floor with his sneaker, “S’cool.”

“You still hungry?” Hamin asks, afraid that their little spat would create unnecessary tension between them.

Hongwon tosses his cigarette onto the floor to put it out with his sneaker. “Fuckin’ starving.”

You went home together with Hyeri later that afternoon once your shift was over. It was always nice to go home when the sun was setting and the air felt cooler. You loved how quiet the city got, allowing you to simply be one with your thoughts. 

Unfortunately for you, today was not one of those days.

You release a sigh as you continue to pretend to not notice Hyeri’s constant fidgeting. “Hyeri, if you want to know so badly just ask already.”

She releases a giant breath as if she had been holding it this entire time. “Oh thank goodness because I felt like I was actually going to die if you didn’t say something soon,” she says grabbing your arm excitedly, like a puppy who was just called over by its owner. 

“What were you doing with those two hotties I’ve never seen before?” You couldn’t tell what made her more excited―the fact that she found them so attractive or the fact that you were talking to men other than your coworkers. “Is one of them single?” she stops walking and gasps, “Are they both single?!”

An older lady walking her Chihuahua gives you a scornful look as she passes the two of you and you bring your finger to your lips to shush Hyeri. “Sorry,” she says with a giggle, “but this is huge!”

You pull her along with you to cross the short crosswalk and to the steps of your apartment complex, “It’s not a big deal. Besides, you’ve seen Hamin before.” You say, slipping your house key into the lock and opening the door.

“Okay but, this time there was another guy too. And you guys talked for like 20 minutes! On your shift!” She says, removing her shoes quickly to stand in front of you excitedly. You stop untying your shoelaces to give her a look.

“He’s a friend I made through Hamin. Who is also just my friend,” You tell her slowly as if you were explaining it to a child but you can tell by her smile that she’s not listening. You sigh and slip your work shoes off, putting them in the hallway closet. Hyeri hovers behind you, not wanting to be too pushy but also too worked up to leave you alone.

You stand up straight and turn around. “Okay fine. Hamin invited me to this party,” this already has Hyeri clasping her hands over mouth, “he and his friend are playing a gig for a friend—”

She’s squealing and jumping around before you can finish your sentence. “And they want you there as their plus one! Oh my—”

“But I think Hamin knows about the breakup and he feels bad and that’s why he invited me,” you say quickly. Hyeri stops mid spin to give you an incredulous look. “I mean, they kind of saw the whole thing since it happened at work,” you say glumly.

Hyeri wraps her arms around you when she sees how you deflate at the reminder. “Hey, don’t make such a sad face. You guys have been friends for a while now, right? I haven’t met the guy but I’m sure he invited you because he wants you there and not because he pities you.”

“Sorry. I think I’ve been trying too hard not to think about it so all the negative thoughts are really hitting me now,” you say, resting your head on her shoulder. She always had such a comforting mom warmth to her.

She releases you and gives you a comforting smile. “Do you want to go?”

“Well,” you sit on your bed exhausted, “I actually didn’t know Hamin played music until recently. I’ve really been wanting to hear some of his stuff and apparently his friend does music too..”

“Girl, there’s your answer! Who says you have to spend your days sad and alone after a breakup? If you want to go, go.” She encourages you. She had a point. Although somewhere in the back of your mind, you felt guilty. When Hamin invited you, you were super stoked and set on going but now that you were really thinking about it, you couldn’t help but think of Jaewon.

“I can tell you’re overthinking this,” Hyeri says. “Don’t. You’re a free woman! Free from a man who took advantage of you and didn’t know how to treasure you. Do whatever the fuck you want because it’s no one’s business. It’s not like you’re planning to go sleep around.” She crosses her arms across her chest, “and even if you are guess what, it’s still no one’s business.” She says vehemently.

You pick at your nails and bite your lip. “Okay.”

“Okay?!”

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

She squeals again and launches herself onto you. You land with an oof on your bed, her head barely missing yours by an arm hair. “Oh, one more thing though,” you manage to say from beneath her. “They kind of invited you too.”

Hyeri lifts herself up at this. She stares at you with wide eyes, “what do you mean?”

“I guess they saw us talking together and figured we were friends. Also, they caught you trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.” You tell her.

“Nooooooooooo,” she cries and runs to throw herself onto her bed face flat.

“It was the hiding behind an upside down textbook for me,” you snicker.

“Y/N, please I’m in the middle of dying of embarrassment.”

[temilyrights]

Miscommunication

Summary: Jack Sloane x Reader. You accidently mistake a dinner invitation from Jack as a date. 

A/N: Exam season has had me in zombie mode but I'm almost alive again! I started writing this in like September and completely forgot about it until I picked it up again a few weeks ago. Pretty light angst considering my work. I wanted a better title but I couldn’t think of one and wanted to upload. Anyway, as always, feedback is welcome and appreciated :) Enjoy!

Read on AO3

You smooth out the wrinkles in your outfit as you make your way down the path to Jack’s house, flowers clenched tightly in one hand, and teeth digging into your lip.

This was actually happening. A date with Jacqueline Sloane. You blow out a breath and knock on the door, trying to keep a calm exterior while your stomach does somersaults.

“You’re here!” Jack cheers as she opens the door, and you’re instantly blown away. She’s wearing a simple white button-down, French tucked into a pair of blue skinny jeans that fit her like a glove. Her feet are bare of shoes and socks, so you can see her freshly painted red nails, and her hair is in its usual beach waves.  She’s stunning. “Y/N?”

Your eyes snap up to hers. She’s watching you with amusement. “Sorry, uh, hi.” Your cheeks tinge pink, and in an attempt to hide that fact from Jack you shove the flowers at her. “Uh, I got you these.”

She gracefully accepts the bouquet, her smile turning soft as she looks from the flowers to you. “My favourite. How’d you know?”

You shrug. “You aren’t the only one who notices things.” It hadn’t been too hard to work out, she’d had a bouquet of them in her office a while back and then again in her living room recently. She’d had other types as well, but you noticed the way she always smiled a little brighter when she saw the beautiful arrangement of iris’ and daffodils. It suited her, and coincidentally also portrayed a fitting message. The yellow daffodils represented new beginnings and the blue iris’ hope, which was what tonight felt like.

She drops her head to breath in the flowers, a look of bliss crossing her face before she meets your eyes again. She reaches for your hand and squeezes, rubbing her thumb in circles across your palm. “Thank you. I love them.” She’s closer than before, and your eyes drop to her lips momentarily before you quickly meet her gaze again. Jack clears her throat and steps back, releasing your hand in the process and you try not to miss the contact. She signals down the hallway, “Well, I should go find a vase for these. If you join everyone else in the living room, I’ll be in in a minute.”

“E-everyone else?” You ask as your stomach drops, but Jack is already walking away, nose buried back in the flowers. You force yourself inside, and take your shoes off, leaving them by the door. It’s when you move to hang your jacket in her coat cupboard that you finally hear the sound of Ellie’s distinctive laughter flowing through the house.

You pause, squeezing your eyes shut as you bury down the humiliation and disappointment coursing through you. Of course, you’d misunderstood Jack invite for dinner. Thinking back, she never did specify it was a date, but she hadn’t mentioned other people either, and you’d just assumed, or hoped, or whatever, because it didn’t matter. Of course, Jacqueline Sloane didn’t want to date you and oh no you’d just bought her flowers! Flowers!

You groan and make your way further into the house, forcing a smile on your face as you step into the living room. Ellie, Nick, Tim, and Delilah are all sitting around but are way too consumed in what they’re debating to notice you. You take the opportunity to lean against the door frame and listen.

“Easy. No junk food.” Nick smirks, leaning back into the couch.

Ellie makes a noise of outrage, eyes bulging, “You’re joking, right? That means no chocolate, chips-”

“I’m not seeing a problem.” You smother a chuckle. He thought you didn’t all know about the chip stash he had locked away in his desk that he always ended up inhaling when he thought no one was around.

“-no takeout, and no burgers.”

“What? Burger’s don’t count!”

Delilah laughs, “Yes, they totally do.”

“Fine, whatever, I’m still sticking with my answer.” Nick huffs.

Ellie just rolls her eyes. “Well, obviously I’d choose no TV, how about you Tim?”

“The two don’t correlate, it’s not a fair would you rather.”

“You just can’t decide if you’d rather never watch Star Trek or eat Doritos again,” Delilah smirks.

“No, it’s just not a fair question!”

“Come on Tim, just admit you can’t live without your yearly Star Trek rewatch.”

Ellie hums, “Yeah, but can he live without Domino's stuffed crust pizza either?”

Tim rolls his eyes, “It’s not a fair-” he cuts off when he spots you in the doorway, eyes sparkling with delight at the chance for an escape, “Hey, look it’s Y/N.”

The other’s all swing around to look at you as you smirk. “Would you rather? Really?”

Ellie shrugs, “Need something to pass the time why we waited for you to appear.”

“Wait for me to- I’m early?” You pull your phone from your pocket to double-check, “Yeah. Early. Jack said half six and it’s only 6.27 now.”

They all frown looking between each other, Tim is the one who speaks, “She told us six.”

“What? She told me and Nick five-thirty!”  

“Dinner’s basically ready if you all-,” Jack says as she enters the room, her words quickly die off and she comes to a halt as you all snap around to look at her. Her eyes narrow, “Want to move to the dining room...Have I missed something?”  

“You gave us all different arrival times?” Nick asks.

“Oh, yes.” Jack nods. Everyone stares at her waiting for her to continue, and she rolls her eyes, “Nick, I knew you and Ellie were coming together and when you do you are almost always at least 45 minutes late to every plan we make. Tim and Delilah, you are usually about 30 minutes late too. Y/N on the other hand is practically always on time. By giving you different arrival slots, I could be sure you’d all be here by 6.40 when dinner would be ready.” She shrugs, signalling to Ellie and Nick, “You two didn’t arrive till six so I wasn’t completely off.”

Tim’s and Ellie’s mouths hang open in shock, while Nick looks mildly annoyed and Delilah is watching Jack with an impressed smirk. You don’t really know how to respond, but when Jack looks at you, her eyes dancing with amusement, you can’t help but chuckle.

“Now, dinner?” She claps her hands together, swinging on her heels and exiting the room before anyone can utter another word.

----

Jack’s outdone herself. The room smells absolutely mouth-watering. And Ellie voices as much when she swallows her first mouthful of food with a moan. “Oh my god, Jack. This is delicious.” Everyone murmurs along in agreement and Jack preens.

The conversation flows easily and as much as you try to keep yourself engaged, laughing and commenting in all the right places, you quickly find yourself retreating. You’d deliberately taken the seat furthest away from where Jack sat at the head of the table, choosing instead to sit beside Ellie. Tim sat the other side of you, at the end of the table. While Delilah was opposite you, and Nick beside her.

Jack's eyes had flicked to you a few times now, she was beginning to notice your odd behaviour. It wasn’t like you to be so silent, but you knew she wouldn’t say anything until she could get you alone, and it wasn’t like that was going to happen any time soon. Delilah was also watching you, and when she caught your eye, she shot you a questioning look. You quickly buried your head in your glass instead of answering it.

“So, how was your date the other night?” Jack smirks at Ellie, eyes teasing as Ellie releases a dramatic groan.

“Oh, don’t. We can’t all have the luck you do. How is the mystery person you won’t tell me about?” Ellie gleams, as Jack’s eyes widen.

Your gaze snaps to her, words spilling forth without thought. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone?” Hurt seeps into your voice and you just hope it’s subtle enough that nobody notices.

“There isn’t anyone!” Panic flashes in her eyes before she looks away and clears her throat, “I mean, there was a couple of dates with a man, but it’s not- we aren’t- I’m not seeing him.”

You drop your head so she can’t see the pain clear in your face, and quickly reach for your wine glass and take a large gulp. Jack does the same as an awkward silence takes over the room until Ellie, thankfully, starts talking again, drawing the attention of everyone and allowing you a moment to compose yourself.

Delilah’s watching you when you look back up and immediately catches your eye. She looks at you like she understands like she sees exactly what you’re so desperately trying to hide, and your emotions come swarming back tangling in your throat. Jack’s eyes bore into the side of your head too, but you refuse to look because you know the second you meet her eyes, she’ll see it all.

“Excuse me,” You cough, pushing yourself up from your chair a little too roughly and knocking the table. It doesn’t slow you down though, and you don’t meet anyone’s eyes as you quickly flee the room.

You lock the bathroom door behind you with a shaky hand and then lean back against it, allowing the cool wood to calm you down as you take deep breaths. Tears burn your eyes, and you so desperately don’t want to let them fall but they do anyway.

A date. You’d thought tonight was a date, and not only had you been wrong, but she plainly wasn’t interested as she was dating other people!

Your mind screams as you curse yourself for being stupid enough to get your hopes up. How many times were you going to have to learn this lesson? When had getting your hopes up ever ended positively for you?

Pushing yourself off the door you sigh, carefully wiping the tears from your face in an effort to not disturb your makeup. You wipe at your slightly smudged mascara with tissue, it’s not perfect but it works enough to hide the evidence of your tears. Pulling yourself together you spare one last glance at yourself and open the door.

Jack’s leaning against the wall outside, biting the hangnail on her thumb. She quickly drops her hand and stands properly the second you step over the threshold of the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I just needed to pee.” You force a small laugh, hoping to dispel her worry and any questions.

She arches a brow, “Without flushing the toilet?”

“Are you policing my bathroom breaks now?” You laugh as panic clutches at your chest.

She takes a step closer, eliminating most of the space between her and you. Her eyes track your face as her brows furrow, “You’ve been off all evening.”

“I’m just tired.” You shrug and look over her shoulder, “Come on, let’s get back to the others.” You go to step around her, but she grabs your wrist, and you instantly freeze. You close your eyes before looking back to her. She’s watching you so closely and your heart starts thumping in your chest, but you force a small smile anyway, “Jack, I’m fine. It’s just been a long week and I’m just tired.”

“You said that already.”

You roll your eyes and take a step back. Needing to break the contact between your skin and her. “Yeah well, maybe because it’s true.”

“Also, you’re a terrible liar.”

“Can’t be that bad, still managed to beat you at poker more than once.” You tease back, hoping to distract her with jokes instead of letting her push any further.

“I was distracted.”

“Fornell’s chatter annoys you that much?”

“I learnt to tune him out a long time ago.” She hums.

You frown, “Then what was distracting you?”

Jack's eyes flash like she knows she’s been caught out, and she takes another step back and tries to laugh, “Maybe we should go back and join the others.”

“No, wait a minute!” You grab her wrist and pull her back in. She rolls her eyes, but you know it’s a defence to make you believe she’s not bothered when she clearly is. You think over the last poker night you’d won a few months back. You’d been in a great mood because Jack had gotten a little drunk and had been all smiley and touchy. After the game had finished, she had disappeared to Fornell’s kitchen to grab a beer and returned with one for you.

“For our champion.” She’d smirked, leaning down and hanging her hands around your neck as she passed you the drink. Your face had promptly turned scarlet and when you’d looked up at Jack to see her soft eyes and drunken smile the rest of the world had faded away. Your eyes had only been drawn away from her lips when someone coughed loudly.

It’d been Grace who had had a smug smirk on her face and thinking back she’d been shooting Jack that look a lot recently which was almost always returned with a glare from Jack.

“Grace?” You ask.

“What?” Jack frowns.

“She’s been distracting you.”

“Right, yeah. It’s Grace.” She nods along, and it doesn’t take a psychologist to know she’s lying.

“Now who’s the bad liar.”

She arches a brow, “Still you. I should probably be insulted by how much you look like you don’t want to be here tonight.” Her lips pout slightly, proving she is actually upset by it.

“I turned up on time, that’s a good indicator I do.”  

“Yeah, with flowers…” Her brows furrow again, her eyes examining your face. You release her wrist and step back, but it only causes her frown to deepen. “You bought me flowers.” She says as if she’s trying to piece a puzzle together aloud. “My favourite flowers and you dressed up more than usual…” Her eyes widen before quickly turning soft, “You thought it was a date.”

“No. No, I didn’t.” You rush out, even as your cheeks turn red and you wish for the ground to swallow you up whole.

Her eyes remain soft, a smile pulling at her lips as she takes a step closer to you. “You thought it was a date.”

“Jack,” You gulp, shaking your head. Her hand brushes against yours.

“You thought it was a date.” She repeats again, and it’s only when she’s this close that you finally realise just how happy she looks. There’s no pity in her eyes, and the tension seeps from your shoulders as you smile hesitantly.

“I may have thought this was a date.”

She grins as her spare hand grips at your waist. “You thought it was a date.”

You roll your eyes, “Do you wanna say anything else other than those five words?”

Her eyebrow arches, a cocky smirk tugging at her lips. “How about you kiss me?”

“What about your guests?”

“I’m sure they can handle a few more minutes without us.” As if on cue a smash sounds from the dining room and Jack sighs, “or not.”

“Sorry, Jack!” Ellie shouts, “I’m cleaning it up, don’t worry!”

“If there’s now red wine over my carpet I’m going to kill her,” Jack grumbles and you’re pretty sure she’s only half-joking.

“Maybe don’t kill our friend. I’d miss her.”

She sighs dramatically as she tries to keep her lips from curling into a smile, “If you insist.”

“I know it’s a huge sacrifice on your part, but I’m sure there’s something I can do to make it worth it.” You smirk.

Her eyes darken as she leans in closer. She’s focused on your lips but at the last second her eyes meet yours, “Before our first date?” She whispers.

You twirl a strand of her hair around your finger, before moving to caress her cheek. Her eyes fall close as she sighs and leans into the touch. “Wouldn’t want you to kill Ellie.”

She hums, “Yes. Might have no choice otherwise.” Her eyes open, sparkling brightly as her lips twitch.

“Yep.” You nod, as your eyes trail across her lips. “It’s all for the greater good. Saving lives. All that jazz.”

“Hey, Jack. Have you got anymore- Oh, oh my god, sorry.” Tim apologises, immediately turning back around as he steps into the hallway. He keeps his back to you. “Sorry. Uh, kitchen roll, dishcloths, if you have any could you bring some when you’re done. Again, sorry.” He quickly hurries off, and even though you can’t see his face you know it’s bright red.

You immediately start laughing, “I swear he’s as bad as Jimmy sometimes.”

Jack hums and then sighs as she steps away, forcing you to drop your hands from her. You can’t help but pout slightly.

“I should go check out this mess.”

“Yeah.” You sigh, and you don’t feel bad for silently wishing everyone else would go home so, you could spend the rest of the evening alone with her.

As if following your thoughts, she smirks. “They can wait a few more minutes.” And in one swoop, she steps forward, her hand sliding around and gripping your neck before pulling you in and kissing you.

Your eyes widen in shock before they quickly fall close. You pull her in closer, matching her hurried, hot kisses. It’s like fireworks, or maybe more just heat shooting straight between your legs, but you could so easily drown in her kisses forever.

She pulls away though, a proud smirk on her face. You must look as dazed as you feel. “You’re definitely staying tonight.” She hums, eyes dark and she’s practically devouring you with them. You gulp slightly, turned on beyond belief and you can’t believe you still have to sit through the rest of dinner and dessert with your friends.

“Any chance we can kick everyone else out now?”

She laughs and pecks your lips, “Don’t think they’d appreciate that.”

“Don’t really care.” You grumble.

Her eyes sparkle and she steps away, despite you trying to keep her close. “I’m going to get dishcloths. The sooner we get back in there the sooner I’ll have you all to myself.” She winks and retreats to the other room before you can utter another word.

You gulp and head back to the dining room in almost a trance. Delilah breaks into laughter the second she sees you; Nick and Ellie are both grinning, and Tim still has a pink tinge to his face.

You clear your throat and take your seat as Jack enters the room.

“Oh, thank god it’s just water.” She sighs in relief as she makes her way to the soaked carpet beside Ellie’s chair.

“Hey, Y/N.” Delilah chuckles again, and you hesitantly meet her eyes. “You’ve got a bit of lipstick…” She points to her own lips.

Your eyes widen in surprise and you swing around to look at Jack whose face is full of faux innocence.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You whine, trying to rub the pink hue from your mouth.

“Where’s the fun in that?” She smirks.

“Should’ve just let you kill Ellie.” You mumble, using your reflection in your glass to see if you’ve been successful.

“Hey!” Ellie protests, “Why am I dying?”

You don’t answer her question, and Jack just returns to cleaning the mess without responding. Ellie pouts.

The second dessert finished, you not so subtly begin guiding everyone to the door, and the moment it closes behind Ellie (who you know took deliberately longer to leave just to spite you), Jack spins you around and pins you to the wall.

“Now who’s the one that wants to kill Ellie.” She hums as she begins to leave a trail of kisses up your neck.

“Between us, I’m sure we could do it successfully.” You sigh as she hits a particular spot, and you feel her smirk. “But no more Ellie talk. Or murder talk. Or anything talk that isn’t about you getting me in your bed.”

“Agreed.” Jack hums, before finally capturing your lips with hers. Your knees turn weak, and you’re grateful for the wall behind you. Your hands find her hair and her leg slides in between yours. You release a breathy sigh at the pressure, gripping at her hair and causing her to groan and lean harder against you.

“Bed. Now.” You order, and she’s more than happy to comply.

It’s a mission to get to her room because you both refuse to separate, too focused on getting the other out of their clothes.

“I’m going to make you scream,” Jack whispers against your lips, as her hands tease up your now shirtless body.

“Oh, yeah?” You smirk, “Do it then.”

And she does. Multiple times.

[zrtranscripts]

Season 9, Mission 14: Fort Knox

Tour group

~

JANINE DE LUCA: All right Runner Five, Mr. Yao. There is only audio surveillance in this room and I have muffled the microphones. We can talk freely.

SAM YAO: I really don't like this, Janine. I mean, okay, they did let us into Van Ark's mystery base, but then they stuck us in this tiny room, insisted we take medical exams. Peter and Maryam still aren't back from the med bay. I can't believe we let them just inject us with tracking devices.

JANINE DE LUCA: We had no choice, Mr. Yao. It was take the subcutaneous trackers or leave Red Scorpion Base. General Bakari claimed he would meet us on arrival, but so far we have only been escorted by soldiers. The security here is intense. Barbed wire fencing, perimeter guard towers, patrols in unmarked uniforms. If our operation goes wrong, escape will not be... [door creaks open] Someone's approaching. [loudly] Which is why they'd better pay well for this job! Don't you agree, Sven?

SAM YAO: Uh... yeah. Yes. Mercenaries, us. Money, ooh, we want it.

GENERAL BAKARI: You can relax. I've relieved the guards in this section, shut down the cameras.

JANINE DE LUCA: General Bakari, there are others in our team -

GENERAL BAKARI: - still in the medical bay. We can't wait. The trackers you've received are a new security provision powered by bioelectric energy. They didn't tell you this, but it takes about 40 minutes for a tracker to stabilize in its new host. We've got that long before your every movement is monitored. That's just enough time. [drops bag on the floor] There are maintenance uniforms in the duffel bag. Put them on.

JANINE DE LUCA: General -

GENERAL BAKARI: I trust you weren't counting on a sentimental reunion, De Luca? There's a mission at hand. Red Scorpion Base has a secret you're going to help me liberate. All of you, out into the corridor. No time to dawdle.

~

SAM YAO: This place is just a maze of metal hallways, isn't it? Shh. Hey, do you guys hear that?

[distant metallic footsteps]

GENERAL BAKARI: A patrol coming from the intersection ahead. Duck into that store room, quick. [cloth rustles, footsteps pass] They've passed. Those maintenance uniforms will help at a distance, but the patrols here know all the authorized faces. Come on, this way. Speaking of faces, it's Runner Five, isn't it? You gave me this gammy leg. My own stupid mistake, I admit, chasing you on that motorcycle.

JANINE DE LUCA: Perhaps if you had not sided with Prime Minister Hakkinen, General, you might have avoided injury.

GENERAL BAKARI: Is that reproach I hear, De Luca? You were always so quick to judge. Sigrid was a monster, but with impressive ambition. It seemed folly to oppose her, so i toed the party line loudly when she was listening. Soldiers served their country, after all. I hear there's a thief in charge these days. Not sure your vote turned out much more righteous than mine.

SAM YAO: Hey!

JANINE DE LUCA: Don't let him needle you, Mr. Yao. The base, General. It is in excellent condition, especially given we have seen evidence it predates Z-Day.

GENERAL BAKARI: Very good, De Luca. Yes, Red Scorpion Base has been here for many years. Once we get to the next intersection, you'll see where it came from. Where's Tom, Janine? I was sure he'd be with your team.

JANINE DE LUCA: Tom... Tom was killed in action some time ago.

GENERAL BAKARI: Unfortunate. He had a weak heart, that boy. I saw it every day I sheltered you two after your parents passed. Thought I taught you to watch out for each other!

I'm not authorized for this part of the base. I've stolen passes, but if we're caught here, we will be shot. Do you see the turrets bracketing the door ahead? Machine gun emplacements, automated. Look at the symbol on the turret mountings below each gun barrel.

SAM YAO: Those are stars and stripes. Flags, American flags.

[door rattles open]

GENERAL BAKARI: And past the door, a flag painted on the wall. They're not allowed to fly one outside. Red Scorpion Base was established by the American military 20 years before Z-Day. Black ops research, top secret, and they're still very much running it today. Quickly, all of you, there are a lot more patrols in the next section. Follow the corridor branch left, on the double.

~

SAM YAO: Look, Five, by the water cooler. That's the portrait of the last US president. God, this is crazy. There's still a US military and they're hanging around a base in Tunisia!

JANINE DE LUCA: A base somehow connected to Ernest Van Ark and V-type fungus.

GENERAL BAKARI: You already know about the local fungus, eh? The US military heard rumors of it decades before Z-Day, whispers unearthed by archaeologists in North Africa. They thought it had martial potential, set up a base here to dig for it. They hit on caves of the stuff underground. There's an archive room on our way. I'll show you what they found.

SAM YAO: Wow! Janine, look! Down the corridor to the right, that looks like the war room from, well, every movie with a war room ever. Ah, there must be a hundred screens in there.

JANINE DE LUCA: All cycling through images of landmarks. The Brandenburg Gate, Times Square full of zombies, a toppled Eiffel Tower. General, are these images current? What reach does this army have?

GENERAL BAKARI: Honestly, the US isn't what it was, but the man in charge of Red Scorpion Base likes to keep eyes everywhere. [drones whir] Come on, there are surveillance drones in these corridors. I hear some coming. Forward.

SAM YAO: [whispers] Likes to keep his eyes everywhere? Yeah, yeah, that sounds like Van Ark, doesn't it, Five? If the Americans are running Red Scorpion Base, is he backed by their army? The others are getting ahead. We'd best speed up.

~

[door rattles open]

GENERAL BAKARI: We're in the main research annex deep underground. This is an archive room, oldest on Red Scorpion Base. If you want to know about the fungus, this is the place.

SAM YAO: But it's just a room full of dusty filing cabinets. Oh, and Polaroid pictures of scientists stuck up on the wall. Scientists in a cavern full of black ash.

GENERAL BAKARI: Certain branches under the Department of Defense saw huge promise in the fungus. They dreamed of perfecting a symbiosis to make humans faster, better, stronger. The early experiments went poorly. People died. The decision was made to destroy the fungus after it nearly escaped containment, every trace burned away.

JANINE DE LUCA: General, the glass tank in that corner, the blackened lump inside...

GENERAL BAKARI: A relic. This room is a memorial. The old research data is all locked away. The lump is a museum piece, scorched rock from a once red cave, long dead now.

JANINE DE LUCA: Then... the fungus is not why you summoned us?

GENERAL BAKARI: Not at all, De Luca, though not a bad guess. What I have for you is much more important. Come along through the far door. Incidentally, you see the old photo on the left, the one showing a team in bulky armor scouring rocks with flamethrowers? They still call Red Scorpion’s emergency response the fire team. These days, they wear powered exoskeletons, flamethrowers integrated. They're what comes for us if we make a mistake. We're short on time. Go.

~

SAM YAO: Loads of fancy computers in here, Five. Must be in a sciency bit.

GENERAL BAKARI: Ancillary data storage. From here, we can access files from the Red Scorpion's latter day experiments. Listen carefully, De Luca. The base contracted your team on my recommendation. Since Z-Day, Red Scorpion's been short-handed. They sometimes recruit outside personnel. Three months ago, one of my aides went MIA. Any deserter is viewed as an unacceptable security risk.

SAM YAO: Did you kill him?

GENERAL BAKARI: Fellow took a bad fall. I disposed of the body, arranged evidence of his flight to the mountains, suggested we needed help to locate him. Obviously, no one's ever going to find him outside, and our security head is getting desperate. Once she briefs you, she'll send you into the mountains to hunt down the deserter. There, you'll divert to designated coordinates. You'll find buried parts of a vehicle I've had hidden. Assemble it and escape.

JANINE DE LUCA: You are not coming with us, General?

GENERAL BAKARI: I'm rarely allowed off the base, and I don't intend to return to the UK to stand trial. I know you're thinking it, De Luca.

JANINE DE LUCA: You betrayed your nation. It would be my duty.

GENERAL BAKARI: And you always loved duty. As a child, you used to turn your night light out on principle. [computer beeps] Give me a minute with the computer. I'll get what you're here for.

SAM YAO: Um, which is what, exactly?

GENERAL BAKARI: Research from Red Scorpion Base, something that can change the future. The file I'm giving you is encrypted, I can't open it. Did you bring a computer expert?

SAM YAO: Sort of. We, um, lost our equipment, though.

GENERAL BAKARI: The file is too big to transmit without powerful equipment. If you were able to decrypt it, you might have been able to send key details out. As it is, you'll need to get this thumb drive to the UK intact. If anyone suspects you're smuggling data off the base, you're dead, understand?

JANINE DE LUCA: General, if we leave you here -

GENERAL BAKARI: I'll be fine, so long as the operation succeeds. Humanity, kin, and hope, De Luca. That's what this is for. Do not let me down. The head of security just pinged me. The rest of your team is done in the medical center. She wants to brief you all, stat. We need to get back. There's one more thing I need to give you. Through the door on the right. The doctors should be on their break. This way, run!

~

JANINE DE LUCA: General, is this a hospital ward?

GENERAL BAKARI: It's an emergency care area. Ah, here it is. Five, give me your arm. My research indicates you'll be the best subject for this.

SAM YAO: Wait, what-what are you doing? You can't just inject strange substances into people!

GENERAL BAKARI: The bio data in the injection is a crucial component of the information in the files. The only way to transport it is inside a living host.

JANINE DE LUCA: It's long past time you explained exactly what this information is, General.

GENERAL BAKARI: It's a cure, Janine.

SAM YAO: For what?

GENERAL BAKARI: For everything. Every ailment that plagues humanity, every virus, every infection. A panacea.

JANINE DE LUCA: That's impossible.

GENERAL BAKARI: No. It may take years, even generations to formulate a usable vaccine, but the germ of it is here. The zombie plague has brought such pain to humanity. I accept I played my part in it. But this data, the antibodies in Five's blood, and the files on that drive, they may be the one worthwhile thing to come out of all that death.

JANINE DE LUCA: Then I leave the decision to you, Five. Very well. Proceed, General.

SAM YAO: I'm just gonna, um, not be here watching that. Injections always make me feel queasy.

GENERAL BAKARI: Your trust will be repaid, Janine, I promise you.

JANINE DE LUCA: I hope so.

SAM YAO: Oh my God. Janine, Five, over here! There's a door with a little porthole. On the other side, it's-it's Van Ark! He's unconscious, hooked up to, well, it's like a giant dialysis machine. Looks like it's draining him.

GENERAL BAKARI: I was saving him until last. Good bait to get you here, but if I explained too soon, you'd only get distracted.

JANINE DE LUCA: Is Van Ark running the research department? What are the Americans giving him through those tubes?

GENERAL BAKARI: Van Ark running the place? [laughs] Not at all. The fellow at the top, no one ever sees. Nasty piece of work by all accounts. But Van Ark here, he isn't in charge of anything. Van Ark is one of the experiments.

~

[srhlsx]

CHAPTER 6

master | ch. 5 | ch. 7

(Y/n),

Break up with Oikawa. Everyone knows he deserves better than you and you’re just dating him for the clout. You can’t seem to keep your legs closed and it wouldn’t be surprising if you were letting the whole volleyball team hit it as well. Oikawa is a gentleman and deserves to be with a lady who will be respectful and show him the love he deserves, not a cold-hearted wench who can’t express any emotions-

You crumbled the piece of paper that you found in your locker. This one was a little more formal, written on nice stationary paper with neat handwriting. The person obviously took their time with their words but it would be time that was wasted.

You had become really good at blindly tossing these notes over your shoulder and into the trash. You heard a distinct swish as the crumbled paper landed with the other garbage and was out of your sight forever. Letting out a sigh, you grabbed your bag and hurried outside to the athletic trainers office, Oikawa had asked you to come with him when his knee had been acting up again.

“You should get it checked out.”

Oikawa sat on an exam table waiting to be seen by the school athletic trainer. The student trainers had tried to look, but at your insistence they left to find their superior. Oikawa had tried to argue that it wasn’t necessary, but all it took was you giving the second year students a stern look and they realized who exactly they would rather listen to.

“What do you think I’m doing now?” Oikawa grumbled, flexing the foot that was propped up while the other one dangled off the ledge of the table. He groaned a little bit when you grabbed his foot, pressed lightly on his knee to keep his leg straight, and then lifted his entire leg up. You could see him trying to contain the wince on his face.

“See?” You said, gently setting his leg back down on the table. “That’s not normal, Tooru. You need to see a doctor.”

“Yes, ma’am~” He sneered into your face closely, making you roll your eyes and push him away. Being around him so much, you were picking up Iwaizumi’s habit of rolling your eyes almost every time Oikawa spoke. “I just want to get cleared for today, I hate missing practice matches.”

“Well, you’re not going to play in any matches, practice or otherwise, if you keep this up.” You grumbled, looking around the medical room as the door opened and an older woman walked in, followed close by the two second years you had reprimanded earlier.

She hummed in agreement, going over to Oikawa and giving his knee a good look. “She’s right,” She said after poking around and getting Oikawa to flex his leg in different ways. “It’s nothing major right now, but keep an eye on it. Let’s ice it for twenty minutes, then we’ll get you back to practice?”

Oikawa groaned loudly, covering his face with his hands and falling back on the medical table dramatically. The woman and her students left to get what was needed and you joined Oikawa on the table, hopping up to sit by where his head lay.

“If you don’t take care of yourself, this whole scheme of yours won’t matter anyways and you’ll have wasted my time.” You teased, brushing his hair away from his face so he’d look up at you. He moved his hands and laced them together to rest on his stomach, squinting from the glare of the fluorescent lights. “And I hate when people waste my time.”

He smiled up at you, a rare Oikawa smile that he actually meant although it didn’t totally reach his eyes. “Thanks, (Y/n).” He said, looking back down at his knee. “You’re a good friend.”

You nodded, leaning back on your hands a little while you both waited. “You owe me, prettyboy.”

When Oikawa opened the doors to the gymnasium a few steps ahead of you, you immediately heard a small chorus of shrill cries when he walked through. Fuck, that really is annoying. 

You saw that there were two teams on the court, Seijoh players were wearing bright green jerseys while the other team had red ones. Oikawa walked up to the coaches who stood there with smug looks on their faces while the opposing team seemed to shift like a storm cloud had formed over them. You followed behind with Oikawa’s bags, having carried them for him into the gym, and stopped next to him as he explained to his coach that he was good to play. 

