#eating tightens my muscles like i hate it so fucking much catching the food putting it in my mouth CHEWING swallowing

[derpinette]

i have a weird relationship with weight because i hated eating more than anything the moment i was ready for solids ( i hate chewing with my entire life always have & will ) which made me underweight for most of my life ( to this day ) & during late primary-middle school this made me actively suicidal because i felt like something was wrong with my sex because i just was not developing whatsoever prompting me to have a years long phase of trying to gain weight in any way i could ( #EPICFAIL by the way ) & i was already insecure but i felt seriously so unforgivably ugly after bullying not just at school but by adults of my entourage. but then i did in my late 15s which prompted the pendulum to swing in the other direction & suddenly i FREAKED OUT & thought well being skinny is pretty much all i have & know myself to be & clearly it is not going to last forever so i Better preserve it i was delusional about how skinny i thought i was actually i look stumpy & weird i have to prove myself. But now i am normal again kind of

[earlgreydream]

guide me.

| zemo x reader | smut |

sugar daddy zemo is back because i’m h word

cw: slight ddlg, daddy kink, d/s, innocence kinkkk, guided masturbation, etc

“Hi baby,” Zemo’s voice was low as he entered the dark room. You jumped out of bed and bounded over to Zemo, jumping into his arms.

“It’s so late, my little love, you’re supposed to be asleep,” Zemo scolded you gently. 

“But daddy I can’t sleep without you,” you pouted, a whine drawing out your words.

“You know I need to work late. I’m here now, go get back in bed,” Zemo slapped your ass as you turned to obey, making you shriek.

You laid down, struggling to drift off as you waited for him to come to bed. You squirmed in the sheets, rolling onto your belly and trying to get comfortable. You whined for him, and he stuck his head out of the bathroom, wondering why you were in such a whiny, subby mood.

“I’m coming,” he promised, kissing you as he climbed into the bed.

“Behave and go to sleep, and we can have some fun tomorrow,” Zemo hushed you as you continued to squirm and writhe around. You settled down, wanting him to be proud of you. Zemo’s body was warm as you curled up against his side, his arm wrapping around your waist.

You walked through the designer stores with Zemo, who was more than happy to spoil you. He felt guilty about having to leave town for work the next day, and he wanted to spend time with you and take you shopping before you left. He never liked to leave you, even when it was necessary.

“You look so pretty, little love,” Zemo spun you around as you wore a tiny dress.

“You like it?”

“I love it on you.” 

He leaned down to kiss your lips, grabbing your ass possessively. You blushed and giggled, knowing he was doing it to show off to the other men who were around. You were his and he would hurt anyone who so much as looked at you too long.

“Go see about the pretty lace,” he pushed you toward a lingerie store, making you blush. You went in while he waited outside, after your insistence for him to let you pick to surprise him. You got several pretty sets for Zemo to see you in, wanting to make him happy. He tried to look into the bag you carried, but you held it closed with a giggle.

“It’s supposed to be a surprise, daddy!” you insisted, and Zemo hummed and kissed your throat, tugging back on your hair lightly.

“A surprise? You’ll show me one when we get home, then?”

You nodded excitedly, squeezing your thighs together in anticipation. He shook his head at you, but a gentle smile adorned his face. You broke into a fit of giggles as he kissed you again, holding your face and kissing your cheeks.

“Come on, it’s getting late, we have a reservation,” Zemo helped you carry your bags to the car and your chauffeur took you to a restaurant. 

Zemo held your hand as the two of you walked inside, greeted as regulars in the Michelin star restaurant. Everything in Zemo’s life was expensive, perfect, and luxurious, and you were treated with the same respect. The two of you were taken to a private table in the back, Zemo sitting beside you, knowing your need to be close to him before you were separated. 

“Did you enjoy your day, little love?” Zemo asked, squeezing your thigh through your thin tights.

“Yes! I always like being with you,” you giggled, pushing your lips out for a kiss. He gave you what you wanted, pressing his lips against yours before sipping the white wine.

“I’m going to be gone for a couple of weeks,” Zemo spoke, making you sad. You already knew this, but you hated to hear him remind you.

“I’m going to miss you. And I’m going to be so needy when you get back,” you informed him, making the blond smile.

“I’ll miss you too. You have my permission to take care of yourself while I’m gone.” 

“Take care of myself?” you repeated, not understanding what he was saying to you. You were a virgin when you met Zemo, and sex was a learning experience for you. He’d been the only one to ever please you, and he taught you about what you didn’t know from the basic sex-ed in school.

“Yes, love, get yourself off. Daddy’s going to be gone a long time,” Zemo squeezed your knee lightly, and a blush spread across your cheeks at his words. You bit your lip, and he raised an eyebrow at your hesitation. He waited for you to speak again, not caring that you were shy.

“I don’t know how. I’ve never done it before,” he barely heard you, and he tilted your chin up, making you look him in the eyes.

“You’ve never touched yourself?”

“No.”

You were embarrassed, even though you knew Zemo was never one to shame you. He looked slightly amused by your shyness, but didn’t tease.

“I’ll teach you tonight, when we’re home. Don’t want my girl all needy in my absence.”

You nodded slowly, scooting closer to him. He kissed the side of your head and nudged you to eat as food was set in front of you. He talked idly about his business trip, promising to spend all the time in the world with you when he returned. You never liked it when Zemo left, you didn’t like being alone, even in the huge home he had with the housekeepers.

When you arrived back home, housekeepers put your bags away in your private suite, while you went to join Zemo in your shared bedroom. He slipped your coat off of your body, and you stilled as he unzipped your dress carefully, kissing down your spine as he did so. You pried your tights off and went to the bed, waiting for your boyfriend to join you.

“Pretty girl,” he kissed your cheek, slipping onto the bed behind you. 

You blushed as you looked at yourself in the mirror that Zemo had in front of the bed, a product of his massive ego.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” Zemo hummed, his hands sliding up and down your body, cupping you and playing with your sensitive areas, getting you aroused.

You relaxed back against his chest, and he draped your legs open over his.

“If I do a good job, will you fuck me after?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head back to gaze up at him. Zemo nearly melted at that despite the filthy words, kissing you gently.

“Yes, I couldn’t resist. Then we can have a bath, yes?”

You nodded in agreement, resting back against him. He took your smaller hand in his, guiding your touch down to your dripping sex. He led your movements, dragging two fingers up and down slowly through your wet folds.

“Keep going, love. Play with your clit like I do, like little circles,” his voice was soft in your ear, his breath stirring your hair. He pressed kisses down the column of your throat, softly praising you and urging you to continue. Zemo loved the sound of your breathy moans, and feeling your body arch off of him. 

“Does it feel nice? Try going inside, feeling your tight little sex.”

“Yes,” you whined as two of your fingers slowly slid in and out of your walls, curling forward against the spongey area that made you shudder. It didn’t feel quite as good as when Zemo did it, your small fingers couldn’t reach the same deep spots. 

“Make yourself come, I want to watch,” he hummed, kissing your neck and playing with your nipples, adding to your stimulation.

“Help me,” you begged, and he shook his head.

“You need to be able to do it on your own, baby.”

You whimpered and stroked your clit shyly until you felt the pressure release, sending sparks throughout your body, shuddering against Zemo. He grinned and kissed your shoulder, whispering how proud he was of you. You blushed but smiled at him, soaking up the praise. 

“Daddy,” you whined, turning around and straddling his lap. You pouted before he caught you in a heavy kiss, his large hands going to squeeze your waist. 

“Mmm?”

“You promised!” 

He laughed softly, sliding down to lay flat on his back and position you over him. You sank down onto him, slowly filling you up until he was all the way in you. Zemo moaned and squeezed your ass, helping you roll forward and ride him, your hands going to his chest for balance as you bounced, fucking yourself on him. Your body tightened as you squealed his name, high-pitched moans catching as he slammed upwards into you. 

He brought your hips down forcefully as he snapped up repeatedly, pleasure flooding your head and body as your second orgasm nearly caused you to fall over. You screamed and dragged your nails down his chest as he came inside of you, the sensation sending another wave of euphoria through you.

Zemo caught you, laying you down on his chest and lazily rocking up into you a few more times, just to hear the broken, tired moans that fell from your lips. 

“Want a bath?”

You nodded, and he carried you to the large bowl tub, filling it with water and dropping fizzing balls into it, scents of vanilla and shea wafting up around you. He settled behind you again, washing your body carefully and praising you. 

“I’m going to miss you, my little love,” Zemo murmured, holding you tightly.

“Do you have to go?” your voice was soft, and Zemo’s heart ached at the disappointment in your voice.

“I do. I’m so sorry. But I will spoil you when I’m home. I’ll take you on a vacation, just us,” he promised. You smiled, sighing happily as he massaged your back with soapy hands, working the tension out of your muscles.

Once you were out of the bath, you slipped into a deep blue lace teddy that you’d gotten today, showing off to Zemo. He fought back to urge to tear it off of you, going another round. He knew you were tired, and he let you sleep in his arms, your face buried in his chest.

Zemo was already gone by the time you woke up, and you walked to your private suite to find clean clothes. A box sat on the end of your bed, and you approached it curiously. You lifted the top off of the box, blushing as you saw the silicon toys inside. You picked up the note from Zemo, biting back a smirk as you shook your head.

To help you while I’m gone. Send me videos. Xx - Baron Zemo

The second he stepped off the plane, you were in his arms, being spun around and kissed all over. A butler carried your suitcases onto a private jet, and Zemo smiled into the kiss. 

“Ready to spend some time on the private islands, baby?”

[pedros-mustache]

convenience

summary: he was within arm’s reach. that’s all.

warnings: suggestions of harassment, alcohol consumption, language, innuendo

a/n: no thoughts, frankie morales and his broad shoulders only. poorly edited so forgive any mistakes you find. i’ll go back and fix soon.

you rarely come to the bar alone. tonight is an anomaly.

grabbing drinks after a long work week is more enjoyable with friends by your side, and you frequent this particular watering hole what feels like every friday but can’t be more than twice a month. life is busy for you and what friends remain from your college days. babies and partners and jobs—it keeps everyone running to and fro like chickens with their heads cut off. (for you, of course, it’s just the job that’s got you strung out. no husband, no babies. that shouldn’t matter, but sometimes it does.) still, despite hectic schedules, there’s a standing date a few times a month: friday, eight o’clock, the booth with the cracked-plastic seat coverings in the far right corner.

you like the noisy atmosphere of this place, and it’s easy to lose a few hours while gossiping over cheap margaritas, a whitney houston song thumping over the tinny loudspeakers. the air smells like cigarette smoke—that’s your only qualm—but the drinks are cheap, the food is passable, and it’s a chance to let loose and really enjoy yourself after a five days of business boredom. 

of course, that’s what “the hot bird” is like most of the time. today is different. today is tuesday, it’s six-thirty, and you really shouldn’t be here alone.

you twirl the thin plastic straw around your drink and risk a glance over your shoulder. there’s a guy in your regular booth—red-faced with alcohol, tie loosened, dress shirt two sizes too big. you know he’s staring at you because you can feel his eyes on your back, your hips, your ass; he’s anything but discreet. his stare hurts like a healing sunburn: itchy, uncomfortable, hard to ignore. even from across the bar, his focus is unyielding, and you doubt he’s one to be easily dissuaded, not with the rabble-rousing friends at his booth, jostling drinks and shoulders alike. you imagine he’s biding his time, waiting for you to feel comfortable so he can strike. which is exactly what you need after being passed up for promotion (again): a drunk asshole bent on making your shitty day worse just for the hell of it.

the bartender—josh—says your name and sets a cocktail down on the counter in front of you. “here,” he says. he jerks his chin forward, indicating the back of the room. “it’s from the guy in the back.”

“oh god.” you resist the urge to look over your shoulder again. the muscles in your neck twitch, scream at you to turn and appraise the self-satisfied smirk on this guy’s face, but you hold still. you are nothing if not resolute in your determination to mind your on business, wallow in self pity, and get home without much of a fuss. “what the fuck is this thing?”

josh cringes. “it’s a b-52, our least popular drink.”

“it looks like spilled motor oil and congealed grease had a baby.”

to your right, in the barstool two over from yours, there’s a snort of amusement. your eyes snap to the side, but don’t register the other patron before josh is tapping your wrist. you hold your breath, stomach clenching at the conciliatory look on his face.

“don’t look now. i think he’s coming over.”

“of course he is,” you mutter, dropping your forehead to your palm. fuck, you really do not want to cry right now, but tears prick the corners of your eyes anyway. traitorous bastards. it’s been a long day, and you aren’t sure you have the mental fortitude to tactfully tell some guy to piss off without causing a scene or bursting into a blubbering mess.

“i can tell him—”

a smooth, unflustered voice cuts josh off mid-sentence. “no, let me.” 

a half-filled pint of beer and a plastic basket of fries slide across the counter, and then a man, shoulders broad and trucker cap pulled low, drops to the stool beside you. you gape at him, jaw hanging. the guy from two stools over—eavesdropper.

“unless,” he continues. “you want to tell him to fuck off yourself. i’m sure you can—you look like a capable woman—but i know men and sometimes...” he trails off, but you catch his drift well enough. you know men too, and the men who frequent this bar are often of the seedier variety.

except maybe not this guy... he seems nice enough, willing to lend a hand, and after the day you’ve had, you’ll take any help you can get. plus he’s easy on the eye, and it’s been awhile since anyone with such a handsome face paid you any mind.

you twist slightly in your stool, turning your body to face him. you open your mouth to offer your name, but he beats you to it, sliding his hand over the low, curved back of your stool. his presence—so masculine yet so gentle—crowds you, and you fight the urge to suck in a sharp breath. mouth hovering over your ear, he lowers his voice, and his opposite hand, long fingers splayed outwards, settles on the counter. you’re boxed in, an arm on either side of your body, but, strangely, it feels... good, safe even.

“i’m frankie,” he says. “just follow my lead, and we’ll both be out of your hair in no time.”

you turn your face to meet frankie’s eyes. he’s so near you can feel his breath on your cheeks, could kiss his plush lips if you dared. his smile, small but encouraging, eases the clench in your stomach. your gaze drifts from his warm, brown eyes to the thumb-sized spot on his chin absent the fine layer of scruff otherwise covering his jaw. god, he’s handsome.

“uh—excuse me? i couldn’t help but notice you ignored the drink i sent over.” the man from the back of the room leans against the counter, his gaze tight on your face, elbows poised casually on the bar. his voice belies none of the uncertainty he should probably feel when confronted with your obvious disinterest and frankie’s breadth. “picked my favorite for a sweet thing like you.”

gritting your teeth, you turn your head. “thanks, but i don’t think—” your resolve wavers when the man’s fat lips spread into a grin. shit, he likes this doesn’t he—how uncomfortable you are? he reminds you of richard, the guy who got the promotion you deserve: smarmy and entirely too good at weaseling. your stomach sours.

“you can’t turn me down until you at least take a sip of the thing.” reaching over his chest, the man picks up the cocktail. the three distinct layers jostle in the small shot glass.

perhaps he sees the fine sheen of tears that rush to your eyes or perhaps it’s just to make a point, but frankie’s hand drops to your thigh. the warmth of his palm filters through the mesh of your tights. without thinking, you twine your fingers through his and squeeze. 

“she said no, man.” 

for the first time, your would-be-suitor’s stare slides to focus on frankie. he arches a thin eyebrow. there’s no mistaking the way his chest inflates as frankie straightens his spine. “yeah? and who are you?”

frankie speaks without hesitation. “her boyfriend.” 

the man huffs, incredulous. “well, you didn’t claim her before now so i’m just taking my shot. free pick, ya know? first come first serve.”

frankie slides from the stool to standing. he’s near the same height as the other man, but there’s something about the clench in his jaw and the way his fingers tighten around yours and the way he moves to grip your shoulder than has you leaning into him despite the anger rolling off him in sharp waves. your shoulder pushes against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, and you hold your breath.

“say that again and i’ll crack your skull open on the counter.”

the man blinks, stunned, then laughs. it’s a harsh, nervous bark. his eyes flit to the back of the room then return to frankie. “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. what are you? some macho man?” 

“no—retired special forces. i can and i will make your life a living hell if you don’t crawl back into the hole you came from. leave my lady alone.”

“shit.” the man shakes his head before tossing the rejected cocktail down his throat with a cringe. “ain’t fucking worth it anyway.” he slams the glass down on the counter and, heeding frankie’s advice, returns to sulk in the back booth, tail tucked between his legs.

frankie waits until the asshole is sat snug in his booth before returning to his stool. he pops a now-cold fry in his mouth then tags a long swig of his beer. you watch him and decide you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in your entire life. 

“thank you,” you breathe. “i—fuck, i didn’t realize you’d be so... intimidating.” 

frankie shrugs, eats another fry. he avoids your eye. “hate to see you treated like that. least i can do.” 

you hum in approval, tracing the curve of his nose with your gaze. “i got passed up for a promotion today,” you offer. “put me in a real tailspin. i don’t normally go out in the middle of the week.”

fry dangling between his pointer finger and thumb, frankie finally returns his eyes to yours. “i’m sorry to hear that. if it makes you feel any better, i got stood up. i don’t normally go out in the middle of the week either.”

“guess we’re just a couple of losers then.” when frankie’s eyebrow lifts, you visibly cringe. you grab his forearm and squeeze your eyes shut. “no, wait—that’s not what i meant. i meant that... in the grand scheme of things, we aren’t... i mean...” squinting, you risk a peek at him. “shit, i’m sorry.”

after a moment, frankie smiles—and your heart leaps to your throat. he motions to josh at the other end of the bar. “what drink do you like?” he asks. “we can make it a real date, if you want? you know, to keep up appearances.” 

“a real date?”

he nods. “yeah. i’m not big on fate and shit like that, but... well, maybe i’m big on fate tonight.” his eyes roam your face, and you wonder if he’s drinking you in, memorizing your features. unlike before, his stare is kind, appreciative, reverent. your cheeks heat under his gaze, but you don’t look away.

the corner of your mouth pulls into a grin. “okay.” you smile at josh when he appears. “i like mojitos.” 

“really?” at your nod, frankie’s smile widens. “me too.” 

you reach for a fry in his basket. “must be fate then,” you say with a shrug.

“yeah.” his hand falls to your thigh again, squeezing the flesh around your knee. you look from his hand to his face, and anything you once thought shitty about the day turns rosy with possibility. “must be fate.”

.

.

.

taglist:

@ezramando @frannyzooey @spvce-cowboy @writings-of-a-hufflepuff @sofsoftheloaf @salome-c @aphr0d1te5 @anu-simps @softermina @spideysimpossiblegirl @mummifymecaptain @sleep-tight1 @thewayofthemandalorian @greeneyedblondie44 @darthpapi @salome-c @just-another-fangirl-22 @stevie75

if your handle is crossed out, tumblr would not let me tag your blog.

[happy-whumper]

Food Poisoning

Is this..actual content? Damn who would have thought that would happen again 💀🤣

For a bit of context, this is set before Olivia came to Nicolas, actually her last 'owner' before him.

psh psh @darklyria, come simp for the Evil bastard Man~

CW: Poisoning/Drugging, Starvation, Vomiting, begging, creepy/intimate whumper, noncon touching (non sexual), pet whump (if I forgot anything, please let me know and I will add it!)

5 days. It had been 5 days since Olivia had last eaten.

She was laying on her back on the wooden floor, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the aching emptiness in her stomach, another wave of nausea washing over her, causing her to tightly close her eyes.

Deep breaths.

Easier said than done, considering the just slightly too tight collar around her neck. Not quite tight enough to fully cut off her airflow but enough to cause her breathing to be labored and shaking lightly. She tried to swallow but her mouth was completely dried out, leaving an almost stale taste behind.

At the door stood two people, a man and a woman.Olivia didn’t need to turn her head to know that they were there. She didn’t know their names or maybe she had known them at some point and just forgotten.

Either way it didn’t matter, they never did anything to help her anyways. Just stood there, watching. Making sure she didn’t try anything stupid.

These times were still the closest she came to having some peace, the closest she came to being alone. But they never lasted long.

As if on command she heard awfully familiar footsteps approaching. Confident, determined and almost..relaxed in a way.

Olivia shivered, both from the dreadful anticipation as well as the almost numbing cold she had been feeling for the past days.

She tried to somehow prepare herself for what was about to come, knowing full well it wouldn’t have any use anyways.

As the door opened and a tall, blond man in a casually expensive looking white shirt walked in, Olivia had just managed to at least half sit up, still mainly leaning on her hand and elbow. Something about the man caused all the attention to immediately shift towards him, something he was clearly very aware of.

He was grinning, there was something smug about it, that made Olivia want to punch him, but since that wasn’t exactly possible she instead resorted to glaring dagger at him, only causing his smile to only get even more amused.

“Aw, well someone doesn’t look happy to see me…”

Clenching her jaw Olivia tried to push herself up a bit more, but failed because of the weakness in her muscles. “Yeah I wonder why.”

Nathan just laughed at that, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “What’s wrong Princess, not in a good mood today?” The ‘nickname’ made her skin crawl and she wasn’t sure if the next wave of nausea came from hunger or pure disgust by the man looking down on her.

She didn’t bother responding, which he didn’t seem to care about too much. He stepped a bit closer, crouching down in front of her and firmly grabbing her chin, causing her to instinctively pull away. “Ah, ah, ah, what did I say about pulling away from me, hm?” His voice was still calm but she didn’t miss the warning undertone in it causing her to immediately freeze.

He chuckled lightly to himself, lightly brushing his thumb over her chin, causing a feeling of discomfort and disgust to send a shiver down her spine. “That’s what I thought,” he made a gesture to the man standing at the door, causing him to move out of Olivia’s view, leaving her a bit uneasy as Nathan started talking again, “Well, I actually have something that might cheer you up a bit Princess~”.

She felt her heart drop, her eyes immediately going wider. That never meant anything good…

A few seconds later the broader man appeared again, handing Nathan something she instantly recognised, only increasing the feeling of unease in her chest and causing the hairs on her arms to stand up.

“No! Get that..fucking thing away from me!” Rapidly shaking her head and almost crawling backwards, she stared at the short, black leash in his hand. The man in front of her just smirked at her reaction, a hint of impatience.

“Hm, I see someone’s decided to be… difficult today, hm pet?”, he leaned back a bit, lightly tapping has chin as if he was considering something, looking towards the man next to him, “I am not sure if such an ungrateful pet deserves to eat after all…”

At his last words Olivia's head immediately snapped up, a sudden feeling of desperation taking over her, still awfully aware of her empty stomach. “No, please I’m sorry I-”, his head turned towards her, lightly raising an eyebrow with an expectant grin on his face. For a moment she stayed silent, her mouth feeling even more dried out than before, swallowing hard and as a result feeling the tight collar press into her throat. She knew exactly what he wanted to hear and even though a part of her wanted anything but to give in to him, the bigger, more present and louder part was desperate, willing to do anything to just get something to eat.

“P-please Sir...I’m sorry I…”, she closed her eyes for a moment, almost forcing the words out, “I’ll be good Sir, I promise, please!” Her cheeks burned from embarrassment and humiliation but as she opened her eyes again and saw the satisfied smile on his face, she knew that it had been convincing enough.

“Hm, I love hearing you beg like this… So desperate, aren’t you princess?” Olivia bit the inside of her lip so hard that the faint taste of blood filled her mouth but she nodded, her eyes glued to the ground. “Y-yes Sir…”

“Good pet.”

About 45 minutes later, Olivia could finally remember what it was like to not feel hungry again, almost allowing her to relax a bit.

She lightly glanced up to Nathan who was sitting in a chair at the head of a conference room-like table, calmly listening to the other Man around the table talking and discussing. Despite the fact that she was kneeling next to him, the humiliation burning through her, she almost felt...grateful.

As if it hadn’t been Nathan who had starved her in the first place.

Suddenly a wave of dizziness came over her, prompting her to close her eyes for a moment, trying to fight the dazed feeling, not thinking too much of it.

The sudden feeling of a hand in her hair made her flinch, her eyes instinctively flying open, from the corner of her eye noticing the light smirk on the Man’s face.

She let out a breath, trying her best to just ignore it and focus on something else.

Only a few minutes later she once again started feeling light-headed, more severe than the first time, causing her to suck in a sharp breath, catching Nathan’s attention again.

“Everything alright dear?” His voice sounded almost concerned, if Olivia’s mind hadn’t been so woozy she would have picked up on the fake sincerity behind it. As it was though, she just nodded slowly, suddenly feeling nauseous, her eyes going wide, shifting on her knees.

Nathan chuckled lightly to himself, tightening the grip in her hair lightly, but she barely even registered it over the sudden stabbing pain in her stomach, letting out a pained gasp.

She quickly shut her eyes again, the nausea and dizziness getting worse by the second. It felt like the whole room was spinning, the floor underneath her shifting and turning, leaving her dazed and disoriented.

What the hell…

What she couldn’t see was the cruel smile spreading across Nathan's face as he leaned back in his chair, watching Olivia. More to himself, not loud enough for Olivia to hear, he chuckled lightly “Well that worked faster than I expected… “. He gestured to one of his ‘assistants’, signaling him to walk over to him.

"Yeah, Boss?" Nathan didn't even so much as turn his head, his eyes fixated on his pet, who's gaze was getting more glossy and distant. "Take my pet back to my room, I'll be there as soon as this here is done. Until then you stay with her and watch her. Wouldn't want to risk any...more permanent damage."

The man Paused for a Moment, getting a mildly confused look on his face, frowning lightly. "Uh… With all due respect Sir, you want me to play Babysitter?".

At that Nathan turned to him, raising an eyebrow "Is there a Problem? James, isn't it?", as the other nodded he continued talking, "Now I understand it that you're new here, so let me explain something to you. If I say something, you do it, you don't question me, you don't give any comments on it, you simply Follow the Order. I pay you enough for you to simply do that, don't you Think?" His voice had gotten colder now, a clear warning to not test his patience any further.

James nodded quickly, clearly a bit more intimidated now. "Oh yes of course Boss. Sorry." He lightly cleared bis throat and Nathan just nodded swiftly, turning his attention back to the men at the Table whose conversation had fallen quiet, the attention turned towards the Man sitting at the head of the Table. "Excuse me Gentlemen, just something small I had to take care of, please continue".

As the conversation slowly started again, the taller Man, James, Walked around the Chair, harshly grabbing Olivia's arm and pulling her up. The sudden motion combined with the nearly overwhelming dizziness caused her to stumble and almost fall, reflexively reaching out to the nearest surface, in that case the armrest of Nathan's chair, grabbing onto it as though her life was dependent on it.

Without turning around, Nathan put a Hand on Olivia's back, something that would have normally made her skin crawl but she was almost grateful for now.

"Careful. I would hate for you to damage my property."

By the time they were back in the bedroom, Olivia was sure that she was dying.

Every part of her body was taken over by an aching, hot pain, making her feel like she was burning from the inside out.

Her stomach felt like it was being cut open from the inside by a thousand tiny knives, leaving her almost breathless. In Addition to that she felt a burning fire build up behind her eyes, Lifting her arms up with a groan and pressing her Hands against her temples, granting a short Relief of the burning heat.

That Relief only lasted until the overwhelming nausea caused her to empty the insides of her stomach into the Toilet in front of her.

She couldn't remember how she even got to the bathroom floor but at that Moment she also didn't have the energy to Think about it, as the bitter taste of bile made her gag again, despite her stomach being completely emptied out.

Hot tears were running down her face, a ragged sob shaking up her whole body. She let herself drop to the cold floor, savouring the short alleviation of the cold, pulling her knees up to her chest, hoping for any sort of relief to the pain. But it never came. If anything, it just got worse the more time passed, making her feel like her insides were twisting and turning in cruel agony.

As a sudden, almost stabbing feeling went through her she wanted to scream, but her body was too worn out to bring up the energy, only managing a broken whimper. Olivia once again screwed her eyes shut, hoping that she might at least pass out so the pain would stop.

While she collapsed on the floor, James was standing in the doorway, his back turned away from her, frowning in annoyance. He hadn’t been paying too much attention to what exactly she was doing, still irritated about the fact that he had to ‘babysit’ now.

He scoffed, shaking his head lightly and crossed his arms in front of his chest, half glaring at the door across the room.

If I had known that this was part of the job I would have thought twice before taking it…

At the sound of a broken sob he turned around, narrowing his eyes but instantly freezing at the sight before him.

The girl, or 'pet' as his Boss referred to her, was lying on the stone tiles curled up in a fetal position, her breathing unsteady and interrupted by muffled sobs, her whole body trembling and shaking.

He felt his stomach drop, a sickening feeling spreading throughout his body. From the others he had heard about how his new Boss treated his ‘pets’, that it was just to be ignored, but this was the first time he had witnessed it first hand.

James didn’t even know her name and yet he felt awful seeing her lying there, her pale face almost matching the colour of the tiles her head was resting on and the pained whimpers escaping her throat.

But he knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to help her, no matter how much he wanted to. The others had warned him about that too, it would easily cost him his job if not worse and at the end of the day, it would only make things worse for her as well.

So all he did was stand there, watching her with an almost overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

About 10 minutes later, the bedroom door opened and the tall blond Man stepped through, a relaxed smile on his face. James had turned around again, not bearing the sight of the girl suffering any longer.

As Nathan walked towards him, his smile only seemed to widen, causing James to feel sick. How could he seem so...happy while another person was clearly in misery? He shivered lightly, keeping his gaze on the wall across from him.

Nathan glanced at him lightly from the side, smirking. “Now, was ‘babysitting’ really so bad?” James didn’t respond but the other Man clearly didn’t really look for an answer anyways, walking past him and crouching down in front of the girl who was still trembling violently.

If he hadn't known better, James would have thought that the way Nathan looked down on her was almost… caring. But that was only until he saw the sadistic amusement in his eyes, as he brushed a strand of hair that was sticking to the sweat drenching her forehead, to the side.

"You can leave now." He didn't turn around as he gave the command and James didn't hesitate to leave the room, not turning back once.

Olivia could feel the light touch, too exhausted even so much as flinch. She heard him chuckle lightly but it felt as though the Sound was muffled through a thick veil.

"Please…", her voice was barely above a whisper, shaking and unsteady, "Please, Sir I-i'm sorry, I-i-i..i'll be good, I promise!".

Another Wave of pain shot through her, forcing out a broken sob. "Please...please just m-make it s-stop...It hurts…"

Nathan just watched her with increasing satisfaction, fully enjoying seeing her broken down like that. "Oh you're so pretty begging and crying for me like this princess…"

Chuckling lightly to himself, he tilted his head to the side a bit. "Let's get you somewhere a bit more comfortable, hm?"

The last thing Olivia became aware of, was the feeling of someone picking her up, instinctively grabbing onto Nathan's shoulder for support to fight the new wave of lightheadedness before closing her eyes again, the darkness finally taking over and letting her escape into the temporary safety of unconsciousness.

