#considering meat makes me painfully sick

[ghostickle]

Fun fact ur ferritin should be 30-50

Mines 7 :)

[clementinesandwine]

Teasing Gyutaro

✧˖ ° includes~ nsfw, modern au, established relationship, soft!dom Gyutaro, sub! reader, very spicy, honorifics, lots of dirty talking, confident Gyutaro

✧˖ ° ~ you decide to tease Gyutaro in one of his sweaters and thigh highs

It had been a long day waiting for Gyutaro to come home from work. Well it wasn’t actually your shared home with him, it was his apartment, but you were over often enough to call it your home as well. You knew he secretly loved hearing you say “I’m on my way home,” or, “We’ll be at home,” when referring to his place. You knew you were always welcome, as even Daki enjoyed your presence. However, today was painfully boring and slow. Daki had been out for the day with some girlfriends, and you were invited, but you knew this would give you and Gyutaro time alone, as Daki was also sleeping out. That is, if he ever came home from work.

You kept trying to come up with something to do, but was at a loss. You’ve already picked up around the house, even deciding to do the siblings laundry out of boredom. Dinner was already done and was simple to make, considering Gyutaro could only eat raw meat. You always found a way to spice it up for him, but still, it didn’t waste nearly enough of your time as you hoped it would.

You currently lay curled on the couch in one of Gyutaro’s hoodies. The black fabric lay loosely over your body, as his stature was much larger than yours. Of course, you had the same hoodie in your size, as you bought them together at a past concert. However, you knew wearing his would bring out the side of him you desperately craved. Your patience had dwindled and you wanted to make him suffer slightly for it. To make sure you got your point across, you only had undies on underneath, paired with some white thigh highs. You knew his perverted mind would go exactly where you wanted, and you would make him wait just like he had done to you.

And there it was. The noise you waited all day to hear: the door knob turning. You eagerly get up, running to the door to greet your beloved boyfriend, excited to show off what he’s been missing out on. However, when he came into view, it was obvious he had a rough day.

“Taro!” you say excitedly, running up to him. You jump up, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I missed you all day!”

He wraps his arm around your waist, stabilizing your small frame against his body. “Oh darling, I missed you today,” he says. “Work was absolutely exhausting, I’m sick of taking care of those pigs. How was your day, pretty girl?”

He puts you down and finally gets a full view of you, immediately raising his eyebrows. Gyutaro doesn’t know what kind of game you're playing, but he likes the idea already.

“Well,” you start, batting your doe eyes up at him, “I was so bored! I cleaned, and did laundry, and made dinner, and showered all by myself today,” you say with a pout. He smirks, looking down at you.

“I’m sorry, princess. How about I make it up to you? You look so cute in my hoodie, why don’t you let me take care of you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” You say and turn around. Your back is flush against his chest, pushing your butt against him. Crossing your arms over your chest to show you are a little upset, you give him a small wiggle. He slides his hand down your tummy towards your most sensitive area. You got him.

“No, no, no,” you said, snatching his wrist. “You are punished for leaving me alone for so long,” you say confidently. Gyutaro chuckled behind you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart. Are you sure you want to continue?” He asks calmly. You start to get nervous, maybe you are going too far with this, but you can’t help yourself.

“Well, how else are you supposed to learn your lesson, hm-”

You’re cut off by his other hand grabbing your throat. “Oh my love,” he starts. “I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge here, aren’t you? What happened to my sweet girl?” You don’t respond, barely able to function with his hand on your throat. You loved when he was dominant.

“Go on, babygirl, use your words,” he says, pointy teeth just grazing your ear.

“I- I don’t know,” you say.

“Oh you don’t know? You need me to remind you that you’re just the little girl who follows my rules, hm? And to think you wore this just for me? But no, you just want to tease me after I had a hard day at work. I don’t think that's very nice, sweetheart,” he says. His hand slowly slides up your throat till his middle and ring finger sits snugly in your mouth. “I think you are gonna have to make it up to me, right? Let me use my pussy however I please?”

Gyutaro forces the hand you hold lower until he cups what's his, pulling you even tighter against his chest. “You gonna listen to me, babydoll?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble around his fingers.

“There’s my good girl. Why don’t we get these cute socks a little dirty? Get on your knees for me,” Gyutaro demands.

You are in no place to resist, as you want him to be as lenient as possible when it comes to you. And at the end of the day, this is what you wanted right? To be used by your sweet boyfriend? To push his buttons?

You slowly sink to your knees and turn to face him, reaching up to unclip his belt and pull down his pants. You still have not gotten used to the sheer size of his cock and your lips part slightly when it is finally released, a bead of precum gathered at the tip. You wrap your hand around his length and look up, slowly kissing the birthmarks along his length until you wrap your lips around the tip. He doesn’t give you a moment before forming a ponytail with his hands and shoving your head down until your nose meets his pelvis. Your hands fly to his thighs, slightly pushing against him as you start to gag on his length, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“That’s it, baby, your mouth feels so good around my cock,” Gyutaro says, his head thrown back. You are unable to compose yourself, as he begins to bob your head up and down his length until you become a drooling mess. The way he is using your throat sends heat down to your core and you can’t help but moan round him, which only causes Gyutaro to fuck your face harder.

Gyutaro pulls your head back by your hair, forcing you to look up at him. He can’t help but admire how you look right now, tears streaming lightly down your face, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. And all for him. He knows you love when he dominates you and that you probably did this on purpose, but that doesn’t mean he is gonna let it go that easy. Gyutaro pulls you up by your hair to face him.

“I need you to go to the bedroom and wait for me there. Leave all this on,” he tells you. You nod, but that isn’t enough for him. “What did I say about words, baby?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry,” you say, genuinely nervous and excited for what was to come. You adored Gyutaro and thought he was handsome every second of the day, but when he forced you into submission, it was another story. You run off into the bedroom, practically jumping into the bed where you wait for him, sitting on your feet and hands face up on your thighs.

He comes in a few moments later, with only his pants back on. His lack of a shirt caused you to squeeze your thighs together slightly, trying to gain some friction. There were two ways this could go, being edging or overstimulation. You hoped he would let you finish at all tonight. Walking up to you, Gyutaro slowly slid his hand up your thigh, squeezing where the top of the sock met your skin, and gliding under the sweater. Underneath, he notices the green, lace undies. His absolute favorite, as they remind him that you are his.

“This is what you were hiding from me?” He asks, finger already circling your clit. He can feel how wet you are through your panties, but all you do is suck in your bottom lip. Gyutaro’s other hand comes up and squeezes your cheeks before roughly slamming his lips against yours, practically pushing you backwards. Your hands go up to touch his face and he immediately pulls away.

“No touching,” he says. “Lay down and spread your legs.”

“Gyutaro, please, I’m sorry I-”

“Did I say you could speak?” He asks. “Lay down and spread your legs now.”

You do as you’re told without another word, placing your hands above your head. He comes up to kiss you, gliding his fingers back towards your undies and slowly pushing them to the side, using his thumb to rub slow circles on your clit. You can’t help but whine and push your hips up towards his hand.

“What is it, baby? You are so needy, hm? You just needed me to come home and remind you of what a slut you are? Go on, tell me,” Gyutaro says with a smirk, as he pushes two fingers into you without warning. You throw your head back and make a move to touch him, but leave your hands slightly raised, as you remember what he said.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes what?” he teases, curling his fingers inside to hit that one spongy spot while still rubbing your clit. Your moans are music to his ears, but he wants to hear you.

“Yes, I wanted you to make me your slut. I thought about it all d-day while you… you were gone. I just needed yo-you,” you say, unable to stabilize your voice. You’re practically bucking into his hand, the cord in your abdomen being wound up tighter and tighter, almost about to snap. “Oh fuck, Gyu, I.. I’m gonna cum.”

He stops moving his hand and touches your cheek. “Don’t you dare,” he says. “The only way you’re cumming is on my cock, do you understand? And you’re gonna cum until I’m satisfied,” Gyutaro says, slowly starting to move his fingers. He continues to edge you for what seems like an hour, hand wrapped around your throat, slapping your thigh every time you attempt to close your legs. You are a whining, begging mess.

“Please, Gyu,” you sob out. “Please fuck me. I need your cock, I need you to use me for your own pleasure. I-I just want to be good for you please.”

There are tears running down your face and Gyutaro thinks he has made you suffer enough. He finally pulls your panties down, tossing them to the side before doing the same with his own clothes. He lines himself up with your entrance, watching as your pussy flutters around nothing, and again gives no warning before fully pressing himself into you. You scream out and reach for him again, this time successfully doing so.

Gyutaro wastes no time and sets an ungodly pace, pulling an orgasm from you right away. Your head is spinning, unable to form a full sentence at once. “Brats don’t get warnings,” he says simply, rutting into you.

Your hair sticks to your wet cheeks as a white rim forms around Gyutaro’s cock; you can feel the sheets beneath you begin to dampen. You can’t control your moans, especially when his fingers find your clit, causing you to crash again.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, you-you’re so big,” you stutter out. “Please don’t stop.” Gyutaro’s other hand finds its place at your throat as you try to tell him how good he feels inside you. You aren’t sure how long you’ll last like this, eyes rolling backwards.

“Keep those fucking eyes on me,” he grunts out. “Don’t you stop looking at me. I’m gonna need you to think again before you try and tell me I can’t have what's mine. Because this pussy?” Gyutaro leans down close and whispers, “I own this pussy. And you are gonna be a good, little slut and take what I give you, isn’t that right?”

He is practically slamming into you, his balls slapping against you with every thrust. “I’m sorr-sorry,” you wail out. “I’ll be good, feels so good, oh fuck, thank you,” you mumble out.

“You know you wanted this, sweetheart. You wanted me to come home and use you, wanted me to wreck this pretty cunt, hm? Want me to cum inside and leave it a dripping mess, yeah?” Gyutaro is losing his control now, hips stuttering when you clench around him, another orgasm flowing from you. God you look stunning like this, legs wrapped around his waist, fucked out expression. He wishes he caught you in his clothing every day, loved putting you in your place if you tried acting out.

He watches as you grasp at the sheets or claw at his back, trying anything to control yourself just the slightest. But his cock is buried so deep, kissing your cervix with each thrust, you can barely form a coherent sentence.

“Gyu.. can’t,” you say, shaking your head. Tears are streaming full force now and he reaches up to wipe them. “Can’t cum,” you spill out.

“Shh, shhh. Yes you can, baby. You’re a good girl, I know you can give me one more, can’t you? The way you’re squeezing me, I’m not gonna last much longer,” he says.

You nod slightly, you knew you could handle what he was giving and also wanted to make him proud. His pace increases as he chases his own high, never taking his eyes off you. You, of course, are his precious darling, and he wants to make sure you are alright at the same time. Your blissed out face is telling him there's nothing to worry about. Gyutaro sits up and pushes your knees to your chest, making your eyes shoot open. An “Oh fuck,” is all you can manage to get out, and Gyutaro chuckles.

“Go on baby, cum for me. Cum all over my cock,” he demands, sending you over the edge. He watches you fall apart beneath him, legs trembling due to the position and intensity of this orgasm and he finishes soon after. One final thrust has him spilling inside you, filling you to the point of it dripping out.

Gyutaro stays inside you, slowly kissing your exhausted face. “Such a good girl,” he mumbles against your skin. You whine slightly, as he pulls you close, thankful that you decided to wear his hoodie today.

[kyberphilosopher]

Smile

Word Count: 3467 Requested: yes. Based off ‘505′ Warnings: strong hints to sexual disposition. Spoilers if you squint.

“I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck... I did last time I checked.” -Arctic Monkeys, ‘505′.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

With hoarse breath and unwavering eyes, you look up to the stars as you speak. “So, you’re really going to do it then?”

“I have to,” you hear him say. His voice has gotten far more mature and calm since the first time you’d heard him speak. Still angry and determined, but in an intelligent, adult way. Eren is a more capable person now. The only thing left to do is wait and see if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing. 

“What do you think are the chances of winning?” you question. A shooting star whizzes across the sky at that very moment, and it’s gone before you can think of a wish. 

You turn around to face him, but his eyes are already on you. Once upon a time, Eren’s eyes were emerald and teal and deep. Now they’re paler. They are cold and steady as a byproduct of who he’s become. It’s hard not to wonder what he’s thinking about when he looks at you like this, especially since he’s become harder to read over the years.

At first, Eren was one of the most insufferable people you’d ever met. He acted out so often, it was hard to see him as another person of intelligent life. You mostly just minded your business through your cadet years, usually hanging around Reiner, who was also difficult to see as intelligent life. Sometimes you and Eren would argue, but it was never passionate. You just had different world views. 

Things got better when you found out what Eren really was. Since you hadn’t made top ten, you could only choose between the Garrison Regiment, or the Scout Regiment. And with Eren’s newly discovered power showing the promise of hope, you decided on the Scouts. He liked that. 

After that, it was hard not to mature at the same time as he. Eren often blamed himself for the death and carnage that surrounded the regiment. You were solely responsible for the passing of your best friend. And after everything that happened with the government, almost dying at Shiganshina- you knew you couldn’t stand this much longer. With your relationship with Eren still budding in its early and steamy stages, he was the only one you told of your desertion. You abandoned the corps, finding a small, abandoned farm within wall Maria to hide out in. 

Eren was too tired and sick of everything to think you were being cowardly. He wanted to leave too. Maybe come with you. But Eren had plans in the works that he couldn’t leave alone. He visited you less and less. Luckily you never made a fuss. 

And now Eren wants to end the world, to save the world. How does he expect you to react to this?

“I just thought I should see you,” Eren replies. You know he’s deflecting your question. You’re not stupid. 

You nod slowly, blinking as you think. “Am I going to die?”

Your companion crosses his arms calmly. “Yes,” he tells you. 

There it is. 

“You know I can’t support you in this, right?” you tell Eren, equally as calm. 

He only replies after a moment, also in deep thought. “I know.”

You look back up to the sky, sighing out through your nose. “Why did you come, Eren? Did you want me to tell you that I think you’re doing the right thing? Or was it because you need to let out some anger? I wonder.”

“I did want to see you.”

“Do you still?”

Silence. 

“Yes.”

“And I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“No.”

The stars are glittering with pastel hues, like a rainbow, or kaleidoscope. Each one is a different size, bordering on different shapes, all fusing and melting together like your idea of heaven. You can barely even see the midnight color of the sky through all them. It is beautiful, but it’s also bitter. Everything is bitter, here. 

“I didn’t make myself any dinner yet,” you say. “Couldn’t think of anything.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

When she was alive, Eren’s mother would make a soup for the family. It was creamy, hot, filled with meat and cheese at the bottom. Eren never liked soup, but he did love that dish. She was always sure to make extra for him, so that he could enjoy it for several days. And although it wasn’t until after she was gone that Eren realized he rarely ever thanked her for it, it was still one of the warmest memories Eren had. 

He fills your wooden bowl with it, being awfully generous. He knows that even though you haven’t eaten much in the last few years, you too had grown fond of the soup. He knows no matter how slowly you force it down, you are enjoying it. It burns the roof of your mouth every time, but you’ve never cared. All that matters is the creamy sauce, and the cow cooked to perfection. 

You stare at the fireplace beside you, flames cackling and licking upward. Eren sets the bowl in front of you, and takes the seat on the other side. You know he sets his long hair behind his shoulders. You’re already prepared. From your pocket, you produce a stretchy brown hair tie on the verge of snapping, handing it to him. 

“Thanks,” he says, even though this routine has happened however many times he’s seen you. 

“You’re welcome.”

The soup is as amazing as usual. You’re willing to bet Eren makes it even better than his mother did, but you dare not say it aloud. It’s creamy, perfectly seasoned. It goes down your throat, still steaming. 

“Does Mikasa know about this?” you question, taking one more delicious bite. 

“No. None of them do,” Eren answers. “Armin will figure it out soon.”

“You want me to kill ‘em?”

Eren shakes his head. To a lot of people, this would be taken as a joke. But this is nowhere near it. Your tone is too casual, too low for it to be humor of any kind. And the way the man across from you reacts- he’s thinking the same thing. 

“No.”

“How are they, then?”

Eren thinks as he takes another bite, the warmth creeping up his chest sweetly. “They’re alright for now. I don’t know for how much longer. I can’t see everything.”

“Can you see who’s next?”

He squints at his bowl as if he were angry, but his eyebrows barely move. “Sasha.” 

Sasha. She was always a good presence to have around. While she seemed like the type of person who would annoy you, it was hard to hate her. And you admired her keen intuition anyway. 

“Will you give her something for me?”

Eren nods. Then you both go back to eating for a few seconds, basking in the orange glow from the flames. 

“How are things here?” he questions after a minute. 

“The same,” you tell him. “I think the cow might die soon.”

Some people might reply with condolences, or sympathy. But your lover does not, and you do not expect him to. “I’ll get you a new one,” he says flatly, almost like a promise. You nod once.

Despite the atmosphere which can only be described as bitter, you’re glad to see Eren again. You’re glad that he’s alive, and as alright as he can be. The bed is always colder without him, heated up only by your lingering fingers that you pretend are his every other night. Whenever he leaves an article of clothing behind, usually on purpose, you hold off on washing it so it can smell like him for you as long as possible. Then there are the hair ties you keep either in your pocket or on your wrist, specifically for him. The razors in your cabinet he often didn’t even bother using. 

Even with the sullen demeanor that had managed to overtake both of you, there was at least one thing you cared about in the world still. Maybe it wasn’t the most conventional kind of caring, or the healthiest coping mechanism. But it was still caring. And all that you cared about was him. 

You knew you weren’t Eren’s first priority. You were probably second, or third. It didn’t bother you. Eren’s head was one of the first things lost when the truth was presented to him. It came back coldly and sternly, in contrast to how previously hot and impatient it had been. But by then your head had also grown colder and sterner. In simpler terms, Eren did care for you. He did love you. But he would consider letting you die if it meant achieving what he set out to do, and you knew this. 

Across the table, Eren lifts his head to look up at you as he chews slowly. The burning meal slides down his throat easily, albeit painfully. It doesn’t even register with him, his piercing eyes slowly gaining a glint from the fire light. 

You meet his eyes after a few seconds, feeling them on you. You don’t say a word, don’t even give a questioning look. You just hold him patiently, which is something the two of you find yourself doing often. 

“You can’t stop it,” Eren speaks, looking you dead in the eyes with a steady gaze. There is love behind his eyes, far behind the anger, but you can tell from the tone of voice he is trying to tell you something as if it were an order. Your lips part slightly from the intensity radiating from your lover, who doesn’t move a muscle. “You’ll be free soon.” 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Dinner ends. Eren helps clean up the dishes for you and goes to get water from your well so you can clean easier. You already know from the way his thumb brushed against your own when you took the bowls that you’ll likely be bent over the sink in a few minutes, which you don’t mind, but you wonder if he’ll be willing to be softer than usual as an apology for what he’d said earlier. 

He’d meant to scare you. You’re intelligent enough to figure that out. Even though you don’t scare easy, and you didn’t even give an extreme reaction, the look in Eren’s eyes had made your heart drop to your stomach. Sometimes you forget that Eren sees everything. Then he says something like that to remind you in the most memorable way. 

The wooden door opens and closes behind you. Boots scuff the ground for a few seconds, drawing closer and closer as something in you sparks with anticipation, as it always does. A pail of water hits the surface beside you, partially sloshing over the sides, shining silver in the moonlight from the tall window in front of you. Finally, ultra hot hands slide around your waist and push gently but tightly against where your ribs diverge. 

A jaw leans down on your right shoulder, chin poking against your collarbone. Locks of hair brush against your own, just as the hand on the left runs across your side to finally put a small band in your pocket. 

“I did miss you,” Eren’s low voice seemingly growls, his chest rumbling softly against your back. 

“I was thinking about you,” you admit with monotone, knowing your lover can read through it like as easily as a knife slices through skin. 

“I hope I didn’t worry you,” he says, though you can also read through his own tone. He probably didn’t care about worrying you. He definitely doesn’t still. 

“You didn’t.”

You place a both bowls in the sink, running your fingers over the dirty spoons. Eren’s orbs follow your movement. You can feel his chin change positions ever so slightly in the coming seconds. 

“Can you pass me the rag?” you ask, eyes focused on a piece of food on the spoon that doesn’t even exist. 

In response, Eren doesn’t pass you anything. Only his right hand gives you any kind of acknowledgement, passing from on your ribs to down lower. His fingertips skin over the erogenous zone under the waistband of your undergarments. 

“I worried about you,” Eren murmurs boldly. The hot fingertips pass under the cloth finally, pricks of stubble on his jaw scratching your neck and shoulder as he shifts. “I wanted you to be okay.” His left hand raises to grasp the breast above it. Slowly at first, then firmly, like a warning. Everything is a warning with him. 

Your head lulls back uncontrollably. The back of your hair matts up as it rolls against his own shoulder. 

“I said you worried me,” your partner grumbles. “Did you hear me?”

“No,” you lie lowly, refusing to let your voice shake despite the shiver in your throat. 

“Mm,” Eren hums in condescending understanding. A force presses against your core, which has turned burning hot and ice cold at the same time. The force pulls away, a string of something smooth and slimy following it that makes a sound draw from your lips. It’s high pitched, weak, and unstoppable. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so associated with Eren. 

His hand gives your breast a firm squeeze, soreness blossoming from the center. Your back arches quickly and returns lax against him, though now something pokes against your bottom that makes your eyes pop open with a new alertness. Eren’s hand gives you no time again. From your chest, it flies to your throat, holding it back with soft strictness as the other finally dips into the hot pool between your hips. 

“I worried about you.”

A strangled groan releases from between your lips again, this time fully carried up through the air. To Eren, it must sound like nothing more than music, or background noise. 

Thick cylinders pump inside you to the knuckle. They feel better than your own. They always have. 

It feels good. Full. Tight and fast and like the inside of you is quivering under the weight of something that you can’t see or hear. Eren is like a blanket supporting you from falling over, keeping you upright with his grip and his fingers buried inside of you. Prodding every angle, every spot. Not necessarily romantically, but still lovingly. He has always had this goal during intimacy. Nothing matters but communicating to you just how close he wants to be. 

“Eren,” you choke, a dribble of spit sliding from the corner of your lips. 

“Again,” he hisses in response. His fingers hit a tight spot, making every muscle in your body clench at the same time. 

You don’t say another word, your mouth hanging partially open as you focus on everything around you. And it’s all Eren Jaeger. His smell, his growls, his voice, his breathing, his chest, his muscles, his hair, his anger, his bitterness, his intelligence, his determination. It’s overwhelming. It reminds you of getting swept in one of those waves at the ocean he described to you. He’s yours. No- more likely, you’re his. End of story. 

“I said again.”

“Eren,” you moan.  

His head nuzzles into your neck comfortingly, his fingers pushing faster and harder. You can feel how warm you are, never mind how slick. And the way your own body holds around his digits every time he pulls away is enough to make you all the more warm and slick. 

But then...

What is he doing?

He had said “you’ll be free soon”. And yet, here he is, gripping you tightly as he forces you into the corner of submitting. And yes, it is hot. It arouses you as it always has. But something about it makes your stomach turn into a knot of unpleasantness, in contrast to the other one of liquid pleasure. 

“Eren,” you strain, squirming against him. 

Eren speeds up again. A grunt falls from his own mouth from his own power, and you know he’s getting off almost as much as you are. It doesn’t stop feeling good. Feeling euphoric. 

It’s getting rougher. Rougher and harder and faster, more intense. 

“Eren.”

Another gruff moan from him. 

“Eren! Stop! Stop!”

Eren’s palm softens away at once. It lifts away, his eyes opening and his hand stilling inside of you. He watches you shake as you gaze up to the ceiling, wide eyed. Your thighs sputter, entire body twitching. You didn’t cum. 

His eyes trail over you. You’ve worked up a steady sweat glistening and glowing, shivering and shaking and quaking because of him in the best way. You’re his. His partner, his friend, his ally he knows for a fact he can rely on.

“C-can we... Eren...” 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Drips of water dribbling down Eren’s temple. One of your hands are threaded in his brunette locks, holding them back so you can have an uninterrupted view. The other hand is dabbing cloth against his forehead and hairline, bathing him softly. 

He’d gone a while without bathing again. You could tell. Eren’s eyes are glued to yours, deep teal memorizing all the flecks in your own as if he hadn’t a million times over. 

Eren loves you. Dearly. He’d travel all seven hours and forty five minutes just to tell you that. He doesn’t know what made you stop earlier. He doesn’t ask. But he’s not mad. Overall, Eren understands that it doesn’t matter what you asked to stop for. You give the word, he obeys. Not because he has to, but because he loves you. 

Still, he knows something is wrong. You don’t show it. You’re steady, calm, mature, apathetic as always. But in the pit of Eren’s stomach, something brews. A warm, strange feeling of intuition and omniscience. 

“You look very pretty today,” Eren ventures, wondering only of your response. “Did I tell you that?”

Your eyes squint. “Thank you,” you reply back. 

The cloth continues to rub against his skin, cleaning something that probably doesn’t even exist. Dirt, maybe. Eren’s stopped taking care of his skin in the past few years. 

“You’re welcome.”

Your eyes squint again. This time, they gloss over with sharp wetness like glass. The eyebrows crease like a break, your bottom lip trembling as you suck it between your teeth. 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. But your lover wasn’t expecting this. 

Eren hates when you cry. He can remember the first time he’d seen it, but not the most recent. You didn’t cry often- you were strong. Crying over something as useless and flimsy as emotions didn’t seem worth it. So what was this for? What were you about to make Eren break down inside over?

Your hand falls limply from his forehead. Shoulders hunch over in defeat, staring down at the floor as your hair covers over your face. And then the sniffles come, choked out coughs like sobs. 

Eren can see the lightest of bruises he’d left on you from earlier, but you’d never had a problem with it before. No, it was something else. But what?

Silent, your teeth grit together as you wince, tears streaming down your face inexplicably. 

“Earlier w-when you,” you gulp, snot beginning to form, “when you- I did worry a-about you. I- I don’t know why I didn’t...”

You stumble forward. Eren stands from your bath tub to catch you as you slump against him tiredly. 

“I hate it when you go.”

Eren switches positions with you, pushing you down to sit on the edge of the tub. He takes the wet rag from your hand and holds your shoulder back so he can have a good look at you. Then the cloth dabs against your own forehead, just as you had done to him. 

“I hate it here,” you sigh, a single tear drop blurring your vision as it falls finally. 

Your lover moves the cloth from your head to your cheeks, smearing the wetness into your skin and away. They moisten and dry, your eyes red and shiny. Eren tilts your head up under your jaw, creasing his brows and using the towel to clean closer to your eyes. 

“If it helps,” he says, looking straight into your eyes, “you’re crying, but I still think you look pretty.”

You’d be lying if you said that didn’t help even a little, because you love him. 

A soft smile creeps to your lips, your hands dropping in between your thighs. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

No I didn’t reread this lmfao enjoy. Hope I did you justice anon

[bcdwhcre]

“Territory,” Levi x Reader

Summary: Levi overhears the cadets confessing their feelings for you so he decides to show them that you’re his.

Warnings: ⚠️ smut zoneeee ⚠️

Levi x Fem!Reader

This was requested btwwww

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It was the weekend, meaning the scouts were off of work until another expedition comes along so you had decided to stay inside the kitchen, teaching yourself how to bake simple desserts like cookies or brownies to occupy your mind.

The hobby had suited you, made you forget about the overbearing stress you would deal with during the week of training or going outside the walls which was always a overwhelming time.

Most of the guys sat inside the mess hall, sitting down and playing random games while talking to each other about probably the most random stuff, anything that came to their mind.

You had walked out of the kitchen, being nice enough to set the cookies down on the table to have them do a taste test for you, considering Levi probably wouldn’t.

“I hope this recipe turned out a little better than the last.” You laughed at the memory of last week trying to bake and the boys cringed at how hard it was to chew.

Eren was the first one to quickly reach over and eat it before the rest of them followed, their eyes lighting up and all of them looking up at you in awe.

“These are so much better.” Eren hummed to himself, grabbing another one and you rolled your eyes, keeping the plate there.

“Thank you for being my taste testers. I’ll give you some brownies later.” You smiled, turning back and going inside the kitchen to somewhat clean up the mess you made.

After you left, the boys all looked at each other while eating the cookies. They stayed quiet until you were gone out of sight and Jean was the first one to speak up about his big crush on you.

“I doubt you’ll have a chance, Jean. She’ll probably be better off with someone like me.” Eren was being cocky, nudging Jean’s side with his elbow and he gave him a dirty look.

“I don’t think she would want a Titan shifter.” He scoffed under his breath and Eren had shoved his friend playfully.

“Do we all have a crush on her?” Armin spoke, his cheeks turning a light shade of red and everyone looked at each other.

All of them nodded their heads then quickly went into a discussion on who you would like better, who you would have a better chance being with but little did they know you had a secret little fling going on with your Captain behind closed doors. The secret being Levi’s idea because he didn’t want to cause any issues.

Levi had actually heard the argument from down the hall as he walked down to go do some work but once he heard your name get brought up, he froze in his spot, listening to the boys argue about their crush on you and continue talking about which guy had a better chance.

A sense of jealousy had washed over him, hearing them all talk about you without you being there also made him a bit angry. He finally got sick of listening to them bicker and walked into the room, all boys freezing and looking at Levi’s cold stare.

“All of you, outside. I don’t want to see you back in here until I say you’re done training.” He ordered them, watching them all scatter without a second thought and rush outside.

He moved his hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose and looked down at the plate of cookies that he knew you made. He decided to move his feet towards the kitchen, opening the door up and seeing you near the sink.

“When you’re done, can you come to my office.” He asked, making you turn to meet his gaze and you simply nodded.

