#but there's no liquor store near me where i can buy one in person and i'm not driving halfway across my state to get it

[viridian-coffer]

on one hand, the month i lost due to my PS4 acting up led to me losing out on hundreds of primos (not to mention the waste of a perfectly good welkin), which is worrying for me since Venti is supposedly getting a re-run in 4.1 according to leaks/rumors.

on the other, i'm currently sitting on exactly 69 wishes so not everything is awful-

[beebobeebo]

Title: Mama's Boy

Fandom: Justified

Characters: Tim Gutterson, Greg Gutterson (erstwhile brother), Timothy Gutterson (father, POS), and Lara Gutterson (Mama, not great)

Warnings: Character Study, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Smoking, Drinking, Child Abuse, Abuse... Listen Tim's dad is just awful

Notes: I will someday rewrite this.

Summary:

Drawing a bead on the boy he was.

If no one knows they can't argue.

Tim's smoking. He hasn't smoked since he's been stateside, but Mama dying had knocked him off his game. Dragging all that up made him long for hours lying in cold dirt waiting for a flicker of movement so he could solve a problem.

He had done well at the funeral. He looked appropriately sad and shook hands with people who never lifted one of theirs to help her or him, then he repacked up his shit and went straight to Kentucky.

After unpacking he realized he needed black socks for work. Once in the store, the liquor was just there and the cigarettes had been at the checkout. It was all too easy.

Thanks, consumerism. Good thing Tim put holes in all those bastards to protect his right to be drunk, coughing, and in matching socks all in one go.

“Greg, it's all yours. I don't want any of their shit.”

His brother pressing him to take mementos of his own personal hell was not helping his mental state. He flicks the ash into the toilet bowl at his feet and sticks his hand back out the bathroom window of his new, minuscule apartment. Perching atop his commode wasn't ideal, but he didn't need his clothes to smell like smoke tomorrow. “Hey, hey, you can forgive him for beatin' the fuck out of you, but I'm still angry about what he did to her. Your mother wasn't around so you didn't see the welts and bruises on her whenever you did anything he decided was wrong.”

“Tim, these aren't my things.” Greg's voice is strained and tired as it leaks out of the phone’s tinny speaker.

“Mine either, burn the shit, sell the land, and send me my cut. I need to buy a suit.” Tim gives up on the cigarette, dropping it in the bowl as he hops down to go grab the bottle he tucked in the freezer.

“Some of these things are yours. I can't believe you don't want anything of hers. At least her bible-”

Tim drops the phone beside the fridge as he yanks open the freezer. “Greg, you don't know me or my life, but I need you to understand I don't have time for this. She chose him, so she died a long time ago for me.” He pulls the bottle out of the freezer where it has crushed his bag of pizza rolls. Dinner was going to be lumpy.

“Timothy-”

“Greg, I have killed people for less than callin’ me that bastard's name,” he says evenly. They both know it's true, but Greg likes to play the game where Tim is a petulant teenager and not nearing thirty.

“Okay. Okay. You hate Dad. You hate Lara for some bullshit reason you won't tell anyone. You're distinctly not family.” Greg's exhale of frustration makes the shitty pay-as-you-go phone vibrate on the kitchen counter. “I will sell everything and send you a check.”

“A cashier's check. I don't want his name on it.” Tim pulls one of his three glasses from the cabinet and pours a questionable amount of vodka in it. He knows Greg is going to make some bid to remind him he is Timothy Gutterson’s child.

“It's our name, too,” his brother insists. “You can't just pretend nothing ever happened. You weren't born at Fort Benning.”

“You're right. It's obvious,” he says, forcing his voice to be low and sincere. “I don't have the accent. Dead giveaway.”

“Tim.”

“Bye, Greg.” He hangs up the phone before adding a legitimately sincere, “Go fuck yourself.”

He has now spoken to his older brother four times. That's three times too many. Two of those were within the last week. Three of those were as an adult. Three of those were about Tim's parents being dead.

“Shit,” Tim says as he gulps the cold liquid.

The outlier of the talks was as an eight-year-old. Greg wanted him to admit that their father abused Tim. The problem was he'd never raised a hand to him, which is what that meant to a child. That wasn't how you got to Tim anyway. His father understood that in a way that Greg never could. Tim would have welcomed every hit, slap, and punch to keep his father's hands off his mother.

Tim loved his mother violently. She had been the only person to truly love him, to know the things his father called him, and to cover his once small body with hers.

He takes another deep drink. Mama had been the one to find him clinging to Will Holt like a wet t-shirt. If he had grown up in a more tolerant household, he might have been grounded for being fifteen and being a moron who didn't realize that his doorless room was not the place to experiment in broad daylight, even if Mama was at the store. As it went, Mama just stared at them while Tim dragged a shirt back on and apologized over and over. She didn't say anything and just walked away. He hoped foolishly that had been the end of it. Embarrassment.

He rolls the glass between his hands letting the sharp cold cut through the memories. After that, it's a blur of her whispering to him that what he was doing was a sin while his father made snide remarks about being a real man even as he struck his wife. The day his father asks Tim what he did wrong to end up with a queer, a mama's boy, for a son, Tim breaks. He throws a punch that is more force than skill and his father staggers backward. He laughs at Tim's best effort. He swears anything Tim does to him, Mama will feel tenfold. Then he does the cruelest thing and asks Mama if she can still love Tim after knowing what he's done under their roof. She doesn't say anything. She can't manage to nod her head for her son. His heart cracked. He lived his life doing everything he could to save her from his father's hands, and she couldn't say “Yes.”

“Fuck you,” Tim says to the empty apartment.

That was the day he decided he needed to get as far from that Midwestern hellhole as possible. His plan had always been to run somewhere. He would run, and when he got settled, he'd get Mama on a bus. They'd make a quiet life. No one would punish them for someone else's actions. The sins of the son not visited upon the head of the mother.

But that day? That day, he decides he's going to kill his father because he can't leave her with him, but he can't imagine her willingly living with a son she doesn't love.

Like any early millennial, he turned to Netscape Navigator to find a way the fuck out of there. The Army. It doesn't take him long to learn that the Army came with a gun and a different court system that would be keen to put him down once his father hit the dirt. You just took a test. One of those standardized bastards that public education had started foisting on them with regularity. He just had to score high enough for placement, but not high enough to draw attention. Middle of the road that shit.

After three long years of being a ghost in a home that he only shit, showered, and slept in, he did it. He was good at it. Spending your whole life listening to every order down to the inflection of a syllable prepares you beautifully for being a cog in the military machine. It means you're attentive. Not able to sleep because you might get yanked out of bed at any hour? No, you're alert. Never complain because you know it won't do any good. Goddamn it if you aren't resilient. Don't talk back because you fear the consequences down to your marrow. No, you're a polite motherfucker, Gutterson.

Tim downs the rest of the glass and fights the urge to throw it at the wall. He should have used the plastic glass from the chicken place. He could chuck that bastard all day.

He had progressed, had excelled. There was talk of the RASP after he had a couple years under his belt. He could already hit every target thanks to Galaga earned hand-eye coordination and the hyper-focus of rage. The rest was just pushing himself to the physical brink. That was a goddamn Thursday.

Then his fucking brother calls him. He tells the clerk he doesn't have a brother at first, confusing them both so much that he just agrees to take the call out of politeness. He doesn't get out more than the sound of clearing his throat before Greg starts in.“Come home. Dad's dead and Lara’s a mess. She says she needs you.”

Tim holds the phone against his ear for a long minute. “The bastard's dead? She kills ‘im?”

“No! What‽ He had a heart attack. It was probably the smoking. Jesus, Timothy, come home.”

Tim doesn't even consider going home. He gently puts down the receiver without another word and decides to start smoking.

It's a bad habit, one he only does when he drinks, but he has to burn the bastards down for taking his kill shot. It doesn't hurt that it's an excuse both to remain silent and to talk as necessary. Useful. Tim respects useful things.

That blip between basic and the world going to hell for everyone else, too, is just full of running, digging in, and raising a gun. Then suddenly he's twenty and heading to a country he'd only idly noticed on a globe.

He rinses the glass in the sink and sits it on the counter. He figures it's sterile and he doesn't know where the dish soap went. Who else is going to use it anyway?

He grabs his phone and shoves it into his pocket. Greg would probably call back. Tim would probably ignore him. He could only handle a call every nine years or so.

He had to get to bed.

Tomorrow he gets to step into a new world where not a soul knows him. He's not some scared mama's boy with a hairpin trigger and enough skill to back it up. He can be Tim Gutterson, sniper for the Rangers, new guy, nice enough when he's not talking out his ass. Keeps to himself.

It'll be fine if he just keeps to himself.

[cumsuga]

Wasted Times

yoongi x fem!reader jungkook x fem!reader

genre. SMUT, fluff, angst, Romance, established relationship!AU 18+ (Minors DNI)

Who knew trying to stay sober would be so hard? Having a stressful job drove you to some questionable coping mechanisms. Can you maintain your sobriety, or will you fall into a different addiction? You want to be a good person, but it's hard when temptation is everywhere.

warnings: breeding kink, dumbification, minor alcoholism, degradation, talks of sobriety, cum eating, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected sex (PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD USE PROTECTION AND BE SAFE), dom!Jungkook

word count: 4.9k

"Fuck… I can't take this shit anymore…."

You start your mornings at four am. Today, however, you are starting your morning at 3 am with a raging headache and cold sweats from withdrawals. After deciding to go cold turkey after having a drunken fight with your now ex-boyfriend that lives with you, you can't take the pain, so you go to the local liquor store.

"Jesus, it's cold…." you pick up a 5th of tequila and make your way to the counter.

"You know, lady, you should be in AA; it's 3:30 in the morning, and it's snowing, and you're here buying alcohol… again."

You roll your eyes unamused, "You should mind your business and ring me up." So she does, and you leave, and like he can see what you're doing, Jungkook is calling.

"Hello?" You try to make it sound like you're annoyed that he's called you.

"Where d'go?" He sounds concerned, and your heart can't help but melt at his honey morning voice.

"I went out for a smoke." You lie. You don't know why you lie because regardless of ending your relationship, you both know you'll remain friends. He was the first friend you made when you moved here; therefore, he knows you and "sees" through your never-ending bullshit.

“Y/N…” Your mouth waters as soon as you hear your name leave his mouth.

And then BAM! Some asshole bumps into you, causing you to drop your phone and bottle, which shatters both.

"Yo, what the fuck?! Watch where you're going!" You scream at the man causing him to stop and look back at you in disgust.

"I did you a favor, lady. Get help."

You stand there, jaw on the floor, Jungkook's voice is faint, but you hear him calling out to you, and sincerely you call the guy a pink-haired fuck, pick up your now shattered phone, and walk home.

"GOD DAMN IT!!" You slam the door so hard that the painting on the wall near the door falls. You're livid, pupils blown and on the attack.

"Babe? What's wrong?" He calls from the bathroom.

You yell, "Nothing! Please don't concern yourself with it, and we broke up. So stop calling me babe."

At this point, you're going on six days without alcohol, and everything and everyone is pissing you off, ESPECIALLY the pink-haired douche that cracked your phone and broke your little piece of heaven. You'd planned on a happy, productive day, but he ruined it. Now you have to call in… Again.

Jungkook walks out of the bathroom and into the living room, "Wait, I wasn't serious, Y/N." He's hurt. Like he's hurt, you can see the tears forming in his eyes again. One thing you adored about Jungkook was that he wasn't afraid to cry in front of you.

"Well, I was fucking serious, you idiot. You told me you wanted to break up, and I agreed to it, so it should've been serious." the venom in your voice couldn't have been any more lethal. He says nothing, and everything in the house is quiet. You swear you can hear his heart break.

You sigh and walk over to him, "I'm sorry, babe. I'm just on edge…" you try to wrap your arms around his neck, but he gently pushes you away.

"I have to go to work…." He whispers

And like that, he's gone, and you're alone. You feel guilty. He deserved better. You knew it, he knew it, but still, he stayed because, to Jungkook, knowing you were safe meant more to him than the reality of you not reciprocating his feelings anymore. And if you're being honest, the breakup was a long time coming. But even then, the guilt of hurting the one person that accepted you functioning alcoholic and all, was ten times worse than going through withdrawals. But you push it all aside because your boss is texting you, telling you that you need to come in today or you will no longer have a job.

So you get ready for a shitty day of being an assistant to an assistant because you need this job to network with people in the industry. You had no intention of being in such a position. They tricked you, telling you that you'd be working with the best of the best. A lie you resent them for, but the company is prestigious, so if you quit now or get fired, you'll be throwing away years of building a portfolio in secret and all the contacts you've gained. Had you not been in talks with your boss' boss about producing, you would have said fuck it and stayed home. Though he was creepy about it, money is money. And the money that helped fuel your two loves, alcohol and music.

Yoongi looked in the mirror, annoyed with the dye job his best friend gave him, "Tae, did you have to make it pink? Why not blue?" he groaned, sitting on the couch.

He didn't mind being Taehyung's, who was a second-year beauty school student's guinea pig. In fact, he enjoyed helping his best friend. Except when Tae first learned to lighten hair, he got overzealous and burned Yoongi's hair. It wasn't fun in their house as Yoongi didn't speak to him for a month after that.

"Oh hush, you look gorgeous as always, Gigi. Plus, I suggested purple, and you shot me down, so the only other color I had was pink. You look nice; maybe it'll be your conversation piece now?" Tae yells from the living room, laughing.

"Conversation piece my ass, some lady called me a pink-haired fuck today," he fake sniffles," hurt my pride." A pillow is launched at Yoongi as he walks over to plop next to him.

"Hmmm… How about this? Let's say fuck the pink and go pitch black? Your hair is long. I could dye it, perm it, and cut it. I'm thinking of a wolf cut?" Taehyung begins to mess with the older man's hair.

"Fuck it, better than being a pink-haired fuck. How long is this going to take? I have to meet Namjoon today at HYBE."

After hours of shaking, your body finally begins to calm itself. Now everyone that knows you would consider you an alcoholic, but you like to think that you aren't. You had only recently started drinking heavily. The stress of your job is a little too much for your already fragile mental state. So instead of doing drugs, you drank. The lesser of two evils, you thought naively. But what you didn't know until your fight with Jungkook is how violent and angry you got. Usually, Jungkook would stop you from going down that destructive path, but he'd had enough. He wanted you to see the damage you caused. He loved you but couldn't watch you destroy yourself anymore, so he left you with your demons. When you woke up the following day, there was glass everywhere, and Jungkook had a small cut on the apple of his cheek. You felt like shit, so you decided to cut back. The only thing you didn't know is that binge drinking doesn't just go away. You'd never experienced withdrawals, so it was like a mac truck when it hit. Now you did consult a doctor on the 3rd day, and they gave you some meds to help with the headaches and told you to call 112 if it lasted longer than a week. You prayed to the universe that it would subside; finally, it did, though the craving was still there.

"Hey, Y/N." Jennie's voice knocks you from thought.

"Hey!" you look up, startled, "What's up?"

You met Jennie when you were an unpaid intern. She was the only nice person to you, asking you if you wanted to eat lunch together and chatting mindless gossip about the idols and actors you both worked beside. She was sweet, but she held her ground. Like when you'd accidentally bump into an especially entitled actor (who shall not be named Nam JooHyuk) spilling coffee on his "1,000,000 won shirt". You knew your clothes; having grown up reasonably wealthy, you couldn't help but laugh at him and his blatant lie. "That shirt is 10,000 won at best, please." He turned bright red and started cussing you out until she walked up and asked why he was speaking to her best friend like that. You had never seen someone turn so white so quickly ever, apology after apology profusely spilling from the hole he had called a mouth. Her secret to making people fall at her feet? She was a Chaebol. Her mother is apparently a shareholder and director for CJ&M, one of the largest conglomerates in Korea, and her father owns a few hospitals. She, however, did not let money decide her fate. She decided to make her own way in the world—brilliant, beautiful, and kind.

"Did you hear the news?" She smiles, "He's coming again today. AgustD is finally coming. One of the trainees happened to see him last time he came, and she said he was hot. Hotter than InSeop."

You roll your eyes playfully. "You and being boy crazy, I doubt he's that good-looking InSeop is sent from the gods, you know it, I know it, hell, the whole world does. Plus, all that stuff is subjective. What if you thought he wasn't good-looking, the trainee would be a liar. I'm good with looking at Jungkook." You laugh at her giddiness. She's always with a new guy. And you support her hoetivities, but today you couldn't share in her excitement.

She huffs dejected, "Boo, you're so boring, Y/N. Oogle guys with me, Koo will never know."

You squint and look around, "He will, though. It's like he has a 6th sense when it comes to me checking out other people. He's such a Jelly bean. It's cute, though… I miss him.." you soften at the thought of him.

She curls her lips up disgusted, "Ew, people in love are gross. C'mon, just for a little."

"Stop trying to get me to cheat on my boyfriend. It's not going to happen. Now shoo before my boss sees you." You hurry her away from your desk.

Hours go by, and the last person leaves the building for the day. You like to take your time to lock up for the day, and by that, you mean lock the front door and sneak into the studios to work on your music. You'd been doing it since you got promoted to the assistant to the CEO's assistant. You enjoyed the time you had by yourself in the studio. Telling Jungkook you were working late to keep him from worrying. The beat you were working on took you over a month to make, but something still needed to be added. You'd tried everything. 808s, synthesizers, you even tried classical instruments like a violin.

You groan, irritation starting to settle into your bones, "What's missing? What's missing?" You stare at the screen for some time before someone behind you speaks up.

"Hi-hats. There's no contrast between your kick and snare." They say it so blandly, like it's second nature to them.

You freeze in the chair; you're caught. A million thoughts flood your head, the main one being, 'today is the day I lose my job.'. You're terrified, but still, you turn to them slowly. Your eyes meet, and before you can even open your mouth to try and save yourself, the man with the cat-like eyes speaks.

"I've never seen you around here before. Did you just join the team too?" His voice was more friendly than when he first spoke. Maybe it was because he didn't know you were a woman? He once overs you, furrowing his brows.

"I–I… uh… No, I'm an assistant. My boss lets me use the studios when no one is here." He knew you were lying, the cadence in your voice giving you away. His face hardens, and he glares at you in silence; it almost feels like he's looking at your soul.

He scoffs, almost laughing at your pathetic excuse, "You're a liar. I don't like liars… Why would they let an assistant near millions of won worth of equipment? Just from the sound of the beat, you don't even know what you're doing."

What a catty bitch, you think to yourself as he steps into the light. You study his face at point, "Hey, don't I know you from somewhere? You look oddly familiar."

"No, I don't associate with liars." Words so cold you shiver slightly.

Now he's starting to get on your nerves. It's not like you were stealing time. You'd clocked out for the day. No one would've suspected a thing, yet this stranger acted like you were throwing puppies off a bridge.

"Listen, I'll do anything. Please don't tell. I can't afford to lose this job… I was trying to use better equipment than what I have at home." You plead with the man, almost too pathetic for your liking. Again he glares at you before his face softens.

"I'll let you slide just this once, and only because I understand what it's like to come from Nothing. I have a friend that would be more than happy to help you. His name is Namjoon, and he's the lead producer here. I'll tell him about you." He turns on his heels and leaves the room.

You slump into the chair, your heart racing. You hoped he would keep true to his word, seeing as he doesn't like liars. You finally collect yourself after 15 minutes and turn back to the computer to finish what you had started before saving it to a thumb drive and leaving for the day.

By the time you get home that evening, Jungkook is lying in bed watching tv. When you walk into the bedroom, he smiles at you softly. He can't stay mad at you. He loves you far too much.

"Hi baby," he sleepily mumbles as you lean down to kiss him.

"Did you shower, papa?" you ask, gently pushing the hair out of his face, and he shakes his head.

He nuzzles into the hand on his cheek, "No, I was waiting for you to come home. I missed you. When are you gonna be done working late? I don't like being alone." You adored it when he was like this. So comfortable with being soft and sweet with you, and it just made you feel even more guilty.

"Come on, stinky boy, get up. Let's go shower." You pull him to his feet, and he happily obliges you as you pull him into the bathroom and help him undress before you rid yourself of your clothes.

You chuckle as you slip out of your panties, "You're staring, Koo."

"I know. It's just because you're so beautiful, ya know?" He looks down at you, taking in all of you. If Jungkook had it his way, you both would have gotten married after college, and you'd currently be a stay-at-home mom pregnant with his second child. But all that glitters isn't gold. You were self-destructive, mean, and terribly selfish; still, he loved you. In his own way, he was selfish too, choosing to keep you how you were rather than to let you go and be unhappy. He knew he should've left when he proposed on your 4th anniversary and you said no, stating that you two were too young to settle down so early and to ask again in a couple of years. He knew you were utterly loyal to him, so it hurt more to hear you say no, but he couldn't bring himself to go.