Taglist: @starnight-whump, @jordanstrophe, @froggywhumpy, @whumpasaurus101, @as-a-matter-of-whump, @jojothepanwithoutaplan, @myst-in-the-mirror, @whumpsweetwhump, @darklyria

[moskaisley]

migraine pt.3 | chronic

gif: @logan-solo​

rating: mature

word count: 3k

warnings: cursing, suggestive language, fluff but also ANGST, jealous!mando aka my favorite kind 

a/n: this literally took so long to write bc i basically changed the last half of this fic, but i’m rly happy with the results. there was a lot i wanted to include about life before din left, and i thought i’d put them in separate like one shots, but i figured that it would be include in the main story too. this is basically like an anime recap episode LMAO. enjoy!! thanks for the love <3

summary:

“But slowly and languidly, there was a sense of tenderness that began to bleed into the crevices of your daily lives.”

When you and the Mandalorian existed in another time, another place. 

parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

ao3 link / masterlist

Dreams these days never really consisted of anything new. Old memories played in your head like a holovid, both the good and the bad. Tonight, they were filled with him. 

In the beginning, the two of you never really acknowledged what it was. 

You fucked only a few more times after the cockpit. Business always came first, of course, and sex wasn’t a regular occurrence. But when the tension (often mixed with the adrenaline of bounty hunting) became too much to handle, you were all over each other. Most of the time, you were in either of each other’s bunks, and you only did it in the cockpit when you couldn’t bother to go down the ladder. At first, you chalked it up to strictly satisfying physical needs. With the two of you in such close quarters, it only made sense. The aftermath often involved getting dressed and cleaned up in silence. There would be an occasional joke or two, but the discussion usually steered itself towards the next mission. 

But slowly and languidly, there was a sense of tenderness that began to bleed into the crevices of your daily lives. Your hands would linger on each other longer. He seemed to loosen up around you, joke around and indulge you in conversation. It was such a stark contrast to his menacing, stoic warrior demeanour he used when rounding up bounties.

Once, you found yourself too distracted and flustered to even spar with him.

“At this rate, you’ll never win a match against me,” he poked, legs straddling your waist as he pinned your arms down

“Oh, shut up,” you huffed, irritated. He had won against you using the same move, twice. 

You’d never tell him, but your eyes were definitely indulging over the build of his body, imagining the way his bare muscles flexed or his lips moved against yours. 

Squirming against him, you hiss, “Off, Mando.”

He chuckles and your chest tightens. I bet his real voice sounds like heaven.

“I dunno, I think I like you like this.”

He studies you under him, helmet tilting sideways watching your chest heave up and down. A wave of heat washes over you at the thought of tearing off his mask and pulling him down for a kiss. Mando lightly laughs again and you swear you’re going to fucking lose it.

“I think you like it too.”

With all your strength, you bring your knee into the small of his back, knocking him forwards as you twist to launch him off of you. After shuffling up to stand, you spin on your heels and march away, embarrassed at how he’s got you flushed and smiling like an idiot schoolgirl. 

He’s still groaning in pain when he calls to you, “Done already?”

You stumble on a witty response, “You’re the worst!”

Smooth.

--

You weren't the only one losing their cool. Mando became a lot more defensive of you in those days; you nearly killed him once because he kept trying to cover you from blaster fire. He even started a bar fight for you. 

You hated the stares you received by virtue of being around him; traveling with him always meant that being unassuming was impossible. Normally, people would avert their eyes. If you were particularly lucky, a poor soul would try and push the Mandalorian’s buttons, not realizing they’re digging their own graves. One day, however, you’d hit the jackpot when they decided to  target you. 

You sat across from him in a booth, patiently waiting for the quarry to pass through; you took the side facing the door while he was turned away, taking advantage of the element of surprise. Out of the corner of your eye, three drunk bumbling idiots stumbled from the opposite end of the bar. Despite your stealthy gaze, one of them locked eyes with you, and when you saw his lips curl into a disgusting smile, you knew you were in for it. 

The man you saw and sauntered over to your side of the chair. His friends shuffled behind him like dogs, and he practically beamed when he saw Mando, seemingly nonchalant.

“My my, Mando! You’ve got quite the catch here,” he says, undressing you with his eyes, “Where’d he buy a thing like you, baby?”

Are you fucking serious?

You cocked an eyebrow and shot him a glare in response, but remained quiet. You turn back to your view on the door, praying to Maker that he’d leave you alone. But the man didn’t let up.

Instead, he turns to your partner inquiring,

“How good of a lay is she, huh, Mandalorian? Bet she’d be a real treat for me and my boys” his men move a little closer to corner you both, “How much to take her off your hands?”

Can a girl just exist?

“I’m not for sale,” you snarl, voice tight. A dull pain begins to echo in your temples.

“So she speaks,” Your irritation only seemed to egg him on, “C'mon darlin’ let us take care of you. I promise I’m good for it.”

Your fingers were itching towards your blades, but you were still waiting on the quarry to enter the cantina. A scene would scare him away and you would lose your money and time.

Business comes first. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

Mando’s voice cut through your exchange, “Get lost, she said she’s not interested.”

“Now, that’s not what we heard, was it boys?” His men laugh in agreement behind him. His eyes turn dark as he goes to place a hand on your shoulder, “The lady can speak for herself. I think we can negotia-”

A blaster shot whizzes by your ears before you can even think to fight back against him. Mando, ever the gunslinger, shoots again towards his leg, knocking him onto the floor.

And then the whole bar descends into chaos. 

Drunkards pile on top of each other as tensions crescendo; the sound of a single shot has everybody up in arms. Your migraine only grows in intensity as the situation spirals out of control. To top it off, amidst the chaos, you see the quarry a few paces away. His eyes were wide watching the shitshow before him, and in a panic, he scurried back out the door.

You’d caught him eventually, but not without traversing the entire underground marketplace that stretched under the city. By the time he was in carbonite and you were both in the cockpit, your irritation boiled over.

“Are you insane, Din?” You fumed, “When did you get so careless? We nearly lost him!”

He simply looked at you as if you knew the answer, but his silence only fueled your exasperation.

“Fine, don’t talk to me,” you grumbled, throwing your hands in the air, “I’ll be in the refresher.”

You turned to leave, but his gloved hand suddenly gripped your upper arm, spinning you into his chest. It was then that you realized how much bigger he was, dwarfing you in his arms as he rubbed the space above your elbows. 

“He was gonna touch you,” Mando’s voice was low, bordering on a growl.

Oh. The air in the room shifts dramatically.

You take a shaky breath, your voice quieting down to a whisper, “And if he did?”

The gloved hands on your arms squeeze like a vice grip. Your heart swells.

“He’d have a hole in his head.”

Your expression softens before your lips spread into a sly smile. You move as close as you can, eyes boring into the black space of his visor.

“Tell me something,” you swallow hard as you gingerly move his hands to your waist and trace your fingertips over his breastplate. Mando’s breathing is ragged through his vocoder, and you relish in his excitement. You bat your eyelashes a few times before peering up at him.

“How good of a lay am I, Mandalorian?”

His fingers dig deeper into your sides before pulling you even closer, erection already stiffening against you. He groans out a response, “Let’s find out.”

--

There were little things that warmed your heart, too. When you were stuck in your bunk with a migraine, he never let you get up to do anything by yourself. He brought you water and food and he took extra care in opening the door so no light was let in and he wasn’t too loud. When you could tell he was dozing off in hyperspace, you forced him to go to bed. If he was particularly stubborn, you shoved him into the co-pilot’s chair and covered him with a blanket. Sometimes, if you came across a market with a few extra credits, you’d cook him a real meal, leagues better than the shitty ration packs you normally partook in. 

And then, there was the first time he kissed you.

You were strolling through a bazaar before a job when you stopped at a produce stand, excitedly picking up a fuzzy white peach from the box.

“I haven’t eaten one of these since I was a teenager,” you say, bringing up it to your nose and sniffing, “They smell amazing. We should get some later.”

Much to your chagrin, the job went south that day. You were so frustrated and angry that you’d completely forgotten about it, caked in mud and grime demanding to go straight back to the Razor Crest.

Holed up in your bunk and fresh out the shower, you were clad in only a long sleeve shirt and underwear when you heard him knock. When you opened the door, you were surprised to see  the fiercest hunter in the parsec standing before you with a plate of peaches from the market, sliced neatly into little wedges.  

Mando sat with you on your bed as he watched you eat; you told him about how the fruit used to grow on trees in your family’s orchard in the summer. Though you acted like you were sick of them, you always ate it when you were upset. You smiled at the memory of your adolescence, silently cutting up the fruit into wedges and eating them outside during dawn, right after your first break up with some boy.

You were so caught up in the memory that you nearly jumped when Mando leaned in and took your chin in his right hand. His finger traced over the side of your lips, and your heart raced in your chest. 

“Sorry, it’s just,” he uttered, “It was going to drip on your chin.”

You would’ve thought he’d lit your body on fire. Your core ached and you suddenly couldn’t breathe. When he began to pull back, it felt like instinct to grab his wrist and keep his hand near your face. You leaned into his touch, pressing a chaste kiss to his thumb. 

You began to crawl across your bunk to him when he stopped you, “Wait.”

Mando stood, and closed the door and shut the lights off. Darkness enveloped you both, and you called out to him, “Din?” His voice cut through the inky dark, “Can you see anything?”

You hear him shuffle, as he stands in front of you, “I dunno, can I?”

“Y/N,” he urged, impatient.

“No, Din. I can’t see.”

And then you hear the air hiss, and metal clanging to the floor. Realization hit like a meteor crash.

He took it off.

You panic immediately.

“Din, wait! What are you doi-”

You shut up the instant his hands cup your face and his lips are on yours.

And it felt delightful, better than any kiss you’d ever had. Your eyes flutter shut as you deepen the kiss. Your arms go to wrap around his neck, and you pull him even closer, elated at the way his soft hair feels in between your fingers. You were sure that he could taste the sweet, tangy peach on your tongue. When he pulls away for air, your face feels flushed with heat and you could feel your swollen lips.

You’re in a daze, “You kissed me.”

He laughs and you hear it. His real voice. No distortion. No modulator. 

“I did.”

He does sound like an angel.

“Do it again.”

--

When it all broke apart, it wasn’t like the steady, dawdling way you fell in love. The break was quick and it stung worse than any migraine. 

“What do you think?”

You walked around the cockpit, tracing your fingers over the controls. “Why? You thinking of an upgrade?” You shoot Mando a smile. He doesn’t seem amused, “It’s nice, I guess. Smaller, though. We already have a tough time fitting together in the Razor Crest.”

You’d been on Nevarro for a few days, having finally finished your last job. Instead of going back to the Crest, however, Mando took you to a shipyard and aboard an empty cruiser. The Slipstream’s windows were big and were much cleaner, but space was still an issue even if you and Din didn’t carry much.

You turn to him expecting a response, but he only says, “Let’s go.”

“Wait, Mando,” you reach for his shoulder, “What is this about? I don’t understand. Why are we here?”

He doesn’t stop to answer, “I said, let’s go.”

You let out a huff as you followed him out of the cockpit. Ever since you landed, Mando’s behavior had flipped like a switch. Your friendly talks had been reduced to one-sided exchanges. He’d been ignoring you, cold like the beskar he donned on his back. 

“Mando!”

He kept walking down the loading ramp. His terrible attitude had made your blood simmer for a while, and now it was all boiling over. 

You stomp forwards, stopping at the entrance to the hull and shout. 

“Din, stop!”

And he does, but he doesn’t turn around.

You’re fuming, “What is your problem? You’ve been in a shitty mood ever since we got here and frankly I-” You’re interrupted by something flying towards you, instinct having you catch in your hands. It’s a small silver device. Code sets, for what could only be the ship you’re currently standing on.

The dots begin to chaotically connect in your head, “What the hell is this?”

“It’s the -”

“No, Din. I know what this fucking thing is,” You’re seething with panic and rage as you hold up the silver box, “I mean, what are you doing?”

He only stares up at you, the mask emotionless and frigid. The reality of the situation was crashing into you like waves; you were begging to any god that this was just a fucked up nightmare. Tears were stinging in your eyes, threatening to pool and pour over. 

You hated how your voice cracked, “Answer me!”

“I’m leaving you, Y/N.”

Fuck. Hearing him say it out loud made your gut wrench. 

You made an audible sob; you couldn’t control it. Shuffling to the bottom of the ramp, you’re desperate to try and connect to him, bring him back to you. The questions spill from your lips.

“Why? What did I even do? What’s wrong?” You bring your hands up, cupping the sides of his helmet. You whisper through your cries, “Din, please.”

You know. You feel it in your bones. You know he feels it too. 

He gently holds your wrists, “We can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” You plead, “I know something’s wrong, you gotta let me in.”

“Y/N, please don’t make this harder than it already is,” he chides, pulling your hands away from his helmet. Your heart feels like it’s in freefall when he turns around to continue walking.

You try to scramble forward to pull him back but to your horror, you’re met with the barrel of a blaster. The noise that roars through your ears sounds like shattering glass. You gape at him, a mixture of shock and disbelief contorting your features. The figure that stood before you was unrecognizable. Because it wasn’t Din, the soft lover who kissed you in the dark and traced words of Mando’a into your sternum. It wasn’t even Mando, the old snarky friend who joked at how bad of a shot you were and who laughs like a complete idiot when he had one too many sips.

It was the Mandalorian, the ruthless and deadly warrior poised and ready to fire you away.

--

You wake up smelling peaches and blaster smoke.

Shifting to sit up against the wall behind you, you groan at the dull ache in your head and heart. Mando is here with you at the foot of the bed; you’ve memorized the way the bunk feels with or without him. 

“Why are the lights off?” You ask.

“I didn’t know if you were going to wake up with a headache or not.”

Of fucking course. It drives you insane how considerate he is sometimes.

You suddenly become more alert as you remember, “Aayn’vida, where is she? Is she safe?”

He quells your anxiety immediately, “She’s safe. I took her to her family.”

“And Khan?”

“Cold.”

You feel him shove pills and a bottle of water into your hands. You took them, and as you both waited for the pain in your head to subside, he told you what happened in Jaemai. As it turns out, Aayn’vida’s mother was a doctor for many years, and she was kind enough to check on you and care for your wounds. Khan’s goon nicked your right side; no major organs were hit, but your skin was likely scarred since it was basically singed off. There was another thing, however. Mando had asked her about the constant migraines,  “She said that they can happen because of stress or trauma.”

You laughed bitterly, “Well, we both know I have plenty of that.”

Silence blankets you two again. Even in the dark, you can tell when the Mandalorian is uneasy. You wait for him to confess.

“If I’d known this would’ve happened, I would’ve never asked you to come with me,” he lets out a tired sigh, “I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes. Why is he so fucking nice?

“We’ve been through worse,” you say, a familiar feeling fluttering through your chest, 

“Besides, this just means I’ve rightfully earned my 80%”

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Part Forty- Two

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI

A/N: HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF HELL TO PAY!!!

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N 2: trigger warning for mentions of past rape, loss of a child

Amara stared out over the ocean. She found no comfort in the sound of the waves crashing into shore. This was Nik’s home, not hers. Just the idea of going in that water sent a shudder through her.

She dragged her attention to Nik. “Feel any better?” She asked.

“Do you?” Nik asked, not looking away from the ocean.

“I’m sitting right in front of one of my biggest fears, so no, not really,” Amara said. “The ocean is for you, not me.”

Nik sighed. “If you hate it so much, we can leave.”

“No,” Amara said stubbornly. “You like it. Now, if you wanted me to go in the water, that’s something else.”

“Hmph. Then maybe you should stop complaining.”

“I think I’m allowed a certain amount of bitching, considering the last few months.”

Nik slid her a dry look, raising a slight brow. “Do you,” he said. “And the rest of these last twenty-years?”

“I’m sure there’s plenty of trauma in those twenty years, yes.”

Nik’s attention went back to the ocean, and he didn’t say a word.

Amara leaned against him. “I have to go soon,” she said. “Shit to do. Cameron to keep complacent. Deep rooted trauma to address without the crutch of alcohol.”

Nik sighed. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Amara patted his arm. “Soon. I promise, I’ll be less busy soon.” She stood, brushing off her shorts. “Nate’s in the parking lot. Best not to keep him waiting very long.”

“Okay. Have fun.”

“Unlikely.”

---

Cameron was sitting in Lev’s bedroom, working on a crossword puzzle when he heard the front door open. He got to his feet and waited in the doorway for Amara to make her way back. He could almost taste the ocean water on her; even if he knew that she hadn’t stepped foot in the ocean herself. It just proved that she had been with Nik.

“Anything new?” she asked.

“If there was, do you not think I would tell you?” he asked. “Why are you here, I thought you were keeping Nik occupied.”

“Nate picked him up,” she replied. “I wanted to see Lev again.”

“He’s exactly as he was this morning when you last saw him,” Cameron said. “Look for yourself if you do not believe me.”

Without saying anything, Amara wandered over to Lev’s side. She ran her fingers through Lev’s wavy hair. “Wake the fuck up,” she said. If Cameron hadn’t known better, he’d almost say she sounded a little scared.

Though he didn’t care enough to comment on it. “Get in the kitchen,” he said. “It’s lunch time. Ash is already in the kitchen. He was annoying me.”

“Because Ash is the reason I came here,” she said, sarcastically.

Cameron ignored her and followed her to the kitchen where he started getting lunch started. He tuned out Ash and Amara bickering while he cooked and put the food down in front of them, hoping it would shut them up long enough for him to eat and leave the room.

Luckily, it worked well enough. He got his fill, watching them eat, and then started to clean up. He had the dishes done and the food put back before he went back to Lev’s bedroom and closed the door behind him, locking it.

The sentries knew by now to not let those two idiots in the room while the door was locked. Settling down in his chair, Cameron watched Lev’s body carefully. He watched Lev’s chest rise and fall; he watched his eyes move under his eyelids. Lev seemed to be here- Nate said his soul was wound successfully through him. “If you’re going to be here,” Cameron said, “Then be here. There is no point of you staying in this… between state. Absolutely nothing is going to get done if I have to keep an eye on Nik every second of every day, and you being like. This. is destroying my routine.” Cameron sighed sharply, resting his hand on Lev’s leg. “You wanted to come back. So come back.”

It was then that Lev decided to snap his eyes open.

---

From the moment Lev opened his eyes, Lev was overwhelmed. Too much sensation, too much- it was just too much. He rolled over to the edge of the bed and began to heave. Nothing came up. There was nothing to come up, but Lev’s stomach twisted anyway.

Lev hadn’t realized Cameron had been touching him until Cameron took his hand away. It was a few more minutes before Lev got his stomach under control. He sat up slowly. Last he saw, Cameron had been hobbling around, and yet-

“What happened?” Lev asked, blinking hard, as if that would make his head stop spinning. “Why am I in my room?”

Cameron peered at him closely. “What do you think happened?”

Lev leaned back against the headboard, pressing the palm of his hands against his eyes. “I don’t know. I- you were hurt, really badly. And-” Lev stopped. “I was gonna leave in the morning. I didn’t know what to tell you, but I- I’m so sorry. That I wanted to. But- I was going to. And I don’t know what happened after that.”

“Do you want to know?”

Lev’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?” he asked, voice going up an octave.

Cameron lifted a brow. “Exactly what I said. Do you want to know what happened?”

Lev hesitated. “Yes?” he said softly.

“Destris gutted you and left you for dead. We found you right before you died.”

Lev clutched at the blankets still in his lap. “I died?” he asked, looking at Cameron closely. “How long ago was that? You don’t- you don’t look hurt.”

“Four months and sixteen days,” Cameron said.

Lev stared at him. “I- I was only supposed to be gone a day,” Lev finally whispered. “I just- I just needed to think- where’s Nik?” He could feel his eyes welling up. “I didn’t mean to leave him that long.”

“He’s at the beach with Nate,” Cam said. “Amara’s here if you want to talk to her.”

Lev’s thoughts swirled too fast for him to catch. He pressed a hand to his stomach, felt the scarring there where it hadn’t been the last time he checked. “I don’t know,” he finally choked out. “I- no. She’s- Amara’s a lot, and I-”

“It’s fine. I’ll tell her to leave,” Cameron said simply.

“Can she visit tomorrow?” Lev asked in a small voice. “I need.... Time to process. I- I died?”

“She can come whenever you want,” Cameron said.

Lev nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said quietly. He closed his eyes, pressing his palm to his forehead.

“I’m going to wait a few days before I tell Nik,” Cameron said.

“Why?” Lev asked automatically.

Cameron lifted a brow. “Why do you think?”

After rubbing his forehead for a few minutes, Lev dropped his hands into his lap. “You don’t know if it’ll stick,” he finally said.

Cameron nodded. “I don’t want to get Nik’s hopes up.”

“How do we know if it will or won't?” Lev asked.

“I guess we’ll just have to find out,” Cameron said.

At that point, the door caught fire. Lev jumped, shrinking back. Ash stood in the doorway, looking annoyed.

“Well thank you for getting me,” Ash said.

“Let me make up for it by not killing you,” Cameron replied dryly.

Ash turned his brilliant green gaze to Lev. “It took you long enough,” Ash said. “You’ve been comatose for three days.”

Lev wrapped his arms around his middle. “I’m sorry?” Lev finally said. “I- I don’t remember that. But I’m sorry.”

Ash sighed irritably, and then said, “It’s fine.” He switched his attention to Cameron. “Leave. I need to check him over.”

Cameron looked at Lev expectantly. It took him a few seconds to realize that Cameron was waiting for Lev’s permission. “It’s fine. You- can you tell Amara to call tomorrow? Or- where is my phone?” Lev squeezed his eyes shut. “Just tell her I’ll find a way to talk to her tomorrow.”

Cameron inclined his head, and left.

Lev pressed his hand to his stomach again, tracing the new scars there and watching Ash worriedly. “I was comatose for three days?” he finally asked.

Ash started checking Lev’s vitals. “Yes. you were the equivalent of braindead.” He looked up at Lev. “Do you remember anything from that time?”

Lev shook his head. “No. Last thing I remember was Cameron getting hurt, and- and then I decided to take a day away from them to think, because-” He stilled, and grabbed Ash’s wrist. “Ash, I was- I was pregnant. The- the baby?” He could feel his voice getting smaller as his throat tightened. “Is there any way it survived?”

Ash looked almost defeated. “I’m sorry. There wasn’t anything that could be done.”

Lev swallowed whatever sound threatened to break free, and let go of Ash’s wrist. “You can’t tell Cameron.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Ash said. “Doctor patient confidentiality. Anything you tell me does not leave between us.”

Lev nodded, sucking in a few breaths. “I only- I don’t remember leaving, so I only knew for a few hours.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ash said.

Once again, Lev took a few minutes to gather himself. “Am I okay?” he finally asked. “Cameron- he implied there’s a chance I’ll die again.”

Ash sighed. “Nothing is certain at this point. What happened to you hasn’t happened before.”

Lev nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said finally, sinking back against the pillows.

“Is there anything else you want to ask?” Ash asked.

“No,” Lev said quietly.

“How do you feel? Anything off?”

Lev considered that. “My head’s still weird. Almost spinny. Almost... fuzzy. And- I tried to puke when I- woke up? It’s settled, mostly, but- it’s not bad. Just- weird.”

Ash nodded. “I’ll get you set up on some iv fluids. Your stomach might be too sensitive for solid foods. Do you think you can stand?”

Lev hesitated. “I don’t know. I can try.”

Ash stood up, held up his hand. “I’ll be here if you fall. I’m going to make sure your muscles still work. Make sure you can stand.”

After nodding, Lev scooted to the edge of the bed. He stood, perhaps too fast, because he almost fell into Ash. “Sorry. I-” Lev found himself settled back on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t apologize. I’ve got you.”

“I tried too hard,” Lev said. “I want to try again.”

“Okay,” Ash said. He helped Lev up, lifting Lev’s arms around his neck, and held onto Lev’s waist.

Lev flushed, keeping his gaze firmly on Ash’s collarbone uncomfortably. Still, he was standing, and that was what mattered. Still, he felt... almost stiff. And he didn’t last long before he pulled away to settle on the edge of the bed again unsteadily.

Ash knelt, checking Lev’s legs over. Lev did his best not to squirm. He guessed explaining he was ticklish would not exactly amuse Ash. Instead, he said whatever came to his mind first. “Did I gain weight when I died?”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ash asked, looking up at Lev. Over the last few- well the last few months he’d been alive, anyway, he’d gained weight, even ignoring what Lev now realized was baby weight. The last time Ash saw Lev for any extended amount of time, Lev had been skin and bones. Skin, bones, and plenty of bruises.

Lev shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “I’m- I prefer it. Cameron helps me remember to eat. I feel healthy. And taken care of, when I’m with him.”

“Well. I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”

Lev snorted softly at that. The idea of Cameron ever needed to feel taken care of was a little out there.

“He seems to need to take care of someone to function. Amara’s been here to fill that quota.”

Lev blinked. “Amara’s been staying here?” Lev asked, reaching for a blanket to pull around his shoulders. And he told Cameron to send her away?

“Cameron fainted in front of us. He hasn’t been doing so hot. If you hadn’t noticed, Cameron lost a few pounds.”

Lev swallowed. “He’s not doing well... because I died,” he said slowly.

“No, he’s not been doing well because he doesn’t know how to grieve, and he’s been starving himself.”

Cameron was grieving because Lev died, but Lev knew that wasn’t going to go over well if he said it out loud, so instead he just looked at his hands.

“It’s not your fault you were murdered.”

“I know,” Lev said automatically.

“Do you?” Ash asked. “Then why do you look guilty?”

“I don’t know,” Lev admitted. “I- I guess I don’t know how else to be.”

Ash gave him a dry smile. “That might be something you should work on.”

Well. He wasn’t wrong. Lev nodded slowly. “Is there anything else you need to check?” he asked. “I- I want to see Cameron again.” He tucked the blanket closer.

Ash touched his face with the back of his fingers, and then his forehead. “Do you feel too cold or too hot?”

Lev blinked. “Cold,” he finally said. “I hadn’t noticed, I- I guess. It’s been like this since I- woke up? It feels weirdly normal. When I don’t think about it, at least.”

Ash nodded. “Any strange cravings?”

Lev shook his head. “No? I’m not really hungry either. A little tired, but- I don’t want to sleep. I’ve been out of... everything long enough, I think.”

Ash nodded. “I’ll go head and set up your IV. I want you on bedrest, but I also want you up walking around every now and then. Cameron or someone else needs to be with you at all times when you attempt to do so. Your meals will be liquid until your stomach settles and are able to eat more solid foods.” He stopped, cocked his head and thought. “I’ll suggest turning up the temperature- see if we can get your body temperature back to normal. Maybe some baths as well. If you notice anything strange, such as black outs, irregular habits or eating patterns, or anything else,, you call me as soon as you can. Are we understood?”

Lev nodded vigorously, enough his head started spinning a little. “Okay,” he said. “I will.”

“I’ll tell Cameron too,” Ash said.

“Probably a good thing,” Lev admitted.

“Probably,” Ash agreed.

---

After Ash decided to leave Lev to his care, Cameron then slipped inot the bedroom, but not before telling Amara to leave. She had a few choice words about it, words that Cameron decided to dismiss. Lev seemed a little shaken when he came into the room. “Everything alright?” he asked, mildly.

Lev gave him a small, pathetic smile. “Just… processing.”

“I’m sure there’s a lot to process.”

Lev figited a bit before saying, “It is.” he paused for a moment. “Is Nik mad? That I left?”

Cameron went to settle back down in the chair across from him. “No,” he finally said. “He was upset that you didn’t say goodbye. But other than that, he blames himself more than anything.”

Unsurprisingly, Lev looked upset. “It wasn’t his fault. I shouldn’t have left.”

“Hm.” Cameron leaned back, thrumming his fingers along the arm of his chair. “You made a choice,” he said. “There is no point in having regrets. What’s done is done. And now you’re back. I’m sure you can find a way to make everything up to Nik.”

“I will,” Lev promised. “I don’t know how, but I will.”

“I know,” Cameron said. He didn’t really leave Lev room for further promises. He was going to hold Lev to it. To all of them. “But first let’s make sure you survive the next week.”

Lev gave him a nod. “Do you think I will?”

Cameron thought about it. He better. “I think,” he said, “that if you do as you are told, and follow all of Ash’s orders and do not exhaust yourself, then you’ll still be alive this time next week. So yes. Providing you don’t do anything stupid.”

Lev gave another nod. “Can- you hold me? I’m cold”

“Sure.” Cameron moved the chair closer to the bed and moved to help Lev into his lap. He reached past Lev for one of the throw blankets and threw it around Lev’s shoulders, even if he wasn’t all too sure it would even help all that much.

Lev slipped his un-IV-ed arm around Cameron’s neck and pressed his head against Cameron’s shoulder. Cameron settled deeper into the chair and brushed his thumb along Lev’s neck.

“It feels like I miss this,” he said. “But last I remember you were just holding me yesterday.”

“Knowing you,” Cameron said. “I’m sure you’d miss this even if it were just yesterday.”

Lev seemed to consider that, and gave a small laugh. “Probably.”

“Your tastes seem to be completely intact,” Cameron said, dryly.

“Is it bad taste to like you?” he said, a little curiously.

“The absolute worst.”

“That’s awful mean.”

Cameron lifted a brow and looked down at him. “I am mean.”

“It’s okay if you’re mean to other people, but not to you. You’re not supposed to be mean to me, or you or Nik.”

“See, last time I checked, both you and Nik liked it when I am mean to you,” Cameron said. “You seemed to enjoy it a great deal.”

“That’s a different kind of mean,” Lev seemed compelled to point out.

“I think it’s time you went to sleep, Levant,” Cameron said.

In such a small voice, Lev said. “Do I have to? What if I don’t wake up?”

“You’ll wake up,” Cameron said, firmly.

Lev curled into him and held onto him tighter. “Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Cameron ran his thumb down Lev’s neck once more. “Yes,” Cameron said. “Now close your eyes.”

He did as told and closed his eyes. Cameron felt Lev settle, relax into him. Cameron checked to make sure Lev was fast asleep before carefully putting him back in bed, and going back to his office. Only when the door was shut did Cameron slump in his chair and scrub his face, letting out a long, tired sigh.

---

It was near two in the afternoon when Ash decided to come and wake Nik up. If he had been feeling just a little more irritable he would have kicked Ash in his stupid freckley face. Nik shoved past him and found his way to the kitchen, knowing damn well Ash was on his heel. He had went for the coffeemaker when Ash slipped a cup of tea in front of him. “Try this?”

“Excuse me? What part of my face even suggests that I will digest that disgusting leaf water you and Cameron call ‘tea’. I want my fucking coffee.”

“No,” Ash said. “Not until I talk to you.”

“And you couldn’t talk to me after I’ve had my coffee?” Nik demanded. “Or hell, even when I had my coffee?”

“No.”