“For what?” You turned off the sink, drying off your hands and walked to where he stood by the door.

“Just need some help with something.” He mumbled, tilting your chin up and stared down at you, a evil little plan popping right inside his head as he tried to hide the smirk.

Your stomach had twisted into knots at how serious he looked, you couldn’t help but overthink about what he needed help with as you followed close behind him down the hallway until you both entered his office.

He closed the door behind you, being swift with locking it and went over to the window to see the guys outside training like he wanted them too, hearing their whines and complaints about doing so.

“What is it? Should I be worried?” You spoke first as he stayed silent, your body standing right behind his and placed your hand on his bicep.

“I missed you is all.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, his eyes moving down to meet yours and he lifted his hand up to caress your cheek, the soft contact made you melt right under his finger tips instantly.

“That’s all?” You teased, watching a small smile come across his lips and he shook his head.

“I don’t think you understand, I really missed you.” He said in a much lower tone, his hand sliding back to tangle in your hair and pulled your face closer to his.

Levi’s lips just barely brushed over yours, the dots now connecting in your head and you knew what he wanted and it made your heart pound inside your chest, you were sure he could hear how loud it was.

You were the one to close the gap, pressing your lips on his and he instantly backed you up until you were sitting on the edge of his desk, settling between your legs while his lips molded with yours.

The guys making noises outside the window had completely slipped your mind, it’s not like they could see you through the curtains and the thought of having to be more quiet than usual made you even more excited.

Levi had tugged on your hair, slipping his tongue in your mouth all while thinking about the small plan that had popped inside his head. He didn’t want to really out the secret hook ups you two were having the last few months but the way they had talked about you like you were a piece of meat, he was positive he wanted to show them who really owns you.

He wanted them to hear you moan his name and show them who really makes you feel good at the end of the day. Fuck the secrets, fuck everything. He’s just being the overpossesive jealous boyfriend that will make sure people know you’re off the market.

He wasn’t going to take it easy on you, of course he was going to pleasure you but he was going to make sure to over pleasure you to the point where your sounds will echo throughout this whole base. He was sure of it.

His hands had slipped down to your shirt, unbuttoning the plain white top and pushing it off your shoulders, throwing it to the ground while latching his teeth onto your bottom lip, pulling it back and letting it go as his eyes met yours.

He started to plant kisses down to your chest, his eyes burning into yours while his large hands slipped around and unclipped the bra you were wearing, watching it slide down your arms and onto the floor beneath your feet.

The butterflies swarming your stomach made you almost want to pass out, the way his eyes stared into yours, the intense yet satisfying eye contact he kept while his lips peppered kisses on your bare skin.

Soon he grew impatient with the tint underneath his tight pants only getting bigger as the material got tighter. He groaned, the sight of you instantly turned him on more than you could know and that was his weakness- he couldn’t control himself when he was around you.

He was addicted, he couldn’t get enough as he quickly tore off the rest of your clothing including his and his lips were back on yours in a much more heated kiss, not hesitating to slip his hand up between your legs, brushing his fingertips along your thigh, practically dancing on your skin before he had dipped his fingers to collect the wetness that pooled between your legs.

He knew he had a strong effect on you, it was proven every time he touched you and your cheeks started to grow hot while his fingertips slipped and rubbed between your folds, a soft hum leaving your lips and being muffled against his mouth which only caused him to further his actions.

A finger slid inside of you painfully slow, feeling the warmth and brushing it against your walls that almost made your back arch as your hand reached down to grip onto his wrist, feeling his smirk against your lips as his tongue swirled inside your mouth, the patience he had today to make you unravel multiple times, he wanted you completely weak.

A second finger slid in, continuing his slow pace and hearing the whine linger off your tongue made him pull back to keep his eyes on you, his hair hanging over his face and the smirk never leaving as his tongue ran over his lips, almost mesmerized over you.

“Don’t hold back, I want to hear those pretty moans.” His free hand grabbed a hold of your chin, brushing his thumb along your jawline and started to move his fingers at a much better pace.

It had made your toes curl, your fingernails digging into his wrist and your lips parting open at the pleasure as you let a soft moan slip out of your mouth, your surroundings being thrown out of your brain as the only thing you saw was Levi over you.

He could hear the cadets outside, the evil smile on his face only getting wider as he kept finger fucking you into oblivion, his fingers working wonders between your legs to the point where your head had fell back and multiple profanities had left your lips, making him instantly pepper kisses on your throat.

All you saw was stars as your vision began to blur, the knot building up in the pit of your stomach had made your legs tremble and deep inside your head you had felt embarassed at how fast his fingers could make you cum all over them, he knew your body from head to toe and what could destroy you and make you unravel in minutes.

The entire encounter had lasted for almost an hour, the way Levi had made you cum around his fingers and then around his length while he was deep inside of you.

The boys stood outside, training until they had heard muffling noises near the window. Eren didn’t want to be nosey considering they knew that was Levi’s office window but soon your moans had became loud enough for all of the color to drain from their faces.

The way you continuously moaned Levi’s name, the way he had you almost screaming while on the brick of an orgasm, they grew quiet, their cheeks flushing deep red and that’s when they knew to stop speaking about you.

They knew better to get involved with you or even continue their desperate crush, they knew that they didn’t stand a chance now. You were Levi’s and it was as clear as day.

The embarrassment and the humiliation had spilled over their minds for a long time after that. Now when they look at your face or talk to you, all they can remember is the endless sounds of you saying Levi’s name.

It was traumatizing almost. Not even bothering to look their Captain in the eyes for the first few days, feeling as if they even looked your way that they would be outside doing exercises until their collapse.

Levi had chuckled at the reactions, it was exactly what he wanted. He wanted their eyes to stare at the love bites he left on your neck, he wanted to remember your voice saying his name, it made his ego that much more bigger.

Now he knew they learned their lesson when it comes to what’s his.

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I didn’t really want to go into farrrrr detail with smut. I didn’t want to leave you guys hanging bc idk how much I’ll be able to post over the weekend🤧 quite a busy weekend for meeee.

• Main Masterlist •

• AOT Masterlist •

[ackletze]

Mass Hysteria

Fandom: Pikmin

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Louie & Olimar

Warnings: Mentions of violence, sickness including vomit, and mental illness

Ao3 Link: Here  

The Waterwraith’s carcass hadn’t resembled meat so much as plain water, but Louie didn’t let that stop him from getting a hearty sample of it while Olimar wasn’t looking. The captain had found Louie’s logs- that, or the treacherous ship had tattled on him- and Louie wasn’t looking for another lecture about the dangers of eating unknown creatures. Louie had eaten far stranger things with his grandmother back on Hocotate than some lumpy water afterall, so he wasn’t worried. And if Louie wasn’t worried, then there was no need for Olimar to be, either.

Still, Louie did his best to hide from the captain as he snuck into the kitchen later that night when the ship was back in orbit, clutching the bottle that held the remains in his hands. There was still the matter of how to prepare it to consider. He couldn’t exactly cook the liquid, and Louie was hesitant to go straight to boiling it. So Louie settled on drinking it raw, at least at first. Louie pulled out his notes, ready to jot down his first impressions and uncapped the bottle. Inside, the liquid shimmered, and for a second Louie just stared at it, transfixed as the light played a trick and the liquid inside seemed to move ever so slightly on its own. Before Louie could think too much about it, though, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a swig.

The moment the liquid got down Louie’s throat it was making its way back up again, and even in the cramped kitchen he barely got to the sink before he was retching it back up. Louie gripped the edge of the counter with one hand to hold himself up, while the other hand desperately clutched at his stomach. This was bad, he realized, as he studied the spit up liquid. Even among the rest of the vomit the shimmering liquid stood out, yet that couldn’t be all of it. Something was still inside of him, burrowing deeper and deeper into his stomach. Louie could feel it moving inside of him, and a panic worse than anything he could remember took hold of Louie. He had to get it out and he had to do it now.

“Louie, do you require medical assistance?” The ship asked, its voice causing Louie to jump so hard he almost fell to the floor.

Louie ignored it in favor of reaching for the drawers beside the sink, mind racing to remember which one had the knives in it. He had to hurry, he had to hurry, he had to- Finally he opened the right drawer and saw the familiar shine of metal. Distantly, Louie heard the ship’s mechanical voice from somewhere else in the ship, sounding nearly as panicked as Louie felt, but Louie couldn't afford to pay any attention to that now. He had to focus on where to cut, on where the liquid could be inside of him now. His stomach was still clenching and unclenching itself, but there was also a sharper pain further back, closer to his spine, and Louie resolved to cut there first.

He brought the knife up, only to almost drop the thing in shock as painfully cold water sprayed down on him from the ship’s sprinkler system. Louie’s shaking legs gave out under the downpour, and Louie fell back as he squinted up at the sprinklers. His breathing was only getting more and more shallow. Was there a fire somewhere on board, too, now?

“Louie! What are you doing?” Olimar called and within seconds he was in the kitchen, too. The water had stopped at least, but before Louies could make heads or tails of that, Olimar was beside him trying to wrench the knife out of Louie’s hand.

“No!” Louie yelled, finally letting go of his stomach in order to desperately shove away at Olimar. The lack of pressure only made the pain worse, but Louie was more focused on the man in front of him. He’d been hiding from Olimar, Louie remembered, but in his panic he couldn’t remember why. Was he in trouble? In danger?

“Give me it!” Olimar yelled. Louie held on for dear life, but Olimar had the better leverage and managed to get both of his hands on the handle, finally snatching it away from Louie. Louie felt even worse when he realized that Olimar was now standing over him with a knife.

“What is going on?” Olimar asked, quieter this time, but that did little to make Louie feel any better. “What did you-”

Before Olimar could finish, Louie was running, his shaking legs barely able to hold him as he dashed past Olimar and into the ship’s hallway and toward the ship’s hatch, his mind struggling to keep up with what was happening as he did his best to ignore the only worsening pain in his stomach. What had he done? Olimar seemed really upset for some reason, but Louie couldn’t remember why.

Louie reached the hatch and slammed his hand against the button to open it, but nothing happened, even as he hit it again and again. Louie tried to think back to what had happened that day. They had- They had fought the Waterwraith, Louie remembered. It hadn’t gone great, but that was hardly Louie’s fault. Besides, he’d messed up a lot things worse than that, and Olimar had never acted like this then.

“He’s trying to open the hatch,” the ship said, somewhere far off but too close. Louie clenched his fist in frustration as he tried to think.

“Well don’t let him!” Olimar said, his voice getting closer.

“Wh- Oh, really ?” The ship hissed back sarcastically. “Captain, are you sure?”

“Just be quiet!” Olimar ordered from behind Louie. Louie had to grip onto the wall to not fall back down as he turned to face the captain, his legs were shaking so bad.

“O- Olimar,” Louie greeted nervously. “I-,” Louie began, but let himself trail off, unsure of what else to say.

“Louie, the ship told me what happened,” Olimar said, his voice slow and steady. With deliberate movements, Olimar began to cross the room to get closer to Louie.

Louie’s back hit the door, but it remained firmly closed. There was nowhere else for him to go. Which was really, really bad, because Louie could only think of one thing that the ship could have told Olimar to get him so upset.

“I didn’t mean to!” Louie blurted out, knowing fully well that it wasn’t nearly enough but unsure of what else to say.

Olimar nodded. “Of course you didn’t mean for this to happen, but you need to-”

“No, I really didn’t mean to,” Louie whined. “I- I was- I just wanted to know what they’d taste like. Then I couldn’t- I was just really hungry, but I really didn’t mean to eat them all!” Louie said. His whole body was shaking now, and it was hard to keep a tremor from his voice.

Olimar had been nodding along, but he stopped. “Them?”

“But, but, I didn’t mean to get your ship sold off or for you to get stuck coming back here!” Louie continued, trying to will himself to keep talking until he could think of the right combination of words to get Olimar to understand. “I’m really sorry, though! For everything!”

“Louie, you’re not making sense,” Olimar said. “You ate the Waterwraith. That’s what you’re talking about, right? You didn’t- You wouldn’t have-”

“Sorry,” Louie said, repeating the word over and over again as his legs finally gave out to the shaking and he fell to the floor. Instinctively, Louie curled in on himself, clutching at his aching stomach.

For a long moment Olimar didn’t do anything. Or, at least, Louie couldn’t hear him say anything or move. He was hurting too much and way too nervous to actually look up and check. Finally, though, Louie heard steps getting closer to him.

“It’s okay,” Olimar said softly. “But you can’t just stay out here lying on the ground, alright? Can you try and get back up?”

Louie didn’t answer. Instead he curled tighter around himself, hugging his stomach.

Above him, Olimar sighed. Louie jumped when he felt hands trying to pull him up, but he was too tired to try and fight them. He let Olimar pull him into an upright sitting position, then clumsily up to standing by leaning on Olimar. The jerky actions made Louie worried he was going to get sick again.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Olimar said. Louie didn’t say anything back, but he let Olimar half-drag, half-guide him out of the room and back down the hallway.

To Louie’s surprise, Olimar hadn’t been lying. He really did bring Louie to his bed. He even helped Louie get into it when his shaking was too bad to even do that. Louie, still panicked even under the exhaustion and resignation, tried to force himself to stay awake, but by the time Olimar came back with a second blanket to put over him, Louie could barely keep his eyes open. Olimar left again, and Louie was asleep soon after.

Louie didn’t sleep well, though. Besides having to get up multiple times to run to the bathroom, he found his dreams were not at all pleasant. Some were regular nightmares, like the ones he used to get back on Hocotate, and others were the new ones full of dead pikmin and ravenous insects. The worst ones, though, were new. In them there was living water and molten gold and something else so terrible that Louie couldn't put a name to it but put a fear in him worse than anything else he’d felt that night. By the time morning came around, it was a relief to force himself to get up.

The pain was still there, but it had gotten better, and Louie had mostly calmed down, at least from the irrational panic. He couldn’t help but hurry, though, as he went to go find Olimar.

“You look better,” Olimar said as way of greeting when Louie finally found him in the kitchen. Louie, with a little guilt, noticed that he’d cleaned up the mess Louie had made.

Louie nodded, trying to gather his thoughts. Without the blinding fear, it was hard to talk again, to think of the right things to say. “I’m sorry,” he finally settled on.

Olimar laughed sympathetically. “I did warn you about what would happen if you kept eating whatever we came across. I’m just glad it wasn’t worse!”

Louie swallowed, debating whether or not to mention the carrots again if Olimar didn’t mention them. Maybe he’d forgotten or misunderstood?

“You can take the day off if you need to, if you’re still feeling sick,” Olimar continued.

“I think I said some stupid things,” Louie said finally. “Things that were wrong.”

“Oh?” Olimar said, and for a second Louie thought he could see a flicker of something else behind the man’s concerned expression.

“I was confused,” Louie said, wanting nothing more than to go back to not talking and to pretend that none of this had happened. “Sorry.”

“Okay,” Olimar said. “I think I know what you’re getting at. Which is- I get it. But, you know, if you wanted to actually talk about it, I don’t bite.”

Louie shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about. I was confused,” he repeated.

Olimar frowned, but nodded. “If you say so.”

Awkwardly, Louie stood there, before finally adding, “And thanks. For helping.”

Olimar smiled again. “I’m alway happy to.”

[hansolmates]

here comes the bride, all dressed in pride

summary; You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend pairing; jungkook x reader (f) genre/warnings; fake dating!au, fluff, crack, mentions of cheating, lang, alcohol, mc eats meat, tw sexual harassment, toxic family, dick talk, making out, if u have that one family member that pulls bs on you constantly this is it, this fic is for all the people who have a huge ass family who wont leave them alone w.c; 17.3k  a/n: my second fic for gcn’s 23 birthday project! the fact that wedding szn zoomed by us like that... and so bc im sad that so many weddings had to be postponed this fic was born! a huge thank u to vivi @eerieedits​ / @chillingtae​​ for creating this BEAUTIFUL fic banner and separator pls check vivi out to make your fics all purty

prompts used: “You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?” and “I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

if you enjoyed this pls consider giving a like and a share💕💕

Doyeon likes to call Jungkook, “the one who got away.” 

You like to call Doyeon, “the one who drove him away.” 

In secret, of course. In fact, the only person who knows how much you loathe Doyeon and her behavior is your father. And all your co-workers. And your boss. And your boss’ ex-husband. 

And Jeon Jungkook, but of course you haven’t seen the man in two years and back then he was far too polite to address his concerns of your hatred of his then-girlfriend. 

Okay, so everyone and their mother knows how much you don’t like your cousin. Kim Doyeon and you have had beef since the sandbox, and for whatever reason is always out to one-up you. A strange competitive nature in everything, academics, family, and even boys. The sick, twisted part of you has come to enjoy it. While you’re not a fighter as devout as Doyeon is, you have your own callous tendencies farmed from the seeds Doyeon has planted in your brain. She gives you a comment? You can’t help but throw one back. Since you’re a painfully mature soul you don’t have any mortal enemies as far as you know, Doyeon is the perfect amount of hot water to keep you on your toes. 

“I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be a bridesmaid,” Doyeon cooes next to you, swirling her champagne glass with a too-jutted pout, “but if I did there’d be an odd number of pairings and you’re a little too old to be walking as a bridesmaid, am I right?” 

Your nails. Are digging. Through your dress. Alas, you’re in public and you have class. Doyeon smiles at you with all teeth, reminding you of the Beldam from Coraline. Aside from that she looks absolutely stunning in that Lirika Matoshi strawberry dress that has her Instagram aching with likes and love from her baseless followers. 

“I don’t know,” you reply lightly, leaning back in your seat, “I mean, if Yoojung and Rena can be bridesmaids and they’re three years older than me, wouldn’t I make the cut? It’s okay to be honest and say you just didn’t want me in the bridal party.” 

Doyeon laughs, slaps your thigh like you told her the most hilarious joke in the world. Anyone passing by would think you’re best friends. You laugh too, incredulous at the amount of power she thinks she holds. 

“Nice party,” you tack on, surveying the room. It’s filled with pastels and beiges, bright and airy.  It’s Parisian themed, and while you’re not a fan of theming cultures, you can’t deny that you’re loving the infinite supply of macarons. 

“Oh, yes. This is just a taste of the real wedding,” she laces her fingers together, as if she thinks she’s living an Elizibethean love story, “speaking of, you put on your RSVP that you’re bringing a plus one. Am I allowed to know who’s the unlucky date?” 

“As if you care.” 

“I care if you’re bringing Jimin. That tiny thing nearly gave Aunt Lillian a heart attack when he gave a striptease at Yoongi’s graduation party.” 

You smirk softly at the bold memory. That was the plan. 

Doyeon sighs dramatically, crossing her legs and popping out a cherry red heel. She plays with the back on the balls of her feet, letting the little pearly rhinestones glisten in the candlelight, “I should really commend you, cousin,” she drawls, “I mean, how kind of you to be so charitable and give your dopey friends a chance to have fun. After all, I’m sure it is difficult for someone like you to find a date.” 

It’s no surprise as to how you end up with a date at any family formal gathering. You say you bring a plus one, and then between Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok. The three of them draw straws as to who gets to gorge on free alcohol and food for that night. 

“Difficult?” you arch a brow, “I get plenty of dates.” 

Doyeon giggles. She must be feeling extra vindictive today, high on her impending marriage and the taste of bubbly champagne. “By taking turns with those three? You gotta be kidding me,” she snorts, tipping back her crystal, “please y/n. Don’t get so defensive because I’m getting married first. Your time will come. That is, if you stop dicking around with your friends.” 

Normally you’d smother any attempt at Doyeon to call out your friends, but now she’s just done that and insulted your ability to get some, and you are livid. 

“Actually,” you quip sharply, “I’ve been dating someone. It’s been a couple months, actually.” 

“Oh?” Doyeon’s genuinely interested, face falling slightly, “you’ve never mentioned anyone, I don’t see anyone on your social media.” 

“Yeah well,” you feign sympathy, pressing your lips together and tilting your head accordingly, “I’ve had to keep it private for a couple of reasons.” 

“What, is he ugly or something?” she chuckles, “but really, who’s the person who has the misfortune of being in a committed relationship with you?” 

Maybe it’s because Doyeon’s right, the both of you are too old. The two of you have been running around each other for years, with no end in sight. Maybe, the words that linger on the tip of your tongue will be the final nail in the coffin. 

“Jeon Jungkook,” you state proudly, clear as day. “Jungkook and I have been dating for three months.” 

And you pick up the vanilla macaron that sits innocently on your plate, ravishing it up like it contained all the tension in your table. Between you and Doyeon’s bubble, you could hear a pin drop. 

“Jungkook?” her smile is concrete-solid, “my Jungkook?” 

“My Jungkook,” you correct, giving her a puppy-eyed look, “I’m really sorry I never told you. I mean, is there ever a right time to tell your cousin they’re dating their ex-boyfriend?” you laugh, either to lighten the mood or because you love the way Doyeon pinches her face, you don’t know.

“How did you two even meet?” 

“We reconnected through Seokjin. You know how the two of them play Starcraft together, I just ended up joining the call and he was so funny and nice. We just sorta… felt it.” Doyeon nods like a slow bobblehead, still comprehending in her pea-sized brain, “I just hope it isn’t too awkward. I know it’s been awhile but, if you really don’t want Jungkook to come I can always take Hoseok or something.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Doyeon says a little too quickly, masking on her picture-perfect smile. “I’m with Namjoon now, and I’m totally happy. Water under the bridge, it’ll be totally fine.” 

“Really?” your eyes practically sparkle, thankful for the amount of glitter and highlighter you’ve dumped on your face today, “I really appreciate it, Yeonie.” 

And she quickly downs her champagne glass, and gets up from her seat. It’s haunting, the way she gets up, pink tulle billowing around her ankles. “I have to attend to the other guests,” she says. 

“Of course,” you raise your glass.

“But, be careful,” she gives you a little smile, one filled with a last-ditch attempt at a jab, “Jungkook, he’s a little hard to deal with.” 

“Oh don’t worry. I know how to deal with Jungkook’s hardness,” you wink, and Doyeon’s face falls like a ton of bricks. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know,” you shrug loftily, “that’s what I meant, though.” 

And you don’t bother watching Doyeon stomp off the metaphorical stage, double fisting two new glasses of champagne from an awaiting butler as she finds some other poor guest to pick on. Now, the matter of securing your date. Conveniently so, the most important man in the room is walking your way, and you manage to snag his tie just as he passes your table. 

“Ow—ow! I’m choking!” Seokjin grabs, nearly throwing his tall body onto your lap, hands grappling to release the tension on his neck. “Leave me alone, woman! I just wanted to get some chicken tenders!” 

“Jin,” you say sweetly, opening his blazer to retrieve his phone, “I need Jeon’s number, now.” 

“Jungkook?” your favorite cousin pales, eyes widening as you take out your phone of your own, copying down the digits, “what did you do?” 

“Don’t ask questions.” 

Seokjin says your name again, firmer. “You’re playing with fire.” 

“It’ll be fine, it’s the last time,” you quell, already knowing how much Seokjin hates being in the middle of your fights. Once you’ve secured the phone number, you place Seokjin’s phone back into his pocket, patting his breast. “Thank you. You know you’re my favorite cousin, you know that?” 

He grumbles a “damn right I am” before stomping away, resuming his race for his chicken tenders. 

You: hey jeon it’s y/n. I see you’re doing great, i saw on instagram that you released your first app w/yoongi! Totally amazing, been playing for weeks, really upset that i can’t get past the flaming frog boss :((

You: Feel free to ignore this, i won’t blame you if you do. Im at doyeon’s rehearsal dinner, and she basically snubbed my friends and said i couldn’t get some prime dick even though im?? Me??? Anyway, im tired of her shit so im gonna throw it back at her, one last time before she ties the knot. I told her you and i have been dating, and im bringing you as my date to her wedding. Really sorry, the demons took over my brain and made the worst and best comeback of my life. So… if you’re up for being the hottest couple on the floor in three weeks and showing how madly in love we are, please text me back? Or not. You might think this family is crazy and i accept partial responsibility. 

You: I’ll buy u every meal for every practice date we have if u agree.💕💕💕

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: thanks, i appreciate that. To defeat the frog boss, go back to the coconut cave and find the garnet garter. It absorbs his fire and u can easily defeat froggo w any level 15 weapon

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: and as for the real reason u texted me. Im in. let’s get pork belly tomorrow. 

Two years ago, you were surprised that Doyeon could manage to snag a man as fine as Jeon Jungkook. Also unsurprised, because Doyeon is gorgeous and could snag any man she wanted, and has snagged every man she wanted. 

Jungkook was different though. He had an air of innocence to him. He loved her, a little too much to be safe. Your heart would betray you every time you would find him at a family gathering, making her plate and counting the calories she so meticulously measured. How can someone so sweet be with someone like Doyeon? 

Your heart ached for Jungkook when they broke up a year later. From what you heard, Doyeon was Jungkook’s first serious girlfriend. And then you wanted to rip your heart out a week later when you caught Doyeon smooching with her favorite graduate professor Kim Namjoon, wanting to erase any possibility you’d have at love. At that time, you never wanted to feel the pain you imagined Jungkook was going through. 

“Y/n! Over here!” you’re a little taken aback at how much has not changed in Jungkook. His eyes still sparkle like fresh dew, his smile is still pearly white and infectious. He’s even early, snagging a table at his favorite barbeque place and waiting for you as if he is the one organizing your first date. 

At the same time, there’s so much that’s changed about him. He’s confident, even going so far as to walk over to you and slip your jacket and purse in his grasp like a gentleman. He leads you by putting a hand lightly at the small of your back, making you feel impossibly small in comparison to his Dorito-shaped body, broad shoulders and a deliciously trim waist. 

“How was the walk over?” 

“Not too bad,” the conversation is casual, easy. You wipe the sweat off your forehead with a napkin. “Could use a little exercise now and again. I did eat a whole tray of macarons at that rehearsal dinner.” 

Jungkook laughs from his belly, causing you to smile. “Nonsense. You look great, by the way,” you don’t mind it, actually, you enjoy it when his eyes rake over your body. After all, he’s now your boyfriend and he needs to get familiar with all the important bits. He leans his arms forward, bracing him against the wooden table so his face is closer to yours. 

“You’re not doing too bad yourself,” your eyes gloss over the veins and intricate tattoos that paint his muscled upper half. Your smile morphs into a smirk, letting him know you’re enjoying the view just as well as he is. 

And as soon as the tension sparks, it ends just as fast when your waiter comes up to light your grill. 

“So,” Jungkook wastes no time in decorating your stove, making sure to add all the appropriate aromatics and infusions to season your lunch, “do you know why Doyeon and I broke up?” 

“Cheated on you with Namjoon, I assume,” you keep your eyes trained on the darkening meat. 

Jungkook slips a piece of meat in his mouth. Any expression of pain (whether it be from Doyeon or the barely cooked meat) doesn’t reveal itself as he stops to take a sip of water. “Who else knows?” 

“Just me and Seokjin. The family loved you too much and Doyeon made up some sob story about how you two were going different life paths.” 

He chuckles to himself, taking great care in flipping the meat. “I really was a fool in love, wasn’t I?” 

“It… was mildly cute.” 

“Tell me the truth, you have no reason not to.” 

“Okay, you made me want to vomit rainbows and glitter every time I saw you.”

The two of you laugh, faces crinkling shamelessly as the two of you busy yourselves with setting up the table. Most of the food is done and the aroma of fresh onions wafts around your grill. As you place chopsticks on his side of the table, you think about all the times Jungkook made it abundantly clear how much he loved Doyeon: the love letters tucked into her purse, 100 day anniversaries, even just a simple Americano for her in the morning. 

“Is that why you never hung out with us?” 

“No,” you reply lightly, “Doyeon made it clear that I shouldn’t talk to you.” 

Jungkook frowns, “You really don’t like each other, do you.” 

You shrug, “Just always been like that,” you quirk a smile when Jungkook places the freshly cooked meat on top of your rice before serving himself. 

“So what’s the plan?” 

“We go to the wedding, make out a little, get Doyeon boiling. Even if she’s not interested in you, she’d still be upset knowing we are together.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because it’s me,” you grin into your glass, staring at a water-stained Jungkook through the blue tinted glass. “And all you have to do, is enjoy your night and look pretty.” 

His eyes crinkle, chopsticks pressing between his lips. “You think I look pretty?” 

With a roll of eyes you don’t respond, preferring to dig your chopsticks in your rice. No need to inflate Jungkook’s ego too soon. 

Pinning the main theme of your hangout to the side, the both of you dig into your meal. You throw conversation back and forth like pebbles, grains of sand that build and build until you’re caught up with each other’s lives. It feels so strange to admit it’s been two years since you’ve spoken to the man, and all of a sudden the once luscious meat feels dry in your mouth. 

“Jeon,” you put your chopsticks down, “are you sure you want to do this with me? I mean, I know it’s all my fault and I dragged you into it. Don’t feel obligated to agree to this.” 

“I’m a hundred-percent sure,” he doesn’t stop eating, shoving two spoonfuls of rice in his mouth. His cheeks puff up considerably, and your eyes trail down to his neck as he swallows, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna.” 

“Right,” you don’t need a big explanation or a personal confession from Jungkook, just his consent. “Partners, Jeon?” you hold up your glass. 

“Partners,” he agrees easily. The smile on his face disarms you, a full-fledged grin decked with pearly whites. Clicking his glass to yours he adds, “And it’s Jungkook, babe.” 

Oh, this is going to be interesting. 

Seokjin thinks the two of you are the most boring fake-couple. 

His eyes dart back and forth between your spot on the couch and his desk, where Jungkook is currently seated. Seokjin is hovered over Jungkook, who’s typing and clicking furiously over his PC game. You’re on your phone, feet pulled up to the coffee table while some old Netflix movie plays in the background. To top it all off both of you didn’t even try to dress like it’s daytime, nearly matching in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It doesn’t look like a couple coming to visit Seokin, it looks like Jungkook is playing video games with Seokjin while his cousin hangs around like she owns the place. 