"Thank you, my love." You say, pressing a feather-light kiss to his chest before getting in the shower. He follows behind you and lets you enter the water before joining you in the downpour.

You rest your head against his chest and whisper an apology for your actions and words earlier. He hums in acceptance, kissing your forehead.

"I'm going to go to AA. I wanna get better. I wanna save our relationship, Jungkook." You stare up at him, searching his eyes for something. Anything.

He smiles at you, cupping your cheek, happy that you want to fix the relationship and yourself. "I'm willing to support you and work on fixing us, too." the pad of his thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek.

"I love you so much, Y/N," He says, leaning down to kiss you gently before pulling away and staring longingly into your eyes. He's going back and forth between your eyes and lips. "I missed you…." He says, kissing you again, this time with more hunger and passion.

You keen softly into his mouth, and his free hand finds your ass giving it a rough squeeze, "Jungkook… don't be so rough." You bite him in retaliation but only fuel his lustful fire.

He brings his hand up to your neck, thumb pressed to your jugular, "what did I tell you about biting, hmm? Tell me what I told you, you brat."

You smile lazily, starting to see stars, "You told me– you told me brats who bite don't get to cum, Sir…." Truth be told, you liked it when Jungkook took control during sex. A stark contrast from the soft boy exterior he showed everyone else. This side that only you got to see made you weak in the knees.

He lets you go, and the blood rushes back to your head, "now, are you gonna be a good girl or a brat?" Thumb playing with your bottom lip.

You rub your thighs together slightly, "A good girl." You practically moan out.

"Good, now get on your knees. I wanna cum first today." He pats your head as you drop to your knees, staring up at him, "open your mouth, stupid. Jesus, you forgot how to suck dick already, idiot?"

You open wide, and he shoves his dick in your mouth, and it hits the back of your throat, "get to work; it's not going to suck itself." He waits for you to move, and when you do, he groans. "That's it. That's it, my pretty girl, fuck." You can feel yourself gush at his words.

You bobbed your head, using one hand to stroke his shaft and the other to play with his balls, causing him to buck his hips into your mouth before you pulled off, still caressing him, "am I a good girl? All I wanna be is your good girl." You stare up at him, vying for his approval.

He nods in approval, and that's all it takes for you to put him back in your mouth and down your throat. He holds your head there, causing you to gag, drool dripping down your chin and onto his balls as you claw his thighs. Your throat is spasming for relief.

"That's my good girl. You're wet, aren't you? You like it when I make you choke, don't you? You're so fucking disgusting, letting your throat be used like this. God, I fucking love you." He lets you go, finally letting you breathe. You want to give him a show, making it as wet and sloppy as possible. For what seems like hours to him, all you both can hear are the sounds of you slurping and gagging on him, and it's driving him mad, but you know he loves cumming on you, so you pull off with an obscene pop, strings of spit the only thing connecting you as you gasp for air. Dick twitching at the sight.

"Where do you wanna cum, sir?" You ask, lewdly rubbing the tip against your lips, collecting all the pre-cum you can before licking your lips.

You loved the way Jungkook tasted. Salty with a slightly sweet aftertaste but not at all offensive, he took care of himself, for God's sake. Eating healthy and exercising. The man looked like he'd been sculpted by Greek gods. Muscles are rippling everywhere, and tattoos are covering his right arm.

On the other hand, you were a tad chubby and on the thicker side. He said he loved how soft you felt the first time you two fucked, loved the way his fingers looked squeezing the supple flesh of your thighs. You fell for him that night, and now here you are 8 years later, sucking the soul out of one of the hottest men you'd ever been with.

"On your ass, now get up and turn around." He pulls you up by your hair, not tugging too hard but just enough to make your clit throb. You do as you're told, though, because if you're good, he won't deny your orgasm tonight. He liked to edge you until you squirted, saying you're the only girl he's been with that can and that he finds it so incredibly hot. But tonight, you were on a mission. You haven't busted a nut in weeks; for you and Jungkook, that's not normal.

"Hurry, I want you inside me. Please. Please, I'll be so good after. I'll do anything you want." You plead with him; he likes it when you beg.

He smacks your ass, "You talk too much." You look back at him and watch as he reaches his climax.

"My pretty boy, you're so fucking hot, babe. Yeah, that's it, baby cum all over me." You arch into him as he shoots thick white strings of cum all over your ass and back, moaning the most beautiful sounds.

He scoops some of it up on his fingers and brings them to your mouth, "Eat, slut." You happily take his fingers into your mouth, sucking salaciously.

He moans, watching as you eye him while you suck. "Let's hurry. I'm not finished with you yet."

You both quickly shower, and as soon as you step out, you're thrown over his shoulder and then onto the bed.

Your eyes lidded with lust as he crawled to you. He's so pretty when he's like this, you think. So Feral. Truth be told, you wanted nothing more than to be his prey, ravished by this animal-like man.

"Come here, baby. Come eat me." you beckon him sweetly.

He climbs till he's hovering over you, faces so close you can feel the warmth of his breath– peppering kisses all over your face, neck, and shoulders, one hand gripping the soft flesh of your thigh, the other holding himself up.

"So pretty. All mine… Say it. Tell me you're all fucking mine." he muttered against your ear, biting at the lobe.

"I'm yours. I'm all yours. Your princess." you mewl, trying to move one of your hands down to your clit to get some desperately needed relief. He feels you trying to move and pins your hands above your head. Jungkook loved the power you allowed him to have during sex. Never going past your boundaries but making sure you knew he wasn't handing over his power position.

"Look at you, such a slutty little thing. Beg for it, stupid. You know how to beg, right? Beg for my fingers to be inside you." he grips your face hard but not enough to seriously hurt you, "Look me in my eyes when you beg."

"Please touch me! Please, I want you to slut me out. I wanna be your slut, Koo, please. It hurts so bad, please. Good girl– your good girl. Use me." You sound so pitiful when you say it, feeling him harden against your inner thigh.

"You're so fucking pathetic. Do you hear yourself? You really are a slut, huh?" His voice is rough but quiet in your ear.

You feel bad for your neighbors because they can hear your pleas for his touch. Jungkook knows just what to say and do for you to lose your shame. You lose all inhibition to him: the only man that's ever made you cum.

Before you can open your mouth to agree, he's keenly playing in the wet between your thighs, using it to play with your clit, causing the most gracious moans to sound from you, "Look at it, you could drown from how wet you are. There's no way you could be my princess."

You can't even think coherently, your mind too clouded by his fingers' nimble movements. "You know what, baby? I think you deserve more than my fingers. You're being such a good girl for me."-- he's flipping you over, using a pillow to prop your hips up, chest almost level with the mattress.

You're craning your neck to try to see him. "Don't you wanna taste it first?" you wiggle your hips teasingly. He bites his bottom lip at the sight of you. The thought alone caused him to start jerking himself.

"Not tonight, you little dick tease." He shifts on the bed to get closer to you, watching and feeling as he collects some of your juices and uses them to lube himself up.

He prods your entrance. "You ready, my love?" You nod, and he pushes in, hissing at how tight and wet you are. Inching slowly into you, you both moan in unison. Jungkook is big and thick, and him entering you burns so fucking good. Finally, he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust. Not wanting to hurt you because, on several occasions, he's made you bleed from not letting you get used to him. When you feel like you've finally adjusted, you start to fuck yourself on him, and he lets you. Enjoying the sight of you losing yourself around him. Small whimpers and moans leave you like a symphony that sings straight to his dick.

He smacks your ass leaving an angry red handprint. "Yeah, you like that? You look so angelic, baby girl. I wish you could see how fucking beautiful you are." You can't form sentences; the pleasure is too much for your brain to function. You haven't felt him in weeks, so this is almost foreign at this very moment. Soon, he starts to meet your movement. Fucking into you like a madman. Showering you with compliments. A far cry from the degradation that was happening a moment ago.

All you can get out is 'I love yous' between the sounds of skin hitting skin and the lewd squelching of your cunt. He's gripping your hips, swearing you'll have bruises in the morning, but you could be fucking happier. You want him, no fuck that you need him. He makes you wish you were a good person, but you know, in the end, you'll never be that. But you'll pretend you are to make him happy, to keep him close. You love him and want to have his babies eventually... Right?

When you finally get a moment of clarity, all you can say is, 'cum in me; I wanna have your babies. I want to be yours forever.' all lies, you think. Then you think again, are they lies? Indeed you want to be with him, but will he be okay knowing you're going to struggle with sobriety and be the same self-destructive person you've been since you've he's known you, forever? The thoughts are pushed aside when he wraps his hand around your throat and pulls you to his chest.

"Yeah, you want to have my babies? Beg for them," he snarls, almost like he knows you're doubtful. But, regardless, you oblige his demands, giving into your weakness for him. Because ultimately, he might be the only consistent thing in your life, and though you're too proud to admit it aloud, you're scared to lose him.

You feel him twitching inside you, knowing his release is coming, and you will follow soon after, "C'mon baby, fill me up. Please, give me your babies. I want them; I want them all." Soon he's filling you up; the feeling is so delightful you don't want him to pull out. You feel your orgasm coming, walls milking him for all he's worth. He's helping your ride out your wave of pleasure, and you're so grateful for him, thankful that he isn't a selfish lover. You want to say in this bliss forever. Finally, you feel him softening inside you, slipping out, cum dripping down your thighs and onto the bed, ruining your black satin sheets. He kisses your shoulder, humming in contentment before getting off the bed and going to the bathroom to retrieve a wet rag to clean you up, as well as clean himself, being so gentle it stirs the butterflies in your tummy. You haven't felt like this with him in months. You know Jungkook loves aftercare, though, letting you know that regardless of all the mean things he says during sex, he still loves you and doesn't mean any of it.

After he cleans you up, he tosses the rag into the hamper in the corner of the bedroom, throws you a t-shirt, and puts on underwear before plopping down next to you. Soon all you can hear is the soft sounds of him snoring. You giggle quietly, thinking, 'Pussy put his ass to sleep,' but you lay there for a little while watching him and playing gently in his hair. He's so ethereal, so soft, so yours. Before long, sleep finds you. You wrap your arm around his waist and fall asleep next to this beautiful, caring, and understanding man. Hoping and praying that you won't fuck things up like you usually do.

© @cumsuga 2016-2024. All rights reserved. — Unauthorized use or duplication of these works, including reposting, translating, and modification in any form, is strictly prohibited. DO NOT USE MY CONTENT FOR ANY AI PURPOSES WHAT SO EVER

credit to @cafekitsune for the dividers

[cthulhu-calling]

Wedding Bells I

Wanda Maximoff x female!Reader

Summary : Your best friend is getting married. You're beyond elated. And he asked you to be his best man. But there's a catch. The maid of honour is the woman you were with for two years. The woman you were going to get down on one knee and ask to spend the rest of your life together. The woman who cheated on you, smashing your heart into millions of tiny pieces. Can you truly make it down the aisle with her on your arm?

Warnings : fluff, angst, cheating

Author's Note : This story has elements of cheating, maybe a graphic description further down the road. The reader is female and has no particular race or body type so feel free to imagine yourself (though I write with woc in mind).

Word Count : 1641

series masterlist

“I’m going to ask Natasha to marry me,” he says, and you almost choke on the beer you’re drinking. 

“What?” 

“I’m going to propose. I’ve already got the ring picked ou—,” he’s interrupted by you jumping on him, pulling him into a hug while almost knocking over the barstool he’s sat on. 

“This is so exciting! Oh my God, you’re going to have tiny little ginger babies and I’m going to be the cool aunt Y/n! I’m not cleaning any diapers though, okay?” 

“Woah, cool your jets! She has to say yes first,” he says and you roll your eyes. 

“Of course she’s gonna say yes! Show me the ring,” you insist. 

He pulls out a small blue coloured velvet box from his pocket, handing it to you. You open the lid slowly to find the most beautiful ring inside. A thin band of white gold with a teardrop shaped diamond with smaller circular diamonds on either side of it. 

“Bucky, it’s beautiful. She’s going to love it,” you say, offering him a teary smile that he nervously reciprocates. “I hope so.” 

“When are you going to do it?” You ask before he starts telling you about what he's got planned. The two of you talk for a bit longer before he gets a call from Natasha and has to head home. You’re left alone, sitting at the bar, nursing another bottle of beer. You couldn’t believe it. Your best friend was going to get married. To his college sweetheart too at that. You were beyond elated for them but still, your mind was stuck on one person only.

*

You and Steve were at the McDonald’s drive thru when he called. 

“She said yes!” He screamed into the phone and you could hear Natasha’s laughter in the background. You and Steve were screaming too, a bunch of congratulations thrown around. 

“Where are you guys? You should come over to my place, Y/n and I are getting McDonald’s anyway,” he offers. 

“Yeah, we’re watching The Mummy. Not the one without Rachel Weisz of course those ones suck. Wait, unless you guys would rather spend the night to yourselves doing you know,” you say, the smirk evident in the tone of your voice. Natasha and Bucky both roll their eyes, smiling to themselves. 

“No, we’ll meet you there in half an hour. Get me a cheeseburger,” Natasha says.

“We just ate,” Bucky says, sounding extremely confused.

“So?” she asks incredulously and you and Steve can’t help but laugh. “Yeah Bucky, so what?” you giggle before he huffs and hangs up, letting you know that they’re on their way. You get a horde of food, stopping at a liquor store to buy some champagne too. Bucky and Natasha are already waiting near the door when you get there and dumping all of your bags with Steve, you rush to hug Natasha, the both of you screaming. Steve and Bucky just watch with amused smiles as you and Natasha gush over the proposal and when Bucky almost fell into the pond. Once you’re inside, champagne poured into flutes and bellies full of fast food, Bucky and Natasha share a look before the atmosphere suddenly gets serious. 

“We need to talk to you about something,” Natasha says, her voice suddenly serious. You and Steve exchange glances, eyes wide and ask almost simultaneously “You’re pregnant?!” 

“What? No! You just saw me drinking Y/n!” she clarifies. 

“Oh, yeah. Continue.”

“Well,” Bucky starts, clearing his throat before he continues, “Y/n I’d like you to be my best man” he says. You’re dumbfounded, staring at him with your mouth agape. You, Steve and Bucky had been childhood friends. You met Natasha and her friends when Bucky and her started dating and you were definitely close now. 

“What about me?” Steve asks, sounding hurt. You grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze when Natasha says something that shocks the both of you. “I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to walk me down the aisle,” she asks with a nervous smile and to think you couldn’t possibly be more surprised this evening. Steve looks at her for a moment before he turns towards you, hiding his face behind your shoulder and starts to weep, proper cry, runny nose and ugly tears and all. He had always been a giant teddy bear, overprotective and soft to the core. You knew of Natasha’s past, an alcoholic and abusive father and an absent mother. Steve had taken on a bit of a big brother role in her life, always looking out for her. 

You’re used to the waterworks from Steve but Nat? That’s a new one. She’s crying too and Bucky doesn’t know what to do, this was uncharted territory for him too. He pulls Natasha in his arms and tries to comfort her to the best of his abilities and credit where it is due, it does help her calm down a bit. In the six years that they’d been together, he’d only ever seen her cry once, when her aunt who had practically raised her passed away and then too, he found himself utterly useless, despite Natasha telling him that he did help her through that time. 

Blowing her nose into a tissue, she sat up straight before continuing, “There’s one more thing. I’m going to ask Wanda to be my maid of honour,” Natasha declares and suddenly, all eyes are on you. 

You’re staring at Natasha, your thoughts moving at a million miles per hour. You hadn’t seen Wanda in almost a year now, not since you caught her cheating on you. The two of you had decided that now that you were going to be moving in together, you’d do it in a new apartment so it wouldn’t feel like a sleepover, a new place for this new step in your relationship. You were coming over so you could finalise on a house that the both of you liked when you caught them together. You’re still thankful you found out before, not after you were ready to go down on one knee for her. You never asked Natasha to choose and while she did distance herself from Wanda for a while, it was hard to just cut off one of your oldest and closest friends. And you understood, of course you did! If the roles were reversed, you knew Bucky wouldn't break off his friendship with you. Plus, you’d only been together for two years. So what if you thought she was the one you’d marry, have a family with? 

When you’d been quiet for too long, Natasha tried to explain, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, I can ask someone else to be my mai--,” she’s interrupted by you laughing.

“This is your day, I’m not going to ruin it for you, especially not because of her. You’re going to get exactly what you want plus, it’s all water under the bridge. I can put up with her for a day, and I’m going to look cracker in the pantsuit that I already have in mind ” you guarantee with a wink and the relief on Natasha’s face is evident. The rest of the night passes by quickly and Nat and Bucky crash in the guest bedroom while you take the couch. 

You’re woken up in the morning by the feeling of Sarah sitting on your back, trying to shake you awake.

“Auntie Y/n!” she screeches in your ear and you groan, twisting in an odd way and pulling her down to cuddle her. “Sshh, go to sleep,” you try to say but she manages to wiggle out of your grip before shoving her mom’s phone in your face. 

“Look, we saw ducks while coming back from gramma’s house! There were five babies,” she says as she holds up five pudgy little fingers in your face. You try to sound interested and enthusiastic but you’re just too tired to really care.

“Sarah, come look what’s in the kitchen,” you hear Peggy say, saving you from this early morning duck diaries. Sarah rushes towards the kitchen where her mom is and it’s only moments later that Peggy walks into the living room, smacking you on the ass to get you to sit up and handing you a steaming hot mug of coffee as she takes a seat beside you. Yawning into the cup, “Hey, how was the strip?’ you ask her and now that you have some coffee in your system, you actually pay attention. 

Once you get back home, you shower to wash the night off of you, being greeted with a message on your answering machine when you get out. The voice startles you, not having heard it for almost a year now. It hurts but less than you thought it would. But once you focus on her words, the light sting is taken over by an avalanche of red hot fury, burning your veins.

‘Hey Y/n, it’s me. Wanda. Anyway, I’m sure you heard about Nat and Bucky. I’m to be her maid of honour and I know you’re the best man so let’s just try to be civil with each other, alright? No need to let our past ruin their special day. Well, that’s it I guess. I’d have more to say if you were a bridesmaid but eh.’

Her message just ends abruptly and you have to resist throwing your phone at the wall. How dare she? She had the audacity to make such a call after all she did, acting like you were the unreasonable one. When she cheated? When she threw two years together down the drain for some middle aged dick? If this was how the months leading up to the wedding are going to be, you don’t know how you’re going to persevere.  