Nik let out a long string of curse words in spanish before going to plop down on the stool at the island. “First you take my alcohol, and then Cameron won’t even let me go home, and now you’re taking my fucking coffee? You anal retentive assholes are going to suffocate me.”

Ash seemed perfectly unfazed at the level of venom in Nik’s words. Instead he just sat down across from him, green eyes glowing eerily as he watched Nik. Nik’s eyes narrowed. “Are you reading me?” Ash’s brow lifted so minutely Nik almost didn’t catch it. “What are you looking for? Drugs? Alcohol? Weed? I’m sober, Ash. What the fuck do you want from me.”

“I wasn’t checking for that,” Ash said, irritatingly calm. “I need to tell you something and I wanted to make sure everything was okay first.”

Nik’s eyes narrowed. “Well don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Have you noticed anything different recently? Lack of appetite? Being sick all the time? Being even more bitchy than usual?”

“It’s called being hungover, Ash.”

“Being hungover doesn’t last this long, Nik.”

“Maybe I have a cold,” Nik said, flatly.

“You’re an angel. You don’t get colds.”

“If you’re suggesting I’m pregnant, I’m going to have to tell you that you’re a dumbass. I haven’t slept with Cameron in over four months. You’d think even I would notice something like a pregnancy by now.”

“Nik,” Ash said, patiently. “Did you sleep with someone else? By chance? Maybe when you were drunk or high? I know you’ve gotten blackout drunk a few times in the last month and a half.”

“I-”

Nik’s mouth snapped shut and he went cold. Nausea burned through his throat and he got up and went straight for the washroom. He barely made it to the toilet before he heaved up his empty stomach. He pressed his forehead to the bowl, letting it cool down his scorching skin.

The last person-

That was the drug dealer. But if Destris had been masquerading as the drug dealer, did that make him….? Maybe- Destris had just been trying to provoke a response out of Nik, though he highly doubted it. Why would he give up such a prime opportunity to fuck one of Cameron’s omegas. And he had said yes. So. Then why did he feel so damn dirty.

Ash appeared in front of the doorway, leaning against the frame. His face was drawn, almost soft and a little heartbroken. “There are options, Nik. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Nik felt tears well up in his eyes and he scrubbed his face and fell back against the wall. “I want my boyfriend,” Nik said, voice breaking. “But- Nate. Where’s Nate?” Nik got up and went for the door. He couldn’t breathe and he needed to get outside to fresh air.

The sun was already working at full capacity and it was nice, though it did not help that he still felt like he was suffocating. Nik started pulling off his shirt and went straight for the very large pool in the back to cool off. Once he was in the water, he dunked his head and stayed under until his lungs protested. By the time he came back up for air, Nate was already sitting at the edge of the pool waiting for him. “Hey.”

Nik felt his face crumble at the tone that came from his brother and dropped his head in Nate’s lap, choking on a sob. Nate’s ringed fingers in Nik’s hair was just a little comforting, but it didn’t do much. Lips pressed to the top of his head. “Let’s take a drive.”

Nik blinked up at him. “Where- the ocean?”

Nate shook his head. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

---

Nate managed to get Nik at least a little bit dried off before getting him into the truck. Nik rolled down the window and absently chewed on his bracelets while he pulled out of the drive. Nate thrummed his fingers against the steering wheel in silence for nearly ten minutes, sneaking peeks at Nik next to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Nik yanked at one of the bracelets between his teeth. “What I want,” Nik said, “is something I can’t do. So no, not really.”

For some reason, Nate did not think Nik was talking about drugs or alcohol in the slightest.

“Why don’t you tell me why you decided to abscond me in the middle of my pity party?”

“Because I’m taking you home.”

That made Nik blink. “Home? Cameron said I can’t come home.” He did not miss the bitterness in that tone.

“Yes, well, Cameron can kiss my ass. They… wanted to wait, but. I think you need him- Lev.” Nik looked at him, and when he didn’t say anything, Nate said, “They tried a second time and it worked. But he only just woke up. They wanted to. Make sure it sticks first. But I thought, even if it doesn’t, you’d at least get a chance to say goodbye.”

All of that seemed to go right over Nik’s head. “He’s alive?”

“...Yes,” Nate said carefully. “But he’s in a… fragile state. So you can’t just jump him the moment you see him.”

That at least made Nik seem a little more hopeful, definitely better than the broken mess he had pulled out of the pool. But then he looked a little hesitant and frowned. “You’re not just saying this to pull me from the deep end are you?” he said, accusingly.

Nate lifted a brow at him. “When have I ever done something like that?” he asked, sharply.

Nik didn’t have an answer for him and looked out the window. He did not blame Nik for the lack of faith in him, but Nik should have known Nate would never lie about something like this, not to his hormonal brother.

----

Lev spent the day bored out of his mind. He didn’t want to fidget whenever Cameron was around, worried about concerning him, but Cameron wasn’t letting Lev be alone, and Lev appreciated that. He’d been there when Lev woke up in the morning. And when Lev took a nap after lunch, Cameron was there too. When Lev puke up half his breakfast and half his lunch, too, even when it was nothing but broth, Cameron hadn’t said a word, though Lev was sure he’d told Ash.

After swallowing his sigh, Lev scooted down, tucking his face in his pillow. Maybe he could take another nap. He’d proven to himself twice over now that he’d wake up, and he was bored.

“Lev?”

Nik’s voice startled Lev, and the way it cracked had Lev sitting up, too fast, but even though his head spun, Lev stared Nik down.

“Nik,” he finally said. “You’re here.”

Nik stared right back. “Is that okay?”

Lev nodded, but then said carefully, “They said they wanted to wait until- until they were sure I wouldn’t die again.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Lev said quickly. “Please don’t. I’ve missed you.” He flicked a quick look at Cameron, unsure if this was okay.

Cameron nodded. Nik was across the room in a heartbeat, though he climbed onto the bed carefully. Lev scooted upright, and the moment he did, Nik was in Lev’s lap. Careful of his IV, Lev wrapped his arms around Nik.

“I missed you,” Lev said quietly.

“It’s been awful,” Nik said. If he was trying for playful, it fell horribly flat.

Lev stroked his hair. “I don’t remember it,” Lev admitted quietly. “Any of it. Last I remember was Cameron getting hurt, and- going to bed late.”

“You left,” Nik mumbled into Lev’s neck.

“I know,” Lev said softly. “I was planning on it. That night. And Cameron told me what happened... when I did leave.” He tucked his face against Nik’s head. “I was only supposed to be gone a day, total. Maximum. I didn’t- this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You’re not allowed to leave again. I won’t let you.”

“I don’t want to.” He closed his eyes tightly. “I want to stay with you. Both of you. I- I don’t know what I decided the day I- died? But I know what I want now. I don’t care about- danger? I’m safe with both of you.”

“Then why did you go?” Nik asked.

“I had to think,” Lev tried, voice small. “There were- there was a lot- a lot to think about.”

“And you couldn do that in one of the million bedrooms in this house?” Nik asked petulantly.

“Nik, I’m- I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean to leave you.”

“I know.” he said. Nik’s face pressed against his neck a little more. “You’re cold,” he mumbled.

“I’ve been cold since… I woke up,” Lev said. “It’s not so bad when i don’t think about it.”

“I missed you,” Nik whispered.

Lev pressed a kiss to Nik’s hair. “I’m here now,” he said quietly. “And I’m not leaving again. I promise.”

Nik sniffled, and just clung tighter. Lev held onto him as carefully as he could, trying not to seem uncomfortable. Nik needed this.

Eventually he looked at Cameron. “Are we even going to try dinner?” he asked. “It’s not like I kept down the other stuff we’ve tried.”

“Yes,” Cameron replied flatly.

Lev nodded slowly. He wasn’t looking forward to puking it all up again, but if Cameron wanted him to try he’d try.

At that, Nik’s head snapped up, looking at lev. “Are you starving?”

Lev blinked. “I’m just adjusting still,” he said hesitantly. “And Ash has me on an IV for now...?”

Nik’s face tightened. “Then let’s get you something to eat now,” he said.

“I just puked three hours ago,” Lev protested.

“Are you hungry?” Cameron asked.

“A little, but... I don’t want to throw up again,” Lev admitted.

Cameron watched Lev for a long moment, and then at Nik, before saying, “I want you to try again.”

Lev nodded slowly. “Okay,” Lev agreed. He stroked Niks hair, and then blinked. “Your hair is green.”

Nik looked confused. He turned to look at Cameron, who shook his head.

“It was blue before-” Lev paused, and then stroked Nik’s hair again. “It looks good,” Lev said sulkily. “That’s all.”

“I always look good,” Nik mumbled against Lev’s shoulder.

“Yes you do,” Lev agreed, before looking at Cameron. “Can I eat in the kitchen?” He asked. He did his best to keep the pleading from his tone. Being in this bed was boring, and even just the kitchen would be a relief.

Cameron gave it some thought, and then said, “Alright.”

Even so, Nik looked downright panicky. “Can you walk?”

Oh. “I’m a little wobbly. Ash wants me to be careful.” Lev hesitantly reached up, cupping Nik’s cheek. “I’m fine. Just unused to being... alive. That’s all.”

Nik turned his face into Lev’s hand. “I’ll help you into the kitchen.”

A smile crossed Lev’s face. It was small, and a little forced, but he meant it either way. “I’d like that.”

Cameron stood up. Lev watched him go, before looking at Nik. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Nik’s forehead.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Don’t tell Cameron but I’m already sick of bedrest. I want to get up.”

Nik slid off Lev’s lap. He helped Lev up, and said, “We should probably go. Cameron gets a little uptight.”

“I didn’t forget the months I lived with you two,” Lev said, amused. “Just my last day.”

He tugged the IV with him, let Nik pull his arm over Nik’s shoulders. The walk there was slow, and Lev could tell it was stressing Nik out. By the time Lev got to the kitchen, he was a little winded. He let Nik settle him in a chair. Lev held on Nik’s hand carefully, squeezing it gently.

When Cameron set a bowl down in front of Lev, Lev mumbled a thank you. Nik was served a bowl of the soup the broth had come from, and the both got soft white rolls as well. Without hesitation, Nik dug in. Lev watched him, at least until he realized Cameron was looking at him pointedly. A tiny sigh escaped Lev, but maybe this bowl would stay down, so Lev started taking small sips from his spoon. Only then did Cameron start eating as well.

After a few moments, Nik got up. Lev watched him retrieve a bottle of hot sauce, and wrinkled his nose.

“What?” Nik asked defensively.

Lev shook his head. “Nothing, nothing,” he said.

Nik wrinkled his nose and muttered under his breath in Spanish. Lev hid a smile unsuccessfully, and took another careful bite.

“How are you feeling?” Cameron asked, catching Lev’s attention.

Lev considered that for a long moment. “Better,” he admitted finally. “It’s... it's nice to get out of bed... and I missed meals with you two.”

If Cameron had anything else to say, Nik cut him off by standing abruptly, looking nauseous. Another moment later, and Nik bolted from the room. Cameron stayed with Lev.

“Is he okay?” Lev asked after a second, still debating if he should get up and hobble after Nik.

“It’s fine,” Cameron replied. “Now ask what you really want to ask.”

“Can- can you help me go check on him?” Lev asked.

Cameron nodded, helping Lev up. Lev grabbed the IV stand and tottered along with Cameron, leaning against him a lot more heavily than he had with Nik. They found Nik in the bathroom, curled around the toilet.

“Are you okay?” Lev asked, carefully getting to his knees beside Nik.

Nik groaned. “You’re the one who just came back from the dead, shouldn't I be asking you that?”

“I’ve managed to not throw up this time,” Lev said, petting Nik’s hair carefully. “You, on the other hand…”

‘’I’m fine,” Nik mumbled. “Just sick.”

Lev hesitated. “Angels don’t get sick,” he said softly, but just pressed a kiss to Nik’s forehead. “Do you want to go to bed?”

“It’s three in the afternoon. I just woke up, too.”

Lev hummed quietly, and pressed his cheek to Nik’s shoulder. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want, then?”

“I want food,” Nik said pitifully. “I’m hungry.”

“I can make you something else,” Cameron said from the doorway.

“Maybe the hot sauce was too much?” Lev suggested.

“You shut your mouth,” Nik said hotly.

“Ginger tea can help with upset stomachs?” Lev suggested. “And they make ginger candies, but I don't know that Cameron would have those.”

Nik groaned. “You want me to drink tea?”

“Just a little bit,” Lev wheedled. “It could help settle your stomach enough to eat.”

Nik muttered in Spanish defeatedly, before he said, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Lev said quietly. He looked back at Cameron, who helped him up. Lev leaned on the counter, while Cameron helped Nik up as well.

Nik insisted on helping Lev back to the kitchen. To Lev’s smug surprise, the ginger tea did help. Nik was quite bitter about it, but he let Lev lean into him.

---

After Nik managed to get something down, Cameron had gone to carry Lev to bed for a nap while he stayed in the kitchen rummaging for red peppers. Cameron came back to start cleaning up the kitchen while Nik snacked at the counter. The crunch satisfied him enough to keep eating them. If Cameron was annoyed by it, he surely didn’t comment on it.

“So,” Nik said, “What all does Lev remember?”

Cameron continued wiping off the stove while answering, “Nothing. Woke up and thought it was the day he left.”

“Oof.” Nik leaned back. “Are, uh, you going to tell him?”

“I’m sure he’ll want to know eventually. Until then,” Cameron said, “no. Not my place, not my memories.”

“Okay, but I’m pretty sure he’d want to know that he told me to stay dead.”

“When he asks,” Cameron said, looking at him squarely, “I will tell him.”

Nik just crunched into another pepper and dropped it. He wasn’t so sure that Lev was going to take anything that happened well, and part of Nik didn’t want Lev to remember anything that had happened during the time he was dead. “Works for me.”

Cameron went back to cleaning and Nik went back to snacking. If Ash had been here nonstop over the last few days, there was probably a chance that they had… talked. “Did... Ash say anything?”

“About?” Cameron asked, mildly.

“Just. Anything, I guess?” Nik hedged.

Cameron flicked him a long look. “Just what to do to take care of Lev while he gets on his feet. And then to also not let you drink.”

Nik’s blood went cold for the second time today. “Why did he tell you that?”

Cameron lifted a slight shoulder. “No idea,” he said. “Perhaps he just wanted to keep you sober for your health.”

Hmm. “Well. He succeeded didn’t he.”

“I suppose so,” Cameron replied. “You’ll be staying that way until I say otherwise as well.”

“Yeah whatever,” Nik muttered under his breath, taking another bite of his pepper. “Is there anything you’re going to want me for because otherwise I’m going to go sleep.”

“I’ll wake you up for dinner,” Cameron said. “Put those away if you’re finished with them.”

Nik did as told and then went to Lev’s bedroom. Lev was out cold, but that didn’t stop him from crawling up into bed next to him and curling against his chilly skin and taking a nap right there with him.

---

Breakfast was in bed the next day, which lev was a little relieved about. Just going to the kitchen the day before had worn Lev out, and he’d slept heavily until dinner. Nik never left his side once, and he still hadn’t. After breakfast, Lev spent a good hour just curled up with Nik.

Ash showed up at some point. Lev looked up at him, kept his arm around Nik almost protectively. “Nate brought him,” Lev said almost defensively. Nik didn’t even stir.

Ash lifted a brow, “Did I say anything?”

Lev shook his head guiltily. “Are you here for a check up?” he asked to change the subject.

“What do you think?” He asked, dryly. “Do you want Nik in the room?”

Lev looked down at Nik. “It’s fine,” he said, brushing Nik’s hair from his face. “It’s not like he’s awake right now.”

Ash looked between them for a long moment. “Okay,” he finally said. “How did Nik react when he saw you?”

“He’s missed me,” Lev said, watching Nik sleep.

“Did he act differently than you’re used to?” Ash asked.

Lev nodded carefully. “He seems…” he trailed off for a few seconds. “Small,” Lev eventually said. “Young.” He swallowed, and then added, “Too much like me.”

If Lev didn’t know any better he’d think Ash looked grim. “Do you think Nik is stable enough to stay here, or does he need more care?”

Lev considered Nik for a while. “I think he’s… I think he’s okay here. He’s just been clingy. And he threw up yesterday, but ginger tea helped.”

Ash looked amused. “I see he drank your tea.”

“I said please,” Lev said, looking up.

“Uh-huh,” Ash said dryly. “Anything changed for you?”

Lev shook his head, and then paused. “Uh, I didn’t throw up breakfast today, or my snack yesterday either.” He fiddled with the blankets. “I kept dinner down, for the most part.”

“Has your diet changed in any way?” Ash asked.

Again, Lev shook his head, more firmly this time. “Nope. Cameron’s kept me on a strict diet of broth and a little bread.” He grimaced. “I know it’s important, but I’m honestly already tired of it.”

Ash smiled slightly. “Nobody likes broth.”

“I liked it just fine until it was all I could eat,” Lev complained, before flushing and saying quickly, “Sorry.”

Ash shrugged. “Why don’t we check on a few new things while I’m here.”

Lev nodded. “What do you want to check?”

“I want to see if you can still access your magic,” Ash said.

Lev nodded. With just a thought the room went dark. “Oh,” Lev said, startled. He reeled it back in with just as much ease. “Ohh,” he repeated, more delighted this time. “I’ve never had that much control over my magic before.”

“Well, I guess living in the shadows made you more in tune with them,” Ash said.

Lev held out a hand, shadows spilling over through his fingers. “Maybe,” Lev said, fascinated. “Look, I can even make them solid.” He offered Ash a little blob of shadow. “This is weird.”

Ash took it, peering at it. “Thanks.”

“I don’t know how long it’ll… stay physical? I’ve never been able to make it so easily.”

“I think Bay will help you figure it out,” Ash said.

Lev stilled blinking. “I missed four more months of training,” he said miserably. “Bay’s not happy about that, is he?”

Ash looked amused. “I’m sure you being dead will be a good enough excuse.”

“Oh,” Lev said. “When can I start training again?” He looked down at Nik. “I don’t want to die again. And I don't want Nik or Eden or Cameron getting hurt because of me. And what’s Destris going to do when he finds out I’m alive again?”

“You don’t have to worry about Destris. Amara killed him. He was the key ingredient for bringing you back from the dead.”

Lev blinked. “He’s dead?” Lev asked, startled. “They didn’t tell me that.”

“We’ve been a little busy, you know, making sure you’re still alive.”

“I wasn’t- it wasn't a criticism,” Lev promised.

“Oh, I know. But now you know.”

Lev nodded slowly, and then blinked. “Wait- it’s been four months. Is- did Bay have the baby?”

“Yeah… he had him on the day you died.”

“Oh,” Lev said. “And the baby’s okay?”

“He’s perfect,” Ash promised.

Lev relaxed, despite not realizing he’d tensed up in the first place. “Good,” Lev said firmly.

“His name is Lucas,” Ash offered.

“Do you have any pictures?” Lev asked hopefully.

“Here,” Ash said, handing over his phone, “I have plenty.”

Lev nodded, already scrolling. “Oh, he’s beautiful,” Lev breathed.

Ash smiled a bit. “More well behaved than Eden,” Ash said quietly.

“Is she doing okay at Bay’s?” Lev asked. “Cameron said she was staying with them.”

:She’s a little hellion, but that’s to be expected from Eden.”

“I miss her.”

“We can bring her by tomorrow.”

“I’m well enough for that?” Lev asked hopefully.

“For a little bit,” Ash promised. “I don’t want to exhaust you.”

Lev nodded quickly. “Okay.”

Ash gave him a long look in the eye. “If you exhaust yourself with this, it’s not going to happen again, understand? I don’t want you getting sick.”

“I understand,” Lev promised earnestly.

“You can stop pretending to sleep, Nikolas, I want to check you over too.”

Nik whined, burrowing into Lev’s side. “Leave me alone. I’m tired.”

“If Lev can see me when he’s just been brought back from the dead, you can wake up from your nap.”

Lev snorted softly, pressing a kiss to Nik’s hair. “This isn’t a nap. He hasn’t woken up yet this morning.”

“Narc,” Nik muttered pettily.

“I don’t lie, Nik,” Lev replied serenely.

“There's a difference between telling the truth and keeping information.”

Lev stilled, looking over at Ash. He pressed a kiss to Niks head again. “Okay.”

Ash nodded. “Lev, I think now would be a good to take your walk, and go bug Cameron.”

Lev blinked. He kissed Nik’s hair again, but eased out from underneath Nik. Nik whined, but let go of Lev. After snagging his IV stand, Lev made his way towards the door. Cameron was waiting for him, and led Lev down the hall.

“Is Nik okay?” Lev asked Cameron softly.

“Of course he is. He’s just been a little off.”

Lev stared him down thoughtfully. “Okay,” he finally said.

“Are you wanting a different answer?”

“I don’t want him to not be okay,” Lev said clearly.

Cameron held Lev’s eye contact steadily. “Nik is dealing.”

“Okay,” Lev said quietly. He looked around, and then said, “Cameron?”

“Yes?”

“I love you both,” Lev said quietly. “And I won’t leave you two again.”

Cameron looked away. “I know.”

A small, tired smile quirked Lev’s lips. He’d been around Cameron and Nik long enough to recognize what Cameron meant. “Good,” was all he said in reply, leaning against Cameron’s shoulder.

Tagging: @incandescent-creativity @idreamonpaper @solangelo3088 @halstudies @alittleyellowdinosaur @caelisis

[cherry3point14]

Cookies & Milk

Pairing: Dean x British!Reader Warnings: Established D/s, mind you don’t fall down the crack Word Count: 2,172. Summary: Dean buys you some cookies. You call them biscuits. Arguments ensue, lines are drawn and restraints are required. A/N: Have any of y’all met @winchesters-meaty-feast? She’s my pal and partner in crime. We have extensive conversations about many a subject but one day the most important topic arose. Biscuits. I’m a dunker, she is not. It almost tore us apart but luckily we’re stronger than that. Anyway, I drabbled this Dom/sub biscuit thing in our chat and the following CRACK is what snowballed from that. (This is meant to be dumb ok. Don’t come for me over this weirdness.) 

Ao3 if you prefer.

You should close your laptop.

In the late afternoon—underground where the time of day doesn’t matter—even then the light it’s emitting is too blue. Sure, you could turn down the brightness but it’s too little too late. Your eyes are already starting to ache from the strain.

You're not even doing anything important. You started scrolling a few hours ago; a news story that might have been something, but turned out to be nothing. Less than nothing, it was mundane. Dull as dishwater, as your mum might say. You would have closed your laptop then if it hadn’t been for that link at the bottom of the page. To another article, this time about an unexpected cold snap. This leads you to look up weather trends in Kansas, which becomes reading the articles on weather.com. Who even knew weather.com had articles? Still, they do and they’re very informative. The problem is that their data all points to it being cold as balls soon (your term, not theirs). So, now you’re shopping, with a pair of snow boots and two winter coats in your basket. And you’re debating a new scarf to put you over the free shipping threshold.

It is really time to shut your laptop before you go ahead and checkout. Dean hates having to pick up your parcels in town. Always complains that you have a problem. Pretty hypocritical considering the number of breweries he keeps in business. Besides he doesn’t even have a reason to complain, Marta loves seeing him, she lights up like a Christmas tree for him. You walk into the post office and you get a ton of side-eye, plus a ten-minute wait, but Dean? Well, he’s always at the front of her line.

You’re so engrossed in shopping that you don’t immediately look up at the sound of the bunker door. It’ll be Dean, you know that much. He’ll have a couple of brown bags from his supply run and you don't want to insult him by insinuating that he needs help.

It’s for the greater good anyway, the longer you sit here the more chance there is of you buying him snow boots too. Maybe he'll let you buy him a hat too.

Once he’s finished stomping his way down the stairs he sets the paper bags down next to you. It just so happens that's the exact moment you finally look up at him. A grateful smile on your face and over the top fluttering eyelashes—to remind him how loveable you are.

He shakes his head at how obvious you are. “I didn’t buy them for just you.” His unnecessary emphasis is all the permission you need.

“Is that smoke?” You sniff the air, one arm sliding inside the nearest bag, “must be the fire in your pants.”

He tries. Bless his heart. He tries to hold out. You can see him chewing the inside of his mouth as your arm moves about inside the bag to liberally finger his goods. The haul from the supermarket anyway. But he cannot resist your lame jokes and it ends the same as always. He cracks. A twitch of his lip, shaking his head and then an eye roll even Sam would be proud of.

“Other bag, Sherlock.”

“Ah-ha!” You grin when you switch to the other bag. Instead of fresh fruits and vegetables, you’re treated to food of the more processed variety. Plastic bags filled with crisps, a pie carton and, oh he really does love you, biscuits.

You slink back down to your screen, tearing the package open with your teeth as you do. Revitalised by the imminent influx of sugar. Dean sighs but doesn’t say another word. He picks up the rest of the groceries and carries them away. Presumably to the kitchen by the distant sounds of him putting everything away.

It’s another five minutes when he returns with a glass of milk that he puts down next to you. With a determined thump of glass on wood, as if the sound is an entire explanation.

“Thanks, but you know I don’t…”

“Take the damn milk.”

Normally you’d be irritated for being cut off mid-sentence, but it’s his exasperated tone that catches your attention. You even deign to look at him again, ignoring the popup that’s offering an extra 15% off if you enter your email. “You ok?”

He scratches at the scruff on his jaw while he tries to internally talk himself down from the ledge. “Nothing, nothing. Drink the milk, please.”

You look from him to the glass and frown at the white liquid. There’s nothing wrong with it per se. It looks like a perfectly good glass of milk, the kind you might see on a ‘got milk’ ad from the nineties. It’s not that you hate milk, you just prefer your biscuits to have a little bite. Dean should know that by now but if he’s forgotten then you are more than happy to remind him. “You eat your biscuits how you want, let me eat mine how I want.”

In your attempt to be rational you have failed to notice the desperation in his, 'please'. And now you’ve managed to tick him off.

“Cookies,” he grinds out.

“What?”

“They’re cookies. Dammit, you’ve lived here long enough to call a cookie a cookie.”

The outburst is not Dean’s fault. He’s not exactly hoarding MAGA caps and asking you to go back to England. No, this outrage is the product of a very specific joke that you might have taken too far.

Ordinarily, you switched back and forth between American and British all the time. As easy as breathing. You’d lived in the good ol’ US of A for long enough that your brain simply picked out the first word it could reach. A lot of the time it ended up being American without much intention, people understood better. 

And then a few weeks back you’d been on the way to a hunt, sprawled in the back seat. Despite the fact that you were still strategizing with Sam you were comfortable. You could have fallen asleep right there if Sam hadn't kept talking. The word had slipped out on a whim. You called Baby’s trunk a boot.

Dean—being an absolute drama queen—had slammed on the brakes and eloquently asked what the fuck you called his Baby. Apparently, it was the first time you’d said that particular British word.

If you hadn’t found his reaction utterly hilarious that would have been the end of it. Except you did find it funny. The way his face soured, that little crease in the middle of his brow, he was so offended by four little letters. It was beautiful.

Now it’s been a few weeks of very purposeful language choices. Asking to borrow his mobile to make a call, or to wear his hoodie. And you’ll admit the ‘pip pip cheerio’ as he left the bunker earlier had been excessive. That isn’t even a real thing people say.

You’ve been torturing the poor guy with British slang. And because this isn’t the first time you’ve taken a joke too far, you’d usually hold your hands up and apologise. You’re good at apologising. He likes when you have to apologise because you always make it worth his while.

The problem is, biscuit had been an honest-to-god slip of the tongue. It had been the most natural word for your brain to conjure and so his anger seems a tad unjustified. Utterly out of proportion.

“It’s a biscuit.” You repeat as you take a bite, noticing the way his left eye seems to twitch at the crunch.

“It’s a cookie. It says right there on the packet. It’s a fucking sandwich cookie.” He points at the ripped plastic on the table for emphasis.

You sigh with the kind of effort that forces all the air from your lungs. “This country can’t spell half the time, why should I trust the packet?”

“Because you’re eating from it.”

He’s got you on a technicality. And he knows it. He knows it by the telling pause before you speak and the flash of panic in your eyes.

“So?”

It’s not an argument that’s going to win world-class debates but you couldn’t go ahead and let him have the last word.

Dean's problem now is he thinks he’s got you on the ropes, so he goes and gets cocky. He puffs out his chest a little and bites back a smirk.

“So? So… cookies and milk is as American as apple pie-”

“Invented by the Dutch.”

“-whatever. It’s a thing. Which means you gotta sit down, shut up and drink your fucking milk.”

You always love it when he does that. Argues his way to a conclusion whether he’s right or not. It’s kind of ridiculously hot.

Or at least that’s how you justify putting your half-eaten biscuit down. Slowly rising from your chair and crawling onto his lap. You lean in, slow enough to tease him, letting your breath settle over his skin as you whisper in his ear. “I know a way we could settle this.”

“What’re you doing?” He manages between teeth that are grinding against each other. The muscles in his arms are tense where he’s pulling at the rope that holds him.

Any other night and you might calm him down at this point. Remind your good boy that he shouldn’t hurt himself. Or depending on the game you’d remind him who he belongs to, who he’s foolishly directing his anger towards. But there’s no soothing touches or harsh reminders bestowed upon Dean tonight. This game is different. This is a battle for dominance, unlike one you’ve played before.

For the first time, he wants to win as much as you do.

There’s no mutual satisfaction in the room because you’re both out for blood. Where blood equals being right about snack goods. And unfortunately for Dean, he didn’t figure it out before he let you tighten the ropes around his wrists.

“I thought that was obvious, baby. I wanted something sweet.”

His eyes flick between the glass of milk he’d seen you carry in and the cookies plated up beside it. Well, you’d call them biscuits but that’s not what this argument is about.

“Don’t you dare.” There’s a threat in his voice.

For a moment it surprises you and you’re quick to counter him, “I’ll do what I like.” Your tone is reminder enough for him to remember his place.

He retreats a little, gives an inch so that you can take a mile. A breath rattles through his chest doing little to calm his tightly wound body. At the very least, he switches anger for desperation. Dean knows you love it when he pleads, “please Princess. Please, I’m begging you. Dunk it.”

Your entire body glows a little when he calls you by your name. The change in his attitude only urges you onwards though, with a smirk turning up the corners of your mouth.

Your hand finds a treat, fingers picking it up with deliberate, delicate movements. His eyes are wide as he watches you hover the biscuit over the glass as if maybe you’ll appease him. The whimper he lets out when you bypass the drink is almost fulfilling enough that you’re no longer hungry. Almost.

The room takes on an eerie silence as you part your lips and take a bite. A loud, crunchy bite. Crumbs fall onto the table beneath you—probably in slow motion— and chewing only seems to increase the volume.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters as you swallow, “you’re crazy.”

You hadn’t planned on it but you walk across the room then, half a biscuit in your hand and a satisfied smile on your face. He’s slumped in his chair a little. He’s defeated since he knows he won’t defeat the knots keeping him in place.

“Come on, try it for me.”

“Go to hell.”