“Shouldn’t you guys like, I don’t know, go on dates or something?” Seokjin feels like he’s talking to the air. “Maybe get to know each other before the big day?” 

Pulling your phone down to your lap and Jungkook taking off his headphones, the two of you shrug at each other, “No, we’re good.” Jungkook says. 

“We know enough,” you agree cooly, “Jungkook likes Valorant.” 

“I do like Valorant.” 

“He likes pork belly.”

“I do like pork belly.” 

“He’s ripped as hell.” 

“I am ripped as hell.” 

“Okay but have you guys kissed yet?” Seokjin interjects, probably compensating for the nonchalance in the room with his own brand of freaking out. You two only see each other when you’re hanging out at Seokjin’s apartment, and while he’s happy that you two aren’t doing the whole 9-yards and creating an elaborate scheme, the both of you are almost too relaxed. His anxiety is spiking.

“Yes,” Jungkook answers, “at the barbeque place we went to.” 

“It was nice," you tack on, "Jin, we got this. Don't worry." 

"How can I not worry when you're trying to upset our cousin on her wedding day?" he's sweating in his fully air-conditioned apartment. “I get that she’s the devil’s spawn and everything, but she’s still a human being.” 

“In second grade she pushed me on the treadmill because I was going too slow. I got caught on the roller and got a bald spot for two months.” 

“Okay yes one bad example—” 

“And in senior year she accused me of plagiarizing her essay just because we chose the same topic. I almost didn’t get into college!” Seokjin sighs, crossing his arms. All valid points, and arguing with you isn’t a route he wants to take. “Jin, the point is that she’s constantly pushing my buttons. I’ve always been the bigger person and now that I’m old and confident I just want one jab.”

“That’s valid,” Jungkook pipes up, pressing the spacebar a few times, “I want a jab too, she cheated on me.” 

“See? It’s a mutual decision.” 

Seokjin asks, “Why aren’t you more worried about this?”

"Because Doyeon isn't going to chew me out on her wedding day," you checked your aunt's seating chart last week and you are far, far away from the bridal table. "We're just going to show off a little bit. Get drunk, eat some bomb steak. Break up in three months or less.”

"You don't have to just convince Doyeon, it's your entire family! Not to mention you also have to go to the bachelor party!" 

"Oh I almost forgot," you reach under the couch for your laptop, "Jungkook, in two weekends from now we're flying to Las Vegas for the bachelor party and wedding. I'll buy your ticket now." 

"Thanks, babe!” Jungkook sends a cheeky grin to Seokjin, who is unimpressed. “See? I remember to call her babe.” 

“Alright, get out of my house,” Seokjin tugs Jungkook away from his computer, causing the younger man to swivel around in his plush gaming chair. 

Jungkook frowns at the monitor, “But I’m still bronze one. I’m aiming for silver one by this weekend.” 

“Don’t care. As much as I don’t like this plan, I’m not letting you two slip-up.” Seokjin pulls out his phone, revealing Doyeon’s Instagram story, “Doyeon and Namjoon are at the mall buying swimsuits for Vegas. Go to the mall and ‘accidentally’ run into them.”

You sit up straight, tilting your head to the side. “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you bound over to grab your jacket, giving Seokjin a big fat kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Jinnie, do you know you’re—”

“I’m your favorite cousin. Yeah whatever, bye.” He waves you off, plopping in his own chair so he can enjoy his games in peace. 

“I’m driving,” Jungkook declares, swiping your keys from Seokjin’s opal dish. 

“Oh, hell no,” you jump on your tippy toes to reach Jungkook’s grasp on your keys, but he’s so freakishly tall there’s no way you can reach. “I drive my car!” 

“I’ve always wanted to drive your car back then,” Jungkook cooes, leaning in so your noses touch. “C’mon, you can trust me.” 

“You two are gross already,” Seokjin admonishes from the other side of the room, “see, it’s working!” 

Poking his cheek so he gives you some space, you whip your head to hide the flush that burns on your cheeks. “Fine, but if you crash you’re buying me a new one.” 

“They’re over there,” you hiss between the racks, shuffling between the plastic hangers to point to Doyeon and Namjoon at the women’s section of the store. They look disgustingly adorable together, with Doyeon pointedly telling Namjoon which swimsuit suits his stature better while Namjoon nods along and goes with whatever she says. You crouch down lower, fearing Namjoon’s tall frame would catch you. “Now we just gotta act all couple-y and they’ll notice us. Or maybe we can walk over to them? What do you wanna do?” 

“Do you think we should get matching swimsuits?” Jungkook pays no mind to your sleuthing, holding up a red pair of swim trunks to his thighs, “we could pretend to be sexy lifeguards.” 

You tilt your head away from the pair, only because Jungkook has been genuinely interested in this store since you’ve arrived. Putting a hand under your chin, you scrutinize the dark red cutoff shorts. “They’re cute,” you nod appreciatively, “It’ll make your thighs look thick.” 

Jungkook’s grip on his hanger lowers, and he regards you with dark eyes. “You think my thighs look thick?” he asks, leaning in and putting one hand on the curve of your waist. His fingers dance on the surface of bare skin between your top and jeans, and while you’ve agreed beforehand that you two could touch each other wherever in public, it still surprises you when gooseflesh rises to the surface.

“Easy there, tiger,” you chuckle, putting a hand on his chest to stop his sudden bout of flirting. “I’m just stating the facts, we get it. You lift.” 

“You’re so cute when you try to put your guard up,” he’s brushing noses with you now, and you feel the plastic of the hanger crumple pathetically between you two as the gap closes further. “But you can’t hide from me.”

And just as his lips move to press against yours, a shrill “Jungkook!” echoes throughout the large store.

You nearly flop over the boardshorts rack if not for Jungkook’s arms secured around your waist. Oh right, you think dumbly, this is all for show. Doyeon and Namjoon are right in front of you, purchases already made and looking at you two in curiosity. Well, Namjoon is definitely curious, because you know for a fact that Doyeon speaks very little of you to him and you’ve only conversed with him a handful of times. Doyeon on the other hand, looks a little stiff in the grin. 

“Hello to you too,” you remark to Doyeon, who’s barely acknowledged you. You reach over to squeeze Namjoon’s arm, “Hi Joonie,” you crinkle your eyes, and you fight back a squeal when he smiles back with dimples. Doyeon has such a cute fiancé, and if you’re keeping score he’s way too good for her. 

Doyeon’s eyes glaze over to where you’ve touched Namjoon, and she links her arms with his. “What a coincidence, you two are buying swimsuits where we’re buying swimsuits.” 

“Well, there’s only one mall in this town and we’re going on the same trip in two weeks,” you reply blandly, and you feel Jungkook pinch your side. “Oh, Namjoon. Have you met my boyfriend Jungkook?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Namjoon reaches over to clasp Jungkook’s hand, “nice to meet you, man.” 

While Namjoon and Jungkook exchange small talk, you pointedly ignore the waves of negativity Doyeon sends your way in favor of observing the two large men. Namjoon just said it was nice to meet him, therefore he has no clue who Jungkook is. Interesting, considering Doyeon two-timed in favor of Namjoon. It gets you a little antsy, and you wonder if Namjoon is faking this whole interaction or if Doyeon is hiding something. 

“Baby,” Jungkook rests a hand on your shoulder, regarding you with concern, “you spaced out there, are you okay?” 

“She’s like that, Jungkookie,” Jungkook gently presses your shoulders down, blocking your view of Doyeon as she regards your not-boyfriend as Jungkookie. “My cousin’s a bit of an airhead,” her tone is sweet and jesting, the backhanded jab going right above Namjoon’s head. 

“I’m just hungry,” you say, forcing a tight-lipped smile. 

“Well, that’s perfect,” Namjoon clasps his hands together, “Yeonie and I were just about to go grab some dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

Doyeon and you both reply immediately, “That really isn’t necessary—” 

“Nonsense,” you don’t even have the heart to be upset at Namjoon because he looks so damn genuine, “It’s been two years and I haven’t even bought you a meal, y/n. After all, we’re going to be family at the end of the month.” 

“Right,” you answer reluctantly. 

“We’re gonna make reservations at the Cheesecake Factory,” he pulls out his phone, ready to make a call, “but you and Jungkook can finish shopping, okay? The wait will be a little long but by the time you’re done our table should be ready.” 

You and Jungkook wave off Doyeon and Namjoon as they make their way to the restaurant. Your hand is caught in the air by Jungkook, who regards you with worry in his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked spaced out,” he says, “tell me what you were really thinking.” 

Subconsciously, you squeeze his palm for comfort. “I don’t know, it just feels weird knowing Namjoon doesn’t seem to know you at all. Normally Doyeon loves to talk shit about her exes.” 

Jungkook scoffs easily, “I mean, if she’s marrying the guy I’m sure she doesn’t want to let him know the details of how they ended up together.” 

“True,” you decide to let it go, and follow Jungkook to the register to pay for his swim trunks. 

“So,” the little ‘ding’ of the register opens up the money box, and Jungkook quickly hands the clerk his cash, “we’re having dinner with them after this?” 

“Only if you want to.”

“We need to, right?” Jungkook thanks the clerk, holding the bag in one hand and threading his fingers through yours as you head out the store. 

“Well, do you want to?” you ask again. Jungkook stops the two of you on the sidewalk. It isn’t a fast stop, but a slow down that makes his walk a little more thicker, more deliberate as he trudges you down the lane. You move in front of him, clutching your hands between his. “Are you okay? You barely even acknowledged Doyeon.” 

“I’m fine,” you flinch at his harsh tone, and he immediately moves to remedy it by squeezing your hand back. “I’m sorry. It’s just been awhile and I’m definitely over her but,” he bows his head, feeling embarrassed, “she hurt me, you know?” 

Going into this is definitely one of the more selfish plans you’ve put your mind to. Your heart pangs thinking about what must be going through everytime he sees her. If he’s reminded about all the good times they shared, or how much he’s over thought every single conversation he’s had with her up until this point.

“Of course,” you completely understand, knowing from the beginning that this whole mess would end up with some dicey feelings someway or another. “I’m just thankful you chose to stick by me. And we can talk about it if you’re comfortable,” both of you being victims of Doyeon’s brand of torture, you hope the two of you can at least be friends after all of this is over, “we don’t have to go have dinner with them.” 

“But, Namjoon got us a table—” 

“Namjoon will be fine. We can always have dinner with him another time,” you smile softly, “what matters is that you’re okay.” 

His gaze melts, and you feel his grip loosen in your hold. He regards you with weak eyes, betraying the confidence he held himself to moments before. “Thanks, y/n,” he says, “I really appreciate that.” 

“Anytime,” you reply honestly. “We can go to Cheesecake and order to-go. I can make some excuse about how my stomach hurts and that we should do a raincheck.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“Do you wanna eat at one of our places or eat at the park or something?” you’re already pulling up your phone, checking out the menu. “We could invite Jin too.” 

“The park sounds nice,” neither of you acknowledge the fact that you’re not inviting Seokjin, and for some reason that’s okay.

“Yeah,” you agree simply, “the weather’s beautiful.” 

Under any normal circumstances, you would’ve been friends with someone like Jeon Jungkook, easily. A little part of you wishes that you could’ve met Jungkook first, but Doyeon has better connections than you and always had a good crowd around despite her inner motivations. No awkward exchange happens when you suggest to Jungkook to eat together. Even though you’re not technically dating, the two of you know that eating together is better than eating alone.

And you have to admit Jungkook’s great company. The two of you drive to a reserve nearby, overlooking a tiny lake. Instead of a fancy Italian tablecloth the two of you move your car seats down and set a spare picnic blanket in the trunk. Instead of a candlelit dinner the two of you find some emergency electric tealights in the glove compartment, lighting it up between you two as you dig into your to-go boxes. 

You’re a little envious that so much time has passed by. You could’ve been a little sneakier and made a better effort to communicate with Jungkook when you saw him regularly at family parties, and maybe you two would have a better friendship today. Nevertheless, the two of you mesh like peanut butter and jelly, exchanging conversation that has your cheeks sore from smiling too hard. 

By the time you get to dessert, the moon is out and the stars are floating above your heads. The two of you are at war, fighting with your forks over the last strawberry in your cheesecake slice. After some careful stabbing Jungkook manages to nab it with his fork. 

He almost puts it in his mouth, but instead swipes up some whipped cream to press the last strawberry to your lips. 

“I think it’s working,” Jungkook says randomly as you chew the sweet fruit, “you could see it on Doyeon’s face today. She’s unsettled.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, lying down on the lavender gingham picnic blanket. 

“Do you know why she fights with you all the time?” 

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since the dawn of time.”

“I think I know why.” Jungkook looks down at you with his large doe eyes, licking innocently on a spoon of whipped cream. 

“Pray tell.” 

“She’s jealous of you.” 

“No,” you disagree easily, “she’s jealous that I have you.” 

“Bzzt! Wrong,” Jungkook puts his empty container in your makeshift trash can, falling beside you and knitting his hands under his head. You have a little window on the roof of your car, so both of you are able to stare at the navy sky, “she’s always been jealous of you. Think about it. The two of you have similar lifestyles: same career path, confidence, taste, education. But even after all of that? People still like you more.” 

You scoff, hands immediately reaching to fiddle with the frayed corner of fabric next to your fingers. “I don’t think so.” 

“I’ve met all of Doyeon’s friends,” he informs you, “they’re weird. Like yeah, they care about each other on the surface level. But they’re nothing of substance. They’re not like your friends.” 

“Please, Doyeon has everything she could ever want,” you don’t know what kind of complex you have supporting Doyeon’s life, but something deep and insecure wants to separate you two as far away from each other as possible. “Like… she’s Malibu Barbie and I’m Polly Pocket.” 

Jungkook turns to face you, resting his head between his palm and leaning on his elbow. “Do you not think you’re beautiful?” 

“Yeah, but compared to Doyeon—” 

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?”

You choke on your saliva, feeling small and skittish at the implication behind his words. It’s been two years. You’ve only been friends for two weeks. How can he possibly say that? 

“I uh, saw you once,” Jungkook coughs, and you watch the way his pale cheeks unmatch the moon and instead flit to a crimson hue, “we were at some party and you were wearing this really cute black dress with a white bow in the middle. Doesn’t even matter what party because it was random, y’know? I was gonna go talk to you but Doyeon got to me first and well, the rest is history.” He breaks eye contact with you, unable to handle it. 

You remember that party, vaguely. It was random, some sort of poetry slam in a shady part of town. Doyeon and you didn’t even go with each other, you were with Taehyung and she just happened to stumble in there from another nearby party. You didn’t even know Jungkook was there that night, or how you were a hair's breadth away from meeting him before Doyeon. 

“Don’t ever think you’re lesser than her just because out of all the people she chose to pick on, she chose you. It’s why she never lets you get to know her boyfriends. She’s threatened by you because you’re just as special,” something low sparks in your chest at his words,  “and now that you’ve finally decided to stoop to her level and fight back with a taste of her own medicine, she doesn’t know what to do.” 

Feeling like your body is on a beach and you’re sinking in sand, you soften over your picnic blanket, mulling it over. “Did I make the right choice? Stooping down to her level.” Your voice is quiet, comparable to the chirping birds and buzzing gnats outside. 

“We won’t know until after the wedding,” Jungkook answers honestly, “but I do know I’m sticking with you until the end. We’re friends now, got that? You have no excuse to ignore me anymore.” 

You don’t want to ignore Jungkook, never in a million years. Now you know that you are envious of Doyeon, for having an opportunity to love and care for an amazing person like him. So in a sudden bout of emotion, you roll over to straddle Jungkook’s waist. 

He’s shocked, hands flying to your waist to make sure you don’t wobble off. But you’re determined, and lean down to press your lips against his. He tastes like cheesecake and strawberries, the taste melding with your own as you relish in the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You melt a little when he squeaks, breaking into a soft moan as he reciprocates the gesture. He’s warm and large and he makes you feel safe. Once your brain returns to your body, you break for air. You only pull back a few centimeters, and there’s no way for you to get off because Jungkook has locked you in place. 

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly. 

“Don’t know,” you’re whispering against his lips, unable to pull away, “just felt like we needed a little more practice.” 

He blinks, before relaxing in a silly smile. “I agree,” he says simply, dipping you on your back so he can be on top the second time around. 

“We’re in Vegas, baby!” 

Every single terrible comedy movie set in Las Vegas has brought you to this very moment. You’ve always wanted to say that line. Dumping your luggage next to Jungkook’s, you flop on the nearest mattress. Thank goodness you only wore leggings and a t-shirt on the flight, it’s the optimal sleeping outfit after a long day. Feeling something hard and plastic dig into your brain, you hold up the culprit and squeal excitedly. “Look, Kook!” you wave the crinkly confection in your hands, “they put mints on the pillows!” 

Despite your room being a square with two queen beds, the hotel does not skimp on quality. The decor is ornate, the white and gold trim on the doorknobs and metal appliances shimmering beautifully. The beds feel like clouds, as you try to imagine what a cloud could possibly feel like, this is it. 

Jungkook immediately follows suit, ripping off his outer clothes until he’s left in his undershirt and boxers, flopping next to you on the mattress. He immediately opens his mouth when you shoot a mint, catching it easily. “I feel like we’re in a deleted scene of Crazy Rich Asians,” he says, letting the hard mint clink around his teeth, “is this the part where you tell me your family comes from old money and I’m gonna be your sugar baby?” 

“Don’t be so hopeful,” you narrow your eyes, booping his button nose with your finger. 

“I’m just saying, the first class flight threw me off.” 

You giggle, slapping his chest, “No. If that was true, we wouldn’t be sharing a room with my cousin. Sorry you have to share the bed with me, I got the hotel with Jin and he doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“S’okay,” Jungkook replies softly, leaning closer to make grabby hands at you, “you’re softer.” 

Tentatively, you scooch over so you can lean on Jungkook’s chest. You two have a little time before Doyeon and Namjoon’s combined bachelor and bachelorette party. The past two weeks have been nice—scratch that, the past two weeks with Jungkook have been wonderful. You never cared to measure how much time passed before meeting him, but now that you’ve begun fake-dating, time is the only thing you regard. You’re already beginning to miss him, knowing that in a week, this whole arrangement will be over.

Well, not exactly over. Jungkook says you’ll remain friends after this, but you don’t really want that. You want more, and it scares you to think he may not feel the same. 

But right now you’re snuggling like an old couple, sleeping comfortably between pillow-like sheets and minty breath. Your pretend boyfriend, now your pretend boyfriend with benefits, looks soft and huggable and you want to bottle up this moment forever. You say benefits because, well, the cuddling is an added bonus. Practice practice practice, Jungkook sing songs the words you used that one night under the stars, excuses to seal his lips to your lips. You’ll never argue with that. So when Jungkook’s hand tightens around your waist and pulls you closer, you relent. 

One second, you’re closing your eyes and the next, you’re waking up to Seokin’s wide eyes staring back at you. 

“Eep, you creepo!” you shriek, scrambling away from him. That’s when you realize Jungkook’s missing from bed, the scent of his laundry detergent lingering between the eggshell Egyptian cotton. 

“Jungkook’s in the shower,” Seokjin immediately reads your mind, pulling away so he can unpack his luggage. “My flight just got in two hours ago, you both were out like a light when I arrived.”

“Ugh, I’m really not ready to party.” 

“Doyeon just texted the family group chat. She reserved the rooftop, the party starts in an hour,” he talks mindlessly, rifling through his stuff. Seokjin is fiddling with his clothes, despite the fact that you know Seokjin prepares his outfits days in advance so he doesn’t have to choose. He looks concerned, pulling out a flamingo pink boardshort and setting it down on his mattress. Finally he says, “I’m worried about you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because. It’s clear that you’re starting to fall for Jungkook.” 

The words strike you straight in the place you’re trying to avoid. You’ve been living in a fantasy these past two weeks, thinly veiled by the whole reason you two are together in the first place. Doyeon’s wedding is just around the corner, and what then? 

“I’m not saying that he doesn’t feel anything for you either,” that gets your heart skipping a beat, and you secretly hold a hand to your chest under the blankets, “but do you really want to start off a relationship like this? A relationship all messy and morally objective because it’s built on revenge?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” the words easily fall from your lips, “I can take care of this.” 

“I hate it when you say that,” the words are curt and harsh against Seokjin’s plush lips, “I’m allowed to worry about you, y/n. You know why? Because, because you’re my favorite cousin too,” he bites his lip, walking over so he sits on your side of the bed. “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t worry about. I want you to be happy, I want you to stop holding in this anger you have for Doyeon and move on.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning over to press your cheek against Seokjin’s shoulder. “You’re right.” 

“For the first time in a long time, you’ve finally decided to lean on someone,” and both of you know who that someone is. “I don’t want you to lose him over some petty family issue. You should tell him how you feel.” 

“I will,” you wrap your arms around your cousin’s slim waist in a silent thanks. 

“Am I interrupting a tender family moment?” 

The two of you pull away to stare at Jungkook, leaning against the doorframe that leads to the bathroom. He’s in a plain white t-shirt and the red board shorts that you bought at the mall, cutting off mid-thigh and revealing the bulky muscle underneath. You were right, the shorts do make his thighs look thick. 

Seokjin groans exaggeratedly. “Yes, yes you did.” 

Jungkook immediately goes to replace Seokjin’s spot, and some stray droplets fall fresh from the shower due to his slicked-back hair. “Do you wanna get ready? First party’s soon.” 

“Not really,” you admit, “you’re gonna meet the family all over again.” 

“Second time’s the charm,” he winked, “I’ve already met your parents and everything. Not feeling nervous at all.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Really,” and the facade cools down a little, “well, maybe a little nervous for your Aunt Lillian. Her stares give me the heebie-jeebies.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Aunt Lillian.” 

“God the two of you get worse every day,” Seokjin has magically changed into his shorts, tucking himself into the bed, “don’t wake me up until we pre-game.” 

Doyeon and Namjoon don’t skimp on the festivities, although in taste the ideas are Doyeon’s in its entirety. It’s lavish and colorful, with a beautiful infinity pool in the middle decorated with lavender and pink headlights. There’s a buffet table overflowing with tasty food. There’s petal pink champagne overflowing from fountains, decorated with fresh strawberries bobbing around the fizzy drink. 

“I don’t know,” Namjoon and Jungkook have been talking for well over an hour, and it’s clear how well they mesh together. Heck, you’ve accepted that Jungkook may like Namjoon more than he likes you. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle as Namjoon discusses the various genres of rap and hip-hop music, explaining the potency of mature themes in a young community, “but I will say music is like another language, knows no boundaries when it comes to sending their messages to others.” 

You fight the urge to chuckle when Jungkook sighs dreamily at the music theory professor. “Wow, that’s so deep.” 

Getting up from your cabana, you nudge Seokjin, who’s currently flirting it up with one of Doyeon’s bridesmaids. “Hey, wanna get a drink?” you ask, throwing your wrap on the cushions to reveal your strappy red bikini. 

“And chicken tenders,” Seokjin presses a kiss to the bridesmaid’s cheek, bidding her goodbye as he follows you out of the shaded area. 

“Do you two lovebirds want anything?” you stare pointedly at Namjoon and Jungkook. While Namjoon’s eyes stay in contact with you, you can’t help but smile a little more when Jungkook has a hard time keeping his gaze in one place. 

“I think we’re fine,” Namjoon answers for both of them, swirling his beer bottle. “I’ll meet you two at the bar once I’m done.” 

“Sure thing,” Seokjin puts a hand on your back to lead you to one of the open bars. As much as you like being in a handsome hotel with money to burn, nothing beats the fact that your entire family is here to celebrate. The elders have corroborated two cabanas for poker and other games, while your younger cousins are playing ping pong and air hockey on the other side. 

“Namjoon sure is a dreamboat,” Seokjin bemoans, handing you an electric orange drink. You take a sip of it, and bug out when you realize it tastes nothing like alcohol. You’re definitely in for a night. “Like I can hear him wax music thingamajib any day.” 

“I thought you were into that bridesmaid.” 

“A mere diversion,” he sighs, leaning his tanned arms against the bar, “can’t ignore the deep voice Namjoon has, it’s intoxicating.” 

“I’m sure Jungkook would agree,” you egg on. 

“What are you two talking about?” you straighten up when the man of the hour shows up at the bar, absolutely glowing under the sunset. He orders a round for the three of you, and you immediately chug your own drink to get to the next one. 

“Talking about how you’re stealing Jungkook away from me,” you joke, accepting another fruity drink from Namjoon. Damn, this stuff tastes like candy. 

“Oh, never,” Namjoon replies brightly, waving the thought away, “do you see the way he looks at you? Hopelessly in love.” 

Maybe it’s the copious amounts of alcohol, but you feel your stomach flip-flop at the thought of love. You’ve always known what love felt like, the warmth of Namjoon’s cheeks whenever he sees Doyeon, when your mom takes care of you when you’re sick, when Seokjin makes sure you’re not emotionally constipated 24/7. But the thought of Jungkook and you in love? It’s a feeling you secretly yearn for. 

“Right? It’s disgusting,” Seokjin groans with an eye roll, “like, Jungkook wasn’t like that with Doyeon at all when they were together.” 

The slip up has the three of you choking on your own thoughts, staring at each other like the three have just been told you’re on a prank show. But it is no prank, and you look at Seokjin who’s absolutely horrified. 

“Oh shit,” he squeaks, looking at Namjoon guiltily, “did I say something I shouldn’t have said?” 

“I don’t know,” Namjoon replies coolly, “did you?” 

The ominous response gets you going, and you quickly place a hand on Namjoon’s arm, placating him. “They dated, yes. But it was only for a short time and we’ve sorted everything out. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“Oh,” Namjoon quirks his head, and regards you two with pursed lips. “I’m not one of those guys who freak out over other people’s exes. I’m just surprised that I’ve only heard this now,” Namjoon takes a slow sip of his drink, and despite your drink also being cold and refreshing, you’re absolutely sweating. 

“Well, I’m sure Doyeon didn’t want to worry you.”

At the mention of his future wife, he beams. “You’re right, she’s considerate like that,” and the conversation ends just like that. He holds up his drink to the two of you, and you and Seokjin do the same. With a sharp clink he leaves you two to mull, happily conversing with the next round of guests he needs to entertain for the week. 

“That guy is too nice for his own good,” you shake your head, asking the bartender for your third drink within ten minutes. 

Seokjin leans over you and warbles, “So you’re telling me that Namjoon has no idea that Doyeon cheated on Jungkook in order to date him?” he’s sweating just like you are, following suit to your actions and asking to make his drink a double. 

“I don’t know,” you bite your lip, your teeth worrying the dark skin, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while though. I just don’t want to get involved, you know?” 

“But this is different!” 

“But Doyeon’s family!” 

“And all of a sudden you care about Doyeon’s feelings?” Seokjin gripes back, “it’s not about Doyeon, it’s about the both of them. And if we know something that Namjoon doesn’t, wouldn’t it be in our best interests to warn him before he seals a marriage deal that costs him over a zillion dollars?” he gestures to the extravagant wedding party. 

“But we don’t even have any proof that’s the case,” you frown, “Doyeon could have changed—a little, not a lot—since meeting Namjoon, maybe she thinks it’s best to reveal as little as possible.” 

Seokjin wonders what kind of family he has. One as chaotic as his takes a lot to stomach, and Seokjin likes to pride himself in his strong appetite. “Fine, let’s just keep a close eye on both of them this week. And if anything remotely fishy happens, we strike.” 

“Deal.” 

You return to the cabana alone, with a plate of fries for both you and Jungkook. Jungkook is also alone, laying on the lounge chair with his eyes closed. It gives you a chance to ogle your fake-boyfriend a little bit, reveling in the sight of his toned body. 

Setting down your plate with a sharp rap of the glass, Jungkook opens one eye. “Hey,” he smiles, drinking in your muted expression, “you okay?”

Damn Jungkook for being able to read you so well. “I think so. It’s nothing, really.” 

“Well, will you tell me if it’s something?” 

“Yeah, I will.” 

“So, I do have something to tell you though.” Jungkook sits up, regarding you wearily. “Can you… stand in front of me?” Confused, you shove a fry in your mouth and walk up to him as directed, your back blocking the entrance as you stand in front of him. “Okay, come closer. Now bend down,” you bend your back 90 degrees, and he presses a hand to your shoulder to stop you, “no, no. With your breasts out, just a little—there! Arch your back. Like you’re doing the Sorority Squat.” 

“Excuse me—” 

“The music isn’t even that loud,” he mutters to himself, “no one would need to push their boobs in my face to hear me.” 

“Jungkook, is someone pressing boobs to your face?” 

“Why,” he breaks into a playful grin, “jealous?”

“Not if it’s Aunt Lillian.” 

“Unfortunately it wasn’t,” he twiddles with the drawstrings of his shorts. “It was Doyeon.” 

Doyeon? She didn’t walk by your cabana all day. Heck, she barely greeted you when you arrived with Jungkook. But when Jungkook’s alone is when she decides to pounce? And with what motive? 

“I don’t know,” he’s rambling to himself, “maybe I’m overthinking it. It was only half a second.” 

“Jungkook, I have something to tell you,” you say instead, panic in your features. 

“Is it something urgent?” 

“Well, no but—” 

“Then tell me when we get back to the room,” Jungkook easily pulls you onto his lap, and you instantly heat up when you feel your bare butt press against Jungkook’s golden thighs. “Like you said, we’re in Vegas. Let’s have fun while we can.” 

“Okay,” you tuck your head between his neck and collarbone, reaching to press a kiss to his smooth jawline. 