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

[atmostories]

Johnny Lawrence x Reader

Matter - Chapter Six Tags: Angst, Gender-Neutral, Alcohol/Drug Abuse, Depression You kept driving. The constant sensation of moving, of going somewhere was the only thing that was holding you together. You needed to go, you had to get away. Your foot pressed down harder on the accelerator, your hands were wrapped tight around the steering wheel. The scenery was flying by faster and faster. The only thing you could concentrate on was the highway, everything else just fell away like it never mattered in the first place. It stripped you bare, washed you clean. You couldn't remember the last time the anxiety had been silent. You drove faster, chasing the feeling, hunting it down, it was the only thing that mattered. Nothing else- 

Shit, a sedan was pulling out in front of you. Slamming on the brakes, the seatbelt dug hard into your body as it held you from going into the wheel. The sedan ahead kept getting closer, your eyes widened at the imminent collision. Somehow you managed to slow down in time, the sedan was steadily pulling away from your car. Your heart was thumping so hard it hurt. Adrenaline dissipated outwards from your chest and it made your hands shake. Turning off at the next exit, you parked up at a gas station and turned off the engine. That was close, that was too fucking close. How fast were you even going? You didn't look to see, you didn't care. All you were focused on was maintaining that sensation of freedom and nothingness where the anxieties didn't exist anymore. But that was a momentary blip, they'd already come rushing back as you considered what would have happened if you reacted a second slower, half a second slower. When you'd calmed down, you filled up the tank while you were at the gas station and realised you didn't have a clue where you were. It was hours ago since you'd left the city with no thought of where you were headed. It was already getting dark. After looking up the directions back to the apartment, you got back on the road. Inevitably, you began to picture that pack of beer in the refrigerator again. Why hadn't you thought about him drinking? It wasn't like you'd only been seeing Johnny for a few weeks, you'd been going to the dojo for months. In all that time, you hadn't considered it? If you were honest with yourself, you felt betrayed by him. But he had never lied to you, he never said that he'd stopped drinking. You just didn't think about it. You had blocked it out of your mind, content with your self-imposed ignorance. So what were you so upset about? Johnny was drinking in front of those kids, wasn't that reason enough to be angry? No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't picture him getting drunk in the dojo. Those beers were getting him through the day, a whole pack wasn't going to get him drunk, he'd practically still be sober. You were so conflicted. You knew you were wrong, but it didn't stop how you were feeling. You felt dejected and angry and hurt. There was no one to blame, nowhere to put the emotions so they had to be buried away. You were in half a mind to go to a liquor store, buy a bottle of that cheap whiskey Johnny liked and get fucking wasted. Instead when you finally made it back to the apartment, you got high. Though it didn't help much, you'd take any kind of relief you could get. You didn't know what to think anymore. It'd be easier if you didn't have to think at all. - - - When Johnny called, you didn't pick up at first. You just let it ring and ring until it finally went to voicemail, unable to scrounge up enough courage to actually talk to him. You needed more time to get your head straight. It still wasn't sinking in that he hadn't done anything wrong. Even though he was still drinking, he wasn't like before when you were together. He was healthier, he was more himself. No matter how many times you reminded yourself of the truth, it didn't ease the rising dread and the constant thoughts of the Firebird wrapped around a tree, him going on another bender, him ending up passed out in some alleyway, him lying face first on the ground, wheezing, choking, dying. An hour later he called again. This time you answered, needing to hear his voice. He asked if you could come to the dojo tomorrow and you agreed, like always. Parking up next to his Firebird the next day, you hesitated getting out of your car. A small part of you wanted to bolt. Maybe distance would somehow lessen the pain, maybe if you never saw Johnny again you could imagine that he was perfectly fine, forever healthy and untroubled. You pushed the anxious thoughts aside and headed into the dojo. There were a few kids already there. Hawk, Aisha and Miguel were chatting in the corner, too engrossed in their conversation to notice you coming in. As you went into the office, you almost collided into Johnny and reared backwards to avoid him. He immediately reached out and held onto your shoulders, carefully steadying you before you could stumble. “You okay?” He murmured softly, his bright eyes entirely focused on you. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” you replied, unable to hold to gaze. Turning your shoulders slightly, he seemed to take the hint and let you go. He didn't. . .he didn't smell like booze. Maybe he was being polite and he'd wait until you left before he started drinking. You moved passed him and settled down at the desk, quickly picking up some pieces of paper to start working. Johnny was still hovering by the door, his presence was almost oppressive. You were hyperaware of him in your peripheral vision, you could still feel his hands on your shoulders. Thankfully he went into the dojo and you could breathe a little easier. This was so pathetic. The things you had made yourself believe, the things you convinced yourself of in order to try and ease the pain. It wasn't just being naïve, thinking that he'd stopped drinking, it wasn't even willed ignorance, it was worse than that. You had deluded yourself, you had created an impossible narrative and you hadn't even noticed until it stared at you right in the face. Johnny was never going to stop drinking. He didn't stop for Robby, he didn't stop for you, and he certainly wasn't going to do it for himself. Anguish bled into your heart at the realisation. You looked over to the dojo through the window, seeing Johnny talk to a few of the kids. There was nothing you could do, there was never anything you could do. That sense of helplessness you hadn't felt for months was back. You couldn't even help the one person that you loved more than anything in this world. You were worthless. - - - The next time he called, you didn't answer. Not the second or the third time either. You couldn't bring yourself to go back there and see him again. Your head was all over the place. You felt deeply agitated but calm at the same time. There would be times when your mind would blank, and then it would be a mess of racing, spiralling thoughts. Whenever you got home from work, you didn't know what to do with yourself anymore. You considered listening to some music or watching a movie, but you didn't have the energy to decide. It was too much effort. A strange weight had settled deep inside your chest. Sometimes it would flare up, almost like the echoes of adrenaline. You didn't know whether it was agony or rage, neither conceded to the other so it felt as if you were in the eye of a storm, waiting for the moment when everything would come undone. You parked up outside the apartment after another long, shitty day at work, trying not to think about the fact you needed to get some groceries. The refrigerator was almost empty, the cupboards were largely comprised of condiments and spices. There might be can of soup hiding somewhere. You walked to the entrance of the apartment building, thinking that the soup would have to suffice for dinner even though you wanted a proper meal. A few days ago you got food poisoning from something, you hadn't worked out what it was in the end. Tomorrow you would go to the grocery store. Or maybe the day after that would be better- “Hey.” The sound of Johnny's voice made you look up in surprise. He was standing near the main door with his hands in his jean pockets. “What are you doing here?” “I was driving through, thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing.” You let out a sigh, rather irked by the fact he'd turned up in person. It was easy to ignore a call, but you couldn't ignore him standing right in front of you. His eyes were watching you carefully, expectant of anything but a dismissal. “Let's go up,” you told him, pulling out your keys and opening up the main door. He followed behind you silently as you took the stairs, Johnny's presence was making you nervous, you almost tripped up on the last flight of stairs. The sound of an argument from one of the neighbours permeated through the corridor as you went to your apartment. You fumbled impatiently with the botched lock, completely forgetting the normal routine of opening it up. Taking in a breath, you focused on doing it slowly and managed to get it open after a few seconds. “Want me to take a look at that?” He offered as both of you went inside. “It's fine,” you replied, gesturing to the sofa. After kicking off his shoes, he sat down with his elbows on his knees. There was that same sour expression on his face from the last time he was here. You tried not to take it personally, he was just thinking about his mom. Rather than sitting next to him as the sofa was a little small, you perched on the armrest, waiting for him to say something. “I tried to call a few times,” he told you, obviously waiting for an explanation. “I haven't had time to come to the dojo.” “How about next week? Is Thursday okay?” “Do you have a lot of paperwork then?” “Uhh. . .yeah I guess.” “I'll let you know,” you replied, taking to your feet. “Was there anything else?” Johnny's jaw twitched as he looked away from you for a brief moment. “I wanted to know how you're doing.” “Fine,” you immediately responded. “Just tired.” He kept watching you, wanting more than a three word response. “How are you and the kids?” “I'm okay, kids are doing great too.” You nodded slowly, pressing your lips together. After a few moments of silence Johnny asked you how things were at work. “Busy.” He looked down to his hands, he seemed uncomfortable that you were being so unresponsive. “I saw Robby yesterday,” he mentioned, trying to keep the conversation going. “How's he doing?” “Pretty good. He was in a bit of trouble at school but he's keeping out of it for now. We go to a burger joint each week and I drive him to school sometimes.” “That's good. He needs you, Johnny.” “He asked about seeing you. I haven't told him that we're not uh. . .” “Why not?” “I didn't want to give him another reason to be disappointed in me,” he murmured. “He's got enough already.” The hurt in his eyes made your heart twinge in discomfort. Both of you broke eye contact, unable to hold each other's gaze. “I think he'd be more disappointed that you lied to him,” you replied quietly. He stared at you again. Your chest hurt even more so you turned away and headed towards the front door. You said that you'd let him know whether you could make it next week. Johnny finally took the hint that you wanted him to leave and got off the sofa. After he put on his shoes, he stood in front of you for a few moments, his hands were almost balled into fists, his fingertips grazing the pad of his thumb. “Are you sure you don't want me to take a look at the door?” “I said it's fine.” You opened up the front door for him and he moved past you. He turned as if to say something else so you cut him off before he had the chance. “Talk to me first before turning up here again, alright?” Your tone was harsher than intended. His eyes flicked down to the floor, he nodded in response and then walked off down the corridor. You watched him walk away, trying to ignore how wrong it felt to watch him leave, just like you wanted. - - - It took less than five minutes for you to regret how you had spoken to Johnny. You shouldn't have been so rude to him. You were just so exhausted, and for him to catch you unawares like that, like he always managed to, made you shut down. The only thing that seemed to make sense was to put some distance between you and him, to give you a moment to process what was happening. Almost a week has passed and the agitated state you'd been in had finally started to settle out into something more predictable. Extra shifts and overtime kept your mind occupied. It was almost like you were functioning on autopilot, going to work, driving back, eating some food, getting high, sleeping, you did a lot of that now. Before you had barely been able to sleep, but now you'd go ten hours straight and it still wouldn't be enough. You didn't think about those beers in the refrigerator as much. Every now and then the anxiety would bleed into you uncontrollably as you wondered where Johnny was, whether he was okay, how much had he been drinking, had he got into a fight. Was he safe? He had the dojo now, he had the kids, he had Robby back. It would be enough for him to keep it together, he wouldn't get as bad as before, it had to be enough. When he was in your apartment, you'd said that you were going to call to let him know whether you could make it to the dojo on Thursday. It was only the night before that you finally managed to coax yourself to give him a call and tell him you'd be able to make it. The next day you found yourself driving to the dojo, smoking a joint to try and relax a little. With the windows down and the music blaring, you ran over the apology you were going to tell Johnny. You hadn't meant to be so dismissive and kick him out of the apartment after he'd barely been in it. You were still pretty fucked in the head, maybe seeing him every now and again would calm you down, maybe you wouldn't worry as much, maybe you wouldn't be so scared. After parking up next to the Firebird and heading inside, you asked Johnny whether you could talk to him for a minute. “Everything okay?” He asked when both of you were in the office. You stood in front of the desk, keeping your arms from crossing over your chest. “I wanted to apologise for being rude to you last week. I was just so tired and. . .” you trailed off, the words you had prepared earlier didn't seem right. How were you meant to explain yourself? How could you tell him that- “It's okay. I shouldn't have turned up without checking with you first,” he replied solemnly. That wasn't what you'd been trying to say, was it? “Sensei!” Miguel said as he came in to the office. “Aisha can't make it today, she's got a family thing she can't get out it. . .sorry am I interrupting something?” He must have noticed the tension between you and Johnny. Forcing a smile on your face, you shook your head and sat down behind the desk. “It's fine, Diaz. Text down what we've been doing today and let her know.” “Oh I'll just FaceTime her later.” “Face what?” “It's a video call, Sensei.” “Right, sure.” Miguel failed to hold back a grin as he left the office. Johnny turned his attention back to you. For a moment you thought he was going to say something, but he simply nodded at you and went into the dojo. Over the next few minutes, you watched as he chatted to his students before gathering them all together on the mat and starting the class. His words kept playing over in your mind over and over. Was he never going to turn up at your apartment again? Why did the thought fill you with so much dread? - - - Maybe monthly visits to the dojo would be the best compromise. It was frequent enough to keep on top of the paperwork but infrequent enough to give you time away from Johnny. It would be better if you started to drift away from him. Aside from helping him out in the office, there wasn't anything good you brought into his life. You hadn't helped him before when he needed it the most. All you did was watch him get worse and worse until you couldn't do it anymore. Why hadn't you helped him? Were you really that useless? Why had you walked away? Were you really that much of a coward? It was shameful what you had done, unforgivable. You'd left him. You'd left him all alone. What if he did that to you? You'd never recover, you'd never be the same again. When Johnny called, you didn't answer. The week after you'd been to the dojo, he called a few times, the week after that maybe once or twice. Even though you'd told him not to, you held out hope every time you went to and from work that you'd see him waiting outside your apartment. But he never turned up again. It had been a tiring morning. Work had been torturously long and you were only halfway through your shift. You were on lunch break, sitting in your car smoking a joint. It was the only thing that took the edge off anymore. Your phone buzzed and you were taken back by a text message from Johnny. He never texted. You checked the number a couple of times, making sure it was him. The content of the message should have been evident enough. >> can u come to dojo tonite at 8? He had never texted before, he didn't know how to. Immediately you called him back, but it went to voicemail after a couple rings. A few minutes later you received another text. >> have class cant talk. really need to see u. its urgent Your eyebrows furrowed. It was urgent? Was something wrong? Was he okay? You texted him back, telling him you'd meet him at eight, asking if he needed you to come sooner. He sent back a reply saying eight o'clock was fine. Unable to hold back your curiosity, you shot off another message, asking how he knew how to text. >> Diaz teachin me He didn't text anything else back for the rest of the day. The rest of your shift passed by in an anxious blur as you worried about whether he was okay. Something must have been going on. Had something happened to Robby? If it was really bad, he wouldn't have waited until the evening, would he? You parked up at the dojo a couple minutes before eight o'clock, trying to ignore the growing nerves. Heading in through the door, only the office was lit with the main lights turned off. Passing round the mat, you heard Johnny's voice. “For the last time Diaz, I'm not buying you those nunchucks, they're-” Johnny stopped talking the moment you walked into the office. He was sitting with his feet on the desk, beer in hand, a magazine on his legs which he must have been flipping through. There were a couple of empty beer cans on the desk, one had already fallen to the floor. You suddenly felt nauseous and had to force yourself not to turn away from him. “What are you doing here?” He questioned as he took his feet off the desk and dropped the magazine down onto it. “It's eight o'clock,” you reminded him quietly, eyes fixating on the beer he was holding. How many had he had already? “So?” He spat back. “You said you wanted me to meet you here at eight.” “No I didn't.” “It was a couple of hours ago, Johnny. You texted me.” “Since when do I text?” “Since Miguel started to teach you?” He looked at you puzzled for a few moments before his expression filled with recognition. He let out a deep sigh. “That kid. . .” he mumbled in irritation. You suddenly realised that it was Miguel who had texted you. Shit. . .why didn't you realise? Johnny always called him Miguel whenever he spoke to you, not Diaz. You should have known. He'd never texted you before, and then after he rejected your call, he didn't call you back. He always called you back. You felt stupid, embarrassed. “Well. . .I didn't mean to interrupt you. You seem to have plans so. . .” You tried not to think about how many more beers he'd get through tonight. About to turn away from him, he quickly stood up and put the can down on the desk. “What's going on with you?” “What do you mean?” “What's going on? I haven't seen you in nearly three weeks.” “I've been busy.” “Doing what?” “Work's been crazy, I haven't found the time.” “Haven't found the time, that's a good one. I should remember that.” “What?” “I'm just making a note of your bullshit,” he told you as he began to approach you. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me?” “No, I don't want to fight,” he replied softly, stopping a few feet in front of you. The smell of alcohol was even stronger now. “I want you to tell me what's going on. Something's not right with you, what is it?” “I say no when you ask me for a favour and that automatically means there's something wrong with me?” “I thought you liked it here. The kids think you're great, they keep asking me when you're coming back and I don't know what to tell them. It's better when you're here.” “Gotta have someone to do your busy work, right?” “Don't do that. Don't put words in my mouth. I don't give a shit about the paperwork. I like having you around, alright?” Your eyes dropped to the ground, you didn't know what to say, you didn't know what to think. "Look I know work's crazy but. . .can't you come here once a week? Just for an hour or two." You slowly started to shake your head, every week was just too much. "Okay, what about once every two weeks, starting tomorrow?" You pressed your lips together, hesitant to agree even though it was better than every single week. "Please?" You looked up at him then, at his bright, hopeful eyes and you were nodding before you even realised. He walked you out of the dojo and to your car not long after that. You supposed you would be back here tomorrow. - - - The kids greeted you warmly the next day when you walked into the dojo. Miguel, Aisha and Hawk followed you into the office, but it was only Aisha and Hawk who were chatting excitedly about the mock tournament that Johnny was going to plan, discussing who was going to fight each other, what new moves they could incorporate in the fights, who was most likely to win. Miguel remained quiet and avoided your gaze, Johnny had probably chewed him out for the stunt he pulled on you last night. He might have been trying to do the right thing and help his Sensei, but he had no right to lie like that. It wasn't fair.  Johnny greeted you without any awkwardness or tension and rounded up the kids to begin the class. It was. . .kind of nice being back in the dojo, listening to the rhythmic sound of the kids doing their movements, to Johnny as he walked along beside them, effortlessly explaining how they could improve and complimenting the students which had cracked it or had shown improvement. After the class, Miguel came into the office with his backpack and apologised genuinely for what he did. You nodded in response and accepted his apology before asking him why he wasn't staying. "Sensei says I have to do some endurance training today." "Endurance training?" "Yeah, it's a lot of running and stuff. Fifteen miles to start and then-" "To start?" You reply incredulously before mumbling under your breath where's Johnny. Taking to your feet, you looked out to the dojo to find him talking to Bert. Miguel might have done wrong, but he didn't deserve to be punished like this. "Oh it's fine, I do it anyways. Just not usually on the night I'm supposed to be going out with my friends," he reassured you. Your eyes flicked between Miguel and Johnny, uncertain whether it really was okay. "I know I shouldn't have lied so. . .really it's fine." "Alright," you told him. After Miguel left the office and more of the kids headed out of the dojo, Johnny came in to see you. "Diaz apologise?" He asked, coming around to your side of the desk and perching on the edge of it. "Yeah, he did.” “He's a good kid really.” “I know.” He nodded slowly, his eyes avoiding your gaze like he was preparing himself to tell you something. “I uh. . . I told Robby about us. About a lot of things actually.” “Yeah?” “About Sid, and Cobra Kai and all the shit I did in high school.” He paused for a few moments, taking a deep breath. “I told him about my mom too and. . .how she passed.” Johnny had told you what happened to her a long time ago. He talked about the months he'd spent visiting her in hospital before she died, how day after day she got worse and worse until she wasn't really there at all. Her death hit him hard, she was all he had. “I think I said too much. He hasn't answered my calls in a couple days.” “He probably needs some time to process,” you replied. “That kid's always got a lot to process huh?” “You still taking him to school?” “He'd already left when I got there yesterday.” “Beat him to it next time.” “What. . .I should camp outside the front door at sunrise?” “You gotta show someone you love them right?” “Yeah. . .” Johnny mumbled back, focus drifting away from you as he became preoccupied with his thoughts. - - - The angst fest is back in town! Been a while huh? I'd hoped to get this finished months ago but season 3 of Cobra Kai really just put me off Johnny's character and I had a total loss of inspiration. I do plan on completing this story and hope you'll enjoy this next installment. Your comments are much appreciated as always. Taglist: @whyhaveyouwritten-mehere @lacontroller1991 @stressedstark @wndrcarol @carissakingofthecastle92 @witchcraftandwit @magicwithaknife@80strashbag @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch @wholesomehen @chlqefrazer @actuallydrew @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch  @wholesomehen  @deadpoolgirl23   @sorryyoureoutofmyleague​  @princealfie​  @jackbarakms​  @the-a-word-2214 @sunflowerkitt @supernaturalcat7 @marvelfangirllll @walkerchick007 @kaelyn-lobrutto24

[beelsnack]

Henlo!!! Just wanted to request MC getting surprised by the demon bros in the human realm! The bros miss MC a lot so they just surprise them and hang out for a bit :) it can be HCs! Thank you and I love ya work ❤️

Henlo!! Get ready for some fluff, my dudes.

I don’t know why, but this seemed better as short little headcanons as opposed to my usual scenarios.

-----

Lucifer

- He had expressly forbade any of his brothers from going up to the human world, because “they needed time to readjust.”

- But apparently Pridey McPrideface is exempt from his own rules.

- He does his research. If the human still lives with their parents or has roommates, he picks a night when they are home alone.This night is reserved for the two of them, and he will eviscerate anyone who gets in the way.

- Honestly, he wants to do some sort of grand entrance, but in the end, he simply knocks on the door.

- “Hello, my dear,” he takes their hand and kisses their knuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

- “Lucifer!” they tackle him with a hug strong enough to knock over a lesser demon. In his peripheral, Lucifer sees a neighbor stick their head out of the door and look around with a confused look.

- “You have nosy neighbors, I see.”

“Well, I mean, I did just scream ‘Lucifer...’”

“Perhaps we should go inside before someone calls a priest?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

- The two of them spend the night in their living room, just talking. They ask if he wants to go out somewhere, but he declines.

“This is the most relaxed I’ve been in centuries. I’m perfectly satisfied with staying in with you.”

- He hadn’t intended to stay the night, but it was near impossible to resist the offer. And that would end up being his downfall.

- He had forgotten about that stupid game that his brothers and the human liked to play, where they got pictures of each other sleeping. And, just as he couldn’t resist the temptation to spend the night with them, they couldn’t resist the temptation to steal a picture while he slept.

- When he arrived back at the House of Lamentation, all six of his brothers were waiting for him in the entrance hall.

- “So, where ya been, Luci?” Mammon sneered. “Ya couldn’t have possibly snuck off to visit the human after makin’ damn sure you told us not to do that, now could ya?”

“It’s not like our dear eldest brother to do something so hypocritical.” Satan said coolly, regarding Lucifer with a raised eyebrow.

“...I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” Lucifer huffed.