It's your turn to roll your eyes, “don’t be so dramatic, you’ve been to hell. This can’t be that bad.”

As you reason with him, you slide into his lap again, which will be torture enough because he can’t touch you. Except you also hold the biscuit to his lips.

“Please. For me. Be my good boy.” You coo as if you're not toying with him.

His thighs twitch beneath you at the use of his nickname and, because he’s always your good boy, he opens his mouth.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer

[bymoonchild]

Microwave (Mis)adventures (M)

Pairing | Jungkook x Reader Genre | Fluff, slight angst, smut / college!AU, roommates/housemates!AU, enemies to lovers!AU,  Warnings | Explicit language, lots of sarcastic banter, pillow-humping, masturbation, kitchen blowjob (!!!), eating out, fingering, creampie, cum-eating, unprotected sex  Word count | 20k

Out of all things to be afraid of, Jungkook, the seat-stealer of your 8am class and annoying housemate whom you despise with every fiber of your being, chooses to have a phobia of microwaves, but he loves buying microwaveable food – because come on, they’re irresistible – and you somehow find yourself getting dragged into his microwaves (mis)adventures. Cue chaos, sarcasm-laced banter and an unplanned romance.

After attending college for a good three hellish but somewhat fun (only because you live to torture yourself) semesters, there are six things that you think you’ve mastered. 

Sleeping at 6am and waking up just on time for your 9am the next day and ready to kick some ass. 

Relying on coffee – a true college student’s lifeblood – to survive the day. 

Pretending that you have your shit together – people around you think you have everything under control. You’re part of your faculty club, the editor of your school’s publication and also on the freaking dean’s list and have an immaculate GPA to maintain. 

Being a bitch because college has a lot of dumb people and you don’t understand how there are so many people with just one brain cell, that is almost close to none. 

Making lists because checking off each task from your list is as satisfying as sleeping in on a Friday. 

Making routines and sticking to them. 

So If there’s any skill that you’ve mastered, it should be these few, though it’s highly unfortunate that you can’t list any of the aforementioned skills in your resume. Skill number six is also your pet peeve and you just abhor, detest, loathe, fucking hate it when your routine gets all screwed up and just about everyone around you knows how anal you are about following your routines and you won’t hesitate to throw hands if something goes awry.

You’ve never imagined that you would actually be throwing hands until you see some stranger occupying your usual seat at your 8am lecture, for fuck’s sake. You’re not being territorial. There’s no such thing as assigned seats in college, but after the first week or so, people just got in the habit of sitting in the same spot – it’s like an unspoken decision. But your favourite seat is taken. Rudely taken by a mob of dark hair who’s casually scrolling through his phone. 

The nerve!

As if on cue, your vision flares red and your mind sorely screams at you to throttle him. Look, you’re not a convulsive human being and you’re definitely not that big of a bitch (at least not without a reason), but you spent the entirety of last night sorting out your team’s editorial calendar and making sure that everything is under control and you had to drag yourself out of bed at 7 in the morning with hardly any shuteye. You’re high-key regretting every single decision you’ve ever made and definitely not in the friendliest of moods to deal with a seat-stealer. 

So you stalk over to your usual seat, storming louder than usual with your bitchiest expression that you’ve been training since college started. 

“Excuse me,” you clear your throat, eyebrows raised tauntingly at the boy in front of you, who is settled way too comfortably in your seat. 

“Hi…?” The brunet stares at you unblinking, as if rummaging through the compartments of his brain for an inkling of a name or memory of you. “Do I—”

“You’re in my seat,” you cut him off curtly, impatience evident in your tone, barely giving him any time to register what’s going on.

“W-What?”

“This,” you point unabashedly to the chair he has his butt comfortably on, “is my seat.”

Something about his expression changes and his eyebrows start to crease, as though he’s starting to fathom what the heck is going on. 

At that, you frown back harder, all eyebrows furrowed and tightened jaw muscles. 

“But we don’t have assigned seats in college?” The latter challenges with a tilt of his head, arranging his features into a look of deep confusion.

This only prompts you to roll your eyes in disbelief, a flash of annoyance flitting across your sharp features. You’d like to think you’re not a bitch, at least not without a god damn reason and having your seat stolen during an 8am lecture is a good enough reason. 

“Yeah? I’ve been sitting in this seat for the past eight weeks, so your argument is invalid.” 

You riposte, not minding how lecture has long begun and the students around you are gaping apprehensively at the commotion you’re brewing up instead of listening to the professor. You try your best to ignore the burning gazes on your back. 

He remains silent, but his eyes are lit up as though he enjoys riling you up. 

“Um look—”

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you scrunch your eyes closed, trying your best to resist screaming in lecture as a burning sensation climbs up your throat. 

“Can you just, I don’t know, move? I’m already having a bad morning and I don’t need a seat-stealer to add to my hit list.”  

He gawks at you for a few seconds to see whether you’re pulling his leg about adding him to your hit list and wanting him to move, but raises his hand in mock surrender when he realises that you’re actually serious. 

Giving you his most I-don’t-give-a-fuck-anymore shrug, he mumbles while grabbing his bag, “Okay, fine fine. Geez, it’s just a seat.”

You wait as he moves out of the seat, before sliding into your seat promptly and you find your entire body relaxing out of instinct.

“You’re very welcome, by the way,” the stranger retorts with the same sarcasm that you very much do not appreciate, given your already rotten morning, but it doesn’t match up with the mirth lurking in his voice and grin on his lips. 

“T-Thanks,” you mumble under your breath, unsure of whether he caught it, but you have better things to worry about like catching up with the lecture and trying your best not to have a breakdown because your morning routine just got fucked with. 

Turning back again out of instinct, you see the boy shoot you another weird look before moving to the back of the LT. 

You feel your heart skip. In anger or something. You look away, appalled by the audacity of him – how he can still look at you in the eye when he just did the most despicable thing on earth. 

For the next two hours of lecture, you find yourself incapable of concentrating, mind invaded with thoughts of that seat-stealer. You’re not sure where he has moved to, too caught up in basking in your own internal pit of resentment and memorising every detail of the seat stealer’s cute face so that you can punch him the next time you see him.

Wait…

Cute?

As the overused saying goes, it’s just a bad day, not a bad life – and honestly, you really want to believe in that cliché encouragement. With the same lack of vigour from this morning, you head back to your apartment after class and desperately hope that none of your housemates would be home because you could really use some peaceful alone time. 

You share an apartment with three other friends – Namjoon whom you met through the student union (he’s the Vice President and you work under him as the editor of the editorial committee), Sooyeon aka your best buddy who unconditionally puts up with your angsty ass and Jimin, Sooyeon’s loverboy who’s part of your school’s dance crew.

But instead of coming home to peace and comfort, your eyes land on someone whom you’ve never expected to see again the very moment you push open the door. Let alone in your fucking house. 

The boy, too, seems to be appalled by your appearance. “Hey, you’re—” 

You point at him exasperatedly, mouth agape. “Oh my god, you’re the freaking seat-stealer!”

Your surprise is initially mirrored on the stranger’s face, but he recovers it quickly and even chuckles at your histrionic outburst. “Wow, nice to meet you too?”

For a good thirty seconds, silence and thick tension pervade the air as you smoulder with rage and confusion, until the boy begins to speak up again. 

Scratching the back of his head, he chuckles dryly, “I swear I’m not here to steal your seat whatsoever.”

“Then what the heck are you doing here—shit, are you the new housemate?”

“Yep,” he replies pompously, emphasising on the ‘p’. 

He sees you freeze up, how your eyes twitch a little, before you unabashedly blurt out a “fuck my life”, entirely disregarding your new housemate. 

“Namjoon could have warned me beforehand about having a seat-stealer as our new housemate. Seriously.” 

“Um,” he ignores your blunt cavil and extends out of his hand with a small smile. “I’m Jungkook.” 

You gawk at his hand, affronted that he thinks you’re down for a fresh start because your day has been ruined because of his stupid ass who decided to take your seat. 

Look, it does not seem that deep, but it is, in fact, that deep. 

Everything has gone downhill after your encounter with the seat-stealer. After lecture, you planned on heading to the canteen to grab food before your next class which you had a mini-quiz for, but due to the little fiasco during lecture which involved the unapologetic seat-stealer, you had to stay behind after lecture to clarify the content that you missed out with your professor, and then you missed the bus and couldn’t get to the canteen in time. In the end, you had to do your test hangry, so you definitely have every single right to be angry. 

It is just the utmost unlikely of tragedies to meet this Jungkook dude twice in a day, and now he’s your new housemate? Fuck no. 

“And you are…?” He grins awkwardly, hand still hovering in mid-air. His large, almond eyes regard you with keen interest, but you choose not to relent. 

“Getting the fuck out of here.”

You spit, spinning on your heels to thunder down the hallway and retreat to the comfort of your room. But before you slam the door to get the boy away from your sight, your conscience stops you.

Come on, you’re not that mean to leave him there without giving him the Pep Talk. That would be the least you could do. He should take that as your warm welcome and the last interaction you two would ever have. 

“So um, Jungkook, right? We have a few rules here. First off, don’t leave your trash out in the living room, throw them in the bin or recycling bin if you need to. Secondly, label your food in the refrigerator properly. Thirdly, I’d appreciate it if you don’t talk to me. Ever. Okay, yeah that’s all. Thanks, bye.” 

The words taste bland on your tongue and the distaste is plain as day on your lips as you slam the door behind you, leaving Jungkook standing in the middle of the living room, staring blankly at your door like a lost child.  

Behind him, the door clicks. Jungkook turns around and sees Namjoon at the entrance. Finally, his savour.  

“Hey hyung!” He greets a little too excitedly. 

He first met Namjoon at a music festival, in which the older was in charge of. At that point in time, Jungkook was a freshman and had just joined the dance crew (which was considered a feat for a freshman) and he had the chance to talk to Namjoon, in which he found him a really passionate and capable leader. When he found out that Jungkook was looking for an apartment in his second year, Namjoon being the wonderful gentleman he is, offered him their empty room – they needed someone to occupy the last room and it’s always better to have someone they know than a rando from the streets. 

And that’s exactly what happened. Exactly why Jungkook is standing in the middle of the living room awkwardly after being cursed at by a girl who is not only attractive to him, but also sardonic and sharp-tongued. And he just had to steal her freaking seat during lecture. 

“Sorry kiddo, got caught in traffic. I see you’ve met the wrath of Y/N?”

“Y/N…” Jungkook repeats to himself, but laughter pokes its way across mirthful eyes and tinted cheeks, displaying his bunny teeth in their full glory at the memory of your aggravated face. 

“She’s normally not like this, I swear. I don’t know why she’s so pissy today,” Namjoon shrugs as he removes his shoes. He then walks past Jungkook and ruffles his hair. 

“Maybe because I got on her bad side when I took her seat during lecture this morning?”

“Oh, that explains it. She doesn’t like… changes. She’s very anal about sticking to her routine.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“She’ll get over it soon, don’t worry.”

“It doesn’t seem like her hatred for me will end any time soon though.”

He pats Jungkook on the back, as if another way of wishing him luck. “Anyways, welcome to our humble abode! We have a few rules—”

“Oh, Y/N already went through them with me.”

“Great! My room is just beside yours, you can just pop by whenever you want, but I’m mostly not home. We have a cleaning and errands roster by the fridge, I’ve added your name to the list. Enjoy your stay, yeah?”

At Namjoon’s last sentence, your face pops up at the forefront of Jungkook’s mind. You’re intriguing, he would say. Very intriguing. Well, looks like it’s going to be one fun hell of a semester living and breathing in the same confined space as you. That, he can’t wait. 

It has been a tough two weeks living with Jeon Jungkook. He has come ramming into your life like a bulldozer, obliterating what little peaceful routine you’ve cultivated. Within the first two days, every fiber of your being has come to a consensus: you hate Jungkook’s guts. 

It’s as if he’s designated to cross paths with you to ruin your life. The very fact that you’re sharing a roof with him makes your blood boil and nerves shake with animosity and the number of times your subconscious has proposed strangling him with your bare hands is almost unhealthy.

But to your ultimate dismay, your other housemates have no qualms about accepting Jungkook – the impudent, cocky, dogmatic jerk who does not hold an ounce of consideration in his bones – and making him part of the gang. 

You, on the contrary, aren’t going to be deceived by his façade.

So you refuse to acknowledge his existence or give him the time of day. While it is almost impossible to fully avoid him because he does live in the same apartment as you, it still doesn’t stop you from not thinking twice about walking away in the opposite direction or pretending to be on your phone to avoid any potential social interaction with him when he’s in the proximity. 

Despite your reluctance, you do learn a few things about Jungkook from just pure observation or from your other housemates who, for a fact, can’t shut up about him. He’s a second-year Computer Science major, with a second major in narcissism and sarcasm (but he’s nothing compared to you), is in the dance team with Jimin, and is also a passive-aggressive and cocky jerk and proud anime weeb. 

He’s also very diligent. Diligent in pissing you off, that is. 

Thus, you’ve taken every liberty to flip him off whenever you could and it’s not as though your housemates are oblivious to your ongoing heated war with Jungkook – they just choose not to care, also because they find your discord with him very amusing. It’s their daily entertainment. But they’re mostly unbothered because Jungkook is causing misery to no one else in the apartment except you. 

You’re his only target. 

Which is weird because you like to think that you have a daunting presence which keeps most people away, accompanied by a temper too intolerable for people. But Jungkook, with his one brain cell, is unlike most people and seems to have a penchant for riling you (and only you) up, leaving all proper etiquette aside and pissing you off at the utmost degree. It’s either he’s plain dumb or lives to torture himself. Possibly both. 

Last Thursday, you came home to a battlefield, a war between a growing pile of dirty clothes strewn all over the living room (you’re pretty sure your housemates have started using one of the shirts as a rug) and takeout containers scattered all over the kitchen counter and living room. And all these were caused by the one and only Jeon Jungkook – who else would be this inhumane? Even Namjoon, the messiest person ever, cleans up after himself, or at least has learnt how to after living in a shared apartment. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, is incorrigible. But what you can’t understand is that he seems delighted to witness the consequences of his filthy tendencies.

Whenever you vociferate his name, he’s always carrying a smug and amused grin despite your evident irritation. 

He’s watching an anime on his phone on the couch when you stomp up to him and call him by his full name with your nastiest scowl. You usually try to be civil with him for the sake of your housemates, but your patience grows thinner than a thread every day, especially when he shoots you a cocky smirk, “Yes, Y/N?” 

Eyes ablaze with smouldering anger and fists jammed sharply into the flesh of your hips, tightly gripping onto the final shreds of your sanity, you say between clenched teeth, “Tell me – why are your things lying all over the living room? Do you or do you not have a fucking room?”

“Of course, I do,” he replies impassively, eyes still glued to his phone, engrossed in watching whatever’s captivating enough for the blockhead.  

Picking up a sweatshirt that hasn’t been watched in perhaps a month for good measure, you snarl, “What the fuck are you? A barbarian?” 

He looks up from his phone for the first time, the right corner of his lips curled into a lewd smirk. 

“Probably not that ugly – have you seen my face, Miss Grumps?” 

“You’re so full of yourself I might just barf at your face. And for the record, you’re not that good looking.”

“Really? I’d beg to differ.”

“The only begging you’ll do is at the doorstep when I finally kick you out of this apartment if you can’t learn to clean up after yourself.” 

Satisfied with your riposte, you hurl his clothes that you’ve dutifully picked up from all corners of the living room at his direction, but he catches them all with just one hand without even batting an eyelash. Damn dancers and their quick reflexes. 

“What? Impressed?”

“Hey look,” you assert, throwing your hands in mid-air and Jungkook’s eyes follow accordingly, staring blankly at them. “Look at all the fucks I give.”

His face drops when he realises that he’s been punked. “You’re fucking Satan’s child.”

You raise your eyebrows, mirth dancing in your orbs. Giving him a contemptuous round of applause, you dispute, “I’ve been called worse. Try harder.”

He doesn’t even need to look at you to know what kind of glower you’re boring on your face. It’s as if he has that distinctive expression of yours mesmerised and embedded in his memory. 

“Is that a challenge?” The smallest of smirks tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“Only if you don’t come crying to me when you lose.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond and for a moment, you think you’ve got the upper hand. But your eyes gradually narrow to slits as he continues to make no inclination to acknowledge you. You realise that he has increased the volume of whatever shitty anime he’s watching. 

Fucker. 

As you gape at him incredulously, the gears in your mind spinning, there’s an unfamiliar prickle in your chest: competitiveness. You want him to bow down to you. You’re hungry to win. 

So given that skanky attitude of his, you, of course, have to retaliate by annoying the shit out of him as well. For one, you decide to drink his beloved banana milk, slurping generously on his endless supply for the next few days. The dude has two full cartons in the kitchen and you don’t want to know why. 

When he comes confronting you, you show him exactly no fucks given. 

“Where’s my banana milk?”

“Up my ass, bitch.” 

“What the fuck? That was my last one!”

“Oops, couldn’t help that I was thirsty!” 

By the anger that undulates from his pinched features, you don’t know why the fuck, but you have this wholesome sense of satisfaction knowing that he got his comeuppance. You’ve won this time and you want to continue to win. 

Oh, it’s on, Jeon Jungkook. It’s on. 

After the banana milk incident and many more that should not be mentioned, it is a known fact that Jungkook and you are profoundly contentious with each other and should never be allowed in the same room for everyone’s sake. However, God knows what went through your housemates’ minds when they thought it would be a good idea to call for a compulsory movie night. You couldn’t even excuse yourself from it without bearing the brunt of Sooyeon’s annoying pleas. 

“Look who we have here – Y/N!” 

You hear your name being slurred out on purpose a few inches above you. Looking up from your phone, you frown when your eyes land on your favourite nemesis, frowning in an instance. 

“Fancy seeing you here!” Jungkook grins smugly and you desperately want to wipe that smirk off his face. 

“Bitch, I live here.”

“Well, aren’t you just unapproachable today.”

“And yet you are here,” you scowl back. 

“Well, I am something else, aren’t I?” He smirks slyly with a victorious blaze flaring in his eyes. “Especially when you have the temper of a volcano that hasn't erupted in, say, a million years.”

The crease on your forehead grows and you click your tongue loudly when Jungkook settles himself comfortably in front of you on the floor. He even turns around to shoot you a guileful smile. 

“You’re a walking pest. The fucking bane of my existence. The devil incarnated,” you leer and he takes everything in with an amused and sinister grin before turning back to the TV. 

It’s not even halfway into the movie when Jungkook and you come into conflict again. You’re just minding your own business, watching Iron Man for the umpteenth time (you swear they only played it because of Jungkook and his obsession) when the said boy suddenly turns around and sneezes loudly. Directly at your face. He even has the audacity to laugh at your scrunched up expression. 

“Oh, sorry?” he chuckles, tilting his head slightly.  

“Sorry?” You flare up at him, throwing a pillow at his face. “You’re not fucking sorry!” 

At your outburst, a blanket of unease drapes the atmosphere and causes the attitudes of your housemates to go sour. Jungkook looks at the others who are all equally as shocked, except for Namjoon who looks like he’s enjoying what he sees because he is casually shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Um okay? Then I’m not sorry?” 

Huffing in disbelief, you clench your fists, tampering down the exceptional vexation that is tying knots around your throat, “Wow! And you’re taking it back now?”

Jungkook frowns, now completely exasperated and throws his hands in the air. “What the fuck do you want me to do? Make your mind, Miss Grumps.”

You gawk at him in disbelief, pointing to yourself while a humourless laugh escapes your lips, “Grumps? I’m not grumpy!” 

“Wow and I’m not hot.”

“You’re definitely not!” 

“Not only are you grumpy, you’re blind as well!” 

“Guys, stop it!” You hear one of the guys shout, but you’re too blinded by anger to turn to look at them. 

“Hey Y/N, calm down,” Sooyeon whispers, pulling you away from Jungkook. 

A surge of adrenaline through your limbs urges you to lunge forward and tackle him to the ground. But due to the choking rage that thickens at the back of your throat, you can’t seem to scream out coherently. Instead, an incoherent garble of insults escapes from your mouth.

“Jungkook, stop it – you’re going to drive Y/N mad,” Jimin pipes up from the other end of the couch, but has no real intentions of making Jungkook stop. The latter shrugs casually and turns back to the TV screen, leaving you fuming silently behind him. If looks could kill, Jeon Jungkook would be dead by now. 

By the end of the first month living with him, you’re definite that if there’s anything illegal you could do in your lifetime and get away with it, it would be to assassinate Jeon Jungkook with your bare hands. 

Jungkook has done a lot of stupid things in his twenty-one years of living, like any other dumb kid on the block. He has a full list of shall-not-be-mentioned past experiences because they’re really that absurd. Like climbing his neighbour tree and falling asleep till the next morning (and only realising that he had fucked up when a police car came to their house because yes, his parents called the freaking police to find the missing kid) and playing ghostbusters at an allegedly haunted warehouse with his brother (he caught a glimpse of a woman in white and thought he heard pained cries – and that was his consolation prize). 

So, he is proud to say that he is a man with no fears, or at least he likes to think that he is, because he knows that everyone else thinks that way too. He’s that designated friend who will catch your insects for you, go bungee-jumping without any hesitation and walk through a haunted house without screaming at all. He’s conquered all the possible fears little by little over the last twenty-one years of his life… Well, except for one. 

At 3am in the morning, he’s standing in the middle of the kitchen and staring at his one and only fear. He shudders at the thought of going near it and he doesn’t know if the churning in his stomach is due to his fear or just plain hunger – or both. He just needs to heat up his frozen pizza with the—

Oh. 

The microwave. 

The main source of his nightmares when his stomach decides to throw tantrums in the middle of the night. It’s the one fear that he has never been able to overcome because there’s always someone at home to help him microwave his food. If he’s at the convenience store, he’ll beg the staff to help him with it and he’s used to doing that – he’s proud to say that this mere desperate act has thickened his skin and boosted his courage.  

He halts in his tracks, staring blankly at the contraption, frozen pizza in hand. Well, he could just fuck it and eat it as it is, cold and sad but he could only imagine the countless of toilet runs following it. So no, thank you – he needs to heat up his pizza and he needs it ASAP before he faints from hunger. But as soon as he reaches out to the device, memories of his childhood trauma that he has been avoiding like the plague hit him square in the chest and he grimaces.  

He sees red waves of anger and hears roars of malice. Flinching, he takes a step back, fingers hovering over the open button. 

His stomach grumbles in retaliation. He stares at the refrigerator, contemplating whether he should whip up a simple dish instead of eating yet another microwavable junk (no offence to his beloved pizza), but decides against it when he opens the refrigerator for the nth time that night and gets reminded of how it contains not a single item that could be categorised as real food. There’s literally a carton of beer, a small pathetic stick of butter and a tub of kimchi, courtesy of Jimin’s mum. Well, he could just eat the entire tub of kimchi if he’s really that fearless. 

He’s really this close to eating his pizza cold until– 

“What are you doing?” 

Jungkook jumps out of his stupor, gasping unabashedly and almost drops his precious 10-inch pizza on the floor. Whirling around, he sees the bleary-eyed you propped against the entrance of the kitchen and he trips over his words at your sudden appearance. 

“Oh, h-hey Y/N…” He replies, but it sounds more like a squeak. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” 

His mouth does a weird, nervous thing that is probably supposed to be a smile but looks more like a wince.

“Once again, I live here.”

You gawk at him and the gears in your brain start to question the little remains of his own. You’re this close to biting his head off, but decide against it. Let there be peace tonight. 

Shutting his eyes, he wants nothing more than a bottomless black hole to open up before him and suck him in for good to avoid exposing his vulnerable side to you. Even a stranger could tell that you see him as an abomination – yes, you’ve made it that obvious – and he’s more than sure that the wrath of the sleepy you is tenfold worse than your normal contemptuous self. 

“What are you doing?” You repeat, because are you really interested in knowing what Jungkook’s up to at 3am? Not really. You have better things to tend to, like making your fifth cup of coffee of the day and tending to your paper that’s urgently due in less than three hours. 

“Well, the plan was to eat my pizza but I’ve got to heat it up,” he manages to sputter out, still grabbing onto his frozen cling-wrapped pizza for his dear life like a fool. As though you’re out to steal his food. 

“And…?” 

“And…”

“What?” You hiss in annoyance, squinting your eyes at him and he takes a few steps back from you. 

To be honest, you don’t even know why you’re talking to him. You should be cooped up in your room and smashing away at your keyboard, but you’ve been watching your stupid housemate stand idly in the kitchen for at least a good seven minutes, and he doesn’t look like he’s capable (or that he even has the slightest of intentions) of heating his pizza up. Well, maybe he likes his pizzas frozen and hard… Totally no judgment though. 

“Can you… Do you mind…” He mutters under his breath, staring hard at the ground and avoiding all eye contact with you. 

“What?”

“Um, I-I’m afraid of it.”

“Of what?” 

Slowly, he inches his head upwards and for the first time that night, he locks eyes with you. 

“The microwave,” he mumbles under his breath and you manage to catch it, but you question whether you’ve heard it correctly. 

Your mouth opens and then snaps closed. You repeat this in your state of stupefaction as your brain tries to process everything and a disbelieving “what?” floats through the appalled expanse of your mind.

He grunts loudly and buries his head in his cling-wrapped pizza. “For fuck’s sake. I’m scared of the fucking microwave.”

“W-What? Why?” 

“I’m scared that it’ll explode?” He asserts, looking away from you again. 

“Okay…” You inch closer, eyebrows raised teasingly, sarcasm laced in your voice, “So you’re making me microwave your pizza so that if it explodes… it’ll be on me—”

“W-What? No! Of course not! I just—”

A grumble from his stomach cuts him off curtly and he freezes like a rabbit caught in a snare.

Stifling a laugh, you tongue along the inside of your cheek, mulling over the proposition. Seeing how his eyes are glassy with desperation, you take his food from his grasp, stuffing it inside the microwave without hesitance. 

He backs away and cowers meekly near a cupboard when you close it shut. 

You prop your chin on your hand as you quietly watch the microwave roar to life. Behind you, Jungkook watches how your eyes follow the rotation of the plate in the microwave. Maybe because he’s starving and it’s late and he’s not thinking straight, or maybe it’s because he’s surviving on countless of bottles of Red Bull, but he thinks you look pretty like this, especially when you’re not being sarcastic or lashing it out at him. He appreciates how you don’t ridicule him further for his phobia. 

His little jump at the beep that signals that his pizza is done doesn’t go past your notice. Swiftly, you take out the plate and hand it to him. His hand brushes you gingerly when reaching for it and he beams when his pizza is finally not frozen and sad-looking. 

“Wow,” he chuckles dryly, “I didn’t think you would help me.”

"Bitch, I may be Satan’s child,” you grit, mocking his words, “But I’m not that horrible of a person to let you starve. Or eat frozen pizza for that matter. Give me some credit, will you?"

“You want some?” He mumbles with his mouth full. 

You stop to consider for awhile, but decide to fuck eating healthy. 

“Well, if you insist.”

“I didn’t. But go ahead.” 

At that point, Jungkook’s stomach grumbles for the nth time and you cannot help but grin at how dumb he looks. He laughs in return, flaunting his bunny teeth and then scratches the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Sorry, just a little hungry.” 

"It’s okay. At least you’re not eating it straight from the freezer.”

“Hey, I was really… desperate.”

Both of you don’t realise that you’ve spent at least five minutes standing in front of the microwave, bantering with each other. For god’s sake, Jungkook still hasn’t even taken a second slice, too occupied with teasing you.  

“I’ve got to… go back. My paper’s due in," you check your watch, "Fuck, 2 hours."

With a pizza slice shoved in his mouth, he laughs at your fumbled self and mutters something along the lines of good luck and a thank you. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you reply lamely, brushing him off. 

You return to your room with a smile curled up on your lips. But you swear that that doesn’t at all dull the disdain you have for him. 

After that incident, Jungkook has become a ghost. Not in that way, but he and his mop of raven black hair start to appear literally fucking everywhere in your view, haunting you like the plague, as though his mere presence in the apartment is not annoying enough already. Whether you’re queuing for food, getting your daily dose of caffeine or rushing for class, he’s somehow always nearby much to your dismay. The Computer Science block isn’t even near your faculty, so you have no idea why he’s hanging around the places you frequent. He’s a bug, you swear. 

Whenever you see him, he always has a grin on, which is neither snarky or cocky but you can’t deny that he naturally carries an aura of natural confidence, which amazingly moulds into palpable cockiness whenever you’re around. 

You don’t ever acknowledge him, though sometimes he will throw himself on you, begging for your attention to piss you off further. 

Like how one day after lecture, you’ve bumped into someone on your way out of the LT, causing the person to drop his books. You’re about to apologise because it’s only everybody’s natural instinct, but your face falls when your eyes land on the culprit’s face. Jeon fucking Jungkook. 

“Y/N!” He gasps dramatically, voice laced with faux-enthusiasm, “What a great coincidence!”

Rolling your eyes, you huff as you grab his books and shove them into his chest, “You did that on purpose.”

“Now, why would I do such a thing?” He chuckles boyishly. 

“Why are you even here?” 

“To bless you with my presence. Oh and the last time I checked, we don’t have assigned spaces, or seats for that matter, in college. I can go anywhere I want.”

You open your mouth, clenching and releasing your fists to tamper down the vexation that is threatening to escape your throat. You’re cracking your brains for a witty riposte, but all you say is, “Shut the fuck up.”  

You know you’ve lost the fight. 

Shooting him one last glare, you whirl on your heel, storming away from him and out of the building. Though the chilly autumn air is welcoming, heat sits high on your cheeks. 

You’re angry. Fucking livid. You feel hopelessly tormented by his stupid grin, his stupid almond orbs and stupid, stupid smirk. 

With no better place to obtain advice and vent till your mouth runs dry, you’re grateful when Sooyeon and Jimin ask you out for dinner and you spend the entire night ranting about the very bane of your existence, in hopes that they will show you the light on how to deal with that pest. 

“He’s fucking annoying. Like I don’t understand how someone can be this childish. He’s in college, for goodness’ sake! But he’s… so fucking immature like how the fuck!” You cry out as you stab your fork into another fry. 

“I honestly don’t understand why you hate his guts,” Sooyeon says. “He’s really not that bad…”

“Sooyeon, how could you!” You place your hand against your chest in mock offence. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“She’s right though. Jungkook’s one of the most affable dudes I know and he’s not a fuckboy,” Jimin shrugs, biting into his burger. “He’s not that bad, really.”

You mull over every single interaction you’ve ever had with him. Besides the usual squabbling in the apartment, you don’t have that many non-heated (read: civil) interactions with him, but they all fill you with anger and anxiety. 

Your friends don’t understand shit. They will never understand how it feels to be Number 1 on Jeon Jungkook’s hit list. 

“He literally hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t. Why don’t you give him a chance?”

“We are just polar opposites all right. Incompatible. It’s like he’s born to ruin my life.”