Relaxing against the plush lounge chair Jungkook feeds you fries while talking about the things he wants to do this week. It’s his first time in Vegas and he wants to make the most of it. He wants to visit all the buffets he sees on Buzzfeed compilations, relax at the pool, maybe catch a show. The thought of spending all week with him and your family is nice, and suddenly you don’t feel so awkward sitting on his lap, and eventually he pulls you between his thighs so you can lay on his chest. 

“And between you and me,” he fake whispers against the shell of your ear, as if he’s telling you the biggest secret, “we’re the hottest couple here.” 

The next three days leading up to the wedding are relatively uninteresting. 

Uninteresting in the best way possible. On Monday you and Jungkook spend time with your little cousins, taking them to The Adventuredome, one of the resort's indoor theme parks. On Tuesday you and Jungkook go shopping at the outlet malls with your parents, blowing hundreds of dollars on cheap Levis that have your luggage bursting with a new wardrobe. In between all of that Seokjin and occasionally Namjoon joins you two in your buffet journey, hitting up the top spots and filling your tummies to the brim with delicious food. 

On Wednesday, Jungkook brandishes two gold-foiled tickets in front of you, waving them around like a fan. With one finger, he pushes away your Pokémon battle, “I got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” he announces proudly, “waited in line for an hour.”

You gape, scrambling off of your bed and throwing your Nintendo Switch to the side. “Jungkook,” you marvel, “these are so expensive. How’d you manage to get a show for tonight?” 

He shrugs, “Looked around.” 

“You’ve been impulse buying a lot this week,” you tease, “like really, you don’t need three pairs of the same ripped jeans.”

“This wasn’t an impulse buy,” he says, “I’ve been looking around for shows. Just managed to pick them up today, so go get dressed for our date.”

Did Jungkook just call it a date? Giddy with excitement you throw the covers off, running into the bathroom to get ready. What a surprise, you didn’t think Jungkook would be into spontaneous things like this. 

Seokjin left the bathroom open, so when you walk in the room it is steamy and warm. Your dear cousin is still in the shower, probably waiting for his conditioner to pass three minutes of set-in time. 

“What are you getting ready for?” Seokjin asks over the rain shower.

“Kook got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” you chirp happily, looking through your skin care products. 

“I wanna come!” 

“Nope! Jungkook called it a date.” 

“Oh, a date,” Seokjin drawls, putting his head under the water to rinse his hair clean. “Well then, should I vacate the room for tonight?” 

“What, no!” you’ve closed the door, so thankfully Jungkook can’t hear you talking about him. “We’re not doing anything. We’re just two friends who are fake-dating going on a date.” 

“Sounds like a real date, though,” Seokjin wraps a towel around himself to cover all his important bits before getting out of the shower, bumping elbows with you so he can brush his teeth. “Either way, I’ll be gone tonight. It’s my turn to watch the baby cousins. Don’t have too much fun while I'm in their room watching Despicable Me for the millionth time.” 

“We’ll be sure to stop by with some pizza or something,” you tease, a little wiggle in your hips when you vacate the bathroom. 

By the time you and Jungkook are ready, you two are dressed impeccably. Jungkook is wearing one of the ripped black jeans he bought on Tuesday, combined with a white button up and black blazer. A classic outfit with a little bit of Jungkook-themed flair. And to Jungkook’s surprise, you’re wearing the dress that he first saw you in, all those years ago. You’ve gained a little weight since college, but you still fill out the little black dress beautifully, the little white bow in the middle adding a simple yet adorable touch. It took a little sleuthing and searching through your old college clothes, but you were determined to find it when Jungkook reminded you how much you love the design. 

Clearly from the way Jungkook is currently gaping at you like a bloated fish, he loves it too. 

The show is beautiful and colorful, leaving you speechless and in tears by the end of it. Jungkook lets you hold his hand the entire time, feeling a bout of anxiety anytime the acrobats fall gracefully despite the large height. 

Overall, it was a wonderful show, paired with your equally enamouring date. It’s getting harder and harder to distinguish what’s fake and what’s real in your heart, and throughout the night you’re sorely reminded that you should tell Jungkook how you feel. 

But by the time you get to the room your parents are calling you, asking to get their suit and dresses out of the car so hotel service can do a last minute press and dry clean. 

“I’ll be back,” you say to Jungkook, “I need to go get their clothes out of the car. They’re always so forgetful.” 

“Want me to come?” he offers, hand shying away from inserting the keycard in. 

“No, I’ll only be fifteen minutes, tops.”

“So I guess this is this the part where I get a goodnight kiss?” he asks cheekily, leaning on his heels so his tall frame reaches yours. You don’t hesitate to give a short peck to his pretty pink lips. He pouts at the brevity, “that was too quick.” 

“Go inside,” you insist, “the sooner you get ready for bed the sooner I can get ready for bed.” 

“Then more kisses?” 

“Then more kisses.” 

Jungkook breaks into an all-teeth smile, unable to control himself when he dips down and steals a longer, more lingering kiss to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says, mimicking every single teenage rom-com protagonist who’s deeply in love with the popular jock. “Don’t take too long, okay?” 

You nod, pushing him inside, “C’mon, if you stopped talking I’d be back by now!” 

Once the door closes shut, you let yourself do a little dance in the hallway, wiggling your butt and giving yourself a mini-celebration. You quickly text your group chat that you just came back from the Cirque show.

Jimin: what, a date with your fake date?

Hobi: jeon jungcock? 👀👀

Jimin: whaaaaaattttt. U’ve gotta have sat in his lap at least. 3 times since you’ve started this ting

Hobi: i’ve heard things in college… 

Taehyung: u are all gross and i hate u 

Taehyung: but so am i bc im very curious 

Just as you’re about to send a heated reply, the elevator dings, revealing a pissed off Doyeon. She’s bare-faced, in a fluffy lilac bath robe and matching puff ball slippers. You slip in right beside her, making sure there’s a comfortable amount of space between you two. 

“You’re going to the parking garage too?” you ask, eyes lingering on the lit button. 

“Yeah,” she’s looking at her phone, a few stray hairs from her mahogany bun falling onto her forehead, “Aunt Lillian left her medication in the car. I don’t know why she has to send me, I’m busy getting married.” 

“My parents left their formal clothes in the car,” you shrug, “you know, my parents and Aunt Lillian share the same brain cell. Gotta help them out once in a while.”  

The icy silence in the elevator is probably the calmest you and Doyeon have been since you’ve announced your relationship status with Jungkook. You fight the sigh, opting to take out your phone and open some unread messages. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: hurry up, the bed’s cold without u 

You: lool, why do u look constipated 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: because i am, hurry up. Im bringing ur switch to the toilet and playing on your profile 

You: JEON WAIT YAMPERS AT 5HP GO TO THE POKEMON CENTER U HEATHEN

You tilt your head a centimeter, feeling Doyeon breathing down your neck like Puff the Magic Dragon. You look at her with wide eyes. Her long, slender neck manages to snake its way next to your head, “Can I help you?” you ask amusedly, clutching your phone to your chest. 

“Are you two really together?” she asks, batting her lashes. All this week she’s left you alone, and you’ve been wondering when she’s going to make herself known. It’s a little self-absorbed you have to admit, but ever since Namjoon’s ignorance to Doyeon’s previous relationship, you’ve been on edge. 

“Of course we are,” you spit back, “I love him.” 

And you must be very convincing, because Doyeon’s gaze falters just a fraction. You glare at her, staking your claim. Ever since Jungkook told you the reason Doyeon hates you is because she’s jealous, you’ve started to feel a bit of sympathy for her. Doyeon is beautiful and smart, she has no reason to feel this way. But the brain holds fickle thoughts sometimes, bringing darkness to the mind. 

“He loved me first,” she bites back, lifting her chin. 

“And why do you care?” you laugh tonelessly. The elevator dings open, and you’re met with the open air and concrete of the parking garage. “He may have loved you first, but he’ll love me last.” 

You leave the elevator first, a little pep in your step as you make your way to the rental car to gather your parent’s things. While the words you uttered are white in nature and may not hold any sort of weight to them, it manages to bring Doyeon to her knees, absolutely quaking in the elevator. 

You’re tasting revenge, and it’s sweet. 

“Okay, you need to leave,” Seokjin pulls away the shot glass from your lips, “I didn’t spend days planning the itinerary for you to mess it up. Bridal party in Doyeon’s suite and the groom’s party in Namjoon’s parents suite.” 

“That’s dumb,” you chastise, crossing your arms, “we’re all meeting at the same club at 10. Why can’t we pre-party together?” 

“Because it’s tradition!” 

“Screw tradition,” you stumble on your heels as you purse your lips at Jungkook, “Kook, when we get married I don’t wanna do a whole boy-and-girl party. We’re equals, right?” 

“Of course, baby,” he cooes, being careful not to smudge your makeup when he presses his lips to the crown of your head. “But for the sake of Seokjin’s sanity, you should probably go to Doyeon’s. It’ll only be an hour or two.” 

You gasp exaggeratedly at the blatant betrayal. He only grins cheekily in response, dipping down to press a wet kiss to your cheek. “Fine,” you cross your arms, snatching back your drink from Seokjin’s grasp to knock it down. 

Leaving the bachelor pre-party pains you considerably. They’re having such a good time joking around the suite, telling each other fun stories and relaxing in chairs as they watch TV. This is your kind of crowd, not to mention that you can peacefully check out Jungkook’s ass in those tight dress pants without any crazy club lights distorting your vision.

From past family party experience you already have a feeling what’s coming for you in the ladies’ suite. 

Loud music pours from Doyeon’s suite, and it’s completely unlocked. The bridal party is raving, ten seconds away from being completely drunk and immobile. The lights are being manually shut on and off like some sort of cheap rager, and you have to tell Yoojung to tone it down before you get a seizure. 

The stench of acidic drinks and the tang of alcoholic air is palpable, and instead of a shot you opt for a glass of peach champagne to slow you down. 

As you walk deeper into the suite, you notice a crowd forming by the balcony. Tapping your cousin Nari on the shoulder, you regard her with a hug and kiss. “What’s going on over there?” you ask, heels not helping you see any better. 

Nari’s all blushy and pink, hiccuping as she gestures to the balcony. “Her maid of honor got Doyeon a very special gift!” 

Managing to weave through the women blocking your view, you fight the urge to gag when you have a clear view of the scene in front of you.

You really don’t understand the purpose of bachelor and bachelorette parties. “One night to be single all over again!” they all say, even though they’re not actually single? Like why does the couple suddenly get one night of forgiveness when you’ve already spent years being in a committed relationship? 

Why is it okay that Doyeon’s dry humping a stripper on the balcony? Her white silk dress is ruched dangerously high, soon close to flashing her family. Aunties and friends and the like are cheering her on, and she flips her head perfectly to all the phones shoved in their faces, making sure to get the perfect angle. 

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you turn back in the hopes that your other family members would be willing to have a good old-fashioned tip back with you. 

You squeal when your hands accidentally land on a bare, oiled chest. You look up, mortified at the large man covered in black harnesses. “Hey babe, I’m Wonho,” he says, faking a sultry gaze as he looks at you up and down, “you’re part of the bridal party too? Wanna dance?” 

Feeling naked, you push past him, careful not to get anything on your dress. Wonho? Wonno.

Jungkook loves your family. 

(Except Doyeon.)

As much as he told you not to worry about him, and he’ll be completely fine when he meets your family, he couldn’t help be a little wary on the flight over. After all, it’s been two years and he didn’t know how things would be different. 

Chaoticism and all, your family is a thing to be cherished. Even though Yoongi has been on mood swings that make Jungkook question his sanity from time to time, and Seokjin is secretly breathing down Jungkook’s back every time he so glances at you, he thinks things are right where they should be.  

But despite all that they regarded him with familiarity, hugged and kissed him like old friends, something is different. They’ve turned over a new page for him. They don’t bring up Doyeon. They ask about his family, his job, his life in the city. They ask about how you and Jungkook met, and how happy they are for you. How happy they are for him.

Oh, how he wishes everything could be different. In another world, you two would already be together. 

He wasn’t lying back at the cabana when he said you two are the hottest couple at the resort, including the bridal party (but don’t tell Namjoon). You look absolutely stunning in your sparkly red dress, accentuating all the right parts and lighting up the whole room. 

When he finds you in the club you’re sitting down with your Aunties, keeping the elders company while the younger ones are flagging down the bartenders. He thinks it’s cute, how well you fit in between them, coddling you like you’re still a child in their eyes. 

“Dear, your boyfriend is here!” your one Aunt yells over the loud EDM.

You lift your head up quickly, giving him the prettiest smile. Your teeth glow purple under the neon lights, and he fights the urge to laugh when he holds out a hand. “Mind if I steal her from you?” 

“Of course, she’s gotta live a little!” 

You pout, a little wobbly but nevertheless still in the right mind as you shuffle out of the booth to meet his awaiting arms. “Hey handsome,” your voice is thick and sweet-smelling, “come here often?” 

“Only when my girlfriend does,” he replies cheekily, hands immediately coming to your butt to smooth out your dress. He shys a bit when your Aunties hoot and holler at his public display of affection, but all he wants to do was pull the hem down a little bit. No way is he going to let anyone get a flash of your goods. 

“Let’s dance!” you take your hand in his, leading him to a comfortable corner of the dance floor. 

Clubs aren’t really your scene, aligning with Jungkook’s sentiments towards the loud generic music and terrible smell. But you’re in Vegas, and he feels that it’s all part of the package to experience the nightlife at least once. He puts his hands on your waist and you giggle like you’re in prom, hands coming to rest on the collar of his button down. 

“Hey,” he says with a lopsided smirk, “wanna make out?” 

 “Sure,” he notices that you don’t even check if anyone’s seeing, and it makes his heart flutter when you don’t hesitate to get on your tiptoes to meet him halfway. 

He’s always hoped for a moment like this, a moment where the room stops spinning and both your minds click into place. It’s almost comical, how he distinctly notes that the music fades once his lips touch yours. The kiss is hot, yet intimate. Even though he makes excuses to kiss you all the time because of practice, it goes to show that you two definitely never needed it. Your tiny hands grip the collar of his button down, bringing you two impossibly close despite the hot air. His larger hands grip at the strings that hold your measly dress together, grappling at any excuse to get to your soft skin. The two of you are a natural when it comes to each other’s intimacy. 

The two of you pull away, mesmerized. You haven’t kissed like that before. He melts under your stare, his thumb reaching to nick off any lip gloss that’s moved in the process. 

Seokjin comes down the floor to haul you both by the shoulders, “C’mon lovebirds, they’re taking wedding shots!” 

The two of you follow your cousin to the crowd of people that is your family, already with their own drinks in hand. Doyeon and Namjoon are sitting atop the bar, making a very loud toast that consisted of a quick “thank you!” and “we love you!” before downing their drinks with their arms linked together. The room is thrumming with excitement for tomorrow’s festivities, and surprisingly, you and Jungkook included. He tucks himself in your body like a puzzle piece, hugging you from behind while he watches Namjoon’s eyes sparkle with love under the neons. 

The nightclub gets a little blurry after that, with the copious amounts of alcohol and shameless actions from your family and friends. By the time it’s twelve Jungkook notices you swaying at a rate that you can’t handle. He knows your limits and knows when you have to urge to pee every five minutes, it’s time to go. With a chaste kiss you leave him at the bar, deciding to make a pitstop to the bathroom before telling Jungkook you want to head up.

You’re locked in a stall when you hear Yoojung’s voice. 

“Ugh,” she groans, voice echoing through the tiny room. “Jungkook is so sexy. Do you see the way he’s dancing out there? He’s a literal babe magnet, I can’t believe he ended up with someone like y/n.” 

You don’t move a muscle, pressing your ear against the door that hides you. The silly slander isn’t news to you, Doyeon has been feeding her friends all sorts of bullcrap so they wouldn’t bother talking to you. 

“Yeah, Jungkook’s a real treat but he dated Doyeon first. Sounds like she’s into sloppy seconds,” Elly replies, another bridesmaid you’ve met in passing. “But I don’t know, they do look happy together.”

“Please, I’m sure Jungkook’s just using her so he can get one more chance at Doyeon before she ties the knot,” you bristle, the thought of Jungkook still having feelings for Doyeon makes your heart thud painfully against your chest, “like, what a downgrade. Namjoon and Doyeon do not deserve this drama. If Jungkook ever liked Doyeon at all, he wouldn’t have come. Period.” 

You slam the door open, causing Elly to squeal and Yoojung’s YSL lipstick to fall onto the sink. You’re the epitome of relaxation, walking towards the sink to wash your hands. The bridesmaids simply stare at you, unable to formulate a comeback. When you finally dry your hands, you say your next words. 

“Jungkook is here because he loves me,” an act act act. This is all an act. You shouldn’t be this offended because you know it’s all false. “And you’re wrong. It’s not Jungkook that doesn’t deserve Doyeon. Jungkook was too good for Doyeon.” 

And you slam your heels against the tile, stilettos pounding to the beat of the music. Your exit is full of anger and frustration as you ignore the burn in your step and the ache in your heart, flagging the first bartender you see to get you a double. 

Shot for shot, that anger soon melts into guilt as Yoojung’s words sink in. The thought of Jungkook using you to get to Doyeon is terrible, you can barely stomach the thought. But that’s exactly what you’re doing, right? You’re using Jungkook to get back at Doyeon. 

Why did you even want to get back at Doyeon anymore? Why do you have to prove anything to her? If she just continues to push you around, isn’t that more on her than it is on you? 

Jungkook soon finds you after you’ve nursed a few drinks, leaning unceremoniously against a barstool. His eyes widen at your state, and he immediately sheds his jacket to wrap it around your waist. 

“Why did you drink so much?” he chastises, “it’s the night before the wedding.” 

“Jungkookie,” you warble, clutching your stomach, “I don’t feel so good.” 

He sighs, bending down. “Get on my back. Make sure the jacket covers you up, okay?” 

He doesn’t even grunt when you put all your weight on him, feeling like a ragdoll as he hoists you up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting him carry you to your room. Most of the older family already went upstairs to sleep, so none of your cousins could care less when they see you get hauled away by Jungkook. 

You inhale, he smells like sweat and cologne. “I like putting my head between your neck,” you babble, and you feel Jungkook chuckle through his chest, “you smell so nice there. It’s the bestset! Comfiest place ever, ‘specially when m’sleepy.” 

“Are you sleepy now, baby?” You love how smooth the petname falls from his lips. 

“I will be when we get upstairs,” you reply, happy to see the elevator is empty. “I’m just all up in my head.” 

“Is that why you were drinking so much? You said you were gonna stop earlier.” 

“Yeah, but,” you shamefully tuck your head in his shoulder, “I was frustrated.” 

“Frustrated? At who?” concern laces his tone as he struggles to hold you with one hand and fumble for his key in the other. You tighten your legs around his slim waist until the door clicks open, and he immediately walks over to your bed to plop you down. “Babe, are you crying?” he finally has a good look at your face, horrified to see the streaks of tears mixed with mascara running down your face. 

“I wa-was jealous,” you confess tearily, clutching your face in your hands,  “some girls in the bathroom were calling you sexy and that you were only here so you could try to win over Doyeon. I know it sounds ridiculous and you would never do that but. The thought of you getting back with her makes me so jealous and I hate it! I’m starting to feel so guilty about this, all of this. I put all of this on ourselves and I’m ruining it.” 

“Ruining what? You’re not making any sense.” Jungkook places a hand on your knee, crouching down so he can look up at you. 

“I’m ruining us,” you gush despondently, “I’m ruining any potential of us before we even start.” 

Jungkook freezes, hand clutching your knee like a lifeline. The potential of you two together? You’ve thought of that? Jungkook didn’t drink much tonight, so his mind is definitely running on all cogs. 

Coming to a conclusion, he rubs slow, soothing circles on your knee, his other hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your face. “You’re not ruining anything,” he declares firmly, “that’s impossible. I may have agreed to fake-date you because of Doyeon, but I stayed because of you.” 

His heart aches seeing you so upset, and he decides to take initiative to get you out of your clothing and ready for bed. You don’t have any words, opting to let Jungkook take care of you as you try to calm yourself down. He finds a spare t-shirt,  a long one so you’ll be comfortable. He doesn’t bat an eye when he unzips your dress, in favor of balling up the shirt and getting you clothed as fast as possible. He rifles through the bathroom to find your makeup wipes, and he’s gentle when he scrubs up the once pretty makeup you spent half an hour doing. Barefaced and fresh, you look sleepy and ready to crash. 

But before Jungkook can tuck you in, you clutch his arm.

“Jungkook,” you murmur sleepily, “I think I lo—” 

“I know, baby,” he doesn’t want a confession like this, and he’s sure you wouldn’t want it either. You still look a little green and you’re not sober, so he makes the executive decision to pin these feelings for later. “I’m not trying to invalidate you, I promise. I want you to tell me this, all of this in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” you melt in the sheets, pulling the blankets up to your chest. When you see Jungkook move away from the bed, you jolt, “Where are you going?” 

Jungkook smiles, reaching over to tuck you back in, “I left my blazer in Namjoon’s room. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

He walks out of your room as quietly as he can, making sure to close the door slowly. Once it’s sealed shut, he leaps up, giving himself a silent cheer as he bounds down the hall. You like him back! 

The smile on his face is tired but full of fervor as he makes his way to Namjoon and Doyeon’s suite. He doesn’t even care that he probably has to talk to Doyeon to get his jacket back, thoughts filled with the excitement of his requited feelings and going back to his room to cuddle up with you. 

He doesn’t even have to knock when the large double doors swing open. Dumbfounded, he looks down at Doyeon, wearing a tiny black nightie and dangling his jacket with one finger. It’s an outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination, and he feels his neck heat up at the feeling he’s encroaching on an intimate moment. 

“You left this,” she says slowly, a tiny smirk on her lips. 

“Uh, thanks,” he says, making sure not to touch her when he grabs his blazer. 

In her other hand she holds up her room’s designated ice bucket. “Could you also get me some ice, please? Namjoon’s fast asleep and I really don’t want to walk out all… exposed.” 

He swallows his sigh, knowing it’s going to take significantly longer to get back to you when Doyeon drawls like this. “Of course,” he replies tersely, “after all, you are the bride.” 

“Thanks, Jungkookie.” 

He makes quick work of getting Doyeon the ice, pumping his long legs down the hall. The ice room is cold and cramped, barely enough for his tall frame to fit in. He jabs the container in the holder, pressing the button ten times per second to get as much ice out as possible. 

As soon as he turns around with the ice, he drops the whole bucket. 

Like glass, it shatters onto the ground, hundreds of little clear pebbles skimming across the floor like marbles. Doyeon’s pushing Jungkook against the ice machine, freshly manicured hands splayed across his chest. Her body is flush against his, making sure that he feels all of her with her thin silk gown. 

“What the fuck, Doyeon get off of me!” a little part of him hopes she’ll come to her senses on her own so he doesn’t have to put his hands on her. 

“C’mon, Kookie,” her voice is a sickly candy sweet, her eyes wide with hunger as she takes in his form, “just one more night, you and me. Like old times. One more night before I tie the knot.” 

“You’re crazy,” he balks, running his hand through his hair, “this is sexual harassment, do you know that?” 

“You don’t mean that, Kookie,” Doyeon dips a red-tipped nail down his chest, “why settle for someone like y/n when I’m right here?” 

He grabs her wrists, firm. She winces at the contact, but doesn’t say anything when Jungkook delivers her a scary glare. It gets her quiet, fearful of this version of Jungkook. Doyeon’s never seen Jungkook like this before, so unwilling to bend at her whim and emanating all his power against her. 

“Why settle for your cousin?” he whispers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “because, I love her.” 

Her lip curls in disgust, nails digging into the palm of his hand. “But you loved me first.”

“And I’ll love her last,” he spits pack, letting go of her. His anger splits for a brief second, regarding Doyeon with sorrow, “this is low, even for you.”

Jungkook pushes past the ice, wobbling out of the ice room. He doesn’t look back, he just knows that he needs you right now. He needs to tell you everything, figure out a plan to cancel the wedding or something. 

But when he crashes inside the room, you’re dead asleep. He can’t find the courage to wake up Seokjin as well, who returned and is sleeping in his club outfit. He groans, feeling useless as he stares at the two of you, ignorant of what just conspired ten minutes ago. 

And Namjoon, what is he going to tell Namjoon? Poor guy doesn’t deserve any of this. 

Walking up to your side of the bed, he tucks your loose hair behind your ear. You look so peaceful now, so beautiful. 

It’s just going to have to wait until the morning. 

The morning of the wedding, you wake up alone. 

The first thought that runs through your head is that Jungkook has rejected you. The little, insecure bug that will never go away in your brain fills you with rash thoughts. He’s on a flight half way back home and he regrets this whole week. 

But after that exaggeration, you notice two aspirin and a bottle of water on your nightstand, along with your phone that’s fully charged. 

You pull up the screen to check the dozens of messages that flood your app. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: morning babe, im sorry i had to leave early. Namjoon showed up at our door freaking out that his suit is the wrong fit and shade. Now im running around vegas trying to find a replacement that doesn’t look like an elvis presley extra

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: but i didn’t forget what you said last night, i promise! Just go get ready and i’ll meet u at the chapel outside the resort. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: i also have something to say to you

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: wow i didn’t realize how ominous that sounds. Dw, everything will be fine

When someone tells you something will be fine, it’s a universal agreement that no, things will not be fine. 

So you get dressed, and put on your makeup mindlessly. You don’t really know what to make of Jungkook’s cryptic message, but you decide to leave those thoughts in the back of your mind as you go to the other rooms to help your family get ready. 

Seokjin is busy tying the ring bearer’s tie, looking handsome with his slicked back hair and polished grey suit. “Morning, cousin,” he sing-songs, “you look beautiful today!”

You smooth out your dress, a cascading silver number with starry sparkles. You feel like you’re living out your magical girl fantasies, wrapped up in layers of tulle and a sparkly sweetheart bodice.

“Right back at you. Say, you didn’t see Jungkook this morning, did you?” 

“No, but I heard he’s with Namjoon hunting for a new suit. Why?” 

“Nothing,” you lean against the guest table, “he just said something really ominous over text.” 

“I will never get a peaceful day so long as I’m in this family,” he says this directly to the ring bearer, a toddler who’s obviously confused at his uncle’s weird sayings. 

Your phone beeps conveniently, displaying Jungkook’s name. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: just got his suit. We’ll be there in fifteen. Meet me at the garden behind the chapel, please. It’s urgent 

Now you’re just worried. So you tell Seokjin your sentiments, and that he should have his phone on hand in case you needed him. With a confused nod, you leave him to go down to the garden.  

The groomsmen and bridesmaids are already at the chapel taking pictures. Only the wedding party is really allowed at this time, but you manage your way through the gardens virtually undetected. Jungkook’s already waiting for you, hiding under a white gazebo overlooking the hotel’s fountain. 

He looks gorgeous in his all black pinstripe suit, hair pushed back and pants fitted perfectly around his waist and thighs. When he sees you he gets up, full of skittish energy. You note that his hair isn’t even styled, only washed and curling slightly at the ends, as if he’s in a rush.

“W-wow,” he marvels when you rush up to him, “you look gorgeous.” 

You drop the handful of silver tulle, letting it fall to the floor. “Jungkook,” you clasp his hand in both of his, guilt flooding your eyes. You’ve been thinking about this all morning, and you need to cut to the chase. Jungkook tries to open his mouth but you silence him with a finger on his lips. “I can’t—I can’t do this. I know this sounds really stupid and you probably don’t want anything to do with me after this, but I shouldn’t have made this elaborate scheme,” you bite your lip, feeling even more antsy as Jungkook squirms in his grip. He however, is trying very hard to focus with his eyes, confused at your sudden confession. “I like you, Jungkook. I don’t want to parade you around like a revenge plot anymore, it isn’t fair and it’s wrong in so many ways—” 

“That’s great,” he says simply, brown eyes swirling with thoughts, “um, ditto. But—”

“Wow,” you frown, “I pour my heart out to you and this is what I get?” 

“It’s great that you want to be selfless right now,” Jungkook takes your hand, firm and tight, “but without this elaborate scheme, we wouldn’t be saving asses like we are right now.”

“What are you talking about?” You thought Jungkook rushed you down here so you could talk about each other’s feelings before the wedding. 

“Doyeon just threw herself on me last night. I got her ice and she took that as an invitation to seduce me like an episode of Sex and the City. Namjoon needs to divorce her, like yesterday.” 

Your face then morphs into something dark and ugly, and you fling your whole confession out the window. The thought of Doyeon going as far as throwing herself on Jungkook as a last ditch attempt to get back at you, has you seeing blood red. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner!”

“You were asleep!” he shoots back, putting his hands on your shoulders. He rubs warm strokes up and down your bare arms, “please relax. You’re shaking.” 

“And why didn’t you tell Namjoon when you were driving around all morning?”

“I tried to!” he retorts, hands swinging in the air. You huff when his hands land back on your shoulders, preventing you from running to the chapel to extract Doyeon out yourself, “but he just kept talking shit about how much he loves Doyeon and he can’t imagine being together with anyone but her and I felt so bad! I’m sorry I chickened out. I really don’t wanna be the one to break Namjoon’s heart. I’m just the plus one!” 

You pinch your brows, mulling it over. “Fuck it, let’s crash a wedding,” you declare, “where’s Namjoon and how can we get him alone?” 

Jungkook exhales, a hand carding up to loosen his thin silver tie. “He’s taking pictures with the groomsmen right now. It’s gonna be awhile before we get a chance to talk.” 

“Fuck,” you curse, sitting down on the white bench. Jungkook presses soothing circles on your back. “We have no choice, we have to get to him before the ceremony starts.” 

“You’ll have to get through me, first.” 