You heard a few girls continue to shriek from the balcony of the gym, part of a small audience that had formed to watch the practice match going on. Oikawa waved awkwardly up at them and you could instantly see the discomfort in his face, you turned around as well and also waved at the girls. Immediately, their faces dropped and their giddy cries of glee were silenced. 

Oikawa took off his warm up jacket and made a show of draping it over your shoulders. You were not really interested in drawing attention to yourself at this time and you weren’t interested in any petty displays of dominance, but you couldn’t help the little smirk that formed on your face at the sudden silence from the girls above. Maybe you really were scary.

You were still stewing over your concerns for Oikawa’s knee, he had walked over on it very gently and you had half a mind to tell someone on the team about it. As he turned to walk over to the area he could warm up in, you tugged lightly at the back of his shirt to get his attention. “Hey, go a little easy on it? It’s just practice.”

Oikawa looked at you over his shoulder and reached up to ruffle your hair affectionately. He smiled, one of his fake smiles this time, and spoke. “Oh (y/n), you of all people know it’s never just practice.”

- - - - -

The ball blasted past Oikawa after the red haired boy hit it. It was a shock to everyone and the lack of immediate reaction was no surprise. In fact, no one was really sure what had even happened for a few moments.

The scorekeeper flipped the last point over and the whistle blew to signal the end of the practice match. Karasuno had beaten Seijoh in a surprising upset, two sets to one.

Knowing that there was going to be some kind of follow-up, you turned abruptly on your feet and moved to head out of the gym and wait for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to join you to walk home. You figured giving them a little bit of time to clean and talk over the match wasn’t something you needed to be a part of. Finding a spot on a bench outside under a tree a few meters from the gym entrance.

You were scrolling through your phone when you heard the voices approach. They were distinctly female and very much not trying to keep their volume down. 

“-just standing there the whole time.”

“Well at least she got to wear his jacket, that’s more than you can say.”

“I still can’t believe it, I mean she just broke up with that basketball player that graduated.”

“I know, totally stealing Oikawa from everyone else. Like, chill out on the boyfriends, yeah?”

“That other guy wasn’t even that cute, they dated for so- oop!”

You looked up from your phone when you heard the surprised noise one of them had made and saw the girls standing just a few feet from you and looking wholly embarrassed. You gave them a look, lazily glancing at them from head to toe - unimpressed - before looking back down at your phone again. 

“Oh my god, you fucking dumbass.” One of them whispered as they scurried past you, doing their best to avoid looking at you, their faces clearly flushed.

You let out a sigh, already forgetting about the words spoken about you as you scrolled through your social media feed. You double tapped a few images friends and family members had posted, sending a few funny memes to Ichika, then clicking over to look at your own profile. You’d had to do a serious overhaul when things with Oikawa became known, the main one having to be that you turned off comments since the absolute spamming of them on your posted images had nearly shut down your account.

You had no idea that posting one picture of Oikawa, at his insistence since it would look believable for the two of you to be posting about one another, would cause such an uproar. It was a picture of him standing a few feet before the camera in your backyard on the day he came up with the plan, your massive dog was jumping up on him and had knocked the sunglasses off his head and you managed to catch a candid photo of it.

When you posted it, tagging him by username, you had no idea that within hours your profile would explode. Your follower count nearly tripled from the already high number you had, mostly girls requesting to follow you, and the sudden outpouring of comments filled with heart emojis and infinite X’s and O’s made your head spin. When you reset the password after getting kicked out of the account, you immediately made the changes to avoid it happening again.

“Kids these days and their phones,” You looked up at the sound of Oikawa’s scolding. He was walking with Iwaizumi towards you and you stood up to meet them so you could make the journey home.

“You boys look hungry,” You said, handing Oikawa his jacket from earlier. “How about I treat you to some meat buns?”

Oikawa cheered and skipped ahead happily, chanting some kind of made-up song about you which made you laugh. You looked over at Iwaizumi who was shaking his head at his friend’s antics although not scowling for once. You nudged him with your elbow, smiling up at him as he continued to chuckle. 

“C’mon, Iwa.” You looped your arm with his and attempted to drag him to catch up. “Oh, have you done the calc homework yet?”

“Sorta,” He shrugged, hands in his pockets but not making a move to pull away from your grasp as you squeezed his arm to get his attention. “Looked at it but haven’t started.”

“Okay, same. Wanna work on it together? Two brains are better than one, right?” You asked, seeing him nod in agreement. You looked forward again to see Oikawa continue to skip ahead of you. “Let’s make sure he doesn’t get hit by a car.”

“Would that really be so terrible?”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Slow Mover

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E/NSFW Word count: 12k

Summary:

When Ned backed out on rooming with Peter during their first year of college, MJ felt like it was no big deal to take his place. Now that she's about to lose it, she's confronting the fact that she may have grown attached... and not to the apartment.

Monday, February 1st

I’m gonna pack my things and leave you behind/This feeing’s old and I know/That I’ve made up my mind ― “I Love You So” (The Walters)

MJ’s been thinking about moving out for awhile. As far as roommates go, Peter’s a slob, not that she has a frame of reference since they’re only in their first year of college and she declined student residence in favour of splitting a lease with her Academic Decathlon underling.

If the term ‘underling’ seems harsh, it’s not. Peter’s earned her disdain in more ways than there are Disney Dalmatians. He mashes down the nibs of her Faber-Castell markers making hasty grocery lists on the post-its that inevitably breeze off their fridge door. He falls through the window almost every time he gets in late from Spidey-patrol and the thud wakes her up. He has socks everywhere. She has never seen so many. Fucking. Socks.

This was supposed to be him and Ned, she knows―his actual best friend, not the friend reluctantly given the designation because... why, again? How she won Peter’s friendship isn’t immediately clear. Except Ned decided to commute from home in a last-minute fit of separation anxiety. This was after Peter signed a lease but before the online application for student residence opened. MJ shrugged and said she’d help them out because the little walk-up is close to campus and about on par with what the college charges for housing. For Peter, the draw is the privacy to sneak in and out in his superhero getup. For MJ, it’s the quiet of not sleeping within the same four walls as a noisy roommate, on a floor packed with students, in a building of eighteen-year-olds who’ve just left the nest and are ready to party.

But, like she’s noted, Peter’s the worst.

It’s the first of February, with only two full months plus exams left in the term, and she’s still telling herself she might just cut and run. Very likely, she and Peter have the last good landlord in New York City (or the woman knows how fast she could rent their apartment with so many students, tourists, and other career transients coming and going) because they were told upfront that they could move out at either the end of the month or right in the middle, provided they gave two weeks of notice. When the 1st and the 15th of every month roll around, MJ re-evaluates. Obviously, she hasn’t dropped Peter on his ass yet, but she could. She has options. She’s met a handful of people in her figure drawing and art history classes who are living together on two floors of a ramshackle historic house somewhere that’s basically turned into an artist’s colony and one more person would be nothing to them. MJ could absolutely move in. The socializing demands would be an adjustment, but it’s a short sprint to exam season and she’ll be burrowing into a library study room at that point anyway.

Today’s another first of the month, another chance to announce she’s jumping ship. After considering everything during her walk back to the apartment from her afternoon class, MJ’s decided she’ll probably stay. She never records the factors that inform her decision, preferring to leave no trace. Put it down to her love of mystery and conspiracy, or her five solid months of rooming with a guy who leads a double life. Either way, her vast internal ordering system that leaves no physical sign drives Peter nuts. That’s why she continues to use it.

“Hey, loser, I’m home!” she shouts, twisting her key out of the lock and closing the door behind her.

MJ doesn’t see him right away, but she knows he’s here. His class schedule is as familiar as her own and she knows he’s just as hesitant as she is to engage with people―even people he’s friendly with in class―outside of school. He’ll be here. No need to rush the encounter.

She kicks off her slushy boots, hangs her coat, shoves her hat down the sleeve, and heads to her room. A living space and kitchen that are practically one and the same was evidently the trade-off the boys were willing to make for two bedrooms when they chose this apartment. Whatever. MJ isn’t dying for any meal that requires more than a foot and a half of counter space. And the bedroom all to herself is nice. Peter got the one with the window for his nefarious late-night purposes (saving people and shit), so her room’s away from exterior walls and beside the bathroom. She nearly always gets to the shower first and when she doesn’t... at least being a slow showerer isn’t one of Peter’s faults.

Hefting her textbooks and notebooks from her bag one by one, MJ assesses which she’ll need for homework tonight. Yikes, maybe it should be an exclusively laptop evening; she has a midterm paper coming up and the task of assembling citable articles from scholarly journals beckons in a voice that’s been shredded through a cheese grater. Mmm, cheese. She touches her stomach. Snack first?

Once she’s let her hair down to straggle around her shoulders and swapped her jeans for pj bottoms, MJ plods back into communal territory. She can hear Peter talking in his room through his door, probably on the phone. Part of her wants to knock and tell him to say hi to his aunt for her. The more persuasive part of her wants cheese. She shuffles onward.

He comes sliding into the kitchen like a young Tom Cruise, but with pants―god, the mental comparison is so embarrassingly bad that it’s making her start to blush―as MJ’s arranging a slice of cheddar on a cracker. The fact that Peter so clearly wants to tell her something encourages her to bite down and, mouth full of crunching food, cut him off with, “’Sup?”

“I just got off the phone with Ned,” he informs her. His arms are dramatically apart like this news is in any way important or unusual.

Treating him with heavily sarcastic seriousness, she plants an elbow on the counter and leans towards him like she’s fascinated.

“And Lego’s teaming up with Tesla to build a driveable, electric Millennium Falcon that roars like Chewbacca when you hit the gas,” she predicts.

Peter’s mouth hangs open for a moment and it’s adora―it’s amusing. Like, she wants to laugh at him. Because he looks like a dork. This nerd is so easy to bait.

“Oh my god, I wish. Get out of my fantasies.”

Her elbow almost slips off the counter. She finishes chewing, chastened by how she could’ve just bit her tongue in a grisly household accident.

“Spit it out then,” she suggests, because now Peter’s grinning, waiting for her to ask. “I don’t have another guess.”

Her roommate takes a deep breath to ready himself for something and she narrows her eyes.

“Well, you know how you keep talking about those people you know and their big house and how they maybe have a room or part of a room or something?”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“I mentioned it once, Parker.”

“Oh, well, I remember you saying that. I―well,” he interrupts himself, “Ned and I wondered if that was something you were still considering.”

She has no idea where he’s going with this.

“I have no idea where you’re going with this.”

Peter comes close to vibrating for a minute before he just blurts it out.

“Ned’s moving in! Or, he could be, if you were moving out. Shit,” he mutters, expression falling. “We’re not trying to force you out. It’s just that you said you might want to, and Ned’s been thinking about moving closer to campus for exams and―”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” MJ agrees, nodding quickly. “You guys are idiots for not thinking of that sooner.”

Are they? Was it them being idiots that kept Ned at home? No, that was anxiety. Was it them being idiots that made Peter wholeheartedly welcome MJ as a roommate? No, that was... Ok, she doesn’t have an answer for that one, but she’s already said her thing about idiots, so she scoops her plate of cheese and crackers off the counter and slips past the confused face of her roommate, muttering about peer-reviewed academic sources.

It’s infuriating and unfair, as MJ numbly abandons her snack on her desk and sinks to the floor of her bedroom with her head in her hands, that the instant she agreed to move out was the same instant she noticed how cute her soon-to-be ex-roommate looks in sock-feet.

 Tuesday, February 2nd

Is there more to this urge that lies in me/’Cause it feels like there’s something I can’t see/But I don’t know what it means ― “Patience” (Hollow Coves)

“You have your key, right?” Peter checks. It’s twenty after seven in the morning and MJ’s hustling him out their apartment door ahead of her. Honestly, she’s trying to kick the back of his shoes to speed him up, but Spider-Roommate’s a little too agile.

“Right here,” she assures him, flashing him the key ring in her hand.

“I just didn’t want you to be―”

“I know, loser.”

She observes as he hefts his backpack onto his shoulder and reaches past her to pull the door shut after them. He locks up and drops his key into his backpack. The solo key. Right in there, with all the other crap Peter keeps crammed inside. Half the time, when he has class and she doesn’t, she hears him arrive home and gets up to let him in. (Has she been listening for him? Not consciously.) Otherwise, he’s fumbling through his bag for ages for that key. Hilarious that he thinks he needs to take care of her like this, when she’s the one who’s been doing that for him.

Caring in a loose sense. Not actual caring. Just, making something more convenient.

They walk down the stairs. MJ’s instinct is always to hang back―like she’s trailing him or trying not to be seen with him―but Peter always slows down to her pace, never making it a thing. By this point in the year, their steps are in sync. The rhythmic thumps are an excuse not to speak. For her, anyway.

It’s early and MJ doesn’t have class until tonight. The explanation she’s been going with since this little morning ritual started is that it gives her more time to get shit done and keeps her established sleep schedule from getting fucked up on days that she has to be on campus before noon. The number of steps they descend together has grown familiar beneath the soles of her sneakers, she knows every little gouge in the wall. With Ned moving in, the number of days left for MJ to do this is suddenly pretty small. She’s nervous about it; she’s never been one for countdowns. Pulling her wool cardigan closed, she crosses her arms over her chest like she’s holding herself in and tucks her hands into her armpits.

“Have a good morning,” Peter says, moving quickly across the cramped lobby to push the outer door open. “See ya.”

She feels him glance back at her, but she doesn’t return the look.

“Yep.”

Alone, MJ turns to their shared mailbox. Another benefit of a key ring: carrying multiple keys at one time without the risk of losing any of them. She opens it up, extracts their measly haul, and flips through as she climbs the stairs back to the apartment. The journey feels a lot farther when she’s heading up―could be the roommate that makes the difference, or only gravity.

Halfway up, she has to pause. It’s just junk mail, addressed to Peter, but she realizes she’s going to miss getting mail with his name on it.

 Wednesday, February 3rd

Maybe you and I could live together if we ever learn to ease the tension ― “You & I” (Colony House)

Ned’s over when MJ gets home. Today’s the longest day of her week―six hours of class back-to-back, followed by an hour and a half of the work study she signed up for because her scholarship doesn’t cover rent outside of student residence. It’s just papering bulletin boards with student council notices, and the mundanity of the work is nice, but she’s reached her quota for expending effort today; she accepts Ned’s high-five as she drags her feet past the couch and heads to her room, lying face-down on her bed until it feels like she’s whole again.

Gradually (very gradually), she rolls onto her side and grabs her warped copy of Moll Flanders off the bedside table. Something about a woman living an extremely precarious life calms her. MJ’s breathing becomes slow and silent, but she stops herself after 15 pages. If she keeps reading, she’ll fall asleep. Instead, she sits up and trades her socks for the cozier version wedged under her mattress. She has a secret fear that Peter will steal them. He’s gotten a covetous look in the past, so she’s taking precautions.

She pulls her laptop to her instead of going to her laptop and tidies up the Works Cited page on her in-progress paper. This task of thoughtless precision is the only school-related thing she feels like tackling for the rest of the day. All of today’s classes are either of the Monday-Wednesday variety or once a week, so MJ isn’t in a rush to get the readings done. She stops to think, pulling up the digital copy of her planner, and stares at the test she has marked down for next week. Hmm. It’s before her paper’s due, meaning studying for it won’t be taking priority, but the test format is a mix of multiple choice and short answer. The class―a sociology course―is graded on a curve and she’s in there with a bunch of students from non-writing programs who are consistently shit at short answer questions. As long as she refreshes her memory about the material being tested, the grading curve will push her competent written answers to the head of the class. It’s all about working the system.

During her time alone in the apartment yesterday, MJ hammered out a thesis and introductory paragraph. Now, she approaches them ruthlessly to see if she can streamline. This is the most critical part; actually writing the paper is just her hands flying across the keyboard, tossing in quotations like air-dropped care packages to her primary source-obsessed professor.

No, no, her brain is rejecting it. She’s done enough today. She doesn’t exactly want to socialize, but Peter and Ned are generally good about letting her quietly stew in their company without expecting much from her. MJ heads to the bathroom to wake herself up by washing her face, then out into the living room.

“What are you nerds doing?”

Half of the reason for her question is just to scare them (not that that’ll actually work on Mr. Super-senses over there) because she can see they’re about to put a movie on. Peter spins around to look at her while Ned rises from the couch. Privately, MJ thinks it’s kind of nice how Ned feels so at home here, where Peter is. Then again, it is about to become his home. Fuck, she needs to talk to the art people about that room.

“We were just gonna watch Alien,” Peter offers.

“Again? Didn’t you tell me you guys did an Alien marathon over winter break?”

He smiles like he’s been caught and it’s cu―funny.

“Yeah, and Ned’s making hot chocolate.”

“Oh yeah?” MJ watches Ned stride purposefully into their tiny kitchen. “Finally making yourself useful?”

He waves a dismissive hand at her and she snorts a laugh. They’ve gotten to this good friendship place of brotherly/sisterly teasing.

“You wanna watch?” Peter asks, calling her attention back to him. She weighs her looming essay against the full day behind her.

“Ok.”

“Hot chocolate, MJ?” Ned immediately asks.

“Well, since you’re determined to be such a good host.”

Ned grins and turns back to the kitchen. MJ leans against the wall, watching Peter put the movie in―not watching, just, like, observing―then glances at Ned. He hasn’t made much progress with their drinks. A mismatched trio of mugs is on the counter and... that’s it.

“You need a hand?” she asks, pushing off the wall.

“Where’s the kettle? Didn’t it used to be in this drawer?”

Ned points into the sliding drawer at their heap of assorted pots and pans.

“It did,” MJ explains. “But that one broke, so we bought a new one. A new one, WHICH WE’RE HOPING NOT TO BREAK BY DROPPING IT INTO THE DRAWER THIS TIME, RIGHT, PETER?”

Her roommate gives a sheepish laugh.

“Our new one’s tucked behind the toaster,” she tells Ned, directing him with a jerk of her chin.

“You guys are buying appliances together,” Ned chuckles. “That’s adorable.”

It’s a somnambulant walk to the couch, where MJ huddles in the corner and zones out for most of the movie.

 Thursday, February 4th

You burn through my mind, again and again, again/And again and again ― “Luna” (Bombay Bicycle Club)

Feeling a burst of resolve before the weekend, possibly in rebellion against Wednesday evening’s confusing feelings, MJ decides to text one of her art classmates re: the spare room. Somehow, what she ends up texting is a question about their prof’s office hours. Which MJ already knows the answer to.

Another thing she does is read the same page of her art history textbook over and over and over and over.

 Friday, February 5th

You’re the only one worth seeing/The only place worth being ― “Cold Cold Man” (Saint Motel)

Peter’s class finishes an hour before MJ’s, yet he always dithers with his packing, so they end up leaving the apartment for their trip back to Queens (courtesy of public transit) at the same time. Traveling with him is one of the less flawed aspects of a friendship with Peter Parker. He won’t glare manspreaders out of their prime seats like MJ would, but he knows the shortest routes and, while train and bus timetables never line up well for her, Peter’s memorized and mastered the schedule. They never wait around.

Also, there’s, like, a bubble of chill around him. No one in their vicinity behaves like a violent asshole―not verbally, not physically. Is it some kind of Spider-Man thing? Is Peter’s skin emitting a sedative to keep the other passengers relaxed? MJ isn’t relaxed. She sways into him multiple times, their overstuffed backpacks knocking together, and he smiles at her, unbothered, as her heart revs ineffectually like a remote-control car someone’s trying to urge up a steep slope.

They walk the last two blocks to the spot where their paths diverge. There’s enough sunshine that the light snow that fell overnight has already been transformed into the slimy grit crunched beneath their boots. Her bag’s beyond heavy at this point, but she knows, at any sign of lag, he’ll offer to carry it for her and she just can’t deal with that shit right now. ‘That shit’ being Peter’s thoughtfulness. MJ just... she needs a day, two days, to remember that she knows how to live without Peter always in the next room. Without joint ownership of a fucking kettle.

“So, text me when you wanna head back on Sunday and we’ll go together?”

MJ frowns. It isn’t clear if the question is the timing for the return trip or if they’ll be making it as a party of two. She shrugs.

“If that works for you.”

“Ok, awesome.”

She nods though it doesn’t feel like a situation where the word ‘awesome’ is called for.

“Later, nerd,” MJ says, aiming for her mom’s as she marches away.

“Hey, MJ?”

She glances back. Peter’s still standing there, plaintive look on his face, hands clutching the straps of his backpack. He never wears gloves. She keeps telling him to wear gloves. Is she supposed to be responsible for Spider-Man’s frostbite? What a pain in the ass this guy is.

Her attention’s enough to get him to continue.

“It’s ok, right? It’s ok about Ned moving in? It’s just, you were kind of quiet during the movie the other night and we didn’t talk much yesterday either...”

With a deep breath, MJ walks back to him.

“I’m just busy,” she says, meeting his eye, then letting her gaze drift off. “Big essay coming up.”

“...And about Ned?”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense, like I said. Did you forget?” It’s maybe the shittiest attempt at teasing someone ever made, but MJ doesn’t really tease Peter.

“But it’s not, like, bothering you or anything, is it? I mean, you don’t regret agreeing?”

Do you? she wants to ask and doesn’t.

“I’m fine, Parker, stop worrying about it,” she says instead. “If you bring this up again after Ned moves in with you, I’m going to have to come back to the apartment and booby-trap it, Home Alone-style.”

He smiles.

“Harsh.”

“Alright,” MJ concedes, “Parent Trap-style, like they did to the cabin. No swinging paint cans, just buckets of molasses.”

“Deal. Consider my silence bought.”

“I didn’t buy your silence, nerd, I ensured it through coercion. Aren’t you supposed to have experience dealing with bad guys? Yikes.”

Peter starts laughing and, incredibly, she does too, the two of them stalled on the corner.

“Ned’ll keep me out of trouble.”

“Yeah, well, he better,” she says easily. Too easily. Jesus, what the hell is she saying? “Because, uh, I need you alive long enough to pull off the Parent Trap thing.”

Shit, she made an offhanded reference to the possibility of his being murdered. Nice. Really great stuff. He won’t want her out on the 15th now―he’ll never want her back in the apartment with him again.

“Of course.”

Peter glances down, but when his face tilts back up, he’s smiling at her. Why the fuck does it feel like they’re saying goodbye forever? MJ nods an awkward farewell to end this strangeness. That’s when Peter moves towards her and she freezes. What’s he doing? They don’t have a secret handshake like he and Ned do. He catches himself when his arms start to lift and looks horrified.

“Sorry,” Peter blurts. “I don’t know what... I was going to hug you.” He laughs self-consciously. “That’d be weird, right?”

“And it’s managing to get weirder without even happening.”

He takes a step back, but MJ surges forward impulsively. She tucks her chin over his shoulder, her hands squeezing his sides because the backpack makes a full embrace impossible―Peter’s backpack is helping her make wiser choices than her own brain.

“Bye,” she says, soft and fast, and turns, jogging to catch the light.

 Saturday, February 6th

The longing never ends/Letting go of ways that we changed, still I pretend ― “Fire Flower” (Summer Salt)

Her gram comes over for dinner. Or, more like MJ and her mom pick her gram up from the apartment she shares with her sister and bring her back for dinner. Ever since Gram’s wife (they never made it official, but that doesn’t change who these women were to each other) died, she’s been living with her sister, but MJ’s great-aunt, 79 years old as she is, has a hot date tonight, so Gram has made time for them in her busy schedule. She’s a real jokester about that in the car, about how she’s missing Westworld for them. When MJ shoots back that she can and has watched Westworld any time she wants (she’s pretty sure Gram’s on her third rewatch of season one), her mom shoots her a look from the driver’s seat. When she adds that Gram only watches because she has a crush on Thandie Newton, they have to roll down the windows to let a little of the laughter out.

Her mom won’t let her wash dishes during her first visit home for over a month, but she has nothing against MJ drying them. As they work, Gram sits at the kitchen table and asks her all about school. Asks if she’s still drawing naked people (yes, Gram, the figure-drawing class runs all year), asks if Financial Aid’s trying to snatch her scholarship back (no, Gram, but I’ll call you if they try anything).

“And are you still living with that boy?”

Normally, MJ would laugh this question off, same as the others. Normally. Her hands still, holding a mug wrapped in a dampening tea towel.

“What’d you say, honey?”

Gram’s a little deaf and not used to MJ not firing an answer back immediately. She assumed she didn’t hear the response, not that MJ didn’t give one. MJ thinks for a second. Probably better not to alarm her gram with news of her upcoming change of living situation. She doesn’t want to be worried about and, technically, she is still living with ‘that boy’ for another eight days.

“Yes, Gram. Peter.”

“His name is not one of the things I need to know about him. I just need to know that he’s not getting in the way of your ascent to greatness.”

MJ smiles and finishes drying the mug.

“Nobody’s going to do that.”

“Good girl. And you feel safe there?”

“Gram, he’s an Avenger.”

Yeah, maybe that’s top-secret information. Whatever. Who’s her gram going to tell?

“I don’t mean do you think he’d pull you out if the building fell down―”

“Nice image, Mom,” MJ’s mother contributes with a roll of her eyes.

“―I mean how are you handling sharing a space with a boy who’s in love with you?”

MJ’s drying a fistful of silverware and it spills out of her grip, scattering across the counter. A lone spoon plops back into the sink’s soapy water. She clears her throat and reaches for the cutlery. Reaches even farther for her composure.

“He’s not, and what would that have to do with safety?”

“Let me tell you, he most certainly is.” Apparently, Gram’s rejecting the question. She never wastes her own time on words she can’t be bothered to speak.

“A boy and a girl can room together without there being... feelings,” MJ points out. It’s irritation that’s making her blush. Irritation at herself for being wrong-footed by her gram over Peter freaking Parker.

“Yes, they can, but I’m not talking about ‘a boy and a girl,’ I’m talking about Peter and yourself.”

“I think getting a Netflix account has made you suspicious,” MJ gently accuses. “What’ve you been watching on there?”

“None of your business.”

Gram changes the subject, letting her off the hook, but the next time MJ turns to look at her, Gram gives her a wink.

Well, she can think what she likes, even theorize aloud. Doesn’t make her right. If it’s between Peter and MJ, her own feelings are the ones that make her feel unsafe, unbalanced, unprepared. Maybe he’s considerate with her, maybe he’s kind to the point of being sweet (when she lets him be), but that’s Peter. That’s just Peter.

 Sunday, February 7th

You know I like you a lot, but/It still hits me like a rock ― “Hits Me Like a Rock” (CSS)

MJ’s breaking her promise to stay for lunch, bailing right after breakfast. She tells her mom she’d rather get back into school mode. Plus, she’ll be home for the week-long study break before midterms; only a week away. What she won’t think about is the possibility that she’ll be using her studying time for learning-to-cope-without-Peter-in-the-next-room time instead.

She doesn’t text him, by the way. Why cut his weekend short? True, escorting her home isn’t his responsibility, but he’d find some way to feel obligated. Definitely a Spider-Man thing. If only his overdeveloped sense of responsibility carried over into the putting his socks away department. Which is what she comes home to: Peter’s socks just inside the door of their apartment. On the floor, peeking out of every pair of his shoes like a grubby Beatrix Potter scene. MJ has no memory of things looking so dire when she left (they left―together). Must’ve been distracted by trying to remember if she had her transit pass, or whether her mom had asked her to bring anything home for dinner.

The sidewalks have become slushy again and, based on the wet spot near the toe of her left sock, she needs to re-waterproof her boots. For now, she troops straight to her bedroom, holding her dripping boots in one hand and a paper towel beneath them with her other. MJ settles them over the heat vent in her room. As she switches to dry socks, she eyes the boots like they should’ve known better.

It’s a cozy, forgetful few hours of solitude. Her paper’s due Thursday and the body of it isn’t exactly taking shape; she’s straining against the traditional essay format and finding it messy going, even though it feels like she’s on the right track. High school has underprepared her for this and overprepared her for things like... robotics. It’s amazing how few people give a fuck about robotics when she’s sitting in a lecture on the Dutch masters.

Peter never remembers to shut his bedroom door and, without trying to look, MJ gets a glimpse from the hall, right through his room and out the window, of snow lazily starting to fall when she rises to get a glass of water. The call of hot water is strong, but she showered his morning before breakfast. The best she can do is snuggle into bed and languidly run a highlighter over some readings for Tuesday.

MJ finds out she fell asleep when she wakes up to Peter’s disbelieving shriek. The sound isn’t loud, but it has her up and fighting her way out of her blankets to stumble into the hallway at the same time her roommate comes sliding into it from the kitchen. He sighs in relief. Spins, clutching his hair. That’s a little much, she thinks. What a fucking dork.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, ignoring how good it feels to see him again. Again? They were apart a day.

“You never texted me and then, and then―” He gestures behind him. “―your boots weren’t at the door.”

“They were soaked,” MJ explains slowly. “They’re drying in my room.”

Peter’s still getting over... whatever this is that’s happening to him.

“Your boots are always at the door.”

She looks at him carefully, surprised to discover he seems to be coming down from genuine panic.

“Are you ok?”

He does an odd shrugging motion and approaches her.

“I’m ok.”

“Do you need a―”

Peter claps his arms around her and MJ goes immobile.

“Yeah, I did,” he agrees.

She’s trying to figure out when she should tell him she planned to end that sentence with ‘doctor.’ Or something else, even. Something that would calm him. Only... he does seem calm. Feel calm. His hands are spread on her back. His body’s sturdy enough to pull her in and push her back out again with his every breath when he’s hugging her like this, but at least they’re slow breaths. It’s actually kind of ok. Nice. Warm. Confusing.

Before MJ can wrap her arms around his neck, caught up in this intermission from the Parker and Jones: Roommates and Nothing More sitcom, Peter puts his hands firmly on her waist and steps away from her. Then glances down to see where his hands are and drops them.

“S-sorry. I... I was... I overreacted.”

“I’m fine,” she says with what’s supposed to be a shrug but manifests as a twitch. “I’m good. Nobody murdered me on my way home. So...” Idiotically, MJ chucks him on the shoulder in a mortifyingly fatherly manner. “Thanks for keeping the streets safe, Spider-Man.”

“Uh, yeah, you’re welcome. Glad you’re safe.”

Peter’s red-faced, swinging his arms, looking at her and then not looking at her, as she retreats back into her room and closes the door.

Not safe. MJ is not safe.

 Monday, February 8th

I’ll speak a little louder, I’ll even shout/You know that I’m proud and I can’t get the words out ― “Everywhere” (Fleetwood Mac)

She’s wasting the one-hour gap she has between classes. It’s supposed to be for eating lunch and, these days, either studying for tomorrow’s test or adding something brilliant to her paper. It isn’t supposed to be for eating lunch with a couple of nerds who’ve braved the art building to join her. Ned’s awe of the building makes MJ start to smile before he changes topics to the reason he and Peter are actually barging into her schedule―discussion of Ned’s move-in.

Based on their landlord’s 1st and 15th rule, Ned will be an official renter seven days from now. To the boys, it therefore makes sense for Ned to be taking over that day. And to MJ too, of course. It totally makes sense to MJ. The 15th is also the first day of their break week, so there won’t be classes to plan around. Nothing could be more straightforward! MJ can get her stuff packed up this weekend (the 13th-14th) and have her mom pick her up in the car the next day to relocate her to her new living space. Which―fuck―she’s definitely going to text her classmate about. When asked about her living plans directly, she smiles and spoons hot soup into her mouth.

She’s good with it. Ned’s good with it. Peter’s... holding things up. He claims he’s only wondering if they need more time before Ned moves in because he doesn’t want anyone’s boxes to get mixed up. Ned pipes up with information on his thorough labelling technique. MJ just watches Peter. His eyes flick to her more than once, like she’s going to protest, maybe? She wouldn’t. She doesn’t want to screw this up for them. Rooming together is what these two losers wanted from the start. The only thing she has to do is step aside. Fine, she can manage that.

“And we’ll just... see each other around,” Peter says as the three of them are finishing lunch.

But he doesn’t say it to Ned, obviously. Not to Ned, who will be living across the narrow hallway from him in a week. He’s looking right at MJ. Damn his gentle, baby-animal eyes. She hadn’t really thought about this. When would she see Peter? They’re in different programs with classes in different buildings. Their schedules overlap in a way that was convenient for eating dinner together most nights, not in a way that means they’ll bump into each other on campus during their downtime. They’re overachievers who haven’t been able to sustain friendships outside of school. Except for with Ned. Except for with each other.

When Peter does this incomprehensible motion that, in another universe, might look like he was reaching for her hand, MJ nods in agreement. Then, as her eyes start to well without her permission, pretends to have burnt the roof of her mouth on her final spoonful of soup.

It’s been cold for half an hour.

 Tuesday, February 9th

Bless your body, bless your soul/Pray for peace and self-control ― “The World We Live In” (The Killers)

MJ isn’t sweating because she’s retroactively stressed about the test. The test went fine. She prepared; in fact, she overprepared―devoting her entire morning and too much of the afternoon to revision when she should’ve been working on her fucking paper. That’s why she hurried back. That’s why she’s sweaty and ready for a hot shower. It’ll refresh and refocus her and she’ll bang out a few paragraphs of the paper tonight, a few tomorrow (even though it’s the longest day of her week; she’s putting the nightmarish reality out of her mind for now), and have time to proofread the whole thing Thursday morning before she turns it in.

It’s a plan and she loves it. MJ heads to her room, vaguely noticing that Peter’s bedroom door is shut. Huh, maybe he’s hunkered down to do some studying of his own. She dumps her backpack and flings off her sweatshirt and, you know what, her t-shirt too when it wants to cling to the sweatshirt and be removed at the same time. The bathroom’s right next to her room.

MJ darts over in her bra and the sweatpants she wore to take her test and opens the door.

Just as Peter flips the bathroom light on.

She twists away and slams her back into the hallway wall. Jesus Christ. Blinking won’t wipe away the sight of Peter standing there with a towel tucked around his hips. Just the towel. Just that one towel. Fuck, she has to handle this somehow. The situation, that is.

“Sorry,” MJ blurts. “The light was off and, and I didn’t think and―”

“I like to shower in the dark. It kinda lets my senses rest and―”

“I finished my test early so you probably weren’t expecting me home and―”

“―then I needed the light on to shave because I cut myself enough with it on to have zero desire to attempt shaving my face in the dark and―”

Her heart’s pounding so loudly that between that sound and her own words, she’s barely catching any of what Peter’s saying.

“Such an invasion of privacy,” she sighs out in conclusion. He falls silent too. The bathroom door’s still open and a warm radiance stretches the width of the hall; MJ wants to reach her fingertips out and let them glow.

“So,” Peter says, urgency draining into timidity, “your test went well?”

“Yeah.” Looking down at her bare feet on the carpet of the hallway they still share, MJ smiles. “You cut yourself shaving?”

“You can laugh if you want.”

His tone isn’t offended and she knows he wouldn’t mind if she did laugh. Probably wouldn’t be surprised. She isn’t... she isn’t soft with him.

“I was just wondering why I’ve never noticed.”

“Oh, well, the cuts heal up pretty fast. They’re small cuts. I’m not that bad at shaving.” Peter clears his throat and she’s standing there yet, listening. “Plus, we don’t get close.”

A terrible, awkward, one-note laugh rips out of MJ.

“True.”

But her roommate doesn’t join in.

“We’re never close,” he says quietly. She shivers.

MJ’s back in her bedroom with the door shut―leaning against it―in a second. Maybe Peter started to move when she moved. Maybe he stepped out into the hallway with his raggedy towel and his squeaky-clean skin and the flush on his face from the steam because he heard her and thought she might be coming his way instead of hiding like a coward. She can’t know without witnessing it. His footsteps never make a sound.