“’Hey guys! How many points is a sleeping Lucifer worth?’” Levi turned his phone around to show Lucifer a picture of his own sleeping face, with the human’s laughing eyes just poking out from the bottom corner.

“...Oh.”

He wasn’t living this one down for a while.

Mammon

- This sneaky little bastard straight up just climbs into their room in the middle of the night.

- You know, like he DIDN’T live in a completely different realm.

- The human damn near punches him in the face when he wakes them up.

- “Mammon, what the actual fuck are you doing?”

“Visiting, what’s it look like?”

“To my neighbors, probably breaking and entering.”

- They should kick him out, all they have to do is issue a pact command. But Mammon looks at them with his sad blue eyes and they just can’t bring themself to do it.

- “I got so used to ya...y’know...sleeping next to me.” he shuffled around like a kid waiting to get scolded. “It’s hard to fall asleep when ya ain’t there.”

“Shut up and cuddle with me, you big baby.”

- They stay up stupidly late watching vine compilations and talking until they straight up just pass out against each other. They stay like that for the rest of the night.

- And by rest of the night I mean until freaking noon the next day. And the only reason they wake up then is because Lucifer is blowing up Mammon’s phone.

- “Mammon, where are you?”

“If you’re out clubbing, be back at a reasonable hour. If you’re out scheming, don’t come back until you have something to show for it.”

“You better not have passed out in a gutter somewhere. We have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

“Mammon, please tell me you didn’t directly disobey an order and go visit the Human Realm.”

Four unread voicemails.

“Welp, you’re fucked.”

“Thanks, human, love you too.”

Leviathan:

- Social anxiety is a bitch and a half, so he just asks if he can come visit.

-Deadass just portals into their living room like “’Sup, I brought games, go get some snacks and get prepared to get rekt.”

- That’s it, that’s the visit.

- They decide to do multiplayer vs some other humans and they wipe the floor with them.

- “Eat it, normies, I’M the one playing with a hot person! Have fun in your moms’ basements!”

“Pot meet kettle, Levi.”

“I don’t live in a basement, though!”

“Fair point. Boom, headshot!”

- Levi manages to sleep over without repercussions solely because nobody is surprised if he doesn’t show up somewhere.

Satan

- Makes direct eye contact with Lucifer as he leaves the House of Lamentation and goes “Don’t wait up.”

-Times his surprise visit so he’s made himself comfortable with a book and a cup of coffee when they get home.

- They brought a friend over to study or whatever. The human sees him in the middle of the living room and just screeches “Satan, what the fuck?”

-The friend is like “Aight imma head out.” And like goes into witness protection.

- Satan comes bearing gifts of the newest installments of Devildom book series’ and a recording of the episodes of the crime dramas that they need to catch up on.

- They pause between each episode to talk theories even though Satan already knows what happens. Both of them feel proud of the human when they figure it out.

- Mammon texts Satan in the middle of the night in absolute terror.

Mammon: Satan you get your ass back to the Devildom right now!

Satan: Why?

Mammon: Because Lucifer is about to rip a hole through the dimensions to drag you back here!

Satan: That sounds like a Lucifer problem.

Mammon: It’s about to be a Three Realms problem!

- Read 2:09 AM

Asmodeus

- He just tells Lucifer he’s going to visit Solomon.

- And makes sure to tell him that if Lucifer decides to interrupt him, he will gladly let him listen to all of the naughty things they’re going to be doing.

- And Lucifer just straight up doesn’t want to deal with his shit so he lets it go.

- The human comes home to see Asmo stretched out on their bed scrolling through Devilgram.

- “Ugh, finally! You took forever!”

“Asmo? What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was planning on seducing you, but I absolutely refuse to have sex on a bed that moans louder than I do.”

- They go on a cute little cafe date and Asmo insists on going to all of the high-end fashion stores.

- “Devildom fashion trends always seem a few decades behind the human world. Honestly, it wasn’t until about five years ago that I could find a skirt above my knees! You would think a Realm full of sin and vice would be a little more up-to-date with provocative attire.”

- FASHION. SHOW.

-They spend an absurd amount of time trying on tacky jewelry and roasting it via Snapchat. Like, the employee showed up on Asmo’s story as they were kicking them out.

- They buy a bottle of liquor on their way back to the human’s place, get absolutely smashed and, depending on your preference, either have the giggliest sex ever or watch stupid beauty hack videos. Maybe both. Actually, definitely both.

- The next morning, Asmo does an Inter-dimensional Walk of Shame and no one is surprised.

Beelzebub

- Was going to lie about where he was going but felt guilty about it.

- So he just didn’t tell anyone.

-Knocks on the human’s door and immediately gives them the biggest bear hug.

- “I missed you, so I came to visit. That’s okay, right?”

- Beel wants to go out to eat, but the human flat out says no because they can’t afford to wine and dine the Avatar of Gluttony.

- They compromise by buying a crapton of snacks at the grocery store.

- Cashier: Must be a big party you’re having.

Human, grabbing a family size bag of chips out of Beel’s hand without even turning to look at him: Yup.

- They make themselves a blanket fort in their living room, watching movies and eating way too many snacks. Beel asks them questions about their family and their life up there. If the human has photos, he wants to see all of them.

-The human falls asleep mid-movie, slumping against his shoulder. Beel picks them up and tucks them into bed, planning on leaving to let them rest before they sleepily ask him to spend the night.

Belphegor

- Convinces Mammon to cover for him.

- Does this by going “Please, Big Brother?” and Mammon caves almost immediately.

- Pops into the human’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning and wiggles into bed with them.

- “Why am I not surprised?”

“Missed you too.”

- Human just accepts the snuggles and goes back to sleep. Belphie makes sure they have good dreams.

- If they have work or school, Belphie convinces them to call in sick and spend the day with him.

- Lots of naps and sleepy kisses. The chillest day ever.

- The human feels so relaxed that they almost convince Belphie to stay another night, and Belphie almost agrees.

- But Mammon’s ability to bullshit will only last so long, and Belphie knows he needs to go back before someone notices that his “afternoon nap” was going on 14 hours.

- “Come see me in my dreams, okay?”

[star-lemonade]

School reunion (1/3)

A.C.E Junhee x Reader

Cw: bulling, kinda angsty, Junhee is a sweet heart though

Rating: T (Series R)

Word count: 3.6 k

Summary: You hire someone to accompany you to your school reunion.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. The laptop sat on the kitchen table and the page in the browser was taunting you. You stared at the screen from your spot against the kitchen counter. The empty boxes waited for you to fill in your information. Should I really do this?

You sighed and filled some water into the kettle just to delay having to make a decision. The other thing on the kitchen table was not better. It was an invitation to your school reunion. The reunion was scheduled for the Saturday of the following week at your old school. School. Even the address on the paper brought a bad taste to your mouth.

“You’re so ugly, who would ever date you?”

“I dare you to kiss her.”

“Yak not even for money”

You shuddered. No, no, there is no way I will go there alone. You sat down at the table and began to fill in the form. Name, address, phone and age. On the next page they asked about the occasion or event and you typed: school reunion.

Time? about 3 hours. I won’t stay there for too long.

Gender preference? Hmm I don’t actually care. ‘Don’t care’ was not an option, so you chose ‘man preferred’ over the ‘man only’, ‘woman preferred’ and ‘woman only’ options.

Age preferences? 25-35. I can’t show up there with an 18 year old.

Your finger hovered over the enter button. The shadow of your school days was still haunting you and made your hand heavier until you finally clicked check out.

You had officially rented a plus one for your school reunion.

A day after you had filled out the form you received a message from an unknown number.

“Hello, this is Junhee. I will accompany you to your school reunion next week. Would it be okay if I asked some questions so I can prepare?”

“Hi, Junhee. What do you want to know?”

“How should I introduce myself?”

You chewed on your lip. As you typed the next message your face felt warm.

“As my boyfriend.”

It felt so sad to ask this of a total stranger and you prayed he would not judge you for it. Please don’t question this, please don’t question this.

“How long have we been together?”

I guess that is a valid question someone could ask. You thought about it for a moment. It should not be too short but also not too long. The fact that you did know much about each other would make it not believable that you are together for years.

“A few months maybe?”

He asked a few more questions like “where and how did we meet?” (“at work while getting coffee”) and you answered them with whatever struck your mind.

“Okay. I think this is enough for me. Thank you!”

You sighed. This was actually more complicated than you had anticipated. At least now it felt real as opposed to just a scam to get money from people. Three dots appeared on your screen again.

“One last thing. This is also in the terms of service, but we all must remind our customers about this: I am not a hooker and you did not book sexual favours.”

Your face burned when you read that. Surely no one had asked for that before, had they?

“Of cause not, I just don’t want to go alo-”

Before you really thought about it, you had accidently pressed ‘send’ instead of backspace. Oh no. OH NO.

“Shit.”

My escort knows how pathetic I am. ‘As if he did not know before’ another part of you interjected. Your phone vibrated again.

“It’s okay, I will do my best to keep you company :)”

You did not know what to answer and just send:

“Thank you.”

As the reunion neared you found yourself thinking about it more. A sort of dread had settled in your chest. After all these years you would finally face your bullies. The people who had belittled you for not been pretty enough and made you believe that you could never find anyone who loved you. The worst thing was it seemed that they were right. You were single and you even had to hire someone… no. No, you would not let them get to you. The past years had been the happiest you had ever been. You had friends, even if they were not many, and you did well at your job. There was nothing not to be proud of. Even if you were single now, that did not mean you were unlovable. It just meant that you had not met a person that fit. You would walk in there, head held high and show those petty bitches you were not afraid of them anymore.

Your mood oscillated between confident and anxious for the whole week. You did not want to give them the satisfaction of knowing you were still so affected by them, that their mere presence could make you stay away. No, you had to go. Like this you killed the time to the day of the reunion.

You had rented a dress from a rental service. It was not too fancy but you simply did not own that many dresses and the ones you had did not seem appropriate. Someone on the organizing committee had decided that nice dresses and suits were what they wanted to see. You had messaged Junhee to wear something appropriate for that dress code.

“In a few hours it’s over.”

Your mirror image was not convinced by this but it was all you could do now. Backing out last minute would make you look bad, even if you really wanted to. All of this seemed like a bad idea. What if they found out that you had hired someone to play your boyfriend? You would be the laughing stock of the whole school and this after you had not been in school for years. For a moment you considered just taking off the dress, putting on some sweaters and sitting down on the couch. Your phone made a noise. A new message had arrived.

“At 5 pm at the station, right?”

Junhee.

“Yes. See you there.”

As if it was mocking you, the sun shone from a bright blue sky. The people on the street smiled more than you had seen in some time. On the other hand it was maybe your imagination. Now that you were walking to what could be the worst night of your recent history, everyone seemed in a better state than you.

You arrived at the station.

“I’m wearing a red dress.”

Maybe the dress was a bit much. It had seemed like a good idea. Wearing red would make you stand out. Now, however, that was the opposite of what you wanted to do. Fading into the background, turning invisible and just straight up going back home was what you really wanted right now. The only thing that was that held you back was the thought of the money you had spent upfront for your plus one.

Two young women stopped next to you. One of them sat her backpack down and tried to stuff a paper bag into it.

“Should I help?”

Her friend watched her struggle with amusement. Despite her offer she did not help backpack girl but looked around instead.

You shifted your attention to your phone. Junhee had seen your message. Good. I hope he will be here soon. So we can get this over with.

“Jeez, I wish my boyfriend looked like that,” the girl said as her friend proclaimed: “I’m done. Let’s go.”

Backpack girl dragged her friend away. At least she had a boyfriend. It was not like you needed a man in your life but it would be nice sometimes. Next week I will try tinder. From past experience that was not likely but the thought alone seemed to pacify your mind for now. Getting a boyfriend was future-you’s problem. Present-you had to worry about that goddamn school reunion.

Someone said your name.

“Hmm?”

You were not sure which part shocked you the most: the crisp black suit that hugged the man’s body perfectly, the curly dark hair that looked straight out of a romcom, the beautiful lips and handsome face, the million dollar smile or the soft voice that said your name. It was hard to choose.

“Ehm?”

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Junhee.”

“ID please.”

You showed it to the sour faced student behind the supermarket counter. He nodded and you paid. Buying hard alcohol in broad daylight was highly suspicious but this situation called for it. You definitely could not do this sober. Junhee had sat down on a bench not too far from the supermarket. The black suit and white dress shirt fit him perfectly. It was as if watching a photo shoot for the next wedding catalog. Oh, this is a catastrophe. You unscrewed the bottle and took a good mouthful. The cheap alcohol burned in your mouth and all the way down. No one in their right mind would believe he is my boyfriend. It could not be more obvious that you had hired him. Junhee watched the cars go by. The sun made his hair seem more brown than black and the light breeze moved the soft locks. You took another gulp and stuffed the bottle in your handbag. Did I accidentally book a model? There had not been an option for that of course. I should have asked for a photo. You left the store and walked over to Junhee. Maybe I should just send him home and go drink at a bar.

When he saw you, Junhee stood up. His charming smile filled you with dread. This is a car crash waiting to happen.

“Did you get everything?”

You nodded. Soon the alcohol would hit your brain. Maybe then you would care less about everything. You could not bring yourself to send Junhee away. He had come here, looking sharp and you had paid money for him to be here. Your stinginess won against better judgment, so your only option was the original one: go to your old school.

It felt like there was a black cloud of doom that thickened as you got nearer. The bad experiences from the past made every step you took towards that hell hole more difficult. You wanted to run away.

“Can I take your hand?”

Junhee. You had almost forgotten about him. He had not said anything for the past ten minutes or so. Maybe he felt that now was not a good time to talk. You offered your hand. He interlaced his fingers with yours. It had been some time since you held someone’s hand and it made your heart beat faster. Or maybe it was the liquor.

You turned the corner and there it was. The building looked the same as in your memory. Whoever had the idea of starting the evening here before instead of going to a restaurant directly, did not have your gratitude. Walking through the front door stiffly, you clenched your hands. Your whole body was tense. You were ready to fight or flee at any second.

Voices were coming from the gym. Next to the open door stood a table. On it were pens and stickers. As you approached a woman came through the door and smiled at you. It was the most fake smile you had seen in some time.

“Welcome! Please make a name tag for yourself.”

She made a swiping gesture to the table. You let go of Junhee’s hand and wrote your name on a sticker. The woman watched Junhee as he made a tag for himself. You had never been the jealous type but right then wanted to claw her eyes out.

“Have fun.”

You almost felt her looking as you entered the gym. The hall was filled with bar tables groups had formed and all eyes were on you. At one of the empty tables you stopped.

“I will get something to drink. What do you want?”

You barely heard your own answer over the ringing in your ears. The ceiling had been decorated but it made the hall seem more shabby. As if the paper garlands were only there to hide the cracks in the grey concrete. You looked around.

They looked back at you from the other table, pointed and smirked at each other. Your bullies. They looked old. The ten years since graduation had carved lines into their faces but they tried to hide it by applying too much makeup.

You felt sick.

“Hey.”

A hand landed on your shoulder and you jerked. Junhee pulled back his hand. He studied your face.

“Do you want to leave?”

You looked up. Leave? Leaving meant giving up. They won if you left. No, no you were strong. Your hand strangled your purse. You would not run away from them. Junhee‘s brown eyes watched the tremor in your hand.

“Let’s go,” he whispered and took your hand. Your skin was cold and sweaty against his as Junhee dragged you out. You were so shocked, you did not even say anything until you had left through the front door.

“Stop!”

You ripped your hand free from his grasp.

“You should not stay there any longer.”

“That is not your call to make,” you snapped at him.

His face flushed.

“No, but it is the right one.”

Before you could talk back he continued in a calm tone: “You don’t care about any of those people and they don’t care about you.”

He waved his hands.

“I don't know what happened in the past but you are not here to meet some old friends.”

Your eyes burned. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s humiliating. You tried to blink the tears away but your vision blurred.

“Not here.”

Junhee grabbed your shoulder and led you away. The tears fogged your vision, so you just followed wherever he was going. Your feet moved on their own accord and you were thankful for it. Holding back an undignified sob took up all your mental capacity.

“Sit.”

You collapsed on the bench. There was nothing holding the tears back now. You looked like an idiot in front of everyone. Your bullies had seen you turn up with an escort only to run away the second they looked at you. And now you cried on a bench in front of said escort. How pathetic had your life become? You had not felt this bad since leaving school.

Get a grip. There was nothing to be done here. You did not feel better by telling yourself this, but at least one of these could be fixed. Try to stop crying.

You concentrated on a point on the ground. The concrete was cracked there and something green had started to push its way to the surface. Plants are amazing. They can even exist in these places.

Your eyes still burned and your nose was all clogged up, but you had stopped crying.

“I’m sorry, Junhee.”

You looked up. There was no one around. When did he leave? You sighed and your eyes burnt again. I guess it is just that kind of day. Going home sounded like a good idea but you could not bring yourself to get up. The weight of your sorrows kept you on the bench. You could not even blame Junhee for leaving either. Usually you were very composed and rarely had outbursts of any kind, but today was just not your day.

“Here.”

A bottle of water entered your field of view. Your gaze followed the arm that was holding it up until you met Junhee’s eyes. You took the bottle and almost cried again because he was still here. For better or worse he had not abandoned you on a bench.

The water was cold. It had clearly been in a fridge not too long ago.

“Thank you.”

Junhee sat down next to you and waited while you drank the water. This day, although it was not over, was already a train wreck. Very carefully Junhee asked: “Can we get something to eat?”

You nodded slowly. Food was not a bad idea. You had skipped lunch because you had not been hungry at the time.

“Sure.”

Junhee stood up and looked around, hands on his hips. He turned to you and asked in a hushed tone:

“Where do we have to go?”

There was nothing funny about it but you laughed anyway. Junhee looked like a lost puppy and when he saw you laughing, he pouted. Now this really was funny.

“The station is that way.”

Junhee looked at his phone. He took off his tie and pocketed it.

“Technically I’m free to go now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “We just got here and ordered food and you want to go?” was what you wanted to say but swallowed it. You were still embarrassed and grateful that Junhee was there with you. He had made dumb jokes all the way to your favorite restaurant. It was almost on the other end of town but it was the only place you wanted to be right now.

“So, you wanna leave?”

“Leave? No, no!”

He waved his hands frantically.

“I … meant I’m not here because of work now.”

The soju had painted Junhee’s cheeks a rosy red. It looked good on him.

“What do you do when you don’t do this?”

You gestured vaguely at you and him sitting together in your favorite restaurant. Surely it had to be model or something like that just based on what you had seen so far. Technically you were not supposed to ask personal questions but your contract was done. Technically.

“I’m a student. I study computer science, but I will graduate soon.”

He took a sip from his drink. That rang a bell in the back of your mind. Computer science? Someone was talking to me about that not long ago. Who was it?

The waiter came and set your food on the table. He opened the lid of the barbecue that was mounted in the table.

“Have a good meal.”

“Thank you.”

When you left the restaurant, the sun had set. You felt a little awkward. It had been nice spending time with Junhee even if you had been very distressed earlier. Before you could really think about it, the words fell from your mouth.

“Thank you for spending the day with me. It was nice.”

You did not look at him. It felt unnatural but you meant it and had to say it.

“It was nice for me too.”

Junhee’s hair was not as neat as earlier. The waves had flattened and the way he always combed it left it looking disheveled. His cheeks were flushed from the food and the drinks.

You were not sure what to say. “Goodbye for ever” seemed a bit odd.

“Good luck with your studies. See you around.”

“Goodbye.”

You left Junhee at the restaurant and walked home. It was not too far so you could walk. The night air was refreshing after the stuffy restaurant. It also cleared the dryness of your eyes and nose.

Your apartment was dark and empty. You took a quick shower, put on your pyjamas and went to bed. The day had been emotionally exhausting and you were drifting into the fuzzy precursor to sleep. Your mind drifted through some memories and thoughts but nothing was clear. It hit you. You were wide awake because your brain had found the answer to the question. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. The light from the screen nearly blinded you.

John, a name he had chosen because none of his overseas clients could pronounce ‘Seungmin’, was the CTO of a company that had their offices in the same building as your company. Without thinking much about it you sent Junhee John’s number.

“He is looking for some computer science people. Maybe that’s something for you. Anyways good luck and best wishes.”

You tried not to think too much about that day. It still felt like a defeat even months later. You had run away from your bullies. They had looked at you and you had folded. It was a bitter memory. The logical part of you noted that it was not worth your time, that you should focus on the tasks at hand and live your life.

You spent time with your friends and on your hobbies. Indeed your spirits lifted slowly. The less time you spent ruminating about the past the more time you could spend on other things.