“He told me that you helped him with the microwave the other night?”

“He told you?”

“As a passing comment.”

“Right,” you clear your throat as your brows furrow, “Dude, how bitchy do you think I am?” 

“Out of 10? Maybe a solid 12,” Sooyeon teases. 

“Fuck you.”

“I said what I said.”

“I may be a heartless bitch, but I wasn’t about to let that boy starve. He just… looked so dumb standing in front of the microwave, okay? I just had to help him.”

“Who knew you had a nice bone in you?” Jimin shoots you a look and the humorous quiver of his lip is unmistakable.

“I’m nice, okay…” A little affected by their teasing, a bitter undercurrent cruises beneath your words.

“Aww sweetie, you’re nice, okay?” Sooyeon pats you on the back, “Though you act like a bitch, your heart is pure. If only people saw this side of you more often.”

Call yourself competitive, but this streak between you and Jungkook is impossible to be wiped out. He still tries to rob you of your seat in lecture and make your life a living hell with his stupid pranks and lack of proper social etiquette.

Nobody is actually surprised when the two of you come bursting through the doors during lecture at 8 freaking am for the nth time. Even your professor stops shooting you two a look that screams “what the fuck are you two on again”, but what’s more important is that you manage to reach to your seat, yes, your seat before Jungkook could beat you to it. And he spends the next two minutes scrambling to find one in the crowded LT. You can’t explain how satisfied that makes you feel.

Towards the end of the lecture, you find yourself lifting your eyes and turning towards Jungkook’s seat, only to find him already gazing directly at you. You twist your lips, rolling your eyes disdainfully, and shoot him a cold-eyed stare that has most people cowering. But Jungkook of course, is not like most people, and just stares back at you stubbornly, his gaze piercing. 

You try your best not to break the eye-contact, but it’s hard when there’s a heat simmering under your skin, tinging your cheeks a translucent pink. 

“You win,” he mouths out. 

You stick out your tongue at him, who reciprocates your childish antics and soon, both of you fall into a contest of who can make the ugliest face. Jungkook starts to change up his retaliation strategy, flaring his nostrils and crossing his eyes and you have to stifle your laughter throughout the lecture. 

When lecture finally ends, he’s about to pack his bag when he hears the telltale sound of a camera shutter and he whips his head around absent-mindedly. 

“D-Did you just take a photo of my face?”

“And if I did…?” You shrug, waggling your eyebrows.

“Delete it, Miss Grumps!” 

“Pay me, bitch.”

He lurches for you and hooks an arm around your neck in a headlock, hunching over your torso and nestling your face against his stomach as you squeal out of surprise. The students around you stare at the both of you blankly, confused as fuck. 

Do you guys… like or hate each other? 

“Fuck off, Jeon!” 

“Pay me, bitch!” He mimics in a pitched voice to mock you. 

You refrain the urge to screech, but there’s a wide grin playing on your lips. There’s a strange tightness in your chest – your heart is swelling and you can feel it swell everywhere, the tightness fluttering throughout every vein in your body. 

To your housemates’ relief, the intensity of your discord with Jungkook has decreased tremendously and you no longer have a strong desire to bite his head off, but old habits die hard and he’s still up your ass. 

He’d be the reason why the shoes at the entrance are always a mess, why the toilet seat is always up (at least he cleans up, thank god), why your cereal is always finishing so fast, and also the only reason why all your snacks are now on the highest shelf and you’re not exactly the most vertically inclined. It’s like he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Jeon Jungkook!” 

“Yes, Miss Grumps?” He answers from behind and you whirl around, only to shriek when you see a shirtless Jungkook in front of you, hair still damp from his shower, and rivulets of water snaking down his collarbones and down to his bare torso. He is adorned in only a pair of low hanging sweatpants that show off the ripples of his toned chest and arms and the trail of soft hair down his navel.  

“What are you doing?” You screech at him. 

“I just came out from the shower and you called for me…?” He replies in confusion, but the smirk that plays on his lips doesn’t escape your notice. 

“Why the heck are you not wearing a shirt? Do you not have enough white shirts to wear?”

“Why? Like what you see?” 

“I might just have to gauge my eyeballs out.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, grumps. And for the record, I could never have enough white shirts.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. It’s really hard to not stare at his body, or drink in the view (you’d rather die than admit that he is fucking swole), but you remind yourself of the reason why you called him in the first place. 

Pointing to the highest shelf which is painfully out of your reach after rummaging through the kitchen cabinets like a squirrel in November, you glower, “Can you kindly enlighten me as to why the heck are all my snacks up there?”

With a faux-innocent expression, he chuckles dryly, “And why do you assume I know the answer to that?”

“Because no one in this apartment is as annoying and childish as you and your shrivelling one brain cell.”

“Really? I’d say that you’d make an equally strong contender.”

A taunting smirk inches its way onto the edges of Jungkook’s lips and you want to sock him in the face and wipe that vicious smirk off his lips. 

“Next time if you need help, a please would be nice.” 

“I wouldn’t need help in the first place if you stopped putting my snacks on the highest shelf.”

Shrugging, Jungkook uncoils from his slouch, rising to his full height. You draw in a furtive breath, painfully aware of how his frame looms over you, trying to ignore the weird feeling in your belly, but the sheer tactile sensation that sends a chill down your spine is electrifying. 

As he effortlessly reaches towards the highest shelf, you realise that his face is so close to yours that you could memorize the flecks of amber in his dark orbs, the curve of his mouth, the long eyelashes that frame his sparkly doe eyes, the little mole under his lip and the tresses of smooth hair falling into his eyes. 

As if on cue, his eyes land on yours. A stunned silence encompasses the space between you, sitting heavily in your lungs. He stares at you with a scrutiny that has you breathless, like he is drinking every inch of you in. 

A softness settles into the lines of Jungkook’s face, but it disappears instantly when his lips quirk in the corners.

“Now, what would you do without me?” He teases, his voice is deep in timbre and so quietly convinced that it permeates through every last ounce of irritation and you feel a flutter in your chest. 

You don’t reply. 

Jungkook continues to drink in the sight of you and the closeness of you. Heart thumping away, you suddenly find Jungkook’s hands on your waist, startling you out from your trance. He then leans closer towards you until the tips of your noses are brushing against each other. 

A blush blooms over your cheeks and snakes furiously down your neck when the sudden intimacy of the moment draws upon you. His eyes are soft and there’s a wisp of a smile on his pink lips. 

A witty comeback stays bubbled in your throat at the proximity and you forget how to speak. You swear that he can practically hear the gears in your brain turning frantically because right now, you can only think about how his touch on your waist burns, how ticklish his breath is on your face and how warm it feels to be pressed up against his broad frame. 

“You’re very welcome, Y/N.”

Drawing in a furtive breath, your hands fly up to shove him away. How could you think that Jungkook was decent? He’s practically a living devil. 

“Y-Yeah, whatever.”

“Geez, when will you ever start being nice to me?”

His eyes continue to search through yours, but you refuse to give him the time of the day. You just wonder why he always looks at you like that, with the annoyingly bright glint in his eyes. 

“When you stop being annoying.”

“But I will never stop annoying you.” 

He pinches your nose and you freeze once again, warmth scattering over your skin in the rise of gooseflesh at the sudden contact. 

His words are laced with a hint of ardour, but he does his best to conceal it as a small smile appears on his lips. “Good night, grumps.”

“Nights,” you mumble under your breath as he retreats back into his room. 

Gaping blankly at Jungkook’s bedroom door, you raise a hand to rest on your cheek as warmth continues to flare in the full of your cheeks, tipping your ears pink. 

Back in the quiet confines of your bedroom, you spend a lot less time completing your work as you should, and a lot more daydreaming about firm arms and twinkling eyes. You can’t deny that he has really pretty eyes. And a nice bod, if you might add. 

You think back to the smile that he flashes you. His smile isn’t one of those sarcastic ones that he wears when he’s challenging you, but a genuine one that makes the stars in his eyes come to live, waving to you with their little glowing hands.  

This is not good.  

The warmth at the pit of your stomach never leaves – it has wholly decided that it’s here to stay. As long as Jungkook is involved.  

A loud, piercing siren jolts you out of your sleep and you grouchily turn to glare at your clock. The luminous numbers of 3:19am scream at you and it takes every ounce of your being not to scream back at it. 

“Fire drill, guys!” One of your roommates – you think it’s Jimin but everyone kind of sounds the same with hoarse voices at 3am – shouts over the shrilling pain. “Get your asses out of your beds!” 

Groaning loudly while making a mental count of the minutes of precious sleep you’re about to waste, you pull yourself out of bed and rush out of the dorm without fumbling for your jacket. That’s a very bad decision, you realise, because it’s fucking freezing outside. 

Amidst the sea of blur faces, loud groans and unabashed yawns under the moonlight, a particular back catches your attention, alongside the dishevelled bed hair and long limbs clad in a bright yellow jacket. You squint your eyes at the particular colour of the outfit and you realise that it’s a fucking Pikachu sleeping set.

And it belongs to none other than Jungkook. 

“Jeon,” you grumble beneath your breath. 

He does an absentminded turn and gawks blatantly at you, before breaking into a chortle, doubling over. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Me? Your eyes trail down to your pyjamas and you freeze for an infinitesimal moment, as if paralysed when your old and worn-out Pooh Bear shirt and pink floral pants come into view. Really, what the fuck are you wearing. Considering that this is hell week, you haven’t had time to breathe, let alone have time to do laundry, so you could only settle with your old Pooh Bear shirt. 

Biting back your embarrassment, you hiss, “What the fuck? At least I’m not wearing a Pikachu sleeping set.”

“Hey, don’t you dare insult my precious childhood friend like that.” 

He feigns aggravation, but the expression on his face is a cross between amusement and endearment, and the way it makes your heart soar terrifies you.

“You’re impossible,” you let out a hearty laugh. 

At this, Jungkook feels a little warm inside his chest. He kind of wants to hear this laugh more and often. Believe it or not, even in your sleepy state, he thinks that you look lovely. 

He opens his mouth, ready to continue the banter, but someone calls your name from behind and you turn away from him.  

“Y/N!” 

“Oh hey, Jooheon.”

You have Ethics class with him, but you’re not that close for him to come up to talk to you. Heck, you didn’t even know that he stays in this block. 

“I can’t believe they have a fire drill at this timing. That’s like… illegal.”

Beside you, Jungkook has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Jooheon notices that the latter’s loitering awkwardly around you and glaring intently at him, but chooses to ignore his piercing stare. 

“Right, so um, you needed something?” You ask, cocking your head slightly. 

“Oh no, just thought I’d say hi. You look cute in your PJs.”  

Even though this is Jungkook’s first time meeting this Jooheon dude, he already decides that he doesn’t like him. Not even one bit. Jungkook’s usually great with psycho-analysing people at first sight and there’s something immediately off about Jooheon. He can feel it in his bones. 

He continues to glare intently at Jooheon and then he realises that the jerk is blatantly staring at your boobs. You’re not wearing a bra and your worn-out Pooh Bear shirt does nothing to hide your nipples that are now perky from the cold. 

“So Y/N, do you want to go out—”

“Y/N!” Jungkook screeches on cue, causing you to jump in shock. 

You jerk your head at your housemate’s sudden outburst and thank god for him, because you don’t really want to listen to the end of Jooheon’s question. Jungkook’s doe-like eyes, which are notably round like a deer caught in the headlights, are now narrowed angrily and the deep crease between his eyebrows mars his honeyed skin, further accentuated beneath the hazy yellow lamplight.

“What—”

You’re about to ask what’s up with him, before he cuts you off by grabbing hold of your wrist, tugging you away from Jooheon’s predatory gaze. 

“For fuck’s sake Y/N, c-can you please?” 

“What?”

Jungkook strips himself out of his oversized hoodie and unabashedly throws it over your head as you scream at his abrupt antic, struggling to rid yourself of his hoodie. 

“Just keep it on!” He seethes in conviction, wrestling the hoodie down on you and you realise that it smells so potently him.  

“Why?”

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he whispers sternly in disbelief, teeth clenched, as his gaze slips southward from your face. His arms fold indignantly over his chest in rage and you blatantly ignore how the lean muscles of his biceps peek out of the sleeves of his thin white shirt. 

“O-Oh… Right. Shit, sorry.”

You flush from the tips of your ears down your neck. Your fingers start to pick at a frayed thread of his hoodie under the weight of his intense starry-eyed gaze. Lowering your eyes, you stare at how your frame is drowning in his hoodie and think about your dear Pooh Bear smiling underneath the soft cotton. It looks big on you, but it makes you feel so warm, causing a tingling warmth of sweet honey gold to reach even to your own fingertips. 

“Keep the hoodie on till we get back,” he mutters, his raspy voice echoing with timber, rich and velvet.

He settles his arm around your shoulders, guiding you back to your other housemates. You ignore how tall he is beside you, how protective he is over you, how gallant you thought he was when he just tugged you away from Jooheon. You ignore how his signature scent wafts through the air. It’s a comforting, homey that rests softly on your nose. 

As you walk to your apartment with Jungkook and the rest with his arm still around you, a subconscious smile pulls at your lips until your cheeks ache and you don’t care if people think you’re on crack for smiling so widely at 3am after a fire drill, because the sound of your erratic heartbeats echoes louder than any siren.  

Vines are entangling the hole in your heart, buds sprouting on the outskirts.

Your heart is blooming. 

And you don’t know how to feel about this. 

It’s a Friday night, which means that you, being the homebody you are, have holed yourself in your room, content with a cup of hot tea and your laptop, while your housemates are out partying and having a life. 

You’re on the way to the kitchen to refill your tea when you pass by Jungkook’s room. His door is left slightly ajar, though the room is dark and your footsteps come to a halt. Jungkook normally leaves his door shut, while the others like to keep it open regardless of whether they’re in or not. Curious, you slowly walk towards the door, peeping in through the side of the door frame.

And the view that lies upon you leaves you in utter shock, rendering you speechless. Your jaw drops, your mind losing all semblance of focus while your train of thought diminishes like an exploded lightbulb. 

The room is pitch dark, except for the moonlight filtering through his gossamer curtains. But you can see Jungkook clearly. On his bed where he lies. Bare thighs caressed by his fluffy blankets, boxers tugged down to his ankles, and thighs spread apart. 

You know he is swole, but damn seeing his naked body in its fullest glory? Fuck. For the longest time, your eyes linger on the very harsh lines and sculpted muscles of his hard toned thighs. You’ve never mentioned this to anyone, too ashamed, but you do know how to appreciate nice thighs. And Jungkook’s? The bomb. Hella thick. But your eyes almost bulge out when you realise the very reason why he has his head tossed back and eyes shut closed. 

He’s jerking himself off. 

Gulping to yourself, your very first instinct is to pretend that you didn’t catch him in the act and simply go back to what you wanted to do in the first place – to refill your tea, but your eyes can’t seem to look away from his hand that’s tightly gripping around his throbbing length, which peeps out every now and then as he pumps himself vigorously. 

Your eyes trail up to his golden skin, his chest that’s glistening with beads of sweat and the hazy expression on his face and then southwards again to the popping veins on his arms, his sculptured abdomen and even lower, to the line of hair and veins trailing towards his aching length. Caressing his slit with his thumb, he spreads pre-cum all over his tip and continues stroking his dick at a fast pace. 

You can’t even count how many times you’ve cursed within the last minute, your mind a clouded, salacious haze. 

What’s dirtier than your subconscious thoughts of wanting to suck Jungkook dry and be fucked by him into the next century is the hoarse moans and sweet whimpers escaping his lips, reverberating through the room. The lucid squelching and sticky sounds from his hand and wet dick are absolutely sinful, but so, so tantalising to your ears and wetness starts to pool between your thighs.

He suddenly sits up and throws his boxers on the ground and for a moment, you think that you’ve been caught red-handed and quickly hide behind the door. But instead, he grabs his pillow and positions it underneath his crotch, slowly rocking his lips against it. Within the slightest of seconds, he starts to grind against it, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment. His teeth even sink into his bottom lip to suppress the moans threatening to escape his lungs with each grind. 

"Oh god, Y/N," he whimpers, once more looking down at his pillow between his legs, precum smeared all over the pillowcase. 

You freeze. 

What the fuck. Did he just moan your name? 

You’re supposed to oppose to this, scream at him for getting off to you. But at the sound of your name, a primal instinct has been instigated deep inside you, lighting up a hungry flame within you. You shouldn’t be eavesdropping to Jungkook getting off, but what the fuck. The way he’s moaning your name so keenly, as if it’s the sweetest fucking thing in the world, spikes goosebumps along your arms. His moans are so hot and filthy that you’re panting softly at the increasing volume of his honey-dipped voice and you can’t help but rub your thighs together. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, grabbing the pillow closer to him so that he can buck against it better. “Babe, fuck yeah.” 

As he continues to moan louder, heat travels through your body in electric arcs, paralysing you and tensing your muscles. 

He’s suddenly arching up and you watch as his hands go back to wrap around his cock. He pumps himself faster and sloppier than before, determined to reach his climax. After a few seconds, he stutters before letting out an ardent groan, enjoying the waves of pleasure that deafens all of his senses. You watch with wide eyes as he milks out spurts of cum onto his clenched abs and pillow, still moaning your fucking name unabashedly. 

Chest rising and falling in quick succession, a stupid hazy smile then plays on his lips and heat returns to simmer under your skin, tingling your cheeks a bright cherry red. There’s this insinuating urge coursing your veins, causing your pussy to quiver in need. Your panties are all soaked.

Fuck. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to sit on his dick. 

Let’s be honest here: there have been some changes in your relationship with Jungkook. He has been occupying more and more of your mind. The memory of him in his bed with that fucked-out smile of his keeps resurfacing in your mind like a bad heartburn. It has you weak in the knees. You can’t stop thinking about his face. And his fucking dick. And him dry-humping his pillow. 

You can’t stop thinking about Jungkook and him stroking his dick, coming while moaning your name for fuck’s sake. 

You don’t stop repeating the scene of his hand around his dick going up and down until you hear it: the scraping of a key inside its lock. You listen to the familiar sounds of Jungkook kicking off his shoes on the floor, and then two seconds later, he’s appearing in the entryway to the living room, his charm already so damn loud in the stillness of the apartment.

At the very sight of his face, the many lewd images of your housemate flash before you. You grimace at the taunting visual, suddenly remembering that you were nearly overcome with your desire to lick every inch of his golden skin and suck his aching dick. 

This is going to be awkward. 

Sensing that you are extra quiet because you’re not barking at him about god’s knows what, he saunters over to the living area where you are mindlessly scrolling through your phone, “Hey, you okay, Miss Grumps?” 

“Yeah, just… tired,” you croak awkwardly. 

“Don’t you have classes till 7pm?”

“You remember my schedule?”

“Y-Yeah? You always come back late on Thursdays.”

“O-Oh right,” you mutter. Your other housemates remember your class schedule and it’s totally normal so that they know when to expect you, but somehow it’s different when it’s with Jungkook. 

“Decided to skip class today. Wasn’t feeling well.”

A look of concern flashes across his face. Dropping his bag on the floor, he walks towards you and presses the back of his hand on your forehead, worry burning at the edges of his regularly-cocky tone. “A-Are you okay?”

Your face burns at the touch of his skin and you tense up instantly. 

Sensing that you’re all flustered, like there’s a fire in your stomach and the sparks are floating up into the darkness of your eyes, he jokes, “You’re not extra grumpy for someone sick. That’s strange.” 

“Shut it, would you?”

“Alright, I take it back.” 

He pauses for awhile, looking at you up and down before adding, “Is that my hoodie?”

Tilting your head slightly, you instantly look down and gawk at your outfit. You’re wearing your favourite black Puma hoodie – what is he going on about? You are wearing your hoodie… except that it’s 2 sizes larger.  

You bring up your sleeve to smell the fabric and then it hits you. A familiar and refined homey scent, mixed together with your honeysuckle perfume. The familiar awakening tingle shoots down your spine once again. 

“Oh my fuck, shit I’m sorry,” you proceed to tug it over your head. 

“It’s cool, you can keep it.”

“What? You don’t want it back?”

“What? I-I mean, it looks good on you.” There’s an uncharacteristically softness that invaded his velvety voice, “So keep it.”

You look up at his face. You can’t place his expression exactly – it’s a combination of amusement and endearment, but the way it makes your heart pitter patter terrifies you. It’s like you’ve just been drenched by a downpour. A downpour of something you’re not sure you understand or ready to understand. 

You try to pretend that you haven’t been nuzzling your nose into the hoodie the entire day because it smells like home. You’re just frightened of how much you’ve grown to adore it. 

Jungkook doesn't know if there has ever been a thicker or a more dense tension hanging in the air around the two of you and it only seems to be getting heavier with each bated breath. He has a difficult time trying to develop a grasp of diction as he stands in the doorframe of your room, gripping the doorknob with a bit more force than usual, staring at the girl before him. 

He finds you hacking away on your laptop, surrounded by mountains of papers and highlighters sprawled all over your desk. He knows better than to disturb you when you’re deep in concentration, but he has accidentally bought too much food and figures that he could share some with you. 

Jungkook realises one thing: no matter what you’re doing, he always finds himself sneaking glances at you. He likes watching how your eyes narrow when you’re concentrating, your little mannerisms – like the little pout on your lips when you’re keyboard smashing and how you tend to crack your knuckles when you’re stressed. He doesn’t even know he has taken in all of your little habits and registered them into his brain, but what he knows is that: his eyes always search for you, no matter where and when. Whenever your eyes light up with a smile to match, he feels as if he might as well be caught on fire. 

He hasn’t called out for you yet, because he knows that you love to drown yourself in loud music when you’re studying so he stalks over to your desk and gently taps you on the shoulder. 

You jump slightly when you feel a hand on your shoulder and sigh loudly when it’s just Jungkook and his stupid wide grin. 

But your eyes soften at this smile. His doe eyes are crescent-like whenever he smiles – they’re always so bright and expressive with a mesmerising, enticing gleam. 

“Have you eaten?” 

Removing your earpiece, you shrug, trying to maintain an unfazed expression, “All I had today was coffee and stress.” 

Jungkook gives you the bitchiest eyeroll and brushes off the sarcasm – he probably has grown jaded to it by now. 

“I bought take-out for us but it’s cold now, so…”

You suppress the smile that threatens to play on your lips and nod. He doesn’t even need to say it explicitly – you know exactly what he’s inferring. 

“We definitely need to stop eating take-out and microwavable food. That shit be nasty.” 

You two walk down the corridor to the kitchen in comfortable silence, arms brushing against one another. He turns to look at you quietly and gets so distracted by how otherworldly you look that it takes him a moment to hand you the food in his hand. 

Nobody is hogging the living room – Sooyeon and Jimin are on a date and Namjoon is probably asleep like a log. The windows in the living room are left open and the chilly air is welcoming, embracing you two in a comfortable silence; in your private alone-time. 

After heating up the food while Jungkook sets the table (which just includes getting banana milk for both of you – he doesn’t mind sharing them with you now), you settle down on the seat opposite him and soon become fall into a comfortable conversation. Of course, it includes your usual bantering.  

“So… when did you start, you know, having a phobia of microwaves?” 

He raises an eyebrow before letting out a slight chuckle, “When I was 6… I put an egg in the microwave.”

“You did what?”

“Yeah, I stupidly did that. The egg exploded and it was loud and so scary and I got scarred after that incident… So yeah, I haven’t touched a microwave ever since.”

“But you live off microwavable food, what the heck? Then what about heating up food at convenience stores?” 

“I’ll ask the staff or an innocent nice-looking customer to help me?” 

“Then how are you going to survive in college? You live in a dorm, microwavable food is basically your life,” you chastise. 

“Well…” 

“Well?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” 

His voice is infused with honey and velvet. Something about his tone sets a pit of warmth in your stomach. 

You look back at Jungkook and find him already staring back at you. There’s something in his gaze that makes your limbs heavy. It makes you feel trapped and lost in the depths of his eyes, warm and inviting. 

“W-What?”

You notice Jungkook’s rapidly drumming his fingers against the table, while chewing on his lower lip. 

He’s nervous. 

“Um I-I mean, you’re always here for me to annoy! And the guys are here to help me too, so I think I’d survive.”

“Geez, I swear you’re only nice to me because I’m here to save your ass. If the microwave ever explodes while I’m heating up your food, you’re going to pay by taking care of me till I grow old,” you tease as he laughs, giving your arm a little nudge. 

You observe how his whole face lights up, how his eyes crinkle in the corners and his smile is so large that his nose scrunches up adorable. The laughter reverberates through the kitchen, bouncing off the walls like bells. 

You just don’t know how and when you’ve become so comfortable with his presence, but sarcasm has always been your go-to with him, especially since it helps to cover up how your voice is two tones higher whenever he’s around as of lately. Also, because saying “I hate you” is easier than saying “I actually like talking to you and when you’re not bothering me, it feels weird like there’s something missing in my life” and “your laugh is actually really nice, can you laugh more often”.

Jungkook’s feet are still beating rhythms into the leg of the dining table, his hand mindlessly stirring his long-cold noodles. He feels a little ridiculous to be happy about eating with you, especially now that the conversation has dialled down to nothing more than chewing and sipping. Every so often, he will glance up at you as he brings his chopsticks to his lips. 

"So… How come you’ve been abnormally nice to me lately?"

"Huh?"

"You’re just nicer than usual…?” He trails off, “It’s kind of weird."

"Well, I can kick your shin right now if you want?" You bite with every inch of sarcasm you can muster, but anyone could tell that your tone is fond. 

He laughs again, a low, velvety rumble from deep inside his chest and your lips curl up as well. The smile that you give Jungkook over the rim of your bowl is so unexpectedly bright that it makes something bubbly and yellow swell inside of Jungkook and he reflexively smiles in return, bright and honey-sweet. 

You can feel Jungkook staring at you, only inches away – staring at you like that, like you’re the light of the moon, like you hold the stars in the night sky with your very palm. So you pretend to be occupied with slurping your leftover broth, desperately trying to prevent your cheeks from igniting under the warm gaze that deftly lights upon you. Maybe that’s why you end up spilling your food, but you spill it half the time on your own anyway. 

You jump slightly when the liquid dribbles down your chin and onto your shirt. 

“Ah, shit,” you say, quickly wiping away the mess off your chin. 

You’re about to ask for a napkin when you feel fingers cupping your face. With the pad of his thumb, Jungkook brushes the underside of your chin. It’s a playful gesture, but also so affectionate that it’s very unlike of Jungkook and you freeze up as if paralysed. 

Leaning in, he’s so close that you can feel the flutter of Jungkook’s breath on your face, how it hitches and quickens. You stop fidgeting, eyes focused on Jungkook who quietly wipes away the liquid on your face with his thumb. He’s still staring straight at you without a word, and you see that same soft sparkle in his eyes that does nothing for the wildfire claiming the land of your chest. 

Looking into his eyes is like sitting close to a fire that suddenly blazes up. Slowly, you feel a smile growing steady across your face, and even though your heart has been racing this entire time with Jungkook by your side, it manages to beat a little faster.

Jungkook, for the life of him, suddenly realises that he has a huge, embarrassing and debilitating crush on you one fine day and he doesn’t know what to do with that information. It’s opposite of the saying – surprised, but not disappointed. 

If someone were to ask him exactly why he has fallen for you, in which nobody would since he is insanely good at hiding it and he has never told a soul, the answer would be simple. Underneath your tough exterior and sky-high walls, you’re so full of love and your heart is more delicate and softer than anyone else’s.

After a full semester living together, you two have grown more comfortable with one another and your interactions go beyond just bantering with each other and eating microwavable food together. On Fridays where everyone else would be out, sometimes you two would watch a movie together and that has become a routine that you guys follow religiously.

Today isn’t an exception. You two are huddled on the couch, sharing a blanket and relishing in the warmth and comfort of each other’s body heat. 

Upon coming to a realisation of his feelings, the flutter in Jungkook’s chest has become more obvious and more out of control – his heartbeats are a perpetual merciless staccato rhythm whenever you’re around. 

The Avengers is playing on the screen – it’s your turn to pick this week and while he loves Marvel, he pays no attention to the movie because you’re comfortably curled up beside him. 

Delirious with exhaustion, you roll over to face him, your body already sinking into the softness of the sofa. You snuggle up closer to him, pressing your chest against his arm and you wonder when he started to feel like safe harbour. 

Instinctively, his fingers reach out for yours and he starts to play with them, rubbing circles onto your palm with his thumb. He strokes up your wrist, before bringing your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your hand. You tilt your heads towards his and you can see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, so warm and soft.

He looks like a dream, tan skin and dark hair, lit golden in the light from the TV screen. 

You heart ricochets in your chest, skipping a beat and you feel the need to hold onto something, so you grab onto his sleeve. Eyes tracking over his face, mapping over every curve of his facial features, you feel a smile slowly growing across your face at this intimacy. 

Silence hangs between the two of you and you can almost feel Jungkook’s eyes tracing the line of your collarbone where it disappears inside your sweater, his thick and dark eyelashes fluttering just a fraction with each breath.  

A cherry blossom blush blooms over his face, crossing the bridge of his nose and spreading over his cheekbones. Jungkook reaches up and brushes the underside of your chin with the pad of his calloused thumb. This gesture, so affectionate and ginger, prompts another smile to creep on your lips. 

He lets out a soft chuckle, locking eyes with you as if spellbound by the sparkly glint in your eyes. 

“Are you okay with this?” He asks in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning into your space. His voice, deep in timbre and infused with honey and velvet, washes every last rational thought of yours and you feel a flutter in your chest, running through your veins like blossoms of gold.

And you nod without thinking. 

In the briefest of moments, Jungkook leans in, palms cradling your blushing visage, and brushes his lips over your grin, so lightly that it feels like you’re swimming in a field of fully-blossomed roses. At the softness of his lips against yours, your stomach coils. 

When you feel the supple skin of his lips meld against your teeth, you push back fervently. It's an amalgamation of teeth, mumbled names and unspoken feelings that are coming to a head and finally bursting – absolutely everything you have imagined and more. 

Hooking your fingers in the collar of Jungkook’s shirt, you inch closer and you can hear his heartbeats, which almost sound akin to the rush of the ocean in a seashell.

It’s a little less gentle now. He nips harder at your bottom lip, rolling the flesh in between his teeth gently before trailing his lips down your jaw and to your neck. You sigh loudly in bliss when he sucks faint lilac bruises into your skin, as if determined to ensure that they’ll be clearly visible tomorrow and that you’ll curse at him for marking you with spots that even your best makeup couldn’t cover up. 

His fingers start to skirt beneath your blouse, tracing circles on your waist and slowly snaking their way up. Even when your tongues are entangled in a hot battle, it is sensual and romantic. It doesn’t help that Jungkook keeps making such sweet, lulling noises, like someone is plucking at his heartstrings, creating a melody just for you. All because of you. 

The very thought of that makes your body tingle with warmth from the tip of your fingers to the hollow space of your heart. 