Doyeon’s not even in her wedding dress when she strides up to the two of you. She’s in ballet flats with her hair and makeup done, but the only thing she’s wearing is the thin underdress of her actual ball gown, a simple silk negligee that reaches her ankles. You don’t even know how she’s managed to escape the bridal party, especially without her dress. 

Feeling protective, you step in front of Jungkook. “Before you say anything,” you murmur, “I’m not ruining your wedding, and I never wanted to. You’re ruining it because of your mistakes.” 

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Doyeon rolls her eyes, playing with her nails, “I didn’t even do anything wrong, everyone knows that on the bachelorette’s night she can do whatever she wants. Namjoon could’ve fucked whoever too if he wasn’t so faithful.” 

“Namjoon is ten times the partner you are and would never do that,” You’re seeing red, unable to comprehend the complete garbage spilling from Doyeon’s lips. “You touched my boyfriend without his consent, and I will never forgive you for that,” your voice is scarlet, angry and thin. 

“It’s not like he isn’t used to it, I—”

“NO!” the sound that comes out of your mouth has all three of you flinching, and you’re thankful the gazebo is far enough so that the rest of the wedding party is oblivious to your actions. “You’re not allowed to justify yourself anymore, Doyeon. What you did was fucked up, what you’ve done to all of us is fucked up!” You realize now that you didn’t need to get back at Doyeon with a fake date, what you needed was this. You needed a reprieve, a chance to lay down your law. “Jungkook was right all along. You are jealous. You’re jealous and selfish and have no shame. You think you own whatever you set your eyes on, but you’re wrong. We’re not objects, we’re people.” 

You walk up to Doyeon, eye to eye. You jab a hand at her chest, pushing her back slightly. You soak up your cousin’s expression, and you watch as Doyeon’s eyes pop out in surprise at your act of boldness. “So you have a choice here. You can either swallow your pride and leave Namjoon at the aisle quietly and save whatever dignity you have left. Take your pathetic ass on the next flight back home and pack up your apartment. Or, we can start a big scene at your ceremony,” you probably look manic, filled with freshly injected power, “I know Seokin’s always wanted to yell ‘I object!’ at a wedding.” 

“You have no proof,” Doyeon glares right back, taking a step closer to you. Your noses are practically touching, but you dig your heels in the white-stained wood, puffing up your chest and standing your ground. 

“Doesn’t matter,” you bite back, “what matters is that Namjoon will doubt you. Namjoon knows we’d never do anything to sabotage a wedding without a valid reason. Even if you do get married tonight, we have Jungkook’s word and proof of a relationship that overlaps with his. I find this option to be far worse because it’s prolonging the inevitable,” you shrug, “I hope you two didn’t sign a prenup.”  

Hot, angry tears mess up her meticulously done makeup. Black rivers carve through her porcelain skin, showing the feelings that have been dormant since been hidden under a facade. Doyeon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of you. She’s practically vibrating in combined fear and rage, seeing blurry images and memories and regrets of what could’ve been if not for her self-absorption. And finally, your cousin comes to a decision. 

“I hate you,” she emphasizes each word with the most concentrated of venoms in her tone. WIth one last look at the two of you, she stomps away. Instead of going to the direction of the chapel however, she takes the shortcut back to the hotel. 

Her grave words are unsurprising, but nevertheless disappointing. A thinly veiled smile grazes your lips, sadder than ever as you watch your cousin go. “And I pity you.” 

As soon as she’s gone Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hugging you tightly as you fight the urge to cry again. “Oh babe, that was really hot. The way you stood your ground? That was amazing!” Jungkook takes out his silver pocket square to wipe the stray tears that threaten to ruin your makeup. “You’re so strong, don’t you know that? You did it and I’m so proud of you.” 

As much as you want to revel in the affection, go back and bed and fall asleep until noon, you can’t.  Grasping Jungkook by the hand, you tug him to the chapel. “C’mon,” you say, “we have to corner Namjoon.”

The groomsmen photos are done by the time you get there. Thankfully, the to-be-groom doesn’t look too occupied. His eyes widen upon seeing you two stumble from the garden of all places.

“Oh, y/n. Jungkook,” Namjoon tilts his head curiously at how winded you two look, equally flushed and out of breath. From your state, Namjoon muses that it must've taken a lot of effort to finally get to the groom unattended, save for a few random family members he’s making small talk with, “The wedding isn’t for another hour but I must say, you two look radiant together. Doyeon always thought you’d end up an old spinster-catlady, but I always told her that you’re too beautiful to be single for long,” he pauses to send the aforementioned man a wink, “Jungkook’s a lucky guy. What were you two doing back there?”

“Uh, things?” Jungkook scratches the back of his head, not wanting to reiterate the fiasco between Doyeon moments before.

Namjoon smirks at the ebony-haired man, “Couple things?”  

You can’t take this needless small talk anymore. With a teary groan, you throw yourself at Namjoon. You hug him tight, and you don’t even care when you feel a slosh of his water bottle sprinkle your hairstyle. 

“Joonie,” you bemoan, “please, please don’t leave me. You’re the best not-cousin ever. I know it’ll be a pain to face Doyeon after today but you’re a strong independent man and when you’re ready Jin is single and ready to mingle—ow! Jungkook! Did you just pinch my ass?” 

“Do you really think setting him up with the next cousin is the best idea right now?”

“I figured a little humor would lighten the blow,” you sulk.

“I’m sorry what—what blow?” Namjoon frowns, pushing you away from him. “Y/n, have you been crying?” 

The tears resurface at that moment, like a kettle on overboil. Namjoon’s face is knitted together, unable to grasp at any conclusion. Namjoon feels something grave is upon the sky as he tenderly brushes away your tears with his thumbs before releasing you. Instantly Jungkook pulls you to his chest, patting you soothingly. As much as you two do not want to be the bearer of bad news, the time is now. 

“Namjoon,” Jungkook says, finding the strength that was previously stuck in his throat, “we have to tell you something.” 

Needless to say, Las Vegas is very forgiving when it comes to last minute wedding cancellations. 

The whole wedding party, both Namjoon and yours, collectively feels like a whole ice bucket has been dumped upon your families. You would like to say that the whole issue was handled mess free, but that would be a bald-faced lie. 

There was screaming, crying, hysterical laughter from all sides. Doyeon’s parents were of course furious, embarrassed, unable to calm down a hysterical Doyeon as they haul her on the next flight home. You have a feeling they won’t be showing up to family events anytime soon. 

Namjoon’s family leaves quietly, frustrated, but classy. After all, they know at the back of their heads they dodged a bullet. Everyone leaves except Namjoon however, who isn’t quite ready to go back to his and Doyeon’s apartment. Namjoon invites Seokjin and some other close cousins to stay in his suite until their flight tomorrow afternoon, wanting to be surrounded by close friends and (almost) family. 

As for your family, they decide to find the silver lining. While the chapel was able to cancel the wedding, the reception wasn’t as easy to sway. At the very last second, your grandparents decided to make use of the reception and renew their Golden Anniversary vows instead. The ceremony will be a quick, sweet affair. At this very moment, your cousin Yoongi is getting officiated online. 

And for you? You’re in the place where you’ve wanted to remain all week. A fluffy hotel bed wrapped up with your not-boyfriend. 

Or? 

Would a not-boyfriend be snuggling against your chest like you’re the softest teddy bear in the toy shop? Would a not-boyfriend be hooking your leg atop his lap, forcing you to latch onto him so his hands can roam freely against your soft thighs? 

“We have to get ready for the wedding,” you whine against his hold, to no avail when he only holds you tighter. 

“But your grandparents are already married,” Jungkook whines right back, nuzzling his nose in your head. “This is like an afterparty fifty years later.” 

“I wanna get dressed,” you insist, pushing yourself up, “and we still need to talk.” 

Without Seokjin staying with you, the hotel room feels much bigger and freer for the two of you. Your clothes are scattered on the floor, uncaring of any wrinkles or smears that would get on the delicate fabric. 

All that matters is that Jungkook is still here with you. Doyeon’s wedding is called off, but he’s still lying in bed with you. You want to burn this image to memory, and keep it forever. Jungkook laying in only his white undershirt and boxers, looking at you dreamily as if he’s still in nap-mode. Hair that was previously windswept and exposing his forehead is now out of place, fluffy and sticking out in all directions. His cheeks are flushed with coral-colored warmth, and a little puffy because you two have been sleeping most of the afternoon. 

“Right, talk,” he repeats, letting you hand him his black button up so he can clothe himself. 

You throw off your shirt somewhere behind you, not wanting to face him as you walk to the full-length mirror. “So, I think my feelings for you are pretty clear and out in the open…” 

“Same, I think I made it pretty clear as well.” 

“What? You turn around, looking at where he’s still half-covered in bed. “You did not. I distinctly remember almost confessing my love to you last night. And then this morning, only for you to cut me off and say ‘that’s great’.” 

“Oh,” he stares at the white sheets that cover his lower half. “I guess I didn’t then.” 

You smile wryly, turning back to face the mirror so you can slip into your dress that’s been pooled around your ankles like a silver halo. “Maybe you thought it in your mind and forgot to tell me.” 

That seems about right. Jungkook has a tendency to be a little too passionate for his own good, windswept in thoughts and feelings until they consume him. He hops out of bed, walking only in his dress shirt and socks as he makes his way to the mirror. “Then let me do all the talking,” he says softly against your neck, hands on your hips. 

You shiver when you feel the cold silver of the zipper whirr up your body, Jungkook’s large hands splaying across your back to smooth out the waistline. 

“You of all people would know that being with Doyeon is a trip,” he chuckles into the crook of your neck, “I thought that was what love felt like. Being codependent, jumping through hurdles, trying so hard to please someone who can’t be pleased.” 

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly. He squeezes you and holds you like the most precious thing in the entire world. Through the mirror, you two are quite a pair. 

“But with you, I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.” 

“So… are you saying you love me?” you fight the urge to bounce around in his grip, the biggest smile on your face.  

“You really just want me to say ‘I love you’ and be done with it, huh?” 

Within seconds he’s pulling you from behind, whirling you around to the edge of the bed. He manages to flouce up your skirts to billow around his lap, sitting you down on his bare thighs. 

“You look like a cupcake, all sprawled up like this,” Jungkook says cutely, peppering kisses in a trail from your chest all the way to your lips. “You look like a huge, silvery cupcake and I love you. It’s so easy to love you.” 

Maybe it was kismet that Jungkook didn’t get to you first all those years ago. Maybe the right time is right here, right now. 

“I love you, too,” you say happily, dipping down to press a long, passionate kiss to his lips. He tastes like love and a happy future. When you pull away, you encapsulate his face in both your palms, regarding him like the sun and stars. “But you know, if we date you’ll never get away from my crazy family.” 

Jungkook snorts, pressing his forehead to yours, “And miss Yoongi re-marrying off your grandparents tonight, the next year of Seokjin and Namjoon running circles around each other, and a lifetime of happiness?” his hands snake under your dress, finding purchase in your soft skin, “not a chance.” 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

and then I don’t feel so bad

thanks again to @thecomfortofoldstorries for coming through when I whined at her about needing ideas

also shout-out to my older sister for being the coolest and getting this song stuck in my head today (happy birthday, sis. wish we’d been raised together)

---

Geralt holds the package tightly with both hands and glares down at it with icy anxiety building at the center of his chest. The cloak he’d special ordered two weeks ago is wrapped in brown paper, tied closed with a length of dark blue woolen string. The Witcher, who has faced countless monsters and angry villagers and vengeful nobles alike, takes a deep breath in through his nose and shudders at the thought of his next self-chosen contract: giving Jaskier a Solstice present. He hopes the cloak is good enough. He hopes that he chose a fashionable color, one that Jaskier will enjoy wearing no matter where he chooses to go this winter. Geralt hopes that the heavy wool he’d painstakingly decided on is the right kind of material for Jaskier’s tastes. He hopes… he hopes that everything he’s about to say and do goes well and that he doesn’t fuck this all up.

“Jaskier,” he calls, keeping his tone light as he knocks on the door of their shared room. “Are you decent?”

“Never!” Jaskier laughs from within. Geralt hears a series of quick, light-soled footsteps crossing the floor before the door is flung open to reveal Jaskier in all his evening glory. The bard is, as usual, painfully correct. He’s not very decent at all; his hair is a mess of brown waves that tumble down to cover his smooth, pale forehead. The apples of his cheeks are flushed fuchsia with a combination of wine and the high of a good show. His frilly white shirt is unlaced at the throat and loosened all the way down to reveal the sharp angles of his collarbones. Geralt gulps air like a man near to drowning and pushes his way inside. Has it gotten hotter, all of a sudden? Jaskier’s eyebrows furrow with worry and he closes the door behind his Witcher. “What’s got you even quieter than usual? Are you sick? Injured? Cursed?”

“Witchers can’t get sick,” Geralt answers, almost automatically. Jaskier rolls his eyes. 

“Your version of sick, then?” 

Geralt doesn’t know what his version of sick means so he ignores the comment entirely. Instead he shoves the package in his hands towards the bard and huffs. “I got something for you. I thought you might like to wear it to keep you warm, especially since I wanted… I was wondering if you’d like…”

Geralt growls and spins on his heel, running one shaking hand through his hair as if that might calm him down. It doesn’t.

“Fuck! Why can’t I be like you? Why can’t I just… say all the things I’m thinking? I’m no good with words, Jaskier.”

“I actually don’t say most of the things I think,” Jaskier shrugs. He bites the inside of his lip to keep from talking any more and ruining the moment. This is clearly something the Witcher needs to do on his own, whatever it is. He smiles softly and holds the paper-wrapped lump against his chest. “But I’m happy to wait for as long as you need, dear heart. Figuring out the right thing to say is hard.”

Geralt’s heart is pounding in his chest. Each beat rings out like one of Roach’s shoes against unforgiving cobblestone. He can practically see the sparks flying from it, igniting something in his chest that flares and wavers like a candle flame in the high breeze. He wants to protect the wavering warmth with every ounce of strength he has.

“I… I got you this,” he gestures towards the gift Jaskier has yet to open, “Because it’s cold at Kaer Morhen. The pass is treacherous, difficult for a human who isn’t prepared, so I wanted you to- I mean if you wanted to come with me, I would-”

His fumbling proposal is interrupted by a dull thwump as the package Jaskier was just holding suddenly hits the wooden floorboards. When Geralt looks up, terrified of the incoming rejection, he’s met with two watery blue eyes. Every one of his worst fears is being actualized in front of him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it now. 

“Fuck. Shit, I- I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t know if you would eve-”

Geralt is interrupted again, this time by Jaskier throwing his arms around the Witcher’s shoulders and starting to sob. Geralt panics and instinctively reaches to pull Jaskier closer against his chest. He tucks the bard’s face against the side of his neck and cups the back of his neck with one broad palm; his fingers scratch up the base of Jaskier’s scalp and into his soft, tousled locks. With his other arm Geralt holds the bard tightly around the waist, rubbing small circles into the meat of his hip as he waits for Jaskier’s breathing to return to normal.

“Do you not want to come with me to the keep?” he asks, voice low and gravelly but somehow smaller and more frightened than Jaskier has ever heard it sound before. His heart cracks wide open and his love for his grumpy White Wolf comes spilling out like water from a burst dam. 

“Of course I want to come to Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier chuckles wetly. Sadly. “I just never thought… I thought you didn’t want me there.”

Geralt considers the words for a moment. He really hasn’t been the most welcoming friend, all things considered. He can understand why Jaskier feels a bit lost and a bit confused. Overwhelmed, his brain supplies. Jaskier is overwhelmed. 

He slowly releases Jaskier and steps away.

“Here,” he grins, kneeling and offering the package back up to the bard, who accepts it slowly. Now those bright blue eyes are shining with a different emotion, and Geralt envies the mages who can read other peoples’ minds. “Open it.”

Jaskier slowly unties the blue string and pulls two or three layers of plain brown paper aside to reveal a cardinal-red woolen cloak. A cloak that Geralt has bought for him. The hood and the hem are just the right size and shape for the season. The shade of red Geralt has chosen really brings out the pink undertones of Jaskier’s skin and the darker flecks of blue in his eyes. Jaskier knows that this cloak’s design is haute couture and probably cost the Witcher a great deal of coin. “Oh… Oh, my sweet, darling Geralt.”

Hearing his name said like that, with such affection and gentle reverence, throws the Witcher into another frenzy of emotion. He can barely stand it. His fists clench at his sides. It takes Herculean effort not to sweep the bard off his feet and spin him through the air, peppering him with excited, happy kisses. Jaskier is coming to Kaer Morhen with him! Jaskier is coming home with him!

“Geralt?” 

“Jaskier,” the Witcher whispers, taking one slow step and closing the distance between them. The bard does not flinch. He does not move away. He does not step back. “Jaskier, if you don’t mind, I’d like to kiss you very badly.”

“Of course,” the bard breathes, his hand floating up to rest against the warm, stubbled skin of Geralt’s cheek, “I’ve been waiting so long…”

When their lips finally meet, time stops. There is only the warmth of their skin where it’s touching and the soft, gentle desperation of two people trying to prove, for once and for all, that they love each other. When they pause for air Jaskier pulls away a fraction. “Let’s go sit by the fire and chat, shall we?”

“Hmm.”

Geralt settles himself before the fire and pulls Jaskier down onto his lap, arranging him until they’re both comfortable. “Will your family mind my coming with you?”

“They’re expecting you. Actually, they demanded your presence this year. Lambert actually threatened me with bodily harm.”

“Did they, now?”

“Aye. Eskel said he’d find you and bring you back himself if I was too cowardly to buck up like a real Witcher and tell you that I-”

He cut himself off with a blush.

“That you what?”

“That I love you.”

“Well that’s good news,” Jaskier giggles, “And quite the relief considering I’ve been head over heels in love with you for years, now. A decade at least!”

“Y-you…?”

“Me, indeed.”

“I’m glad we’ll all get to hear your wonderful stories this winter,” Geralt nuzzles down against the side of his neck and sends Jaskier into another fit of giggles. “And songs.”

“Do you like it when I sing?”

“I like it best when you make up little songs as we travel,” Geralt admits. “They’re sweet... and I feel like- like they’re just for me.”

Jaskier lights up brighter than a well-cast Igni and settles himself into the Witcher’s tender embrace entirely. He begins to hum to himself and then slowly, in a way that always leaves Geralt impressed and entranced, words begin to form into verse:

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, Big grumpy Witchers that have me quite smitten, Brown paper packages tied up with strings; These are a few of my favorite things.”

Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s temple and hides his blush in the bard’s warm neck.

“Hair soft as silk that went white in the Trials, Arms that can hold me and heft me for miles, Eyes of warm amber I search for in Spring, These are a few of my favorite things.”

The Witcher swears he can’t fall any more in love. It has to be impossible; but then Jaskier’s voice gets even softer and the words are sung so close to his ear that it makes him shiver. 

“When the wolf bites, When the bee stings, When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, And then I don't feel so bad!”

[cuddlepilefics]

He can help

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Seungmin

Caregiver: Chan

 No one’s POV.:

It had been a long day for all of Stray Kids. They had had three interviews and finished the day with a grueling dance practice. All of them were happy when they finally returned to the dorm for the evening. While the members took turns showering, Chan and Minho cooked dinner for the group. The first who finished freshening up, were Jeongin and Felix, the two laid the table, so they’d all be able to eat as soon as everyone had their shower. Not really having had the time to eat a proper lunch, the members felt like they’ve been starving. Especially Seungmin had complained the entire way back that his stomach was slowly digesting itself if he didn’t feed it anytime soon. Although now, that the food was on the food was on the table, his demeanor had changed completely. He didn’t dig in immediately like one would expect him to. Instead, he seemed hesitant, being the last one to pick up his chopsticks.

Seungmin himself was confused. He remembered being unbearably hungry towards the end of their dance practice but now that the room was filled with the savory scent of their dinner and there was a plate in front of him, the food suddenly didn’t seem as appetizing. His hunger seemed to have completely vanished and he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe he was just past the point of being hungry and the uncomfortable churning in his guts were hunger pains, so Seungmin picked up his chopsticks and started to eat. Chewing on some grilled meat, he felt like eating was the wrong thing to be doing right now but he couldn’t tell why. Minho certainly hadn’t gone easy on them today and the second youngest still felt shaky, like he had completely out done himself over the last few hours. He forced himself to eat at least half of his meal before pushing the plate away and resting his aching head on his folded arms. “Seungmin, you’ve been complaining about starving the entire time and now you’re now eating. Are you kidding me?”, Minho frowned. Seungmin lifted his head and gave the dancer an angry glare, frowning: “Yah, hyung. You’ve wrecked us with practice today and now you blame me for being exhausted?” – “Aww, is our little puppy tired?”, the second oldest mocked and Seungmin had to refrain from throwing his chopsticks at him. Chan only chuckled at the pair’s bickering but was silently wondering why the younger didn’t eat more of his dinner.

The truth was, the few bites Seungmin had pushed down, didn’t seem to sit right with him. Yeah, he had felt sore and exhausted earlier, which was to be expected after dancing so much. His head had been hurting a bit too, that could also be explained by the length of their schedule but now that his stomach was feeling a bit off too, the vocalist started to get confused. Maybe he was just stressed and running himself down, maybe he was coming down with something. Either way, a good sleep was the key to fixing many problems and he was tired anyways, so it wouldn’t be difficult to head to bed early tonight. Helping his members clear the table, Seungmin stayed in the kitchen a bit longer to make himself a cup of peppermint tea, which he took back to his room. “Good night, guys”, he said, waving at the others watching TV in the living room. Hyunjin got up with a frown, approaching the younger: “You’re already going to bed? It’s still early, don’t you want to join us?” – “Hyung, you were almost as bad as Minho-hyung today. Not everybody has as much stamina as you”, Seungmin stated, rolling his eyes, “any other day, I’d love to join but I’m really tired, so I’ll be turning in early today.” – “Alright, alright”, Hyunjin chuckled, hugging his dongsaeng, “sleep well, Minho and I will be quiet when we go to bed later.” Seungmin’s smile turned into a yawn, earning a smile from his hyung. With another small wave, he turned around and made his way to his room.

Originally, Seungmin had planned to just read another chapter of his book till he had finished his tea but feeling his head to heavy and eyes to sore to do so, he just put on his headphones and listened to Day6 on low volume, while sipping his tea. His back resting against the head board and his legs drawn close to his chest, he became more aware of the discomfort in his stomach, so he left a few sips of his tea and put the cup on the nightstand before turning of the light and wiggling down into a flat position, curled up on his side. As expected, it didn’t take long for sleep to pull him under. To his disappointment though, Seungmin woke up again, almost as quickly as he had fallen asleep. A short glance over at his roommates’ beds proved that he had in fact been asleep for quite some time, seeing them knocked out. He didn’t have to search for long to find the reason for waking up at this ungodly hour. The slight discomfort in his abdomen had turned into something much worse and now his stomach was churning angrily. Cold sweat coated Seungmin’s forehead and he could keep from shaking, feeling painfully cold. The vocalist nearly broke into tears. It had been a while since he had last felt this bad and back then, he was at home with his parents. His mom had made him tea and gave him a hot water bottle, while Seungmin was curled up on the couch, watching movies with his older sister. Now though, now he wasn’t at home anymore. Despite living with more people than ever before, Seungmin felt alone and he hated to be alone when he was this sick.

Seungmin thought about waking up at least one of his hyungs but he wasn’t sure. He was pretty sure, they were similarly as tired as him, so he would feel bad about depriving them of their precious sleep. After a few minutes of sitting on his bed, he had to realize that he’d feel just as bad if not worse, if he had to suffer by himself. Seungmin had already made up his mind about whom he’d go to. It was obvious really. ‘He can help. Channie-hyung always knows how to help’, the second youngest thought, placing his bare feet onto the cold floor. He shivered and when he left his room, he had to hold onto the door frame for a few seconds, almost getting knocked over by a sudden dizzy spell. Shuffling down the hallway to his hyung’s room, Seungmin steadied himself against the wall, cursing his shaky legs for not getting him where he wanted to be. A cramp tore at his stomach, causing the vocalist to sink into a crouch with one hand pressed firmly into his middle as he tried not to cry out and wake everyone. The next few minutes, he spent, leaning against the wall in the hallway, as he tried to breathe through the pain. It was cold and he truly regretted not taking his blanket with him.

At some point, the pain lessened a bit and Seungmin pulled himself together, struggling to his feet, so he could continue his journey. Quietly, he slipped into the room and stared at the leader’s sleeping figure, feeling guilty that he had to wake him when he was sleeping for once, a rare occurrence. He reached out and gently shook Chan’s shoulder. When he got no reaction, he decided to shake him a bit harder, earning a small grunt before the older turned over and continued sleeping. Growing desperate, Seungmin gave the leader’s shoulder a rough shove, which caused him to sit up startled. Chan looked around confused and still half-asleep and found Seungmin standing next to his bed like a lost puppy. “What’s going on?”, he whispered. The younger drew in a shaky breath and mumbled brokenly: “H-Hyung.” Sensing something wasn’t right, Chan clambered out of bed. He noticed the other shivering, so he through his blanket over his shoulder before putting a hand on Seungmin’s back to guide him to the living room, where they could talk without waking Chan’s roommates up.

Seungmin dropped down on the couch and immediately pulled his legs closer to his chest. Wrapping his blanket around the younger’s shoulders, the leader crouched down to eye-level and frowned: “Now Minnie, tell me what’s wrong.” – “Hyung, I-I feel really sick and I didn’t know what to do and I’m sorry for waking you up because you barely sleep but I just felt so bad and I didn’t want to be alone and…”, Seungmin rambled, getting cut of when Chan calmly sat down beside him and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay, I’m glad you woke me up when you’re now feeling well. Can you tell me what doesn’t feel right, so I can figure out how to help you?”, Chan smiled sympathetically. The younger pulled the blanket tighter around himself, desperate for warmth, and sniffled: “I-I’m really cold, my head hurts and my stomach is really upset.” – “I see. How long have you felt like that? I figured that’s why you ate so little during dinner and went to bed early?” – “Yeah”, Seungmin nodded, “I started feeling a bit off during dinner but it wasn’t really bad but then I woke up not too long ago and suddenly it was a lot worse.” – “Alright, let me get some stuff. Do you feel like you need to be sick?”, Chan asked getting up. Seungmin just shrugged and watched the leader disappear.

He was drifting in and out of consciousness, when Chan returned, setting down a bucket next to the couch. The leader gently brushed the younger’s sweaty hair off of his forehead and tilted his head a bit so he could take his temperature, frowning as it was confirmed what he had already expected. Seungmin was running a pretty high fever, so this was unlikely to be a result of stress or his food not agreeing with him, this was most likely some bug that the vocalist had managed to pick up. “Minnie, how do I help you best? Do you feel like you can stomach some tea or would you rather not drink anything right now?”, Chan asked, carding his fingers through his dongsaeng’s hair. He wasn’t sure if the thick blanket was really doing Seungmin any good with how high his fever was but the leader didn’t have the heart to take it away, considering how violently his dongsaeng was shivering. Seungmin blinked his glossy eyes open and rasped: “I don’t think it would stay in if I drink something right now. Could you maybe make me a hot water bottle?” – “I’m sorry, puppy, that would raise your fever even higher. I could rub your tummy instead?”, Chan frowned apologetically. Seungmin shook his head, not really wanting his sensitive stomach to be touched. Chan helplessly bit his lip, when he suddenly had an idea. He told the younger to hang in there, while he got up.

“Here, I remembered I still have those ginger gummies. Usually, they are meant for motion sickness but ginger is good for nausea in general, if you’d like to try that”, Chan explained. Seungmin nodded and took the gummy the leader handed him. Had he nod felt absolutely awful, he had chuckled at the smile face that almost made it look like candy. He kept it on his tongue, sucking on it and tasting the mild spicy flavor. Pulling a chair close, Chan took a seat next to the couch and played with his dongsaeng’s hair. He smiled as he watched the younger relax, humming: “Just try to get some rest, maybe you can sleep most of this off till tomorrow.” Seungmin nodded sleepily and snuggled deeper into the blanket. Maybe Chan was right, maybe he could actually get some sleep. The hand in his hair was certainly helping to make him drowsy.

Seungmin was slowly drifting off, when his body started to flush with heat, making sweat break out on his forehead and back. His mouth started to water and his stomach was swirling. With a weak whimper, he lifted a hand to his mouth, muffling a breathy burp as he struggled to sit up. Chan seemed to grasp the situation quickly, helped the younger sit up and placed the bucket into his lap. Being moved to an upright position, made Seungmin’s head spin and be just crossed his arms over the bucket and rested his head on them. Why was his stomach hating him so much? Chan noticed him swaying and steadied him with one hand on his back and one hand holding the bucket. Feeling his stomach contract, Seungmin mentally prepared himself but all that came up was some air that brought the taste of his dinner. Cringing at the taste, the boy hiccupped before burping wetly. This time, he could actually feel the liquid splash against the back of his throat and moved a trembling hand to get a better grip on the bucket. He gave a small cough, that triggered a gag. Chan whispered gentle reassurances before giving his back a few rough pats, which brought his dinner up his throat. The splashing sound of his stomach contents hitting the plastic container sent shivers down Seungmin’s spine. Retching again, his stomach was eager to get everything up. He was left panting between the waves, having to rely on his hyung to keep him up, as his head was spinning faster and faster. “It’s okay. I got you”, the older whispered, “Deep breaths, it’ll be over soon.”