 Wednesday, February 10th

It’s hard to know which way to go/Come and find me, come and find me ― “Between Days” (Far Caspian)

Clearly, despite her best intentions, MJ is giving off a vibe. Not her regular approach with caution vibe. No, no. She doesn’t know where that withering aura of distance has gone, but she’s lost it and the atmosphere around her has changed as smoothly as the colours in a mood ring. It must have, because Peter hugs her for the second time this week, pulling her into an abrupt embrace before she heads off to campus in the morning.

This is supposed to be the thing about roommates, right? Always invading your space. Only, through the decaying brick wall of her denial, she sees that this isn’t the same thing. He’s not rummaging through her search history or eating her groceries (besides―fuck―they’re kind of their groceries, like the whole kettle situation); he’s initiating moments of physical affection. MJ knows the hugs are affectionate and not perfunctory. If it were otherwise, if they were the kind of automatic hugs that happen in less established friendships upon every meeting and farewell, Peter and MJ would always have done them and it wouldn’t feel so momentous that, suddenly, he’s electing to hold her.

He doesn’t try it when she gets home. That’s a good thing. She’s tired and not so much cooking dinner as microwaving an assortment of shit from the fridge for the sloppy meal that will sustain her through wrapping up the final section of her midterm paper and writing the conclusion. Peter’s sitting on the couch with a textbook in his lap when she gives him a sharp wave and goes to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

The final section is an uphill (if the hill’s a ski slope slicked over by ice rain―and also there’s an avalanche rumbling down from the submit) battle that takes until nearly 10pm to complete. MJ’s focus is hanging by a thread and she’s rerouting all of her energy to keeping her brain on task. That means no getting up to hunt up a chocolate bar or make a cup of coffee. She can do this. She just has to force herself through to the end. It’s one more paragraph, or maybe a big one and a small final final one of a line or two, to bring home her argument with a little more flair.

MJ pushes ahead, but apparently, the scale of her determination hasn’t left enough space for her memory to function, because she’s mixing up the order of her sub-points, and she’s missing the first part of her thesis entirely. She keeps scrolling―up-down, up-down―to refer to the part she’s already written. It’s coherent, and that should be helping her now, but fucking stress or something is making her concentration worse the harder she tries.

She lives lightly in the apartment. She’s tidy and contained and quiet. The sound of frustration she makes as it feels like this whole assignment is unraveling (has she fucked it up from the beginning? Should she start over completely? Oh god, it’s eleven o’clock! How is it eleven?!) is hellish. MJ’s head slumps to her desk and she starts weeping. Why is this so hard? She’s tired.

It’s possible that she doesn’t hear his knock, but Peter barges into her room. She gets herself to sit up and wipe her fingers under her eyes, her palms over her wet cheeks.

“It’s not―” Coming together, she wants to say. Fair, she wants to say.

“I know,” Peter interrupts, walking over to her chair. “How ‘bout you step away from that for a minute?”

He puts his hand out to her and MJ sniffles as she stares at it. She slaps her palm to his and he holds on, pulling her up. Probably to guide her towards the TV or the kitchen for a hot drink, but MJ steps into him instead, her head on his shoulder, her nose against his neck.

It’s the smell she’s smelt when she hangs her coat on the hook next to his, when she sits on the couch and can tell he’s recently sat in the same spot. Normally, this is a following smell―the scent of coming upon him after he’s gone. Shock that it’s become a now smell makes MJ jerk back, realizing what she’s doing. She’s never practiced friendly hugs. She doesn’t know how to do them. Peter, on the other hand, hugs people all the time―mainly Ned and his aunt―and yet his failings are equal to hers. There’s nothing pal-like in how he puts his hands on her or flexes his arms around her or gently gathers her closer. When he lets her step back, she sort of wishes he hadn’t. But she’s not thinking. Fucking paper.

MJ swivels and sits on the edge of her mattress.

“I can’t end it,” she tells him bluntly.

Peter’s eyebrows raise... hopefully?

“No?”

She shakes her head.

“My introduction’s solid, but I’m getting lost somewhere in the middle trying to recap it.”

“Oh. Oh. Well, you could maybe― Is it ok if I sit down?” She nods. He continues, glancing sideways at her, a foot of space between them. “You could read it out loud? To me?”

“The whole essay?”

“If that’s what you need.”

MJ narrows her eyes at him.

“Parker, don’t you have your own work to do?”

He shrugs.

“I handed in a report today and I have a quiz on Friday. The grading for that class is, like, fifty percent quizzes. Pretty sure my prof just didn’t want to have to make up an exam.”

“Then my real question is, why do you want to do this?”

Why is she pushing him? MJ doesn’t know. Honestly, she’d prefer if it she shut up right about now and quit trying to get rid of her roommate. Her handsome, academically-capable roommate, sitting next to her on her bed. The only other time he’s touched her bed was when he helped her move it in here in September.

“Because it’s too soon to rewatch Alien?” She catches Peter’s eye and grants him a smirk as he laughs at his own joke. “Go,” he encourages, nodding towards her laptop. “Read it.”

With an indulgent sign, MJ lifts her computer from her desk to her lap. She mumbles a little at first; even if it’s a stupid paper rather than creative writing, they’re her words and she’s speaking them aloud for him to hear. But three paragraphs in, she glances over and Peter’s leaning back on his hands with his eyes closed. MJ almost snaps at him for not listening―incredible how fast the stress will flare up and demand an outlet―until she realizes he’s concentrating, eyebrows pulling together as she continues. Immediately after that, she stumbles over a full fucking sentence, but she comes out the other side with a steadier, louder voice.

When she reaches the end of what she has written, Peter nods and opens his eyes.

“I think―” he starts, but MJ shushes him.

Frantically, her hands trip and clack across her keyboard. The conclusion pours out, word after word after word. One big paragraph and a small final final one for flair. The second she’s done typing, MJ saves the document, puts her laptop back on her desk, and falls backwards onto her bed.

She takes three deep breaths, then says, “Now I just have to edit it.”

“Don’t I get to hear your conclusion?”

“In a minute.”

Peter drops onto his back beside her and sighs like he’s being denied something he really wanted. She rolls her eyes at him. What a nerd.

Their arms brush. He bounces his foot. Her back cracks when she pushes her shoulder into the mattress. She looks at him and gets the feeling that she just missed him looking at her.

“I’m waiting,” he whispers, and MJ laughs.

“Let it breathe, Parker. I just finished it.”

“Can you pass me that blanket then? I’m getting cold.”

“It’s like a hundred degrees in here,” she argues, but she thumps the blanket folded across her bed onto her roommate’s stomach.

After a minute of watching him get cozy, MJ’s jealous.

“Give me some of that.”

He lets her tug it over. The blanket’s big (Gram made it that way), but she’s pretty sure Peter moves closer with it.

She tucks her legs up and catches site of his watch as she arranges herself. A bit after midnight. Quarter-after. At quarter-after, she’ll get up, evict the dork from her room, and edit. MJ closes her eyes.

 Thursday, February 11th

I had a dream that I kissed your lips and it felt so true/Then I woke up as a nervous wreck and I fell for you ― “Fell for You” (Green Day)

They’ve made up for three years of nearly hug-less friendship in one night; MJ wakes up slowly to find her arms around Peter, and his around her. She keeps her eyes half-open. Evidently, they clung in their sleep, facing each other, and she’s never been so comfortable. But things are going to get uncomfortable any second when Peter stirs. She almost doesn’t want him to. Then, he shifts and she feels his erection against her thigh where it’s slotted between his. MJ tries to cautiously extract her leg―heart pounding in her ears―and Peter lifts his bowed head. His bleary brown eyes meet hers.

“Hi.” His voice is like rug burn.

“I have to edit my paper,” she remembers.

She’s waking up more now, noticing the light in her room. Not the lamp she left on last night, but the morning light that generally brightens the space, coming from Peter’s window across the hall. She puts her hand down to push herself up to a sitting position and it lands on his upper arm. In a blink, his hand’s gripping her arm, preventing a topple. Wow, those reflexes are something. MJ glances shyly down into her roommate’s face.

“Paper,” she says again.

“Right.”

He sits up quickly beside her―hair all sticking up at the back of his head―and she pretends not to notice him notice his erection.

“I’ll, uh, maybe I’ll see you for breakfast?”

MJ nods without looking at him and hears Peter stumble backwards out of her room, kicking away the blanket that’s tangled around his foot. He closes the door behind him and she does not see him at breakfast. The awkward energy from the situation that she doesn’t really take time to process sends her headlong into edits. When she does make it to the kitchen, it’s with her paper tucked inside a presentation folder and her hand snatching a store-bought muffin off the counter. She can hear the shower running and is grateful that she won’t have to face Peter yet.

No, that doesn’t happen until she’s on campus, between classes; she’s handed in her assignment without incident and it’s a huge relief. Not only does Peter know her schedule as well she knows his, apparently, but he also knows exactly where she’ll be on her break. She almost bumps into him coming around the corner of a building.

It feels like she’s seeing a one-night stand in the light of day―except they didn’t sleep together and MJ already saw him in the light of day. It’s just such a contrast between this morning and now. For one thing, they’re upright. For another, they’re both fully awake.

She offers an uncertain, close-lipped smile as they exchange ‘hi’s.

“Um,” MJ starts, “what’re you doing here, Peter?”

“Oh, I just wanted to find out how it went. With your essay.”

“Well, I turned it in and I can’t really tell you more than that until I get it back.”

They stare at each other for a minute before Peter goes, “Right. Right, right, right.”

“You wanna... walk with me?”

“Sure. I have class in twenty minutes, and I have to get over to the other end of campus, but―”

“Go!”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Go, you moron. What are you doing here?”

“I was gonna bring you...” He pats his pockets and she knows it’ll be fruitless before he tells her. If whatever Peter needs isn’t already in his hand, he’s forgotten it somewhere. This is a Rule of Peter. “A chocolate bar. I forgot it.”

She smiles.

“That’s ok.”

“I thought you might need the energy since it was a pretty late night.”

The girl walking past them darts an interested glance in their direction. MJ glares at her, but Peter really could’ve phrased that to sound more innocent. Because it was innocent. Wasn’t it? A couple of students collapse from the exhaustion of midterm assignments. That’s not a clever romantic setup, it’s overwork thanks to a system designed to crank them through the academia factory and spit them out at the end with a degree.

“Yeah. Um, I’ll survive,” she promises. “You better get to class.”

Peter takes a few steps and turns back like he’s struggling with something, wanting to speak.

“Seriously, Parker,” MJ insists. “If you’re late, I’ll almost feel bad.”

This is supposed to be the part where he laughs, but her roommate just looks conflicted as he walks away from her.

He almost brought her a chocolate bar. God, she is so fucked.

 Friday, February 12th

That’s not just friendship, that’s romance too/You like music we can dance to ― “I’ll Try Anything Once” (The Strokes)

“Have you been waiting long?” MJ asks when she leaves class and Peter’s standing right outside, hands in his pockets.

He scrunches his face up and turns to fall into step with her as they leave the building, then campus.

“It sounds better if I say, ‘no,’ right?”

She laughs and looks over at him.

“If you do, I’m going to assume that, on top of finishing class an hour before I do, you were also let out early.”

“It’s that obvious I’m trying that hard?” he asks with a sheepish smile.

What. MJ can’t respond.

After a minute, Peter sighs.

“I might as well tell you that my prof said we didn’t have to come today.”

“You didn’t actually have to be on campus at all?”

“No.”

“So, you’re just here...”

He nods at her implied ‘for me.’

“We’re on break now,” Peter reminds her. “Let me walk home with my roommate.”

“Might as well. Last chance.”

She feels him staring at her, but MJ does her best to look straight ahead as they walk back to their apartment.

He’s on the phone with Ned later, sitting on the arm of the couch in their living room. MJ starts putting her things together, neat piles of books and folded clothes that’ll be easier to pack tomorrow and Sunday. She leaves her door open. It used to annoy her (or she lied to herself that it did), how often Peter and Ned talk on the phone―don’t they know their generation isn’t supposed to do that anymore?―and the fact that her roommate’s soft voice carries so well through their apartment. Ok, fine, it doesn’t carry that well, she just listens for it. She can admit it now, in her bedroom, standing near the doorway to hear his happy voice.

Peter’s flopped backwards, off the arm and onto the couch and still talking animatedly to his best friend, when MJ emerges from her room. She walks directly to the couch and drops her balled-up cozy socks onto his stomach, fleeing before he can attempt to catch her eye.

 Saturday, February 13th

This is not a test, welcome to the party/I’ve been on my best behaviour, but I think it’s time/ You saw the other side ― “Best of Me” (Amanda Marshall)

MJ ruthlessly scours the apartment for every article of her clothing that could possibly be dirty. It’s not a tough job; unlike Peter, she mostly keeps her stuff in her bedroom. She has a sack for carrying her laundry to their building’s first-floor machines (because an actual laundry basket takes up too much space with its defined corners) and she stuffs it, lugging everything down there before breakfast. Waiting around is kind of nice because none of the other tenants have shown up yet. Plus, like always, MJ has a book. She transfers her load from the washer to the dryer and leans back against the wall, flipping through a yellowed, soft-paged copy of The Joy Luck Club.

Since she’s been doing laundry down here all year (except for when she goes home for the weekends and winter break), MJ knows the ways of these machines. Which is why it’s so disturbing when the dryer halts five minutes before its cycle should be ending. Unwatched, she jabs at the settings, but the machine’s completely crapped out, so MJ starts hauling her laundry back into the sack. The small stuff―socks, underwear, t-shirts―has dried, but her sweatshirts are still damp. Unfortunately, with the stress of assignments, the sweatshirts are what she’s primarily lived in the past few weeks, meaning all four of them were in there at once, and all four of them are too damp to put on.

She laughs bitterly at herself; at the last second, she’d even taken off the sweatshirt she had on over her tank top.

To stay warm and keep herself from running into anyone, MJ pounds up the stairs and slips into her apartment. She can pack up the dry clothes and hang the sweatshirts off her doorframe, her chair, wherever else seems suitable, until they dry. She’s flinging one over the shower rod when Peter comes walking down the hall and pokes his head in.

“The dryer...” she starts to explain, positioning her sweatshirt, but Peter disappears. MJ rolls her eyes.

In a minute, though, he’s back. When she turns to leave the bathroom, her roommate thrusts one of his own sweatshirts at her.

“Peter,” she sighs, “stop trying to take care of me.”

“Ok, I will after this.” He shakes the sweatshirt at her. “Put it on.”

“What are you trying to do, nerd? Mark me as your territory? Quit being such a Neanderthal.”

With a smirk, MJ brushes by him, but Peter tries to lay the sweatshirt over her shoulder. She shrieks a laugh, ducking to escape it, and suddenly her roommate has his arms around her waist, picking her up with her back to his chest.

“You’re gonna be cold,” he huffs, leaning backward as she squirms.

“I’ll get a blanket!”

“A blanket will get in the way while you’re packing!”

“I’ll cope! Let me go pack!”

“Just wear! My! Sweatshirt!”

She goes limp and he sets her on her feet.

“I surrender,” MJ declares.

“Good.”

Peter bends to pick up the sweatshirt she’s shaken off with all their goofing around, breaking his hold on her, and she bolts for the living room yelling, “Sike!”

Logically, she’s aware that she can’t outrun Spider-Man, but a giddy mania pushes her to attempt it. He tackles her into the back of their couch before she can clamber over. Well, it’s sort of a tackle. Actually, Peter’s barely touching her, but he’s behind her with his hands gripping the back of the couch to either side of her hips.

“There,” she says, feeling him at her back, “you saved me from being cold.” MJ turns with a prepared smile; as the silliness fades away, the way his exhalations hit her back felt too much like tension. She meets his eye, straightening up because he’s so close. What did he say? They’re never close? “I’ll just jog up and down the hall every so―”

Peter kisses her mouth.

Just as she begins to lean into it, brain swirling and spiking with confusion, he steps back. Then again. Again, again, again. He spins at the hall and goes right to his bedroom.

MJ doesn’t know what to do, so she stands there a few minutes, face working its way through a series of expressions dictated by the imaginary conversation she and her roommate are having in her head. The one they have because he stays put two goddamn seconds after planting one on her. His sweatshirt’s on the floor near the kitchen. MJ walks over and yanks it on, feeling vulnerable and bewildered.

Eventually, she plods back to her room.

It’s a shock when Peter knocks on her door a while later. She left it open, which was terrifying. She just figured, with this being the end, truly the end, she would allow whatever was going to happen to happen. If the kiss was an awkward misunderstanding, MJ will be leaving that behind with all the rest of her conflicted feelings two days from now.

“What’s up, Parker?” she asks, not turning around to face him. She’s packing up her printer, stuffing it back into the box it came in and taping it closed.

“Do you need any help?”

“Not really. You can help carry my mattress out of here when my mom comes on Monday though.”

She’s anticipating a quip rather than an evasion. Peter Parker is the kind of friend who will voluntarily carry your shit when you move. But he doesn’t give her either.

“You’re really going.”

Slightly annoyed, MJ turns to stare at him.

“Yeah, I’m really going. Hence the packing. It was your idea, remember?”

“It was easier when I thought you didn’t want to be here.”

She laughs the fakest laugh of her life.

“I don’t want to be here. You make loud phone calls and, and you come in late at night and you have socks everywhere. I think you might actually own every sock every human being has ever lost.”

He frowns at her.

“You never mentioned any of that. In the five months we’ve lived together, you never asked me to speak more quietly or put more effort into containing my clothes to my room.”

“Well,” MJ shoots back in exasperation, “now you know!”

“Are you mad at me for offering your room to Ned?”

“Peter...” She gives him a desperate look. It’s too late for this. Doesn’t he fucking get that? MJ exhales a sharp breath. “Peter, I’m moving out on Monday.”

“What if you didn’t?”

He’s being such an idiot. Everything is arranged. She can’t stay now that Ned’s about to come bounding in with his Lego and his best-friendship to be a better match for Peter’s roommate that she ever was.

“I texted my classmate on Monday about the room. It’s mine. I’m moving out of here, Ned’s moving in. Everything’s settled.”

“Could we unsettle it?”

Peter walks into her room, right up to her. His eyes are pleading and she doesn’t want him to see that this little trick of his works just as well on her as on anyone else. That she’s susceptible to him. That’s not who they are to each other; she’s made a very good career of being his sarcastic, distant friend.

“You just don’t like change,” MJ tells him. “You didn’t mean it.” The kiss. “It was just a misguided attempt to keep me here. Nothing more.” She crosses her arms.

“You’re gonna hate hearing this, but you’re wrong.”

“Maybe I’m right and you haven’t figured it out yet.”

Peter shakes his head.

“It can’t be just me who’s felt different since I told you Ned’s moving in. Something’s changed.”

She rolls her eyes.

“You think you’re an expert on my feelings because you saw me cry in a moment of stress.”

“And you saw me half-naked!”

MJ glances away in frustration and because she doesn’t want him to see her reliving that memory.

“Being first year roommates,” she starts after a long pause, “is a condition. It’s a state of being that’s meant to change.”

“Good! I want to change it! I want us to be more than roommates. MJ, why can’t this be easy?”

“Because you noticed me last week and I’ve had a crush on you since we were fifteen!” she blurts out. “And don’t goddamn ask me why I didn’t say anything because not everyone’s brave like you, Peter. Ok? Not everyone’s Spider-Man. Some of us are just the roommate across the hall. Let me fucking get over this in peace!”

“Sure,” he says, looking down. “Got it.”

Peter nods definitively and twists away. Reaching her doorway, he turns his head slightly.

“Just so you know, you only have me beat by a year.”

 Sunday, February 14th

By tomorrow I’ll be leaving/By tomorrow I’ll be gone/If you want to tell me something/You had better make it strong ― “Coming Down” (Dum Dum Girls)

On one hand, her mind knows the late-night assignment-finishing sessions are over for a while. On the other, it won’t let her sleep. MJ tosses and turns until almost four in the morning before she gets out of bed. In the dark, the only thing she can find to throw on over her pajama top is Peter’s sweatshirt, so she does.

Her thoughts felt so clear while she was lying down, but now that she’s up, things are hazy again. Did Peter really confess that he’s been interested in her since they were sixteen? Does that piece of information make her feel as mixed-up and, somehow, cheated as it did when he said it? Two morons in one apartment. Ned’s got a lot to live up to.

MJ leaves her room and crosses the hall to where Peter’s door is ajar, letting out a sliver of blue-white light. He’s probably sleeping. He won’t hear her coming if he’s sleeping. If he’s sleeping, she bargains with herself, she’ll turn right around and go back to bed. She eases the door open. Peter’s bedding rustles as he rolls over to face her.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she mumbles. Fuck. Worst possible icebreaker in this situation.

“If I invite you in,” he wonders, voice groggy with insomnia, “are you going to push me away again?”

“No.”

“So do you believe what I said?”

MJ sighs.

“I’m trying to.”

Peter waits a minute, then pushes himself up in bed to sit with his back against the wall.

“You can come over here if you want.”

She hesitates for less time than her reluctant nature wants her to. Putting her hand out low, MJ feels for the end of the bed and sits down. It’s miles from him. We’re never close, he said.

“You’re wearing my sweatshirt,” he notes when she doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t start with that again,” she warns, but it’s light. This time, he waits her out until MJ’s compelled to speak into their silence. She begins at a whisper. “Caring about you is really hard. When we were in high school, I sort of felt my role was the unnecessary third wheel to you and Ned, and it still feels like that. Like, I think about you and I worry when I don’t hear you come home at night and, yeah, Peter, I was hurt when you sprung the Ned’s-moving-in thing on me.”

“To be fair,” Peter chimes in, “I never thought there was a reason that shouldn’t happen. I thought this whole living together thing was just a favour you were doing me. So, when Ned brought it up, I thought, finally, I can give MJ a way out.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, so are you.”

MJ smiles down at her lap.

“I have to tell you all of it, ok?” Peter asks softly.

Her heart’s pounding too hard. The light in the room isn’t moonlight, just the glow of someone in the next build over’s TV through the curtains. MJ only looks at him when the mattress shifts; he’s getting out of bed, wearing a dorky shirt and plaid bottoms.

“Tell me all of it,” she prompts when he stops in front of her, looking like he’s forgotten his lines.

“MJ, I love you.”

It sounds so right, but at the same time, she’s so scared. It’s a painful thing, looking up at Peter’s face. One half aglow.

“So, that’s all of it,” she says, trying to digest his confession without being too distracted by the depth of his expression.

He laughs shortly at himself.

“Not quite.”

And he kneels.

“What the fuck, Peter,” she gasps, jolting backwards.

“I don’t have a ring because I really haven’t thought this part out,” Peter says. MJ can’t say anything. Her throat, tongue, and lips are all broken. “I just know that I can’t let you go. You promised your new roommates you were coming, and I promised Ned he was moving in here, and that’s fine. It doesn’t matter where you’re living, I’m going to love you. I can wait to get married, or even engaged for real, but I couldn’t wait any longer for you to know how I feel. That’s all of it.”

She’s stunned. He looks exposed and terrified, like he’s holding his skin open, waiting for her to snap his ribs one by one before ripping his heart out. It takes long seconds, many of them, for MJ to shift forward until she slides off the bed to sit in front of her roommate. She takes his hand.

“We are engaged for real.”

With a relieved burst of laughter, Peter grabs the back of her head and kisses her hard. Oh, she’ll put stipulations on later―no ring before graduation, no wedding until they’re both employed full-time―but right now, she’s following Spider-Man’s example and reacting on instinct.

“Oh, and I love you too,” she adds between kisses.

His hands slide down her back. Everything about the way he’s touching her says: finally. Maybe they’re skipping a step, the one where one of them asks the other out and they go on dates and meet each other’s families. But they kind of have done those things. They’ve been living together since the fall, eating dinner together most nights, easing each other’s tiny stresses most days. They know each other’s secrets and coffee orders. They know, period.

MJ loops her arms behind his neck to hold him against her while they kiss, but when they start to lean sideways, it’s Peter who mutters, “bed.”

He repeats it as a question and she nods, hands clasped in his as they help each other to their feet. It’s so simple, this part. Peter draws back the covers and they tumble and rearrange. Murmured admissions of inexperience and the way he blushes when she asks about protection―not because he hasn’t bought any, but because he has.

“You know we’re fucked if this part’s no good, right?” she checks. She’s only partly joking. “We’ve staked everything on this.”

“This is just you and me,” he replies. “Same as everything else.”

MJ has this vague plan to leave his sweatshirt on if he doesn’t say anything about it, but by the time they’ve shimmied each other out of their pajama bottoms, she’s ten thousand degrees. So she wriggles free of the sweatshirt and the t-shirt she sleeps in and Peter hugs her tight to him. He can’t be real. She puts her arms tentatively around his back, expecting her hands to pass right through him. But he’s solid and warm and on top of her, shaking slightly when MJ runs her fingers through his hair.

She keeps it up, smoothing his hair and stroking the back of his neck, as Peter’s mouth finds her collarbone, as his hand runs down her stomach to tuck between her legs. The hitch in her breathing makes him groan and bite down on her nipple. When she lifts her hips, he rubs her more fiercely. She orgasms digging her fingers into his chest―the other hand clammy against his hair line, maybe from her palm, maybe from his skin.

Chest heaving, he tells her they don’t have to do any more if she doesn’t want to. MJ reaches between their panting bodies and takes hold of his erection. Looks into his eyes as she moves her grip up and down. Convinced, Peter rolls off of her to bang open the drawer of his bedside table. She stacks his pillows, shuffling up higher, and when he returns to her, she raises her knees to cage him in. They both watch his hands put the condom on.

The next few minutes are measured in the evolving rhythms of their breathing. Peter works himself in and out of her incrementally, so much tension in his arms and back where her needy hands grasp. She needs him―it’s a miraculous revelation. That he’s been an essential part of her life, piece of her existence, and that it’s ok for her to need him, not just dispassionately or critically observe the best and worst of him. She holds him tighter and he clutches her thigh, pushing in all the way. This feeling is as much of a stranger to her as she’s been to herself.

Peter’s still for a minute. Quietly, he says, “We actually did this.”

“Yeah,” MJ agrees, tracing his spine.

Suddenly moving together takes priority over the disbelieving laughter they began to volley back and forth. She rocks her hips with and against his thrusts and it’s like they’re fighting to push the same swing from opposite sides―the movements don’t match up at first, but eventually, an instinctive force takes over and the swing swings. Peter breathes hard into her neck; MJ hooks her legs up around his hips. Single-mindedly, they grope for just the right speed, just the right pressure. He kisses her neck and her eyes roll back as she holds his face there.

When he drags against her, catching her clit, MJ uses her legs to make sure those electrifying passes continue. But Peter can tell from the sounds she’s making too, she thinks. Though brief and disconnected, her cries are climbing in pitch. He picks up the pace when she asks him to. Soon, soon, soon, there. MJ pulls him down to her, arms around his neck, and climaxes with her forehead pressed to his shoulder. Her roommate, boyfriend, fiancé, swears and speeds up even more; it’s a few seconds of a sensation that buzzes more than thumps or thrums and then he’s curling his arms under her, grabbing the back of her neck.

Peter shifts off of her and, when she doesn’t immediately come with him, gathers her to him. Of course, then he remembers about the condom and gets up anyway. MJ snuggles into the warmth he leaves. After a minute, he pulls back the covers to join her again and they share a shy reintroduction, slipping back into their pajamas. It’s when he reaches first for her hand that she realizes she’s safe.

Across the street, someone shuts off the TV. Peter’s room goes dark. They fall asleep.

 Monday, February 15th

Seven miles below me/I can see the world and it ain’t so big at all ― “This Time Tomorrow” (The Kinks)

“I’m seeing you for lunch tomorrow,” MJ reminds Peter, tugging her hand out of his. The final box of her possessions is in her arms. Downstairs, her mom’s car is at the curb.

He groans in complaint and follows her down the hall, past the kitchen, to the front door. Ned should be here within the hour; they staggered her move-out and his move-in to prevent collisions. And to give Peter more time with her. He admitted to that motive this morning, cooking them an omelette while MJ leaned her forehead against his back, smiling into his t-shirt.

“Ned’s key,” she says at the threshold. She holds it out to Peter and he pockets it.

“Thanks.”

MJ takes backward steps, moving away from him. He looks like he’s barely keeping himself from springing after her. She sighs.

“Come on,” she says, smiling. “Walk me down.”

[fictional-affliction]

Under Pressure, Chapter 2

Rating: T

Words: 2,400

You can find this story on AO3 and ff.net as well but here is the link to the first chapter if you missed it!  https://fictional-affliction.tumblr.com/post/185575372490/under-pressure-chapter-1 

Duncan was the absolute worst to tutor. She’d tried before. In second grade, when he had gotten sent to the principal’s office so many times that he’d missed most of the lessons on multiplication. In middle school, when he stopped writing papers for English and almost had to repeat seventh grade. Even freshman year, when he got sent to Juvie for the first time.

It wasn’t that Duncan was stupid, he just didn’t want to apply himself to school, which made tutoring him frustrating and pointless.

“But-” Courtney tried to reason with her teacher, but she didn’t budge.

“Do you want the extra credit?” Mrs. Hanover asked.

“I do but-”

“Then it’s settled.” Mrs. Hanover ended the conversation abruptly and left to use the copy machine before class started.

“Looks like we’re gonna get to spend more quality time together, Princess.” Duncan teased and put his arm around Courtney’s shoulders. She scoffed and shrugged him off. Frustrated, she stomped down the hallway in the direction of her first period class. He followed, much to her dismay.

“You better at least try to do better in this class Duncan, because if my Chemistry grade goes down because of you I’m going to murder you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Duncan looked off down the hallway. Courtney was going to berate him for not giving this important matter his undivided attention but then understood when she saw Geoff, Bridgette, and DJ coming towards them.

“Dude! You’re back!” Geoff took his arm from around Bridgette’s waist so that he and Duncan could pound fists. DJ was more enthusiastic with his affection and hugged Duncan, even going as far to lift him a foot off of the ground. Bridgette and Courtney exchanged a knowing look that came with years of knowing the three boys. They were inseparable, except for the times that Duncan got himself sent to Juvie.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to get out for another two weeks?” DJ asked when he put Duncan down.

“I was, but my mom made my dad pull a few strings.”

“That’s awesome dude, you know what this means?” Geoff hinted at, Duncan and the other teens already knew what Geoff was thinking.

“Party this weekend?” You could already see the mischief on Duncan’s face at the idea.

“Yes!” As Duncan and Geoff immediately began planning, with DJ brought into it without a choice; Bridgette kissed Geoff on the cheek, then headed down another hallway with Courtney.

“So...how does it feel?” Bridgette kept her voice down incase of eavesdroppers.

“How does what feel?” Courtney kept looking straight ahead with a blank expression on her face.

“You know...Duncan being back?”

“Am I supposed to feel a particular way?”  Bridgette almost rolled her eyes at Courtney’s denial.

“Really Court? Are you going do this every time?” Courtney didn’t respond, hoping that Bridgette would drop the subject. She didn’t.

“Just tell him alread-”

“Shh!” Courtney quieted her and looked around to make sure no one had heard. Courtney’s jaw clenched. Bridgette, the caring friend she was, always meant well but couldn’t she just leave her be? The pair of girls stopped where their paths divided.

“I’m sure he missed you as much as you missed him.” A corner of Courtney’s mouth twitched for just a split second. It wasn’t a lot, but they had been friends long enough that Bridgette noticed when she was fighting a smile.

“I plead the fifth.”  Then Courtney disappeared into her English class.

-

“In combination chemical reactions, two or more reactants form one product...Duncan are you even listening?”

“No.” Duncan continued to doodle in his notebook as they both sat at the desk in Courtney’s bedroom. She’d been trying to get Duncan back on track with the rest of his Chemistry 1 class for over an hour, but had made no progress. She tried a different approach and yanked him by his dog collar so that they were face to face.

“I’m not playing around with you Duncan, you might think this is stupid but I don’t, so could you please pull yourself together and be serious!” Instead of being bothered by her physical force, Duncan grinned.

“You’re lucky I’m into the kinky stuff.” Courtney huffed and pushed him back into his chair. “You wanna be serious?” He continued.

If Courtney’s raised eyebrows could speak they would say ‘obviously’.

“Then let’s get serious. Tell me why you hit yourself again.” Brown eyes widened at his blunt words. She was relieved that her parents weren’t home and that Cate was at a friend’s house. The last thing she needed was for them to overhear.

“We have a lot of work to get done.” Courtney turned away and flipped through the Chemistry textbook, closing herself off. He wouldn’t get it, no one would.

“You’re not changing the subject this time Princess.” He swiveled around her desk chair so that their knees were touching. She stared down at them and wouldn’t make eye contact.

“What’s going on?” He asked less forcefully this time. Courtney knew how this worked by now, until she told him, he wouldn’t leave her be.

“I got an B minus on my Chem test, if you need to know so badly.” She spit out and tried to turn herself back around but he held her chair steady.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it? Sure for you it’s nothing, you don’t give a damn about school, but some people care about their grades. Getting a B minus isn’t good enough.”  

“It’s not worth hurting yourself.” It wasn’t often that Duncan was this openly concerned and quite frankly it was making her nervous with the way he was looking at her. Besides, Courtney didn’t like to think of it as hurting herself, it was just something she did sometimes.

“Don’t try to tell me what to do!” She got defensive and raised her voice.

“It’s not like you’d listen. No one knows better than you Courtney.” He yelled back sarcastically.

“Don’t. You have no idea what it’s like to be me.”

“Then tell me! Oh, wait that’s right! You have to be fucking perfect all the time! Can’t let anyone know that you have feelings!”

“What’s the point of telling you! You’re just going to leave again!” She yelled across the small space between them. A moment too late Courtney realized what she’d said. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Duncan still kept her chair facing him but Courtney looked anywhere but at him. Duncan suddenly felt remorse for getting sent back to Juvie. To him it was more of a nuisance more than anything. A sentence that was a pain in the ass but it would pass, and then he’d go back to doing the same shit that got him sent there in the first place.

“Why can’t you just stay out of trouble...” Courtney sighed. “You don’t have to convince everyone that you’re a bad guy.”

“I am a bad guy.” Duncan insisted and Courtney gazed up from their laps to look at him skeptically.

“I am!”

“Sure you are.” Duncan sat up in his chair. Sometimes Courtney did this thing where she would throw it in his face that she knew who he really was. That she knew him better than anyone. In those moments Duncan always felt like he had to ruffle her feathers a little bit. Courtney sat back in her chair until there was no where else to go as Duncan caged her in.

“Want me to prove it.” He threatened, and lowered his voice, making it hard for her to find her’s. This wasn’t the first time they’d toed the line between just friends and more. This wasn’t the first time that the tension that was always there came to the forefront.

“Go ahead.” Courtney countered calling his bluff. She batted her eyelashes innocently and dared him to do something. Duncan kept his eyes fixated on her face, trying to tell if she meant it. She was right where he wanted her and yet, he couldn’t.

He slumped back into his chair and ran a hand threw his mohawk.

“You’re such a pain.” Courtney’s face glowed with victory and Duncan couldn’t find it in him to be mad because she was so beautiful when she smiled.

“Now, what’s it’s going to take for you to learn any of this.” She gestured to the textbook open on her desk.

Not only did Duncan have no interest in learning any more Chemistry for the day, but it was his first day back to school and he already couldn’t wait until the weekend; which gave him an idea.