Hands wandering south, you can’t help but slide your fingers under his shirt and drag them over the planes of his abs. His body is warm and it’s making your head spin, tugging furiously at your heartstrings too. You want to get his shirt off and see all of Jungkook. Your heart feels like summer rain, warm, light and pattering. You want to melt into him. 

Parting from you moments later with swollen lips, he doesn’t break eye contact from you and you see stars in his eyes that shine nothing but ardent adoration and fondness for you. 

There is a sharp tug of fear and discord in your chest and you feel your heart drop. 

Then everything clicks. 

This is wrong. So wrong. 

“Jungkook,” you whimper, his name leaving your parted lips in a dulcet whisper. Your heart spikes in your chest and your stomach unravels and knots again. When you let go of his shirt, you feel like you’ve let go of a piece of your heart. You feel like puking. 

“Y-You’re someone special to me, Jungkook.”

He feels his soul pitfall into the depths of his stomach, knowing very well that there’s a ‘but’ coming next. 

“That’s, um, nice,” he says, feeling his face and throat flush. “You’re special to me too.”

Looking deep into his orbs, you realise this: he has heart eyes for you, like you hold his entire world with your mere breath. 

And to be very honest, you’re terrified.  

“But I-I can’t, Jungkook.”

There’s a long pause and the silence presses against you, weighing so heavy that you feel like you’re being suffocated. The voice that crawls out of your lungs barely feels like your own and you’re not sure if you mean what you say. The words sting like nettle leaves on the tip of your tongue. 

“I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”

A wave of panic cuts through the pins and needles pricking down your spine as he remains quiet. You half-expected him to make a sarcastic comment or smirk at you for punking you with the kiss. Instead, he’s just staring at you blankly and his vacant expression is an abyss – it’s unnerving. 

Jungkook maintains his silence like the moon and the silence in between you continues for moments and moments, as if the world has come to a halt. It’s so quiet that you could hear the erratic thumping of your hearts. 

Then he opens his mouth. “Oh, okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats succinctly, sounding more helpless by each second, “If that’s what you want.”

The raw helplessness in his voice fights against the walls in your heart. It’s tearing down the walls, clawing aggressively at them, hopelessly yearning that they’ll crumble down for him. 

“I’ll just… give you some space,” he starts to stand up, shoulders drooped low, unable to meet your worried eyes. 

When he spins on his heels towards the door, instead of going after him, all you do is gape at his departing silhouette for the longest time and then at the shut door, your heart painfully swelling up to the size of the sun. 

You feel your entire world dissolve in slow motion.

Deep down, tucked within a crevice of your heart, you know you want to be as close to him as possible. You want him all to yourself. But you’re unsure. 

You’re not sure how to express the depth of what you feel for him or how you’ve grown to love the little things about him. Like how he makes a big pot of coffee and comes into your room to hand you a warm cup every morning, how he sings softly to himself in his room when he thinks nobody is listening, or how he’s always teasing you and making you laugh. How he always looks for you whenever he needs to heat up his food, even when the others are at home. How he brings you peace when there’s a perpetual whirlpool in your mind. When you’re with him, you realise that the weight of the multiverse on you doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

You don’t know how to tell him all these in words and actions and you’re a writer for fuck’s sake. But what you do know is that you never want to see that sad expression on his face ever again. 

If there’s one you are especially – and notoriously – horrible at, it would be dealing with your feelings, namely feelings for Jeon Jungkook. Truth is, you hate yourself and you’ve been a complete wreck ever since that day. 

“Jungkook.” 

Ears perking up at the name, you snap out of your trance and tilt your head upwards. “Wha—where?” 

The sound of his name is like blunt nails being hammered into your heart, until the organ is left nothing but a bloody, useless pulp. 

“He’s not here, dumb ass. I just thought that saying his name would be more effective than calling your own name,” Namjoon says, giving your forehead a little flick, “I’ve been calling you for the past minute.”

“Oh sorry—”

“You’re whipped.”

“What?” 

“You like Jungkook,” Namjoon says matter-of-factly. 

You tense up instantly and a deafening silence descends. 

Eyes soft and unassuming, he flashes you a soft smile and his face is doing that thing where he gazes at you like you’re made of glass and he can see through your heart and soul. Namjoon, out of all people, knows that a soft and feeble heart is hidden behind that attitude and sharp tongue of yours. 

An involuntary sigh escapes your lips and you bury your face into your palms as your suspire lowers into an interminable groan. The uncomfortable, electrifying sensation that you associate only with one name crawls up your spine, like a colony of ants marching on your skin. 

Namjoon’s right. 

Jungkook has exploded into your life like a firework: bright, loud, and so dearly ethereal. It’s his bright doe eyes and boyish bunny smile that caught you off-guard during your first encounter with him. And somehow or another, he has waltzed his way into your life ever since, seamlessly, like the last piece to your puzzle.

You do notice how your heart becomes all erratic and out of control when he's around. Throbbing, threatening to demolish your steel, collected demeanour into bits. He makes you feel like the female character of a trashy teenage romance novel and as much as you hate the idea of feeling like a 12-year-old, if it’s with Jungkook, it’s fine. 

It’s as if you two are meant to gravitate towards each other, fill up the void in each other’s lives and soak in each other’s comforting presence. Ignore your initial hatred for him – you’ve actually grown to enjoy the sweet calm of Jungkook’s presence and company, and even that itself is an understatement. He has planted himself into your life so well that it’ll be freaking strange if you decide to push him out of your life. You don’t think you can’t function properly. 

No bathroom singing, no messy sofa, no seat stealer, no microwave adventures. No intimate touches. No bunny smiles or boyish chuckles. No one to make you smile and laugh as though life isn’t tearing you down every second. 

You love hearing Jungkook laugh. His laughter is a metaphor that you’ve been trying to pen down for years. And his smile? It’s a radiance of ardent adoration. Utterly beautiful. 

And then there’s the other thing – something embarrassing that took forever for you to realise and even longer for you to admit it to yourself. 

But you know now and your heart is screaming.  

“Yeah, I do,” you whisper back, feeling like the bits and pieces of your brain are coming together. 

“You want to date him,” Namjoon raises his brows at your confession. 

“I think so?” 

“Hold his hand and cuddle together?”

“Yes.”

“Suck his dick?”

“Ye—God, Namjoon! What’s up with your filthy mouth?”

“Dude, don’t act all demure with me.”

“I’m still not talking to you about wanting to fuck Jungkook.” 

He rolls his eyes, but the grin on his lips says otherwise. 

“But that’s great, Y/N. Took you years to acknowledge your feelings. But just to let you know, the kid has been waiting for you to come back home every night. You should go talk to him.”

No matter what you tell yourself or whatever insecurities you have, there is truth that you’ve always had a place reserved for Jungkook in your heart, nestled between fragile hopes and waning kindness.

The boy makes your heart sing. He’s got a soft, sweet heart, a ripe mango of a heart, yellow and full. In between the bantering sessions and microwave misadventures, you have accidentally and unquestionably very much fallen in love with Jungkook.  

But you don’t know what to do. 

What you know is that you need to talk to him. 

The stillness of the hour makes the walls lurch even more seismic when you open the front door, expecting the apartment to be pitch dark. You assume that nobody would be in the living room at this timing and Jungkook would be holed up in his room watching anime or perhaps at a party, chugging down shots as an attempt to forget you and move on with his life because you’re a heartless bitch and he deserves so much better. 

However, the little lamp at the corner is lit up and when you walk towards the couch, you see Jungkook curled up on it, drowning in his big hoodie and looking softer than ever. His left cheek is squished from where he is lying down on the pillow. 

You heart gnaws at the sight of him and it hurts even more when you realise that he is waiting for you to return. 

He stirs in his sleep upon hearing footsteps and fully jerks awake when he hears your voice. 

“Jungkook,” you breathe out, reaching out to caress his face, fingers brushing against the scar of his cheekbone. He slurs in response, turning his face into the curve of your palm and brings his hand to caress the back of your hand, causing your heart to snap. 

“You’re back,” he announces breathlessly, like he couldn’t believe it. He stares at you with forlorn eyes and you only spare him a half-second glance before turning away, seemingly disgruntled.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly says.  

“What? Why are you—”

“Sorry for making you uncomfortable,” he mutters with a softness that invaded his velvety voice.

“Don’t say sorry,” you reach out to grasp his hand, rubbing your thumb onto his palm, “I should be the one apologising.”

“No—”

“Jungkook – listen,” you settle yourself on the couch beside him, “I don’t know what I want. That’s part of the problem.”

You sigh, “I want something from you, but I don’t know what. I don’t know how to name it or quantify it. I don’t like not knowing what to do.”

Jungkook peers up at you through his bangs, deep in thought and even in his sleepy state, he knows exactly that he never wants to let you go. He doesn’t want to lose you. He wants this.  

“It’s okay, Y/N—”

“I’m too cynical, always too sceptical. Too mean for anyone. I’m also a fucking dumb hopeless romantic. I want a lot of things, Jungkook. I want to love… but I don’t know if I know how to? I’m not sure if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” he whispers, “I really do. I’m scared too, like really fucking scared. What if I hurt you? What if I don’t love you right? What if one day we might not be the same anymore?” 

You lower your head in fear, feeling a ripple of anxiety pass across your chest at the thought of the future and Jungkook swears he can hear the gears in your brain turning frantically. 

“But we never know until we try, right? And I… want to try with you. Because it’s with you.”

You curl closer to him, taking in the pleasantly warm and comforting scent of him and he brings you to a warm embrace, pressing little kisses to your forehead. 

Silence weaves itself into the spaces of everything around the two of you. It’s comfortable – you feel like you’re finally at home. 

It could be due to the fatigue or the way he’s looking at you, so intently, but you find yourself blurting out without a thought.  

“Your heart,” you mumble, pressing your hand over his chest and taking in the ghost of Jungkook’s warm breath on your face, “is beating so fast.”

You gaze closely at his visage and drink in the view – his messy bed hair, slightly flushed cheeks, soft pouty lips – and right at this very moment, you can confirm that you’re really stupidly besotted with him. You swear Jungkook has never looked more beautiful than in that moment of him softly gazing at you with a devotion that you can never find in anybody else. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out with a soft smile, “It’s always like this when you’re around.”

“D-Did you just flirt with me?” 

There’s a tickle that dances across his lips, a sparkle of mirth glimmering in his eyes. “Have been for the past few months, but thanks for noticing.”

A blush paints your cheeks fervently, while your heart is doing a fucking waltz even though it knows shit about dancing, the rest of you nothing but moonlight and air. 

“Do you think… you’ll give us a chance?” He whispers earnestly, a tone three notches deeper and your heart gnaws at how gentle and careful he is with you. 

Us. 

“Jungkook, you have all my heart,” you whisper softly, “You always did.”

The most adorable of smiles slowly forms on his face and it feels like everything stands still around you. You feel the warmth of Jungkook’s palms cradling your blushing features, while he strokes your cheeks lightly with his thumb. A grin moulds on your face that resembles his own.

In that split second where you’re relishing in the ghost of his breath against his face, he leans forward and brushes his lips over yours so gingerly that it’s akin to the caress of a feather. The euphoric feeling of Jungkook’s soft lips on yours directly connects to the bones in your legs and turns them to jelly. 

For moments and moments, you swear you could see fireworks and the galaxies splayed out above you.  

He feels you softening like clay and relenting to the otherworldly sensation as he traces the tender flesh of your lower lip, the shape of his mouth quieting the chaos in your head. He can taste your heartbeat at the tip of your tongue.

Jungkook slackens his jaw, deepening the kiss. His tongue grazes along your lower lip before instantly meeting yours, tangling for dominance. He can’t resist himself any longer. He wants more of you, needs a taste of what he’s been yearning for so long. He nips lightly at your lower lip and smirks when an unexpected gasp falls from your mouth. 

He alternates between licking into your mouth hungrily and sucking on your lower lip and tongue. He kisses you slow and deep, all seeking tongue and teeth, making you into him desperately, all passion and open mouths.

Trailing south, his lips plant a tentative kiss on your jawline and then on your neck. He takes his time, hard muscle of his tongue lapping at your sweet skin, lips sucking until a blossoming bruise begins to form. Your breath catches in your throat, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. He feels you lean against him, craning your neck to give him better access to dust lovebites all over your supple skin. 

“Jungkook,” you gasp, relishing in the warmth from his chest. 

He hums in response, a low rumbling sound that vibrates against your chest and it seems to ignite something in both of you. 

You run your hands over Jungkook’s stomach, down his narrow waist and the bottom of his ribcage, your fingers softly brushing against his happy trail. He tenses up immediately and you stifle a giggle, fascinated by the flutter of his muscles as he breathes when you touch a new spot of his body or graze your teeth over his tongue. 

You don’t have enough fingers and toes to count how many times you thought about running your tongue along the tautness of his stomach, or how his jaw might clench when you wrap your lips around his dick. 

You want him.

And he wants you too. You can feel it in the way he kisses. How eager he’d be to fuck you dry even if that meant getting caught red-handed by your roommates with his pants around his knees, balls deep in your guts in the fucking kitchen. 

“You make me so hard all the time it’s not even fucking funny,” he laughs dryly, looking at you in endearment. 

“You know… I saw you masturbating the other night.”

“W-What? When?” 

You bite your lower lip at the lewd mental image. “A few weeks ago, you were…”

“What was I doing?” The smallest of smirks starts to tug at his lips. He’s challenging you. 

“You were… stroking yourself…”

“And?”

“… Humping your pillow and calling out for me.”

“Fuck Y/N,” he groans, nuzzling his face into your neck, “You’ve got such a dirty mouth.”

“You asked me where you were doing!”

“Did you like what you saw though?”

“I—”

Leaning towards your ears, he lowers his tone and whispers, “You always make me fucking hard, I think I need to punish you for that. Bet you’ll like that, won’t you?”

“Jungkook, what—” 

“You got to make it up to me, Miss Grumps. Have a taste of your own medicine.”

“You calling me Miss Grumps totally ruined the mood.”

“Sorry… babe?” He chuckles for a lack of a better response. 

You smile again, feeling a ripple of molten and saccharine sweet longing ease its way up your belly at the endearment. 

Your eyes track over his visage, his dark eyes glassy with unadulterated adoration and love as he attacks you with kisses all over your face. You can’t hold back the little whimpers that escape your throat and Jungkook ardently swallows every single one, grateful for every single noise you make. 

His breath is coming out in warm swathes of air against your collarbones and you glance down to see his eyes, the slow blinks of his heavy lids, each breath laboured and potent with lust.

Pressing his lips all over your throat, wet and messy and wonderful, you whimper when he sucks hardly just beneath your jaw that has got you quivering and that only prompts him to suck on it harder. 

You don’t have enough fingers and toes to count how many times you’ve thought of this – him planting hickeys all over your neck, or you running your tongue along the tautness of his stomach, or how his jaw might clench when you took him into your mouth.

“Jungkook,” you break out of your trance and whisper, “I want to suck you off.”

Desire ricochets through his abdomen at your dirty words. He can’t believe his ears. 

“Where?” 

“K-Kitchen.”

He shoots you a look at your response, but doesn’t probe further when he sees a sly smile on your face, eyes clouded with a salacious lust. 

He’s even more turned on by this, smashing his lips on yours again, kissing you so fiercely and passionately. Carrying you over to the kitchen with your legs tightened around his waist, he delights in the friction and warmth of your body against his as your lips are still busily entangled in a hot battle. 

You push him atop the counter while your hands worm their way to the waistband of his sweat, tugging it down his sinewy thighs and you try not to drool at his rippling thigh muscles. 

“You’re so fucking dirty,” he quirks up an eyebrow, his voice noticeably deeper and gruffer, “The guys are going to be so pissed.” 

With a sharp intake of air, he tips his head back with his eyes shut. When he reopens them, he sees you kneeled before him on the kitchen floor, eyes dilated with a virtuous gaiety. You palm his length over his underwear without warning, causing him to groan out loud, bucking forward when you inch closer to give his clothed budge a few kitten licks. 

The desperation of his situation only seems to increase in severity when you tug down the elastic band of his boxers and slide them off his legs, finally freeing his erection which springs out from its confines, slapping hard against his abdomen. 

Jungkook’s much bigger than you expected, his tip angry and red, leaking with pearly beads that dribble down his length and the bulging veins that line it. He is also hard. Very painfully hard and throbbing red, because you are so angelic and sinful all at the same time, and it’s making him really fucking desperate. 

“Fucking hell. B-Babe, don’t tease, please,” his entire body shivers when your hot breath passes through to the sensitive skin of his cock. He’s fucking aching with need. 

Jungkook’s jaw drops, continuing his string of curses, but the words are instantly replaced with a breathy moan as you press his tongue to his navel, licking down his happy trail teasingly. Locking eyes with him, your fingers gingerly trace the soft lines of his abdomen, lingering over the sensitive flesh above his member and nipping at it, teasing him in ways you could have only imagined before. 

Leaning in, you take his dick in your hands – it’s thick, hot and throbbing with need. Eyes still locked with his, you plant a soft kiss at the head in an almost kitten-like fashion and your tongue tingles at the taste of his pre-cum that already accumulated smelting on the saturated expanse. 

You’ve wanted to do this for the longest time. You don’t know how many times you’ve thought of running your tongue along the underside his length from the base to head, taking each ridge and curve into account, your head bopping up and down, pleasuring him to no end and revelling his deep, sinful moans. 

You look up through your eyelashes, vision hazy with lust. Jungkook has his head tipped back again in pleasure, his irises are gone, eyeballs rolled back in his head as he clenches down at his teeth to hold back his moan. 

The very sight sends an electrifying heat down to your arousal. You want to suck him off so badly and make him feel like the man on the moon. So you start peppering light kisses onto the head, before capturing his length into the warm moistness of your mouth, prompting a raspy fuck from him, and hollow your cheeks enough to press against the sides.

Parting away from his tip, your tongue licks the underside of his cock before finding its way to his balls, sucking hard on them and rolling them around in your mouth one by one. Jungkook bucks his lips forward at this as dirty curses erupt from his throat. 

“Fuck babe, that feels fucking good,” he runs his fingers through your dishevelled locks, trying his best to stifle his moans. 

Upon his reaction, you smile to yourself, continuing to alternate your tongue between his balls and his hard shaft. When you take his cock into your mouth again, you thrum blithely at the fullness of him, opening your mouth wider to take him deeper until you bottom out, nose brushing against the tussock of cleanly trimmed pubic hair at his navel. 

“Fuck, you’re so good. I’m so fucking lucky,” he says, tugging a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

Saliva pools in your mouth as you start swirling your tongue around the head instead, humming in response at how he tastes and feels on your tongue. The vibrations make him shiver, one hand at the back of your head and the other on the kitchen counter. You pop off audibly after a while, hand still working at the base of Jungkook’s cock, fondling his balls.

“Want to fuck your mouth so bad,” he growls and your entire body quivers. 

Grabbing his cock, Jungkook repeatedly taps his meat against your cheek, waiting for your permission before he steers it into your mouth again. With a low, guttural groan, he wraps your hair tight in his fist and starts thrusting his dick into your mouth harder than ever, filling you to the brim. 

Your jaw slackens while taking in all of him, the tip of his cock hitting the deep back of your throat. You take in as much of him as you can, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he continues to hit the back of your throat. It’s uncomfortable, but the weight of him on your tongue makes your bundle of nerves burn, your underwear wetter than ever. 

“Jesus, you’re fucking good at sucking me off.”

It’s when you hum in pleasure with Jungkook’s cock still halfway down your throat that he lets out something of a wail. His mind is in turmoil and he can’t think straight for the better of him. He can only think about how fucking hot you look on your knees, in between his thighs, giving him the best blow of his life. Eyes hazy and obsidian, he believes that this is the most erotic sight he has ever seen and he’s fucking turned on. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. I’m going to come soon, but I’m not coming unless it’s in your tight sweet pussy.”

“Shit,” you mutter at his filthy talk, pulling back up from his cock to pant for air, but the strings of dibble trailing from his cock to your swollen lips arouse you even more. 

“Come on, let’s go to my room before anyone wakes up and gets the shock of their lives.”

He pulls you to your feet, palms smoothing your ass cheeks and smacking each side hard, before he leans in to smash his lips on yours. Fuck, he can taste himself on your lips and in your mouth and this only increases his desire to fuck you senseless. Impatiently, he sweeps you off your feet effortlessly, carrying you bridal style to his room. You try not to stifle at how frantic he is, his red aching cock still hanging out, while his sweats are still pooled around his ankles.  

Kicking his bedroom door open, he lies you gingerly on the bed before walking over to lock his door. When he returns with a hazy smile, he lowers his body on top of yours and your hands naturally clutch around his neck. Your heart thumps when you can feel the frenzy of his pulse underneath your fingers. 

His fingers secure around your chin, tilting your face up to meet his lips in a kiss, filling you with liquid heat. This one is slow but heated and still leaves you completely breathless. Before you can lick his mouth, Jungkook pulls away from your mouth to slide your shirt up.

You find his fingers carding through your hair as if to soothe your nerves, before they trail down to your neck and over the dark red bruises on your neck from earlier on to rest on your shirt, tapping a rhythm against your chest. You give him a nod and his fingers begin unbuttoning your shirt, delicately ghosting his touch over your breasts and chest so painfully slow that you cry for him to hurry the fuck up. 

A satisfied smirk tugs at his lips at each sound of your unadulterated desire and when your shirt is fully unbuttoned, he pulls you up in one smooth movement, tugging it off and tossing it onto the floor. 

Sliding a thigh between your legs, Jungkook allows you to rut against him while his hands begin their ministrations, wandering all over your body, inspecting every inch of it, grabbing and squeezing every curve of yours. He bends forward to trail open-mouthed kisses over your bare torso and the knot of lust tightens within your abdomen. 

His breath is coming out in warm swathes of air against your skin and you glance down to see his eyes, the slow blinks of his heavy lids that are eyeing your entire body, each breath laboured and concentrated with lust. 

His hands rest on your hips as they squeeze and caress your skin each time you whimper his name like a mantra, while he leans forward to your neck again, the ghost of his breath leaving a trail of fire down your throat until they reach your tits. 

Tugging your bra down to expose the swell of your breasts, he leans back to watch your face as his thumb darts right over your hard nipple, working a slow, lithe circle around your sensitive nipple before he tweaks the bud in between the pads of his fingers. You feel him lick at your nipple tentatively before he engulfs it in his mouth, sucking it hard while his other hand fondles with your other mound. 

It’s a tidal wave, causing wetness to pool between your thighs and you press them together, trying to create some friction or subside the uncomfortable stickiness invading your underwear. 

Lowering himself down between your thighs, you wait with bated breath before he starts licking and bestowing kisses on your navel and then down to your inner thighs, leaving you gasping at the sensation of his hot breath dancing across your sensitive skin.  

You emit a soft whimper which then melts into a desperate moan when he buries his nose against the cotton of your panties, his mouth teasing your bud through the soaked fabric. Very timidly, you raise your hips, seeking friction, and Jungkook receives you with the same hunger. 

“Going to eat you out so well you’re going to forget your fucking name and only remember mine.” 

His eyes, hazy with lust, lock with yours and he smirks viciously. The concupiscent blackness you found within them swallows you whole.

Your nerves jitter anxiously, raising tiny bumps of excitement across your skin as his fingers graze over your clit generously. Your body arches involuntarily when he licks a brazen stripe up your folds with his flattened tongue, taking in all of your juices. The sudden invasion of his tongue has you purring in delight. 

He edges your clit eagerly, flicking it with his tongue, teasing in circles before he sucks on it roughly and then lapping at it hungrily like a starved man. Gasping loudly, you bring one hand to cover your mouth, your breath stuttering as your other hand goes down to tug hard at his raven locks, your hips bucking forward and into his mouth. 

You mewl out loud when he slips his tongue inside your tight walls, fucking you with the flat of his tongue. Just when you think it couldn’t feel any better, he eases one finger into you slowly, smoothly sliding over your soaking wet folds until it’s knuckle-deep inside you. When you throw your head back in pleasure, he adds another finger, pulling his mouth away to focus on scissoring you and hitting all the right spots. 

“You like teasing me, don’t you? How about now?”

Without warning, Jungkook begins curling his fingers inside you, spreading your lower lips wide to allow your juices to flow past his knuckles and drip onto his bedsheets. His fingers continue his assault on your pussy for moments and moments, pounding mercilessly into you, the heel of his palm taking its place on your clit. 

The squelching sounds of his finger delving in and out of you are melodic to his ears, reverberating through the room. He then brings his lips back onto your clit and the cadence of his tongue on your clit is tantalising, tongue either lapping lazily at your clit or sucking on it ardently. 

Adrenaline runs through his entire body, lighting up his nerves like firecrackers. He can’t believe this is happening. “I could eat you all fucking day. You’re so hot, Y/N.”

With the combination of his tongue and fingers furiously fostering your orgasm, you know you’re not going to last for very long. 

“Jungkook, please. I’m going to cum soon. Please, please,” you whimper helplessly on his sheets. 

Upon seeing your rolled up eyes, parted mouth and arched back, accompanied by the loud moans and cries leaving your mouth, the music of your voice pleading for him, he pulls away from your clit, smiling proudly to himself. 

“You’re not coming now. You can only come on my dick.”

You moan disgruntledly at the loss of his fingers and tongue, feeling empty all of a sudden. Shooting him a glare of betrayal, you’re about to scream at him for being a tease, but your eyes widen when you see his flushed skin, plump lips, shiny forehead, your own glistening nectar leaking from his lips and dribbling down to his chin and neck. 

And suddenly, you’re tongue-tied, squirming again. The throb in your core is torturous, your entire body is caught in a crossfire as you lie pliantly under Jungkook as his arms cage around you, helplessly soaking his bedsheets. 

You want him to wreck you. 

He pushes your trembling thighs apart as he settles between them. You whimper when you finally feel the head of his cock prodding at your soaked lips. But he doesn’t enter immediately. Instead, he slaps his cock against your pussy, and the filthy action only turns you on even more, driving your nerves into a frenzy. 

It seems like eons when he finally sheathes himself inch by inch inside you, till his cock is up to the hilt, and god, it feels so fucking incredible. The electricity that shoots through your blood is like a drug. 

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you hiss, threading your fingers into his hair as he groans at the feeling of you surrounding him. He waits for your entire body melts into him before moving. You can only keen at the surge of fullness, clenching around his thick length. Biting your lip to keep yourself from waking up your housemates, you reach up for Jungkook to pull him into another kiss. 

With his lips still locked with yours, he fucks you so thoroughly, the agonising roll of his hips hits that sweet spot with deadly accuracy, your body writhing in pleasure.

The warmth of your pussy makes his eyes roll to the back of his head, especially when your walls mould around every ridge and vein of his cock. He loves watching how his cock disappears into you, your tight pussy swallowing it up to the hilt with no difficulty, taking him so fucking well. So he draws his hips back, and you can feel every inch of his heat going with the motion before he swiftly plunges his cock back into you. Unrelentingly hard. Over and over again. 

Your back arches at the sensation and wanton desire for more, moaning his name out loud like that’s the only thing you know. 

You can feel the need and lust in his thrusts, from the way his fingers dig into your hips and hold you in place, leaving bruises on your skin as he rams himself into you, without even bothering to muffle the sound of his toned thighs hitting the back of yours every time your hips meet. You fucking love this, fucking love how strong his thighs are, how full his cock is making you feel. 

Each dirty, fast slap of skin and the momentum of his cock buried deep inside of you only makes the two of you needier. Jungkook doesn’t tease this time, probably not able to hold back anymore, and the bucking of his hips builds up to a fast, animalistic frenzy, plunging his cock into your body. He hammers roughly against your g-spot enough to rock your body forward and back with every thrust, warming your body like sunlight.

He reaches to fondle with your breasts, tugging potently at your nipple before sucking hard on it. Looking up, you see him smiling brightly, flashing his bunny smile and it drives you insane how he can fucking you so good, but still look so innocent at the same time. 

“Love you so fucking much,” an enticing lilt caresses the edges of his already hoarse voice, the smile on his lips growing wider. It’s the same fond grin he gives you when he sees you in the kitchen, in the hallways in school and when you’re back home after a long day at school and goes straight to join him at the couch after you two were past the I-hate-you-fuck-off stage. 

“Love you, love you, fucking love you.” 

A saccharine smile dances in the corners of his lips as he kisses you roughly, the shaken quavers of your moans thaw in the heat of his kisses, as his hands grope your ass tightly, still fucking you so well. 

Each slickened thrust is accompanied with a deep roll of his hips so that he is right there inside of you, causing you to feel choked at how close you are. Hazy with ecstasy, you roll your head against the pillow, nails digging deeper onto his back. 

With eyes rolled back, your entire body trembles with pleasure as your cunt suctions around his cock, alongside the burning feeling of fire pooling low on your abdomen. You’re clamping down on him hard enough that he’s delirious, his steady pace becoming more frenzied. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck Jungkook. I’m coming!” 

He leans forward to press a kiss on your eyelids, whispering sweet praises into your ear as he brings one hand to rub the small hard bub unrelentingly to relieve your tense bundle of nerves.

Determined for you to reach your high, Jungkook grabs at your knees, hiking your leg over his shoulder and you let out a cry at the new position. 

“You love this? You love it when I fuck you harder?”

You scream out a yes when he taunts you even more, feeling every single ridge of his dick against your walls as he fucks you at a better angle of access. It feels so, so fucking good. 

He speeds his hips up so much so that the sound of skin slapping fills the room, almost overpowering your moans. Almost. You don’t even fucking care if your housemates can hear your filthy moans. 

“Fuck,” you groan shamelessly when the coil inside you grows tighter and tighter, hotter and hotter. “J-Jungkook, I’m fucking cl-close. Please, please!”

“That’s right,” the smallest of smirks tugs at the corner of his mouth upon hearing you beg and he continues to fuck you harder than before. Fucking you into oblivion. “Come for me, love.”

Beneath his touch, you feel light and heavy all at once, while a white heat pools in your belly. Your body locks up entirely and then dissolves into an erratic series of spasms. Your legs writhe uncontrollably alongside a torrent of ecstasy that splurges from your center, head spinning to static noises and hot moans as Jungkook holds onto your body firmly to help you through your climax. 

After your high, Jungkook resumes to move in and out you, while a combination of a hoarse moan and your name is strangled out of his throat from the depths of his lungs. 

“Shit, fuck, I’m coming,” his voice trail off and his thighs tense as he slams into you, holding your hips firmly in place. Your small fingers thread through Jungkook’s hair, holding him close and urging him on.

“Come inside me, please. I want you. I want your hot cum.”

He lets out a deep moan, his face burying into the crook of your neck and shoulder as he rides out his orgasm, moaning and whimpering into your ear as he releases deep into you, spurts of warm cum filling you so full and spritzing your walls white. He ruts into you until your pussy milks him for all he’s worth. 