Seungmin so badly wanted to believe him, so badly wanted all of this to be over. He spat into the bucket, burying his head deeper before choking up a thin stream of bile. It really seemed like he was empty, yet his stomach wouldn’t stop throwing a fit, leaving him dry heaving for what must have been ten minutes. His throat felt abused by the acid and the strain put on it from trying to force something up when there was nothing. Seungmin’s stomach slowly calmed down, so Chan deemed it safe to place the bucket back onto the ground and helped the younger to lay down again, whispering: “Stay awake just a bit longer, yeah? I’ll get you some cool water for your throat and to wash away the taste.” He really didn’t take long, soon propping Seungmin up again and lifting a glass to his swollen lips. The vocalist greedily chugged it, sighing at the relief it brought his throat. It made Chan frown and he pulled the glass away from time to time, afraid his dongsaeng would make himself sick again. Placing down the empty glass, he helped Seungmin peel off his sweaty shirt and got the younger situated again with the blanket only covering his legs and waist, so he could cool down a bit. The leader then went to clean out the bucket, which they’d certainly be needing again later. He also fetched a damp washcloth before making his way back to the living room. Seungmin was barely awake by the time Chan came back. He didn’t feel hot anymore and was instead shivering with the blanket pulled up to his chin. The leader couldn’t help but sigh at the pitiful sight. He used the washcloth to clean the tear-tracks and caked sweat from the younger’s face, wiping his chin and folding the cloth to lay it across the fever-hot forehead. Pulling the chair closer, the oldest hyung prepared himself for a long night as he listened to his dongsaeng’s labored breathing and continued to play with his sweaty messed up hair.

[hungry-tum-stuff]

Hateno Village

BOTW Regional Food Series - Part 3

Description: Link has spoken to Purah regarding his memories, and he’s decided to settle down in Hateno for a bit to think about his next move. On a particularly calm night in, Link decides to try and re-create a recipe he remembers from before the Calamity.

Contents: Hunger, Stomachaches

//TW: Descriptions of Hunger, Amnesia, descriptions of stomachaches/sickness

Disclaimer: I am NOT an expert in memory loss/amnesia. If any of my depictions of Link’s memory loss are incredibly inaccurate, I apologize, and please reach out to me if you believe there is any way I can improve.

Link’s memories were returning.

He’d gone to Hateno to speak with Purah, who had taken more of an interest in his Sheikah Slate than him, if he was being honest. But in her interest, she was able to repair the device and add a new rune: the camera. She’d recovered a few pictures as well, which had sent Link’s mind racing. Every place seemed so familiar, but he had no idea where they were, and even less of a clue as to what had happened there.

He would find each and every place in these pictures, no matter how long it took him.

Especially now that he knew the effects of the shrine were mostly reversible. Purah had told him that his memories would come back in chunks, and that certain people, places, and things would trigger certain memories. She’d also told him that his memory would never completely return, but he still didn’t know how to feel about that.

Considering he could hardly remember anything from 100 years ago, he wasn’t sure if there was anything worth remembering.

He wasn’t even sure if there was anything he missed.

Small things came back to him the more time he spent traveling, however. Things like the names of settlements he knew he hadn’t visited yet, or fighting styles he’d never learned but somehow instinctively knew. The thing he kept remembering the most about though, was Zelda. He heard her voice a lot, and in turn he’s started to remember a few things she’s said to him. He remembered her saying that she was allergic to Chickaloo Nuts, he remembered her shouting ‘be careful!’ a lot. He remembered her face. And despite remembering these things, he still didn’t really remember her.

Link sighed and tossed the Sheikah Slate on the table, rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t look at those pictures anymore, not when he couldn’t remember anything.

His stomach growled.

Impa was right, he couldn’t remember anything on an empty stomach, either.

Link had set up shop for the night in an old, vacant house just outside of Hateno Village. Which he guessed was his house now, seeing as the local construction company had decided to sell it to him. It was better than paying to sleep at an Inn every night, but something about the house was a bit eerie. Almost like there was something missing from it.

On the bright side, a memory had come back to him during the time he’d spent here. He remembered helping someone make stew. And if he remembered the taste correctly, it had been a thick, hearty cuckoo stew. He just had to try making it.

And according to the noises his tummy was making, he also had to stop stalling.

Link looked over the ingredients he had. Hyrule Herb, milk, rock salt, a hearty radish, but no cuckoo meat. Hell, he didn’t even have non-cuckoo meat, he hadn’t exactly stopped to hunt lately. He frowned and dug through his bag some more before his land landed on something squishy. He poked it again before pulling it out, and then scrunching his nose up in disgust.

Bokoblin guts.

He had an excess of them after basically fighting his way here, and they were technically meat, right? They were just a little more, purple.

It certainly couldn’t hurt to try.

Link stepped outside cautiously with his ingredients gathered in his arms, looking around. The men from the construction company were sleeping nearby, was it really that late? Oh well, that meant nobody would be sitting around the cooking pot and watching him.

He stalked over, started the fire beneath the pot, and got cooking.

Everything else went well, except for dicing up the bokoblin meat, which was still a little a little slimy. But he decided that the work wouldn’t be for nothing, and he tossed it into the pot anyways.

His stew immediately turned purple.

Link briefly worried if malice would end up infecting him when he ate this, especially since it was so purple. But the bokoblin was dead, surely eating it’s guts would have no effect on him.

He just hoped it tasted good.

Link ran to get a bowl as the stew began to bubble over, and he helped himself to a generous serving before sitting beside the fire. It was strange, the stew didn’t really smell like anything. His stomach growled at him as he sat and waited for his stew to cool off, and he took a spoonful, blew on it one more time, and took a bite.

It wasn’t bad.

It tasted like stew, just with some slimy chunks in each spoonful. And his stew being edible was all the motivation Link needed to begin scarfing it down by the spoonful. He didn’t waste time in going for seconds, either.

He was comfortably full after his second serving, and there wasn’t much left in the pot anyways, so he sat for a moment before getting up to stomp out the fire and head inside.

The trouble started as soon as he stood up.

His stomach sloshed uncomfortably, and Link looked down a bit worriedly as it grumbled noisily.

Maybe bokoblin guts hadn’t been the best choice.

He hurried inside, one hand pressed against his belly as if he was trying to keep the contents inside from moving around. Unfortunately it didn’t work, because as soon as he shambled up the stairs and flopped down onto the bed, his stomach churned painfully. Link grimaced and wrapped both his arms around his tummy, holding his breath until the cramping passed. After it did, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief before unwrapping his hands from around his belly and then feeling it gently. It was slightly distended, and very grumbly. As soon as he pressed lightly on where his stomach was, it burbled uncomfortably before cramping up again.

Link lied there for awhile, curled up on himself with both hands around his upset and loudly complaining stomach. And when he eventually tried to get back up, a wave of nausea washed over him and he was lying back down in seconds.

He’d made a bit of a mistake. He couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about it, too. Wasn’t he supposed to be a hero? That’s what everyone kept telling him, at least. But what kind of hero cooked monster parts into his stew and made himself sick because of it?

His stomach churned again, and Link couldn’t help but grunt in pain. He could feel his stomach twisting right beneath his hands, trying in vain to digest the mess of a meal he’d eaten.

He certainly didn’t feel like any kind of hero right now.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

You Can Just Stay (Under This Weight)

Joe Toye x Reader One Shot

Requested?: lol nah fam. I’m just a sucker for soft intimacy in the middle of violent conflicts

Warnings: potty words, a messy attempt at describing hair brushing, a most likely shoddily written Joe Toye, like a skosh of angst, 90% just wish fulfillment and fluff (sorry) 

Ya girl listened to Lullaby by Mary Glenn while writing this nonsense, a perfect song to sway to alone in the dark (but like in a dreamy/fun way?)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

With a final grunt of frustration, you threw the paddle of your broken hairbrush across the room, causing Perconte, Bill, Luz, and Joe Toye to startle as it clacked loudly to the ground.

 “Gees, Y/N,” Bill snapped, hand on his chest as if he could manually slow down his racing heart. “Don’t do that shit- fucking thought we were under attack—”

You didn’t bother to listen to the complaining sounds of upset coming from the men sitting to your left, snatching up your gun and bag before storming out of the room and heading towards the bedroom you and Joe had been assigned to for the night.

Part of you felt bad for scaring your friends by your childish outburst. The logical part of you knew that throwing your broken hairbrush had been unnecessary and needlessly disruptive and loud.

But the other part of you- the part that was sick of feeling like a goddamned invalid since you’d been shot in the hand?

Well, that part of you wanted to cause much more destruction than that.

When you got to the room dropped your stuff unceremoniously to the ground and grimaced at how loud that was, too.

The whole thing was ridiculous, and if you weren’t so frustrated with yourself you probably could’ve kept your immaturity in check.

But, after catching a stray bullet through some of the meat of your right hand from some ammo-wasting sham of a shooting competition between some drunk NCOs, you had found yourself in a bad mood that not even Luz and Liebgott could shake you from.

You were a sniper, your whole life was tied to your right hand and it’s steadiness in the field. Having that taken away, even for a little while, just served to remind you that that was about the only thing you were good for:

Shooting, reloading, firing. 

Without your gun, you were just another mouth for the mess officers to feed.

Just a stupid woman, in the way of the ‘big, brave men’ of the Airborne. 

Looking down at your bandaged hand, you sighed with defeat.

Roe had already been on your case about taking it easy, adamant that you shouldn’t push yourself lest risk further injury.

But tonight, you hadn’t even attempted to do anything high risk.

All you’d tried to do was brush your hair- something you had been attempting (and ultimately failing) to do for the past four weeks. Tonight you’d finally managed to get your hair out of it’s matted braid, your left hand managing to finger comb the three knotted sections apart with limited assistance from your right.

The moment you had tried to detangle the mess you’d realized you were going to need to utilize your right hand more. Of course, when it became painfully clear that your hand wasn’t yet up to the task of even holding on to the ratty ends of your hair, you’d allowed all of the frustration to boil over- lashing out like some toddler being denied their juvenile demand.

Now you were stuck with your tangled hair hanging around your face, unable to either brush or rebraid it.

 You hadn’t realized that someone had come in until you hear the click of the door as it closes, and when you whip your head around you realize that you’ve started to cry.

“What?” you asked harshly, voice softening at the last moment when you came face to face with Joe Toye.

He had an uncomfortable look on his face, and quickly you brought your left hand up to wipe the evidence of your tears away.

“Oh, sorry Joe,” you muttered, sniffing pathetically before clearing your throat and moving towards the spot on the floor you’d claimed earlier to be your bed for the night. “I'll get out of your way—”

“Y/N”

When you turned back to look at him you saw him holding up the still-surviving paddle of your hairbrush, a tight smile on his lips.

You grimace, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze once more.

“Great, thanks….”

When you step closer to reach for it he hesitates, moving the brush infinitesimally away from your reach and looking at you worriedly.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and when you open your mouth to dismiss his concerns he furrows his brows and shakes his head. “And don’t tell me you’re okay or fine or whatever you were gonna say, because I know it’s bullshit.”

You scoff, chest feeling tight. “Joe—”

He gives you an exasperated look, crossing his arms across his chest and peering down his nose at you. 

Great, the Toye Staredown. As if i didn’t already feel like a petulant child…..

“I’ve known you for two goddamn years Y/L/N. I may be stupid but I’m not an idiot.”

Holding his glare, you sigh heavily and wipe at your runny nose.

“If anyone in thisroom deserves to be called a stupid idiot, I think I’m the more fitting candidate.”

Joe’s glare turns into a look of concern. One of the things he’d first loved about you was your quick wit and your refusal to bend under his good-natured ribbing. 

Seeing you look so defeated scared him.

When you made to poinch the bridge of your nose, Joe stepped in and caught your elbow. At first you were confused until you realized that you’d been about to use your right hand.

You bark a humorless laugh, letting your head loll back in rueful amusement.

“For fuck’s sake….”

Rough hands find your cheeks and tilt your face back so you’re looking at him again, and he murmurs something under his breath when he sees tears reforming in your eyes.

“What’s going on, huh? Talk to me, Y/N/N—”

“I’m useless.”

Like some dam bursting, you find yourself weepily confessing how useless you feel you’ve become, how you were questioning everything you’d once assumed to be true about yourself.

How horribly painful it was to hear about the replacements who were dying in your place while you were being kept in the relative safety of the XO camp.

To his credit, Joe didn’t interrupt you once. 

He’d listened as attentively as he would during a mission objective briefing, emitting a small tsking sound whenever your voice broke with a fresh wave of tears. Through your senseless babbling, you realized that this was the longest you’d ever seen him go without interrupting someone.

You hadn’t been able to mask your embarrassed scoff when you admitted why you’d lost your cool earlier, face hot with more than just shame.

When you’d finally stopped, Joe had nodded and taken a deep breath. 

“What can I do?”

Closing your eyes, you shake your head. “No, no, no! Joe- that’s not why….I don’t expect you to do anything—”

His thumbs wipe at the tear tracks under your eyes before he whispers your name and cuts you off, quietly telling you to look at him.

Joe’s gaze is unbearably soft, more gentle than you’ve ever seen it.

“Go sit down.”

You furrow your brows, but when you go to ask what he was planning he takes one of his hands away from your face to point towards the pile of blankets the two of you had gathered earlier.

“Drink water while you’re at it, you’ll give yourself a headache.”

Aah, there he is. There’s the Mama Toye I remember from Toccoa.

When he gave you a look that made it clear that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, you sigh and walk over to where he’d directed you and sit heavily in the pile of blankets.

You sip from your canteen as you watch Joe shrug off his overcoat and pull off his knit cap. You couldn’t help but smile as he finger combed his dark hair back into place, finding yourself admiring how handsome he looked with it slightly overgrown and smoothed away from his handsome face.

 Ever since he’d kissed you in the middle of the Eindhoven liberation celebration, you couldn't deny that things between the two of you had ….changed.

Nothing had been established, nor had either of you spoken about it. Yet there was certainly a closeness that existed where there hadn’t been before- a sort of mutually understood agreement that you’d pair up for patrols and eat meals together.

Each night Joe would ensure that you slept by his side, and by morning you always woke up with him curled around you protectively. If the others noticed, they made no mention of it- which, considering Joe Toye’s fiery temper, was probably more for their sake than for yours.

And even if they did, you got the feeling Joe wouldn’t change a thing.

 He catches you watching him and smirks, shooting you a wink as he strides over confidently.

“At least buy a guy dinner first before eye-fucking him like that….”

You shot him a glare that only served to make him grin wider. “Thanks Joe, I’ll try to rein it in.”

He snorted a laugh as he came to sit behind you, his right leg kicked out beside yours while he scooted closer.

You turn to look at him curiously over your shoulder, unable to stop your cheeks from heating up when you see that he’s got your hairbrush in his hand.

“Uh, what’re you doing back there, Joseph?”

He leans to the side a bit so you don’t have to strain as hard to look at him, mirroring your curious expression.

“What does it look like? I’m gonna tame this rat’s nest you’ve been growing for the past month.”

You blush in earnest at that, mouth going dry when he picks up a knotted tendril and brings your brush to the ends.

With a gentleness that you hadn’t expected, he dutifully begins to patiently detangle the strands, pinching the hair’s shaft to ensure you don’t feel any tugging or snags.

Well…..This certainly was not how i thought things were going to go down tonight…. 

After sitting in stunned silence for far too long, you finally will yourself to speak.

“Uhh, you’re brushing my hair.”

He hums. “That’s right. Good observation.”

“But….you are doing it, um, well?”

“Wow, you shoulda been in intelligence- nothing gets past you.”

You huff at his snark and shoot him a baleful look.

“Joseph.”

His dark eyes meet yours with a slightly inpatient glint in them.

“Are you going to let me do something nice for you, or are you going to overthink and fight about it?”

Before you can respond he’s resumed his gentle brushing, and with another deep sigh you resign yourself to your fate.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t like it, or that you didn’t whole-heartedly appreciate Joe’s kindness- in fact, you were beginning to get anxious that you may enjoy it too much.

It’s just….you couldn't remember the last time someone had touched your hair, let alone brush it for you. Maybe childhood….? Certainly long before Toccoa. It felt so intimate now- nearly as intimate as that kiss you’d shared.

And, if you weren’t mistaken- Joe seemed to be aware of the intimacy as well.

Every so often his eyes would find yours and he’d look at you warmly, the small smile on his lips growing whenever you unintentionally shuddered as the brush scratched deliciously across your scalp.

When he finished brushing your hair out, he surprised you further by instantly beginning to resection your hair and french braid it.

“How did you….how long have you known how to braid?”

He chuckled at that, bringing a hand up to turn your head away from him before continuing to twist and weave your hair into what you suspected to be a pretty adequate braid.

“Well, i may or may not have figured it out while sitting behind you during lectures back in Toccoa, but don’t —”

“What—?!”

“....get weird about it….” he sighs, holding his hand over your shoulder palm up and wiggling his fingers impatiently until you gave him a hair tie. He wrapped the elastic around the ends before smoothing his hand down the braid, allowing his hand to drift to your shoulder so he can knead into the tense muscle.

The moan you emit is near pornographic, and a laugh catches in your throat when Joe curses under his breath like you’ve punched him.

“That feel good, Y/N?” he teases good-naturedly, but simultaneously brought his other hand up to massage at the other shoulder and made you groan again.

“Don’t know, ask me again in five minutes.”

The two of you chuckle before falling into a comfortable silence, the only sound being your quiet sighs of pleasure and his echoing hums of confirmation.

After about ten minutes of having his hands exploring your upper back you hesitantly sat back slightly so you could lean into the strong plane of his chest.

“Joe, thank you.” your voice is slow and heavy, and you feel more relaxed than you imagined possible considering the circumstances that brought you two together in the first place. “I….you are nicer to me than i deserve—”

He snorted at that, wrapping his arms around you and resting his cheek atop your head. “Shut up and let me enjoy this. It’s been too long since it was just us….”

You blush at that, glad he can’t see your face as you smile privately.

“Didn’t know you, uh, wanted there to be time with ‘just us’.”

Joe moved his hold on you so he could look down at you, a look of amused confusion on his face.

“What’re you talkin’ about? Course I do. You think I would follow you ‘round like a goddamn lovesick dog if I didn’t at least enjoy your company a little bit?”

You feel a dumb smile cross your face, and before you can reply he pinches your chin lightly and angles your face up a bit more so he can kiss you soundly on the lips. 

Just like the last time, everything around you seems to fade into insignificance, and all you can hear and smell and feel and taste is Joe Toye. You part your lips and deepen the kiss, carefully moving your injured hand up and over his shoulder so you can wrap your arm around his shoulders.

With a happy hum, Joe nibbles on your bottom lip and smiles.

“I’ll take this as a good sign, as far as the kissing is concerned?” he half asked, moving to twist your bodies so he’s leaning over you while simultaneously laying you down softly against the blankets.

You took a deep breath, looking up at him with so much love and affection it makes your chest ache.

“How observant you are, Mr. Toye. Should’ve been an intelligence officer.”

The look he gives you is wicked, and when he ducks down to kiss your cheek he lets his lips linger at your ear. “Maybe you’ll let me show you all the other things I’m really good at sometime, huh?”

Letting the fingers of your uninjured hand bury themselves in his dark locks, you croon a warm affirmation.

“Oh, you can count on that, handsome. Just wait till I get the okay to use my other hand, I’ll return the favor.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Or you could hold me now—”

He cuts you off with another overwhelming kiss that promised so much more.

“Ma’am….you’ve got yourself a deal.”

~ ~ ~ ~~ TAG LIST: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​

Per usual, thank you so much for reading my mess! Let me know if you wanna be tagged, or if you’ve got any requests (barring Perconte and Sobel)

[moonlit-jeno]

love sick (m.)

chapter 10

pairing: nct dream ‘00 line + reader

chapter warnings: angst, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral

words: 3.1k

summary: It’s both the best option and your worst nightmare

masterlist | prev | next

This is by far the longest you’ve driven so far. You’re not sure whether you’ve actually been driving for a long time or if it just feels like you have been. Either way, it’s not fun.

Maybe it’s because it’s the first time you’ve realized that you’re never truly safe. Before, even if you didn’t think the houses were safe, you always had a plan B- get to the car as fast as possible. What could possibly be safer? It locks, it can move insanely fast, and it has heating. Perfect, right?

Except it clearly isn’t. Jisung had been ripped out of the car right in front of your eyes, shattering your perception of safety. That could have been any one of you guys. And it isn’t fair that it was Jisung. It isn’t fair that he got his life cut so short, and it makes you want to scream in frustration, but life has clearly shown that it doesn’t give a shit about what’s fair or not.

Every bump in the road has you jumping, every rock that hits the windshield has you holding your breath. It’s obvious that you’re not the only one feeling like this. 

And sure, the scene was horrific to watch, but you can’t even imagine how Chenle feels. Jisung was all he had for months, and to have him ripped away from him- you feel sick just thinking about it. He’s sobbing loudly, curled forward with his head pressed against the back of the seat in front of him. 

Jaemin’s doing pretty bad, too. Besides Chenle, he’d been the closest to Jisung. You’re sure he’s blaming himself right now, and you want to scream at him that it’s not his fault, but you know it won’t help. He won’t listen. And the silence in the car is suffocating- you’re sure Jeno would snap if you broke it.

He’s been driving with an iron grip on the wheel, his knuckles white from holding it too tightly. You pass countless houses, all of you too scared to stop at one of them in case you choose wrong. All of your previous choices have been good, but it only takes one wrong move to end it all. 

It’s unrealistic to believe that you can keep moving forever. Jeno’s eyelids are growing heavier by the second, and none of you know how to drive. There’s Jaemin, but he’s not exactly in the right headspace. The car slowly rolls to a stop outside of a massive gate. 

“Here?” You ask, craning your head to peer in. Jeno shrugs. “Why not?”

“How are we going to get in?” Donghyuck asks. “You’re insane if you think we can climb that.”

“There’s a call box. Maybe the house isn’t empty?” Jeno rolls down his window and reaches out to press the button. Led fills your stomach. It’s both the best option and your worst nightmare. There could be normal, human survivors in there willing to help you out. Or it could be filled with… not so human guests.

Jeno leaves his window down as he waits for someone to answer. Oxygen seems to escape you as you struggle to breathe, your chest tight with dread.

“Are you infected?” The voice is a little staticky, and your eyes widen as you realize what this means. There are people inside.

“No. We’re all healthy. We just need a place to stay for the night.” Jeno responds.

“How many of you are there?” 

Jeno pauses to count. “Five.”

There’s no response. Disheartened, Jeno reaches out to press the button again. You stop him with a hand on his forearm.

“Jen, look.” The gate is opening. Quickly, Jeno rolls up his window and takes his foot off the break, darting past the gate. You watch it close behind you .

You drive up the path slowly, keeping your eyes peeled for movement. A glance behind you reveals Donghyuck holding tightly onto Jaemin, his face buried in the younger boys neck. Jaemin stares blankly out the window with red-rimmed eyes.

The house- or really, mansion- sits at the end of the long driveway. Two guys come out of the door, both armed with guns. One of them holds his hand up.

Jeno slows to a stop and rolls his window back down. 

“Get out of the car.” They order. And while you’re not really in the position to argue, something doesn’t sit right with you.

“How do we know that you’re not infected?” You ask, making no move to leave the vehicle. Jeno already has his seatbelt off and he shoots you a look of what the fuck are you doing?

One of them is significantly taller than the other. He laughs. “We’re not infected. We’re not going to attack you, either, unless you give us a reason to.” It’s not a perfect answer, but it’s the best you’re going to get considering the circumstances. “Alright.” You all pile out of the car. Chenle still has tears streaming down his face but he holds his head as high as he can. Jeno throws an arm around the boy and squeezes his shoulder.

“I’m Lucas.” Says the tall one. He throws you a bright smile but keeps his gun trained on you. You smile back meekly. He nods at his friend. “That’s Winwin.” Winwin is considerably less friendly. He blinds you with a flashlight in each of your eyes and checks your wrists to make sure the veins aren’t black. When he’s satisfied, he pats you all down.

“Okay, they’re clean.” Winwin tells Lucas. To the rest of you, he says: “We still can’t let you guys in the main house, though. We have a side house where you can stay. Just until we’re positive you won’t kill us.”

You all exchange glances. It sounds pretty decent to you. They obviously have a pretty good protection system set up. Jeno looks to each of you before turning back to Winwin. “Okay.”

Their ‘side’ house is the same size as your actual house. If this is what they consider a side house, then you’re scared to see what they consider their main house.

It’s detached from the rest of the house, complete with its own kitchen. Winwin shows you around, before turning to leave. “We only keep non-perishables here. Lucas will come by a bit later and bring you, uh, fresher food.” Your jaw drops at the thought of fresh food, whatever that means. You’re assuming that he means fruits and vegetables, and the thought of a strawberry has your mouth watering. “Holy fuck.” Winwin laughs, and leaves with some final instructions to keep the windows and doors locked. Basic stuff. Chenle immediately heads for one of the bedrooms. You watch him go with a heavy heart, wishing you could do something to ease his pain. 

“Shit. I can’t believe they’re calling this a side house.” Donghyuck says. “What would they call my house- a closet?” You giggle, thankful that he’s trying to lighten the mood. Jeno snickers. “More like a pantry. Anyways, I’m wiped.” He turns to leave, giving you a tired smile. 

Donghyuck turns to follow him. “They probably have the thousand dollar mattresses. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that.” 

That leaves you and Jaemin. Jaemin makes his way over to the living room, plopping down on the couch. You debate joining him, but you figure he needs his space. Those thousand dollar mattresses are calling your name.

It’s a few hours later, and you’re wide awake. You’d taken a nice nap- Donghyuck was right, the beds were nice- woken up by the delivery of fresh food. Lucas had laughed as you and Donghyuck salivated over the fruits and vegetables in the bag, along with- 

“Is that meat?” Donghyuck had looked up at the man with wide eyes. Lucas grinned.

“Yeah man, we raise chickens here. Enjoy.” He’d left with a wink. 

You, Jeno, and Donghyuck had torn through the food. Even Chenle had eaten a fair amount, smiling at the sight of green beans. Jaemin had eaten the small amount of food that Jeno had force fed him, and that was that.

Everyone went back to bed after dinner, leaving you alone and painfully awake. Jaemin’s still on the couch, staring off into space. You bite your lip before moving to join him.

“You alright?” Jaemin looks up when you sit down, offering you a tight smile. You hesitate for a moment before curling up against his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” His voice sounds strained and your heart aches for him. You want to do something that can make him feel better, want to take his pain away, but you don’t know how.

You take his hand in your own, giving it what you hope is a reassuring squeeze. Jaemin’s eyes lock on the action before raising to your face and you meet his strong gaze. “If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

His lips are on yours in the next second. It startles you, but Jaemin doesn’t give you any time to recover. The kiss is rough, his lips insistent against yours. It takes you a moment to process what’s happening.

Jaemin groans deeply when you kiss back, tilting his head to the side in an effort to deepen it. One hand moves up to cup your jaw, sliding backwards into your hair. A moan leaves you when he nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue.

He lets go of your hand in favor of sliding his hand up your thigh, grabbing at your ass in an effort to pull you closer. And he feels so good, you want to lose yourself to him so bad, but something’s off. His lips slide down to your neck and you gasp as his teeth scrape against you, open mouthed kisses pressed almost as an apology. “Jaemin,” You moan, arching against him. “Jaem, we shouldn’t.”

Your protests go unacknowledged, Jaemin continuing his attack on your neck. A part of you wants to give in, mind already clouding with lust, core throbbing with want. But there’s also guilt swimming in your gut and you reluctantly speak up again. “Jaemin, stop. It’s not right, you don’t- you don’t want this.”

His lips stop moving against your neck but he doesn’t move away from you, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder. Jaemin doesn’t respond, just breathing heavily against you. You furrow your eyebrows until you realize that his shoulders are shaking, your skin damp. He’s crying.

“Oh, honey.” You wrap your arms around him, rubbing his back in what you hope is a soothing action. “Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Jaemin’s silent crying gives way to full on sobs and you hold him through it, tears filling your own eyes as you listen to him. He’s shaking against you, his arms wrapping around you tightly. It’s a little hard to breathe but it’s okay, it’s what he needs right now.

He finally pulls away with a shuddering breath, looking up at you with pain in his glassy eyes. “Please,”

The word is whispered, but his voice holds so much pain and desperation in it that your heart breaks all over again. “What do you need? Tell me what you need, Jaem, and I’ll do it?”

“Distract me. Take the pain away, even if it’s only for a little bit. Just- please.” There are still tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice shaky and choked. It’s not until he slides his hand back down to your ass, to your thigh, that you realize what he’s asking.

“No, Jaem, that’s- you’re not in the right mindset right now. It’s not what you want.” His eyes hold so much emotion and you nearly cave, just wanting to bring the sparkle back into his dull eyes. But you can’t do that to him, you can’t take advantage of him like this.

“It is what I want, y/n, I swear. I’ve wanted you for so long, but I need you now. Just take the pain away.” His sentence ends in a sob. “Distract me.”

You grapple with yourself for a minute, mind running a million miles a second. “Are you sure?”

A nod. “Please.”

Hesitantly, you nod. You don’t move, don’t lean forward, don’t try to do anything. You give him the room to make the first move, to let him change his mind.

He doesn’t. It’s back to the same desperation as earlier as soon as his lips press to yours. He bites at your lip and sucks on your tongue, hand gripping at your shirt as if to rip it off of you.

You stop him before he can, moving his hand lower to rest on your thigh. He immediately grips at the flesh, tugging you on top of him.

The sex isn’t gentle. It’s Jaemin fucking into you at a brutal pace. It’s Jaemin groaning as you tug at his hair and leave scratch marks on his shoulders. It’s Jaemin slapping your ass and demanding you ride him harder, faster. It’s rough and it’s raw, you and Jaemin clinging to each other for dear life.

Jaemin pushes you off of him, jerking himself quickly until he comes onto his stomach. You watch, chest heaving, core aching for some sort of contact. You were so close, but now your orgasm draws further and further away.

“You didn’t come.” Jaemin says after a moment. You consider lying, but he’s already scooting off the couch and onto the floor between your legs.