“I have a proposition for you, I will be your star pupil for the rest of the week if...”

“I’m listening...” Courtney was wary of what his terms were, Duncan’s good behavior never came free.

“If you go to Geoff’s party.”

“No.”

“I thought you wanted that extra credit?” One thing that Courtney didn’t count on was that Duncan knew her just as well as she knew him. He could see her weighing what was at stake.

“You have to get an A on your Chem quiz on Friday.” She gave him her terms.

“C.” He countered.

“A minus.”

“B plus.”

“Deal.” Courtney solidified the wager and put her hand out. Duncan gladly shook it and smirked. She should really know by now not to underestimate him.

-

It was turning out to be a good day. The stress that had started on Monday, from how poorly she had done on her exam, had mostly dissipated. In addition to tutoring Duncan, Courtney had done an extensive amount of studying for her own Chemistry class, making Mrs. Hanover’s usual Friday quiz an easy A. Everything was starting to feel like it was falling back into place. As she took the appropriate books out of her locker, she planned how to manage her time this weekend so that she could finish her English paper, study for the SATs and still catch that documentary on cold cases. Courtney almost had it all pre-scheduled in her head when something that was dangled in front of her face interrupted her.

“Take a good look, Princess.” She grabbed the paper out of Duncan’s hand, confused for a moment at what she was looking at, then saw the big numbers written on top of the page in red ink.

“No...” She said with dread. Eighty-eight percent. Shit.

“How?” Courtney looked over the quiz in disbelief and doubled checked that there wasn’t a mistake.

“Guess I have a pretty good tutor.” Duncan leaned his shoulder against the lockers and watched Courtney soak it up.

“Now you have to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“But, but-”

“But what?” Duncan taunted her, a giant smile on his face.

“You weren’t supposed to be able to do it!”

“Wow, I’m hurt Courtney, have you no faith in me at all.” Courtney ignored his act and finished acquiring the books she needed and shoved them into her backpack. She slammed the door hard, the metal shaking with its force.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Bridgette and Geoff, like the matched set they were, stopped in front of Duncan and Courtney. Duncan was the one to answer Bridgette.

“Princess and I made a bet and now she doesn’t want to pay up.”

“What was the bet?” Geoff asked, amused to what Duncan had gotten Courtney to agree to. Courtney’s jaw was clenched so hard that she couldn’t speak.

“If I did good on my Chem quiz-”

“Done well!” Courtney corrected, Duncan gave her the side eye and continued.

“Then she had to go to your party.”

“Court, you’re coming to the party?” Geoff was thrilled, Courtney hadn’t gone to one of his parties since eighth grade and now they were into the spring of their junior year of High School.

“It’s not fair! I was tricked!”

“C’mon Court it will be fun!” Bridgette interjected and put a hand on Courtney’s shoulder to calm her down.

“She’s just afraid she’ll like it and it will ruin her good-girl image.”

“No, I’m not! I just don’t want to. It’s immature.”

“Sure.”  Bridgette knew exactly what Duncan was doing. If he challenged Courtney that she wouldn’t do something, then she would be hell bent on proving she could. It had been this way since they were in daycare.

“Please, like it’s hard to go get drunk and act like Neanderthals.”

“Hard for you.” Courtney couldn’t back down from the challenge.

“Ugh! Fine! I’ll be there, but I’m only staying for an hour!” Geoff held up his fist and Duncan bumped it.

“Where are you going?” Cate asked a she approached the juniors. Usually Courtney would be waiting for her by the car by now and when she wasn’t there she wondered if she had some club meeting Cate had forgotten about.

“She’s going to Geoff’s party.” Duncan answered smugly. Cate’s face lit up.

“You are? Now I have a ride!”

“You’re not going.” Courtney hissed at her.

“What? Yes, I am! Geoff invited me!”

“Yeah, of course little sis is allowed to come.” Geoff assured.

“Last time I checked she’s MY little sister, and she’s only fourteen.”

“I’ll be fifteen in like a month!” Cate argued.

“I don’t care. You’re not going. End of story.” Courtney was used to discipling Cate, with how much their parents worked, she often took on the job of being a third parent.

“Are you kidding me?” Cate all but stomped her feet.

“Maybe I should run it by Mom and Dad that you want to go to a party where there will be drugs and alcohol.”

“And I’ll tell them that you’re going!” Cate had her there and she knew it.

“Please Coco?” Cate pouted and used the nickname she made for her when she was a baby and couldn’t say Courtney. A few moments passed where Courtney weighed the pros and cons.

“We’ll talk about it in the car.” Courtney ended the conversation, but Cate knew that meant that she’d get her way. Courtney pulled her younger sister down the hall, knowing that her perfect plans for weekend were ruined.

“I’ll call you later Court!” Bridgette yelled down the hall then turned to Duncan.

“You’re the worst.” She joked, grateful that for once her best friend would act her own age.

“I know.” Duncan replied triumphantly. Suddenly, tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

[bubmyg]

let’s try again then!! can I pls request a college au where u had a tough week so u go to bed early but guk + the gang decide to hang in the dorm’s common area & be loud so u go yell at them to be quiet bc it’s 2am & ur PISSED & maybe guk has a lil crush on u and the boys are teasing him after u go like ‘ur gf just came out to yell at u! ur gf’s pjs are so cute ! what u gonna do jeon?’ & the next day he brings flowers to ur door to apologize and asks u to let him buy u dinner to make up for it

genre/warnings: college!au, this happened to me last night except my neighbor isn’t jeon jeongguk and i was too scared to go yell at him

word count: 957

You’re sure you’d managed to drag on a pair of leggings and stumble into some slippers before knocking on your neighbor’s door two Wednesday’s ago to the date because he’d, somehow, managed to fit six people on his futon and lawn chairs?— and thought yelling at his tiny television from ten onward was good enough for you not to lose your mind by hour four of his shrieking giggles so you were sure it wasn’t Jeon fucking Jeongguk’s voice that you could hear from the common room this time as you dragged on some flannel pajama pants and forgot the slippers in favor of your keys because you’d already lost your ID halfway to your three hour exam and getting locked out would do nothing for your splitting headache. 

His stupidly pink lips were curled over his stupidly endearing, crooked teeth and he had on a stupidly soft looking hoodie that looked inviting enough to cure your headache but it was definitely Jeon and he was sat nearly on top of his taller, broad shouldered friend that you recognized from somewhere on the other end of the floor as his shrieks seemed to mix and draw higher than any of the other six voices curled around him. 

Or maybe you just wanted to strangle him.

The smaller dark haired one saw you first, Yoongi, a senior you’d seen in one of your communications classes. He coughed once, then twice, wide and apologetic eyes only daring your glare for a half second before he was reaching across the couch to nudge at his younger friend. 

“Isn’t that your girlfriend?” A deep rasp came from the vibrant red haired one, Taehyung, a voice you’d heard over at Jeon’s one too many times not to recognize. 

All the noise ceased now, six amused gazes ducking into one another while the seventh was fully and widely displayed to you. Jeongguk’s wide saucer eyes couldn’t pull from yours, soft stars glittering in the corners of the doe brown, controller limp in his grasp as his cheeks puffed over fished, pink lips. 

“Just because you’re out here,” You lipped sweetly, casting a terrifying smile into your cheeks, “Doesn’t mean I can’t hear you when you scream.” 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“You know our rooms are right there, right?” You nodded toward the hallway behind you, not fifty feet from where Jeongguk sat cross legged on a sofa. 

“I thought that—”

“You thought wrong,” Something in the faux menacing persona you tried to portray faltered, maybe the roar of blood in your ears or the pound on your headache at the forefront of your conscious, but a tear lipped at the corner of your eye, “So do me a favor, and be fucking quiet—” One of them, a couple of them, someone, snickered, and your cool gaze swept across the room, “—that goes for all of you.”

He’d only stared at your retreating figure, open mouthed and guilty, for thirty seconds before Hoseok broke the silence to tease, “Your girlfriend’s PJs are adorable.”

Jimin’s index finger prodded at his hip, “I bet you thought she looked absolutely beautiful, that’s why you’re blushing, huh?”

“You may have fucked up though.”

“You think?” Jeongguk hissed, addressing a wheezing Seokjin who was doubled over too much to even hear his youngest friend’s responsive threat.

“You probably need to apologize,” Namjoon conceded, “And we probably need to stop being loud. She’s right.”

So that’s how Jeongguk ended up researching soundproof panels and flower delivery services at four am while his head throbbed with wonder of if you’d finally been able to fall asleep or at least stopped crying. He was careful to make little noise as he moved about his room, holding his door when it shut, taking minutes to crawl from his bed so it didn’t creak, snatching a hoodie from his hamper so he didn’t have to open a drawer or take the chance of dropping a hanger against the tile.  

And that’s how he eventually ended up outside your door with a bursting bouquet in hand and more nerves than he’d had for his presentation on amoebas. He circled around himself three times, practicing a speech of some kind of fishing lips, almost tapped on your door twice (and accidentally clicked his fingernail against the wood once and half considered diving back into his room). 

He’d rutted a dull spot in the carpet by the time he worked up the nerve to set his shoulders and rap fully on your door. 

The door had barely cracked when Jeongguk was shoving the bouquet through the space, covering your swollen eyes and mess of hair and loose pajamas for the fraction of a second it took him to realize and oh boy, Jimin’s right, she does look beautiful. 

“I’m sorry,” He blurted. “For...yeah. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t speak and for a horrifying moment he thought you were going to yell at him again. But then your fingers were brushing against his and something short of a smile laced your lips as you pushed your nose into the sweet smelling flowers and inhaled. “Thank you,” Your voice was coated in hoarse gravel from a combination of things but it was sincere nonetheless, “for the flowers.”

“I, uhm—” Jeongguk rocked onto his heels, fingers fitting into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, “—Icouldtakeyououttodinnersometimetoo...if you want. I really am sorry and I uh, would like to show you that.”

You squinted at him, leery but endeared (even if you still mildly wanted to strangle him). “Dinner sounds nice.”

“You don’t have to, obviously, it was just an offer, I mean—wait what?”

You giggled and he swore he melted into his flip flops, “Dinner sounds great, Jeon.”

[team-annex]

I. First Meeting, First Case

A/N: Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything original on here. Apologies. I deleted this off of AO3, but was just recently going through my docs and found it again. I do love this story and want to post it completed. It is finished, but needs editing. 

The ones after this aren’t as long, but I got carried away when I first wrote this so it’s lengthy. 

word count: 14.4k (holy fck, i’m sorry lolol) | Normally I write Casekiel, but it’s an OC this time. :) | it’s fluff. I write fluff. I love fluff. f l u f f |

She’d only met him a few times. She wasn’t sure when he arrived, but he was always wandering around when she got there. Typically, she’d arrive two hours before closing as many of the museumgoers were on their way out and she could plant herself in front of the marble statues. Being an artist was never a dream of hers, but sketching human bodies were therapeutic. Bones were the same, but it’s how they were used that made everyone different. And she loved that idea.

She also found her fellow museum enthusiast interesting. He held himself well, paraded around the museum like he was meant to be there. But he stuck out. He seemed to pass through the sculptures without really looking at them. And always with a pizza in hand.

She still isn’t sure where the pizza came from, because food was never allowed in the museum.

“You’re in here a lot,” an Australian accent had said one day.

She glanced up from the sketch she was working on. Her right hand splayed over the drawing to block it from view. “Yeah… just… need time to wind down.”

The man tilted his head, taking her in the way she was taking in him. It was the first time she’d really noticed his tanned complexion up close. “Student?”

“Yeah.” She matched his head tilt. “You?”

The man laughed, shaking his head. “Uni was… was never really for me.”

“If you noticed that I’m in here a lot, then you’re in here just as often as I am.”

He tipped his head both ways before sitting next to her. “I mean… I did what I needed to do here. I mostly come back because I’ve been hoping you would notice I was here too.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, because was this guy… hitting on her?

He held a hand out. “Zeke.”

Her eyes darted to the right hand he was offering and glanced down at her drawing, which her right hand was covering. “Sneaky.”

Zeke chuckled and dropped his hand. “Caught me. I’m just too curious.” He leaned towards her. “I am also curious about your name.”

“Call me M.”

Zeke whistled. “And I thought I was cryptic. You get a name and I get a letter?” He looked up to the sculpture they were seated before. “Did you hear that no name from 325 AD? She won’t give me her name.”

“Can you blame me?” M chuckled, closing her sketchbook because there was no way she was going to finish her drawing today. “A random Australian guy who I’ve seen strolling around here with pizza suddenly comes up and talks to me? I don’t think so.”

“What? Why not?” Zeke asked, standing as she did.

M stared at him through her large circular frames. She was dressed in her favourite white hoodie and black jeans with rips at the knees. She’d had an exam earlier that day and wanted to be comfortable. And normally, she was pretty unassuming anyhow. “I’m not the kind of girl that attractive foreigners come up to talk to.”

Zeke’s eyes fell to the sketchbook under her arm. “I like art and I’ve learned to like people who appreciate art. Ergo, I like you.”

M narrowed her eyes at him. “I haven’t seen you walk up to every girl in here with her friends who are talking about art.”

“Art isn’t appreciated just because you talk about it,” Zeke told her. He fell into step with her, which surprised her even more. “You appreciate art the way that I appreciate art.” He paused to think about that statement and then corrected himself. “Well no, not exactly. But I like the way you appreciate it. You come back and you look at it more. And I know you don’t do it just to look sophisticated or whatever, because you sit in front of one sculpture and sketch for two hours.”

She shrugged. “I mean, you got me there.”

M thinks about Zeke from time to time. After that initial conversation, he would join her at whatever sculpture she was drawing that day. Sometimes they would talk while she drew, but mostly, he would just sit next to her and scroll through his phone until she was ready to go. Then he would walk with her to the exit, sometimes taking them the long way just to ask about her life. He would never actually leave with her. He would stand by the door of the museum as if he was escorting her out of his house.

And then one day, Zeke just stopped showing up. She was a little disheartened the first month he didn’t show at all (well, more than a little disheartened, it hurt more than she expected), but she learned to move on. However, his description about art appreciation had resonated with her. She finished her science degree, a major in chemistry under her belt. But she didn’t walk out of university and head straight into the pharmaceutical degree that she had originally planned on doing.

Instead, she went to work at the Louvre where she was first hired as an usher. She had to brush up on her French, but she loved it there. The language, the culture of Paris, the eccentric people she met. M understood perfectly now what Zeke had meant.

People appreciated art in different ones. There were the ones who came in, because you had to come to the Louvre when you were in Paris. There were the ones who lived in the city and took in different sections due to the immense size of the museum. Art critics came to see the new exhibits when they were offered. And then she met the regulars; the ones who returned time and time again, not on a regular schedule, but who came so often and would spend hours in one section of the museum. They were the ones who were in no rush or on a time constraint, who came for the sole reason to look at the art.

Four years later, M finds herself down in the basement of the museum, carefully cataloguing the new pieces that were slowly going to be introduced. The Mona Lisa is always the star attraction and she’s okay with that. Mona Lisa is an interesting painting, but in no way was she M’s favourite. There’s an entire wing with murals on the ceiling and gold along the walls. She can sit there for hours just to admire all the details.

Then the sculptures wing. The sculptures wing always got her. When the museum closes and she’s the one locking up, she’ll take the time to sketch a sculpture. Two if she’s speed drawing.

Besides the new introductions, the Louvre is also doing an Egyptian exhibit for the little kids. There are a few relics to entice their parents, but mostly it’s learning tools. She rotates the doll of Cleopatra in her hands, wondering why she’s even thinking of Zeke right now.

As she’s closing up for the night, she heads up the steps from the basement, intending to lock the offices upstairs and double-checking the front door. But then she runs into somebody and she yelps in surprise.

Standing before her are two men clad in black. Her immediate assumption is that they’re thieves. But thieves would wear masks. Or at least they should, because the security in the Louvre is pretty high tech. She doesn’t know all the ins and outs, just enough to know it’s near impossible to break in let alone steal anything.

“You said no one would be here, Jones,” one of the men hisses.

She places the accent as American, but the next voice doesn’t take her long to place. “M?”

“Zeke?”

If the tone of the American is anything to go on, he must be shocked. It’s hard to make him out though, as he’s so backlit. And frankly with Zeke in front of her, she can’t really see anything else. “You know her?”

“Uh, yeah,” Zeke mutters. “But,” he turns to his friend, “can we talk about that later?” He faces her again. “What are you doing here?”

M points to her nametag. “I work here.”

Even in the dim light of the stairwell, she catches his smile. “You work at a museum?”

“Yeah,” she chuckles. “Mostly cataloguing, a bit of filing, set up for exhibits, sometimes security if the need arises.” Her expression deadpans. “Speaking of security, what the hell are you doing here?”

Zeke’s mouth drops a bit and then he says, “Uh, Stone?”

“We… were… uh,” Stone starts to stammer. “Can we talk about this in a… an actual room?”

“What I should really do is call the police,” M states.

“But you won’t,” Zeke says, conviction in his voice.

“And why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you would rather hear why I’m here than have to deal with the paperwork with the police.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but he cracks another grin and she can’t help but comply. “Come on.”

M leads them back up the stairway. Despite the distinct hissing and slapping sounds, she doesn’t look back. It seems too good to be true that Zeke has casually just wandered back into her life. After hours. Dressed all in black. With an American man.

She takes them to the security room, but tells them to wait outside. After quickly scanning the room to make sure no one is in there, which obviously there wasn’t because these two just wandered in, they reconvene at one of the benches near the exit.

The moonlight streams through the pyramid above them and she is able to take a good look at the two men invading her museum. The American man, Stone, is rugged with blue eyes, smile lines framing either side. He’s got a bulkier build than Zeke, but he seems like a stereotypical Southern man to her. She’s only ever seen a Southern man in the moves, never really meeting any foreigners in her hometown in England or many quintessential Southern men in Paris.

Zeke takes a seat next to her as Stone stands with his legs spread and his arms crossed over his chest. Zeke looks the exact same as the last day she saw him. His hair is styled better, out of his face. He’s also filled out a bit. Either that or his clothes have gotten tighter. It may be a mixture of both. The air he gives off now is more relaxed than mischievous, as it used to be.

“Is that how you spell M?” Zeke demands, leaning forward to read her nametag. “E-M? I always thought it was just the letter.”

“They asked me what I wanted on my nametag and I said just ‘M’. This is what I got. It really is just the letter.” M waves her hands between them. “But that’s not what we’re talking about. What we’re talking about is what you guys are doing here”

Stone and Zeke exchange a look, so she starts to pull out her phone. Quickly, Zeke reaches for her hand to stop her. “Wait, we’ll explain.”

M’s hand falls to her lap. “You have two minutes to explain to me why you’re here after hours.”

“I really didn’t think you were going to be here,” Zeke promises first.

Ezekiel stumbles after Jake through the Back Door.

“I can’t believe your answer to what the hell we were doing there was that I got locked in the bathroom and you just managed to get me out. And then we got lost and went to the basement for funsies!” Jake yells at him as soon as the Door swings shut behind them.

Ezekiel ruffles his hair. “I know. Really not my best lie, but she didn’t call the police.” He starts towards the kitchen to make food to settle his stomach, but Jake has other plans. Jake yanks on his arm to whirl him around.

“How does she know you? Ezekiel Jones works in the shadows and she basically called you by your real name.”

“She doesn’t know my name is Ezekiel Jones,” Ezekiel sighs exasperatedly. “We met years ago. That’s not the point. The point is that we’re going to have to find another way to get that amulet.”

Cassandra and Eve walk into the room just as he says this. “What? Was it not there?” Eve asks.

“We aren’t even sure,” Jake grumbles. The team meet at the table. “Jones knew the security woman and—”

“She isn’t a security woman.”

Jake gives him an odd look, as Ezekiel isn’t usually one for technicality. “Oh-kay… The woman closing knew Jones and she wouldn’t let us back down to the basement. She waited for us to leave, sat in front of the basement door with her eyes closed.”

“Why were her eyes closed?” Cassandra asks.

Ezekiel rolls his eyes. “She can’t know about the Magic Door! So I said she could sit in front of the basement door, count to fifteen, and then head home.”

“And she just went with it?” Eve scoffs.

Jake puts both his arms out towards Ezekiel. “Exactly! She’s a smart woman, but she believed the really awful lies he told.”

“Awful as in…?” Cassandra starts to ask.

“As in they were horrible lies. Things you would never believe in a million years if you were a rational being.” Jake shrugs, his head shaking from the intense disbelief in his body. “But for some reason, she believed him.”

Eve and Cassandra turn to their thief with raised eyebrows. “Ezekiel.”

Ezekiel’s arms cross over his chest defensively. “What?”

“Who’s the woman?” Eve asks.

“Can we get back to the whole reason why we went there? Cleopatra’s amulet.” Ezekiel huffs as he wanders out of the room. In the kitchen, where he knows that Cassandra and Eve refuse to venture, he takes a few deep breaths. The memory of initially seeing M at the Louvre when they were casing the place is engrained in his mind, because he’d gasped so loudly that Cassandra had given him a strange look that day.

His left hand clenches unconsciously and he glances down at it, suddenly remembering her hand. It was the first time they’d actually made physical contact and he’d never noticed her hands were so small. To be fair, he hadn’t thought about her since he was whisked into the Library. But now that he is thinking about her, he mutters, “This is going to be annoying.”

“We know that the amulet will be there eventually,” Eve says at their next briefing. “It’s in their pamphlet. But of course, we aren’t the only ones after it.” Her attention settles on Ezekiel. “Do you think if you went during the day, and we ran interference, you would be able to recover it?”

Ezekiel shrugs. “I’ve cased the place, even before I was a Librarian. I know it pretty well. It’s just the magical security.”

Cassandra nods in agreement. “We know that every piece entered into the Louvre is blanketed by the magical security. Once the intention of stealing is determined by the security system or walked out of the Louvre, the security will ping.”

“And I don’t know how to stop that,” Ezekiel finishes.

“If we disabled the magical security,” Eve suggests.

Eve looks to Cassandra, but Jenkins walks in before the redhead can answer. “It will take far too long to crack the security.”

They look back at him to await an explanation. Jenkins has the information readily available as he takes his tea to his desk. He points out the Louvre’s focal point on a ley line and then explains that due to its intense magical resonance that the Louvre is able to change the security around it. “I would be very surprised if the actual security guards, of which there are only ever two, know what puzzles or trickery the system has up its sleeve today.”

Jenkins sets his tray down and looks at them all. “However, if I’ve learned anything over the years, it is that the magical system works on fairness.”

They stare at him, but he shrugs in response. “That’s all I’ve learned. I cannot tell you more than that. I’ve never tried to break into the Louvre.”

Their gaze shifts to Ezekiel and he shrugs. “I haven’t stolen from the Louvre since magic came back into the world. Least we know that M isn’t one of the security guards.” Jake gives him a distinct look. “She doesn’t know,” he insists.

“How would—”

“If she knew, she would have definitely known we were coming yesterday,” Ezekiel finishes.

Eve sighs. “Can we take the amulet even if there are magical securities around it?’’

Jenkins gives his head a slight shake, at a loss.

The Guardian turns back to her team. “Well then, I say we risk it. Magical security we can deal with when we get there. Let’s go.”

Jenkins sets the Door for the Louvre and the four rush through, stumbling out of the men’s bathroom. Cassandra quickly moves through the room, recalling where the basement door is situated to deter anyone else from finding it. Eve and Jake walk with Ezekiel to the door and block him from view as he cracks the keypad lock. He types in the password and swipes his fake ID card. They all hear the faint chime when the door grants him entrance.

“Don’t you dare think of stealing anything else,” Eve hisses as Ezekiel disappears into the stairwell.

“You guys underestimate my moral code.”

“I think we agreed that that was still a huge work in progress,” Jake answers as the door closes.

Ezekiel rolls his eyes and pockets the ID card. The lights are off, and with the door closed, it’s almost impossible to see. Carefully, he picks his way down the steps, going on touch than his other senses until the lights of the basement flood the last few steps. Working off the mental map he’d created from the blueprints of the Louvre, he knows that the basement has one hallway with rooms branching off. His thief intuition tells him that the amulet and the new Egyptian catalogue are in the largest room, which is at the end of this hall.

Hurrying forward, he notices that this door is slightly ajar. His gait slows and he peeks through the gap of the door. Most of the lights are off, but there’s a faint glow likely from smaller lamps further in the room. He checks the hinges on the door, peering through to gauge how old they are. They look well oiled, so he doesn’t expect them to creak. Nonetheless, he slowly pushes the door open to give himself just enough space to squeeze through.

His back presses against the wall and he shuffles to the right to disappear in the shadows. He could make out a figure as soon as he entered, but not enough to gauge what they were doing or who they were. Stealthily, he stays close to the wall and the moves through the shelves to get closer to the desk in the center. His eyes flick over the boxes, which are all labeled. Most of them are files, some dating right back to the opening of the Louvre in 1793. A few of them go back even further, but Ezekiel doesn’t have time to wonder or inspect what’s inside those.

Ezekiel reaches the end of the shelves and starts to make his way over. From his vantage point, he can see the desk is cluttered with items, a few of them relics he recognizes from other museums.

It’s hard to mistake M’s ash brown, nearly gray locks. “M?”

She spins around. Dangling in her right hand is the amulet he came down to… borrow. “God,” she sighs, her hand falling to her chest. “You scared me.” M pauses, quickly realizing that he really shouldn’t be there. Her grip tightens on the amulet and she takes a step back. “What are you doing here?”

“I—”

“You’re a thief,” M states. It seems to hit her all of a sudden. “That’s why you’re here, why you came back. You want to steal something.”

“I—”

“And your friend came to help you.”

Her voice is turning accusatory. Normally, that wouldn’t matter to him, but coming from M, it hits a little closer to his heart. Ezekiel lifts his hands up, showing her that they’re empty and he has no intention of hurting her. “M, please.”

“Stay where you are, Zeke.”

“Can I explain?”

“You did yesterday.” She rolls her eyes. “It was a stupid lie. It kept me up all night how ridiculous it sounded. But I wanted to believe you, Zeke. You knew I’d believe you.”

“I know, I know, I know. M, please,” he quickly says. “Just let me really explain.”

“Why should I let you?” Her voice quiets down. “You made me feel special and then disappeared without a trace. You didn’t even say goodbye to me.”

“I can explain that too. M, please, just…”

Before he can say anything more, a deeper voice calls out. “Min!”

“Yeah? Jungkook!”

Ezekiel shakes his head furiously. “M, please,” he whispers.

M’s eyes narrow at him and shouts louder to smite him. “Kook!”

Suddenly, a tall man enters the room. He has a box under both arms, a black trench coat over his put together outfit of a tight blue turtleneck and black dress pants. They show off his ankles, putting his black shoes on display. Ezekiel swears he’s seen them on some Instagram model he scrolled past once.

The man, Jungkook, slows. When Ezekiel gets a closer look at him, he notes Jungkook’s baby face.

“Min, who’s this?” Jungkook asks as he sets the boxes down.

“Zeke, meet Jungkook. Jungkook, Zeke,” M says. Her voice is dismissive and she turns to face Jungkook, apparently done with him.

“Why is he calling you Min?” Ezekiel demands.

Jungkook’s perfectly thick eyebrows rise at the hostility, but M simply gives Ezekiel a solid look to shut up. “You knew M wasn’t my real name.”

“And Min is?”

Jungkook lifts the lid of one of the boxes. “Does he not know your name? Why is he here?”

“He was actually just leaving.”

“M.”

Jungkook glances over at him, his hands buried in the box. “Min, cut the guy a break. He seems—”

“Desperate,” M finishes.

Jungkook tips his head as he digs through the box for whatever he’s looking for. “Not what I was going to say. I would’ve used… anguished, agitated.”

Ezekiel can’t stand this. He joins them at the table to inspect the work they’re doing. From what he can piece together, they’re putting together information for the relics. A few basic facts about Cleopatra’s time are set aside. Before he can say anything, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket.

He turns away while Jungkook and M talk behind him, discussing what was vital information that ought to be put in the exhibit.

“Jones, we got company,” Jake says. “How close are you to finding the amulet?”

“I can see it.” Ezekiel turns back around and Jungkook and M are holding it between them, pointing at something on the table. “But I can’t get it.”

Jake takes a second to answer. “That’s new.” He sounds surprised. “Why are you saying that?”

“Tell him he doesn’t have time to dawdle,” Eve hisses. “They’re going to go straight for that basement door when they figure out where it is.”

“I can’t just grab it,” Ezekiel whispers.

“Why are you—she’s there, isn’t she?”

Eve huffs. “Who’s she?”

“His girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend. Give me like ten minutes.”

“You don’t have—” Eve starts to say, but he hangs up the phone before she can say anything. Nicking the amulet from M’s hand will be easy as pie. It’s the implications of actually stealing it out of her hand that will make this ten times worse. He doesn’t know why he cares so much that M doesn’t hate him, but he really wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she did.

“Do you need me to walk you out?” M asks, looking at him. “Because unless you’re going to try to steal the files, there isn’t anything of real value in this room.”

Jungkook scribbles down a few notes and looks over at Ezekiel. “You’re stealing? That’s why he’s here?”

Ezekiel decides that the direct approach might be the best way to do this. “I have no time to explain how I know, you’re just going to have to trust me. But there are people on their way down here to steal that amulet in your hands.”

Jungkook asks, “You work for the police?”

“No, I’m a Librarian,” Ezekiel answers.

Something shifts in their faces and he’s surprised that it works this time. That ‘I’m a Librarian’ announcement has been faulty for a while.

“So I’m just supposed to hand this over and it’s safe? Do you know how old this is?” M demands.

“Probably better than you do,” he says. “Look, M, you just have to trust me.”

“You’ve given me no reason to do so, Zeke.”

“How about I start with saying that my name isn’t actually Zeke and that it’s Ezekiel?”

Jungkook’s eyes dart between them, confused by the back and forth. “Min, you’re acting weird. Well, more… hostile.”

“If you had to deal with Ezekiel, you’d be acting weird too.”

Jungkook nods his head slowly and shoots Ezekiel an apologetic look. Ezekiel hates to admit it, but Jungkook seems like a half-decent human. So Ezekiel thinks it’ll be easier to reason with him rather than M right now. “The amulet has the coordinates for Cleopatra’s hidden headdress. There is a secret organization that has been determined to find her treasures, believing that it is infused with incredible power. That amulet will tell them everything, so they can’t have it.”

“How do we know you’re not the bad guy?” Jungkook enquires, his hand releasing the chain.

“M knows who I am and you seem to know her well. Is her judge of character terrible?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” M protests. Her hand covers the amulet on the table. “You are not using him against me.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Maybe he’s right, though, Min. Maybe we should just listen to him.”

M’s eyes are full of disbelief and her lips downturn as she stares back at Jungkook. “Do you know how insane he sounds? Or is that just me? He’s implying that magic exists or something like that.”

“You always say that sometimes the paintings feel like they’re alive. How implausible could it be that other people would believe it? He doesn’t have to be right about magic, but he could be right about people coming to steal the amulet because they believe,” Jungkook reasons.

His reasoning seems to cause M to hesitate.

“I literally have nothing to go on but your word,” she says to Ezekiel.

Ezekiel doesn’t like the tone of her voice and attempts to come up with another solution. “You can come with me. Once you see the amulet is safe with me, you can leave,” Ezekiel promises. In their silent contemplation, Ezekiel can hear faint tapping. It’s growing in volume and his phone is vibrating. He doesn’t have to check the ID to know who it is. “Stone, I know. I can hear them. I said—”

“We tried. There were too many to distract,” Jake interrupts him. “Do you have it?”

“Sorta,” Ezekiel winces. The footsteps are coming closer. He reaches for M’s hand and pulls her towards the shelves. He motions for Jungkook to follow and leads them into the darkness of the archives. “I kinda have it.”

“I don’t know what that means. We can’t come in to help you,” Jake informs him.

Eve’s voice echoes down the line. “You’re gonna be on your own, Jones.”

Ezekiel hangs a right down one of the far shelves. “Where’s Cass?” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” Jake answers offhandedly. “Somewhere in the museum.”

There’s a long pause as Ezekiel lets those words sink in. “Oh my god, where’s Cassandra?”

Ezekiel turns to M, whose hand is still wrapped in his own. “That security room you locked up last night. Is that the only one?”

“Why would you—?”

Ezekiel tips his head, exasperated. “My friend could be in trouble.”

“It’s not the only one,” Jungkook whispers. He keeps peeking through the shelves over the boxes. Ezekiel can’t recall if Jungkook properly closed the door after him. “There is another one that none of the employees are actually allowed inside. We just assumed it was an electricity room powering the security systems.”

“Where is it?”

“Somewhere past Venus’s statue,” Jungkook says. “I think.”

Ezekiel quickly relays this information through the phone. “If Cass isn’t there, she’s probably looking for it. Disabling the magical security will make getting this amulet out of here 100 times easier.”

“We’re on it. Don’t let them get their hands on that thing,” Eve says. “Call us if you need us.”

“Well I need you right now, but you can’t help me.”

Eve sighs loudly. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Got it.” He hangs up the phone and tucks it away, just in time for the door to swing open. Ezekiel can make out four voices, likely speaking Egyptian. He holds a finger to his lips and leads them further into the stacks. “You have the amulet on you, right?” he whispers.

M dangles it in front of his face and nods.

They hurry down the aisle. Ezekiel pauses, because of the break between the shelves. The lights from the desk don’t illuminate this far, but he’s learned that trained eyes can still make out dark figures. While Jungkook is dressed all in black, M has a yellow dress on which will be easier to make out. Subtly, he peeks around the corner. It takes two minutes for the four bodies to move towards the desk.

Ezekiel motions for them to run. He’s surprised that despite Jungkook’s taller stature he’s quite light on his feet. M has a heavier footfall, but not enough to be heard across the room. They make it to the far wall and he can see the door. Sighing, he looks to them.

“Don’t move too much when we’re in the open, okay?” Ezekiel whispers. He tugs M’s hand to tell her to keep following. Her hand shifts in his as if she’s intending t let go, so he loosens his grip. However, all she does is adjust her hold on his, intertwining their fingers so that he’s not clamping hers together.

They stop just before the last shelf. Ezekiel can practically smell the freedom, but he needs to get them all out. Jenkins warned the team that Cleopatra’s Crusade would be ruthless and would have guns.

“I wouldn’t put it past them to have sabres as well.”

M suddenly yanks him back before he can make it to the door. She shoves the amulet in his hand and he gives her an odd look. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

“Just in case.”

Ezekiel tips his head and tucks the amulet into the inside pocket of his jacket. His hand squeezes hers and he makes his move to the door. The men are circling the desk, rummaging through all the stuff. They exchange words and just as Ezekiel makes it to the door, they look up, likely planning to try somewhere else.

When they lock eyes with Ezekiel, it’s almost as if the gaze is a homing beacon and an alert, because immediately Ezekiel’s body is in flight mode. The men begin shouting and weapons are drawn. He practically wrenches M’s arm off pulling her after him. As soon as he steps into the hallway, M in tow, the hallway shifts. Ezekiel nearly loses his footing, but manages to steady himself. When he looks over for Jungkook, he finds that he and M are also holding hands.

“Don’t know if that’s better,” Ezekiel mutters.

“Where the hell are we?” M demands.

“Magic is real and the Louvre has a lot of magical security. By giving me the amulet, the intention to take the amulet out of the museum has probably kick-started the security system.”

“Please tell me you know how to get out of this,” M whispers.