He can feel his pearly cum oozing out of your clenching entrance, slipping down your trembling thighs. He doesn’t pull out just yet, dick still nestled inside of your tight walls, wanting you to feel full with his cum. When he finally pulls out, he collapses on top of you, planting kisses all over your face before nuzzling into the warmth of your neck. 

Still trembling with the power of your orgasms, the both of you stay like that for a few minutes, just catching your breaths and enjoying the swims of your heads in a comfortable silence. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breaks the silence with a chuckle before sliding down between your legs again. 

“W-Wha—”

Prying your legs apart, his eyes land on your pussy that’s dripping with his cum and he lets out a guttural groan at the dirty view. He gives your clit a chaste kiss and your hips buck up into his face as he gathers his juices onto his tongue, tasting the otherworldly mix of your juices. 

“I’m cleaning you up, babe.”

Flushing red like summer cherries with a hazy smile dancing on your lips, you whimper. “H-Ho—”

He cuts you off by diving right back in to lick a stripe up your slit and you jolt, both legs trembling and breath hitching in your throat. Soon, he has his face buried deep in your cunt again, lapping at your cunt and even throws both of your thighs over his shoulders to keep you from slamming your legs shut. 

It’s so fucking filthy. And so unbelievably hot. 

When Jungkook pulls back with his spellbinding smile, licking the leftover juices on his lips, you feel as though you might come for the second time. He surges forward to meet your lips and your head spins from tasting the sweetness of your juices together. 

He places another tender kiss to your forehead before settling onto his back and you naturally roll yourself over, nuzzling snuggly into his warm embrace. 

It’s a cuddle fest in the middle of the bed arms thrown over each other, legs entangled despite the remaining sweat and love juices. Jungkook is grinning hazily at you, breathless, and he feels his heart do a fucking waltz. He sure can live with this. 

When morning arrives, the sun is shining through a different window than you’re used to and you’re not your bed. The air is orange and the sunlight that bounces off the bedroom walls is nothing but welcoming. Rubbing the heels of your palms into your eyes, you see fragments of dust in the air, whirling around like snowflakes. 

Beside you on the bed is Jungkook, who’s sleeping soundly, with dishevelled locks and swollen lips and the rise and fall of his chest comforts you more than you’d ever know.

At this, the memories of last night come rushing back to you almost immediately and your heart gnaws at how real this is. You look around Jungkook’s room. You see the few pictures on his wall and you spot one with you in it, sending your heart ricocheting even more furiously in your ribcage. There’s a fire within you that’s made of soft, satin embers whenever you think about him.

You can still remember the moment you first laid eyes on Jungkook – how you were clouded with anger about the boy who stole your seat during lecture. Who would have ever imagined that you’d be here in his bed, hopelessly in love with him. 

Jungkook starts stirring awake in his sleep when he feels a sliver of warm sunrays permeate the thin skin of his eyelids. When he fully opens his eyes, he’s met with the sight of a beaming you (he thinks that you outshine the sun, but he decides to keep those thoughts to himself) staring straight at his face. 

Your smile doesn't falter or diminish when you’re caught, but only increases, as a soft good morning leaves your lips, while the tip of your tongue tastes of honey sweet and last night’s dalliance. He mumbles a good morning back, planting a kiss on your lips and the two of you look at each other. 

This is something. To be seen by another human being. To be vulnerable and transparent with no filters. To be transparent. This something is love. Love that’s easy. Like a liquid or gas. Love that finds its way in. Love in its simplest form. Love that the two of you understand.  

“Breakfast?” You card your fingers through his locks, before pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“Only if you help me with the microwave.”

From the warmth of your caramel eyes, to the tender slope of your nose and to the apple of your cheeks, his eyes soften at the sight. 

“Actually… Maybe I should do it instead,” he adds, his chocolate brown eyes flicker from you to your fingers, lacing your fingers with his. 

“Huh?”

“Well, I can’t let the microwave explode on you, can I? I’d never bring any harm to you.”

“Dude… That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said,” you grin, humour colouring the corners of your mouth. 

“I poured my heart out to you and you think this is the sweetest? Geez. And you just dude-d me after I fucked you so good last night?”

“Shush, love is a willingness to sacrifice.”

A summer-night silence which lay for a thousand miles envelopes the two of you, both of you just enjoying the swim of your heads. 

Jungkook breaks the silence, voice softer than ever, “I do, you know?”

“Huh?” 

He reaches for your hand and brings it up to his lips, pressing tender kisses on your knuckles, with the little stars glistening in the velvet night sky of his eyes, “I do love you.”

But before you could respond, a beep comes from your phone and you instinctively reach out for it. 

[From: Namjoon]

[12:37] for fuck’s sake… the walls are thin in this humble abode fyi

[12:37] our poor ears…

[12:37] you guys went from figuratively fucking each other up to literally fucking each other

[12:37] as least you guys… are happy and not trying to kill each other

[12:37] happy that you all have found love uwu i can cry right now 

“Fucking loser,” you mutter as you hand Jungkook your phone to view the incoming messages. “Namjoon’s onto us. This is so embarrassing.”

“I think we were a little too loud last night.”

“And whose fault is that?” You tease with a waggle of your eyebrows. 

“I’d take credit where it’s due,” he laughs and you don’t miss the glint of mischief that hides underneath the flutter of his eyelashes as he engulfs you in another tight embrace. 

You think you like this, maybe a little too much: your head on his broad chest, his chin on your head as you lie snug in his arms, fingers interlaced, heartbeats as one. You adore how perfectly your body fits in Jungkook’s calming embrace, how he holds you like you are his world, not too tight and not too loose. Like you hold the stars in his eyes in place. 

“You make me weak, Jungkook,” you murmur softly like the way a snowflake would fall, lips hovering over hips. 

He hums in response and presses a kiss to your forehead. Brushing your hand gingerly over the latter’s jaw, a smile flutters on the edges of your lips with utter adoration, with a love so blazingly radiant that it rivals the intensity of the sun. 

Pressing your lips onto Jungkook’s, you whisper, deciding to dismantle the high walls of your heart for good, “But I love you. So much that I don’t mind being weak with you.”

Note | Finally.... it’s up. A big phat uwu, everyone!! 45 pages on word doc. It has been a long, insane ride writing this – I think I started in August after posting Set On You. For my lovelies who’ve been waiting for this fic since forever, thank you for waiting and expressing your excitement for it! I love you guys so much :( I’m such a slow writer sksdjsdsdsd and I don’t know why my fics are always so long – it’s like I have so many things I want to write and I can’t leave out any scene?? Formatting it on this site takes up like an hour,,, but wbk. 

Thank you for reading this and if you enjoyed it, hit that like or reblog button or/and hmu in my inbox/dms! ♡ Merry Christmas and have a great 2019! There will be more fics to come (probably shorter ones... pl0x)

Also, I added my thigh kink for you Ash uwu @jiminspjm 

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[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 100

Chapter Summary -   Tom and Danielle enjoy their holiday, Tom ensuring it is as pleasurable as possible, in every manner. SMUT

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​​​ @nonsensicalobsessions​​​ @damalseer​​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​​ @winterisakiller​​​ @fairlightswiftly​​​ @salempoe​​​​ @wolfsmom1​​​​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Danielle sighed as she began to feel herself waking up. Part of her did not want to.

The day before, Tom admitted to a little secret he had withheld from her. He had cancelled their booking at a run of the mill hotel Danielle had booked in their next destination and instead booked a five-star hotel for them as a treat. She was unaware of the change and asked Tom to type in the name of the hotel she had booked into the GPS on his phone, Tom gave it the name of the hotel he had chosen and said nothing, simply instructing her as the device dictated. When they arrived at their destination, Danielle looked at the hotel confused and bewildered. When she turned and asked Tom what name he had put in, he answered the hotel they were at.

“Why did you do that, it’s the wrong place?” Tom simply grinned wickedly back at her. “What?”

“I did a thing.”

“What thing?” She sounded more like an exasperated mother than a girlfriend.

“I cancelled our booking elsewhere and booked this place.”

“Tom!”

“No, please listen; you paid a small fortune for this holiday, you booked the flights, the accommodation, the car…”

“You already changed the car.” She pointed out, her hand indicating to the blue and white symbol of the German brand on the steering wheel.

“And it was a great idea.” He stated assertively. “And so is this, come on Elle, you deserve it.”

“You are so bold.” She scolded as she parked the car properly.

“You’re not even going to argue?”

“No, I have decided to pick my battles, and a five-star hotel is not one to argue…as long as they have nice food.”

“We can drive into the town if it doesn’t, but it is the best hotel in the town apparently.”

“It’s not in the town, the town is six kilometres away, we are in Fossa.”

“Wait, really, this is Fossa?”

“Yeah, why? Why would Fossa register with you?”

“I know someone from around here.”

“Fair enough.” Danielle thought no more of it and got out of the car.

*

They had gotten changed and gotten something to eat before driving around the different parts of the scenic area that surrounded the town, finishing off the evening with a meal and a glass of wine in the hotel. Again, they were spotted by eagle-eyed tourists who seemed to be actively looking for Tom as he had been seen not too far away the day before in Clare. It was almost as though people were trying to guess where he was. They took a few pictures from a distance but did not interact with the pair, which suited them.

That night they fell asleep contently after receiving a text from Luke that simply confirmed their thoughts; people were guessing where the pair were going to turn up and those who spotted them simply bragged that they had, nothing more of note.

*

“What are you doing?” Danielle’s voice was heavy with sleep.

“Nothing, just relax.” Tom’s voice was sharper, he had been awake for a half an hour and was pressing his body against hers.

“Tom!” Danielle stretched as she shifted her backside slightly, rubbing it into the crotch of the actor. “Don’t be bold.”

“I am nothing of the sort darling.” His hand snaked down her body before making its way to her hip, silently asking her permission to continue; when Danielle moved herself slightly to allow Tom better access to her body, he gently used his hand to lift her leg up and over his own one, spreading her legs wider yet not forcing her to have to hold it up herself. “Have I mentioned recently how much I adore you and your salacious body. I fear you were sent to torture me with it.” His hand went to her core, gently toying with her sensitive folds and the bundle of nerves just above them. “How I love being in bed with you.”

“Tom,” Her voice was more of a gasp as he circled her clit languidly.

“Yes, my beautiful Elle, what is it?”

“I…”

“What do you yearn for?” His lips brushing against her ear as he spoke, “Tell me.”

“You.”

“But you have me.”

“Stop teasing me.” She warned, though she lacked the bite needed to enforce her words.

Gently, having already used his hand to ready her by making her moist, Tom aligned his hardened manhood with her opening and pressed in. “Like that?” Danielle moaned pitifully as her body was filled so perfectly, her every wish granted as slowly and leisurely, Tom began to move, his motions soft yet touching everywhere that felt exquisite in her, his hand ever so lightly gliding over her clit to allow her to feel more as he moved. “I love your incredible mind, your untameable sass and your delicious…FUCK!” she used her muscles to grip him tighter. “Elle, I fucking love that, I do, but don’t do it again because I will finish as soon as you do and I want to please you as I never have before and it will be hard when you have me dopey from an incredible orgasm.” He focused on getting himself to rub her inner areas to get her closer to her release.

“What are you gonna do to me?” she questioned, her breaths becoming shallow as she felt herself succumbing to the pleasure that was quickly engulfing her.

“I am going to have you, again and again, until you fall back asleep from exhaustion,” His own breaths becoming harsher as he focused his efforts on the task at hand. “I am going to have you nothing more than a moaning mess, your body alight with the pleasure I have given you, until you cannot take any more, then when you wake up, you will be so stiff, every last person we meet today will look at you and wonder why you are groaning as you move, some thinking of what caused it and grinning.” He nipped her ear and pressed himself into her as deep as he could as he felt her tighten around him rhythmically and her orgasm took over her, her moans stifled by her biting her lips together, but her nails dug into his thigh as she did her best to back herself onto the stiff organ filling her. As soon as she ceased moaning, Tom pulled himself from her immediately, knowing he would not be able to stave his own orgasm if he remained in her, her pussy pulsing around him as he did so.

Hardly waiting for her to catch her breath, Tom forced himself onto his knees and shirked down the bed, under the covers to between her legs. “Tom?” Her voice was slightly husky, “What are you…oh fuck, you were serious.” In the time it took her to ask the question, Tom had begun to lick and lap at her exposed clit. “Tom, I need…”

“What you need is more.” He insisted, pursing his lips around her and beginning to apply light pressure to it, gently grazing his teeth over the nerves as he toyed with it. When he felt her push her groin up, as though pleading for more attention in the area, he grinned and added two fingers to her, her body was more than able for such after her recent orgasm. On doing that, he pressed in so only the first and second knuckles were visible, as his long dexterous fingers easily found their way to the spot he had learned so well in her and stroked the little bundle of nerves within her as his lips assault the ones on the outside of her body. Danielle yelped in pleasure and her hand went to Tom’s head immediately, fisting his auburn hair as she ground her body into his face to get more friction, the sensation of him attacking both her greatest pleasure points simultaneously was too much for her. “Play with your tits.” He ordered, his words slightly muffled by not taking his lips off her.

Though she felt like holding him to her, for fear he would stop, Danielle did as she was instructed with one hand and toyed with her erect nipple, the other unable to remove itself from him, loving the feel of her hand in his hair, instructing him to continue. It only took a few moments more before the attack on three pleasure points on her already sensitive body became too much and Danielle found herself gasping for air as her back bowed and she moaned loudly, another orgasm racking through her, more intense than the first.

When she was done, she was gasping for air, her body telling her that the two releases she had drained her considerably. “Jesus Christ.” She declared between breaths.

Tom came up from under the covers, grinning in delight as her release covered his chin and lips, glistening in his short beard. “Did you like that?” Danielle nodded, her features almost dopey. “How about one more?”

“Tom.” She whined. “I can’t possibly…”

“Now my darling Elle, you have just set me a challenge.” His grin grew wider as he gently coaxed her to turn around and go on her hands and knees. When she did not physically or verbally argue, he slowly placed himself to her now drenched entrance. “Can you try?”

“Please.”

Hearing her plea was the only encouragement he required, so Tom pushed in with ease and put his hands on Danielle’s hips, slowly starting a pace as he stared down where he could see himself impaling the woman in front of him. “Fuck Elle, you look so good with my cock in you.”

“Feels so good.”

“Yeah, you like having me in you, showing you how incredible you make me feel?”

“Yes.” She moaned as he angled his thrusts to rub her almost sore channel. Though she was exhausted, Danielle could not bring herself to want him to stop, she loved the way Tom was making her body become almost overwhelmed with pleasure. “Please.”

“Do you want me to make it feel even better?” He asked, a hand making its way to her breasts which were swinging beneath her as Danielle bounced forward and back on him.

“Not possible.” Danielle pushed off her hands so that she was leaning back on Tom’s chest as they both knelt on the bed, their movements were sloppy but with purpose, to bring them both to release as quickly and pleasurably as possible.

Vaguely aware that there were other patrons in the other rooms connected to theirs, and not knowing how loud Danielle would be on her third release, Tom moved a hand towards Danielle’s mouth but not covering it as the other made its way to her now exposed and tender nerves, which was incredibly sensitive and painfully pleasurable. “I think it is, I’ll prove it.” He thrust up as he forced her body down on him, the feeling of his own release coming warning him to hasten before he failed to make good on his promise. The sounds Danielle was making telling him how close she was to her peak, spurring him on. Though he tried, Tom could not stave his orgasm any longer as Danielle’s tight warmth gripped him and her noises spurred on his ego, causing him to groan in frustration and pleasure as his teeth pressed into her shoulder, an action which was all that was required to throw her over the edge of her own orgasm and join him, her body becoming overstimulated and her mind going blank as she fell over the edge once more, pressing her mouth into his hand to prevent herself from screaming her pleasure.

As both came down from their highs, Tom realised that Danielle could only lean against him like a rag doll, her limbs incapable of movement from everything they had just done. Slowly, he manoeuvred them so that he could gently place her lying on the bed once more and pulled the covers over her. “You win.” She conceded, her face one of exhausted pleasure.

Tom grinned and lay beside her, noticing there was a considerable wet patch in the bed from where they were kneeling; gently, he moved his hand between her thighs and realised just how much pleasure she had endured. “I think you were more than happy to be wrong with that one.”

“I never did that before.” Danielle’s voice was heavy with tiredness, Tom’s prediction of her wishing to return to sleeping proven correct. “M’Sorry.”

“Don’t be, I take pride in knowing I did something like that to you.” Tom kissed her shoulder before Danielle turned around and curled into him, sighing as she fell back asleep, Tom feeling incredibly proud of himself as he began to drift off also.

[lutelyre]

Fic Drabble: Merlin

Prompt: After years of requests, H-bee has finally dragged a Merthur fic from me, and tbh I’m not mad about it. This also could have worked for Whumptober’s “Ransom” or “Numb” potentially! Fandom: Merlin -- AU “Rival Gangs” scenario (This was my first time ever writing this fandom and I haven’t seen a SINGLE episode, so what a wild ride...)

Everybody Knows That The Dice Are Loaded

Merlin feels himself break out in a cold sweat when he sees them drag Arthur inside, hogtied and blindfolded, his nose already broken and blood drooling from a torn lip onto his dumb rock band t-shirt, bruises blooming on his face like dark roses.

He’s spitting curses, struggling like the diehard hero he always tried to be, and Merlin feels his heart crack a little bit, a panic growing fizzily in his chest. Goddamn it—he’d told Arthur that Mordred would be patrolling tonight, he’d told him a hundred times. Why the fuck wouldn’t the man ever listen to him?

“We didn’t expect to pick up this fuckboy, when we went cruising, huh?” laughs Mordred, his eyes alight with triumph and maybe also a fresh line of coke. Mordred had never been good at keeping himself out of the goods. Behind him, Morgause gets tired of Arthur’s impressive litany of expletives and punches him in the stomach, hard. Author shuts up mid-swear, and instead groans in pain, long and low. They must have already broken a few ribs. Morgause reaches down to shove a rough wad of cloth into his mouth to gag him, clearly already over this shit.

Merlin’s fingers twitch involuntarily. “Great, you got us useful asset, but the Knights won’t pay for a beat-up piece of pulp, will they?”

Arthur’s head snaps up at his voice, a noise of recognition half-dying in his throat. Merlin’s stomach flips over. Mordred laughs, high-pitched and not really sane. He always was more aggressive when he was doped up.

“Who says we’re ransoming this little piece of shit?” He kicks Arthur’s back with his heavy black combat boot,  hard, and Arthur twists awkwardly on the ground and grunts, gritting his teeth.  

“I’m going to have a little fun with him, and then we’ll put his head on a spike for the Knights to cry over.” A switchblade catches the light, and then too quickly Mordred is kneeling down, gripping Arthur’s chin and already drawing a deep, red-seeping line with the blade down his forehead, smiling when Arthur tries to jerk from his hold.

Merlin’s own teeth feel tight in his mouth, buzzing. He tries to think fast. “You don’t want to ransom Pendragon’s kid? They’ll pay good money for him.”

Arthur makes another half-bit off noise, surprise but also an undercurrent of anger in the muffled sound.

Fuck, what was he doing? He had promised never to tell that secret—knew it would make Arthur a target more than anything else. But what the fuck else was he supposed to do? Mordred’s head had snapped up at his words.

“What d’you mean, his kid?” He looks slowly from Arthur lying on the ground to Merlin, whose fists are clenched. “Just how did you know that, man?”

Shit, shit, shit—

“Not all of us just spend our time testing the goods, Mordred.” He says, as casually as he can muster. “I’ve been doing research, I thought that was my job in this hellhole.”

Mordred chuckles under his breath. “Oh yeah? I wonder about that.”  He brings his knife up to his mouth and licks the blood there, slowly.

“This little Knight ass-wipe seemed to know where he was going when we grabbed him, didn’t ya?” Mordred brings the blade back up to Arthur’s face, draws another line on his forehead agonizingly slowly, diagonal to the first. “Even seemed to know exactly what we were doin’. I wonder how he knew that, don’t you?”

Arthur hisses, face creasing in pain as the knife presses to his flesh, droplets of blood beading and dripping down to disappear under the blindfold. Merlin tries to look away but can’t tear his eyes from Arthur, his hands twitching spastically, the way his jaw tightens around the gag stuffed in his mouth.

Mordred brings his knife up again, and Merlin suddenly realizes he’s carving a letter into Arthur’s forehead, a bloody “M”.  He feels sick, struggles not to choke, not to rip the knife from Mordred’s fist, not to scream bloody murder himself—why had Arthur been out, that blasted, brave-hearted—

“Look—does why he was there even matter?” Merlin licks his lips, tries to put enthusiasm in his voice instead of the dread he feels filling the his chest like water, fear churning in his lungs. “We should use this as an opportunity—we could make an example of him, that we’re willing to ransom, and make a fucking sweet load of cash.”

Mordred sighs, hums to himself softly.  “Maybe you should use this as an opportunity, Merlin.“

Merlin opens his mouth to retaliate, to make some kind of fuss—anything to stop that knife from touching Arthur’s skin again—But in one quick movement Mordred reaches and pulls the now blood-soaked blindfold from Arthur’s face to pool loosely at his chin.

Arthur blinks hard against the sudden light, and one eyelid is swollen and puffy, his eyelashes dripping blood from the brand Mordred carved into his skin, but those eyes are still the bright blue Merlin knows so well; clear like a summer day, like a sky so hot you could burn just reaching up to touch it. Arthur’s gaze searches frantically and locks onto his own almost immediately, yearning and furious all at once, a muffled groan breaking his lips.

Suddenly Merlin can’t quite breathe.

“What d-do you mean?” Merlin manages to get the words out even though his mouth is cold, his tongue thick around the words, strangling. He doesn’t look away from Arthur for a moment, even though at this point he knows it’s a risk. Mordred is watching them both closely, watching everything like the scene in the dusty storeroom is a play put on just for him, but Merlin can’t fucking help it, he needs to let Arthur know he’s trying— needs to find some outlet for all the rage and fear and heartbreak that seems to be suddenly happening in his chest, water still steadily rising.

Mordred laughs again, sharp and incredulous. “C’mon man, I don’t need to be hyped on Morgana’s freshest powder to think that something is up with you. You’re acting funny, and it started right about when I dragged this bastard in.” Mordred draws his tongue slowly up his knife again.

Damn it all—of all the people in this sordid operation, other than Morgana herself, Mordred has always been the most perceptive, the most sly. Getting out of prison early last month had only made him worse. And doesn’t Merlin know that? He should have planned better for this—he should have made another plan, had a fucking back-up.

They’d always just written off the possibility that this could ever happen—believed themselves too good to be caught, too quick, too cunning. It was just laughably stupid.

Mordred’s other hand fists in Arthur’s hair, wrenches  his head back to peer at his face, considering. “Pendragon’s son sure is pretty.”

Arthur makes another noise around his gag, like he wants to eat Mordred alive, murderous. Merlin struggles to pull it together, trying not to drown.

“I—I didn’t think he was really your type, Mordred.”

“What, you mean to tell me he’s more your kinda guy?” Mordred laughs again, elated. “I’m beginning to think you do. I’m even beginning to think maybe—“ He brings the switchblade up again to press the tip of the knife into the underside of Arthur’s chin, force his head back further. “—Maybe you’ve already established this pretty-boy is just exactly what you like to fuck.”

Merlin yanks his eyes away from Arthur, and he knows his face is too fearful, too honest. The dangerously hair-fine tension of the room has reached a breaking point. “You’ve been sampling too much snuff Mordred, and it’s finally gotten to your head—stop acting so crazy.”

Mordred’s laughter wipes off his face, and then he abruptly lets go of Arthur to let him hit the floor with a dull thud and a moan.

He knew that had been a bad move as soon as he’d said it. The last time someone had called Mordred crazy, that poor fucker had ended trussed up in the bathroom of a fast food restaurant way out on the turnpike, missing most his fingers.

There’s a pause, where Merlin wonders wildly if he has enough hand-eye coordination to kick the knife from Mordred’s hand and snap the ties between Arthur’s wrists and legs, like this was some kind of an action hero movie. It’s a frantic thought—He knows he doesn’t have that level of skill. He’s not exactly in this gang because of his brawn, and this knowledge sits heavy in his limbs, frustratingly resigned. It’s a shame he always thought riding off into the sunset was for sissies, anyway. His pulse thunders wildly in his ears, a hundred staccato beats a second.

Mordred considers Merlin, the obvious panic spiraling over his face, and then a beatific smile slowly crosses his lips, chillingly angel-like.

“Alright then, how about you prove me wrong?”

“Mordred, look, can we just slow down—“

Mordred extends the knife out to Merlin— gleaming wet with saliva, still tinged red at the edges. “I think you should put your money where your mouth is, man.”

“What?!—Fuck no!” The words fall from Merlin’s lips before he can stop them and he hurriedly backtracks. “You—you know I hate getting everything so—messy. You’re the one who gets his fucking rocks off lopping off bits of people, I— I do the tech and, I do the planning—“

“—and I’m the muscle. Yep, I know.” Mordred smiles wider, his faintly bloody teeth look horrifying in the dim light of their storeroom, tightly wrapped packets of Morgana’s best product around them wrapped up in paper and taped with red duct tape, ready to be shipped tomorrow. Merlin dimly notices that at some point Morgause must have left the room, to stand guard or to call for reinforcements, he’s not sure. The world has narrowed to himself, and Arthur on the ground, and Mordred suddenly knowing too much, seeing too much, everything being too much.

“But still, I think you should indulge me, just this once, don’t you?”

Mordred steps forward, leans in very close and Merlin feels a shiver slide through him. “You carve up that pretty face a bit more for me, Merlin, and maybe I’ll decide we should ransom him.”

In the dirt, Arthur jerks, twisting and fighting for leverage from his bindings, a low growl in his throat. His eyes have a desperate, pleading look to them as he meets Merlin’s gaze again, his hands fisting the air like he’s imagining them around Mordred’s throat.

“I think he’d look good with a little more of our color on him, huh?” Mordred murmurs the words softy, like it’s just a suggestion, but Merlin knows what he’s asking—he wants to carve another letter into Arthur’s cheeks, his forehead, maybe his neck. Mordred always did have a penchant for making sure their gang left a calling card. He’d do it to suppliers who turned traitor, new initiates who lost their steam and wanted to run home to mama. Hell, Mordred even slashed some random teens outside their local deli the other week, because they’d been ‘getting on his nerves.’

Merlin struggles not to choke on the bile rushing up his throat.

He wishes Arthur had fucking stayed indoors tonight, like he was supposed to. Merlin almost even wishes he could kill him and let that be the end of things, could cut him up him without feeling like this, without feeling anything. He wishes he’d never met him that sunny July day on the highway, wishes he was just some other piece of trash the crew was always pulling in to make their dicks feel better. He wishes he wasn’t drowning right now, his fingers numb and his ribs heaving, wishes—

“If you do this for me, Merlin, I promise we’ll just ask for a big ole’ wad of cash from the Knights, like you suggested. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Mordred holds out the knife in an open palm, barely an inch away. Merlin realizes he’s loving this. Mordred always hated him, all the way from day one when Morgana brought him on to help organize the gang’s gigs and pay off his credit card debt, never liked being only the muscle. This realization pumps sluggishly through his head as though from another time, another century.

“Something tells me you’d like this guy to see another day quite a lot.” 

When Merlin doesn’t move, Mordred sighs dramatically, as if this was all just wasting his time and starts to pull the knife back. “But if you’d rather, I’m happy to go ahead and slit his throat, man. It’s your call.”

Merlin swallows hard, closes his eyes.

For a second all he can see is Arthur’s laughing face the last time they’d stolen a breath of a moment together, far on the other side of the city where the feuding gangs usually don’t dare show their signs, and they’d stood in the glowing pool of light from a corner streetlamp and Arthur’s lips were soft and his breath was so warm—

He takes the knife.

[irwintry]

Hallmark Movie Love Story

Warnings: swearing (he’s a potty mouth in this one folks)

Author’s Note: Christmas BABy!!! this was originally titled “the great snowmobile wreck of ‘18 and the hallmark christmas movie love story” lmao and there’s not even a snowmobile wreck in the story but that’s why i liked it

Word Count: 6.7k

Luke could read off all of the delayed or canceled flights by memory. He had seen them flash on every monitor he passed on the way to his terminal. Meanwhile, unhappy flyers were rushing by him to be the first at the information desk. Their holiday was ruined for sure, but his wasn’t, and that was all that mattered to him. He couldn’t figure out how his flight was one of the only ones on time, though he wasn’t complaining.

Even when boarding, he couldn’t believe his luck. The cruel part of him wanted to run off of the plane and rub the whole ordeal in the outraged flyers’ faces. His complimentary booze called his name, so he stayed put in the comfortable first-class cabin.

The skies didn’t look all that well, and turbulence had picked up right when they reached cruising altitude. If Luke didn’t know any better, he would say that the pilots miscalculated the possibility of the storm hitting their flight path. It didn’t matter to him now– he was up in the air, and everyone else was stuck in New York.

Luke had finished his first mimosa when the pilot announced over the intercom that the storm had pulled north, blocking the flight’s path and therefore preventing it from going farther west. His heart fell as he stared out of the frost-coated window, his eyes barely catching an inch of land below the clouds.

“Fuck,” he whispered and let out a breath. Luke believed he had a fairly strong intuition, and he trusted his gut. Right now, his gut was telling him that things were not going to go his way. If only it had told him that before.

The pilot informed them that they were landing in a town that started with S, but Luke didn’t care enough to register the information. He would buy a whole plane for himself if it meant getting home faster. The other passengers couldn’t say the same. If some of them were cute and desperate, he’d consider helping them, but certainly not the man beside him who reeked of B.O. and the burrito he chose to eat for breakfast.

Luke needed to get off of the plane in order to think coherent thoughts.

The plane touched down before noon, and already, the runway was slick and icy. The snow had started to fall only moments prior, and Luke knew that if it had been raining, it would be coming down in sheets. To his dismay, this was only the tip of the storm.

Karma was most likely going to fuck him up the ass.

There were no flights leaving from the tiny airport, and by the time he were to get onto the highway with the help of a taxi, it would be an hour into the storm. The roads would be closed by then. Luke had no choice but to go into whatever town was nearby and find a place to stay, and he was not happy about it in the slightest. He made sure everyone knew it by the look on his face.

All of his muscles were contorted in order to make a convincing irate frown. His mother would tell him his face would freeze like that, his cheeks all bitten in and eyebrows tightened together. He missed her, he really did, and he would love to see her if it weren’t for the lovely Winter Storm Dalton.

The ride into town was a nightmare– at least, it felt like it was to Luke. The taxi driver seemed content with the conditions, claiming that “not even an inch” had fallen, yet the occasional glance back through the plastic divider sent Luke into a minor panic. The radio station was a constant loop of Christmas oldies, and he wanted to reach up there and punch the off button, but he wasn’t that rude.

Luke didn’t hate Christmas, but if he couldn’t spend it with his family, he’d rather not have the holiday whatsoever.