“Let’s get lunch. I’m starving.”

You agree with your colleague. You grabbed your phone and keys. Your colleague was already at the elevator and held open the door.

Two floors down the elevator stopped and the door opened.

“Hey!”

John and some of his staff entered. You waved and smiled. John was a man in late 40 or early 50s, you had never asked, but he gave off the youthful energy of someone who loved his job. A ‘ding!’ announced the closing of the doors but John jammed his leg and arm between it.

“Hurry up, newbie! We can’t have you starve on the first day!”

Steps echoed in the hallway and the newbie flew into the tight space. The young man had dark hair and wore round glasses. With the dark blue sweater and the jeans he gave off the youthful vibe of a university student. He was very handsome and your face burnt.

Junhee.

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 5

Previous chapter links:

Afterglow chapters Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader CHAPTER FIVE

Sometimes, the universe works in different dumb ways. You're one of the few lucky people if you get what you want, and one of those who aren't; the ones who run out of luck every damn time. There's nothing more miserable than finding what you're not looking for, meeting the right person at the wrong time (or vice versa), getting the wrong take out food, or riding the wrong cab.

Unlike your first cab ride, this one was different. There was no loud music, no speeding, no overtaking, and no yelling -- definitely not what you needed right now. See how the universe works in different dumb ways?

If Bucky wasn't hungover right now, you would've ran all the way from White Wolf to the bar. God, how much did he drink last night? After thirty minutes, the cab finally stopped in front of the bar. Bucky paid a generous amount. "Keep the change." He said casually before stepping out of the cab.

Without second thoughts, you walked the steps down that lead to the door of the bar. In front of it were sealed boxes and cases of different kinds of liquor -- beer, champagne, wine, whiskey, vodka; you name it. Luckily, you always had the bar keys in your pockets in case of emergencies. Lucky for Steve, one of his employees just lived right above the bar and had the freedom to come down any time she wanted. Steve lived all the way in Brooklyn. Why he chose to work in the Upper West Side, you might never know. He was a pretty secretive person. No one from the bar staff knew anything about his personal life -- except that his family was from Rhode Island (perhaps).

"That's a lot of boxes." Bucky caught up with you. "Good thing I'm here."

"Please." You scoffed. "You're still hungover." I bet he couldn't even carry one small box, and even if he could, he'd just spill them all over the floor. But you didn't really know Bucky. You just knew him from Peter's stories. So, when he carried two big boxes at the same time right before you opened the door, the shock came over you. You wondered, spending all his time partying and drinking, where he stores all the alcohol he consumes.

"Where do you want me to put this?" Bucky asked.

"Just right behind the counter." You replied. "If you need some help, let me know."

"I got it all, doll, don't you worry." He chuckled, placing the boxes on top of the counter then jumping over it to reach the other side. You rolled your eyes and got more of the boxes that were sitting lonely outside. You put a stopper right between the small gap between the floor and the door. "Nice place you got here!" You heard Bucky yell amidst the city noises. "Different kind of bar."

"You mean not like the kind of bar you go to?"

You heard him chuckle. "Yeah, that. This one's kind of vintage."

"Yeah." You replied, sticking your head out by the door frame. "Like you!"

He gave you a small chuckle. The bar did give off some vintage mood -- that was why it was a bar for everyone. The kids were now discovering and loving all kinds of vintage stuff, people in their fifties come here 'cause it reminded them of their time, and some are just curious.

On the inside of the bar, everyone was completely shut out from the outside. There were no windows, only color-stained glasses on the wooden walls near the ceiling. You can never tell day from night inside unless you look at the wall clock.

You pushed some of the boxes on the floor. You didn't have enough upper body strength to carry them all the way to the counter. By the time you reached Bucky, you carried the boxes one by one and placed them on the counter, then he carried them over to the other side.

"So vintage." He commented once again. "You even got a jukebox. Does that even work?" He motioned towards the jukebox.

You sensed he wanted to try it for himself so you told him he could give it a little push. He smiled and jumped over the counter once more. "You don't always have to jump, Bucky." You showed him the wooden counter pass-through he could easily open but his focus was set on the jukebox. He found the plug and waited for it to light up.

"Cool. Just like they do in the movies."

"Of course. What did you expect when you plugged that in?" You carried one box to the counter and stopped near the jukebox, leaning over it. "Besides, didn't you guys have this during your time?"

"You make it sound like I came from the fifties."

You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms. "So, what did you guys have?"

"Cassettes." He mumbled.

"We had iPods. But at some point I think we did have cassettes, then the CD, then the iPods. Still doesn't change the fact that you're basically a dinosaur." Then you made a roaring sound which you thought was the sound of dinosaurs.

"That's not how a dinosaur sounds like, Aria."

"Of course, you'd know." You teased before going back to get some more boxes.

Bucky started to push some buttons until a mellow song played. "It's been a long, long time." He mumbled.

"What?" You asked and stopped pushing the boxes.

"The song. It's named 'It's been a long, long time.' A buddy of mine's favorite song. He and his girlfriend used to dance to it. Haven't heard this song for a long time. Quite nice."

"It is nice." You commented. "But it's too dramatic. Put some Beatles on!"

He chuckled and pushed more buttons until a song from The Beatles played.

You resumed moving all the things inside. As the boxes got heavier, assuming they were mostly the new plates and glasses, Bucky removed his polo shirt and dropped it somewhere. He was still wearing the tank top he had yesterday. "Remind me to buy Peter some new clothes."

"You're really gonna buy him new clothes?" You grunted, carrying a heavy box on the counter, passing it to Bucky.

"Yeah." He made a face, clearly struggling with the box. "I kinda destroyed what was half in his closet."

"I heard, yeah." You replied while walking to the front door to get the cases.

"You got some more back there?" Bucky yelled.

"It's the last one. I got it."

For the next hour, you and Bucky spent unpacking and placing everything where they were supposed to be. You had a few phone calls from Peter, most were just him checking up on Bucky. You promised to tell him you'd tell the whole fiasco at the White Wolf when he gets here in the bar.

"I'll be there as fast as I can." Peter replied before hanging up. You told Bucky about the phone call and he mumbled something under his breath you couldn't quite decipher. You decided to leave him be as he unloaded the last box.

Before you could even ask about the mean drink he was supposed to make, he emerged from behind the counter, holding up two bottles in his hand. "You up for some drinks?"

"As long as you pay for it."

On his hands were two expensive unopened bottles. As long as they were still half full and paid by Bucky, you wouldn't get in any kind of trouble with Steve.

"I got you, doll. Don't worry." He popped both of them open and grabbed two cups and a shaker as you sat down one of the stools, shaking off the nickname he'd been giving you ever since you arrived here at the bar.

You barely paid attention to the song still playing on the jukebox as you watched Bucky make his supposedly mean drink. He started to tell a story about how he learned to make his own drinks. Unlike Peter, he didn't bother to beat around the bush. He kept everything short and precise: A bartender friend of his taught him how to make drinks then experimented on his own in his penthouse where he had a mini bar just for himself, which was inside his own office. Odd, you thought. Most people would have them on the corner of the living room, with wine glasses dangling on hanging wine holders and shelves full of liquor. Bucky's mind worked in a different way.

Bucky's very short story made you wonder of all the other classic Bucky stories you've been told -- the long ones Peter would tell you. You wondered if they were only adventurous and wild in Peter's words. Would they have been different if you'd heard them from Bucky?

"I'm gonna name this drink after you." Bucky snapped you out of your train of thought.

"What?"

"This one." He carefully  handed me the drink. "I made it based on your personality."

"Bucky." You chuckled, gazing at the drink before me. Then returned it to him. "You don't even know me."

"And to think we were just engaged a while ago." He pursed his lips and leaned on the bar counter, then licked his lower lip. You tried your hardest not to give a quick glance at it but you obviously failed, so you stared at the drink in front of you once again.

"This drink is basically your judgement about me." You replied.

"It's a good judgement." He retorted. "Trust me."

"You're gonna pay, right?"

"Yeah, yeah." He playfully rolled his eyes. "Go on, try it."

Before you could even take a small sip, someone came in the door and your instinct was to say: "Sorry, we're closed right now" but it turned out to be Steve wearing denim on denim and a cap.

"Steve!" Quickly, you gave Bucky the drink he made you, then he hid it behind the counter where Steve could not take even a small peak. "Hey, I thought you were with your family."

Steve managed to catch his breath, leaning against the wall while keeping his eyes on you. "I have been calling you for the past few minutes. I thought you didn't make it here."

Your eyes widened, taking a quick glance at your phone which was on top of the bar counter. On the bright screen were a bunch of missed calls from Steve. You gave him an apologetic look and he just sighed as he walked towards the counter. Then, he caught a glimpse of Bucky who was right behind you.

"Right, right." You shook my head. "Bucky, this is Steve. He's my boss. And Steve, this is Bucky. He's Peter's stepbrother. He's just helping me out with the boxes."

There was an odd exchange between the two for a second or three. A knowing look. But you shrugged it off when Steve shook Bucky's hand over the counter. "Bucky. Nice to meet you."

Steve nodded. "Aren't you the owner of White Wolf?"

"That's me." Bucky chuckled, withdrawing his hand back after the friendly handshake.

Steve focused his attention back to you. "You could've called me y'know."

"It's okay. Bucky came to help. Besides," you gave Bucky a side glance, "he owes me."

"Zip it, doll."

You laughed, looking at Steve. "Aren't you supposed to be at your family gathering?" you asked, practically shooing Steve away, not wanting him to see Bucky making drinks behind the counter.

"Yeah, well I thought -- "

"Go, Steve. We're basically finished." You stood up and walked Steve out the door. Bucky yelled a simple goodbye as we walked.

"So," Steve whispered once we were at the door, "are you two..."

You gave him a look of disbelief. "What? No, no, no, no, no. We're not. We just met."

"That's what they all say."

"Rogers." You grunted as you opened the door. "Go."

"Wow, so eager to get me out of here. Are you gonna have sex on the floor?"

"Steve!"

"Please, don't have sex on the floor."

"No, we won't. Now go."

Steve laughed as he walked up the steps and hailed for a cab. "You say that now, Aria. Just remember to clean up afterwards."

[superman86to99]

Superman #85 (January 1994)

Cat Grant in... "DARK RETRIBUTION"! Which is like normal retribution, but somehow darker. On the receiving end of Cat's darktribution is Winslow Schott, the Toyman, who suddenly changed his MO from "pestering Superman with wacky robots" to "murdering children" back on Superman #84, with one of his victims being Cat's young son Adam. Now Cat has a gun and intends to sneak it into prison to use it on Toyman. She's also pretty pissed at Superman for taking so long to find Toyman after Adam’s death (to be fair, Superman did lose several days being frozen in time by an S&M demon, as seen in Man of Steel #29).

So how did Superman find Toyman anyway? Basically, by spying on like 25% of Metropolis. After finding out from Inspector Turpin that the kids were killed near the docks, Superman goes there and focuses all of his super-senses to get "a quick glimpse of every person" until he sees a bald, robed man sitting on a giant crib, and goes "hmmm, yeah, that looks like someone who murders children." At first, Superman doesn't understand why Toyman would do such a horrible thing, but then Schott starts talking to his mommy in his head and the answer becomes clear: he watched Psycho too many times (or Dan Jurgens did, anyway).

Immediately after wondering why no one buys his toys, Toyman makes some machine guns spring out of his giant crib. I don't know, man, maybe it's because they're all full of explosives and stuff? Anyway, Toyman throws a bunch of exploding toys at Superman, including a robot duplicate of himself, but of course they do nothing. Superman takes him to jail so he can get the help he needs -- which, according to Cat, is a bullet to the face. Or so it seems, until she gets in front of him, pulls the trigger, and...

PSYCHE! It was one of those classic joke guns I’ve only ever seen in comics! Cat says she DID plan to bring a real gun, but then she saw one of these at a toy store and just couldn't resist. Superman, who was watching the whole thing, tells Cat she could get in trouble for this stunt, but he won't tell anyone because she's already been through enough. Then he asks her if she needs help getting home and she says no, because she wants to be more self-sufficient.

I think that's supposed to be an inspiring ending, but I don't know... Adam's eerie face floating in the background there makes me think she's gonna shave her head and climb into a giant crib any day, too. THE END!

Character-Watch:

Cat did become more self-sufficient after this, though. Up to now, all of her storylines seemed to revolve around other people: her ex-husband, Morgan Edge, José Delgado, Vinnie Edge, and finally Toyman. After this, I feel like there was a clear effort to turn her into a character that works by herself. I actually like what they did with Cat in the coming years, though I still don’t think they had to kill her poor kid to do that -- they could have sent him off to boarding school, or maybe to live with his dad. Or with José Delgado, over at Power of Shazam! I bet Jerry Ordway would have taken good care of him.

Plotline-Watch:

Wait, so can Superman just find anyone in Metropolis any time he wants? Not really: this is part of the ongoing storyline about his powers getting boosted after he came back from the dead, which sounds pretty useful now but is about to get very inconvenient.

Don Sparrow points out: "It is interesting that as Superman tries to capture Schott, he at one point instead captures a robot decoy, particularly knowing what Geoff Johns will retroactively do to this storyline in years to come, in Action Comics #865, as we mentioned in our review of Superman #84." Johns also explained that the robot thought he was hearing his mother's voice due to the real Toyman trying to contact him via radio, which I prefer to the "psycho talks to his dead mom" cliche.

Superman says "I never thought he'd get to the point where he'd KILL anyone -- especially children!" Agreed about the children part but, uh, did Superman already forget that Toyman murdered a whole bunch people on his very first appearance, in Superman #13? Or does Superman not count greedy toy company owners as people? Understandable, I guess.

There's a sequence about Cat starting a fire in a paper basket at the prison to sneak past the metal detector, but why do that if she had a toy gun all long? Other than to prevent smartass readers like us from saying "How did she get the gun into the prison?!" before the plot twist, that is.

Patreon-Watch:

Shout out to our patient Patreon patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Dave Shevlin, and Kit! The latest Patreon-only article was about another episode of the 1988 Superman cartoon written by Marv Wolfman, this one co-starring Wonder Woman (to Lois' frustration).

Another Patreon perk is getting to read Don Sparrow's section early, because he usually finishes his side of these posts long before I do (he ALREADY finished the next one, for instance). But now this one can be posted in public! Take it away, Don:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

We begin with the cover, and it’s a good one— an ultra tight close up for Cat Grant firing a .38 calibre gun, with the titular Superman soaring in, perhaps too late.  An interesting thing to notice in this issue (and especially on the cover) is that the paper stock that DC used for their comics changed, so slightly more realistic shading was possible.  While it’s nowhere near the sophistication or gloss of the Image Comics stock of the time, there is an attempt at more realistic, airbrushy type shading in the colour.  It works well in places, like the muzzle flash, on on Cat Grant’s cheeks and knuckles, but less so in her hair, where the shadow looks a browny green on my copy.

The interior pages open with a pretty good bit of near-silent storytelling.  We are deftly shown, and not told the story—there are condolence cards and headlines, and the looming presence of a liquor bottle, until we are shown on the next page splash the real heart of the story, a revolver held aloft by Catherine Grant, bereaved mother, with her targeting in her mind the grim visage of the Toyman.

While their first few issues together meshed pretty well, it’s around  this issue that the pencil/inks team of Jurgens and Rubinstein starts to look a little rushed in places.  A few inkers who worked with Jurgens that I’ve spoken to have hinted that his pencils can vary in their level of detail, from very finished  to pretty loose, and in the latter case, it’s up to the inker to embellish where there’s a lack of detail.  Some inkers, like Brett Breeding, really lay down a heavier hand, where there’s quite a bit of actual drawing work in addition to adding value and weight to the lines.  I suspect some of the looseness in the figures, as well as empty  backgrounds reveals that these pencils were less detailed than we often  see from Jurgens.

There’s some weird body language in the tense exchange between Superman and Cat as she angrily confronts him about his lack of progress in capturing her son’s killer—Superman  looks a little too dynamic and pleased with himself for someone ostensibly apologizing. Superman taking flight to hunt down Toyman is classic Jurgens, though.

Another example of art weirdness comes on page 7, where Superman gets filled in on the progress of the Adam Morgan investigation.  Apparently Suicide Slum has some San Francisco-like hills, as that is one very steep sidewalk separating Superman and Turpin from some central-casting looking punks.

The  sequence of Superman concentrating his sight and hearing on the  waterfront area is well-drawn, and it’s always nice to see novel uses of his powers.  Tyler Hoechlin’s Superman does a similar trick quite often on the excellent first season of Superman & Lois.  The full-bleed splash of Superman breaking through the wall to capture Toyman is definitely panel-of-the-week material, as we really feel Superman’s rage and desperation to catch this child-killer.

Pretty much all the pages with Cat Grant confronting Winslow Schott are  well-done and tensely paced.  While sometimes I think the pupil-less  flare of the eye-glasses is a cop-out, it does lend an opaqueness and mystery to what Toyman is thinking.  Speaking of cop-outs, the gag gun twist ending really didn’t work for me.  I was glad that Cat didn’t lower herself to Schott’s level and become a killer, even for revenge, but the prank gun just felt too silly of a tonal shift for a storyline with this much gravitas.  The breakneck denouement that Cat is now depending only on herself didn’t get quite enough breathing room either.

While I appreciated that the ending of this issue avoided an overly simplistic, Death Wish style of justice, this issue extends this troubling but brief era of Superman comics. The casual chalk outlines of  yet two more dead children continues the high body count of the  previous handful of issues, and the tone remains jarring to me.  The issue is also self-aware enough to point out, again, that Schott is  generally an ally of children, and not someone who historically wishes  them harm, but that doesn’t stop the story from going there, in the most  violent of terms. In addition to being a radical change to the Toyman  character, it’s handled in a fashion more glib than we’re used to seeing  in these pages.  The mental health cliché of a matriarchal obsession, a la Norman Bates doesn’t elevate it either.  So, another rare misstep  from Jurgens the writer, in my opinion.   STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I  had thought for sure that Romanove Vodka was a sly reference to a certain Russian Spy turned Marvel superhero, but it turns out there  actually is a Russian Vodka called that, minus the “E”, produced not in Russia, as one might think from the Czarist name, but rather, India.

While it made for an awkward exchange, I was glad that Cat pointed out how  her tragedy more or less sat on the shelf while Superman dealt with the "Spilled Blood" storyline.  A lesser book might not have acknowledged any  time had passed. Though I did find it odd for Superman to opine that he  wanted to find her son’s murderer even more than she wanted him to.  Huh?  How so?

I love the detail that Toyman hears the noise of Superman soaring to capture him, likening it to a train coming.

I  quibble, but there’s so much I don’t understand about the “new” Toyman.  If he’s truly regressing mentally, to an infant-like state, why does he wear this phantom of the opera style long cloak while he sits in his baby crib?  Why not go all the way, and wear footie pajamas, like the lost souls on TLC specials about “adult babies”?

I get that Cat Grant is in steely determination mode, but it seemed a little out of place that she had almost no reaction to the taunting she faced from her child’s killer.  She doesn’t shed a single tear in the entire issue, and no matter how focused she is on vengeance, that doesn’t seem realistic to me. [Max: That's because this is not just retribution, Don. It's dark retribution. We’ve been over this!]

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap, Chapter 5

A/N  Know what this fic needs?  More Geillis.  No really, I think you guys are going to like where I’m going with this.   Just bear with me.   Only one more chapter to go after this one, plus an epilogue.   Thanks for coming on the journey with me!  With due credit to Sia, this chapter’s title is Fire, Meet Gasoline.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

Geillis Duncan drove much the way she approached life, which was to say without much regard for rules and at white-knuckle speed.  I gripped her Range Rover’s leather cushion and swallowed any exclamations of dismay as we ricocheted through Edinburgh’s late afternoon traffic.  When we finally slid into an underground parking spot and emerged into the bustling festivity of the Princes Street Christmas Market, I felt the tension of imminent disaster abandon my shoulders.

“Where to first, then?” Geillis asked, looking far too animated by the prospect of accompanying someone while they did their Christmas shopping.

Geillis and I had kept in touch and met for coffee a few times over the past months.  When I explained that I wouldn’t be taking any more cooking classes at Ginger Snap because Jamie was giving me at-home lessons, her reaction was a moonbeam grin.

“Look at ye, wee vixen!  I ne’er wouldha thought ye had it in ya, Claire.  Tho I canna say as I blame ye.”

No matter how much I protested that I was together with Frank and that my relationship with Jamie was purely professional, she refused to believe me.  The ongoing absence of a ring from my left hand didn’t help.