Jungkook’s eyes are staring at the deep red expanse before them. It’s dusty and humid, red sand swirls around them. However, in the distance, there are outlines of buildings.

Ezekiel tugs out his phone and sighs in relief when he finds he has cell reception. Quickly, he dials Jake’s number. Before Jake answers, Ezekiel hears something like a rumble and then the ground shakes. Over his shoulder, he notes the crumbling of the edge of the sky. Behind it looks something similar to a dark abyss. He’s pretty sure that shouldn’t be happening.

“We need to move,” he says. Ezekiel releases M’s hand and she lets go of Jungkook’s as they start to jog forward.

“Stone?”

“Jones?” Jake’s voice crackles. “I can barely hear you.”

Ezekiel slows, but keeps moving. The other two match his speed. “Better?”

“Sorta!” Jake shouts. “Where are you? Did you get the amulet?”

“I have it in my possession,” Ezekiel agrees.

“So where are you?”

“By having it in my possession, it set off the magical security.”

“That explains that flashing red light, Eve,” Cassandra says.

“So am I going in blind? Can you tell me anything?” Ezekiel asks.

“We don’t really know what we’re dealing with,” Eve chimes in, “but we probably don’t want to find out. For you, though, it should be fine.”

Ezekiel stares at M and Jungkook who are walking up ahead. “I’m not alone.”

“Who the hell is with you?” Jake demands.

“M and her friend.”

“Well, I can tell you that it’s going to be harder to get out because there are three of you,” Cassandra says. “From what I can make out, Jenkins’s tidbit about fairness applies here. The systems are designed to accommodate the amount of thieves. One person, the level of difficulty is sufficient so that one person can get out. That’s how it makes it fair.”

“So it will be three times as hard because there are three of us,” Ezekiel sighs. “Great. And the phone reception is shotty.” The rumbling is stronger and Ezekiel shakes his head in annoyance. “Okay, is there any way you can give me a heads up as to what’s coming?”

“Working on disabling it,” Cassandra says.

“Working on figuring out how it all works,” Jake adds.

“You know that the first level of anything is the easiest,” Eve reassures him. “You’ll be fine.” The reassuring tone is less so with that statement.

“So nothing.” Ezekiel hangs up the phone and tucks it away. “Right, let’s go.”

“If we understood you right, we’re going to have to help you,” M says.

Ezekiel jogs just ahead of her. “Yep.”

“Ezekiel, I don’t—”

“Don’t doubt yourself before we’ve even started the game.”

Jungkook hums. “I mean, I like a good game.”

“We could die,” Ezekiel reminds him.

“Not so different from real life,” Jungkook muses.

Ezekiel glances over his shoulder. The distance between where they’d started and the buildings had initially seemed like miles, but they’re coming up already. He slows down to take it in. They must pass over a sensor, because a marble podium suddenly grows before them.

“I’m gonna hate this magic thing, aren’t I?” M asks.

Ezekiel tips his head. “Probably. Probably more so when I say that this part of magic I’m not really good at.” He takes in the podium. It’s cool to the touch and suddenly two lines start inscribing into the stone to from an arrowhead without the bottom line to connect them.

They stare at it, but nothing else is added. “What does that mean?” Jungkook asks.

Ezekiel looks up at the five buildings around them. The dust clears enough to make out different symbols. The first house on his left has a circle blazing in red. The house in the middle has three horizontal squiggly lines that pulse blue like the ocean. The far house on his right has four vertical purple squiggly lines. On his right, the first house has a triangle in yellow and the last house has a vertical rectangle in green.

“That clarified nothing,” Jungkook states.

Ezekiel sighs. “Whatever this is,” he motions towards the drawing on stone, “is a clue as to how we choose a house.”

“And if we chose wrong?” M asks.

He shrugs. “Death, probably.”

M’s face deadpans. “You should be more terrified when you say that.”

Ezekiel shakes his head, the rumbling of the security collapsing reality behind them terrifying him more than choosing wrong.

“You pick the one that terrifies you less and face it, because imminent death is upon us either way,” Ezekiel says as he faces the podium.

“We don’t know what it means and you said you’re bad at this sort of thing,” M argues.

“Yeah, but…” Ezekiel’s eyes widen, which granted is a bad idea because he gets red dust in his eyes. As he tries to rub it out, he says, “The point of the security system is it’s supposed to be fair. So that means that collectively we should be able to solve this.” He motions for them to look down at the symbol. “Does this mean anything to either of you? In your realms of knowledge.”

“Zeke, we’re museum buffs.” M stares hard at it, as if willing for it to say something to her.

Ezekiel frowns. They stand there and Jungkook watches the darkness rush towards them.

“So are we just going to stand here and watch our demise kill us?” Jungkook quips.

Ezekiel ruffles his hair. “There’s a point to this. And Baird is right, the first level of any game is never difficult. Maybe we’re overthinking it.” He circles the podium, looking at the image at all angles, but not getting any ideas. He looks at M. “Didn’t you tell me that you were doing a science degree when we first met?”

“Yeah. I finished my chemistry major, but I don’t—” M’s dark eyes suddenly light up in excitement and Ezekiel meets her gaze, waiting for some sort of explanation. “Chemistry!” Her attention moves to the symbols on the houses. “What are the odds those are supposed to be elements of some kind? Like fire, earth, air…”

“And water,” Ezekiel agrees.

M nods, pulling her shorter hair up into a half bun. “And water is a bent molecule, oxygen would be linear, earth is made up of a lot of compounds that it would be hard to determine which one is specifically ‘earth’.”

Jungkook waves his hand. “Quicker. Get to the point. We don’t need the science lessons.”

“It has enough symmetry operations too,” M finishes with a small grin.

Ezekiel glances over his shoulder. “Right, we gotta pick now. How sure are you?”

“I mean I’m in a magical security system literally starting at the dark abyss that will kill me while running from some Egyptian organization who wants Cleopatra’s amulet for her treasure. I’m not sure of anything right now.” She grabs both their hands and pulls them after her towards the house in the center. “But I know a water molecule and that has to be a water molecule.”

Jungkook is about to reach for the doorknob, but Ezekiel shakes his head. “You don’t know what’s behind there. I should go first.”

“Based on?” Jungkook challenges.

“Based on the fact that this is my job and I know the risks.” The two give him confused looks and he waves his free hand to get them to stop. “Textbook answer, but whatever. Baird will have my head if I let you go first.” He grips the door handle, looks his companions over and takes a steadying breath. Then he pushes the door open.

The atmosphere immediately changes. It’s easier to breathe and the air is cooler. They’re standing in a clearing; the door that let them in has disappeared. Surrounding them are dark trees and the rumbling quickly starts up again.

“Well death is still following us,” M states. She looks at Ezekiel. “What now?”

Jungkook tugs on M’s hand and leads them towards garden boxes at the center of the clearing. There are four boxes that are growing various small red berries. None of the boxes are labelled, the only noticeable difference being the leaves.

Ezekiel snorts and looks to them. “Still not my expertise, so what do either of you know about berries?”

“Are we supposed to eat them?” M asks Jungkook.

Jungkook leans forward to get a closer look at the plants. “I think that’s the idea. My knowledge of berries is really limited, though.”

“Well I have none,” Ezekiel announces. He turns to M.

M shakes her head. “No idea.”

“Then this is one for you.” Ezekiel reaches over to pat Jungkook on the shoulder. Before he and M can take a seat while Jungkook does inspection, Ezekiel hears another sound. He turns towards the forest surrounding them.

M notices his sudden alertness. “What?”

Ezekiel holds a finger to silence her. The rumbling is constant; it’s almost a droning noise now. There’s a new sound and it sounds like footsteps. His hand rests against the ground like Eve taught him how to do. It takes him a minute to really notice the ground shaking in a steady pattern.

Ezekiel quickly stands. “Stay here. Figure out which ones we gotta eat to get out of here.” He sprints towards the forest edge and grabs two hefty sticks off the ground. Then he sees the eyes.

Yelping, he scrambles back and tosses one branch at M. She fumbles with it, but manages to get two hands on it. “What are we doing? What happened?”

“Wolves, I think,” Ezekiel breathes. Just as he says it, from the forest come seven wolves. Their growling fills the silence of the meadow, just as the edges of the sky start going black.

“Oh bloody hell,” Ezekiel groans. “Jungkook, you’re on a clock.” He stands near the edge of the garden and motions for M to stand on Jungkook’s other side.

“We’re gonna fight wolves?” M cries.

“They’re technically not real. Besides, it’s that or they eat us!” Ezekiel protests. One of them takes a running start at him and he swings the branch in its direction. He grunts at the impact, the wolf being heavier than he expected. Regardless, it sends the wolf a distance away, but not far enough as the others have gained ground.

“Jungkook!’” M whines over the sound of a wolf crying out in pain.

Jungkook waves both of his hands at them to shop/ “I told you my knowledge of berries is limited! Give me a second.”

“Check your phone. Maybe we have wifi,” Ezekiel tells him as he braces himself.

“In a magical security system?” M shouts in disbelief.

Ezekiel snorts. “Magic has weird rules.”

Jungkook digs in his pocket for his phone and almost laughs out loud when he notes the battery life. “Yeah, anyone else got a phone?”

“No time to…” M thwacks a wolf hard in the side. The exertion is wearing her arms out already. “Check.”

“Don’t wanna…” Ezekiel has to quickly adjust to get two wolves one after another. “Die,” he finishes.

“Right, then we’re doing this the old fashioned way,” Jungkook sighs. He leans forward and inspects each garden box. He tries to pick out differences like his father used to when they would go for hikes in various countries. The berries all look pretty similar, though their colours vary in vibrancy. One of them is slightly more transparent than the others. But the most notable difference is the leaves growing around them.

Jungkook tries to block out the sound of fighting on both sides and the feeling of imminent death. When he pricks his finger on one of the leaves, he nods. “Could be holly.”

The box next to it has slender leaves, similar to the foliage of a Christmas tree. “Yew?”

“Can we eat this?” Ezekiel calls as he tries a new tactic of slamming the branch on the top of the wolf’s head.

“No, it’ll give you stomach pains and rashes or something.”

“Let’s just assume that the ones that we can’t eat will kill us. Move on,” Ezekiel tells him, giving another two wolves a whack in one go. He has to pause to catch his breath, but one of the wolves notices him.

“Ezekiel!” M shouts. She sprints across to help him, which gives him enough time to get to his feet.

“Min!” Jungkook calls in panic.

She turns, her battle cry making Ezekiel chuckle despite the situation. She rushes the three wolves on her side, turning her branch horizontal to force them back. They circle back around and run at her.

“Guys, I really don’t think!” she huffs as she rams the three out of the way. “I can do this much longer! Kook, you’re gonna have to hurry it up,” she grunts, “a little!”

Jungkook shouts at both of them to shut up. “I don’t want to die today either! It wasn’t on my list of things to do.”

“I’m sure,” M shouts as she gives one last final effort, “that Taehyung,” she knocks one out of the way, “will miss you if you die.” Ezekiel hears her gasping for breath, but not getting enough time to catch it. “But think about that later!”

Ezekiel glances over his shoulder for a second to catch Jungkook’s ears turning red. That split second gives the wolves enough time to knock him off his feet. He hears M scream from the other side.

“Jungkook!” they both call in panic.

“I got it! I think it’s barberry!” Jungkook exclaims. “The leaves are—”

“No time for science lesson, mate!” Ezekiel informs him as he rams the branch into the wolf’s mouth that is desperately trying to eat his eyes. He wiggles as much as he can to avoid being bit, wincing when one of the others manage to catch skin.

Jungkook hurries over, chewing on one of the berries and drops it into Ezekiel’s mouth. He has to assume that Jungkook did the same for M. The taste is sour and causes his whole face to pucker, as if he’s eating a lemon. His mind goes fuzzy and he worries for a second that Jungkook has just killed him. But just as abruptly as before, the fuzziness changes the scenery.

Ezekiel scrambles to sitting, his hands grabbing at the dirt beneath his palms. He looks around and finds he’s in a cell. Out the cell door, he can see a long corridor, the ground dirt and the walls rock. It reminds him of nearly every temple he’s been in. Ezekiel checks the lock on the door and almost laughs aloud when it’s a lock he’s broken before.

But then he realizes he’s alone. “M? Jungkook?” Ezekiel calls out.

Nothing.

However, his shouting must start the security system again, because the floor shakes more violently than it had before. Ezekiel quickly checks his phone to find he has one bar and an almost dead phone.

“Baird?” he says.

“Jones?”

“Anything?”

“We… it… so… hold… okay?”

“I can’t hear you!” Ezekiel raises his voice as if that will make the connection better. “See you later!”  He puts his phone away, muttering under his breath, “Or not.”

It’s a good thing that he keeps his lock picking set on him at all times. He feels the lock one more time to make sure and makes quick work of unlocking it. He smiles at the satisfying sound.

Ezekiel pushes the door open and nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the floor he’d just been standing on crumbling. He sprints to the end of the hall, the floor collapsing as he goes. He knows he probably shouldn’t shout, because he’s been in enough temples and pyramids to know that there’s likely something lurking around to kill him; but he has no choice here.

“M! Jungkook!”

Ezekiel calls out repeatedly, turning down different hallways. He maps out as much as he can in his head, even though some of the hallways disappear before he has time to connect the halls together.

Then finally, after what feels like ages, he gets a response to his insane yelling.

“Zeke!”

“M,” he breathes. Ezekiel looks both ways and calls her name again. M’s voice echoes from the end of the hallway he’s in and he books his way over to hopefully buy a few more seconds. If he’s learned anything being a Librarian and a thief, a few seconds means life or death. At the end of the hallway is another cell. However, M is seated on a rock in the center and seems to be cradling her hand in pain.

Ezekiel is about to reach for the doorknob, but she tells him to stop.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can move. The rock zapped me when I put my hand down,” M whimpers.

Ezekiel notes the tears streaming down her face, the fear etching lines into her skin. It’s a distinct reminder of DARPA and Cassandra. He shakes that image away, because it is helpful to absolutely nobody. Ezekiel crouches down in front of the lock. It’s similar to the one that had held Jenkins in. A lock that would keep the smartest person out, but it couldn’t possibly be that easy.

The floor shakes again and it causes M to put her hands down to stabilize herself. She yelps in pain and when Ezekiel looks up, she’s staring down at her hands in horror.

“Hey M, look at me, okay?”

Her dark eyes meet his, bottom lashes lined with tears and her bottom lip quivering.

“Talk to me, M. Just keep talking. Update me on your life when I left.”

M takes a shaky breath, but does as he suggests. M talks about finishing university, about finding new museums to sketch. She tells him about her decision to work in the Louvre rather than take a job the co-op she’d done had offered her.

“They probably paid you more,” Ezekiel mutters as he punches in code after code just for a red box to show up. He can hear the floor sizzling from the electricity he’s pulsing through it.

M sniffles. “Maybe, but it wasn’t about the money. It was about passion. You told me that I appreciated art differently and I never could look back after that.”

Ezekiel chews his bottom lip. “M, do you have a four letter or number password?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Pin number, computer password, anything.”

“My card’s pin has four numbers.”

“Right, what are they?”

“Zeke! I’m not going to—”

“I’m going to guess your birthday.” When he glances up, M’s face is impassive. “Maybe your and Jungkook’s birthdays combined. I’m going to assume days. Now, if we weren’t in a magical security death trap, I would have picked both your wallets to get your licenses so I knew your birthdates. It would have been that easy. Unfortunately, don’t have the luxury or the time. We are literally losing ground here.”

“2-6-0-1.”

Ezekiel carefully touches the screen of the lock and he watches the door swing back. He stops at the threshold and looks around. It was as he expected. “High voltage pressure plates on the floor, so you can’t walk over to me even if I’ve opened the door.” He holds his arms out. “M, you’re gonna have to jump.”

“Zeke, I can’t move.”

“I’m going to trust that you can get to your feet despite a few electric shocks and jump to me. The soles of your shoes should diffuse some of the shock. You just need to stand.”

M frowns at him. “Ezekiel.”

“M, I’m not letting you die in this dumb system just because you won’t woman up and jump over here.”

Ezekiel watches her swallow down her fear. He closes his eyes as she stands just in case her dress flips. When he opens them again, M’s jaw is set as her body takes the electric voltage.

“Running start, okay?” Ezekiel says. “I’ll catch you.”

M jumps off the rock she’d been sitting on. As soon as her weight leaves the pedestal, Ezekiel’s eyes widen as the floor and walls disappear into darkness. Fortunately, M’s eyes closed as she jumped. She clears enough of the room that Ezekiel can pull her towards him, her feet landing on ground instead of falling through. Her grip around his neck and shoulders is constricting, but Ezekiel doesn’t mind.

“Told you I’d catch you,” he murmurs.

“I want to get out of here.”

“I know. So do I.” Ezekiel pulls away and brushes a stray hair out of her face. “We need to find Jungkook first.”

M nods and catches his hand as he turns away. She intertwines their fingers together, her grip nearly cutting off the circulation in his hand. Most of the hallway he’d come down has also disappeared, so he hangs a quick left in the one hallway they can go down. M calls out for Jungkook.

They don’t find him by his voice. They just happen to stumble upon the cage he’s trapped in. Ezekiel quickly realizes why they couldn’t hear him. Jungkook is trapped to the wall, four snakes holding his limbs down, one wrapped nicely across his neck to stop sound.

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” M breathes. “Zeke, what do we do?”

“God, I hate this one,” Ezekiel grumbles.

“Why? What is it? You’ve seen this before?”

Ezekiel sighs. “Well, when I first encountered it—it’s a long story that I don’t have time to tell. Tell a truth.”

“A truth…?”

“Something that holds emotional weight for you.”

M stares up at him with a look of bewilderment on her face. “How will that—?”

“This is my expertise. My expertise as a Librarian,” he sighs, “and a thief.”

One of the snakes slithers off Jungkook’s wrist.

“You’re a thief,” she states. “Like a petty thief. Never mind, you can’t be a petty thief. You walked into the Louvre and got into the basement that requires an ID. You’re a good thief.”

“The best thief,” Ezekiel corrects her. “I’m a Librarian, because I’m the best thief.”

“What kinda library is this?” she mutters.

“A crazy one that puts me in life and death situations all the time. We need truths, let’s go.”

M’s brows furrow. “That’s your only one?”

Ezekiel scratches his forehead. “I am worried about something. So try it first.”

M racks her brain, pulling her hair out of its half bun. “My worst fear is that Jungkook will run off with Taehyung and leave me all alone.” He knows this is one truth she’s never shared with Jungkook, but nothing happens.

Ezekiel shakes his head in annoyance. “It knew it would get me with this one.”

“What?”

“It wants my emotional truths.”

“You must have some.”

“It’s not about that. It’s about not wanting to share them.”

“Oh.” M stares up at him and then her eyes drop to Jungkook. She seems to understand not wanting to share truths. “There are reasons we don’t share our truths, but I…” She meets his eyes again. “We can’t leave him here.”

Ezekiel sighs. “We can’t. I know. And I don’t know any other way to get us in there. We don’t have the means to break the rock around him.”

“I promise I won’t judge you for anything you say,” she says, squeezing her hand. “It’ll stay between us.”

Ezekiel chews his bottom lip. “I tried to distance myself from Cassandra when I learned about her brain grape, because I was too scared to care if I knew I was going to lose her.”

The snake around Jungkook’s leg disappears into the rock.

“I was intimidated by Stone’s intelligence and always felt inferior, so I pushed him away too and tried to be as snarky as possible, because it would piss him off.” Ezekiel clenches his other hand to stop it from shaking, watching as the snake around Jungkook’s throat releases its grip. He hates truths.

Jungkook gasps loudly for air. He blinks rapidly and looks around before seeing them standing there. “What’s going on?”

“Hold on,” M says, watching Ezekiel carefully. “He only has to say two more and you’re home free.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows and Ezekiel notes the dazed look in his eye. “I—” His gaze drops and his hands clench, his back pressing back against the wall. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

M rushes forward, pulling Ezekiel with her, and tries to see into the cell. “What’s—?” Both of them notice the large gaping hole, as Jungkook’s room has no floor whatsoever.

“If you release him, he’ll fall!” M rounds on him. “Zeke, do something!”

He’s had a hunch about why it seems like the system is collapsing in on itself. By picking up his phone, he’s really stretching out on a limb, because if he’s wrong they may get stuck in here. His phone battery only 3% left and he’s only got one bar. It only takes him a second to find Cassandra’s number.

“Cass!”

“Ezekiel? It’s hard to hear you!”

“How close are you to disabling the system?”

“Almost there. There are like—”

“I need you to stop. Reset it all. Undo whatever you’re doing.”

“What do you mean?”

Jake’s voice seems to drift from the opposite side of the room. “Jones, you’re not making any sense!”

“Cass, listen to me. Whatever you’re doing is collapsing reality. The system is designed to be fair, but with you tampering it—”

“It’s rewriting the reality, speeding up the process. I told you that would happen!” she shouts at Eve and Jake. Her voice softens as she speaks to him. “I don’t know if I can undo what I’ve done.”

“Can you see where we are?”

“Sort of, not really. I’m sorry, Ezekiel I haven’t had time to work out the maps on here.”

Ezekiel clenches his jaw. “Stop playing around with it. I think I can get us out.”

“Okay, I’m done. You’re on your own. Be safe,” Cassandra says. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Ezekiel hangs up the phone and just from that call with Cassandra, the rumbling stops. M looks at him. “What did you do?”

“Asked them to stop trying to get us out of here,” Ezekiel answers. He looks up at the ceiling. “The system knows it’s being tampered with so it’s trying to cut back our time since we’re cheating. We’re not cheating now!” he shouts up at the ceiling. “Give us back the floor.”

As if by magic, a slender walkway appears right under Jungkook’s feet to the doorway. It’s just enough space to put one foot in front of the other. Ezekiel tips his head. He would’ve liked the entire floor, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“What did that do?” M asks. “Do we have more time? Are we going to get eaten alive?”

“I think instead of—” He ears the voices coming from his left. “Instead of nothingness sucking us up, we have enemies instead.” Ezekiel stares at Jungkook, who looks as if he’s about to have a panic attack.

“Anything, Zeke, anything.”

“Uhm… I never told my mum about my talent at stealing, because I knew she would take advantage of me and not know how to stop.”

M lifts an eyebrow. Ezekiel really doesn’t want to go into his family anymore than that. The snake around Jungkook’s other leg slithers away. He’s hanging just by his wrist and this worries Ezekiel.

“One more, Zeke.”

Ezekiel waits until Jungkook looks right at him through the small window. “When I say it, you’re going to have to land right on that pathway. This place isn’t going to give you second chances.”

Jungkook nods, his one leg already out, ready to land.

Ezekiel lets go of M’s hand to inspect the lock on the door. “When I stopped visiting, I was being chased by another organization called the Serpent Brotherhood and was taken to the Library. I became a Librarian and that life sort of got in the way.” Ezekiel focuses as much as he can on the lock as he spills the truth. “I pushed you to the back of my mind, because I was scared that if I saw you again that we couldn’t be anything because of what I do.”

The sound of rock rubbing against rock as the snake moves away shifts their attention to Jungkook. Ezekiel is already making quick work of the lock to let Jungkook out. It swings inward, nearly cutting Jungkook off. Ezekiel reaches in for his hand before the guy can topple into the abyss.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Ezekiel says as he yanks Jungkook to safety. They start running, because now M and Jungkook seem to be able to hear the voices Ezekiel had heard earlier.

“Where are we going, Zeke?”

Ezekiel is at a loss now. Maps are Cassandra’s thing. He checks his phone and it won’t even light up now. In dismay, he shakes his head and hangs a left. After running aimlessly for what feels like ever, he slows.

“Should we be stopping?” Jungkook asks.

Ezekiel looks both ways. “God, I wish there was a trap door here. Or something that would show the way to the exit.”

“It has to be fair, doesn’t it?” M reminds them.

The two boys look to her.

She shrugs. “You’ve just kept saying that this place is working on fairness. We’ve stopped cheating, so maybe it’s playing fair now. How would it make it fairer for us? We’re being chased and we aren’t sure where the exit is.”

Ezekiel’s eyes widen. “That’s the last trick. Voices.” He hurries back in the direction they’d just come. “We have to move towards the voices.”

“Towards?” the two exclaim.

“We have nothing else to go on. We are just assuming they’re enemies. I mean,” he slows and goes right, “they probably are. But they’ll be blocking the exit.”

“Do you think it’s that easy?” Jungkook asks.

Ezekiel races through the halls, hanging lefts and rights solely going on sound. He doesn’t answer him, because it would be crazy for it to be that easy. Magical safety systems are built to be near impossible to crack. They’ve been lucky with all the easy obstacles they’ve had. And he quickly realizes where the difficulty lies.

Ezekiel holds an arm to stop Jungkook and M from running into the open. “Stop,” he whispers. “There are too many things out there.”

“What things?”

“Don’t know. I only caught a glimpse, but Egyptian gods. Probably has something to do with the amulet.” Ezekiel pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there.

“How are we supposed to fight Egyptian gods?” Jungkook hisses.

Ezekiel shakes his head and peers around the corner again. They’re stomping their spears in rhythm. He knows that they’ll attack to kill, because these aren’t human; though he’s met his fair share of humans who will fight to kill. But just at the end he can see an exit sign similar to the ones in the Louvre. It glows red above a door.

“Can’t fight Egyptian gods, mate. But they’re blocking the exit. We’re going to have to get through them somehow.”

“How?” M asks.

Ezekiel winces. “I have to go out there to know, but once I’m out there, we probably won’t be able to hide anymore.”

M must sense that he’s preparing to step out into the open. She throws her arms around his neck. “No sacrificing yourself, okay?”

“That’s the whole point of this job. The goal is to get all of us out, but last resort is to get you and Jungkook out.” He hugs her tighter to him and then nods. He gives them both a once over before stepping into the room. Stony eyes turn to him; however, they don’t surge towards him like he expected them to. As he nears, they don’t advance, but the rhythmic thumping doesn’t stop nor do their gazes avert.

“They’re stuck to the ground,” Ezekiel calls over his shoulder. “Come on!”

Once M and Jungkook leave the last hallway, it crumbles and they watch the darkness take up the last of the maze behind them. “Can’t go back,” M says as she joins his side.

“We would’ve run out of time. We probably only have a few minutes,” Ezekiel says.

“Sucky pep talk,” M retorts.

Ezekiel hums. “You sound like someone I know.”

“Flirt later. Get us out first,” Jungkook interjects.

Normally a comment like that would require a snarky remark, but Jungkook is right. They have to get out. He takes a step forward and suddenly the statue that looks like Anubis swings at him. It grazes the front of his shirt, slicing it open. He glances down at the hole. “This was my favourite shirt!”

“Worry about that later! He just tried to slice you open!” M exclaims.

Ezekiel touches his chest to find a small line of blood. “Well, least it… it didn’t,” he clears his throat, “pierce that badly.” He clenches his fist to try to get his hand from shaking.

“That’s not something I want to hear,” Jungkook argues. “He barely touched you.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” He hisses as a shock of pain runs through his body. “That much. But that just reminds us that we really can’t mess up here.”

“We weren’t planning on that, but now I’m just too scared to try,” M says.

“I have lived my whole life against that statement. Never be scared to try something once,” he says. “Come on. We’re running.”

“We can’t run,” M protests. “There are two at every step. We’d have to—”

Ezekiel turns to them. “You’re gonna have to trust me one last time. Trust me to know that this is going to be based on luck and a bit of skill in the end. Both of which I have amply supply of.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” M whimpers.

“You’re gonna have to, M,” Ezekiel says, reaching for her hand.

Jungkook has already started running. He ducks underneath a spear and spins out of the way of another.

“Apparently you’re not the only one with luck and a bit of skill,” M chuckles nervously.

“He’s bold,” Ezekiel comments.

“I’ll tell you about him later,” she promises. “Just get me the hell out of here.”

“Trust me?”

“Have to, don’t I?”

Ezekiel smirks before his face becomes serious again. “Just don’t stop moving. Let go of me if you have to. Watch all your sides and know where they are. They can spin a full 360, so don’t back into something if you know that there’s one there. Got it?”

M nods, taking a shaky breath. “Yes.”

Ezekiel takes a step, but stops and turns back to her. “If it all really goes to shit here and my luck runs out, I’m sorry about disappearing all of a sudden.”

M tries to smile, but he can see the terror in her face. He has to turn away, because he hopes his terror doesn’t translate over as well. With a deep breath, he starts running, pulling her after him. The rhythm starts to feel the same and he can dance around the spears in a steady two-count. He doesn’t look back at M, whose hand he can still feel in his own, because as soon as he loses the two-count, they’ll be goners. Doing this brings memories of Jenkins teaching the Librarians and Guardian how to waltz for a case they did a few months back.

It feels like an eternity and he hears M cry out at least twice. He managed to hold his tongue when he got nicked in the wrist, but couldn’t hold it in when one of the darned things caught his thigh. Ezekiel has to catch his breath and he drags M off to the left where he saw (hoped) was a safe spot.

Ezekiel tugs her in front of him as he crouches in the corner, his back to the spears in case he miscalculated. M brings her knees to her chest and attempts to even her breathing.

“God, I hate magic,” she breathes.

Ezekiel shrugs, smiling down at her as he breathes heavily. “I have a friend who does too. But I also have a friend who loves it. There’s beauty in it.”

“Why are you a thief?” M asks suddenly.

Ezekiel blinks. “Hmm?”

“A thief? Why do it? Steal things that aren’t yours.”

Ezekiel tips his head, not expecting that personal question so soon. “Talk about it later,” he whispers. “Let’s get out of here first.” He holds his hand out to her and she takes it. He helps her stand; keeping her close to him so he doesn’t accidentally get himself killed. “Over my shoulder, what do you see?”

M stretches her neck to peer around him and her eyes widen. “Jungkook!”

When Ezekiel starts to turn, M pulls him to her just as a spear rotates around. “Ezekiel, we have to help him.”

“Can’t really help him if I can’t see.”

“If you turn, it’ll get you,” she cries. “Zeke, what do we do?”

“I hope you’re only like this in death defying situations,” he mutters. “Guide me and I’ll get us to the end.”

“But Jungkook—”

“No man gets left behind,” he promises. “But I need you to help me, M.”

“One second.” M breathes steadily and Ezekiel listens to it evening out, can feel her heart pounding against his chest. He never realized how tiny she was until now. He almost swallows her, hugging her like this.

Ezekiel quickly catches on to her breathing pattern. Inhale, the rock turns, exhale, it turns away. He steadies himself and then she pushes him backward. He ducks under the spear and falls as fast as he can back into the two-count. However, now it’s sped up and M cries out twice before he can adjust to the new pattern.

It takes a few more steps around for him to get M to the door. Back in the maze, Ezekiel can see Jungkook sprawled on his back. Surrounding him are four statues, all in reach of each other. Ezekiel shakes his head in dismay.

M’s jaw drops as Ezekiel bounces on the balls of his feet to propel himself into a flip over the first spear. His foot lands on a shoulder of one of the statues before he drops down and slides underneath another spear. But suddenly, half the room disappears and the dark inches closer to Jungkook’s left foot.

She covers her eyes and crouches into a ball. “Everything will be okay, everything will be okay.”

Two hands on her shoulders causes her to scream and she jumps up. Then she finds herself staring into the blue eyes of the American man she’d met last night. “Hey, hey, hey,” a blonde woman runs past her as a red headed woman stands in the doorway, holding it open, “you’re fine. Everything’s fine. Let’s get you out of here, hmm?”

M doesn’t need to be encouraged any more to run through the door. The red headed woman’s hand falls on her back and gently ushers her out into the basement hallway. M looks around, terrified as to where she’s wound up now. She exhales loudly at the familiar surroundings of the Louvre.

The red head hums. “Don’t relax just yet. Come on. We need to get you guys out of here first.”

“What about Zeke and Jungkook?” M asks.

“They’ve got them.” And M doesn’t want to do anything else but believe her. She lets this woman she’s never met before usher her out of the hallway and she swears she can hear banging somewhere down the hall. When they reach the main floor, which is swarming with people, she breathes a sigh of relief.

“Not quite safe here,” the red head says, looking over her shoulder at the basement door. “One last door…” She leads M towards the men’s bathroom and she isn’t even surprised when she doesn’t walk into the bathroom and instead stumbles into a massive library.

“Magic, right?” M whispers.

“Magic,” the red head confirms. “I’m Cassandra.”

“I need to sit down,” M says in response.

Cassandra nods and leads her to a chair, suddenly noticing the wounds cutting her arms and side. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding.”

M starts to gauge her wounds and then the door glows and everyone else stumbles in, Jungkook curled around the blonde woman’s shoulders. She hurries forward and cups his chin in her hands. “Kook. Kook!”

Jungkook opens one bleary eye. “Fine. Need to lie down.”

“Need to be patched up,” Ezekiel calls as the woman helps Jungkook to a cot that M has to assume the elderly man had brought whenever he appeared. Ezekiel pulls the amulet out of his pocket and tosses it to the elderly man. “For you, Jenkins.”

“I’ll get to work on decoding it so we can get to the headdress.” Jenkins bows to Stone. “Mr. Stone, if you wouldn’t mind assisting me.”

“Sure.” He tips his head to M and then Ezekiel is at her side.

“You need to lie down,” he says.

Her eyes fall on the gash in his chest. “Wait, you—”

“All three of you need to rest,” the blonde woman says, authority dripping in her voice. She guides M to a second cot as Cassandra passes her a first aid kid. “I’m Eve, Ezekiel’s Guardian.”

She finds she can’t sleep. Her eyes keep opening, expecting to stare up at the white of her ceilings and to roll over and see the wall around her window covered in her sketches of various sculptures and humans in motion. Instead, her eyes open to see the large expanse of a Library, which feels as if it’s breathing and smells like books and a bit of chocolate chip cookies.

Slowly, M sits up, her fingers touching the nicks over her skin. They’re sore, but Eve cleaned them and wrapped the worse ones. Next to her, Jungkook’s breaths are even and she’s glad that he can sleep. She’s positive that they gave him something to help him sleep through the pain.

“You okay?”

M peers over her shoulder to see Ezekiel’s eyes open in the dim Library light. One arm is tucked underneath his head and he’s curled into a ball.

“Yeah, just… can’t sleep.”

“It’s a lot to get used to,” Ezekiel admits.

She swings her legs over the bed despite her body’s protests. The blanket they’d given her was actually quite warm, so she picks it up to wrap around her shoulders. “So you left me for this place. I wouldn’t have come back either.”

“I thought you said you hate magic,” Ezekiel points out.

“But I love books,” she chuckles. Facing this way, she can see the shelves of books and can see the doors that lead out into a hallway. It’s probably not too far a stretch to assume the place is bigger than she’s seen.

“I promised to explain to you who I was,” Ezekiel starts to say.

M shakes her head. “I think I have a vague idea and I think that’s good enough.”

“I want you to understand. I feel like it’s something you deserve to know.”

M settles in for a story. She watches how Ezekiel talks, slowly watches his arms disentangle themselves so that they can join in the conversation. He talks about casing museums and never staying anywhere for too long. He talks about the one time he made a mistake and that was the day he was recruited to join the Library. Ezekiel delves into his life in the shadows and explains that he’s here because he’s the best.

“And yeah, my moral code is a work in progress, but I’d like to think I have a heart in here.” Ezekiel meets her eye. “Then there was you.”

She chuckles. “I don’t think it would have taken much to realize you’ve already charmed me, Zeke. I’m not hiding it very hard. You don’t have to keep trying.”