“No, Jaemin, it’s okay. You don’t have to.” You protest, wanting him to go take a nap and rest. Maybe you could force him to eat more than the meager portion he had earlier.

He looks up at you with dark eyes, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I want to. Please let me do this.”

It’s messy how he eats you out, fucking his tongue rapidly into your hole, pulling away to wrap his lips around your clit. Every tug of his hair earns you a moan, the vibrations delicious against your sensitive core. Jaemin looks up at you the whole time, but the situation reminds you so much of Renjun that you have to tear your gaze away and throw your head back to avoid thinking about it.

Jaemin rests his head against your thigh after you’ve come, sighing happily as you play with his hair. You tug on the strands to get his attention. “Come on, let’s get you some food.” He allows you to shovel fruits and vegetables down his throat, even manages to drain an entire Brita filter worth of water. You watch him fondly, tugging him upstairs to one of the bedrooms. You shove him onto the mattress. “Sleep.”

Jaemin pouts at you but acquiesces, pulling you down on top of him. He’s asleep in seconds.

You wake up the next morning before Jaemin, wiggling out of his hold when your bladder, stomach, and throat start screaming at you simultaneously

The bathroom is just as nice as the rest of the house, though you can tell it hasn’t been used in a while. There’s a thin layer of dust on the mirror and you wipe at it with your shirt sleeve, wincing at your reflection. Jaemin really didn’t mess around yesterday. Your neck is fucking purple.

Your stomach screams at you again and you shrug, deciding that you don’t care that much. Pancakes are much more important.

Jeno and Donghyuck are both sitting at the kitchen table when you walk in. Donghyuck holds up a teapot, eyebrows furrowed in question, and you nod gratefully.

He pours you a cup and then sits back in his seat, staring at you as you make your way around the kitchen. You raise your eyebrows at him. “What?”

“Just wondering when you got mauled.” Donghyuck shrugs, motioning to his neck. “Didn’t realize zombies could do that.”

You huff a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Hilarious.”

He waits a moment to respond. “So you and Jaemin, huh? I guess you decided you could choose, after all.”

You freeze at his words, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. It should be easy to say yes. He’s basically giving you an out, giving you a chance to say that you chose, giving you the chance to stop the emotional strain you’re putting on all of them. 

It’s not. “What? No, I didn’t choose anything. He needed comfort and I- I was there to give it to him.”

“I think we could all use some comfort right now.” Jeno shoots back. You look between the two boys with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You said you couldn’t choose. So don’t. Have all three of us.” Jeno says. Like it’s that simple.

You gape at him. “No, I can’t- I can’t date all three of you. It’s selfish and-”

“It’s not, y/n. And don’t say that it’s weird, either, because we’re in the middle of the zombie apocalypse. That’s not exactly normal.” Donghyuck interrupts. He takes a deep breath, releasing it in a whoosh before continuing. “And I wasn’t exactly being fair to you before. I know I blamed you for using us to fill the gap left by your family, but I think we were all doing the same thing.”

“We lost our lives, too.” Jeno adds, smiling grimly. “Hyuck’s right. Nothing about this is normal. We don’t need labels or anything, it’s not like we need to worry about following the status quo.” He’s got a point. It’s hard to be judged by a society that no longer exists.

Donghyuck walks closer to you. He glances down at his feet for a moment before raising his gaze, taking your hands in his own. “I know I've been an asshole to you. But if you want all of us, then that’s fine. I’m happy with that.” Jeno chimes in with a “me too.”

You nod. “Wow. Okay. I need a minute. I’m gonna go and. Process that.” He lets go of your hands, letting you turn away to collect your thoughts.

“Y/n?” You poke your head back into the room at the sound of your name. “That wasn’t me apologizing, by the way. You definitely deserved some of it.”

A laugh leaves you. “Okay, Hyuck.”

[safebubblebycyg]

just imagine if draco had fangs:

♡ he would try so hard to hide them

♡ he'd keep his head down during meals, cover his mouth when he had to talk, and didnt smile

♡ which worked until pansy got nosey

♡ pansy one day tackled draco in the common room, pinned his hands down, and tickled him

♡ draco tried to bite his lip and hide his teeth but he really couldnt hold back his laughter

♡ pansy never beamed so bright, "HOLY SHIT DRAY, YOU HAVE FA-" "shush!!!"

♡ after pansy found out draco BEGGED her to not tell anyone, to which she complied

♡ well, not exactly

♡ she told blaise, and blaise laughed so hard and proceeded to call draco a vampire for a week

♡ "have you ever given someone a hickey?" pansy had asked one day. dracos face flushed as he shook his head "well you're clearly crushing on potter, you should give him one" "oH MY- PANSY"

♡ but when all fun and games was done, blaise and pansy were SO protective

♡ seriously, draco almost never got picked on, simply because pansy knew a mean jelly legs jinx and blaise's slug vomiting hex was brutal

♡ and this tactic worked painfully well, until harry, hermione, and ron came along

♡ WOW WERE THEY PAINFULLY PERSISTENT

♡ "c'mon, i wanna talk to draco, not his bodyguards" "bug off, potter"

♡ truth was, harry had fallen HARD for the blonde and he was desperate to talk to him. but literally no one except pansy and blaise had ever heard him speak before

♡ ron and hermione were only bugging them because they were sick and tired of hearing harry swoon over a boy he had never met "his eyes are so bright! they're such a pretty gray and practically sparkle in the sun" "harry. we're trying to do pOTIONS HOMEWORK"

♡ but pansy wasnt budging and neither was blaise. until draco stepped in.

♡ harry, hermione, and ron had approached the three one day after class and before pansy could say another, draco waved softly at them. harry could have sworn part of his soul melted away. blaise almost peed himself before he nearly screeched "uHm, excuse me mister malfoy have you possibly forgotten a certain something???" draco rolled his eyes and walked up to the three, holding out his hand to shake. hermione moved first, shaking his hand and grinning "hermione granger" draco nodded. ron and harry stood frozen. ron was still amazed that draco had walked over to the trio while harry was amazed at dracos overall existence. harry was painfully in love.

♡ from that point on, draco and his friends spent as much time as possible with the golden trio. sure, draco and harry were the closest, but they all were still really close. you would often find hermione and pansy tucked away in the library doing homework or blaise and ron plotting a prank against someone. draco and harry tended to stay in one of their dorms, cuddled agaisnt each other, reading aloud a book. harry tended to be the one reading aloud, considering the fact that draco mumbled when he spoke. when the six of them were together, it usually was pretty calm. they were just enjoying each other's presence. occasionally ron would start plotting a prank against a ravenclaw who bumped into him in the hallway, but that only lasted so long before pansy convinced him that a tickling hex was stupid

♡ while they spent all this time together, draco hid his fangs surprisingly well

♡ he didnt speak much, covered his mouth when he laughed, and ate with his head down

♡ and this worked until hermione approached him and demanded answers

♡ draco, startled, rushed away in tears

♡ he ran to pansy and blaise and asked them what to do. they gave draco the answer he really didnt wanna hear; tell her the truth

♡ so draco decided to fess up to the golden trio

♡ he invited them all for a study session in his dorm room, and reluctantly gave them a toothy grin

♡ ron screamed like a girl, hermione gasped, and harry's jaw dropped

♡ draco began to regret it before hermione screeched "I KNEW IT" and everyone laughed

♡ ron, much like blaise, assumed he was a vampire and proceeded to call him count draco for a week. hermione simply made him answer endless questions "how long have you had them, are you actually a vampire, is there a reason for them, do you have to change your diet?" "uh..."

♡ harry just giggled "is this why you have a lisp?"

♡ draco was immensely grateful for the support, well, he was until one of them let it slip to seamus who told dean who told neville who told luna who told ginny...yeah everyone knew by the end of the day

♡ which is how draco gained a fanclub

♡ yeah. you heard me. he had a fanclub. he had a group of at least 10 girls following him at all times asking him for a smile or to bite them

♡ and this went on for about a week or so before, in front of the entirety of the great hall, harry slammed him against a wall and kissed him

♡ "HELL YEAH, POWERMOVE!!" -pansy

♡ no one ever asked draco to bite them again. except harry

♡ "have you ever bit your tongue?"

♡ "hey dray~" "potter go away, im not going to bite you again"

♡ i forgot to mention the unfortunate fact that draco still had a fan club

♡ pansy was in said fan club

♡ "harry! kiss me!" draco spoke quickly as he ran into the library one day. his fan club had been following him all day, this was usually the only way he could shake them off; harry and him making-out. harry happily obliged and pulled draco into a soft kiss. eventually the two heard frustrated huffs and a mumble of 'he does this every time' as the group left. draco pulled back and grinned. he did do it every time, and it worked every time, too

♡ "OW!" "what? what happened?" "...i bit my tongue..."

♡ draco may not drink blood, but he did eat LOTS of meat, so much so, the house elves put extra stakes on the slytherin table every dinner

♡ once, blaise and ron pinned draco down and dropped blood down his throat (how they got it, draco was too disturbed to ask)

♡ draco swallow it and blaise went ballistic "COUNT DRACOULA!! COUNT DRAY!!" he had screamed before draco cut him off "BLAISE!! stop it! fine, ill admit it, im half vampire. but i dont drink blood and dont have venom in my fangs. i just will eat anything!" blaise flushed "so no count dracoula?"

♡ eventually, draco coughed up that he was half vampire to pansy, hermione, and harry

♡ they all were chill about it, assuming that from the beginning

♡ harry was cuddled up against draco once when they boy sighed and pulled out a raw chicken with his pocket

♡ "draco. you cant stock raw meat in your pockets, youll smell!"

♡ draco still did it anyway

not quite sure where this idea came from but i kinda like vampy dray

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Behind Bars”

WARNING: VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Guys This is the beginning of an interesting new mini series that may deal with some pretty heavy stuff since it takes place in a human prison. If you think there is ANY chance you could be bothered or offended by the topics I might cover, than now is a good time not to read this. I am not going to go through and make a list of all the potential things you may not like, so I deffer to your own judgement of yourself to determine what is good for you.

Also another little side note, the way I portray law enforcement in this is in no way how I feel about them. I have close family member in law enforcement and respect the hell out of them, but the way I did it was done to serve the story, so just keep that in mind. 

For those of you who choose to read it, I hope it’s interesting :) 

“Gah, this place is a dump.” 

“Yeah, just be glad you can’t smell it.”

“Why is that?”

“Urine, lots and lots of urine.”

“Ah, lovely.” Krill muttered making his next movements very tender against the dark clattering metal as if he could avoid stepping in anything unsavory. Beside him, a rather scruffy human appeared from the shadows, “scruffy” with an overgrown haircut, five o-clock shadow, eyepatch and an army jacket that had seen better days.

Commander Vir blended in surprisingly well with the grungy understreets of noctropolis. The city was Less of a city, and more like a series of tunnels bridges and rickety buildings built on and into the side of a cavernous rift in the ground. Once upon a time, the Tesraki had begun serious mining operations on the border moon’s surface causing some serious scars in the landscape which was then filled with the teaming underground life that the most unsavory humans bring with them. 

Noctopolis was located on the furthest edge of the Milky Way galaxy, and seeing as the GA was based out of Andromeda, it was a very difficult moon to police. The UNSC had attempted to take over operations on the moon but had found only limited success considering their military had only been operating in space for the past few years. They didn’t have enough manpower to undergo such an operation, so the moon itself was left mostly unpoliced. Since then it had become home to the most unsavory of the Tesraki, the Drev, and the humans having enough economically or emotionally in common that they at least tolerated each other. 

What understanding they had of the border moon had begun with the banning of interspecies relationships almost a year past. Since Noctopolis wasn’t particularly well policed, may counter culture groups had made their home here. While many of them were decent people attempting a little privacy away from the eyes of the law, other less savory groups had taken an opportunity to stake their claim.

The streets about them were littered with trash and abandoned cardboard and metal scraps. Their greatest source of light leaked down from the lively redlight district above, not only called that because of what it offered, but because it actually did bost a series of bright neon lights that could be seen across the city.

“Wanna tell me why I’m here again. This is kind of a Sunny and Vir thing.”

Commander Vir propped himself casually up against a wall slouching inside his jacket collar turned up against the sour wind blowing up from the cavern vanishing into darkness below, “Sunny had to finish requisitioning our new weapons system, besides, i thought it was about time you and I hung out. We haven't done anything together as friends in a while.” 

“Ah yes, just how I prefer social bonding, Loitering through piss covered streets with an eyeless legless hobo.”

“Rude.” The human muttered glancing quickly around a corner.

Krill let the question drop instead moving onto the next topic of conversation, “Wanna tell me why we aren’t working with local law enforcement?”

The human dodged past a leaking pipe and the resulting black puddle, “Well there are a few reasons. If I plan on getting close to this drug ring, or even the suppliers, I can't have the smell of the feds one me, second is that the policing system here is only partially overseen by the UN, mostly they supply their own officers and their own laws. There are serious rumors about law enforcement corruption, but that can be expected considering the kind of people that hang out here. And then there is the issue of ease of access to fingerprinting and DNA systems. Mine have been temporarily removed from the system for this operation because the dealers tend to check before the sell, but if i was working with local law enforcement my identity might be leaked.”

Together they stepped onto one of the rickety bridges spanning the cavern. Krill tried not to look down into the gaping bottomless chasm spanning downwards into darkness tinted with the red haze cast from the neon reflection of the city.

“Why is this such a big deal anyway. Why waste you on a project like this.”

Commander Vir stepped off the edge of the bridge holding it steady for Krill as he followed.

“Because this guys are linked to the human hormone market.” Krill was a bit surprised. He had heard about the issue months ago. Certain species, the Tesraki and the Drev especially had neurotransmitter systems similar to that of a human, though somewhat dampened and were affected by the use of injected dopamine and adrenaline. On the street they had taken names like Dopie, Daddy, Addie, Joy Juice, and some other strange names. The biggest issue with the use of human chemicals as drugs is that even a single dose of the stuff could fry the circuits for any nonhuman taken in any sort of significant dose. In humans it occasionally meant sickness or even mental illness, but in aliens it could mean permanent flat affect or the inability to feel fear. The other issue was how the dealers got it, usually it involved kidnapping and harvesting the chemicals from humans, since many times the analogue drugs humans made for themselves didn't have an effect on aliens.

Krill shivered at the thought, and stepped through a tight alleyway just ahead of the Commander, who had to turn sideways to fit through the narrow space. He didn’t like fieldwork, at all, but having a human with you was one way to make you feel safe. The only creature that a human might not be able to fight off was a Drev, but even then there was still a possibility.

Together they cut across another street and towards their destination. They had managed to squeeze some information from the only informant still alive on the street, and that had been an address. At the back of the property they found a door padlocked shut though it had recently been cut.

Commander Vir held open the door and shoved inwards leading them into a long, dark hallway lined with debris. Krill stayed behind him as they made their way into the darkness jumping at every sound.

Ahead of him, the commander had removed an energy pistol from the band of his pants. Krill didn’t bother to point out to him, that it was difficult to believe he wasn’t law enforcement when he handled a weapon like that.

He held Krill back and then nudged one of the doors inward clearing the room with a quick sweep from corner to corner even stepping out to check behind the door. Krill peered in as the Commander grunted, “Just what we were looking for.”

Krill peered around his legs and then paused, “Uh….” The room was filled from floor to ceiling with strange glowing tanks of liquid a pale greenish in color. The ambient light gave the room a rather eerie glow. A glow that highlighted the strange instruments and free floating tubes with sinister intent. Nothing was currently in the tanks, but Krill shivered knowing what they would have held if they had been filled.

Human bodies.

The tanks cast much of the room into shadow, and Commander Vir took cover crouching behind one of the tank consoles. Krill followed him taking cover behind the human’s back. He didn't see what the man was so worried about there was one here. The human tilted his head listening intently scanning around the room. Krill was just beginning to speak when the man pushed him back hissing, “RUN!”

But before he could even take a step in another direction, he saw a flicker at the side of the room, and commander vir was lit up with at least ten points of green light all trained on his chest.

“GET ON THE GROUND.”

“PUT YOUR HANDS UP.”

“DROP THE GUN.”

“DON’T MOVE.”

Commander Vir reacted while Krill was still on the floor standing from behind his cover and stepping into the room. The Energy pistol clattered to the floor as he held his hands out to his sides.

“GET ON THE GROUND!”

Lights flashed all around them, and the room was illuminated by a painful burst of light and an eruption of movement. Men appeared from nowhere dressed in black tactical gear, faces and eyes completely obscured. Commander Vir was thrown face first onto the floor with at least three kneeling on his back.

Two came after Krill who squealed, to high pitched to be heard by the humans.

“GIVE US YOUR HAND!”

“GAH! Yes, yes just stop pulling and I will!. Shit…. I’m lying on it, let me up for a- OUCH!” From where he was being pinned to a wall, krill heard the ratcheting of handcuffs momentarily surprised not to hear the initiation of energy restraints.

“Shit, that's really tight…. Ahh… I can’t feel my hands.”

“STOP RESISTING.”

“I'M NOT RESISTING, I HAVE A PROSTHETIC AND YOUR STEPPING ON IT!”  That didn’t do him much good as Krill heard the sharp thud, crack of someone being hit over the head. Krill understood what the captain meant about NOT being policed by the UN. Krill had meat peace officers on earth before, and while they could act the same, they generally had reason be reasonable to them and they would probably be polite to you.

Commander Vir was dragged to his feet hands wrenched painfully behind his back and pinned against the wall as they searched him, “Anything on you gonna poke me or stick me.”

“No, no.”

“You got ID?”

Commander Vir paused, “I…. well no.” One of the other officers ran a scanning device over his body, but it beeped negative.

“No implants.” Krill cursed internally…. They should have thought about that when they temporarily cancelled his ID….

“No ID, you know that’s illegal, don’t you.” The one officer said, sticking his hand into another pocket.

“I can explain. I work WITH you guys I-”

“No badge, no ID ... and ah, what is this.” Krill felt his heart sink as he watched the man pull the Adrenaline and dopamine sample from the Commander’s pocket. He held it up in front of the Commander's face, “And what is this.”

“That…. Isn’t mine.” He said lamely

The man pulled down the front of his mask one eyebrow raised, “Ah not yours eh…. Let me guess these are your friends pants, and you’re just borrowing them. You had no idea they were there. Oh oh, I know, you were just delivering them for a friend you don’t know what they actually are.” He reached into another pocket, “Oh and what is this.” Commander Vir groaned and leaned his head against the wall.

The small baggie of white powder was held up before him, “What is this gonna be, Cocaine, Meth, Heroine. You been trading a little Addie for a fix.”

In fact they actually HAD traded the drugs for information, along with a tracking device. Humans can’t use dopamine and adrenaline like other species can, so they traded it for the classic stuff.

“You can test me, I’m not high, I’m not a drug addict, I am also not who you think I am.”

“And who are you?” 

“My name is Commander Adam Vir with the UNSC. I was sent here to HELP.”

They did not seem in any way convinced, “You have proof of that “Commander”. Look I saw the guy once, and he wasn’t half as fugly as you, also he was taller.”

Commander Vir yelped in indignation as they began patting him down for the second time, “Who you calling fugly you-” He bit his tongue, “I’m sorry OFFICER but I had my implants discontinued for this operation. Just look at me I’m missing an eye and a leg and im 6,2 just like the man you say I’m not, and I also let my hair grow out. GIve me five minutes on the phone and I’ll call my superiors for you.” 

“Uh huh, because they’d have the fleet commander down here crawling through the dirt after narcos and tweakers. This is the army officers sit behind their nice shiny desks and let other men die for them.” Commander Vir was pulled away from the wall, “What are you his junki cousin, a brother?”

“I told you who I am.”

“Someone check the bug, see if he has ID.”

Krill stiffened as a wand was run over him, “Nothing sir. That’s strange, usually don’t see their kind around here.”

“I get my phone call, don’t I.”

“What do you think this is the 2000s. The hormone crisis is a level 5 threat, and we are not obligated to provide you with anything.”

“I'm pretty sure I still get a lawyer.” 

Commander Vir was hauled to his feet and marched bodily towards the door, “Yeah but you'll have to get one flown in unless you want a Tesraki, and I wouldn't trust one of those bastards as far as I can throw them…. Uh disgusting little bats.”  Commander Vir seemed almost irked at the use of the slur. Humans had a habit of that, they had a slur for each of other species weather it be bug, beetle, bat, dino, or just the general use of the word freak.

They were dragged outside, and around to where the vehicles had been hidden. Commander tripped more than once over the cheap prosthetic he had used to augment his look, and every time he was dragged painfully back to his feet. Krill wasn’t treated much better though he only received one of the human officers. Krill were thrown in the back of a cruiser with bars and energy shields over the windows. Commander Vir was thrown against the front of the vehicle, “As of now, you'll be charged with the possession of illegal substance, intent to sell, failure to identify, unlawful possession of a firearm, and resisting arrest.”

“What! I didn’t resist, and I DID identify myself. It’s not my fault you won’t believe me.”

“Someone get a spit shield on him.”

“What, I.” He was pinned even more forcibly against the hood as a female officer secured, a GA issued muzzle over his face. They had developed those after realizing what human spit could do to certain species, and what the human voice could do to others. Once on, The officer flipped the dial, cutting off the Commander mid protest. 

Once done, he was thrown into the back with Krill gagged and restrained. Kril felt as if he was going to pass out, or just go right ahead and die. They had been captured by human authorities that even Commander Vir couldn’t talk down, and the ones that weren’t nearly as understanding as they were on earth. 

Things could only get worse.

[alarawriting]

52 Project #4: Rand Mart

All I wanted to do was buy a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, and ham. But I’d been to four cash registers already, and no one had been willing to ring me up yet.

The first cashier – a girl with dyed black hair, a tattoo of a dove on her cheek, and nose and tongue piercings – informed me that she’d ring up my bread, but she was morally opposed to the consumption of animal products, so the conscience clause permitted her to refuse to ring up my milk and ham. The dark-skinned woman with a red dot on her forehead, at the next cash register, would ring up my ham and bread, but told me that the American milk industry was unconscionably cruel to cows, who were beloved in the eyes of Brahma. The woman with the light blue scarf around her mouth, nose and hair, at the third register, was willing to ring up the bread and milk, but thought that pigs were unclean and their meat banned by the Prophet. And the fourth cashier, a bearded man with a yarmulke, wouldn’t ring up any of my goods, because it was Saturday.

There was a self-service lane, of course, but it wrapped around the entire cash register area with about forty people queued up in it because no one wanted to go to a cashier-operated register. I’d thought that the fact that so few people were lined up at the registers meant that I’d get through the line quickly. I should have known better.

There were two other cash registers open. On one, a painfully thin woman was haranguing a slightly overweight woman over her choice of sodas. “High fructose corn syrup is pure poison!” she was shouting. “It’s murder! If I let you buy those Sprites I might as well be putting a gun to your head!” At the last cashier-operated register, the clean-cut young man behind the counter was ringing everyone up for all their products… as long as they accepted Christ as their personal lord and savior.

Screw this. I abandoned my groceries in one of the many, many baskets set outside the cash registers for exactly that purpose. The baskets were overflowing. I wondered how the supermarkets made any money anymore.

And then I did what I’d sworn I’d never do again. I got in my car, and I drove to Rand Mart.

***

Rand Mart was infamous for being a terrible employer. It abused its employees, forcing them to work unpaid overtime, failing to give them health care coverage, busted any attempt to unionize, and fired them for absenteeism if they were ever sick at all. I wouldn’t have been caught dead there under any other circumstances. But I wasn’t willing to lie my way into the Christian-only grocery stores, and the service at the secular grocery store was getting steadily worse.

Ever since the Conscience Clause Laws, created originally to allow pharmacists to get out of filling prescriptions for drugs whose purposes their religions disapproved of, were expanded by Supreme Court decision to allow any person to refuse any duty in the course of their work, provided that they had a “heartfelt moral objection” to performing it… more and more people were discovering the joys of sticking it to their employers (and customers) by developing heartfelt moral objections to any number of things. Their employers weren’t allowed to fire them for it, either.

Originally it had been based on religion, until the vegans sued, claiming that just because their belief that meat was murder was not based on the teachings of a god, it was no less heartfelt or moral. The Supremes bought that, deciding that when the Founding Fathers said that Congress should establish no religion, which had been extended to Congress not infringing on any religion, that any heartfelt moral belief counted as a religion for the purposes of not being infringed on, because it wasn’t the business of the law to decide what was and was not a religion.

Corporations weren’t allowed to practice religious discrimination in hiring unless their own heartfelt moral beliefs would be compromised. So the Christian-only stores could get away with hiring only Christians – which had made them very, very popular lately, even though they’d only let Christians shop there, because most Americans are Christian at least in name and most Christians didn’t have a religious objection to selling anyone anything, as long as it couldn’t be used to allow women to enjoy sex without guilt. But a secular store couldn’t demand that its employees actually do their jobs, because no one had a heartfelt moral belief that employees should do work, apparently.

Except for Rand Mart.

Rand Mart had successfully won the right to discriminate against any employee of any religion who wouldn’t do their job on the grounds that their heartfelt moral belief was Objectivism. They believed (heartfeltedly and morally, it seemed) that the government should not interfere in contractual matters between employee and employer, or consumer and vendor, and that therefore they had the right to sign their employees to contracts that stated that they accepted the inability to raise a religious objection to anything as a condition of employment, and make it stick. They used the Hobby Lobby case as precedent along with the Conscience Clause decision to prove that a corporation had the rights to adhere to the heartfelt moral beliefs of its owners even if doing so trampled on the rights of its employees.

As a result, you could get absolutely anything at Rand Mart that they felt they’d make money on selling to you, and no one could raise any sort of objection. Guns? Sure! The Second Amendment and the Conscience Clause meant that they didn’t have to do background checks, because that was government interference with their relationship with their customer, and they believed they shouldn’t have to abide by that rule. Abortifacients? You betcha! They weren’t the only ones – sex shops frequently invoked their heartfelt belief in the right of all humans to sexual pleasure and control over their own bodies to sell things like birth control, Plan B, and actual abortion drugs, without prescriptions, and no one could really stop them because they had the names of everyone who’d ever used a credit card to buy sex merchandise, which included most of the fine, upstanding citizens who tended to protest abortion clinics. But Rand Mart was the one you would go to if you didn’t want to walk through displays of lingerie and dildos to get the pill. Marijuana? Rand Mart didn’t believe in anti-drug laws, and while they were sane enough not to provoke the government on stuff like meth and heroin, they sold weed quite openly, and the Feds were more likely to bust a legal California grower of the medical grade stuff than Rand Mart.

Obviously, given their willingness to sell such culturally controversial stuff, you could get any of the basics at Rand-Mart as well, and none of their employees were allowed to refuse to sell to you. So I drove over there, because I really, really wanted my bread, ham and milk.

As usual, Rand Mart’s parking lot was a zoo. True confession time: this wasn’t the first time I’d been driven to have to go to the place. Every time I went here I swore I’d never do it again, and while my abhorrence of their treatment of employees was one reason, the behavior of the other customers was another. Pedestrians were everywhere, because why should they have to follow rules like the presence of crosswalk markings to make life convenient for drivers? They had the right to walk and they were going to walk, dammit. This, of course, made the drivers of the other cars frustrated, and when you considered how tiny the parking spots were and how quickly they got snapped up, you had frustrated, angry drivers rapidly turning into slavering, starving beasts who’d savage each other for a parking spot. Road rage deaths were not unheard of in Rand Mart parking lots, including incidents where folks used their brand new Rand Mart guns to put a hole in a fellow shopper for fender bender accidents caused by overeagerness to take a parking spot. I parked all the way out at the end of the lot and walked, careful to avoid the cars who were taking out their aggression against the thick clouds of pedestrians in front of the store by nearly running down the ones walking to or from their cars.

The way Rand Mart is laid out, you have to walk through an entire aisle of really cheap impulse buys and sales items before you can even get into the store proper. Then the groceries are all the way on the other side. Shoppers inside Rand Mart are every bit as considerate as the ones outside, which is to say, I had to dodge a lot of folks who were walking straight at me as if I wasn’t even there, or as if they wanted to play Store Aisle Chicken. I was really, really glad I needed so few things and didn’t need to push a cart, because there were so many endcaps and stands of merchandise and random pallets of restock that I couldn’t see how a cart could get through half the aisles.

I plugged my metaphorical ears to the siren song of really cheap electronics, and really cheap DVDs, and really cheap winter jackets, and really cheap kitchen appliances. (I’m a bachelor. I don’t really cook. I do, however, make a lot of use of rice cookers, and toaster ovens, and single-serve coffee machines, and I own lots and lots of other kitchen appliances that promise to pretty much make my food for me, despite which I still never use the damned things.) In what seemed like a long and peril-fraught journey, but was actually probably about three or four minutes, I got to the grocery aisles and started looking for the stuff I’d come for.

And then I ran into Emily. Wearing a Rand Mart uniform, and stocking yogurt cups onto the shelves.

Emily used to be my manager. I work in IT, where the controversies are few; as long as we don’t hire any Amish dudes, we’re not likely to get saddled with deadweight. However, the hours are long, and Emily decided she wanted a new career that would let her spend more time with her young son, so last I’d heard, she’d opened a day care. Considering that this was Saturday, I supposed it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that this was her second job, but Rand Mart was infamous for giving their front line employees really egregiously varying schedules with totally inconsistent amounts and times for hours, so they weren’t generally compatible with having, or being, a second job. “Hey, Emily!” I said. “How’s life been treating you?”

“Oh, hey, Brad. You’re looking pretty stressed. They giving you a hard time at work?”

“Oh, no, no, I’m just stressed because I had to come to this place,” I said. “Six cashiers at the Allfood, and none of them willing to ring up a simple purchase of ham, milk and bread.”