“Now,” Geillis exclaimed once we’d taken in the sights and sounds of the market, “let’s have a keek at yer list.  Where should we start?”

I pulled out my phone and opened the Notes app.  As she read, my friend’s nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Trouser socks, shoe stays, Moleskine notebook, Rive Gauche...  who are ye shopping for, yer grandparents?”

“No,” I protested.  “The first three are for Frank.  The perfume is for me.”

When I explained that Frank had made a list of the items he would like to give me for Christmas, Geillis grew incensed.

“Ye mean he has ye doin’ his gift buying fer him?  Tha’s the least romantic thing I’ve e’er heard.  Do ye even like Rive Gauche, Claire?  And dinna lie tae me, fer I can read yer feelings all o’er yer face.”

Truthfully, I didn’t much care for the flowery scent.  My personal taste ran more towards woodsy or herbaceous aromas.  But it was Frank’s favourite, and it pleased me to please him.  Or it had.  I was beginning to wonder when it would be my turn to please myself.

“Right,” Geillis interrupted my thoughts.  “Marks and Sparks will do jes fine for yer wee granny list.   And then you and I are going shopping fer yer real gift.”

Geillis was a force to be reckoned with in a retail environment.  She navigated like a guided missile from one department to the next.   Twenty minutes later, we were back on the pavement, which glistened with the colourful reflections of decorations strung above.

“Your car is the other way,” I explained as Geillis turned left.

“Aye, tis, but our destination is right o’er here.  House of Fraser.  See?  Tis practically calling yer name, Claire.”

Inside the venerable old building was an astonishing multi-tiered arcade reaching over five stories to a massive skylit ceiling.  The central space was dominated by a fifteen metre-high Christmas tree (a Fraser fir, of course) and every archway of every arcade was dripping with lights.  The impression was like stepping into a Fabergé egg.

Geillis dragged me, slack-jawed, towards the ladies’ wear section.  Circling the racks like a hawk on the wind, she eyed my body, sizing me up quite literally, then thrust several pieces into my hands.

“Geillis,” I hissed, wary of the sales staff hovering nearby, no doubt smelling an excessive commission in the offing.  “I don’t need a new outfit.  And I certainly don’t need,” I shook the garments in question, “something like this.  Wherever would I wear it?”

“Well, fer starters, ye’d wear it tae dinner t’night.  I dinna wish tae offend ye, Claire, but I canna in good conscience allow ye tae set foot in the Timberyard dressed fer a job interview as a primary school teacher.”

With that she shoved me in the direction of the changing rooms.  Deciding to humour her, I was unbuttoning my top when two lacy bits of nothing came flying over the door.

“Start wi’ these.  And dinna think I willna notice if ye’re no’ wearing them!”

I stripped down to my panties, bemusedly wondering how she knew my exact bra size. 

Upon seeing me exit the dressing room in her choice of clothing, Geillis let out a squeal of delight.   She insisted I rip out the tags and leave the store wearing my new outfit, declaring it was her Christmas gift to me.  

I felt tremendously self-conscious as we walked towards the restaurant.  The aubergine velvet jeans clung to my legs in an unfamiliar way and the black turtleneck, while technically not revealing, hinted at kink with its many heavy zippers and fastenings.  Together with my unruly hair, unstraightened for once, I felt like another woman entirely.  I didn’t recognize her, but I felt like she might be someone I’d like to get to know.

The Timberyard was a modern restaurant in a rugged old warehouse, not far from the farmer’s market I’d visited with Jamie.  We were joined there by several of Geillis’ friends, and we ate, drank and laughed until my sides were sore. 

As I wobbled to the loo, I noticed the bartender following me with an appreciative gaze.  It had been a long time since a man had looked at me that way, and it gave me a guilty thrill.

We left the restaurant just before midnight. I pulled Geillis into an impulsive hug.

“Wha’ was that for, hen?” she asked.

“Nothing.  Everything.  Just, thank you for being you, Geil.”

“Och, tis my pleasure, lass.  I only want tae see ye happy.  Now, what do ye say to a digestif?”

After only a slight protest on my part, the two of us piled into an Uber.  Our destination was another restaurant, this time in a converted whisky warehouse by the harbour in Leith.  It was well past last sitting, but when I mentioned this to Geillis she explained away my concern. 

“I ken the owner, who’s also the chef.  Tis a popular spot fer locals in the restaurant scene tae meet after they close up fer a few drinks afore heading home tae their beds.”

Inside, the walls were rough stone, supported in places by industrial metal beams.  The kitchen was open to the main dining area, and I grinned as I thought of Frank’s strong opinion on the matter.  Near the back of the room, lit by dim naked bulbs and the glow from several open fireplaces, was a huge square table surrounded by nearly twenty chairs upholstered in bright yellow plaid.  Around the table was gathered a motley assortment of men and women, all talking and laughing and sipping on a variety of drinks.  And in their midst, his copper hair shining in the firelight, sat Jamie.

A shout went up from the table as Geillis approached.  I hung back, tugging at the hem of my new turtleneck as though I could stretch it to cover my arse.  Besides Jamie, I recognized Jenny, Angus and Murtagh, but I only had eyes for the big ginger chef.  He sat at one corner, probably in deference to his long legs which were stretched out before him, wrapped in black denim.  A black leather jacket hung over the chair behind him.  He looked dangerous.  It was a very good look for him.

Dragging me by the elbow, Geillis nudged and bumped Angus to one side despite his vulgar protests, then practically pushed me down into the chair directly next to the chef.  With a smug smile of satisfaction, she then retired to the opposite side of the table.

I looked anywhere but directly at Jamie, but I could feel his butane eyes on me.  I was certain he would scorch right through my outer layers and down to where Geillis’ choice in lingerie burned against my tender skin.  The noise from the rest of the table faded away.

“Ye look bonnie t’night, Arsonist.”  His voice was low and gruff and it sent a quickening through my veins.

“Thank you, Jamie. It was Geillis’ Christmas gift to me, and I feel, well... let’s just say it isn’t my usual look.”

“It suits ye, I think.”  He reached out and lightly touched the silver tab of a zipper that ended near my wrist, setting it swinging.  I swallowed and looked frantically around.  Several open bottles of liquor stood nearby. Grabbing the nearest one, I poured myself a generous serving and knocked it back, all in one go.  I tried to steady my breathing.

“Look, Jamie...”

Just then a blond man in chef’s whites called to Jamie from across the table.  An exchange involving a lot of Scottish cursing and an off-colour reference to someone’s lobster pot ensued.  I tried to convince myself I needed to leave.  It was late, I was half-drunk, and whatever I intended to say to Jamie should definitely wait for another moment.  Maybe never.

A hand on my thigh broke my preoccupation.

“Sorry, Arsonist, ye were sayin’ something?”

I wet my lips, frantically trying to recall anything but the feeling of Jamie’s strong fingers, stroking me through the velvet of my jeans.

“I...”

At that moment, the woman on Jamie’s far side broke into song.  The rest of the table cheered and clapped along, and it was impossible to hear anything except the concussive pounding of my heart against my eardrums.

Jamie grabbed my clammy hand.

“Come wi’ me,” he instructed, grabbing our outerwear and pulling me towards the door.  Geillis watched our departure with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Outside the air was dense and cold, a briny slap after the stuffy warmth of the restaurant.  Jamie obviously had a destination in mind, and we walked hand-in-hand along the cobbled streets for several minutes before finally emerging at the port.  A jetty struck out into the inky sea, and it was there that we ended up.  Besides a few gulls and the winking of a nearby lighthouse, we were all alone.  The sodium street lights caught Jamie’s curls and made them burn.

“Forgive me, Arsonist.  I couldna hear myself think in there.  Tho, come tae think of it, tis no’ much better now.”  Rather than release me, as he spoke Jamie stroked my hand, running calloused fingers over each vein and every knuckle.  I don’t think he even realized he was doing it, but it stole every thought from my head.

“No ring,” he remarked, stroking the finger in question.

“No,” I whispered in response.  

And then it burst out of me, like a tidal wave of feeling that I never saw coming.  I told him everything.  My childhood roaming the globe with my uncle, pre-occupied and rootless, dreaming of stability.  Meeting Frank at Harvard, and realizing that he represented all the things that my life to date had lacked: structure, security, a solid foundation, a home.  And how it took moving to Scotland and coming into contact with a group of near-strangers to make me realize that the price I had paid for that stability was higher than I’d ever imagined.  I’d given up my dream of becoming a doctor. I’d become so lost in Frank’s vision of who I should be that I’d almost lost sight of who I actually was.

By the time the flood of words left me, I was in Jamie’s arms, crying into his leather jacket.  He hushed me with quiet murmurs and languorous stroking of my hair, as one would a child who has woken from a nightmare.

I stepped out of his embrace and rubbed my sleeve across my face.  I must have looked an absolute mess, but he still watched me with those earnest, patient eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I began, “I don’t know what...”

“Claire,” he interrupted.  I’d never before realized just how many consonants were in my given name.  “Ye dinna need tae apologize tae me.  But ye may want tae consider an apology tae yerself.”  At my raised eyebrow, he continued.

“I’m no’ the kind of man tae tell another what they should and shouldna do.  But ye strike me as someone who’s made decisions fer the right reasons, yet ended up in the wrong place.”  Here he paused, as though carefully weighing his words.  “There’s no sin in changin’ yer mind, Arsonist.  Tis very well tae be hungry, so long as ye ken what ye hunger for.”

“And what do you hunger for, James Fraser?”  The provocative words had left my lips before I had the chance to censor them.  His answer came in the form of a blistering look that left no doubt as to its meaning.  Then he gathered himself, banking the fire I’d unconsciously ignited.

“Many things.  Regular, ordinary things, mostly.  My family’s health and happiness.  A faster bike.  My own restaurant.”

“Like Tom’s there?” I asked, gesturing towards the harbour.

“Och, Tom is a braw chef, and worthy o’ every accolade tha’s been showered upon him.  But the hospitality scene in Edinburgh is cut-throat, an’ suitable locations cost a fortune.  Nah, Jenny and I want tae buy back our childhood home in the Highlands.  Tis called Lallybroch, and when our Da passed, our Mam sold it tae her brother.  We’d turn it inta a country inn, wi’ Jenny running the lodging side o’ things and I the dining.  Tha’s the dream anyway,” he ended with a shrug.

I rested my hand on his forearm.  “That sounds like a wonderful plan, Jamie.”

Before he could reply, an enormous yawn burst from my lungs.

“Time tae get ye home tae yer bed, Arsonist,” Jamie grinned.   “Come, I’ll give ye a ride.”

“Wait, haven’t you been drinking?” I inquired as we walked back down the jetty.

“Three years sober,” he explained with no hint of embarrassment.  “I went somewhere pretty dark after my Mam died, an’ it took a near-fatal crash tae scare me straight.”  His eyes squinted in a poor approximation of a wink as he added, “Besides, there are better ways tae chase a rush than in the bottom of a bottle.”

“Such as?” I asked brazenly.

Which was how I found myself on the back on a black motorcycle, my arms twined around Jamie’s waist.  Rather than take me directly home, he steered us north, following the coast.  It was very late, with hardly another vehicle about.  We merged onto the motorway, and Jamie picked up speed.  My thighs tightened around his lean hips, the vibration of the motor beneath us shivering up my spine.  As we emerged beneath the hastate lights of the Queensferry Bridge, I stretched my arms wide, icy air ripping against the sleeves of my jacket.  I laughed, although no-one could hear me.  I yelled, and only the wind yelled back.  I was flying.

***

It was nearly dawn when Jamie pulled up in front of my flat.  My legs thrummed, my eyes were dry with fatigue, and my heart ached, but I felt better than I could ever remember.  I handed Jamie back his spare helmet and shook out my curls.  He watched me in that half-sleepy, half-vigilant way of his that I now recognized as desire.

“I don’t know what I could ever say to thank you, Jamie.”

“Ye needn’t say anything at all, Arsonist.  Nae matter what ye decide, it has been my very great honour tae get tae know you.”

Without another word, he kick-started the engine and drove off into the early morning mist.

“Goodbye,” I whispered to his vanishing shadow.

***

The lamp above the couch was lit, and Frank lay still beneath its glow.  I realized he had fallen asleep waiting for me to come home.  Instead of regret, what I felt in that moment was pity.

The sound of my jacket being unzipped woke him.  He blinked in confusion and then in shock.

“I’m very sorry if you were worried,” I began.

“Worried?  Do you have any idea what time it is?  My God, Claire, I don’t know what to make of you these days.  You’ve never behaved irresponsibly before, and now you’re out at all hours and you’re wearing,” he gestured wildly with his hand at my new outfit which I had, quite honestly, forgotten I was wearing.  “And your hair, Claire!” he finished, as though the manic state of my curls was definitive evidence of my fall from grace.  Despite my exhaustion, I stood tall.

“Frank, we need to talk.”

[tobiosmilktea]

can i get some GOOD headcanons on kageyama, kuroo, oikawa, and terushima drunkingly confessing time there best friend? similar to how tsukki did it in the number neighbors au 🥰🥰🥰

drunk confessions w/ kageyama, kuroo, oikawa, and terushima

— k. tobio

OK HEAR ME OUT

kags is the type to be hella emotional when he’s drunk, like full on sobbing or just being moody for no reason

it’s definitely not that bad at first, i would think he could handle his alcohol pretty well but once he get a couple shots in THAT’S when moody kags come in

with you being the designated sober for the group, you had to not drink ofc

out of everyone else in the group he’s one of the more difficult ones

near the end of the might where you had to take everyone home, you literally had to force a sobbing kageyama into the uber

“wHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO DAMN CUTE FOR?”

homie would be choking in between sobs as you literally apologize to the driver

ngl it’s kinda hilarious

drunk kags = simp kags

“y/n ur so pwetty 🥺👉🏻👈🏻”

like DEADASS HES AN ENTIRELY NEW PERSON

but if he isn’t showering you with compliments, he would be crying into your shoulder about how stressed he has been bc of volleyball

“coach said my sets are getting weird 😔😔”

and then you would sit there awkwardly laughing as you tried your best comforting him

you would run your hands through his hair and he’s literally about to self combust from the contact

by the time your uber arrives to his apartment, trying to pull him out of the car is harder than pushing him into it

his six foot one ass really be making it harder than it should be

once you do finally get him out of the car, he’s completely slumped over you and you try your best to lead him back to his place

his muscular arms strategically placed around and over your shoulders as his feet basically drag on the ground

“y/n~ where are we going?”

“back to your apartment, tobio.”

this is the part where he groans and immediately starts resisting

the thing is it doesnt last long considering he’s completely fucking drained, if anything the moment you past by the threshold into his apartment he was already halfway unconscious

your muscles strained guiding him to his bedroom to which your literally just plop him onto his bed

you sigh to yourself as you felt immediate relief on your body

after a beat or two passed to regain some strength and energy, you tug on kag’s body again to make him properly lay on the bed rather than being at the cusp of falling off

“you’re so fucking heavy, tobio.” you pull his bedsheets over him, “also don’t get out of bed or else i’ll kick you.”

honestly he looked so cute as he was in the process of passing out

“y/n?” he called out before you could leave his side

“hm?”

it was then his right hand would find yours and pull it close to him, mumbling: “you treat me so well, y/n... no wonder why i’ve been in love with you since high school.”

perhaps you ended up not leaving his side that night

— k. tetsurou

homie won’t leave you alone while you guys are out drinking

HES VERY PROTECTIVE

he literally refuses to leave your side as both of you were drinking

i would say kuroo has a pretty strong alcohol tolerance but ngl yours is stronger fr

this obviously led to kuroo getting completely shitfaced at a much quicker pace than you and when he’s drunk, it’s obvious

like REALLY obvious

he’s most definitely a giggly drunk

he probably laughs at every little thing with that obnoxious hyena laugh you love to hear so much

if there was ever a moment you two did split up, you would immediately know where he was the moment his loud ass laughs literally thundered throughout the entire bar

“excuse me, have you seen my friend? he’s tall, has black hair that look’s like a chicken’s—”

*CUE LOUDASS HYENA LAUGH FROM ACROSS THE BAR*

“oop- nevermind”

you were literally on your way to fetch him as it was getting super late and the both of you needed to go home when you saw him stumbling farther away from you

“kuroo! where the hell are you going?” you would shout over the loud conversating crowds and music

he ultimately didn’t hear you as he continued walking towards the bar

you grumbled as your eyes stay locked on his large figure to which he starts climbing a bar stool

“oh my fucking god—kuroo!!”

this dude literally CLIMBS ONTO THE BAR

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!” he yells over the large crowd, everyone’s attention is on him and you were immediately struck with second-hand embarrassment

“MAY I HAVE YOU ATTENTION PLEASE! I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT I AM LITERALY HEAD OVER HEELS FOR MY FRIEND Y/N!!”

when i tell you were wanted to drop dead then and there

your eyes widened in shock, your mouth parted, and you stood there completely paralyzed as kuroo points you out in the crowd

everyone surounding you turn towards your figure and your cheeks immediately flushed a bright red and your heart suddenly beating a thousand beats per minute

“IVE LIKED YOU FOR AGES.” kuroo continues, “AND I JUST WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU FELT THE SAME”

silence filled the club like a wet blanket as you nervously chuckle

this was so awkward like it’s not even funny

“well?” a random guy from across the bar shouted

you purse your lips, “if i say yes, would you get off the bar and take me out on a real date?”

the biggest smile melted upon kuroo’s lips as he laughs

he jumps off the bar and practically cuts through the crowd just to pull you into the tightest hug you’ve ever received

“god, you’re so drunk.”

“it was my only way of getting myself to finally say it.”

— o. tooru

if you think this boy has attitude when he’s sober just wait until he’s drunk

like literally he’s so mfing sassy and for what reason ??

i dont even think this boy drinks that much let alone has a high tolerance of alcohol

oikawa’s a lightweight (i said what i said 😤)

literally if he downs anything more than three shots, he’s a literal goner

not to mention HES ABSOLUTELY WILD

drunk oikawa — the wild, sassy one

i’d say he’s pretty loud, but def not as loud or confident enough like kuroo to stand on a mfing bar and confess his love

nah, if anything, oikawa’s more rowdy when it’s a party at someone else’s house

he knows to keep himself in check if he’s drinking in public (like he knows from experience and almost got arrested one time for public indecency but it izz what it izz)

so he practically learned to control himself, but if it’s a house party ??

GIRL, YOU GOT A WHOLE STORM COMIN

knowing that it’s at a friend’s house, especially if it’s your house, he’s letting himself get completely loose

he knows you’ll take care of him anyway

throughout the night he’s literally messing around with friends, maybe a game of beer pong would usually get him drunk

put once the party’s over, he would usually be the last one to leave as he was left on your couch passed out

you didn’t even notice he was there until he started snoring

you couldn’t help but laugh at his adorable unconscious state, it was almost as if you wanted to leave him be, but you knew he had to get back home

so you stroll towards his slumped figure on the couch and kneeled on the ground

his cheek was pressed up again one of the cushions and he was dribbling a bit of saliva but you ultimately chose to ignore it

“oikawa,” you muttered as you rubbed his shoulder and shook it

he wouldn’t really respond for the first few times, but after repeating his name after a while, he would start to stir

he would groan and could barely open his eyes

half-lidded, a smile forms on his lips at the mere sight of you

“hey there gorgeous.” he slurrs through his teeth as he continued to stir

“c’mon, get up you gotta get up and go home. i called an uber for you.”

you tried helping him get up, but he just plops down again

“why can’t i stay wit you?”

“cause you don’t live here.”

“i would if we were together.”

your brows furrow in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“i always wanted to live with someone i really liked... and that’s you.” his words were almost incoherent how slurred they were through his drunkened state

“you like me?” you asked just to reassure what he mumbled was truly what you heard

he nods as you brush his tangled jungle of hair out of his face

there was a deep onset of crimson blush that appeared on your cheeks as he did so, your heart beat quickening it’s speed as you sighed in contrnt

“you act like i didn’t know this whole time. you’re quite obvious about your feelings, oikawa.”