He ignores her. “There was you and I suddenly went into protective mode. I’ve only felt that way for the people in here, but look at where we are.”

“You sure it didn’t have something to do with the life or death situation?” she teases. “The guns?”

“They would’ve chased after me… probably.”

M can’t stop the smirk growing on her face. “My turn?”

Ezekiel’s eyes light up and he brings his blanket up to his chin, as if he were a child waiting for a bedtime story.

“My name is actually Minerva.”

“Minerva?” Ezekiel’s brows furrow together. “Where have I heard that name before?”

“Well, most people know it from Harry Potter.”

“McGonagall!” he exclaims.

M stifles her laugh and shushes him. “Yes, McGonagall. My mum actually named me after the goddess of wisdom and knowledge, though.”

“So why do you shorten it?”

“It’s embarrassing,” M snorts. “I sound like an old lady.”

“Well, you don’t look like an old lady,” he states.

She tilts her head, feigning flattery. “Awe, thanks Zeke.”

“Minerva,” he states, a small smile at her teasing. He repeats her name again and again. It doesn’t make the name any less strange in her mind. Apparently, it doesn’t for Ezekiel either, because he says, “I like M.”

“Yeah, a lot of people don’t know that Minerva is my real name anyway.”

Ezekiel lifts an eyebrow. “But Jungkook knows.”

“I live with him. He was bound to find out. Everyone calls me M, except Jungkook and my parents,” she explains.

M goes into detail about how she met Jungkook. It had been on campus, a year after Ezekiel had stopped showing up. She was taking art as an elective, as she had wanted for years. It just so happened that Jungkook had been taking the same class.

“We somehow wound up talking about the Louvre and wanting to visit. Shocked both of us that neither of us had, because it was so close by. One day during winter break, I was actually surprised that he called me and asked if I was down for a day trip to Paris. We spent hours in the Louvre. And our friendship sort of just developed from there.” She peeks at Jungkook to make sure he’s still breathing. “He was the first person I told that I was being offered a job at the Louvre. And he said he’d come along and help me with rent.”

“And you guys aren’t a thing?” Ezekiel asks. “Because how does anyone who looks like either of you live together and not have something happen?”

“Played around with the idea once when we were drunk.” M brings her legs up onto the cot, hugging her arms and the blanket around her knees. She pushes her glasses up a bit higher on her face. “It was a great night, but we decided that friends was where we liked it. He met Taehyung a month or so after that.”

“Who is…?”

“A barista at a café near our place,” M elaborates. “He’s sweet and when I introduced the two of them, they hit it off instantly. Tae spends weekends at our place, crashing in Jungkook’s room. I don’t ask unless Kook wants to tell and it’s normal. They haven’t admitted anything to me, but it’s obvious.”

Ezekiel hums, an easy smile playing on his lips. She knows she’s eased his mind about her relationship with Jungkook. It still leaves whatever they are up in the air. This is his job. He works for a magical building in a magical world that she isn’t sure if she can tolerate. He lives in…

“Where are we anyway?” she asks.

“Right now? Oregon.”

“As in… Oregon, USA?”

“Oregon, USA,” Ezekiel confirms.

She shakes her head in amazement.

“You get used to it eventually.”

She snorts. “You say that as if I’ll have time to get used to it.”

Ezekiel nods. “Plenty of tiem when you’re seeing me all the time. I exude magic.”

“Do you?”

“I’ll show you.” He swings his legs onto the floor. The cots are so close together that she can feel his body heat. Ezekiel tugs a coin out of his back pocket and presents it to her in his left hand. M can’t help but roll her eyes, but she watches regardless. The coin disappears and suddenly reappears behind her ear. “See? Magic.” He flips the coin before handing it over to her.

M rotates the coin between her fingers. “Do you do… real magic?”

Ezekiel shakes his head. “We leave that stuff to Cassandra. I know the basics, tamper with it a bit.” He gets to his feet, his blanket around his shoulders like a cape. “Come on, I’ll actually show you.”

“Show me what?” M follows him, her own blanket cape on. He waits for her by the door before falling in step with her. Their footsteps echo down the corridor and they hang a right before stepping out at the top of a small staircase. She can feel the expanse before her eyes really register it. She stares down a seemingly endless aisle, shelves of books on either side. There are beautiful pieces in open cases on either side at the bottom of the stairs.

“You aren’t tempted to steal any of it?” she suddenly asks.

Ezekiel doesn’t seem surprised or offended at her question. “Not gonna let that thief thing go, huh?”

He trails after her as she inspects the Arc of the Covenant up close. She doesn’t tare touch it, too scared that it will kill her or transport her to a different dimension or something her mind can’t even fathom.

“To be honest, no. Sometimes Baird will lock up the artefacts in new government style cases or magical ones if Jenkins comes up with something new, but it’s mostly just to keep me agile. They haven’t beat me yet.” She glances over her shoulder and can’t help but smile along with him. “They’re better here than out there, causing havoc.”

“Wow.” She smiles at him, admiring the tone in his voice and the way he holds himself. “I have to say, this version of you is… is much more enticing than the version of you I first met.” M turns away to look at the other artefacts. She can feel the energy they give off; so different from anything else she’s ever encountered. The closest she’s ever felt like this was standing in front of the Mona Lisa.

They wander the stacks until she starts to feel drowsy. Ezekiel leads her back to the Annex, as he calls it. He climbs onto his cot and offers a spot for her next to him. “It gets cold in here in the morning.”

M laughs. “Now you’re just trying too hard.”

Ezekiel grins and waves her over. She rolls her eyes with a grin, climbing in next to him. She inhales sharply, surprised at how… Ezekiel he smells.

“Right, this isn’t going to be very comfortable if you’re not going to just settle here,” Ezekiel whispers. His breath smells slightly of tea and she wonders when in the world Ezekiel started drinking tea. But then as her body slides into the dip of the cot, pressed against him, her forehead against his chest, she notes the pizza stain on his shirt and that reminds her that he’s still Zeke.

“Zeke,” she murmurs. He hums drowsily, his arm resting comfortably in the dip of her side. “Don’t promise me things you can’t give me, okay?”

“What?”

“Just… don’t.”

The next morning, she wakes to a bell chime and Ezekiel is already moving. She tips her head up and sees his other arm dangling off the cot, his phone in hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Case in Hakone, Japan.”

M can’t help but scoff at the idea. “Right. Your job as…”

“A Librarian,” he states.

“Librarian,” she snorts.

“Job doesn’t wait.” He slowly pushes himself up. He looks down at her, his hair mussed from sleep.

It seems too intimate that she has to look away. “I’ll take Kook home before your team sees us like this,” she chuckles. Ezekiel helps her sit up, his hand falling to her side so that he can support her. Then she stands, her bones cracking because the cot was uncomfortable as hell. She waddles over to Jungkook and smacks his arm to wake him.

“Kook, get up. We’re going home.”

Jungkook’s eyes are full of sleep when he looks back at her. She rolls her eyes and moves in front of him. “Let’s go home. You can sleep in your own bed. I’ll even call Taehyung over to nurse you back to health.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jungkook breathes.

“Because?”

“Because you know I’ll accidentally say I love him and it’ll be awkward,” he mutters.

“Precisely. Come on.” She urges him up and even though she hardly reaches his shoulder, she can hold his weight around his waist. Ezekiel stands by the door she thinks they stumbled through yesterday, his hand on an ancient looking globe with a magnifying glass attached.

“That’s it?” she asks.

“More magic than science,” Ezekiel answers.

M chuckles and watches him spin the globe. He pulls one door open and she can already see into her apartment. “Hmm, this part of magic I don’t mind.” She smiles at him. “Goodbye, Zeke.” She starts to walk through the door, but he catches her arm.

“You said not to promise you things I can’t give,” Ezekiel states.

M nods, staring at the Annex over his shoulder. “You can’t give this up and I wouldn’t want you to. Besides, we were both happy where we were, Zeke. Let’s just—”

Ezekiel cuts her off, his lips pressing gently against her own. His hand is soft against her cheek, though she can feel callouses in his palm.

“Guys,” Jungkook groans. “Say goodbye later.”

Ezekiel chuckles and brushes his thumb over her cheek. “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll see you when I’m back from Japan.”

M rolls her eyes with a smile. “Save the world first.”

[btsfaris]

Heavy Heart [P.2]

A/N: hii!! I’m so glad you guys enjoyed part 1!! I decided to be nice and post part 2 early hehe :))

Warnings: Lots of Fluff, More Angst(bc im a sad person)

Words: 2k+

-

P.1

You;

And there he was again, sitting beautifully in that lunch table.

It was currently lunchtime, and you were grabbing your lunch from the cafeteria like majority of the school. The place was filled with roudey teenagers, loud voices murmuring to their friends and lots of clatter from the lunch trays. Peter was sitting peacefully in his usual spot, half-way into the cafeteria, and munching on his meal.

You could always talk to him at this time, as he spent majority of his lunches with only Ned and not with a crowd. It would be so easy to just walk up to his best friend, ask him about the homework in Chemistry and casually greet Peter.. but you were a scaredy-cat.

Speaking to Peter always made you nervous. No matter what it was or even short it was, you’d become a mess. Your fingers would get antsy or your legs would start shifting in place.

Sometimes you couldn’t even look at eyes properly. You just never could build up the courage to smile at him, so it would be a complete challenge to say hi.

You always wished you could, perhaps things would be different. Maybe he would actually acknowledge you for once, and you’d grow from there. Even have the possibility of building up a relationship.

In your dreams, you think.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been staring at him, probably for a good minute now, by the way the person behind you groans for you to keep moving along the line. Can’t you see I’m enjoying the view? You want to hiss at them.

Grabbing a sandwich and some orange juice, you get out of line and slowly walk to the exit. Which is on the way to Peter’s table. Your eyes keep trained on him, watching him conversate with Ned.

His eyes suddenly shift to stare at his plate, moving his food around with the fork for a few moments before looking up. Directly on you.

Oh fuck. You look back down at the floor and a blush creeps up your neck. Hopefully, he didn’t notice you creepily gawking at him.

You count to five, still moving fairly slow across the cafeteria before glancing back up to see him still gazing at you. You blink a couple times, wondering if your eyes were playing tricks on you. You look around to see no one around you, and turn back to him, furrowing your brows.

His hand raises up and he gives you a shy smile. An actual smile. Your cheeks redden at this point, fingers slowly letting go of the tray to wave at him. As you raise up your palm, a familiar voice behind you perks up.

“Peter!” Liz calls, walking past you and towards his table. She stands in front of him, speaking inanimately and Peter’s eyes are wide, watching her talk with admiration. Something you do to him always.

Of course, he was smiling at her, not you. How stupid were you to think that he’d be waving at you like that? He was obviously looking at Liz, it was clear now.

Your hand immediately falls back down to your tray, gripping at it as you stare with jealousy at the pair. Gazing back at the floor, you turn around to take the exit near the front rather than your usual route, clearly not able to witness the scene any longer.

Peter;

“I hope I passed the exam,” I tell Ned, through a mouthful of my lunch. “Mr. Delmar said if I did, I could get a sub for free after school!”

“Let’s hope you do,” Ned agrees. “Maybe you could ask Y/N out and share half with her!”

“Going to get a free sub for our first date?” I snort. “How romantic! I might as well write cheapskate on my forehead.”

“Well, maybe she likes to be independent-“ Ned wiggles his brows, but stops mid-sentence as he looks across the cafeteria. “Speak of the devil! Peter, she’s staring at you right now!”

“What?” I still, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Yes! She’s totally giving you the googly eyes!” Ned exclaims.

I swallow the food in my mouth and glance back down at my plate casually. Okay, keep cool, keep cool.. Don’t freak out Peter. Slowly looking up, I spot her immediately and truth be told, her eyes are stuck on me.

My heart almost explodes in my chest but not a second later, she looks away as her gaze is now on the tray in her hands. I continue to look at her, wondering why she was staring at someone like me.

Could this be it? Is she finally showing interest in me? Don’t overthink this. Her eyes look back at me once more, and she flutters her pretty lashes, entrancing me in her beauty.

“Well don’t just stare at her! Do something Peter!” Ned hisses beside me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

With all my courage, I slowly smile and raise my sweaty palm at her. Shit, what if she doesn’t smile back, I think to myself. No, I must do this, I need to finally be brave without my mask.

A smile morphs on to her cute face, making me practically melt at the sight. Her dainty fingers slowly reach up, raising it up to match mine and my smile widens. It’s happening! It’s actually-

“Peter!” The voice does not come from my beloved angel, but behind her. Someone blocks my view of Y/N, revealing to be Liz Allan.

“Why didn’t you show up to the last meeting?” Liz frowns, making my eyes widen.

Shit! I completely forgot about that! I was too caught up with taking care of the city and surveilling, that it completely passed my mind.

“Jeez- I’m sorry Liz, I got caught up with studying for my Spanish exam, I totally forgot about it!” I lie through my teeth, praying that she bought it.

“Peter-“ She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose for a second, before looking back at me. “Just try to make it next time, okay? This championship really means a lot to me.”

“Definitely, I will!” I nod rapidly, and she rolls her eyes.

“Alright, bye you guys.” She leaves with a wave and I immediately turn my gaze back to Y/N.. only to see that she is no longer standing there.

My shoulders slump, a sad frown placing itself on to my face. My only chance to finally talk to Y/N.. and I blew it.

“Sorry man, maybe next time,” Ned pats my back sympathetically. I sigh, pushing away my lunch tray and place my head in hand.

-

You;

It’s currently after school now, and you’re sitting outside, enjoying the warm sun hitting your skin. A sketchbook in your hand, drawing your current piece of Peter. You’ve been working on it for months now, hoping to slip it in his locker one day as a gift, once complete.

You’re sitting in the middle of the bleachers, listening to students play a friendly game of football. It was nice out here, mostly quiet and gave you some time to yourself to think about things. Or time to work on your little secret project.

Humming a random tune, you are erasing a small mistake you made when the sound of a whistle startles you, causing you to drop your pencil. Great, you think, as you bend to pick it up. You look up carelessly and back down at your sketchbook before doing a double-take.

Low and behold, there was Peter, walking on the track with his backpack strapped over his shoulders. His skin and hair practically glowing under the sunlight. His big brown eyes looking at the boys playing football, before looking up at the sky.

“What is he doing here?” You whisper to yourself.

Peter never hung out by field after school, he always made his way to the nearby sandwich shop a couple blocks down. So what was he doing back here?

You look back down at your book, pretending to scribble something down. You bite your lip, placing your pencil down and glance up at him. This time, his eyes were on you and you felt your heart start to race.

He flashes you a small smile. Your eyes widen as you realize it’s directed at you, since no one else is on the bleachers.

“Hey-“ Peter waves, but is stopped short as a football hurtles towards him, hitting him square on the nose and knocking him off his feet.

“Peter!” You gasp, running down the bleachers and heading towards him.

You immediately drop your open sketchbook next to him and kneel over him. “Oh my god, are you okay?” You ask him, worried as he blinks repeatedly.

”N-Ned?” He asks, dazedly.

“No,” You whisper shyly. “It’s Y/N.”

“Oh, Y/N..” He repeats, before his eyes widen, he looks at your with big eyes and scrambles to sit up.

“Careful Peter!” You scold mildly, and notice the blood dripping from him nose. “Oh no, you’re bleeding.”

“I-It’s nothing! Just a scratch!” He attempts to play it off cooly, but winces as he touches his nose.

“Here,” You hand him a napkin from your bag.

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles, dabbing his nose with it. “This isn’t how I planned for this to go..”

“For what to go?” You ask curiously. He shakes his head and looks at you. His eyes stare into yours before scanning your face, causing you to blush.

“Hi Y/N..” He whispers.

“Hi Peter,” You stare at him back and smile lightly.

He seems to snap out of it, as he struggles to stand up and you scramble to help him.

“Uh, thanks for your help,” Peter clears his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment. He looks down and notices your book on the ground. “Oh here, you dropped this-“ He bends down to pick your sketchbook up but stops to look at it.

“Is this.. me?” He asks, looking up at you with wide eyes.

Oh no. “Um,” You bite your lip, mortified. “Y-Yes.” Now he’s really going to run!

A grin morphs on to his face instead. “That’s so cool!”

“Wait, really?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Y-Yeah.. it looks really good! Not that I’m self centered or anything, but you made me look good-it looks-you, uh, look good-“ His eyes widen. “I-I mean the drawing! Not that you don’t look good! You always do-” Peter stutters, making you crack a smile.

“Thank you Peter,” You interrupt him shyly, putting him out of his misery and take the sketchbook from him.

“No problem..” He blushes, scratching the back of his neck. “Hey, uh, are you free right now?”

“Oh, um, yeah I am.. Why?”

Instead of answering, he pulls out his phone and types into it quickly. “I passed!” Peter grins to himself and you quirk up a brow as he puts it away into his back pocket.

“Well, I’d like to repay you for your help.. So, would you like to share a sub with me right now?” He asks, looking at you with a nervous expression.

“Like, as a date?” The words come out of you before you can stop yourself.

“Uh, no! Of course not!” He snorts awkwardly causing your face to fall. “Unless you want it to be..” He shifts his gaze from the floor to you nervously and your mood skyrockets immediately.

“I’d love to..” You smile.

“Really?” He blinks rapidly and you nod.

“You sure you’re okay?” You ask again, worried as you notice the dry blood around his nose and he waves you off.

“I’ll be fine, if anything happens, you can take care of me.” He grins, and you let out a small giggle.

“Alright.. Well, shall we?” He smiles, standing beside you now and puts out his arm. You laugh a little at his gentlemanly actions and slip your arm around his.

“Also, quick question. Do you like your sandwiches flattened out?”

What a peculiar question.. “I love them.” You answer nonetheless.

“Perfect.” He grins and you both happily make your way down to the shop.

End.

-

a/n: this was so cute :’))) someone find me a Peter Parker pls !

[sopewriters]

Battle Scars.

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader (end-game); Jungkook X Original Female Character

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Romance (and random derps); Normall!AU

Word Count: Roughly 4K

Warnings: Mentions of toxic relationship(s); insecurities; self-deprecation

Notes: It sounds worse than it is. I think. I’m supposed to be studying for exams and I was, until I re-listened to Battle Scars (by Guy Sebastian & Lupe Fiasco) and this happened. God damn it.

“I hope you never come back!” She yells, shards of glass digging deep into his skin, eyes alight with fury, “Get out!”

He doesn’t react—can’t—and only stumbles back when she pushes at his chest with strong hands, cheek still stinging from the strike that was landed on him from only moments before.

It’s yet another night.

Another night where he’s wondering what he’s done so wrong, another night when he begins to question why he can’t stop, can’t stop himself from coming back again and again and again. It’s toxic, yes, and it’s his own shaking fingers that inject the poison into his veins.

“I love you.” He says dimly, and there’s a pause and he sees the incredulity in her eyes before there’s another shove that has him tripping over the entrance, hissing as the cold makes his cheek sting.

“I don’t want to see your face.” She says squarely, and the frown has him flinching, “Leave me alone until I’m ready to talk.”

The door is slammed into his face and he doesn’t move for a couple of beats, mind still working to wrap its head around what’s going on. It’s only then that he steps back, a sigh of pained acceptance escaping his throat, and he turns around, to head back to his place.

Except that he doesn’t want to go there. He can still see traces of her lingering around his apartment; the light wisps of her perfume, the black hoodie she’s abandoned in his room, the innocuous toothbrush that’s sitting in its rack—innocent things that are choking him, that are suffocating him.

He decides then, that he’s not going home. Not when it doesn’t feel that way.

He walks slowly, feeling his phone vibrate in its pocket crazily, undoubtedly from Jin, demanding where are you Jungkook, don’t you see how late it is? Or from Namjoon wondering is everything okay?

Jungkook doesn’t want to talk to anyone anymore; would rather be left to suffer on his own, to scrape his own nails into his skin, to be the one that’s making him bleed out slowly. There’s no escape from the Devil, and he sits precariously on Jungkook’s shoulder, whispering about how he should just do it, how he should just say fuck it and mess up again.

His eyes are unfocused as he walks mindlessly, in a direction he doesn’t even recognize. So it doesn’t even faze him when a strong arm comes to grip his shoulder, slamming him into the wall, dragging a pained whimper from him.

“Watch where you’re going, punk.” One of the men who’s stopped him hisses and Jungkook can’t help the mirthless laugh that bubbles from bruised lips and the tiny smile twitching onto his features.

“What the actual fuck?” The other one rears angrily, landing a punch on Jungkook’s jaw that makes his head snap to the side, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

He can’t move with every hit to his bruised body, each mark adding to collection, and he slumps over, hands cradling his abdomen by the time they’re done with him.

“Fucking punks.” He hears one of them mutter as the footsteps fade, “No fucking respect anymore.”

It’s cold.

He shivers as he pushes himself up, muscles screaming in protest as he does; the pain grounds him, he finds, makes him remember he actually can’t lie there all night.

He limps agonizingly, often pausing to catch his breath, when he catches sight of light—the only light he’s seen in the area so far—and he curiously makes his way there. It looks to be a café, operating 24/7 and he hesitates for a moment, before his shaky hands come to push against the door, warmth hitting him as soon as he enters.

“Welcome!” He hears someone shout from behind the counter, a female employee, and he mumbles something out through cracked lips, before he looks around.

As far as cafés go, this is pretty basic, he decides, but it doesn’t make it any less welcoming, especially to a weary traveler like him. The yellow lighting is dim, but he can still see, and it soothes the tiny pricks of pain shooting through his head; he stumbles into a chair, legs folding underneath his weight as he collapses into the plush seat.

He hears someone gasp, and he lifts his eyes to meet your shocked ones.

“Are you okay?” He hears you gasp out, and he can’t even croak out the barest of yeses, but he doesn’t need to, because you’ve crossed the room in a few steps and have gently taken his face into your soft hands, turning it slightly so the bruises catch in the light.

“Wait a second,” You murmur to him and like an aimless boat, looking for an anchor, he nods, “I’ll go get something for your face.”

You return in barely any time, a tiny first aid box clutched tightly in your hands—he can tell, because of the tiny red cross decorating one side of it.

“What happened to you?” He winces at the inevitable question, and hears you pause, before your hands resume their work of rubbing a cotton wad with disinfectant, “You don’t need to answer, sorry. My name’s Y/N, by the way, I’m such an idiot sometimes.”

He hears your laugh for the first time, and he swears it’s the purest thing he’s ever heard, graceful like tinkling bells. Immediately after that, he chucks the thought from his head—he can’t do this to someone else, too.

“Nothing happened.” He manages to squeeze out, before he hisses when the wet cotton touches the cut decorating the corner of his lip, “My name’s Jungkook. Ow.”

“Looks like it.” You say, smile lighting up your features, and he can only gaze at you in surprise as you joke around with him—a random beaten-up guy who’s showed up in the middle of the night—and he can’t stop the answering shy smile that makes his lip hurt again, “Obviously, you show up like someone’s used you as a piñata for no reason, Jungkook.”

“Is it that bad?” He raises his hand curiously, but lets it drop, not wanting to actually touch his face, “I mean, do I look that bad?”

“You don’t look bad at all.” You hum and your cheeks flush, mirroring his own, “I mean, the b-bruises are pretty bad, but it’s not going to cause any major damage.”

“I’d tell you that you should’ve seen the other guy,” Jungkook licks his lips, “But I didn’t really do anything.”

He gets to hear you laugh again, and he counts it as a win, even as the rest of the process is done without much talking.

“All done.” You announce proudly, packing up the kit, “Don’t go anywhere, though.”

“I don’t think I can.” Jungkook admits as you jog back to the counter to put it back, “Why do you have a first-aid kit by the way?”

“You wouldn’t believe how many rookies burn their fingers while handling the milk.” You call back, disappearing through the double doors that read EMPLOYEES ONLY in block letters, “It’s both sad and funny at the same time.”

He’s left in silence, so he finally checks his phone, which has finally fallen silent.

There are up to 13 texts from Namjoon, and over 20 from Jin. His gut clenches in guilt and he quickly types out a generic answer to their last messages, telling them he’ll be home soon.

He startles when a plate is placed in front of him with flourish, complete with a neat slice of chocolate cake on it.

“It’s for you,” You clarify when you see his wide-eyed gaze, “Unless you don’t like chocolate, in which case I’d need to disown you.”

“No, I…” He croaks out, before he clears his throat, looking at you with gratefulness, “I like it.”

“Good.” You nod with a satisfied smile, pulling up a chair so that you can take a seat opposite him, propping your elbows on the table, “I would’ve gotten you a drink, but that’s the one thing I don’t have any power over here.”

“N-no,” He shakes his head quickly, as he tastes a piece of the cake, barely resisting a moan at the burst of flavor, “T-This is enough…thank you.”

You wave off his thanks with your hand, before your smile drops slightly.

“Can I ask what happened?” You see him stiffen, and hasten to add, “Not about the bruises, I mean…you just look kind of sad and I’m wondering why?”

“I…” He barely resists the urge to bite his lip, knowing it’ll sting much more if he does, “I just had a fight with my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Shock filters over your features, before you smile tightly, “I didn’t realize…”

“She kicked me out.” He says flatly, and when he looks, you’re still staring at him, “A difference of opinions, I guess.”

“Oh,” You say quietly, before, “Are…you still together?”

“I don’t know.” He answers, just as small, “She said she didn’t want to see me until…well, she didn’t say when.”

He can see you from the corner of his eyes, a pinched expression that you struggle to smoothen out and, for a reason that even he doesn’t understand, he finds himself spilling it out.

“I don’t know what I even did wrong, this time,” He sees you stiffen in surprise, but he continues, needing to get it out, tired of having to keep it in all this time, “She just…she never tries to wait for a single second to listen before she’s yelling at me.”

He shakes his head, feels the tears of frustration stinging at his eyes, “I don’t even understand. I just asked her if she wanted to go out for dinner over the weekend, and she just started screaming about how I never think about her or her stress levels or anything.”

He closes his eyes, finds he can still echoes of her screams of fury, pelting him with rocks and shards of gravel, like a storm he can’t get away from. ‘Why don’t you ever think about me?’ she screams and Jungkook always wants to scream back, ‘What about me?’ but he can’t, can’t squeeze the words out of his mouth.

He feels you squeeze his wrist lightly, something unfamiliar in your eyes that he can’t recognize, for all of his trying.

“I know what that feels like.” You say honestly, and his eyes widen, “They start by telling you that you’re not paying enough attention to them, even when you think you’re doing everything you can. Later on, they tell you that you need to give them space, that you’re being clingy and overbearing.”

You sigh deeply, eyes glazed over, “I understand all of it. They feel like they’re being wronged or something but in reality…”

He sees you shake your head, “In reality, it’s us; we’re giving it our all, but they don’t seem to reciprocate.”

“I…” He stops, before he realizes that’s exactly it, and he sees you smile at him sadly, eyes fluttering rapidly to keep back the moisture, and he feels like his heart’s been wrenched out of him.

“It’s not something you should return to.” You decide, and even though Jungkook’s been told the same thing countless times before, he finds himself more inclined to listen, “It makes you feel bad and not worth it. Like there’s no one to love you, no matter how much you keep giving.”

“How…” He can’t even finish the sentence, feeling a lump rise in his throat, and it looks like you understand, because you squeeze his shoulder gently.

“I’ve got some experience under my belt.” There’s a silence, before you rise to your feet, “Okay, talk about a mood kill, sorry about that.”

You fiddle around with your apron, pulling out a notepad, scribbling something onto the flimsy white sheet and tearing it out before thrusting it into his face.

He takes it with shaky hands, tracing the gentle lines of the numbers in your handwriting, before it occurs to him that you’ve given him your number and that he can’t possibly take it because—

“Keep it.” You nod at the note, cheeks coloring, “I’m not trying to…y’know, or anything. But, if you ever need to talk to someone…”

You give a half-smile, “I’ve been told I’ve got a good ear.”

He nods wordlessly, hands automatically shoving the paper into his pocket, and he looks at you with a tiny smile of his own.

“Thanks.” He says, before he gets up slowly, “For…for everything, I mean.”

“Yeah.” He thinks he sees a glimmer of sadness in your eyes as you wave him away, but doesn’t think much of it as the door falls shut behind him.

It’s cold outside, he finds. He wants to go back inside, but he knows he can’t. Not yet, anyway.

It’s been a while since you’ve last seen him. The boy who’d stumbled into the café in the wee hours of the morning, flawless skin broken and colored with ugly bruises. The boy who, strangely enough, stumbled his way into your heart as well.

It’s not love, you know, it’s more a fascination. Especially with the tears building up in those strong eyes when he recalled the biting words that left him like that; especially when you remembered a part of you lodged firmly in him. Unwilling to believe the world could be so cruel, but fully aware of the last pinpricks of pain digging into your skin from your hope.

You wonder, sometimes, if that boy, with the tussled brown hair, is ever going to come back. And, if he is, when. It makes sense if he doesn’t, actually, because no one wants someone as dumb and overbearing as you in their lives anyway.

You sigh sadly as you finish putting back the last of the plates and cups in their rightful places, wiping your wet hands on your apron. You’re on shift again at the café, and it’s been a little over a month since you’ve seen him: Jungkook.

“I’m off!” You hear the other employee on shift, a kind-hearted man named Youngho, call from the front, and you dutifully shout a farewell as you approach the counter.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take over for you?” He hesitates, hand still on the door, and you shake your head gently, waving him off.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry!” You laugh, shooing him away, “Go have fun.”

“If you’re sure.” He tips off his imaginary hat to you, before the door clicks shut behind him, and you’re immersed in silence once again.

“Where are you?” You wonder softly, looking at your hands as you sit down idly, “Jungkook.”

“Right here.” You startle dramatically, shooting out of your chair, and ready to hunt down a baseball bat to protect yourself when you see him and freeze, “Sorry I took so long, Y/N.”

Jungkook lifts his head and grins, face unmarred by anything, looking so unfairly beautiful after all this time that you can’t bring yourself to feel angry.

“Jungkook.” You breathe in shock, hands fisting nervously in your apron, and you blurt out the randomest thing that comes to mind, “Why’s your hair purple?”

He looks stumped for a moment, and for an excruciating few moments, you’re worried you’ve ruined something again, not for the first time, but then he laughs. And isn’t it unfair, again, that even his laugh sounds so beautiful?

“Because I dyed it?” He asks playfully, before his smile softens as he answers your unasked question, “Sorry it took me so long.”

You nod, mind barely able to function, but you remember to push him into a chair—the same chair as the last time you met—and run back to the kitchen to emerge with another plate of chocolate cake.

“If you’re hungry.” You say shyly, and he smiles back with red tinting his cheeks, “I mean, not that I think you’re going hungry or anything but, I mean, in case you are—” and ugh your dumb mouth, never knowing when to shut up.

He just takes a giant bite of the cake, giving you a thumbs up, making you stutter in surprise; before you know it, though, you can’t help but smile and sit down, opposite from him.

“How have you been?” You wonder, making him look up at you mid-bite, “I mean, it’s been a while so I was just wondering.”

There’s a silence as he stares pensively at the plate in front of him, and your heart catches in your throat.

“I took your advice,” He says finally, looking up with serious cocoa eyes, “I…I broke up with her.”

“And…?” Nausea threatens to overwhelm you at the thought that you might’ve made things difficult for him, all because you couldn’t keep your big fat mouth shut (yet again).

“I…” He concentrates for a brief moment, lips puckering in thought, before he blinks, smiling toothily at you, “I’m happy.”

“Oh.” You breathe out and that’s when it finally sets in, that you haven’t ruined his life, and you slump in relief, “I’m happy for you, then.”

“My friends kept telling me to do it.” He continues, making you look up in surprise, “But I never listened.”

‘Then why did you…?” You feel like you might be asking too many questions, but he’s the one making you so curious in the first place.

He shrugs lightly, taking another bite of the cake, before exhaling heavily.

“This,” You tense at his voice, “Is some seriously good cake. I didn’t get to tell you that before. The flavor just explodes in my mouth, you know?”

You stare at him for a moment, before what he said finally sinks in, and you giggle at how dumb he can be, just like you.

“Thank you for your opinion,” You say teasingly, “I’ll be sure to pass that onto our chef, sir.”

The two of you giggle for a few seconds about it, like teenagers exchanging their first dirty joke, before you let it rest.

“Sorry I didn’t come sooner.” He says again, like he did when he first entered, “I had a couple of things to take care of, so I had to spend all of my time on them.”

You blink, “No, of course it’s alright.”

It occurs to you then, so you lean forward on your elbows challengingly, raising an eyebrow, “You could’ve called or just texted me though.”

“I…” He mutters something under his breath, blush decorating his cheeks and it makes you lean forward more, so that you can hear him better.

“What did you say?” You collapse back against your chair, though you do it with more force than necessary, and your chair’s teetering when he says.

“I was afraid.”

And you go tipping back, eyes growing wide, mirroring Jungkook’s, but there’s nothing either of you can do, so you crash against the ground with an oof.

“Shit, Y/N, are you okay?” There are hands helping you up—Jungkook’s warm hands, you realize—and you manage to sit down again, softer this time.

“Yeah,” You know you’re pink in the cheeks, can feel the warmth coursing through them, and you look at him quickly as he pulls his chair closer to you, biting your lip, “Why’d you say you were afraid? Afraid of what?”

“Oh,” He looks like a deer caught in the headlights as he says, “You caught that.”

“Of course I did,” You roll your eyes, before mock glaring at him, “Do I look that hideous?”

“No,” He says honestly, catching you off guard, with your heart stopping its steady rhythm, “You look amazing.”

“What?” You whisper in unabashed shock, hands shaking as they fist into your clothes, “Y-You don’t mean that—”

“That’s why I was so afraid to come back.” He cuts through your sentence, eyes determined as they meet yours, “We only met once before, but I was already hooked onto you, like you were a drug.”

There’s a pause, before he sheepishly says, “I mean, you’re obviously not bad for me like a drug, though.”

That’s enough to snap you out of your shock, and your heart’s pounding in your ears as you stare uncertainly at him, making him bite his lip anxiously.

“Jungkook,” You say hesitantly, “You said it yourself…we’ve only really spoken once and, don’t get me wrong, I really, really like you too, but…”

You find that you can’t finish the sentence and, deep inside, you know, this is the moment where he loses interest in you, when he decides someone who can’t commit quickly isn’t worth his time.

You pause in surprise when you feel your hands be surrounded in a comforting warmth, as Jungkook squeezes softly on them.

“I know,” He says instead of asking you to clarify, “You want to take it slow. And, so do I.”

He shakes his head, before looking at you with a shy smile that makes your breath stop short.

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

Your hands go lax in surprise, before the tears sting at your eyes and you press a hand to your mouth, trying to stop yourself from breaking down in front of him. He sees right through you though, mouth quirking into a concerned frown as the tears slip out, eyes wide and panicked.

“I’m sorry,” He says desperately, and this only makes the choking sensation worse, “I... I didn’t mean to make you cry…!”

You manage to shake your head.

“I-I’m happy.” You admit, teary, wiping at your eyes, before looking at him with a watery smile, “No one’s told me that before.”

“Well, they’re idiots.” He relaxes, giving you a brilliant smile, “So…are you okay with it?”

“Yeah.” You confirm, giving a teary laugh when he throws his arms around you, hugging him for the first time and feeling like it’s decidedly right, “I’m more than okay with it.”

“I’m glad.” He whispers into your hair, before he takes a deep breath, “Would like to go on a date with me this Saturday then? I’ll text you the time and place.”

“That sounds good.” You confess, and the two of you exchange soft smiles, “I’ll see you then?”