“Don’t I know it,” Emily said. “The other day I was in Curtains and More with my son, just trying to get him some new bedsheets, and they practically threw me out of the store because I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I told them I don’t wear it because my circulation’s not great and my fingers swell up, but they didn’t believe me. I had to show them my wedding picture in my wallet before I could buy a damned thing, because they thought I was an unwed mother, and that’s sinful. Do you know every single employee in that place is a pregnant woman?”

“What, do they fire them if they’re not pregnant?”

“The owner’s into some odd Christian sect where you’re supposed to have as many babies for the Lord as possible. So I guess they’re not always pregnant, but they’re always either pregnant, on maternity leave, or they’ve got a little baby. It’s crazy.”

Her story reminded me that I needed to get cups for my coffee machine, and that as far as I knew coffee wasn’t against anyone’s religion. Maybe I’d drop by Curtains and More myself. I was a single guy without any kids, so I figured I wouldn’t run into the problems Emily had. “Are they one of those places where you have to be Christian to get in?”

“Oh, no, no. That’s what tripped me up; I was completely not expecting to run into an issue like that. They looked secular.”

“So why’re you working here at Rand Mart anyway? Still doing the daycare thing?”

She shook her head sadly. “No… I couldn’t keep it going. I hired a couple of extra workers, trying to expand – you know, the state’s very strict about how many children you can have per working adult. Well, it turned out that one of them had a strong Christian belief in ‘spare the rod, spoil the child.’ Apparently it’s a central tenet of her religion that you have to beat kids.”

“Oh my god. Really?”

“Yup. Obviously I couldn’t let her anywhere near the kids – she made it clear that if she saw them engaging in bad behavior, she had to follow her moral beliefs on how to ‘train them up’, rather than my instructions. Well, I could have lost my license for allowing any corporal punishment at all on my premises, so I couldn’t let her anywhere near the kids, but I couldn’t fire her, because Conscience Clause. So I had her running errands, but what I really had needed was someone to watch kids. Without being able to take on the extra kids that her watching them would have allowed me to take, I couldn’t afford her salary.”

I shook my head. “Unreal.”

“I managed to eventually fire her for taking too long to run her errands, but I had to document it for months so she couldn’t claim it was an illegal termination on religious grounds. By then it was too late – I was too far into the red to recover. I had to declare bankruptcy. I couldn’t get hired back into IT management because I guess making a sudden shift into running a day care made me look flaky? Or out of touch, anyway. So, you know, I’m still looking, but I’ve got to pay the bills, so…” She shrugged. “Here I am.”

“That sucks. I’ll check the internal postings, see if there are any openings at the company. I’m sure they’d love to have you back.”

“That’d be great,” she said. “But listen, I gotta finish this and clock my task completion time so they don’t dock me for excessive inefficiency.”

“Oh, yeah, I understand. I gotta find my groceries, myself. See you around!”

“Sure, see you,” she said, and went back to unpacking yogurts, this time pulling them out of the box in stacks of three and shoving them onto the shelf as fast as she could go.

Once I had my groceries and I was checking out, I ran into my old friend Ryan, who was working the cash register. “Ryan! You’re working at Rand Mart too?”

“Sad but true,” he said.

“Thought you were working at that hipster coffee place.”

“Went out of business last month,” Ryan said regretfully. “We hired this one guy who would not stop aggressively proselytizing to the customers, and people just felt really uncomfortable ordering coffee from someone who kept insisting that they embrace the Lord. The owner tried to keep him in the back, but you know, small coffee joint. There’s not much to do that isn’t in the front, customer facing… he’d do unloading and garbage runs but the rest of the time there was nothing for him to do but work out front.”

“Yeah, I just heard about my old manager’s day care folding because she hired the wrong person.”

“It’s bad, all right,” Ryan said. “The small businesses can’t take it, and even the bigger ones are starting to feel it. That’ll be $15.99.”

For a pound of deli ham, a loaf of bread, and a gallon of milk? I goggled at the receipt, glad I hadn’t tried to get the coffee single-serving cups here. Well, Rand Mart never pretended to have the lowest prices on groceries; they’ll just sell you anything you want without a hassle, and that’s enough of a draw that they can charge out the wazoo. That and all the cheap impulse buy stuff creating the illusion that the store’s prices were overall low. “You guys are definitely cleaning up on it though,” I said as I swiped my credit card.

Ryan snorted. “I’m out of here first chance I get. There’s a new burger joint down the road, Charley’s. I put in an application there and we’ll see where it goes.”

“Is that one of those places where you have to wear flair?”

“Naah, flair is corporate now. They do have all the kitschy plastic toys all over the ceiling though.”

“I’ll have to check them out.” Maybe today. A burger sounded good. I was getting kind of hungry.

As I walked out of Rand Mart, I swore to myself that this time, this time, I wasn’t coming back.

***

Charley’s was a low-key kind of place, dark wooden beams and light brown wallpaper showing great sports stars from the entire 20th and 21st centuries, despite which it was actually not a sports bar. It was rare to find a burger joint that was neither excessively corporate, nor did it have 25 television screens showing different subchannels of ESPN. Their menu said they were all about the social experience, implying to me that one lone dude like me was probably not their target customer. On the other hand I’ll do a lot to avoid the black attention sucking hole that is large television screens with no sound. I’m not into sports nearly enough to want to see Ukrainian men’s field hockey or whatever ridiculous crap they show on ESPN17, and especially not enough to want to see it with the sound off and no captions.

I was pleasantly surprised by how fast my server collected my drink order and came back with my Coke. She was a cute brunette with curly hair. “I’d like to get a Works Cheeseburger, hold the spinach,” I said.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”

I blinked at her. “Are you out? I don’t have to have all the toppings—“

“No, I mean, a cheeseburger isn’t kosher, so I can’t put that order in for you. Sorry.”

Oh, not this again. “Come on. You’re working on Saturday. You can put in a cheeseburger order.”

“No, I really can’t. I have to work on Saturday because I need the hours, but I do keep kosher.”

I sighed. “Can you get me a different server, then? I came here to get a cheeseburger.”

“I could get you a cheese veggieburger… the tofu ones taste really authentic.”

“No. I want a cheeseburger. Made of beef, and cheese. Are there any other servers who’ll take my order?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t refer you to any of my colleagues,” she said. “If it was just a matter of you preferring a different server, that’d be one thing, but I can’t get a different server for you when I know that I’m enabling you to get a cheeseburger.”

“Okay, I’m not going to order a cheeseburger, but I don’t like you and your sanctimonious attitude, so just go get me a different server because I don’t like you.”

“No, sir, I know you’re lying and you really are going to order a cheeseburger if I do that.”

I glared at her. “Look, I know enough about Judaism to know that you don’t need to enforce the kosher laws on non-Jews, so what justification do you have for not letting me order a cheeseburger? Don’t the kosher laws just apply to Jews?”

“Yes, but I can tell you’re actually Jewish.”

I blinked. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, of course you’d say that, sir, since you don’t keep kosher and you don’t keep the Sabbath, but I know a Jewish man when I see one.”

I had a roommate who was Jewish once, and that was the full extent of my connection to Judaism. “Look, I’m not. Really. I’m allowed to eat a cheeseburger.”

“I sincerely believe that you probably are, and you’re lying to me because you want a cheeseburger.”

So I gave her two bucks for the Coke, which was $1.99, and told her to keep the change. If she was hungry enough to take Saturday hours despite being dedicated enough to her faith to enforce kosher on non-Jewish customers, maybe a spate of 1 cent tips would persuade her to let customers order a cheeseburger in a goddamn burger joint. Or maybe they’d cause her to quit. What the heck was someone with a religious objection to cheeseburgers doing working in a burger joint anyway? I bet she wouldn’t have let me get a bacon burger either.

To be honest, I was pretty sure she was enforcing kosher laws on a non-Jew because she could. Used to be that every store treated its employees more or less the same way Rand Mart does. Long hours, low wages, and if you didn’t take the customer’s abuse with a big smile, you could lose your job, no matter how unreasonable the demands. Nowadays, the hours were longer and the wages were lower – businesses couldn’t stay in business with all the deadweight they were forced to carry if they didn’t exploit the hell out of their workers – but employees could get away with nearly anything if they expressed a heartfelt belief. In fact, I’d read an advice article online that suggested that as soon as you got a job in retail, you should come up with some religious reason to deny a customer something, because then if they tried to fire you for anything else, you could sue them on the grounds that it was retaliation against you exercising your First Amendment rights.

Dammit, I was really, really not in the mood for McDonalds’ or something. The last time I’d tried to go through a drive-thru, I’d found out that the fry cook on shift that day disapproved of the high carbon footprint left by cars, and was refusing to allow any of the fries to go out via the drive-thru. Plus, I’d really wanted a good burger. Rand-Mart had one of those snack bars that they have at places like Target, but I was pretty sure their burgers were at best a single step in quality above McDonald’s, if not the same or worse.

I decided to go to Anomie. Their food wasn’t the best, but the good thing was, you put in your order through an electronic kiosk, swiped your card, and people you never saw in the back, who never saw you, would take whatever orders they felt they could morally accept. Then the food would be slid to you through a numbered slot, kind of like the idea behind the old Automat. You never had to see a single person that worked there.

***

After a mediocre cheeseburger I managed to obtain without interacting with a single human being, I felt somewhat up to going and getting my coffee. It’d be cheapest at the grocery store, but I wasn’t going to go back there if I could help it – even though I was pretty sure none of the cashiers I’d run into would actually prevent me from getting coffee, except maybe the Sprite Is Poison lady, I still didn’t feel like paying any of those people’s wages. So I decided to try Curtains and More. If they weren’t the kind of store that would try to check my religion before letting me in, what was the worst that could happen?

Ten minutes later I was standing in front of a security guard who was saying “I’m sorry, sir,” while blocking my entrance to the store. “You can’t go in there.”

I stared at him. “Why not?”

“Well, you’re a man, sir. Men aren’t allowed in Curtains and More.”

“…My friend just was here and she never told me men aren’t allowed. She brought in her son.”

“Boys under the age of 10 are allowed, but men aren’t. Our corporate policy at Curtains and More is that men and women shouldn’t mingle socially, so they shouldn’t shop at the same stores.”

“So is there another curtains store that just sells to men?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. I don’t make the rule.”

“But you’re a man.”

“Yeah, I have to stand out here all day. I’m not actually allowed in the building.”

“So how do you punch your time card?”

“There’s an app for that. I have to do it with my cell phone.” He sighed. “Kind of dumb, if you ask me, but what’re you going to do?”

“Shop somewhere else, I guess.” I shook my head. “I thought these folks were Christians.”

“They are, but they’re some weird sect that thinks men and women shouldn’t see each other unless they’re family.”

“And that women should be pregnant all the time?”

“Didn’t know that, but I’ve seen employees go in through the side door, and yeah, most of them are pregnant. Is that why?”

“That’s what I heard,” I said glumly. “Why do they let women in and not men, I wonder? Most of these kinds of places discriminate against women, not men.”

“I don’t know, but I don’t have to turn too many guys away. I guess men don’t shop for curtains as much.”

“Guess not.” It was as good an explanation as any. “I’m gonna have to go back to Rand Mart, aren’t I?”

“I hear they’ve got a pretty good selection,” the security guard said.

***

I figured I’d probably end up back at Rand Mart, but I had to at least try to avoid it, so I tried a few other coffee places; most coffee places sell pods for coffee machines, after all.

I tried Starbucks, and walked right back out as I heard the cashier refusing to serve unbelievers. I didn’t even know what they were unbelieving in, and I didn’t care. The Dunkin Donuts was run by someone who professed a sincere and heartfelt belief that children should work in the family business, and I didn’t want to be served by an eight-year-old again. There was a hipster coffee joint, but they wouldn’t let me in because my belt looked like it might be made of real leather, and they believed strongly in veganism. I considered leaving my belt in the car, but then my pants might fall down in the coffee shop, and I wasn’t risking that. Besides, people like that might give me some song and dance about single-serve coffee pods being terrible for the environment, or something.

And that was how I found myself going back to Rand Mart, about an hour after declaring I was never going back again.

I passed a group of employees on smoke break on my way in. They were holding “HOMELESS AND HUNGRY – PLEASE HELP” signs. I gave one of them a five. For all I knew my friends might be there next month.

Then I dodged around an excessively aggressive cart return guy pushing a conga line of wheeled death, and slipped into the store. I was beginning to come to the conclusion that no matter how many times I vowed I’d never come back here, I’d never be able to keep that promise.

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 77

The Night Terrors protect Squee.

*Links to previous and next chapter in reblog*

-- 

Sleep Struggles

           “I need your help. After what happened before, I’ve been avoiding sleep. But I can’t anymore. I’m so tired. But even when I do try to sleep, I can’t relax. I feel like something bad is coming and I can’t tell if it’s for real or if it’s my paranoia. Before…I didn’t have to tell the difference because…Shmee did it for me.”            Squee takes a deep breath and looks up at the Night Terrors. “So that’s why I’ve called you here. If you guys are here keeping watch, then I know if something bad does happen, you’ll be able to stop it. Maybe then I can relax a little. And if I do create something in my sleep again, you’ll be able to slow it down until Nny wakes up.”

           “Right. So you want us to be your bodyguards,” Reverend Meat clarifies, “no problem.”            “Yeah, sounds fun,” Sickness agrees.

           “And this is the first time we’ve been out of the city since we were created,” Eff adds, “it’s like a holiday.”

           “With an actual house and free food and everything,” D-boy nods approvingly.

           “Exactly. We all benefit,” Squee says between a yawn.

           “Okay, we’ll get started,” Reverend Meat declares and salutes. “See you all at lunch.”

           With that, the Night Terrors exit Cammie’s house and Squee and Johnny stare after them.

           “I can protect you, y’know,” Nny points out.

           “I don’t want you to shoulder all that responsibility,” Squee argues, “this is supposed to be a vacation for you too.”            Nny smiles and pats Squee’s head. “Go get some sleep.”

           “I’ll try,” he replies, “come on, Nugget.”            The cat mews as she follows him down the hall to his room.

           Outside, the Night Terrors stand on the porch, glancing back at the door.

           “Squee…isn’t doing much better, is he?” Eff questions.

           “Do you blame him?” D-boy scoffs.

           “He’s tired,” Reverend Meat says, “that’s why he called for us. To help him.”

           “Still though,” Sickness sighs, “I wish there was more we could do.”            Reverend Meat rubs his chin with consideration. “Maybe there is. Happiness is supposed to be infectious, and Nny and Cammie aren’t exactly happy people. So maybe we should be.”            “Happy people?” D-boy questions, scornfully.

           “Yeah. Or at least act like it,” Reverend Meat nods.

           “How do we do that?” Eff asks.

           He points at his face, smiling brightly. “Smile.”            Eff and Sickness oblige but D-boy hesitates.

           “Come on, D-boy,” Reverend Meat urges, “for the Little Boss.”            D-boy grumbles but cracks a smile.

           “There we go,” Reverend Meat cheers. “Now we just gotta keep this up all day whilst we play bodyguard. So I figure we each take a corner of the house. If you see anything, jump to the middle of the roof to alert the others. But keep the noise down. We don’t wanna disturb Squee. And remember: smile!”            “This is why retail workers are suicidal,” D-boy mumbles as they split up, each resting on a corner of the roof.

           They’re observant at first, for at least a couple minutes. But as early morning slips into mid-morning, with nothing happening, they all start lounging.

           It’s so relaxing out here. It’s not like they have much going on at home, but here there’s no city noise and no Aron and Serena. It’s just peace and quiet.

           Reverend Meat is the first to notice a change, as he often is. He immediately shoots up, this feeling recognizable. And just as he jumps to the peak of the roof to warn the others, they sense it too and join him.

           “They’re here,” Reverend Meat says.

           “Yup, they’re making their move,” Eff nods.

           “Or maybe they’ve been making their move and that’s what Squee’s been feeling,” D-boy points out.

           “Either way, how do we deal with it?” Sickness asks.

           “Same way we deal with any threat,” Reverend Meat replies, “destroy it.”

           The others nod.

           “And smile!”

           Eff and Sickness beam brightly while D-boy groans and cracks a grin.

           They all jump to the ground and approach the edge of the forest. The shadows within are deep and dark, more so than should be normal. And if you squint, you can see something moving, swirling around in the darkness.

           The Night Terrors can feel its sudden agitation. It’s not happy to see them again.

           “Long time no see,” Eff snarls.

           “This is gonna be a short-lived reunion,” Reverend Meat says as he cracks his knuckles and rams his hand into the shadows.

           Something immediately pulls at him, threatening to tug him into the trees, but he stands strong. The others quickly grab him and he pulls his arm out. Nightmarish tentacles and tendrils covered in little hairs or spikes are wrapped around his wrist. He pulls out as much as he can before barking, “cut it!”

           Eff quickly draws a machete from his hat and slashes it through the tentacles. The severed pieces around Reverend Meat’s arm shrivel up into dust while the rest shrink back into the trees, hissing painfully.

           “It sure didn’t like that,” Sickness comments.

           The Nightmare bursts out of the woods, a mass of monstrous mouths, fangs, and tentacles surrounding them at the sides and overhead.

           “No, it didn’t,” Reverend Meat agrees.

           “Can this be considered teenage rebellion?” D-boy grins as they all ready for a fight.

           The beastly appendages lunge at them. Reverend Meat blocks with his arms while Sickness, D-boy, and Eff attempt to knock them back, but there’s too many. A couple tendrils slip by and wrap around D-boy’s ankles. He cries out with surprise as they yank him off his feet and drag him towards the trees. But before the shadows can engulf him, he plants both ends of his mallet against neighboring trees, catching and holding himself back.

           The others are too busy to worry about him, however. Eff is struggling to hold back a fang-filled maw from biting his face off, his blades caught between its fangs. Tentacles have wrapped around and are tugging on Reverend Meat’s arms, forcing him to play tug-of-war with himself. And Sickness is barely dodging the creature’s attacks, its appendages scraping and grazing against her skin as she jumps and flips around.

           All of her acrobatics have backed her up against the wall of the house. She looks back in shock, right through the window of Squee’s room, and catches a glimpse of him in bed. He’s asleep, but it seems fitful, rife with bad dreams.

           Sickness snarls and glares at the Nightmare as its appendages charge her. She quickly ducks down, plants her hands on the ground, and spins her legs through the air with such force she slices through them like a blade.

          The Nightmare hisses as its severed extremities disappear into nothingness. As she stands up, Sickness starts to shout at the others but stops when she remembers Squee asleep just a wall behind her, and instead races over to them.

           “Get it together, you guys,” she hisses, “the Little Boss needs us.” She points at her face and smiles. “Remember?”

           Reverend Meat, Eff, and D-boy look at her in surprise before a renewed vigor rushes through them. And they smile.

           Reverend Meat grips the tentacles around his arms and pulls them down just enough for him to step on them, pinning them to the ground. Then he tears them in half.

           Eff lets his blades slip out from between the maw’s fangs and as it starts to charge at him, he brings them against its cheeks and slices it in half. Then, he swiftly cuts up the rest of the appendage and all the surrounding ones like a master sushi chef.

           Finally, D-boy flips his mallet around, allowing the Nightmare to pull him into the trees. But before the shadows can devour him, he swings his hammer and completely smashes the appendages at his feet.

           Expecting more to come at him from the mass of darkness, D-boy quickly backflips away and joins the others outside the trees. They all tensely watch the squirming shadows, ready for another round. But then, the shadows split apart and disappear.

           “It’s gone,” Eff sighs.

           “For now,” D-boy adds.

           “Yeah, it’ll come back,” Sickness agrees.

           “But not like this,” Reverend Meat points out, “now it knows Squee isn’t gonna be an easy prize. It’s gonna send a servant to weaken him. We need to watch out for anything suspicious.”

           They all sigh and dust themselves off as Reverend Meat glances at the sky.

           “It’s noon,” he says, “come on. I think we’ve earned ourselves a lunchbreak.”

           The others nod agreeably and they head to the front of the house.

           Meanwhile, Squee’s eyes blink open and he groans. His sleep throughout the morning had been restless. He would only sleep for a couple hours at a time and he would always have bad dreams. And the entire time he felt like something bad was happening. But he forced himself to rest, trusting the Night Terrors to keep watch. And it doesn’t look like anything bad happened so his plan must’ve worked.

           After checking the time, he sits up and stretches. Lunchtime. He should eat something.

           “Come on, Nugget,” he says, patting his cat as he stands up. She yawns before following him out of the room.

           As Squee exits the hall, he runs into the Night Terrors entering the house. They face him and grin brightly.

           Squee blinks with surprise. They’re covered and dirt and grime; their clothes are torn, they’re scratched up, and the Doughboys’ makeup is smudged. But none of that is quite as bewildering as their beaming smiles.

           Despite himself, Squee chuckles. “You guys are a mess. Clean yourselves up then have something to eat.”

           The Night Terrors watch him, stunned as he passes them to the kitchen, before smiling excitedly.

           “Yes, Little Boss!” they chime before racing each other down the hall, arguing about who will use the shower first.

           Squee smiles as he listens to them and opens the fridge.

           “They really care about you, huh?”

           Squee’s smile disappears at the voice. He swallows hard and ignores it as he grabs sandwich ingredients.

           “It’s baffling, really. I mean, why should anyone care about you? You’re such a loser. A real failure at life. It’s probably pity. Yeah, that’s it. Why else would anyone care about you?”

           Squee continues to ignore it as he makes his lunch but the voice doesn’t seem to care. Nny and Cammie, who are both sitting at the table, clearly can’t hear it. But Squee knows this already.

            “You should probably just give up, you know. It would be so much easier on everyone. Your friends, your family, you. Why keep fighting when there’s nothing worth fighting for?”

           Squee stops, dropping a butter knife and a jar of mustard, and glares at the source of the voice. A stress toy, the kind with eyes and ears that bug out when squeezed. He’s also got an unsettling smile that only Squee can see. He’s not sure where he came from or how long he’s been here. But this isn’t the first time he’s seen the toy in the last week. He calls himself ‘Squishy Pete’.

           Squee picks him up and gives him a squeeze.

           “Feel better?” Pete asks, “I’m great for stress. But you know it’s just a temporary solution. But if you give in, all of your stress will disappear.”

           “You’re wrong,” Squee says quietly.

           “Huh?”                      

           “I do have things worth fighting for,” he states, “and I’ll never give up.”            Before the toy can reply, Squee pops open the lid of the garbage can and drops him inside, shutting him in the darkness. But as he goes back to his sandwich, Squee knows that won’t be the last he sees of Squishy Pete.

           A temporary solution indeed.

[magioftheseas]

Conversations with Companions

Day 4: Speech/Breathing

Summary: He talks too much but that’s better than him not talking at all because his brain’s too rotted to even process thoughts.

Rating: PG

Warnings: References to illness and needles.

Notes: Because of Komaeda’s iconic wheezing, he was the obvious pick for today’s prompt. For the fic, anyway. I do think about it a lot because it’s such a worrying sound. He sounds like he’s choking and in pain so I imagine that Matsuda worries a lot, too.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

It was pretty commonplace for Komaeda to go on verbal tirades about hope, symbols, potential, hope, talent, and hope. Matsuda had gotten pretty good at tuning him out because it was exhausting the first time, downright intolerable the seventy-seventh. He only started paying attention when Komaeda’s wheezing got to the point where he seemed to be literally choking on his words. It’s only then when Matsuda stops him and nearly smacks him with a water bottle, demanding he stop to take a drink.

“There, there,” he droned, flipping through his manga as Komaeda gasps afterwards. “In and out. Nice deep breaths. Fucking hell, you really are a mess sometimes.”

Komaeda giggles weakly, screwing the cap back onto the bottle.

“I just get overexcited, Matsuda-kun. I mean everything I say, I just...”

“Get overexcited. Yeah. I heard you the first time.” Matsuda does glare at him over his book. “You’re sickly. You need to take shit easy. Should I resort to sedation to keep you calm?”

“You don’t have to go that far!” Komaeda hurriedly exclaimed. “So severe, Matsuda-kun!”

“It’s just that I worry you’ll hack up a fucking lung at the rate you’re going.” With how irritated he is, he ends up fidgeting with one of the pages. He’s digs his thumbnail into the fleshy pad of his finger as a distraction. “You don’t have an upper respiratory condition yet. It’s best to not fucking test it.”

“I... Okay.” Komaeda nods along dolefully. “I understand, Matsuda-kun.”

Do you, though?

With how pitiful a picture Komaeda Nagito made, Matsuda decided against questioning him further. Just something about those down-turned eyes and hanging head riled a sense of protectiveness. Stupid. So stupid. He really is painfully easy, but it’s expectable at this point.

I need to be needed just as I need to breathe. It’s only a shame that Komaeda’s ideology is so fucking unfortunate.

“I wasn’t actually listening to a word you were saying,” he said. “That’s because I kind of think like everything you say about this school, about yourself, and about other people is...pretty contentious.”

“You’re so cynical,” Komaeda replies, tired but smiling all the same. Like a dog just waiting to be kicked.

He makes it so easy by being as passive as he is utterly fucking patronizing. Seriously, do you have any self-preservation at all?

He already knows the answer.

“Hey, Komaeda.”

He really is so easy.

“How are things going for you and your class anyway?”

“Oh!” Komaeda lights up on the spot. “They’re going wonderfully! Just last week, Koizumi-san gathered up all the other girls for a get-together! They’ve all gotten so close! Although Hanamura-kun and Souda-kun had rather unfortunate ideas that had to be dealt with. But, I think our class has only gotten stronger! They’re symbols of hope after all, and conflict strengthens bonds.”

“How are they treating you?” Matsuda asks, thoroughly uninterested in anything else.

“They’re so much kinder than I deserve! Mioda-san invited me to her concert! Koizumi-san helped me clean the other day! I was even allowed to make suggestions for the class trip, although I don’t think I’ll be able to go, ehe. I don’t want to ruin their fun with my rotten luck, after all, and they had a lot of fun last time when I got too sick to attend.”

Pitiful. Utterly pitiful.

But, with a quick inhale, Komaeda was excitedly going on. “They really are incredible. Even though they don’t like me at all, they still include me on the occasion. I’m sincerely grateful. They could just completely ignore me and they don’t! Isn’t that so kind? So wonderful? And I’ve only gotten poisoned once! Although I guess it’s not Saionji-san’s fault, she didn’t realize I was allergic, aha. And Tsumiki-san acted quite dutifully. And, and, and...”

“Stop.” Matsuda held up a hand. “Take deep breaths. And take another sip of water while you’re at it.”

Swallowing, Komaeda nodded quickly. He opened the bottle once more and took a swing.

“Oi,” Matsuda snapped. “Don’t fucking choke. It’s water, not alcohol.”

Komaeda does nod again, and he spills some of it. Bristling, Matsuda tore off some paper towels for him to use. Giggling, Komaeda at least had the decency to look pretty apologetic.

“I guess I do overdo it sometimes,” he admitted meekly. “It’s difficult. I’ve never been so happy.”

“Yeah?” Matsuda asked, unimpressed with an eyebrow raised. “So, who would you say you’re at least friends with?”

“Oh, no! No, no, no!” Komaeda shook his head furiously. “Someone like me friends with people like them—that’s ludicrous! I’m nowhere near that—!”

“Do you think any of them would consider you a friend if I asked?” Matsuda cut him off before he could finish. “Like the punk rocker? Or the cam girl?”

“Don’t call Koizumi-san that,” Komaeda snapped in return before getting all flustered. “And don’t be ridiculous, Matsuda-kun. Your jokes are too much. Both of them are just kind, they don’t like me. And they shouldn’t! I’m beneath them, lesser than them, I’m—!”

“Stop.” Komaeda did. Matsuda’s glare was unwavering. “Inhale. Exhale. You’re getting too worked up again.”

Komaeda breathed in sharply, his face twisting up in a way that was pretty distressed.

“I’m sorry, Matsuda-kun. But. Um. Obviously I’m not...”

“Considered a friend?” Matsuda guessed. Komaeda feebly nods along, and there’s not much to do but sigh. “That’s pretty pathetic, you know? Like, even the reserves have friends.”

Komaeda’s expression soured considerably. His lips pressed tightly together, showcasing a restraint that Matsuda hadn’t even thought possible.

“It’s better this way,” Komaeda finally said, and his tone was firm. Firm yet resigned. “It’s dangerous for people to be around me in the first place. And I’m already so disgustingly indulgent. I—mustn’t push my boundaries.”

“Do you not want friends?”

“What I want isn’t important.” The answer was immediate. “What is important is...”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask about that.” Matsuda waved his hand. “Do you want friends or not, Komaeda. Because I might know a guy.”

Komaeda blinks at him. His lip curls, and then he laughs.

“Your jokes are too much, Matsuda-kun!” he exclaims, not sounding remotely mirthful. “Really, I’m fine! I’m completely fine!”

His hands were squeezing into fists. Matsuda can already imagine his nails biting into the pale meat of his palms. Komaeda’s so tense it looks painful. He’s even shaking, but...at least he’s breathing, albeit erratically.

Matsuda ends up shrugging.

“If you say so.” What can I even say to a face like that? I feel like if I pushed it, his expression would twist so much that it’d cause literal cracks. “You could still use more hydration though. You talk too much.”

“Ahaha.” Komaeda’s smile is still straining, but he seems grateful regardless. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He spoke without thinking. “I imagine it’s nice to just be allowed to talk sometimes.”

Komaeda flushes, and he makes a complicated sound of agreement.

He’s not a bad person. He’s naïve, stubborn, and stupid—but not bad. He talks too much but that’s better than him not talking at all because his brain’s too rotted to even process thoughts. I’ll make sure he never gets to that point, even if I can’t fix all his other issues.

It was the least he could do for this person, Matsuda Yasuke supposed.