— t. yuuji

you and terushima were club regulars

each weekend you were out with him club and bar hopping just for the fun of it

but lately, the more often you do things the more desensitized and bored you get of the same activities over and over again

you and terushima sat in both of your car ready to drive to downtown where all the clubs were when you both lazily sighed

“i’m not really in the mood for loud music and socializing.” you would confess, ready to perhaps hear terushima’s jests of you being a party pooper

but instead he sighs and agrees to your surprise as he’s typically the one dragging you to these places anyway

“same,” he mutters. “i think i’d just hangout with you tonight.”

there was a slight tone in his voice as he peaked at you that you couldnt exactly pinpoint as if you were waiting for the catch

“i still wanna drink though.” he added, there it was

“good call”

from then on you stopped by a convinient store where you and terushima buy the cheapest six pack of canned beer

in the end alcohol was alcohol and you both didnt care about the quality

this was the only case in which you had a lower tolerance than terushima as he could literally handle the strongest of liquors and still act sober

it’s kinda scary as sometimes you can never tell whether or not he’s actually drunk

but as he is a sober drunk, the only way you can tell that he’s absolutely blasted is that he becomes brutally honest with you

that brutal honesty sometimes comes with a childish offhanded joke that you would roll your eyes to

not to mention he sometimes becomes a bit of a perv too

“your ass looks better in the dress you wore last weekend” was one example

and because you both wanted some quiet for once on a late saturday night, you drove all the way to the park where it was quiet enough for you two to relax

terushima had held your hand to help you walk up the steep hill to the top of the park in which oversees a great view of tokyo

with it’s pretty city lights shining upon you two, you and terushima settle yourselves on a bench and crack open your beers

you and him cheers as you two silently sipped at the alcohol

by the time both of you were in your third can of beer, it was obvious terushima was completely wasted

“not gonna lie,” oh here it comes, “your driving sucks.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his honesty

a laugh that he likes so much, it sounded like heaven to his ears and he wanted to make you laugh again and again

“i mean, you’re the one whose making me drive you everywhere all the time.”

he scoffs, humming in response as his half-lidded eyes flickered towards you, admiring how the moonlight reflected upon your face as you breathed in the sky

“you’re so beautiful,” he practically whispers.

“hmm?” you turn towars him with you eyes coated in honey

god he was in deep

“i like you.”

it honestly shocked you at first as your eyes widened into saucers

it was straight and brutally honest confession

just how you like it

[b1ksh88p]

Be Mine Chapter 3

Plot: A storm is brewing in Valentine, and you’re in the middle of it. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen Harry and there’s already been a horrendous murder. With tensions high and everyone finger pointing your ex, Edmund, makes everything worse by spreading gossip. With the sting of rejection still weighing heavy on your heart you attempt to clear everything up only to make things worse.

Describing your mood as sour would be a understatement. You were numb. A grey cloud loomed over your usual cheery exterior as you went through day to day activities. Whenever someone asked if you were alright you’d chalk it up to trivial excuses. When in actuality you were torn that you’d been stupid enough to try and have a picnic with a killer. If you were sane maybe you’d tell the Sheriff and get some of his boys in uniform to smoke Harry out somehow but you had no taste for revenge. All you wanted was to move on.

But it seemed your ex had other plans. You worked in the diner, usually taking up the night shifts to rid yourself of boredom. As you were cleaning a table you overheard a couple chatting away about you of all topics. Why your name was in their mouths you didn’t know but from what you got out of it made you want to raise hellfire.

“I heard she goes down there every night to see that killer.”

“Edmund said that the sherif saw her go in with food and came out empty handed.”

“No way, maybe she’s a killer.”

There’s no way you could allow these two peons spread such outlandish babble. You’ve never killed anyone nor would you ever. The thought of murdering another made you sick to your stomach. “Edmund is a long-nosed good for nothing asshole who spends his time making up calumniations and dumping his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day for a dumb blonde with a baby voice. You two and the rest of your bubble headed friends would be fools to believe anything that comes out his mouth.” You finish with a astute turn into the back for a extensive smoke break.

If you saw Edmund or that sleazy sheriff you’d be sure to give them a piece of your mind. And speak of the devil, there he was. Your blood was replaced with boiling water as you stomped your way towards him. He was with the sherif and some other random cop you didn’t know. Both of them saw you coming and started to drift apart before you whistle and jogged towards the two snakes.

“Where we going boys? Running away from the new killer of the town?”

“Now listen Y/N I didn’t mean to start anything.” The sheriff assured.

You weren’t impressed. “You’re just the last one seen in the mines so...it makes sense.” Edmund shrugged.

“And you were the last one fucking the blonde bimbo you cheated on me with and she has crabs....so it makes sense right?” You snap back garnering a chortle from the other cop.

“It’s not my fault you’re a boring bitch who can’t get anyone to date you except for some psycho?!” He growled.

“I’m not dating anyone and I’m not a killer. Instead of gossiping like little girls how about you three go investigate and find the real killer.” You throw down the cigarette and stomp it out beneath your heel.

“We apologize if we’ve caused you any trouble Miss, we’re doing the best we can.” The Sheriff whispered.

“Keep my name out your ass licking mouths and out the fucking paper.” You demand before walking back inside the diner.

After your shift you began to walk home. The ominous glow of streetlights did little to scare you. On your way to you lovely home you stopped by the liquor store. A bit tipsy you ventured the winding fucked up roads. The quiet sounds of the night were ruined by the sounds of sirens. It had been what? 72 hours and some change since the last murder what the hell could the coppers be speeding for? Even in your mildly drunken stupor you noticed where they were heading. The mines. Sober you would’ve kept walking like any sane person but you were running on anger, worry, and rum. A mix that didn’t bode well when making good decisions.

You knew a shortcut through the trees and made haste. By the time you fought through flora and fauna two cars were already there. The sheriff and Edmund were there holding lanterns and guns. You step out from behind the trees, face bathed in red and blue lights. Softly stepping towards the shit show. “What the fuck are you two asswipes doing?!” You call out as you make your way to the entrance of the mine. Before they can stop you you’re in front of the cold entrance.

“You protecting your boyfriend again?” Edmund spat as he loaded his gun.

“You don’t have a gotdamn clue who killed those two. It takes you dumb mother fuckers months to even get close to closing a case!”

“We know he’s down there Y/N and he’s gonna fucking burn for what he did. And if you gotta burn with him so fucking be it!” He aimed the gun at you which almost made you piss yourself. You stumble back as he aims it at you. The thumping of your heart beat in your ears.

“I’m not you enemy! And neither is he!” Your words were bold but hoarse.

“That son of a bitch killed family. I don’t care what you think he’s going to die, and if I have to shoot you to get to him I fucking will!” The sheriffs attempts to calm down Edmund were futile. He had his eyes on you. They were large and red and full of rage. He looked like a rabid animal and you his prey.

“...You’re angry I get that but this is a mob attack not a lawful pick up. You have no evidence-“

“DONT GIVE ME A FUCKING LESSON IN LAW BITCH I AM THE FUCKING LAW!” He shot at the ground beneath your feet sending dirt into your eyes. The muffled scolding from the sheriff did nothing to stop your beating heart. In fact there were bigger problems.

Another shot cracked through the night sending you to the ground covering your head. The grotesque sound of choking made you gag. The Sheriff was on the ground, clambering hands grabbing at the gaping hole in his chest as he bled out. Edmund was in shock. He held the man’s dead hand with wide eyes. Perfect time to get away. You book it into the mines. It was dark and cold, even chillier with a fresh murderer on your heels. At first you didn’t hear him but a shot echoed through the caves followed by some demands for you and Harry to reveal yourselves. That wasn’t happening so you keep running, ducking into random corridors to try and throw him off your trail.

Apart of you was afraid of running into Harry. What if he was angry at you? Running into one killer to escape the other was a chance you really didn’t want to take. You’d rather wait it out and hide. Hopefully Harry would take care of Edmund and you could run away without interacting with either of them. You stop running to hide in a old mining cart that was turned over. Covering your mouth with shaking hands you listen. A heavy set of footsteps past you, Edmund more than likely. It wasn’t like Harry to be so loud. He taunted what you assumed were the shadows to face him like a real man. He didn’t really see him right? You wish you could peek but you were far to afraid you’d get your head blown off.

“So that’s what you look like. Y’know it’s crazy. You don’t look like a monster.” He cocked the gun. “Tell me how you did it. How you killed my dad you fucking monster.” He demanded.

There was no response on Harry’s end. You hear something fall to the ground and then Edmund’s smug laughter. What the hell was going on? You quietly peak from out your hiding space. The minimal lighting made the scene hard to make out but by the looks of it Harry had...given up. He had thrown his pick axe ahead of him, taken off the mask, and dropped to his knees. A gloved hand on the barrel of the gun pointing it to his head. You couldn’t believe your eyes. Was he insane? Edmund goes into a end game spill about how long he’s waited to do this. How he’d pin the Sheriff’s and I’s murder on Harry and walk out the mines a hero. During this you start to crawl towards them, ready to rush him or throw a rock, anything to buy Harry time. Your chest is tight as you hold your breath. Nearing the both of them as quietly as you possibly can. Edmund cocks the gun and says something to the effect of “everyone dies, somebody should’ve take your sorry ass out long ago.” Before you hear a shot.

It hits the ceiling once you use all your might to swing Harry’s pickaxe into Edmund’s head, through his cheek. The blast was so close to Harry he fell back in pain. Edmund leans on the wall holding the left side of his face, still turned away from you. When he does look at you all the blood drains from your body. His tongue hung from the broken jaw like a salivating dog, torn flesh dangled around missing teeth, with so much flesh exposed blood spritzed out every time he moved closer to you. He couldn’t move his jaw so when he spoke it was a gurgled cacophony of rage and disbelief. You lift the pick axe once more but see him lift the shotgun and take aim. This makes you freeze like a deer in headlights. You close your eyes, bracing for impact. But to your surprise it never comes. Instead Harry had gotten up and tackled him, only problem was that he got shot.

The two men fell to the ground. Edmund kicking him off and frantically reaching into his pocket for two more shells. Without thinking you kick the gun from his hands. He tried to get up but you stomp on his chest with all the rage bottled up inside. He looks up at you with that mangled face and large eyes but mercy was the last thing on your mind. You look over him, raise the crude weapon, and allow the cold metal to pierce through his chest. You let out a exasperated scream as you continue your onslaught. Hammering down years of neglect, wasted time, slander, and abuse into what’s left of his broken body. When you’re done he’s left torn apart. Rib cage broken and organs exposed. In all the madness you vomit from the stress and overall exertion of energy you used up. The groans from Harry snap you back to reality and you go to aid him.

“Oh god oh shit hold on hold on.” You ramble. Your hands try their best to cover the wound. He was shot in the side. Luckily it wasn’t a direct hit but without medical attention it was gonna get nasty. You use Edmund’s jacket to help stop the bleeding. He was just staring at you. “What? What the hell are you gonna yell at me for now???” You yell trying not to cry. He lifts a bloody hand to your face.

FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON DRAGON BALL Z

[asian-hero]

ola! so i recently found your blog and i honestly loved it. this idea has been on my mind lately and i think you're perfect for this. can u write a todoroki shoto imagine where he's conflicted if he truly loved his quirkless s/o or he just loved the idea of f**king with his dad in his rebellious "phase". make it angsty tho! ;)

A/N: Why does everyone feel the need to hurt me this way, I feel like I’m a good person who doesn’t deserve this

Pro Hero!Todoroki by the way, but I’m sure you guys know the drill

Summary: You’ve been in a relationships with Todoroki for almost a year now, and so far, it’s been pretty great. Of course, you’ve had your ups and downs, just like any couple, but you two have always managed to pull through. So, what happens when, on your anniversary, when the two of you decide to stay at home and get drunk, the rose tinted lenses come off, and all barriers are gone?

Words: 2,129

You first met Todoroki Shouto when you were running late to your job. It was around eight in the morning, you had just run out of your apartment, carrying your jacket in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. Of course, it was just your luck that, as soon as you were within sight of your office building, fate decided that things were running just a bit too smoothly, and soon enough you were colliding head on with another person, thus spilling your coffee all over yourself and onto the other person. When you looked up, an apology just waiting to spill out of your lips, you locked eyes with the number three hero, who was currently looking at you with both confusion and a bit of agitation.

After your starstruck gawking had ended, you immediately found yourself bowing deeply, an apology flowing from your mouth, along with a string of other ramblings that you couldn’t seem to hold in. He immediately calmed you down, saying something about how it wasn’t important, how you were the one who took most of the coffee hit, and that he should be the one apologizing to you. While the two of you were going back and forth on who should be more sorry, with you insisting that you should compensate him, if not for ruining his morning, then at least for all that he does for the protection of citizens like you, he told you that, if you truly wanted to make it up to him, then you should accompany him to a cafe of his choosing. After your shift, of course. So, just like that, the two of you had parted ways, though it wasn’t for very long.

Once you had finished at your job, you had walked out to find Todoroki waiting for you, for god knows how long. As the two of you had walked towards the cafe he chose, you couldn’t help but feel that the two of you had hit it off surprisingly well. Even as you had finally reached your destination, and the two of you were sitting, waiting for your meals to come, the conversation never really stopped. He would tell you about life as a hero, why he was interested in helping others, and you told him about how you also had wanted to be a hero when you were younger, but, when you had turned the ripe old age of five, and no quirk had presented itself, you had forced yourself to figure out a more, realistic, goal. 

Your conversations had never faltered, and once it was time to say good bye, you found yourself reaching out to him once more, offering that the next time you two hang out, you’ll be the one to pay for the meal. Luckily for you, he readily agreed, offering his number before heading out. 

Who knew that such an unlucky run-in would turn out to be a blessing in disguise?

Nearly a year later, you were in a loving relationship with the handsome hero, and you couldn’t have been happier. It hadn’t been necessarily easy, as it was hard to create a schedule where the both of you could be able to see one another, with his slightly hectic schedule and your job which actually, contrary to popular belief, didn’t end when you stepped out of the office, making it difficult. However, the two of you had made it through, and now, you were celebrating your one year anniversary. 

The two of you had decided that you wouldn’t make your celebration too elaborate, as you didn’t want to be disappointed if Shouto had to deal with a villain in the middle of a fancy night out, so you told him to just leave all the planning to you. It was much more of a task than you originally thought it would be, as while you had a multitude of plans running through your mind, it was hard to settle on just one. Fortunately, when Shouto had offhandedly mentioned how stressful all the paperwork at the office was, and how all he wanted to do was down a whole bottle of wine without having to think about the consequences, it all suddenly became clear to you.

It was why you could be found, just a few hours before Shouto was supposed to come over to your apartment, that you were at a liquor store, buying anything and everything that could fit into your budget, without buying too much excess that you knew you wouldn’t drink later.

A few bottles of some fancy wine, a quick stop to pick up some cheep beer, and a hole in your wallet later, you were back at home, arranging the bottles in the most aesthetically pleasing manner. Taking out two wine glasses, you carefully positioned them in front of the bottles, though you supposed it wouldn’t matter in the long run, as you were sure that the last thing on your mind would be where the glasses would go other than near your lips. Just as you had finished setting up, you heard a knock on your door. 

Brushing yourself off, you skipped over to the door, opening it to reveal a rather worn out looking Shouto, holding a bouquet of roses in one hand, while the other was shoved into the pocket of his coat. Smiling brightly, you pointed towards the flowers.

“Are those for me?”

When he nodded and held them out for you, you took them, moving them to your face and inhaling deeply. Once you looked back at him, you could see his eyes on your figure, and you couldn’t help the heat that rose to your face. Breaking away from his gaze, you took his hand in yours, dragging him into your apartment.

“C’mon, I have a surprise for you!”

As the two of you walked into your kitchen, you could practically see the confusion radiating off of the man. If you looked close enough, you could also make out a look of concern, most likely due to the large amount of alcohol that was currently sitting on your counter. Setting the roses off to the side, you moved to grab a bottle of wine and a bottle opener.

“You said that you were feeling stressed at work, and that you just wanted to down some wine to relax,” You pulled the cork from the bottle, setting it down on the counter while pouring a glass, “Well, what better night to do that than tonight?”

It took you physically pushing the glass toward him before he actually responded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Thank you, (Y/N),” He started, still a bit unsure, “But are you sure this is what you wanted to do tonight? I can’t imagine many people who would want to do this on their anniversary.”

“As long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter what we do,” You said, as if it were the simplest answer in the world.

With one last quizzical look, he finally took a sip of the bitter beverage and sighed. You found yourself smiling as you poured one for yourself, feeling happy that you were able to get him to relax, even if just for tonight.

As the night carried on, and a couple of wine bottles were emptied, the two of you found yourselves to be a bit of a mess. Though, you were faring much better than Shouto, as you made sure to hold back, just in case anything went wrong. After the first couple of glasses, he seemed to have finally relaxed, and it was obvious that he was drunk, with the way his words slurred together, and how he could barely keep himself awake. At one point to tried to take the glass away from him, saying that it was probably time for him to sleep, only for him to snatch it away from you, mumbling something out about how he wasn’t finished yet. It was strange to see him act like that, but it would be hard to say it wasn’t a bit endearing.

Eventually, when he wasn’t able to hold his glass anymore without spilling, you pried it away from his hands, and walked back into the kitchen, setting them in the sink for you to deal with later. Walking back to the living room where the two of you had migrated, you noticed that Shouto had found himself in a face down position, with his face buried into one of your throw pillows. Huffing out a laugh, you moved to kneel beside him, running your hand through his hair, moving his bangs away from his face. At your touch, he lifted his head up slightly, looking at you through hooded eyes.

“Hey,” He whispered, as if telling you a secret in a room filled with thousands of people, “Can I tell you something?”

Raising a brow, you nodded your head. He sat up a bit, looking deadly serious. “You can’t tell (Y/N), okay?”

Feeling intrigued, and a bit concerned at the fact that he drank so much that he was unaware he was speaking with you, you nodded your head once more. “Okay, I won’t.”

He leaned in closer, his eyes slightly closed as he spoke:

“I’m not sure if I’m in love with her,”

You felt a pang in your chest, unsure of what to say. After reeling back a bit, you finally found your voice. “What do you mean?”

He tilted his head to the side, as if the weight was too much for his neck to handle. “She’s really nice, and a good person, but I don’t know if I even love her, or if—“ He cut himself off, nearly falling asleep mid sentence.

“‘If’ what?” You prodded, doing your best to hold in the tears that were threatening to fall.

He snapped back, his eyes opening blearily. “I don’t know if it’s her I love, or if it’s the idea of angering my father that I love,”

You could feel yourself start to lose control on your emotions. Perhaps it was the fact that you drank too much tonight, or the fact that the love of your life was telling you that he may only be with you so he could spite his father, you weren’t quite sure. All you knew is that you couldn’t hold back the tears as they ran down your cheeks.

“That’s cruel, Shouto.”

He sighed, resting his head down onto the pillow. “It doesn’t help that she’s quirkless,” Letting out a bitter laugh, he continued, “Everything my father would hate. It was just so easy, and now I don’t know what’s real,”

You bit your lip, desperately trying to hold in your sobs, but you couldn’t. Rubbing your eyes with your palms, you wanted nothing more than to kick him out, to let him sleep on the curb, but you knew that your heart wouldn’t allow it. As much as you detested it, how stupid you felt, you loved him. Even if he didn’t love you, you loved him too much to hurt him.

At the sound of one of your sobs, Shouto’s head snapped back up, this time, his eyes held concern. 

“(Y/N), are you okay?” He slurred out, moving to rest on his elbows.

You waved your hands in front of his face, not wanting him to look at you. 

“I’m fine,” You croaked out, putting on a bright smile, though you supposed that the tears dimmed it, “Go back to sleep, Shouto,”

As if you’d flicked a switch, his head fell back onto the pillow, and in moments, he was knocked out once again. Taking in a few shaky breaths, you stood up, moving to pick up one of your throw blankets. Draping it over his shoulders, you took one last look at his face, and you weren’t sure if you were angered or relieved by the peaceful look he had. 

Walking to your bedroom, you couldn’t feel anything but the bitter feeling in the pit of your stomach. You hated how easy it was for him to just rip apart your heart like that, how easy it was for him to tell you that you were just a pawn for him to get back at his father.

As you rested your head against your pillow, you found yourself hating your own heart as well, because even though his words had hurt, you couldn’t help but hold out for the fact that he still said he “didn’t know,” meaning that there was a possibility for him to love you.

You hated how your heart was still holding on, even while your brain was screaming at you to let him go.

[everybodyscupoftea]

the plug

college au jj x reader

word count: 3025

warnings: drinking, cursing, mentions of jj’s dad, four year age gap (20yo jj and 24yo reader)

synopsis: you’re the pogues’ alcohol plug and jj’s favorite person

a/n: this was an anonymous request, age gaps are kinda sensitive, nothing here happens until jj is almost 21 but please be careful out there folks; also i got kinda carried away 

You grew up in the Outer Banks, spent most of your time surfing or playing soccer for the local school’s team. Your house was near the Heyward’s shop, and you picked up odd jobs working Kook events all throughout your high school years. When college rolled around, you started working at the Wreck with Kie.