“Of course.” He turns around and heads for the door, before he freezes, and you frown in worry when he turns back around to face you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, worried he might have changed his mind or something, but he just shakes his head as his hands cradle your face, warm against your cheeks and oh.

He doesn’t kiss you on the lips, instead pressing his mouth to your forehead gently and stepping back.

“Now I’m good,” He declares, grinning at your flushed cheeks, and giving a tiny wave as he makes his way out the door, “See you on Saturday.”

“Yeah,” You echo smilingly, hand resting gently on the chair, eyes catching on the empty plate of chocolate cake he’s left behind him yet again, “See you.”

Written By: Admin Midnight (who needs to get a grip like srsly)

[smochiis]

band-aid solutions

✩pairing: jimin x reader

✩ genre: smut, angst, humor

✩ warning: slight voyeurism/exhibitionism, dirty talk, dom!jimin, oral

✩ word count: 15k

✩ summary: It’s said that time heals all wounds, but that isn’t exactly true and sometimes band-aids are all you have. You catch your boyfriend cheating on you and Jimin is more than willing to help you forget him.

✩ a/n: inspired by the drama suspicious partner, check it out if you haven’t already!

It was a slew of texts that initiated the craziest night of your life.

 You found yourself curled up on the library’s sofa, facing yet another long, sleepless night. Your textbooks, notebooks, and papers piled around you in a disarray as you downed coffee after coffee in hopes of staying awake. The certification exam loomed over your head as you valiantly tried to focus on the words just underneath your nose while they floated around on the page.

 The buzzing of your phone jolted you awake and you realized you must have dozed off.

 Sighing, rubbing your temples, you grabbed your phone and squinted at the screen as the sudden brightness almost blinded you. The words were fuzzy at first but once you read them, suddenly, you could see very clearly. Your mind was awake and sharp and your stomach flopped.

 Krystal: you said your bf was on a business trip right?? [9:42 pm]

 Krystal: im pretty sure you told me that yesterday [9:42 pm]

 Krystal: but it's weird bc there's a guy here at the hotel who looks just like jaejoon [9:43 pm]

 Krystal: because it is jaejoon oh my god [10:37 pm]

 Krystal: and there’s a woman with him [10:37 pm]

 Krystal: y/n are you awake?? [10:39 pm]

 Krystal: y/n!!! [10:39 pm]

 Krystal: jongin and i left already but im positive it was jaejoon [11:21]

 Krystal: y/n call me when you get these….please?? [11:22 pm]

 You weren’t exactly sure what you felt after that, your body numb and your mind working overtime. But you didn't call Krystal. Instead, you pocketed your phone and hailed a taxi to the hotel Krystal had told you about -- the fancy one she and her boyfriend had been staying at for the past three nights as part of their anniversary celebration. You didn't even think twice about it.

 Until you were dropped off in the loop and gazed upon the graceful columns and arches of the entryway.

 It had to be some sort of prank. You forced yourself to push open the sleek, glass double-doors and walk into the foyer cast in a warm, golden glow. But you knew Krystal; she would never pull a prank like this.

 The only other explanation was that, maybe, your friend had been mistaken. And as you stood there, in the midst of excellently-groomed men and women who exuded wealth in their pristine suits and dresses and jewelry, you felt embarrassingly out of place. You truly hoped that Krystal had seen wrong.

 It was possible, right?

 You blew out a breath as you told yourself that, tried to calm your heart as it crumpled prematurely in your chest.

 But the longer you stood there in the lobby, the more ridiculous you felt. You'd dropped everything, even though your certification exam was tomorrow, and driven all the way out to a hotel that was so far out of your price range it hurt. You hadn’t even changed out of your jeans and t-shirt. Not to mention you had no idea what time it was. You dug out your phone and checked.

 12:09 am.

 You were absolutely crazy.

 “It's hard to disagree when you're just standing in the middle of the lobby like that,” a smooth voice murmured.

 Startled, you glanced to your left. “Huh?”

 The man standing next to you wore a plain but obviously expensive suit. Complete with a tie, cufflinks, and shiny black shoes. His chestnut hair was styled impeccably, his face fresh and handsome, despite the hour. He looked like something straight out of a catalogue, almost inhuman, as he watched you with a startling intensity.

 You felt even more out of place the longer he stared, your ears burning.

 “You look a little tense. Would you like a drink?” he offered.

 You didn't give yourself time to ponder his behavior or proposition. “No, thanks. I'm...looking for someone,” you said.

 The man just nodded, an inscrutable look in his pretty eyes. “Maybe some other time, then.” And he wandered back to the bar area across the floor, sitting with a group of other men who you assumed were his friends.

 You didn’t realize that you’d been watching him until your eyes met again.

 Licking your lips, you turned around and finally decided to move. You didn't know what to do now that you were in the lobby -- it wasn't like you could go knocking on every door, looking for a man who you weren’t even sure was here -- but you figured that the elevator was a good place to start. You could at least try to compose yourself there, figure out your next step.

 You tried to ignore the stares as you jabbed your thumb against the button. Tried to ignore the whispers of the people who walked past you, the frazzled girl in a pair of jeans. And as you ignored them, you once again tried to convince yourself that this was crazy -- you were crazy. That everything was a misunderstanding, that Krystal had seen wrong, and that your boyfriend was in Busan for his business trip like he had promised.

 But that feeble hope shattered when the elevator doors opened and you stared Jaejoon in the face.

 Like some sort of twisted scene right out of a drama.

 You saw the panic flash across his face as your eyes met. You also saw his arm draped around the shoulders of the slender woman by his side, and how her hand rested on his chest with familiarity. The woman looked at you curiously, and then at Jaejoon, a frown pulling on her perfect lips.

 “What's the matter, baby?” she murmured, and the pet-name was a fist around your lungs. She eyed you again. “Do you know her?”

 “Go wait in the car,” he leaned down and whispered in her ear. He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze when she hesitated, a sweet smile that you knew so well. “I'll be out in just a little bit.”

 The woman frowned again, her pretty features furrowing, but she did as he said nonetheless. Her red dress hugged her hips and curves, serving as a beacon and drawing every man’s eyes as she left.

 It was only after the double-doors shut behind her that your boyfriend sighed.

 “Y/N...let's talk.”

  You didn't know why you let him lead you to the sitting area and into a plush chair. You didn't know why you were even still here because all you wanted to do was run away and hide.

 Was this really happening?

 Your mouth was shut so tightly your jaw hurt. Because if you opened it, you’d spew out all your feelings in a cacophony of word vomit. All you could do was stare at Jaejoon as he sipped his water and hope that he could feel your gaze burning into his skin.

 “Aren't you going to say something?” he asked after a long moment of pure silence. “Or are you going to just stare at me.”

 It took a great effort to unlock your jaw and bite back all the raging questions. “Explain yourself,” you managed through gritted teeth.

 He blinked, shrugged. “I don’t really have anything to say.”

 “I just found you with another woman at a hotel at midnight. And you have nothing to say?” Heartbreak and fury warred in your chest, constantly trying to one-up each other. But somehow, you managed to keep your face impassive.

 You didn't want Jaejoon to know what you were feeling.

 Jaejoon sighed. “It’s not what you think.”

 “Then what is it?”

 “Look,” he said, “the important thing is that I still love you, Y/N. I’ve made mistakes, yeah, but how I feel about you will never change.”

 Mistakes. Plural.

 The lines felt almost scripted, like he’d practiced them. Or repeated them to other women. They were hollow, without an ounce of sincerity, and it made your skin prickle.

 “How many times?” you interrupted.

 “What?”

 “How many times have you made mistakes?” The question left a sour taste in your mouth, made your chest ache, but you had to know.

 Jaejoon sat back in his chair. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you it was the first time, and your feelings would be hurt if I told you it wasn’t the first time. Don’t you think it would be better if you just didn’t know?”

 Incredulity had your mouth dropping open. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, like a cloth having the water wrung out of it. But you swallowed the pain and fought back the burn in your eyes.

 Heartbreak was winning.

 To be honest, you’d already known that something wasn’t right.

 The delays in his texts, the sudden surge in business trips, the constant need to readjust the passenger seat in his car…

 You’d known that he was changing, that he was seeing someone else. You’d known that he was a two-timing bastard, but pretended not to. You willingly let yourself be fooled because it was less painful that way.

 But now the truth was right in front of your face. Undeniable. You couldn’t look away this time and it felt like being kicked in the teeth by a horse.

 “Anyway,” Jaejoon sighed, “I made a mistake. You’re right. Do you need me to swear that it won’t happen again?” He lifted his right hand with an easy smile that had won you over so many times before.

 Now, it just made your hands fist in your lap. Fury wrestled its way to the top.

 “Do you think this is a joke?” You crossed your arms and his smile fell. “The least you could do is be serious, you asshole.”

 Jaejoon closed his eyes and ran his tongue over his teeth. “I’m young, Y/N,” he said, as if that explained everything.

 “And?”

 “And when gorgeous girls in tight little dresses try to outright seduce you…” He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “There aren’t very many young men who’d be able to resist, that’s all. We have two heads and only one can be in charge at a time.”

 Your stomach flopped and your eyes started to burn again. “So you’re saying that you had no choice because you’re young?” You refused to cry, and to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, even if they were angry tears.

 “I’m saying that I won’t make the same mistake again,” he said, frustration clear.

 “You mean you won’t get caught again.” You swallowed tightly, the knowledge a thick lump in your throat. Because he would do it again. “You mean that you’ll just be more careful when you’re cheating on me, you son of a bitch.” You slammed your hands on the table and stood up, heading for the doors.

 You needed to leave. To disappear. And to cry out your heartache where no one could see.

 “Y/N!” You heard Jaejoon’s footsteps as he chased after you, felt his tight grip on your wrist as he tried to turn you around. “I said I was sorry. What more do you need?”

 That anger buried deep in your chest finally exploded as you threw off his hand. “What, so, when you say sorry I’m just supposed to roll over and go, ‘Okay, I understand, I forgive you’? Do you think that ‘sorry’ makes everything okay?”

 He stared at you, stunned, as if he’d never expected such a reaction from you. But of course he wouldn’t have, because for the entirety of your relationship you’d held your tongue, willing to overlook his faults in exchange for his attention. Because ‘sorry’ had always made everything okay before.

 That was your mistake.

 “Then this is it? We’re done?”

 “No, wait,” you said. You were tired of being a pushover. “I’ll decide whether or not we’re done. But first, let’s even the score. I’m young, just like you are,” you said and watched his face change, “so that means I have no choice but to make mistakes too. I’ll go and have a one-night stand.”

 Jaejoon spluttered.

 “After we’re even,” you continued, “then I’ll let you know if we’re breaking up.”

 He let out a short bark of laughter and crossed his arms. “Seriously, Y/N? You? You’re not the type to - ”

 “Yes, me. I’m going to sleep with the first guy I bump into after this,” you promised, and you dearly hoped that he believed you.

 “Y/N.” The amount of scorn on his tongue could have melted steel.

 “The very first one,” you said in a low voice. Without giving him a chance to reply, you turned on your heel and went to storm across the lobby. Instead, you barely managed two steps before an old man walked directly into your path and, panicking, you twisted on the balls of your feet to avoid running into him.

 The very first one, you’d promised. Heartbroken and blinded by revenge or not, old men just didn’t do it for you.

 So rather than bumping into an old man, you tripped and crashed to the floor. Your knees smacked the ground hard, sending a jolt through your whole body, and your hair exploded around your face.

 Behind you, you heard Jaejoon snicker. “Oh my god...”

 Sitting there on the cold hard floor, feeling the weight of many eyes on your shoulders, in your old jeans and t-shirt, you were once again reminded of how utterly ridiculous you were. You had never felt smaller than you did in that moment as you brushed your hair out of your eyes and scrambled to your feet. But still, you pretended as though nothing had happened as you fixed your hair and your shirt.

 You managed a few steps before your vision grew watery and you sniffed, trying to discreetly rub away the tears that threatened to spill.

 Instead, you rubbed out one of your contacts.

 Now everything was blurry and you stood frozen in the lobby. Your shoulders threatened to tremble as the embarrassment ate you alive. Even though you couldn’t see them, you could feel everyone staring at you -- probably laughing at you too.

 And among them was Jaejoon.

 Right there, in that moment, your “tough girl” act began to crumble. You didn’t care who it was, but you wished that someone would take you away.

 No, you wanted to disappear completely.

 But before the first tear could fall, you caught a whiff of expensive cologne and felt the strong press of a shoulder against yours. A man bumped into you hard enough to gain your attention and you turned to look at his face. You couldn’t discern much as you squinted at his profile, but he stood calmly next to you and stared at Jaejoon.

 Who was apparently unfazed by the whole ordeal. “Come on, stop being so stubborn, Y/N.” His voice was exasperated, like he was speaking to a child.

 The stranger next you, however, had given you enough of a reprieve to collect yourself. He’d bumped into you on purpose.

 You took a breath and blinked away the tears before looking at him again, completely ignoring Jaejoon. “Would you sleep with me?” you asked.

 A part of you realized that you should have felt ridiculous asking that question. But a bigger part of you realized that you didn’t care anymore.

 Because the stranger glanced at you and said in a voice smooth as velvet, “Sure, I’d love to.”

 You didn’t know why he was helping you save face but you were grateful nonetheless. And when you leaned in to get a better look at him, squinting, you sighed. You couldn’t make out any of his defining features, but you could still tell that he was handsome and probably around the same age as yourself.

 “At least you’re young and good-looking,” you muttered under your breath.

 The stranger chuckled. “Glad to know you think so,” he said, and you paused.

 You’d heard that smooth, rich voice before. Recently, in fact.

 Stepping even closer to him, you rose to the balls of your feet and blinked, trying to focus on his face. You squinted as his fuzzy features slowly became clearer, bit by bit, until you could see his well-kept hair, beautiful brown eyes, and full lips stretched into a smile.

 Recognition hit you, leaving you breathless.

 It was the same man who’d spoken to you earlier and offered to buy you a drink. The catalogue man.

 “Oh, it’s you,” you gasped.

 He only smiled wider and offered you his arm. “Let’s go.”

 Sparing a glance at Jaejoon, who was staring at you with disbelief, you grabbed Catalogue Man’s hand without a second thought. “Gladly,” you hummed and let him guide you to the double-doors.

 Bursting through those doors earlier, you would have never imagined that you’d be leaving on the arm of a man who wasn’t your boyfriend. But, you supposed, life was unpredictable and cruel and sometimes you just had to improvise.

 “Wait a minute,” Jaejoon called. “Whoa, wait a minute!” The outrage in his voice was clear and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t satisfying. “Y/N, stop right there! If you leave with him, then we’re over,” Jaejoon warned, and you stopped in your tracks.

 The stranger by your side glanced down at you with a quirked brow as if to say, What do you want to do?

 You inhaled, taking in the stares of everyone in the lobby. They were rapt, as if tuned into their favorite daytime soap opera. You’d already created quite the scene, why not go out with a bang?

 So you wrapped Catalogue Man’s arm around your shoulders in a bold move. And then you plastered the biggest, brightest smile on your face and said, “Let’s go.”

 Catalogue Man kept you tucked underneath his arm, a faux show of possession, but let you lead. Wrapped in the warm smell of his cologne, feeling his nice suit against the bare skin of your arms and cheeks, you felt confident. You felt like you could look back at your boyfriend -- ex-boyfriend -- and smile coyly. Because you had a better man, a more beautiful man, a wealthier man who was willing to sleep with you. Someone better than Jaejoon wanted you.

 In that moment, the revenge was honey on your tongue.

 But that confidence disappeared the moment you set foot outside and the cold night air slapped your face. It was like waking up from a strange, horrible dream.

 And you were suddenly faced with the fact that a total stranger was expecting you to sleep with him. Because you'd asked him to.

 Biting your lip, you wracked your brain for ideas on how to weasel your way out of the situation. Maybe if you said you'd changed your mind, he would just let you go. Or maybe he wouldn't.

 Those thoughts came to a sudden stop, though, when said stranger removed his arm from around your shoulders. His absence left you cold, goosebumps breaking out along the skin of your arms, and you crossed them.

 “I know you don't really want to sleep with me,” Catalogue Man said with what you thought was a smile. Having just one contact was still making it difficult for you to see. “And that's fine, because I didn't really expect you to.”

 You couldn't hide your surprise. “How do you know that?”

 “You could have taken us upstairs to one of the hotel rooms. But instead we came outside,” he said before heading over to the valet’s stand to, presumably, have his car brought around.

 You watched him, fingers fiddling with the fabric of your shirt. You were too embarrassed to point out that you probably couldn't afford to pay for a room at this hotel. It had taken Krystal’s boyfriend over a year to save up for just three nights and you had no idea how Jaejoon had been able to afford it. Unless he wasn't a businessman at all, which you couldn't disregard.

 And all at once, you realized that you hadn't really known Jaejoon at all.

 Over a year together and he was practically as much a stranger to you as the man in front of you now while he waited for his car.

 The sour feeling in your mouth was back but you still touched Catalogue Man’s arm. “I don't know why you helped me, but thank you,” you said in a small voice.

 “I had fun helping you out. Though I never did get your name,” he mused, looking at you.

 “Y/N,” you supplied, wishing you could see his eyes better.

 “Y/N…” He rolled your name around on his tongue, testing it out. “It's pretty. I’m Park Jimin. Figured it's only right that we know each other's names since we’re apparently sleeping together,” he teased as he held out his hand.

 Despite yourself, you laughed and shook his hand. “Jimin. Now I can stop thinking of you as Catalogue Man.”

 The joke wasn't very funny you thought, but Jimin still broke into a smile that revealed a just-slightly crooked tooth. It’s appearance did funny things to your abused heart.

 Which you quickly wrote off as adrenaline.

 The purr of an engine drew your eyes as a sleek, silver Mercedes rolled around before coming to a smooth stop in front of you. The valet got out and handed Jimin his keys.

 “I have to go,” Jimin said. “But in the future, try not to bump into random guys on the street. Far too many of them would actually take you up on that offer to sleep with you. There's lots of perverts out there, Y/N.” His warning was firm but also caring, which was strange you thought.

 But then again, a lot of strange things had happened tonight.

 Jimin smiled at you and waved before opening the driver door. And as you gave a small wave back, you heard his voice.

 “Y/N!”

 Jaejoon.

 Your heart leapt into your throat and you looked over you shoulder to see him coming out of the double doors. The pain and embarrassment you'd felt earlier came rushing back full force as you looked at his face. It left you unable to think, your body simply reacting.

 You yanked open the passenger door of Jimin’s car and slid inside.

 He balked, completely startled, as you shut the door. “I wasn't expecting you to follow up on your offer, Y/N, really,” he tried to assure you.

 “I know, I'm sorry,” you said, staring hard at the dashboard. You would have time to feel crazy later. “Please just drive.”

 He must have known that something was wrong, because Jimin looked over your shoulder. And when he spotted Jaejoon outside, pacing by the doors and staring at you in the silver Mercedes, he understood. To your utter surprise and relief, the engine rumbled and he pulled away from the curb, leaving the hotel and the last hour of absolute insanity behind.

  Neither of you said much as he drove.

 The silence settled in, along with the weight of your actions. You hadn't been yourself all night. You'd turned into some crazy woman who propositioned strange men and hijacked their cars -- a crazy woman with no sense of shame. Rubbing your forehead, you bit back a groan.

 “Thank you, I’m sorry,” you mumbled again.

 Jimin glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, one hand on the steering wheel. “I hear that quite often from you.” But it wasn't said with irritation or heat, just a quiet observation.

 You bit your lip before saying, “I'm not the type of person to ask a random man to sleep with me. I do have pride, though it doesn't seem like it right now.”

 You didn't know why you wanted him to know that. Like you wanted to leave him with a good impression of you, though you knew you'd never see him again. But for some reason, his opinion mattered. Maybe because he'd been the one to rescue you.

 Or maybe because you were just so embarrassed for someone to have witnessed your unabashed behavior.

 “You don't have to explain,” Jimin said and you had the strangest feeling that he somehow understood. He smiled at you with his eyes, the look charming and swoon-worthy. “Where do you want me to drop you off?”

 “The nearest bar, if you don't mind,” you muttered. Jimin’s brows rose but he kept his eyes on the road and you hastily elaborated. “It’s been a rough day and I could use a drink or two.” And some preferably company, anything to get your mind off of Jaejoon, but you didn’t state that.

 Jimin just nodded.

 It was barely five minutes later when he pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. You looked out the window at the bar, with its flashing neon signs and back alleys, and smiled wearily. A dive bar suited your day all too well.

 Murmuring your gratitude and one last apology, you slid out of Jimin’s car.

 Before you could close the door, however, he spoke. “You know, that offer for a drink is still on the table.”

 Startled, you squinted at him, trying to see his eyes. He was leaning on the steering wheel expectantly, fiddling with his keys in the ignition. He appeared sincere enough. And today had been a shitshow of epic proportions already; it couldn’t get much worse, you told yourself as you gnawed on your bottom lip.  

 “You’re a little overdressed for a dive bar,” you cleared your throat and brushed back your hair, “but why the hell not.”

 Jimin’s smile was bright and clear even though you only had one contact in. He turned off the engine and pocketed his keys before joining you by the entrance. Again, the scent of his cologne wrapped around you like a warm breeze, and you found it very difficult not to sigh and rub your face into the material of his suit.

 You were definitely crazy.

  This time, it wasn’t you who stood out in the crowd, but Jimin.

 Everyone else was dressed to your standards -- jeans, t-shirts, sometimes less than that -- and he was the only one in a nice suit. But if the stares of the other patrons bothered him, he didn’t let on. In fact, he seemed totally casual as the two of you plopped down at the bar counter and ordered your first round.

 “Been a while since I’ve been to one of these bars,” Jimin mused and took a sip of his whiskey.

 You opened your mouth to respond but the buzzing of your phone cut you off. You dug it out of your pocket and peered blearily at the screen.

 Jaejoon was calling you.

 Your scowl was immediate as you rejected the call and slammed the phone onto the counter.

 “Excuse me,” you told the bartender, “could I get a whole bottle of this please?” You lifted your still-full shot glass.

 The bartender blinked in surprise but gave you a full bottle anyway, to which Jimin chuckled and ordered another glass of whiskey.

 By the time you were finished with your bottle, Jaejoon had called you 14 times. Your phone rattled against the bar’s countertop as his face flashed across the screen again, and again, and again…

 Fury bubbled in your throat. How dare he disturb your night out. Hadn’t he disturbed you enough already?

 Half of you wanted to grab your phone and throw it across the room. But the small, sober part of you knew that was a terrible idea because you’d be the one paying the consequences. Literally.

 “You should turn it off,” Jimin suggested, as though he’d noticed your internal war.

 You nodded, fingering the rim of your shot glass. “Yeah,” you sighed as you watched the call expire and your phone’s screen fade to black. Before Jaejoon had a chance to call you again, you powered your phone off and put it back in your pocket.

 And tried to ignore the ugly feelings that stirred in your chest.

 What had driven him to cheat on you? Was it your looks? Because you'd been focusing on your studies? Or had you simply gotten boring?

 Each thought made your stomach roll.

 Without word, the bartender placed a bag of pretzels and another bottle in front of you. “On the house,” he said with sympathy when you went to protest.

 You swallowed and looked down at your hands. Did you look as miserable as you felt? You must have.

 Jimin’s glass met the counter with a clink. “When something like this happens to people, they mistakenly blame themselves,” he murmured. “Did I do something wrong? Am I ugly or boring? Was I just not enough? What’s wrong with me?”

 Your tongue felt thick in your mouth. It was like he’d pulled the questions directly from your head, opened your chest and seen those ugly feelings for himself.

 “I know how that feels,” he said, glancing at you, and suddenly you understood. Jimin sighed and filled his glass again, his fourth drink. “But, Y/N… We’re not the ones who were wrong. The only people to blame are the ones that betrayed us. It’s not our fault. It took me a long time to figure that out but you understand, right?”

 We. Us. Our.

 You nodded, finding strange solace in the fact that you weren’t alone. Knowing that someone else shared your misery was somehow comforting.

 “Logically, I know it’s not my fault. But I still can’t help but feel that I could have prevented it somehow,” you admitted as you reached for a pretzel.

 Maybe if you'd paid Jaejoon a little more attention, maybe if you had spoken your mind more often, maybe if you'd put more effort into your appearance… Maybe things would have been different.

 Jimin downed his drink, breathed out. “I know. You’ll get to where I am eventually.”

 “How long did it take you?”

 “Four years.”

 You blanched. Four years was a long time. Would it take you four years to get over Jaejoon? You really hoped not because you didn’t think you could go on for four years feeling like this. The fact that Jimin had… It made you wonder just how in love he had been to have hurt for so long.

 Maybe he saw the mix of sympathy and curiosity on your face. Or maybe it was because your body seemed to ask, Was it really that bad?

 But either way, Jimin smiled wanly and poured another glass of whiskey. “Her name was Yebin and we’d been dating for almost two years,” he began. “We never fought, she was always so patient with me even though I was travelling all the time for work, never got angry when I had to cancel our dates. I never questioned why that was.”

 Your skin prickled at how familiar that situation felt. Numbly, you munched on your pretzel.

 “I had to work on our second anniversary too, out in Hong Kong,” he continued after taking a sip. “But I finished early and made it back late that night. Bought a boquet at the airport and planned on surprising her at home but when I got there…” Jimin paused, his brows and lips turning down into a pained expression that you knew well because you’d seen it on your own face. He sighed. “I saw the shoes by the door. And I tried to convince myself that they were mine even though I’d never seen them before.”

 The denial, too, was familiar to you. Your face mirrored your empathy as you reached out and patted Jimin’s hand.

 To your surprise, he took your fingers and gave them a small squeeze. “Then I saw the clothes all over the floor. Her favorite bra and a tie that I knew wasn’t mine… The bedroom door was open but I couldn’t make myself look, so I left,” he finished, and your heart ached anew.

 Catching Jaejoon at a hotel with another woman was one thing. Coming home to find your girlfriend in your bed with someone else was another. It was probably worse. But, then again, you supposed that there was never any good way to find out you were being two-timed.

 “I’m so sorry, Jimin…” you murmured and hoped that he felt your sincerity.

 “Like I said, I’ve made my peace with it,” he said nonchalantly. “Not gonna lie and say it doesn’t still sting, though.” He smiled at you and squeezed your fingers again before reaching for some pretzels.

 And it was probably just the alcohol, but you were suddenly struck by how beautiful Jimin really was. His smooth skin, sparkling eyes that smiled, full lips, and that one crooked tooth that gave him a charming, boyish appeal. Combined with his easy personality -- he’d helped you, a total stranger, and publicly agreed to sleep with you even though it was only for show, and kept you company at this backwater bar -- you just couldn’t understand how anyone could take him for granted.

 “She must have been crazy,” the words slipped out of your mouth, surprising yourself. Jimin looked surprised too, but he chuckled and you felt your face flush. “Who in their right mind would cheat on you?”

 “I could ask you the same thing.” He was smiling again.

 For a little while after that, the two of you drank in silence. Mulled over everything that had happened in the past 24 hours and the ugly memories you’d dug up together. As you slowly worked your way through the second bottle, your mind growing fuzzy, the empty spot in your chest grew larger and larger until you felt hollow.

 You began to rub the heel of your palm over the over it, trying to make it go away. But it didn’t work.

 “How did you do it?”

 “Hm?” Jimin glanced at you.

 “How did you stop feeling so empty?” you asked.

 He sighed, swirled his nearly-empty glass. “I tried a lot of things. Alcohol, money, other girls… They were all band-aid solutions though. For me, it just took time,” he said. “It might be different for you.”

 “Those...band-aid solutions,” you muttered, nibbling a pretzel stick. “They worked though?”

 “For a little while, and then they wore off. Like a band-aid.”

 You nodded, running your tongue over your teeth as an idea slowly shaped in your mind. A little while was okay. “I only need a little while,” you whispered. “Just for a little while, I want to stop feeling so...used. I want to feel like someone actually wants me.”

 The hollow ache was unbearable. Even a small reprieve was welcome.

 Jimin put down his glass and looked at you. “I’m sure lots of people want you, Y/N.” And for the umpteenth time, you wished that you had both contacts so you didn’t have to concentrate so hard to clearly see his expression.

 “Do you?”

 He paused mid-swallow. “What?” he rasped.

 “Do you want me?” The alcohol was making you much bolder, much more honest, otherwise you would have never scrounged the courage to ask such a thing.

 For a while he didn’t say anything, just stared into the bottom of his glass. “I’d be stupid not to,” he admitted eventually, glancing at you.

 “Would you sleep with me?” you asked for the second time that day.

 Jimin swallowed. “I would.”

 And that was all the confirmation you needed before you grabbed the collar of his very-expensive suit and yanked him down to your mouth. He tasted sour, like the alcohol, and salty, like the pretzels you’d been snacking on, and it was perfect. Warmth traveled from your lips and into your chest where the big hole was, all the way to your toes.

 His hands cradled the sides of your face, thumbs pressing into your cheekbones, and he slanted his mouth over yours.

 When you felt his tongue in your mouth, you moaned, and he suddenly pulled back. “Y/N,” his breath fanned across your face, “you’re drunk. I’m drunk. Are you sure this is what you want?”

 “Yes,” you said without hesitation. “Are you?”

 “Yes. I just don’t want you to regret anything tomorrow morning.”

 “Trust me,” you grabbed his collar again, “I would never regret this.”

 Jimin kissed you with a breathy groan, pulling your body into his. And somehow, between groping your back and your neck and your hair, he managed to root through his wallet and toss out a stack of bills on the counter. He did it without looking but you had no doubt the sum covered your bill plus extra.

 Sober, you probably would have felt bad about crumpling what looked like a designer suit beneath your fingers, but right now you didn’t damn well care. Neither did Jimin as he all but tugged you outside into the cold air.

 Nipping your bottom lip once more, he pulled away, ran his fingers through his hair -- even kiss-swollen and disheveled he was still so beautiful. You watched with hungry eyes as he snagged a taxi even though his very pretty, very expensive car waited just a few feet away.

 “Definitely not sober enough to drive.” He opened the door for you.

 “Mm, safety first,” you agreed with a grin as the two of you squeezed into the backseat of the taxi.

 Once inside, you could barely keep your hands off each other, like a couple of teenagers at a drive-in theater. The driver had to ask Jimin to repeat his address three times, glancing up at his rearview mirror more than what was necessary. Normally, the thought of having an audience would have made you burn with mortification, but now your body thrummed excitedly.

 You were practically sitting on top of Jimin, your hands raking through his soft hair. His own hands rested on your back and your hip, holding you tight. You shivered when you felt the tips of his fingers graze your bare back underneath your t-shirt, but all he did was stroke your skin. He made no move to take your shirt off.

 “We should keep our clothes on,” he murmured in your ear, voice so low that your stomach jumped. “I would hate for the taxi driver to see your underwear. I’m sorry, I’m a little selfish.” He palmed your bare back.

 “You can be selfish all you want,” your lips whispered against his skin. You kissed the underside of his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. “It’s sexy.”

 Jimin exhaled, squeezed your hip. “I’m hardly the sexy one here.”

 His breathy words ignited a combination of pride and pleasure inside you as the alcohol burned in your veins. It gave you the confidence to scrape your teeth against the hollow of his throat and swing one of your legs around his hip so that you were straddling his lap. Your grin was smug as you felt the prominent bulge pressing against the crotch of your jeans.

 Suddenly, both of his hands were on your hips, pressing you down into his lap and urging you to scoot back and forth, and his mouth was on yours. He swallowed your moans as you shamelessly rubbed yourself against his erection.

 “Feel good?” he murmured.

 “Yes,” you sighed against his lips. And whined when he pulled you down harder, the seam of your jeans pressing into your clit. Already, your underwear felt damp and uncomfortable. “Alcohol makes me really horny. I’m already wet, Jimin.”

 He stiffened beneath you -- you felt it in his shoulders and in how his hands clenched on your hips.

 “Good to know I'm not the only one.”

 One of his hands snapped to the front of your jeans, furiously trying to undo the button with booze-clumsy fingers. You gasped when he all but ripped the front of your pants open and tugged down your zipper.

 “I thought we were keeping our clothes on?” you laughed, wriggling in his lap.

 “Oh, we are,” Jimin promised with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Thankfully, I don’t need to take your clothes off to do this.” He pressed his fingers directly against your center, touching the damp cotton of your panties and grinning at your shivering gasp. “You really are wet, Y/N,” he said quietly.

 “Mmm…” You bit your lip, bracing your hands on his shoulders as he felt you through your panties. His touch was too light. “Jimin, harder, please,” you urged, trying to press into his hand.

 He obliged, rubbing harder, the pads of his fingers purposely seeking out your clit. His other hand guided your hips as you ground against him. Your underwear felt like a sticky mess as you wantonly contracted around nothing and your body cried for more.

 “So wet,” Jimin muttered again. This time, he pushed your panties to the side and dragged a finger through your dripping folds, collecting the juices and rubbing tiny circles around your clit.

 You jolted in his lap, body trembling, mouth opening in wordless pleasure. Up and down, his finger traveled, teasing, testing your wetness, before finally dipping inside your entrance.

 “Jimin,” you whined into his shoulder.

 “Shh…” he whispered as his finger worked. You whimpered despite his warning and he squeezed your hip. “You should keep your voice down unless you want the driver to hear you. Think you can do that? Can you be quiet while you fuck yourself on my hand? While you come all over my fingers?”

 His husky voice and dirty words had you melting in his lap, your pussy clenching hard. “Yes, yes,” you answered, biting your lip.

 “Good girl.” The hand on your hip squeezed again.

 The position you were in only allowed for shallow strokes but you rocked against his hand to put pressure on your clit. Maybe it was the alcohol but his fingers felt so good -- it felt so much better, so much more intense, than any of the other times someone had touched you. It was insane how good it felt to have his one finger fuck you.

 Jimin pulled out and you gasped in protest before he gathered more of your juices and pressed two fingers inside you. They sank in deeper, up to his second knuckle, stretching your soft walls.

 “Damn, you’re tight. I can barely move my fingers,” he groaned as your hips rolled against his hand. He glanced up at you through the fringe of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes with a smirk, looking like a mischievous fallen angel instead of an elite businessman. “Imagine how it’ll feel when you’re finally sitting on my dick.”

 You whimpered again, clenching on his fingers.

 God, you couldn’t wait. You were so horny that if he hadn’t had such a good grip on your waist you would have probably stripped off your pants and ridden him right there in the taxi.

 No one had ever turned you on so much by simply talking and petting you through your underwear. And it was strange, because you’d never been one for dirty talk before. Every time Jaejoon had tried it you’d felt utterly ridiculous and --

 You stopped moving, your arousal cut through sharply with cold water.

 Jaejoon.

 How many other women had he touched this way? Had he ever fucked another girl in a taxi like this? Had he ever done it on his way to see you? How many times had he kissed you right after tasting another woman?

 You saw his face in your mind, felt the ghost of his fingers on your skin, and shivered in disgust.

 “No, no, no, come back.” Jimin’s low voice startled you out of your thoughts. A line of concern formed in his brow as he cupped your cheek with one hand, thumb stroking your flushed skin. “Come back to me,” he urged. “Don’t think about him, just think about me. You’re here with me, remember?”

 You nodded.

 “There’s no room for thoughts of him in this car,” Jimin whispered, moving his fingers. He pulled you down by the neck for a kiss, nipping your bottom lip. “Just you and me. My hands on your neck, my lips on your skin, my fingers inside your tight little pussy,” he growled into your mouth and his sudden aggressive tone took you by surprise.