The Pogue and Kook rivalry never particularly interested you, it seemed frivolous, and after a brief stint on the mainland, you realized the world was so much bigger out of the scope of the Outer Banks. Your refusal to participate was what originally drew Kie to you. The two of you hung out after work on Friday nights, you had access to good weed and were willing to share. Eventually she invited you to a party her friends were throwing.

Honestly, you weren’t exactly over the moon at the idea of partying with a bunch of 17-year olds, but the idea of free beer and a night on the beach seemed promising. You figured you could say hey to Kie’s friends and slip away to walk by the ocean.

Until the afternoon of the party rolled around, and you found out that they had no alcohol. Kie scrambled to explain that the guy who normally sold them beer underage had moved and someone stricter had taken his place and refused their fakes. You sighed and stood, “How much do you need me to get?”

“Wait, what?” Kie asked, taken aback.

“Beer. You want packs or a keg?”

She blinked a few times, “We normally get a keg or two.”

“Let’s go.”

You led Kie to your car and cranked it up, immediately turning up the AC as high as it could go. She plugged her phone in to play some music as you drove to the nearest liquor store to the Boneyard.

“Stay here, I’ll be back,” you told her, and she nodded, promising to sit still. The guy inside was in fact different from the guy who used to sell to you and your friends underage, so you fished out your ID. You knew you looked pretty young for your age and had to resist rolling your eyes when he stared at it intensely for a few seconds before charging you for the keg.

When it was filled, he helped you carry it to your car and the two of you set it in the back. Kie stayed still and quiet in case he tried to card her for some reason too, but you weren’t too worried. Soon enough the two of you were back on the road, heading toward your house for a quick change of clothes.

“Can I borrow something?” Kie asked, looking a little nervous.

“For sure, Kie, take what you want.”

You were only there for about 30 minutes before leaving to get the keg to the Boneyard before party time. Kie was really excited to introduce you to her friends, they’d been hearing all about the cool college girl she’d been hanging out with in her spare time, and they were really interested to see who had her so enthralled.

Pope was the first to greet you, recognizing you from when you worked with him and his dad. He nodded at you with a small smile, and you returned it. John B shook your hand with a huge grin, babbling on about how awesome it was to have someone willing to buy them alcohol again. The last of the group, JJ, was the quiet one.

You weren’t sure what he thought of you at first, it was easy to see he was hesitant to just accept anyone, but you did buy him alcohol. He offered you a fist bump and a small smile before telling you, “Really appreciate the plug.”

“No prob, new guy was pretty suspicious, sorry for your loss.”

JJ let out a loud laugh and warmed up to you instantly. From then on, he followed you around. Whether it was hanging around the Wreck while you were working and he was free, or asking to smoke with you some weekends. Kie thought your new shadow was hilarious and she would send you videos of JJ talking about how funny you were or how pretty you were. It was…endearing.

And then you graduated college and got into grad. You wanted to finally move off the island, and with the money you’d saved up from the Wreck, you finally had enough money to rent an apartment just off Chapel Hill’s campus. The Pogues came with you to help you move all your stuff, which you were grateful for.

You let them handle pizza and went to go pick up alcohol for the group as one last hurrah before they left. John B picked through the bag you brought back with a watery smile, “Gonna suck throwing parties without our favorite plug.”

“Aren’t you dating Sarah Cameron now? Get Rafe to buy your alcohol.”

“He hates us,” JJ whined, “not everyone is cool like you.”

You pointed the bottle in your hand at him, “That’s right, don’t you ever forget.”

And then that was it. You were onto the next, without the Pogues. Or, so you thought.

You’d gotten a job at a coffeehouse just off campus while working through your grad degree. It was easy and brought in a surprising amount of tips, and the atmosphere was really chill, so you loved it. Mostly you dealt with regulars, until one morning. You had your back to the door when it opened, making another coffee, and you called over your shoulder, “Be with you in a sec.”

A familiar, slightly deeper voice, answered back, “All good.”

Whirling around, you grinned widely at the boy, “JJ! Long time no see, bud.”

His eyes widened and he laughed, “Holy shit, dude, you work here?”

“Have for the last few years. What can I get you?”

JJ smiled widely, “Actually, just got hired, I’m here for training.”

You passed the customer their coffee and wished them a good day before turning back to JJ, “Okay, go wash your hands and I’ll grab your hat.”

The rest of your shift was spent goofing off with JJ, every so often interrupted by a customer, and you showed him the ropes. He picked up on it pretty quickly, only stumbling through using the register a few times.

“What brings you here?” you finally asked.

JJ took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair a few times, “Family shit. My dad was an asshole and I wanted to get out. I started picking up extra hours at the hotel, but my dad knew where I was, so I decided to just move to the mainland and start over.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, “sorry to hear that. Everything okay now?”

He nodded, “Yeah, um, started taking a few classes at Chapel Hill, and Pope’s family is helping me keep rent until I get my feet under me.”

“That’s nice of them.”

“Yeah, I just, I needed to start over. And I saw the hiring sign on the door, so I stopped in a few days ago to apply.”

You nudged his shoulder gently, “If you need anything, gimme a call, yeah?”

JJ blushed and nudged yours back, “Yeah.”

Because of the small number of customers, most shifts at the coffeehouse were solo shifts except for opening and closing. You and JJ both had mostly afternoon classes which meant that the two of you were scheduled several times a week together opening and closing.

One night you had soft music playing while he was doing dishes and you were sweeping and mopping the dining area. JJ watched you dance around with the broom, small smile on his lips, and when you caught his eye, he looked away with a blush.

“J,” you called out, trying to catch his eye again.

He looked back, blush still present on his cheeks, “What?”

“You hungry?”

“Oh, um, yeah, I could eat.”

You motioned out the window, “That place has fire po-boys for cheap if you want to get one with me after.”

JJ stared at the lit-up restaurant across the street before shrugging, “Sounds good.”

Thursday closing shift dinner became a thing after that. One of you would call in your food and pick it up before going back to one of your apartments to eat and do homework. JJ had a quiet focus to him that you liked, it helped keep you calm while scrolling through mounds of research you needed for your final paper.

He had one afternoon shift a week, unbeknownst to you, and walked in for it one week to see you laying face down on one of the tables near the counter. JJ paused, glancing over at the guy he was replacing in confusion. Your coworker shrugged and clocked out without saying anything else.

You felt someone crouch down next to your table a few minutes later and he softly called your name. Opening your eyes felt like a chore since you’d had them squeezed closed for so long to block out the anxiety over your paper that for some reason wasn’t writing itself.

“Want some coffee?” he asked, as soon as he finally saw your eyes.

The thought of caffeine made you want to throw up, and you made a face before finally responding, “How about some tea.”

“What kind?”

“Surprise me,” you told him tiredly.

JJ squeezed your shoulder once and walked back around the counter to start making you a drink. You woke your laptop back up to see the word count of 406 staring you straight in the face, and just as you went to put your head back down, a steaming mug of tea was placed in front of you.

“That should help,” JJ told you, smiling softly.

And shockingly, it did. It was warm, and with JJ’s steady presence, you were able to knock out over 1000 words before you had to leave for your afternoon class. He called your name just as you went to push the door open and you turned around, “What?”

“Text me if you need anything else, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Unintentionally, you let JJ worm his way back into your life. One of the classes he struggled with you’d already taken so you fished out your old notes and tutored him for the rest of the semester through it. Sometimes he’d show up at your closing shifts he wasn’t scheduled on and sit at the bar doing schoolwork and distracting you. He did at least always help close which was a huge improvement from when you worked at the Wreck and he showed up to cause problems.

One night was interrupted when the door swung open five minutes from closing. You sighed, not wanting to dirty anything you’d just cleaned, and forced a customer service smile on your face. To your surprise, Kie walked through the door, beaming widely at you.

“Long time, no see!” she called out, opening her arms for a hug.

You beamed and set the rag down on the counter, wrapping her up tightly. She squeezed around your middle hard and you sighed, “Missed you, Carrera.”

“Missed you too.”

She sat next to JJ and the three of you caught up while you and your coworker finished the closing duties. You nodded at her to leave when she held up the garbage bag to let you know she was heading out after a trip to the dumpster.

Kie stood, “Okay, we have to meet up with everyone else, none of us have seen JJ’s apartment yet.”

“Hope you cleaned, JJ,” you told him, bumping your elbow into his side with a laugh before continuing, “last time I was there it was questionable.”

“It’s clean,” JJ defended himself, “you caught me on a bad day.”

“Bad month, more like,” you retorted, laughing when he flipped you off in response.

Kie watched the two of you, amused, “Wow JJ, you’ve come a long way.”

John B and Pope stepped out of the restaurant next door, hands full of food bags, before you or JJ could respond and greeted you just as eagerly as Kie had.

“Getting the gang back together,” John B cheered, lifting two of the bags in the air.

You originally had plans to drink wine and watch the new season of Stranger Things, but the prospect of seeing some of your old friends was too enticing. JJ’s eyed you as you shifted on your feet, “You sure you guys want me butting in.”

Kie rolled her eyes, “We thought you knew we were coming in. JJ said he’d tell you.”

“Hey, don’t pin this on me, I wanted it to be a surprise!” he defended.

Pope spoke in what you think was meant to be a mockery of JJ’s voice, “Don’t bother bro, I’ll just text her and let her know.”

With a laugh, John B added, “It was just like old times whenever we needed alcohol and you’d be all ‘I’m going to visit her at work today, we’ll just swing by and get some after, I’ve got this’. The nostalgia was overwhelming, J.”

JJ scowled at his friends as the teasing continued. You’d known about his crush on you back then, tried not to encourage it because you knew you were leaving and because of the underage situation, but it was funny to hear about it from the other side.

“Okay, so we headed to JJ’s place?” you finally interrupted, saving him from the merciless teasing.

“My place,” JJ confirmed and you broke apart into two separate groups, one in JJ’s car and one in yours.

Kie rode with you and took control of the music, like always. You smiled, “Really is just like old times, huh?”

A few weeks later, one of the Thursday night shifts, JJ seemed less enthused than normal. You didn’t want to pry but you were worried about him. After a few more half answers from him, you finally stopped drying the dishes, “Maybank, what’s going on?”

“My fucking-“ he trailed off for a few seconds before shaking his head and continuing, “my dad called asking for money. Apparently, he’s broke and he owes his dealer. I just can’t, god I can’t fucking escape him.”

He wasn’t crying, but you’d never seen JJ’s jaw so tense before and your heart ached for him. You dried your hands off and pulled him into a tight hug, “Your dad is a piece of shit and you deserve better.”

“Do I?” he asked, almost hysterically, while he tried to pull away.

You didn’t let him go far, “Yes, you do. You’re a good guy who deserves to be happy and successful and far away from his dad’s reach.”

“I wish I could see it like that,” he murmured, voice breaking halfway through. JJ’s whole body shuddered a few times as he fought tears harder than he ever had before. He didn’t want to break down in front of you and look like a child.

“How about you go get dinner, I’ll go buy some alcohol, and we meet at my apartment and watch movies tonight.”

JJ’s lips quirked up into the briefest smile you’d ever seen, “Stepping back into that plug role, huh?”

“Turn 21 then,” you told him, shoving him away gently.

“Two months, and then I’ll finally be able to start repaying my alcohol debts.”

“You’re going to be buying me drinks for years, J.”

He held his pinky out, looking significantly more cheered up, “I promise.”

You linked pinkies with him before pulling him into one more hug with one last thought, “You’re going to have to stick around for a while to keep that promise.”

He cleared his throat, almost nervously, and you pulled away, confused. JJ wouldn’t look you in the eye when he spoke, “Surely you knew.”

“What?” you weren’t really prepared to have the conversation that seemed to be happening.

“That I liked you, idolized you practically. You were so cool and older and you dealt with all my shit.”

“J,” you warned, not sure if you liked where it was going.

He let out a sad laugh, “Please just be honest with me, you knew right?”

With a sigh, you pulled your hat off and clutched it in your hands, “I knew.”

“Fuck,” he mumbled, hands shoved deep in his pockets. JJ looked up at the ceiling with a sharp inhale before continuing, “Fuck, I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. And then I came here and started doing it again.”

And you had to stop that train of thought right there, “Woah, wait, it doesn’t bother me, JJ, you know that right? Like I do enjoy having you around.”

Eyebrows raised, JJ finally made eye contact with you, “What?”

“Well I mean,” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure how to continue, “I guess it was a little weird when you were in high school, but it’s not so bad now.”

“What?” he repeated, faintly this time.

You rolled your eyes, “Fucking hell, JJ, really?”

He held his hands up in defense, “Hey, I was walking into this conversation ready to get rejected, let me be surprised.”

“I cannot deal with you, go buy the food, oh my god.”

JJ grinned at you cheekily, “Is this a date?”

You hated him. So much.

He grabbed your hand and squeezed, “Are you asking me out right now?”

“I’m about to rescind the offer if you don’t quit.”

“I can’t believe the day has finally come. Kie is going to flip her shit,” JJ told you, leading you out of the empty shop.

“God, what have I gotten myself into,” you muttered.

JJ stopped walking and looked at you with a soft smile, all traces of teasing gone, “Hey,” he got your attention, “thanks for everything, now and then.” Before you could answer, he continued, “Best plug I ever had.”

“God dammit, JJ!” you exclaimed and his laughter echoed down the empty street as the two of you walked to the po-boy place, hands swinging between you.

[collecting-stories]

Manslaughter - Rafe Cameron

Request: Can I request sth. for Rafe ? :) How would he and y/n reunite after years where he broke up with her, went to jail or some facility for killing Peterkin and she went on with her life ? I love your writing!

Request: Hey can i have an vvv angsty rafe x reader pls? Love ur stuff xx

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

A wealthy family, good behavior, and a renewed plea of insanity at the time of the crime all met at the crossroads of Rafe’s review trial. It was ten years after Peterkin’s death, ruled manslaughter despite him driving to the airstrip with a gun, that the review board decided Rafe could be released on house arrest. Two years he would have to spend in the house only allowed to leave for parole meetings and therapy.  

“I shouldn’t have to do some dumb therapy shit.”

“I don’t really think you’re in the position to bitch about anything Rafe.” Wheezie commented, sitting in the car with her brother. In the time that he had been behind bars she had gotten a license, graduated high school, and was in the process of getting her masters. It was because of that Wheezie asked you to stop by.  You had kept in touch with Wheezie after Rafe had been arrested, knowing how difficult it had been for her to see her brother arrested and how alienated the family became from each other afterward. You had always loved the youngest Cameron like she was your own sister and you had stayed close to her. When your daughter was born years later after you finally felt ready to let Rafe and your past go, she was the godmother. So when she asked you to come to the house you did, even if it meant walking back into those memories.  

Being back in front of Tanney Hill was like walking into a liquor store when you knew you were an alcoholic. The amount of time you had spent there during your youth was synonymous with the amount of pain it had caused you. Not the house, of course, but the boy inside. The one who was all grown up now, nearing thirty, and far removed from the person you fell in love with. Though, to be fair, he’d hadn’t been that person the last time you were behind the doors of Tanny Hill either.  

-

“Don’t move!”  

You hit the wall, hands up as you watched Shoupe push Rafe against the counter, Thomas’ gun trained on your boyfriend. Another cop kept their gun on you as you watched them handcuff Rafe, zip ties a little too tight.  

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t move.” The cop in front of you repeated Shoupe’s warning, holding her gun steady as she stared you down. You looked passed her where they were trying to lead Rafe away as he struggled, shouting about his dad and lawyers.

“Rafe!” You called his name but it was no use, he couldn’t seem to focus on anything that was happening as he fought against Shoupe, much less on you. The cop across from you held her hand out as if that was supposed to ease your nerves as she holstered her gun.  

“Miss, I need you to calm down.”

“I don’t understand, what’s happening?” Your voice sounded distant as you spoke, hysterical even.  

-

The door to the old white house opened and a dark-haired young woman stepped out, well-dressed and only half paying attention as she texted someone. A far cry from the thirteen-year-old you had once known.

“Wheezie...Louisa,” you smiled when she looked up, her own smile matching yours.  

“Thank god, you’re here. Thank you for coming.” She said, shoulders relaxing, “I just...don’t want to leave him alone.”

“I’m sure he appreciates you treating him like a baby.” You stepped inside the house after her, the entry way looking just the way it had the last time you were in the house.  

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t want him leaving the house.” She replied, “he’s in his room anyway.”

“Hope he stays there,” you mused, trading places with her as she moved to leave the house.  

“He’s been really depressed, I think,” she replied, “if it’s too much, you don’t have to stay.” She knew she was asking a lot but she didn’t know who else to ask. She didn’t speak to her mother anymore and her father had fled the OBX and America days before her 14th birthday. Sometimes Sarah stopped by but even that relationship was tense.  

“I’ll be fine Lousia, promise.”  

“Okay, I’ll text you on my way home,” she said.  

-

“He’s in his room.” Rose said, letting you into the house. She stood off to the side, barely interested in your presence and looking more annoyed than anything that she had to open the door.  

“Thanks,” you moved into the house passed her, waving to Wheezie when you spotted her in the other room. You hurried upstairs and down the hall to your boyfriend’s room, slipping inside and away from the rest of the household. Rafe’s room was like a sanctuary from the rest of his house and sometimes even from the rest of the island.  

He was still sleeping when you went in, beer bottles on the nightstand along with an ashtray, half smoked cigarettes, a bong and his lighter. You shut the door, locking it behind you and tiptoeing across the room so you wouldn’t wake him, though that was doubtful given the music coming from his stereo. If that didn’t wake, not much else could. He was stretched out almost diagonally on the bed, on his stomach, comforter twisted around his legs and pushed down to his waist. You toed off your sandals and climbed up on the bed on your knees, crawling over to your boyfriend and straddling him.  

You leaned down over him, brush hair away from his face and kissing below his ear. “Rafe, wake up.” You were supposed to be going to the island club with him and Topper and you definitely hadn’t woken up this early to sit around while your boyfriend slept.

He groaned and twisted his arm back to try and swat at you. “Go away.”

“Not a chance,” you laughed, trying to move away from his arm without getting off his back. “We have to go.”

“I’m not going,” he mumbled, pressing his face further into the bed.  

“You told Topper-”

“Fuck him,” he twisted, knocking you onto your side on the bed as he laid on his back. “Come here, I wanna sleep.”

“God, you are such a baby.” You teased, already giving in as you repositioned yourself to cuddle up beside him.  

-

You stood in the kitchen, reading through emails on your phone and fighting the urge to walk through the house. When Wheezie had let you in your first inclination had been to walk straight upstairs to Rafe’s bedroom the way you used to when you were younger.  

“God, of all the people I didn’t expect to see.” Rafe’s voice caught your attention and you looked up to find him standing in the entryway of the kitchen, sweatpants obscuring the house arrest anklet that he wore.  

“Wheezie asked me to be here.” You replied, looking away. Would she consider you still helpful if you went and sat in your car until she came home. Being here, with Rafe, was harder than you thought it would be. In the black and white world of what was good and what was bad you knew exactly how you felt. Peterkin had been more than good to your family the whole time you lived on the island and you had been horrified to discover someone had murdered her. Knowing that person was Rafe was asking you to choose who was more important.  

“That’s the only reason you’re here?” He asked, moving further into the kitchen.

You hadn’t ever let go of the feelings you had for Rafe though. He was your first boyfriend and you had weighed everyone else against him for a long time. “I’m not here for you.” You finally said.  

“What happened was a mistake,” Rafe said, “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“You know what? I would’ve loved to buy that when I was a kid but I’m not anymore, you can’t sell me an excuse.”  

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?

“I told you Rafe,” You replied, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. This was all harder than you thought it would be, “I’m here because Wheezie asked me to be. I moved on, I have a life that doesn’t include you anymore. Yeah, when we were eighteen I thought you were it but I’m almost thirty...I’m not so naive now. I’ve got a kid, I’m getting married,” you shrugged, “I would do anything for your sister, she’s like my own, but I’m not still hanging onto you.”  

“Getting married huh?” He asked, “to someone around here?”

“Yeah.”  

“Who?”  

“It’s none of your business, actually. You’re not part of my life anymore.” You said.  

He nodded slowly, trying to steady his breathing and the pounding in his chest at your words. Finally, he grabbed a water bottle from the island, “I’ll be upstairs.”

“I’m sorry, you know, that things couldn’t have been different.” You admitted as he walked away, “I loved you...I loved being here with you, if things had been different...I’d love to think that we’d be together still but, I’m happy now.”

“Good for you.”  

You listened as the door to his bedroom slammed shut and closed your eyes, fighting back tears.  

-

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