 As did how your arousal flared back to life, just as intense as before. You could feel yourself squelching on his fingers, imagined dripping down his hand and wrist.

 “Oh my god,” you whimpered, “yes.”

 “Just you and me,” Jimin repeated before sucking hard on the skin at the base of your neck. His fingers moved faster, harder, fucking you the best he could with such shallow penetration.

 “Just you and me,” you echoed, lost in sensation.

 He hummed in appreciation as his mouth continued to ravage your neck and collarbone, leaving bruises all over the exposed skin. His fingers pumped in and out of your pussy while the heel of his palm dug into your clit. And when he started rotating his wrist in tiny circles, you bit back a scream, choosing instead to bite your lip and bury your face into his shoulder again.

 “That’s it,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, “nice and quiet.”

 “Jimin… Jimin, I-I think I’m gonna -- ” You cut yourself off with a muffled groan, your fingers finding their way back into his hair. “Oh, god, I’m gonna come.”

 “Go ahead, come all over my fingers. Let go, Y/N,” he whispered.

 Obediently, you let yourself go and you tugged on his hair to try and keep yourself grounded. Stars winked behind your closed eyelids as you came, the muscles in your stomach convulsing and your pussy squeezing on Jimin’s fingers, making it harder and harder for him to pull out. But he was determined to fuck you through your orgasm, igniting little mini-shocks that had your hips stuttering against his hand.

 He kept going, moving his fingers, until you pulled on his hair and babbled for him to stop because it was just too much.

 Weak and trembling, you collapsed into Jimin’s chest. Your cheek pressed against his neck and the collar of his now-wrinkled suit and you felt the sweat collecting at the base of your neck begin to trickle down your spine.

 Jimin’s thumb was rubbing soothing circles behind your ear and you had no idea how long he’d been doing it. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are when you come?” he asked you with a smile that you couldn’t see but felt all the same.

 Too weak to answer, you simply shook your head.

 “I mean, look at this,” Jimin said as his hand slipped back out of your panties and lifted up for you to see. His whole hand glistened in the dim light, making you flush. When he stuck one finger in his mouth, your stomach and thighs clenched. “You taste good too. Makes me wish we were alone so I could eat you out,” he murmured, thumb pressing gently behind your ear.

 An image of Jimin, his head buried between your thighs while they squeezed his shoulders, flashed through your mind.

 You tried to press your thighs together to relieve the neverending ache but they were still on either side of his hips. “That sounds so good...”

 “Mm… Too bad we’re here.” Jimin sounded honestly disappointed. He nonchalantly re-buttoned your pants. “That’s too good of a show for our friend the taxi driver, don’t you think? He’d probably crash.”

 Though you should have felt panic at the reminder that the two of you weren’t alone, you laughed. You were surprised at how little you cared about the fact that you’d just gotten off in the back seat of a taxi, but chances were, you’d come back to your senses in the morning. You could hold off on being embarrassed until then because being with Jimin just felt too good.

 You didn't feel so empty.

 “Maybe when we are alone,” you suggested, sighing happily and sinking lower into his lap. You could feel how hard his dick was through the soiled cotton of your panties and your jeans, and your mouth watered. “But I wanna try tasting you too and I don’t know if we’ll have enough energy for both.”

 Jimin’s head hit the headrest with a soft thump. “Careful, say too many things like that while you’re wiggling around and I might come in my pants,” he warned. “I haven’t done that since I was 15.”

 You smiled against his neck and stilled. “Guess we can’t have that, huh?”

 He smoothed a hand down your back, cupping your ass. “I’d at least like to keep my dignity intact until we go upstairs,” he said and pointed to the window with his chin.

 You sat up abruptly, realizing that the taxi was stopped. How long had it been parked?

 As if reading your mind, Jimin chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your jaw. He patted your ass gently and nodded towards the door. “After you,” he said.

 You scrambled off his lap and stumbled out of the taxi on weak knees and wobbly legs. You’d been straddling Jimin for too long, feeling the pinpricks at the tips of your toes for the first time, and the ache between your thighs wasn’t helping. You had to brace yourself on Jimin’s arm when he offered it to you with another kiss-swollen smirk.

 Clutching his arm for support, you waited while Jimin thanked and paid the driver. Again, much more than what the trip was actually worth -- and you didn’t know if it was because Jimin was feeling especially generous tonight, or if it was to compensate for how the two of you had behaved in the backseat.

 One thing you did notice, though, was that the hand Jimin used to pay was the same hand that had been buried in your panties just a few minutes prior. And you had no idea why that was such a turn-on.

 Turning, he saw your flushed face and hungry eyes and he winked.

 Your brows lifted as you realized that he’d probably used that hand on purpose, just to see if you’d react. “You’re secretly a pervert, aren’t you,” you accused as the taxi pulled away.

 Jimin outright laughed and steered you towards a huge apartment complex. “That would mean you didn't listen to my advice from earlier, then.”

 “Nope,” you deadpanned, to which he laughed again. You peered at the massive building in front of you, squinting to try and figure out how many floors there were. It looked like fifty but that was ridiculous. “Which one’s yours?”

 “Top floor,” Jimin said as you entered the lobby, “the penthouse.”

 “Of course it is.” You nodded.

 Your blurry vision swept over the lobby briefly, but from what you could tell it was just as fancy -- if not, fancier -- than the lobby of the hotel. And once again you were struck by how different you and Jimin were. To live in a kind of place like this, pull countless bills out of his wallet without looking, and drive such a nice car...just how rich was he?

 “Having second thoughts?” he asked as you stepped into the elevator.

 “No,” you said, hoping it wasn’t a lie.

 “You can walk away any time, you know,” he murmured and squeezed your hand. “I won’t get mad. I’ll be pretty sexually frustrated, but not angry at you. You know that, right?”

 You nodded, squeezing his hand back. “I know. But I want this. I want you, Jimin.”

 His eyes closed and his lips pursed as he tipped his head back. “I thought I told you to be careful about saying things like that. I’m so worked up right now it’s insane. But thank god you don’t wanna leave because you’re so much better than my hand.”

 “You should be careful about what you say too,” you moaned as you imagined him bent over, fist wrapped around his cock. Your thighs pressed together and rubbed. “You’ll make me cream my panties again.”

 Jimin laughed but it sounded tortured and you watched as he blatantly stuck a hand down the front of his pants and readjusted himself. His sigh of relief echoed the ding of the elevator as you finally reached the top floor, Jimin’s floor.

 “Thank god,” he muttered, tugging you to his front door.

 You’d never seen someone punch in their keycode so quickly as Jimin all but threw open his front door and ushered you inside. The moment it closed behind the two of you, he started ripping off his jacket and yanked  on his tie.

 “Need anything?” he asked as he hastily undressed. “Water?”

 It seemed that even overwhelmed by passion and alcohol, his thoughtful and caring side was still prominent.

 “No,” you said as your hands went back to the button of your jeans. “Just you.”

 Jimin made a noise in the back of his throat as he scraped his hands through his disheveled hair and stared at you with heavy-lidded eyes. Gone was the immaculate, princely catalogue model who’d first offered you a drink in a hotel where you didn't belong. In his place was a man desperate for the feeling of your soft skin under his hands, your voice in his ear, and your taste on his tongue. So desperate that he couldn't finish undressing and reached for you instead.

 You let him grab your hips and smash your mouths together, your hands immediately flying to the nape of his neck. As your nails massaged his scalp, he walked you backwards.

 “My bed, I want you in my bed,” he managed between hard kisses.

 You kept stumbling backwards, nipping his lips and the warm skin of his jaw. Piece by piece, you helped rid him of his clothes. You tugged off his tie, unbuttoned his white dress shirt and pulled that off too. And then your hands were sliding over the smooth, warm skin of his shoulders and down the curved line of his back. Your fingertips danced across his sides and over the firm muscle of his stomach. It had been impossible to tell when he'd been wearing the suit but he had abs, much to your surprise, which were apparently well defined as they flexed under your exploring hands.

 The backs of your knees eventually hit what felt like a bed. Jimin went to push you, gently, back onto his mattress but you suddenly remembered your conversation in the taxi and knelt down out of his reach. He made a confused whining sound until your hands fiddled with the buckle on his belt and then he understood.

 In the dark, half blind, and drunk, it was difficult to undo. Jimin noticed your struggles and pushed away your hands. You frowned, about to insist that you could do it, when he walked away and flipped the light switch and returned.

 You squinted at the sudden brightness but focused on his belt. And suddenly, you were nervous.

 “What's wrong?” Jimin’s hands stroked through your hair. “Need help?”

 You shook your head and cleared your throat as you resumed working on his belt. “No, I've just never had sex with the lights on before,” you admitted.

 You hadn't realized that until just now and even though it was weird, the bright light made it feel different. And you weren’t exactly sure if it was a good different.

 “Never?” It looked like Jimin’s eyebrows rose in surprise but you were too focused on undoing the belt and sliding it out of his pant loops. When you were finished, he walked back over to the wall and hit the light switch again, plunging the room into darkness.

 It took a second for your eyes to readjust again, the only light being moonlight from the half-covered, full-length windows.

 “We can keep the lights on,” you said.

 Jimin’s laughter was soft and sensual. There was a small click and the lamp by his bedside table turned on, casting his bedroom in a low glow. It provided just enough light for you to see, but kept it dark enough so you weren't uncomfortable.

 “Compromise.” He shrugged, returning to the foot of the bed where you still waited.

 You didn't say it, but you appreciated his thoughtfulness. Jimin was so naturally attentive, tuned in to your needs. It was a nice change. Jimin was a nice change. The whole night, he’d done nothing but help you again and again, never asking for or expecting anything in return.

 You know you didn’t necessarily owe him anything for his kindness. But you did want to show him how much you appreciated it.

 “I can’t wait,” you told him as your hands landed on the front of his pants.

 Jimin groaned, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip when you cupped his dick through the soft material. He was still hard and you knew that it had to be getting painful so you wasted no time in unbuttoning his pants. Shamelessly, your hand reached inside, pulled the waistband of his underwear underneath his balls, and freed his cock.

 It bobbed, smacking against the hard muscles of his stomach before you curled your fingers around him. He was long and thick, hot and hard. The head was flushed and soft and when you licked your lips in anticipation, he twitched in your hand.

 Your mouth actually watered at the sight of him, a warmth spreading low in your belly. You’d never been this excited to blow a guy before.

 Gripping the base of Jimin’s cock firmly, your tongue licked the underside of his head before you wrapped your mouth around it. Jimin’s soft grunt made you smile as your lips slowly retreated, leaving his cock with a kiss. Looking up at him, you licked his tip and kissed it again before rubbing it against your lips, testing the softness.

 Lush and warm, just like his ruined lips.

 He stared down at you, biting those ruined lips so hard you could see the indents of his teeth, eyes glazed with pleasure. His hands were fisted at his sides and his stomach flexed every time you teased the tip of his cock by putting it just barely in your mouth. Each time you did, his jaw tightened and he looked like he wanted to grab the back of your head and cram his cock down your throat.

 The thought had you shockingly wet and you shifted on your knees, trying to relieve the ache between your thighs.

 When you decided he’d had enough teasing, you finally swallowed him down. He made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whine, hips pushing into your mouth.

 “Ah, shit, that’s it.” His low voice made you shiver and squirm.

 You pulled back, a line of spit connecting your lips to his cock. “You taste good,” you said and his hands clenched. Keeping your eyes on his, you tongued the slit of his head, tasting bitter salt.

 “Fuck,” Jimin snarled as he watched you, jaw grinding. He held still as you worked, swallowing him again and again, your hand pumping whatever you couldn’t reach, until his dick was coated in your saliva.

 Your hand slipped up and down his length easily, the slick sounds making your inner muscles clench.

 Jimin’s hands were still by his sides, fisted so hard that the veins stood out on his forearms. And after a minute, you realized that he was forcing himself not to touch you, even though you could see how much he wanted to. His gaze burned into you, telling you all the dirty, wicked things he was imagining.

 You popped his dick out of your mouth, licked him from base to tip and pumped him slowly. “You can touch me, you know,” you whispered.

 He twitched in your hands and his eyes grew dark. “You sure? I don’t wanna be too rough with you.”

 “But I want you to,” you said. The thought of his hands in your hair, pushing his dick past your lips, fucking your mouth, had you getting wetter by the second. Your panties were probably ruined. Looking up at him with a small pout, you squeezed his dick. “Please, Jimin?”

 His eyes flashed. Then his one hand was fisted in your hair and the other gripped your jaw. “Open,” he demanded. “Stick your tongue out.”

 The second you complied, he shoved his cock into your mouth and pushed in until you felt him at the back of your throat. Your eyes watered as you valiantly fought your gag reflex, digging your nails into his firm thighs still covered by his pants.

 “Fuck,” Jimin panted as he pulled out and shoved back in. “Keep your hands there. Pinch me if it's too much.” Despite his growling tone, his words were careful and tender.

 You moaned around his cock.

 “Shit, you feel good.” He started pushing into your mouth, holding your head still with one hand in your hair. “Your mouth is so hot and wet, just like your pussy. Can't wait until I get to fuck you like this. I bet you can't either,” he whispered frantically, the words tumbling from his lips like he couldn’t help himself.

 You moaned again in agreement, doing your best not to choke.

 “God, you look so good right now. Hair all messy, spit all over your chin, my dick in your mouth…” Jimin kept rambling. “I wish you could see how you look. It's so sexy. And you're not even naked yet, shit -- ah, that's good.”

 Each word made your pussy throb. Your fingers dug into his thighs, wanting nothing more than to be buried in your underwear and stroking your burning flesh.

 Pushing in once more, till he touched the back of your throat, Jimin pulled out of your mouth. His wet cock rested against your lips as you sucked in deep breaths, spit dribbling down your chin.

 “You good?” He looked down at you, waited for your response.

 “Yes, Jimin, please,” you said, trying to fit his cock back in your mouth.

 “You like it that much?” Jimin obliged, tugging on your hair as his dick pushed past your lips again. He kept both hands on your head, holding you still as he shallow-fucked your mouth. Each thrust wrought a hiss from Jimin’s mouth. “Ah, fuck, fuck… You’re so good at this.”

 You whined, thighs trembling. All of the noises Jimin was making, his grunts and hisses and low moans, had you aching. And his words, wrapped in that smooth voice, set you on fire.

 “Are you getting wet from this?” he asked. “I think you are. You were practically dripping in the backseat from just my fingers. Do you remember that? Remember how you came all over my hand right in front of the driver? Fuck, that was so hot.”

 Your hips writhed and your hands fisted in Jimin's pants as your whole body actively recalled how intense that orgasm had been. It was getting harder and harder to keep your mouth open so wide, your teeth getting dangerously close to scraping Jimin’s dick. Your jaw would be sore tomorrow but you didn't care.

 He kept thrusting into your mouth, the sounds sloppy and lewd.

 You couldn’t believe how turned on you were. You’d known that some people could receive pleasure just by giving it but hadn’t really understood how it was possible until now -- the room was a symphony of wet thrusts and Jimin’s noises as he used your mouth. Those sounds, the fucked-out look on his face, was reward enough for you. Making him feel good had a direct affect on your arousal.

 And you wanted to make him feel really good.

 One of your hands snuck between Jimin’s legs and you cradled his balls. They were velvety but hard, making it difficult to roll them around in your palm. So you gave them a gentle squeeze.

 His hips stuttered and you tasted salt on your tongue.

 “Fuck--ah--fuck.” Jimin pulled out of your mouth and grabbed your wrist. His chest was heaving as he gripped the base of his cock, precum oozing from the tip. “Shit, you almost made me come,” he wheezed, eyes scrunching shut as he tried to wrest control over his impending orgasm.

 You were busy trying to catch your own breath, relishing the sore feeling at the back of your throat.

 “Not that I wouldn't love to come in your mouth,” Jimin said, “but I’m far from finished with you.” His eyes narrowed while he absentmindedly worked his fist over his glistening cock.

 You watched, mesmerized. The way his first swirled around the head before sliding down and squeezing the thick base… You pressed your thighs together and whimpered, imagining how good the stretch would feel when he was finally inside you.

 It made you realize just how empty you were again.

 “Jimin…” Your voice was breathy.

 He reached down with the hand that wasn’t languidly stroking his cock, thumb wiping away the spit on your chin. “Hm?”

 “I need you,” you all but begged. And just in case he didn’t believe your sincerity, you dipped your chin and let his thumb pop into your mouth. Your tongue wrapped around his thumb and you sucked on it pleadingly before saying, “Please?”

 “Fuck,” he whined, but it was a low sound. “Do you have any idea how sexy you sound when you say that? When you look at me like that and say please it makes me lose my goddamn mind.” He pushed his thumb further into your mouth, letting you suck on it for just a few more seconds, before he pulled it out and helped you stand up.

 Though you were a sloppy mess, your hands still went to the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Jimin’s lips landed on your wet, swollen ones with a hungry moan. He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer, his cock pressing against the soft material of your t-shirt. Sucking on your bottom lip, he began pushing up your hemline. His fingertips grazed along your heated skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

 You broke the kiss just long enough to take your shirt off and fling it to the ground.

 Immediately, his hands were on your breasts, plumping them up through your bra. Your nipples were stiff points and every time his thumbs caught on them, you sighed.

 “So pretty,” Jimin murmured against your lips.

 You hummed in agreement, your fingers traveling down his toned stomach to stroke his dick, still silky wet with your saliva. He grunted and pinched your nipples in retaliation.

 “Oh!” Your inner muscles clenched hard around nothing, a fire burning in your belly. “Jimin…”

 He sighed, nuzzling the side of your neck and sucking hard on the skin there. “I love when you say my name, too. Just like that.” His teeth scraped along the bruise he’d left, making you shiver. “You’ll scream it louder for me, won’t you?”

 “Mhm…” You nodded, anticipation thick in your throat as you felt his hands skim down your sides, to the waistband of your jeans. They were already unbuttoned and unzipped, revealing the soaked cotton of your panties.

 He pushed your jeans down to your thighs and you helped him by shimmying and then kicking them off. Your underwear followed next; he went more slowly, admiring the way they stuck to your core and how your arousal was smeared all over your thighs.

 “You’re completely soaked, Y/N. All this for me?” You could hear the grin in his voice as he cupped you, fingers pushing past your swollen folds. He teased your slit, rubbing up and down, brushing over your clit. You stifled a needy sound, making him realize that you couldn't take any more teasing. “Take your bra off and lie down.”

 Finally.

 Excitement had you practically vibrating in place. You flung your bra across the room and collapsed back onto his mattress, your back sinking into the plush material, legs spread wide and presenting your glistening folds.

 Jimin shucked off his pants and underwear before joining you on the bed. He hovered over you, his dick burning the skin of your stomach. Though you were both impatient and more than ready, he took his time becoming acquainted with your body. His hands massaged your breasts again, testing how firm yet soft they were, pinching your nipples. His lips skimmed the tops of them before he planted hot, open-mouthed kisses and sunk his teeth into the pliant flesh. He touched you with intent, like he was trying to memorize everything about you.

 Your fingers carded through his hair, tugging him further down to where you wanted him.

 He went willingly, lips skimming your stomach and teeth lightly scraping a trail down to your hips. His hands followed later, cupping and squeezing your body until they reached your thighs.

 “God, you’re so pretty, baby,” he whispered and you stiffened.

 Though it was Jimin sitting between your legs, Jimin’s hands on your thighs, Jimin’s voice in your ears, you felt and heard him in your head. Jaejoon. As he touched you, kissed you, whispered “baby” and promised you all sorts of things that would never happen.

 In your chest, your heart began to ache.

 Jimin noticed the change immediately, freezing. “What’s wrong?” he asked, pulling back and looking into your eyes. Something on your face must have given him an answer because he made a sympathetic expression, hand rubbing your hip soothingly. “That’s what he used to call you. It’s okay, I won’t do it again.”

 You shook your head. “No,” you said hurriedly and grabbed his arm. “No, it’s okay. I-I want you to.”

 You couldn’t stand the fact that Jaejoon was the last man to have held you, touched you, called you sweet things. Because now, even though you were with Jimin, you couldn’t help but think of Jaejoon and you hated it. Even now, he was still controlling you; you couldn’t let him continue to disturb your life.

 It wasn’t like you could erase Jaejoon from your past or your memories, but you could definitely create new ones. Better ones. Ones that had nothing to do with him.

 “Make me forget him, Jimin. Please?” you whispered.

 Even in your drunken and lustful state, you realized it was a lot to ask of him, someone you’d only met that night. But you could not deny how he made you feel or that he could make all your aches and pains go away. If just for a little while.

 He smiled down at you, brushed your hair out of your face, and dropped down for a soft kiss. “You know I can’t say no when you ask so nicely,” he murmured against your lips, hands groping your thighs. He began kissing his way down your stomach again. “Do you remember what I told you in the taxi? It’s just you and me here. There’s no room for anyone else.”

 His words sunk into your skin, filling you with warmth. Everything around you smelled like Jimin, his sheets and pillows, making it almost impossible to forget who you were with.

 But just in case that wasn’t enough, Jimin decided to remind you.

 “I’m the one kissing you.” He nipped your hipbone and the muscles in your stomach jumped. “I’m the one touching you. I’m the one fucking you. And I’ll do it so thoroughly that after tonight, you won’t even be able to remember his name, baby.” His hot breath tickled the insides of your thighs and your still-wet core, making you shiver.

 “Jimin,” you hummed, stroking your fingers through his hair.

 He looked up at you from between your thighs, smirking. “Just you and me, baby.”

 You writhed on the bed when he parted your lips with careful fingers, bringing his tongue to your burning folds. He worked the flat of his tongue up and down, gliding over your entrance, teasing you. You pushed your hips against his face, impatient, but he held you down while he buried himself deeper. The bridge of his nose pressed against your clit and you whimpered, pulled on his hair.

 “I was right. You taste so good.” Jimin released your sensitive flesh, licking his lips with another wicked grin. His fingers stroked through your wetness before he pushed two inside of you all the way.

 It was deeper than it had been in the taxi.

 You moaned, wiggling against his hand, urging him to move.

 He curled his fingers inside you and dragged them out slowly, pushing back in. “You’re still so tight,” he observed quietly.

 You swallowed past your dry throat. “I-It’s been a while for me,” you admitted. “Jaejoon and I haven’t had -- ”

 Jimin’s fingers twisted inside you suddenly, making you yelp and jump. He thrust into you hard, his thumb finding your clit and strumming it mercilessly. Your mouth dropped open and your voice came out in breathy, hoarse pants.

 The ability to form words left you.

 “How am I supposed to make you forget about him if you keep bringing him up?” Jimin mused. “It’s just you and me here, baby. I want to hear you say that.” His mouth returned to your pussy, sucking so hard on your clit that you saw stars. When you didn’t respond, he did it again, fingers never slowing. “Say it, baby.”

 Your chest heaved as he forced you towards your orgasm at an incredible speed. You couldn’t focus, too overwhelmed with his voice, fingers, and tongue. But somehow your mouth managed to form the words you both so desperately needed to hear.

 “Just -- ah, Jimin -- you and me. Nobody else.”

 “That’s right, Y/N.” His voice softened, obviously pleased, and he rewarded you with a light kiss to your swollen clit. But still, his fingers pumped inside you, and your inner muscles contracted over and over again, signaling your approaching release.

 “Jimin -- oh, my god.” You pushed your head back into the pillows, curling your fingers in his hair. “Please, please,” you gasped, “I need you inside me. Please.”

 He came to a slow halt, confusion flashing briefly on his face because your orgasm was so close that he could feel it. But then he smiled. “You want to come on my cock, is that it, baby?” You looked down at him, gnawing on your bottom lip, and he groaned. “I want that too. To feel you squeeze my dick while you let go…”

 You whimpered, feeling empty. So empty that it was painful. And you were so tired of being empty.

 You were about to say please again, too far gone to be ashamed of begging, but then Jimin slid out from between your thighs. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table, pulled out a condom, and you watched as he tore the little foil packet and rolled the rubber onto himself.

 “Remember, safety first,” he chuckled, an echo of your own words from earlier that night.

 You were just thankful that at least one of you was level-headed enough to remember protection.

 Then he was back where he belonged and you rubbed your foot against the back of his thigh enticingly. Your orgasm was hovering just out of reach and when Jimin began to slide his dick between your folds, rocking against you slowly, you felt yourself tightening. He rubbed his dick against your clit, keeping you on the edge.

 “How did he fuck you?” Jimin murmured.

 “Like this,” you answered, hips rolling, seeking more. “Always like this.”

 “Always?” Jimin’s brows rose. “Well, while this position is nice,” he slid his cock down to your entrance, pushing the flushed head just past your lips, “I’m sure there are others you’d love.” He sank in an inch and you sighed, grabbing his arm. Slowly, Jimin pushed himself inside you, letting you adjust to the stretch and burn, until he bottomed out and his balls pressed flush against your ass. “Ah, fuck, you really are tight,” he said in a strained voice, hands clenching on your hips.

 He filled every inch of you. You swore you could feel him in your throat. And though it had been a while since you’d had sex and there was a definite burn as you stretched around his length, you urged him forward with your foot, desperate for him to start moving.

 “Jimin, please…”

 That one word had him shuddering above and inside you, powerful and effective. You hadn’t meant for it to become a weapon, but it seemed that it had.

 Jimin’s arms were shaking as he pulled out and pushed back in with a grunt. “You feel amazing, baby,” he groaned as he thrust deep and slow, hitting every ridge inside of you. Each thrust pushed you closer and closer to the edge, your walls rippling around him. “You gonna come?”

 “Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, a hand twisting in the bedsheets, “I’m gonna come.”

 “That’s it, baby,” he panted. “Let me feel it.”

 Just like in the taxi, Jimin powered you through your orgasm. His hips rolled into yours as he continued to fuck you nice and deep, never slowing. It was so strong that you were sure you stopped breathing for a few seconds, your toes curling, as you lost control of all of the muscles in your lower body.

 Your voice eventually returned in the form of high-pitched, breathy whines. Each thrust made you cry out, clamping down on his dick.

 Jimin granted you mercy after a few more well-aimed thrusts, slowing to a stop to let you come down from your high and catch your breath.

 “How’d that feel?” he asked.

 “So good,” you croaked, swallowing.

 You’d come twice tonight. You couldn’t believe it. Not once, but twice.

 Very rarely had you achieved an orgasm with your ex-boyfriend, and never more than once. Sometimes, you’d faked one just so that he would feel good about himself, then finished yourself off later that night or in the shower. And every time you had, you’d felt guilty about it.

 You’d started to feel like maybe there was something wrong with you. But Jimin was making it very clear that there was nothing wrong with you at all. Your ex-boyfriend had just been bad at sex.

 Jimin slipped out of you with a chuckle. “This’ll feel even better, I promise.”

 Before you could ask what he was doing, Jimin flopped back onto the bed and rolled you on top of him. You gave a startled yelp as your leg swung over his hip, leaving you mere inches from sitting on top of him. He stared up at you with a gleam in his eyes, his swollen and bitten lips stretching into a grin you had become very familiar with.

 He reached between your bodies and fisted his cock with one hand, using the other to guide your hips. Slowly, you sank down on him, feeling him stretch your walls from a brand new angle. You shuddered on a sigh when you were fully seated, his dick brushing over that especially sensitive spot inside you.

 He was right, this position felt even better.

 You felt so wonderfully full, your body ached to move, and yet you kept still. You looked down at Jimin, who had both of his hands on your hips, fingers digging into your skin, and who was biting his ruined bottom lip.

 “Go ahead,” he urged when you hesitated. “Ride me.”

 You swallowed, bracing your hands on his chest, feeling the heat sear your palms. It wasn’t that you’d never ridden a man before, because you had, and it wasn’t that you didn’t want to continue.

 But as you looked down at Jimin, taking in the sweat gathering at his brow and his fucked-out expression, you realized something and guilt slammed into you. He was doing all of this for you.

 Jimin’s expression changed, his brows pulling together. “What’s the matter? Does it hurt?”

 “I’m using you,” you murmured, suddenly feeling horrible and selfish.

 But Jimin just smiled and reached up to push your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “Baby, I’m more than glad to let you use me,” he said. “And it’s not like I’m not getting anything out of this, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve got a beautiful girl sitting on my dick, I can’t complain.” He was grinning again but the look softened. “Whether it’s just revenge sex on your ex or keeping you from being lonely, I’m more than willing to help. I’ll be your band-aid tonight.”

 His words made something stir in your chest, your guilt fading.

 Right, you told yourself. He was a rational, consenting adult and so were you. Needless to say, the alcohol had definitely played a part in this but you still didn’t think that you would regret anything. And you didn’t think he would either.

 He was helping you because he understood what it was like. There was no reason to feel guilty.

 Confidence renewed, you lifted your hips and brought them back down, relishing the groan that it brought from Jimin’s lips. His eyes were closed as you began to move, putting all your weight on the hands you’d braced on his chest.

 “You were right,” you groaned after a few moments of silence, the only noise being the slap of your hips. “This is so much better. I can feel you so deep, Jimin.”

 You brought yourself down hard, your breasts jiggling. Jimin watched them carefully before snaking one hand up your torso and taking one of your breasts. He squeezed the fleshy mound hard enough to make you stutter.

 “I wish you could see yourself, bouncing on my dick,” he rumbled, eyes roaming over your body constantly like he couldn’t focus on just one thing. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N, I mean it.”

 His hands went back to your hips, tightening, and he thrusted up into you, making you gasp. You collapsed forward into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck as he thrust into from below. Each stroke was measured and hard and he kept swiveling his hips as if looking for just the right angle.

 He knew he’d found it when you screamed his name. “Jimin!”

 Brows furrowing, one hand curving around your back and the other gripping your ass, he poured all of his concentration into hitting that one spot. Over and over and over again. Until you were making wordless noises against the sweaty skin of his neck and scraping your nails along his shoulders to try and keep yourself grounded.

 “Think -- ah -- think you can come again? One more time?” he rasped in your ear.

 You honestly didn’t know if you were capable of that. Your body was boneless, the pleasure having overridden your senses. You told him as much, or at least you tried to, your lips being stuck to his neck.

 “I think you can, baby.” Jimin dug his heels into the bed, used the leverage to drive into you even harder. The hand on your ass snuck between your sweat-sticky bodies and found the place where you were joined, seeking out your abused clit. “Come on,” he grunted as his fingers began to rub in jerky figure eights, “just one more time.”

 “Jimin!” You repeated his name, over and over again, till you were hoarse. And incredibly, you felt yourself climbing towards that third release.

 It washed over you as quickly as it had approached, less powerful than the first two, but no less pleasurable. You came apart, shaking on top of Jimin as he praised you and kissed your neck and your shoulders, any part of you that he could reach.

 “So good, baby, so good,” he whispered, voice straining.

 His thrusts were getting sloppier, his grip tighter, and you realized that he was about to come. He followed you a few seconds later, hissing and grunting, mumbling your name. You swiveled your hips, grinding down, and he groaned long and low, the sound coming deep from within his chest.

 And then both of you were quiet and still, gasping for breath.

 There was no room for words in his bedroom. But your bodies continued to communicate between the hot, sticky sheets and the muggy air.

 His hand stroked up and down your sweaty back, massaging the junction of your neck and shoulders. Your lips peppered kisses all over his collarbone and neck. Basking in the afterglow, your eyes drooped and your body went limp.

 You fell asleep that night feeling whole.

  You woke sometime the next morning with a sharp, gritty pain in your left eye but surprisingly no hangover. You tried to ignore it, your body sore and exhausted, but eventually you had to leave the plush pillows and rub your eye. Apparently, you’d fallen asleep with your contact in, never having bothered to take it out even though you’d lost its partner.

 Sitting up, the dark blue sheets tangled around your legs, you realized that you were alone in bed. The faint sound of running water told you that Jimin was showering.

 A shower sounded heavenly to your achy muscles and oily hair. But first, you had to get rid of your contact.

 Gingerly, you scooted off the bed, groaning when your stomach, thighs, and everything in between protested. It had been a long time since you’d been fucked that well. But it was also nice in a way.

 The band-aid had worked.

 Taking out your dry contact, you found a trash can and threw it away. You had to buy more anyway.

 You went to go back to bed but out of the corner of your eye you spotted your jeans crumpled on the floor, the bulge of your phone prominent in the pocket. For some reason it made you realize that you had no idea what time it was. You yawned, looking around the room for a clock. Not finding one, you bent over and scooped up your phone.

 When you turned it on, you expected the missed phone calls from Jaejoon, your ex-boyfriend. You were surprised at how good it felt to call him that.

 You felt to regret at all.

 What you didn’t expect was six texts and two missed calls from Krystal.

 Krystal: yah y/n you never called me [8:33 am]

 Krystal: i know you read my texts… are you okay?? [8:33 am]

 From Krystal: hello???? [9:04 am]

 (1) Missed call from Krystal [9:06 am]

 Krystal: okay youre probably holed up somewhere but you know that we have that exam today right? [9:12 am]

 Krystal: its starting in like 15 minutes y/n seriously where are you?? [10:42 am]

 Krystal: youre really freaking me out here [10:42 am]

 (1) Missed call from Krystal [10:44 am]

 Your eyes blew wide as panic settled in your stomach like a heavy weight. “Shit!” You threw your phone onto the bed and began racing around the room to gather your clothes.

 You’d forgotten about your exam.

 You got so caught up in the betrayal, alcohol, and amazing sex that it had totally slipped your mind. Not only was that utterly unlike you, it was potentially career-crippling. If you missed this exam, you would have to reschedule and attempt it again in another six months -- you couldn’t wait another six months!

 You managed to locate your t-shirt, jeans, and socks. The only thing you couldn’t find was your underwear. But, you decided as you glanced at your phone, you didn’t have time to look for it.

 So you crammed your feet into your jeans, tugged on your shirt, and ran out of the bedroom. On your way out, you passed by the bathroom and heard the shower running, once again reminding yourself of Jimin.

 You hesitated for the briefest of seconds, debating.

 You had no idea what the proper etiquette was for this sort of situation, you’d never had a one night stand before. Were you just supposed to leave quietly? Was that why he was showering, to give you a chance to escape? Or were you supposed to let him know you were leaving?

 Were you supposed to thank him?

 “Ah, I don’t have time.” You cast one last regretful look at the bathroom door before slipping on your shoes.

 It would be a miracle if you made it to the exam site on time.

  Jimin stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in his silk robe, steam billowing around him. He would have preferred to shower last night to wash off all the sweat and other body fluids but you’d tired him out more than he wanted to admit.

 In his head, he pictured you as you sat on top of him. Glorious and sweaty, with pouty lips and bruises all along your neck and chest, your hair sticking to your face. The way you whined his name while your hips worked…

 Amazing.

 Grinning, he looked over at the bed. And startled when he saw that it was empty.

 He frowned, padding into the bedroom to look for you. Pursing his lips, he noticed that all of your clothes were gone. He wandered around the rest of his penthouse, searching for you, but after ten minutes he all he found was a hastily scribbled note pinned to his fridge with a magnet.

 Sorry!

 He took the note with noticeable disappointment -- you’d left.

 Jimin headed back to his bedroom with a sigh.

 Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting this outcome. But, still, he’d hoped that you would have at least waited so he could see you off. Then again, he supposed that most one-night stands went exactly like this. And that was all that this had been.

 You’d made that clear.

 Or maybe not, he thought as his brows rose, his eyes snagging on something. Peeking out behind the leg of his bedside table were your cotton panties.

 “Maybe not,” he told himself as he picked them up, grinning.