There were only two motels within miles of the town, both with shiny new non-vacancy signs hung brightly in the office windows, and Luke wanted to tumble out of the cab and die. He tipped the driver a hundred before having them drop him off in the center of town. Before driving away, the driver told Luke about a few places to hit in the town before leaving tomorrow. This caused Luke to snort because he wasn’t even sure he would get out tomorrow, and he certainly wouldn’t be visiting any local art gallery.

He knew he looked fucking ridiculous. Everything on his body was designer, including his hat and coat. Even his luggage would cost most of the citizens of this town their arm and leg. Meanwhile, his shoulders pained him, and the tension had crawled its way up into his temples. He needed coffee.

Luke wandered for what felt like an hour, but it was really only two minutes when he stumbled upon a decent-looking coffee shop named The Coffee Pot. The windows were fogged, and it reminded him that warmth did exist, just not on his body at the moment. He could tell his cheeks and nose were bright red, and his ears were physically hurting his head even more.

The door chimed on his way in, and out of the many times Luke’s presence silenced a room, this had to be the most uncomfortable. All conversations ceased, and the only sound reverberating through the all-too wooden interior was the faint drone of Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas”. He clutched his suitcase and started towards the counter.

“The west coast too warm for ya, son?” an older man shouted from the back corner, and Luke didn’t hesitate to glare at anyone who chuckled. “This ain’t Malibu, sweetheart.”

“Give him a break, Darryl, he’s probably tired from travelin’.”

Luke’s head snapped over to the counter where the next voice came from. Instead of finding another grumpy local, he found you, a soft and smiley barista that clearly would get on his nerves if he spoke to you long enough.

You were leaned up against the counter as he approached you, and you were still smiling as you asked, “what can I get ya?”

Luke wanted solitude. He wanted no one to speak to him ever again. But he also wanted the richest cup of coffee he could get in Buttfuck, New York. “Small coffee,” he muttered, already digging into his wallet for a few dollars. “Darkest roast.”

“Cream ‘n sugar?”

“No.”

“Okie dokie,” you said. “You can put the fifty-cents in the tip jar.”

Luke quirked a heavy, wet (from the snow) brow. “Fifty-cents?”

You nodded. “The coffee’s fifty-cents.” You had already poured the coffee into a to-go cup, and now you were standing with your arms crossed. Maybe Luke wasn’t the only one with an attitude. “Can I get ya anythin’ else?” A sigh followed your question.

“No.”

“Ya sure?” You smirked at him, and he didn’t like that one bit. “We got food. Airplane food’s not quite as good as my world-famous pressed paninis!”

Luke nearly snorted. You were annoying, yet funny. World-famous... he’d had world-famous, and he was positive you hadn’t even come close to knowing what it tasted like. “Got any salads?”

“Um,” you mumbled. “No, I’m– I’m sorry, we don’t.”

Great. Poor service and no salads. Luke wanted to get the hell out of this town. “Fine. Gimme a world-famous panini, then.”

“Oh!” You grinned, your entire body jumping as you leaned your elbows back onto the counter. “Which one? We got– “

He didn’t listen as you listed off the sandwiches, so when you stopped talking, he played the lottery and said, “the last,” before setting down his cash and walking away with his coffee. Luke was normally nicer than this, but his day had been so fucked up already, and he wasn’t terribly in the mood for talking to a cute yet chatty barista. However, he did feel guilty for not saying thank you.

Luke took a seat at a table by the wall adjacent to the counter. Every single one of your customers stared at him as he did so, but just as he opened his mouth to retort a snarky comment, they returned back to their conversations. They were more interested in his rich, LA vibe, and they definitely wondered why he was here instead of there. He would rather be there than here any day.

He winced as he took a sip of his coffee. It was watery like he expected. No good coffee is fifty cents. The person to his right had been staring at his luggage for a good minute now, which for some reason, pissed Luke off to no end. Every little thing that bothered him was heightened due to the incredulous turn of events of the day. It wasn’t even two in the afternoon.

The coffee sat idle as he began to scribble down his thoughts into a random journal he picked up in Munich just the other month. His life was too extreme for the people of this town. They wouldn’t last a day in his boots, nor would he want them to even breathe near his boots. Someone could glance at them and he’d spit.

Luke wrote for a while, his thoughts pouring out onto the handmade paper without even realizing that a hot unknown panini had been placed down right in front of his nose. Also, a few of his crumpled bills had been strewn beside it.

“Few dollars too much,” you said, your face expressionless as you prepared to back away. “This is Spruce Creek, not LA. The world isn’t as shiny as it seems.” And then you were gone, and Luke wanted to laugh.

Everyone here thought they were so philosophical– it killed him. He shoved the few dollars into his pocket before staring at the steaming sandwich. A growl emitted from his stomach at the sight of the pesto running down the crusty sides, and Luke didn’t realize how truly hungry he had been until he reached for the sandwich and took a great big bite. He nearly moaned at the warmth spreading on his tongue. If only the coffee had lived up to his expectations, then maybe he would give this place a little more credit.

Luke pictured you in a city like New York, but he wasn’t sure you could handle the hustle and bustle. You certainly didn’t belong in LA– you seemed like the type that thrived off of snow and hot chocolate. Plus, you also seemed satisfied with the community you created with this coffee shop. Everyone was speaking to one another as if they were longtime friends... everyone but Luke. He didn’t want to be friends with any of them anyway.

Time ticked away faster than he assumed it would. Come mid-afternoon, the sun had set, and people were flooding into the coffee shop for food. They all looked the same to him, and they all knew each other’s’ names. Mid-afternoon slowly turned into early evening, and before Luke knew it, the whole place had cleared. His coffee remained untouched from earlier.

“Hey Curly, we’re closin’ up,” you called from the other end of the café. You were stacking chairs, your apron now thrown over your shoulder like a proper barista would. He had noticed you scrubbing down surfaces, but he hadn’t put two-and-two together.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes widening and pen slipping from his grip, though he made no effort to move. Luke had slept in cars and vans and buses, yet not once had he slept on the street. If he truly wanted to, he could go back to the airport and stay there, however, conditions were worsening outside.

The chair in your hands fell to the table with a spine-shuddering bang. Luke was just thankful he didn’t have all that much caffeine in him or else the sound would have sent his nerves flying.

“Where we ya headin’ to?” you asked, continuing your round about the floor.

“Does it matter?” he sighed as he rubbed his temples. “Got no fuckin’ place to stay.”

You didn’t answer as you stepped back behind the counter to shut off the lights to the kitchen.

“’m stuck in this fuckin’ town with all you fuckin’ people,” he said, “and Spice Crete is so fuckin’ small that your tiny ass motels turned me away. Me. I coulda given ‘em triple their nightly rates! So fuckin’ stupid. I’d rather’ve stayed in fuckin’ New York City with everyone else whose flight was canceled.”

“Spruce Creek.”

“What?” Luke snapped. He imagined that his face looked awfully crude.

“The town,” you giggled, shutting off the lights that were behind the camera. You walked over to him and placed your hand on the leg of an overturned chair. “’s Spruce Creek. Although, I wouldn’t mind the Spruce changing t’Spice. Sounds festive.”

He rolled his eyes.

There was another moment of silence as you stared at him, and he was about to say something about it before you said, “so, stay at my place.”

Luke knotted his brows together. Every line in his face deepened with confusion. “What?”

“I’ve got a couch,” you replied with a smile. “It’s not a California king-sized, but it’s some cushion until the conditions clear up. Free of charge.”

He was about to snort. He was about to say no. But he had no other options. Luke was forced to nod and accept your kind invitation. He hated that you seemed so happy about it.

-

Luke was grateful (truly, he was), but he could not handle your constant chatter. Were all small-town people the same? Did they all talk about nothing that mattered to him just to get under his skin? After you had taken him down the road to the tiny apartment building you resided in, Luke decided he was going to lock himself in the bathroom for thirty minutes of peace. The idea of brushing his teeth and scrubbing off the airplane and coffee shop grime tempted him, though the jingling of a collar snapped him out of his thought process.

A stout and slightly chubby Pitbull waddled over to greet the two of you as you entered through the (god awfully creaky) door. It went right to you, but it soon cowered back into the hallway right when it noticed Luke.

“That’s Grape!” you exclaimed, meanwhile making baby sounds to summon the dog back. “She’s shy when it comes to men. The vet thinks it might be because of her past owner, or something.”

Luke felt the disappointed come and go. Memories of Petunia hit him like a freight train, and it only reminded him further that he wanted nothing more than to be home with her. His eyes fell on the tree in the corner of the living room, and fuck, what a pathetic thing that was. Had you only gotten it yesterday? You didn’t seem like the type of person that had to settle for the runts. The apartment was decked out top-to-bottom for the holiday, so it didn’t make sense that the tree appeared to be seconds away from catching flame.

Whatever. It didn’t matter to him anyway. He was going to be here for a day or two at tops. And, if it had to be any longer, Luke would rather walk home.

And then the tree kept bothering him. “What’s– why’s your tree like...”

You huffed, but you laughed along with it. “Sad?” You shrugged and plopped down onto the hardwood floor as Grape came ambling over. “Couldn’t afford the price of a pretty tree.”

Luke frowned. Now that was unacceptable. “Where’s the nearest tree farm?” he asked you, eyes narrowing on you and the tubby pup that refused to look at him. It truly crushed him that he was not getting attention by that dog. If anything was keeping him back, it would be Grape.

“Um, there’s one behind Martha’s candle shop, so just like a five-minute walk,” you said. “Why?”

“I can’t sleep on a couch facing that fuckin’ thing,” Luke grumbled as he hugged himself with his arms.

“But I can’t– “

“Think of it as me leaving my mark.” He shrugged. The closer he got to closing himself off I the bathroom, the happier he would be. “Buying a tree will hardly put a dent in my wallet.”

You nodded, your lips pulling into a small frown as you lifted yourself off of the floor to stand. “You know,” you mumbled, “you’re gonna find some of the nicest people here in this town. They’ll treat ya like family if you let them. The storm will be over soon, and you’ll go back to your sports cars and model girlfriends. But there’s a warmth you’ll get here that you’ll never get anywhere else. Don’t flaunt things in their faces. People may not be rich here, but they have more worth than you will ever know.” You grabbed your coat from the small hook beside you. “Let’s go.”

-

Luke didn’t like receiving the cold shoulder from anyone, and for some reason, he hated it coming from you. You, the cute, chatty barista who somehow knew exactly how to piss him off. Yet, now that you were upset with him, the entire town would be on his ass. How could he hurt the sweetheart who owned The Coffee Pot? How dare he? Luke hardly expected to come out of this alive.

He didn’t know how to pick out a Christmas tree– he just saw them in movies and always dreamt of the day he could cut one down and decorate it himself. You, however, knew exactly where to go as you stalked off to the way back. Sure, he was right about there being a lot of runts, but there were good ones too. You certainly had experience in shopping for trees. You handled the saw with ease on the walk through the trees while he stumbled over stumps while the tree wagon nicked his shins.

Luke hadn’t made a snarky comment since you snapped at him, which honestly, he deserved. He was being a bit cruel to the folks around town. They had no say in his matters– it was not their fault that he was stuck in this god-awful place.

“If this fuckin’ thing hits my fuckin’– “

“This one,” you said, pointing to a great Fraser fir standing a whopping six feet (he guessed considering he was slightly taller than it).

Luke’s forehead scrunched. “It’s so– “

“Short?” you wondered aloud. “Mhm. I’ll name her Patrice. Who’s cutting? You, or me?”

He stuttered out a pitiful, “uh, I– uh– I-I don’t– “ before you sighed and kneeled on the snow-covered ground.

His eyes widened at your audacious action, and he wondered if you cared about your pants at all. Luke, on the other hand, was freezing his butt off. He was lucky he had a hat to keep his delicate ears warm, but his hands were numb in his coat pockets. The snow was falling in fat, chunky flakes that greatly affected his vision. The two of you looked kind of hilarious, all covered in snow and such, and you were somehow already well into your sawing. You definitely did have experience.

The word “wait” uttered from his lips a moment later.

“What?”

“I-I wanna try.”

You chuckled and sat up. Your arms were coated in needles, and your entire front side was caked in snow. “Give it a go, then,” you said, handing him the saw.

Luke knelt on the ground as he did his best not to wince at the fact that his few-hundred-dollar pair of pants was now soaked in snow, mud, sap, and many other things he didn’t want to think about. He laid down, just like you had, and shit, he wanted to whine about it so badly.

The floodlights overhead hardly shed a speck of light through the needles, which meant he couldn’t see a single thing of what he was about to cut. You had sawed a little already, so he searched and searched for the itsy divot you created.

“I look fuckin’– how the hell do you do this?” he asked, somehow already frustrated. His arms were cramping, and they hadn’t even moved.

You chuckled from above. When he glanced up (as best as he could through the lower boughs), you had grabbed ahold of the top to balance it out for when he began sawing. “Back ‘n forth.” You motioned it with your hands, and honestly, it looked more like–

“A handjob?”

This made you burst into a fit of unforeseen laughter, and that actually caused him to smile, too.

“Like a handjob, yup,” you said.

He nodded and returned his gaze back to the dark underbelly of the fir. Here goes nothing.

It took a bit of time, coercion, and tears, but Luke finally managed to cut down the small fir. He insisted on lifting it into the little wagon too, but the blunt end of the trunk fell on his toe, so you ended up helping out with that one. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure the experience had been worth it, but he promised you a better tree, and hell, you were getting a better tree.

“Cool beans,” you muttered, out of breath. A few snowflakes had stuck to your eyelashes, and that made him smile a bit. You were really pretty. Brushing off your hat, you huffed out, “now, let’s go get Patricia straightened.”

“I thought it was Patrice.”

You pouted. “Oh. Yeah. Patrice.”

Luke had no idea how he remembered that over you, but he knew that in due time, he would hopefully forget Patrice and this entire experience.

-

Luke awoke to a slobbery grin by his nose, and before he could register the puppy’s stare, he was being attacked with big, wet kisses. He had almost forgotten where he was as he laughed at the dog’s sudden friendliness, and then he smelled the burning from the kitchen. The half-open French doors separating the living room from the kitchen only hid so much, so the dancing mess that you were could easily be seen. He recognized the song playing softly through your phone as some song from “10 Things I Hate About You”. Honestly, his life at the moment could have been so much worse.

The spatula flew from your hands, and you yelped, causing poor Grape to waddle off in fear.

“Shit, Y/N,” you muttered to yourself, clambering across the bench surrounding the table to fetch the fallen soldier, “that’s not how you make eggs.”

Luke snickered, but he hadn’t meant it to be as loud as it was. You slipped onto the floor, and he heard your dog’s collar jingle from down the hall.

“Mornin’,” you huffed, kicking your legs out and accepting your defeat. “Like eggs?”

“Got ketchup?”

You groaned. “You disgust me.”

Luke cracked a grin.

“But no, sorry,” you mumbled with a shrug. “’m not a big ketchup fan.”

“You disgust me.”

You leaned forward to peer through the glass of one of the open doors so you could view Patrice in her bare glory. “Thanks, again. For Patty.”

He nodded. “Thanks for giving me a place to stay.”

You nodded, too.

“Need any help in the kitchen?”

Luke found out that you burned some toast, and you were about to serve him watery eggs, which didn’t make much sense to him considering the masterpiece sandwich you crafted for him yesterday. Now it was his turn to show you his skills, although they weren’t all that great. He just wanted things to go faster so he could get the hell out of Spice Girl Creek. The weather didn’t appear all that better just from his observations, but maybe it would be okay by the afternoon.

He had plated your breakfast when you said to him,

“Roads are still closed. We’re only in the middle of Dalton.”

Luke nearly dropped your plate. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He set the two plates down and began to pace a bit.

You shook your head. “But you’re more than welcome to– “

“Leave me alone,” he snapped and raced in the direction of the bathroom. Grape followed after him, and she soon began whining after he closed the door in her face.

Luke wanted to scream or cry or something in between. He was stuck in this town with you and all of those other weird old people that only saw him as a fake movie prop. He was real, and he was so mad that everyone looked at him as if he were the oddest frickin’ man who walked the face of the earth. Sure, he was pricey, and sure, one of his outfits cost more than your monthly rent, but that didn’t give them the right to stare. Just because he was untouchable didn’t mean he had zero feelings completely.

Maybe he was being unreasonable. He wasn’t a fucking god. All of Luke’s feelings stemmed from the fact that he couldn’t get home, and he really had no right to take it out on them. He had no right to take it on you, the pretty stranger that was being too fucking nice to him and his ugly temper.

With a sigh, Luke rinsed his face and walked out to join you for breakfast.

You were sat at the table when he walked back in the kitchen, your one hand petting a snorting Grape, the other struggling to pick up a few bites of egg onto a fork. “I’m sorry,” you said to him as he walked in.

Luke shook his head. That was the last thing you needed to say to him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I really don’t want you to think I’m this rude.”

“No, I get it,” you said. “Ya just wanna go home. I get it.”

He sighed and took his spot on the bench across from you. From what he could remember, his grandmother had a table and bench set like this at her old home. They were nestled between three walls just like yours, but in your case, the kitchen was within arm’s reach.

A thought popped into Luke’s mind. “Do you– do you really run The Coffee Pot by yourself?”

You nodded happily. “Well, sort of. My friend Charlie co-owns it, but he moved away last spring. It’s been me and a few other pals for months now.”

“Jesus,” he said, taking a bite of his bland eggs. Ketchup would have been great, and he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive you for not having ketchup.

“So, I work ten to close,” you said as you poured a bit of salt onto your eggs. Not much better than ketchup. “You’re free to sit in the seating area with the regulars. Darryl might give ya a hard time again. Or, you could see all that Spruce Creek has to offer! Although you might not wanna become an abominable snowman, so it’s up t’ya.”

“Hm, I might,” Luke mumbled. He truly did need a head-clearing walk.

“Waterman’s Bridge is pretty in the winter,” you said, “especially when the river is frozen over. It’s just a ten-minute walk east. The local art gallery is nice. I actually have a few works in there myself. And– “

Luke began zoning out when you mentioned the art gallery. He didn’t know it then, but he had been caught up in the movement of your lips as you spoke. That was the first sign, and after that, he lost track.

-

He dropped by Waterman’s Bridge briefly, but his cheeks were too chapped to withstand the brisk cold of Winter Storm Dalton’s fury. Unfortunately, though he did bring a few beanies and a singular pair of gloves, none of them were thick or warm enough to brace the harsh winter. The next stop was the art gallery like you said. He swore he wasn’t going to visit it, but after you mentioned you had a few pieces hung up, his brain convinced him to drop by.

The building was about the size of your one-bedroom apartment, and the artworks were all cramped and snuggled together like your vintage furniture. This made it easy to spot your creations, and when he did, he found himself going back to examine them. The curator of the place recognized him, but to his luck, they only bothered him for a moment before leaving him be.

Your work wasn’t the worst he’d seen, nor was it the best. Truth be told, he didn’t know what to think about it. He spent a good twenty minutes analyzing the film photographs only to realize there was nothing significant to be analyzed. All Luke knew was that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your art, and that troubled him. They were special because you made them.

He pictured you stretched out on the floor of your living room, couch pushed against the wall as you painted whatever damn thing that came to your mind. You probably carried your film camera with you everywhere, but he suspected that, since it was a literal blizzard outside, your creative eye was being restricted.

Luke quickly shuffled out of the gallery in order to avoid the gaze of the curator. He started in the direction of your coffee shop, but then he remembered the candle store, and oh, did he love candles. Maybe he would pick one up for his mother. Maybe he would pick one up for you.

“Luke, what a pleasant surprise,” you said as he walked in.

The heat hit him like a sudden gust of wind, and he had to shake the snow off of his coat and boats before walking off of the carpet and onto the hardwood. “Need a coffee fix,” he muttered, glaring at a few strangers (or regulars as you would call them) that happened to stare a bit too long.

“Small coffee?” you asked.

He bit his lip and leaned towards you. “Gotta be honest, your regular coffee is more water than coffee,” he whispered. A part of him wished he hadn’t said that, but then you giggled.

“I told Emily that her coffee isn’t nearly as strong as Charlie’s was.” You took a mug from the rack by the espresso machine and faced him. “All right. Prepare yourself for the best coffee you’ve ever tasted.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Bet?”

“Oh, I don’t need to!” you exclaimed. “I already know it’ll be the best coffee. If I’m wrong, then you can have Grape.”

“What?” Luke’s voice escaped him at a higher octave than he had hoped for. “You wouldn’t bet your dog on coffee.”

“Just you wait!”

Luke waited, and truly, he had to admit that you were right. The coffee was damn fantastic, but he wasn’t sure if it was the best he’d had. He would have to try every single cup of coffee he’d tried from around the world to put yours up to the test. But in the meantime, yes, your coffee was the best coffee, and he needed two more cups.

He stayed until close again, his stomach now stuffed with the same turkey pesto panini from yesterday. For the few hours he sat there, half of them were spent admiring you from afar, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Even the stranger next to him elbowed and teased him about it. Luke’s face fell, and he returned back to journaling.

Before exiting into the marshmallow world outside, Luke handed you a heavy brown paper bag.

“What’s this?” you asked, looking inside and fishing out a dark green candle.

“A candle.”

You knotted your brows together in confusion.

“For gratitude,” he continued. “’m not sure what scents ya like– “ He scratched the back of his neck, “–but I figured balsam and cedar was the best– “

Your arms were around his neck before he knew it, and he easily relaxed into your hug. Luke felt himself melt against you, his senses taking in your warmth and your scent purely for a memory stamp. He was slowing starting to realize that he did not want to forget about this experience or you.

“T-thanks,” you said, backing away as a great big smile grew on your cheeks. “This– this is the best thing you could have done for me. Thank you.”

“Course,” he replied. Luke began to smile as well.

Back at your place, you dug out boxes of ornaments. You had only just put them away yesterday once you got rid of your previous tree. A moment later, you invited Luke to help you decorate Patrice, and he jumped at the opportunity.

“What Christmas songs do you prefer?” you asked, stretching your arm out far so you could reach for your phone on the coffee table. The two of you had been untangling the metal hooks from the big ball they had forced themselves into. You let out a soft sound as you bent over, causing something to spark in Luke’s heart. “Traditional or gross modern?”

“I take it you got an opinion,” he muttered mockingly. “Traditional. Gimme that Bing Crosby shit.”

You grinned. “Man of my dreams.”

Luke wasn’t sure if you meant him or Bing Crosby. Whatever it was, it made Luke blush.

-

“Luke,” you whispered in his ear.

He groaned, rolling over and pulling the blanket higher on his bare torso to keep the chills from hearing your voice at bay. The shutter had already traveled halfway up his spine. In his dream, your fingers were tracing along his bicep as the other massaged his scalp. Your chests were pressed together, and the skin-to-skin contact was making his mind reel with pleasure and intimacy. God, you were so beautiful. How had he not noticed before?

“Luke,” you whispered again. Shit, did your voice get sexier?

Luke hummed, but it came out more like a moan as he imagined your lips sucking and biting–

“Luke!” you shouted, hitting his head hard with a couch pillow. “Wake up.”

His eyes snapped open to find you not in bed with him, but in fact, kneeling beside him fully clothed. Fuck.

“The roads are open,” you said. “Snow’s stopped.”

He jumped up, a grin spreading far on his cheeks. Before he knew it, he was lifting you up by the waist and holding you against him, his hand finding its way into your hair so he could press your head onto his chest.

“I take it you’re happy?” you mumbled against his hot skin.

“So fuckin’– “ His mind interrupted his tongue. That meant he could leave. That meant he had to leave. He had to leave you. Luke frowned and pulled away from you.

“What?” you wondered as you examined his suddenly worried expression.

His hands moved onto your cheeks, his thumbs grazing the soft skin underneath your eyes while he thought about what he was going to say.

“What?” you chuckled out lightly, but you soon lost your smile.

“Jus’ thinking about kissing you,” he said, “before I go.”

You were silent for a moment.

“’m sor– “

“I won’t want you to leave if you do,” you whispered, your hands reaching up to gently wrap around his wrists.

Luke nearly let out a breath, but he hadn’t brushed his teeth. “I gotta shower.”

You nodded, dropping your grip on his wrists as he dropped his on your cheeks. “Course.”

His heart was thumping loudly in his chest as he scurried around the small bathroom. He tossed his clothes to the floor, the toothbrush in his mouth nearly sliding back down his throat before he caught it with a gag. The water of the shower was hot enough by the time he had rinsed all of the toothpaste from his mouth, and then you knocked on the door.

“’m– I’m naked!” he shouted hurriedly.

“Yeah, um– I-I figured,” you stuttered out. He could picture you clutching your arms close against your chest like he knew you did when you were nervous.

Luke walked over to the door and opened it slightly so he could peak his head out. You were standing just how he imagined you would be, except he hadn’t expected to face the thick tension that he knew all too well. Your lips were pulled into a pathetic little pout, and it took every ounce of him not to tug you into the bathroom with him.

“I’m just– I’m– I’m gonna miss you,” you said. “I-I don’t– shit, I– “

Luke reached out and grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you in so he could press his lips against yours in a heated kiss. Maybe it was the steam from the shower, but every single nerve in his body ignited. You were kissing him back with as much fervency as he, and he couldn’t help but let himself taste what he had been missing these past three days.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmured breathlessly, nudging your nose and slowly kissing down your cheeks and onto your neck. “So much.”

You unexpectedly pulled away, your eyes frantic, and your lips tugged into a deep frown. “No, you won’t,” you said.

Luke rested his face against the door. “What d’ya mean?”

“Y-you won’t miss me.” You cracked a smile. “You’ll go back to LA– see your friends and family, and you won’t miss me. You won’t miss this town– you won’t even remember it. It’ll be like some dream to you.”

“No,” he said, “that’s not true.”

“Are you sure?” you laughed somewhat maniacally. “You’re famous, Luke. Famous people don’t belong in a town like Spruce Creek. This is for people who have no other choice.”

He shook his head, but you had already walked into your bedroom and closed the door.

-

You offered to drive Luke to the airport, but neither of you spoke the entire time. He wanted to say so much to you, though none of the words that popped into his brain seemed right. Nothing seemed right. Leaving you, despite knowing you for the few days he had, felt like the worst decision he was about to face. He trusted his intuition, and it was telling him to stay.

It continued to tell him to stay as he waited three hours for security to open. It told him to stay as he waited with the other five people at the wrong gate before realizing there was only one other gate to wait by. It told him to stay as he sat on his phone for another three hours, looking at all of the pictures he managed to take through the blustery snowfall. It told him to stay as he gathered his belongings and waited for his ticket to be scanned.

And lastly, it told him to stay as he turned around and rushed out of the airport, his belongings banging around on the pavement behind him as he hailed for a taxi.

His forehead had broken out into a dripping sweat by the time he made it to The Coffee Pot. It was minutes away from closing– he knew. Luke tipped the driver before clambering out onto the slushy road. He hoped you wouldn’t see him just yet.

What was he doing? He had a whole life waiting for him back home. What was he doing?

The door chimed as he stepped in, that familiar gust of hot air hitting him as Darryl shouted, “Ay! Malibu’s back! Give ‘em a kiss for me Stan.”

Stan made a disgusted face as every head turned to Luke. Every head including yours.

“Luke?” you gasped.

“My legs hurt,” he said, “so c’mere.” He nodded you over and watched you walk out from behind the counter. Your steps were wary as you neared. “’m done missing out on other chances. Who says I can’t fall for someone I just met? Who says I can’t drop a few things just to be with you for a bit? Who says it won’t work out?” He chuckled. “I just know I’m crazy about ya, and I don’t really know what else to do but stay.”

You grinned, pulling him down by the neck as you pecked his lips over and over. “See?” you mused. “Small towns ain’t so bad.”

He hummed, a lazily smile finding its way onto his lips. “With you, never.”

tags!

@lilhemmo @oh-annaa @youngbloodstyles @tommyswolves @lukeofmine @crystalisinfinite  @dammitbands

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (Part 11)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office's annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn't expect is for him to say yes

Rating: Mature

A/N: Have I ever told you guys how awesome I think you are? Because I really do think that!

We’ve got some more fluff and some conversations and a baseball game. And in the next chapter, we meet the friends...dun dun dun :D

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

Tag List: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic​ @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91@branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans, swiveling in her desk chair and burying her face in her hands, hoping that if she doesn’t move away from the desk that maybe Ruby will get up and walk away. When she doesn’t hear any movement, she peeks up, opening an eye to see Ruby still sitting in the chair in the corner with an absolute smirk on her face. “Are you five years old?”

“No, but I just saw your boyfriend slobber all over you in your office like you two are horny teenagers, so I really think I’m the mature one in this situation.”

“First of all,” she begins, sitting back in her chair and tugging at the loose strands falling out of her bun, “it was not slobber. He is not a dog. That would be disgusting. Secondly, why the hell were you in my office? I feel like you’re never down in the therapy center.”

Ruby shrugs before she blows on her nails, the picture of nonchalance as always. “I don’t have a session for thirty minutes, and I wanted to see your sex glow.”

“You get creepier by the minute. Mary Margaret is obviously the better best friend.”

“Hey, rude,” Ruby scoffs, throwing the pillow she’s holding over at her only for Emma to catch it. “We are both equally good best friends. I am the fun one who convinces us to do things like skydiving or barhopping, Mary Margaret is the mom friend who doesn’t let us go home with creepy guys, and you, my little Swan, are our brutally honest companion who, despite your sometimes prickly exterior, is a wonderful mix of both me and Marg. And come on, how can you get better than being like me?”

“How did you manage to turn that from a quasi compliment about me and Marg to it being about you?”

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She turns to her computer, logging into her account and waiting for everything to boot up so she can answer the emails that she’s sure have come in since last night. “Why the hell do I have emails from people past midnight? Who is working at midnight and thinks, ‘huh, I want to come visit a children’s center?’”

“People who don’t sleep,” Ruby answers, getting up from the chair and perching herself on the side of her desk, the hem of her dress falling over her knees. “Speaking of that, I want to talk about how you didn’t sleep last night and still have this whole glow about you. You look refreshed, except for this whole hair situation thing you’ve got going on.”

“It dried all on its own and when I brushed it out this morning, it was like a frizzy bush. So the messy bun it is.”

“It looks like sex hair.”

“It is sex hair.”

“Ha,” Ruby laughs, slapping Emma’s shoulder, “I knew it.”

“Well, obviously, Rubes. My boyfriend just came into town after me not seeing him in weeks. What were we going to do? Have him sleep out on the couch after a quaint dinner full of small talk? Maybe a little handholding?”

“I bet you did all of that too.” She rolls her eyes, trying to keep her lips in a straight line. “Maybe.” “You know, I only ask because I’m the entire reason that you’re getting some. The world should thank me.”

“How the hell is that?”

“You met him because of me.”

“I got drunk and lost a stupid bet. You just happened to be…less drunk than me.”

“And then I picked your suitor for the night, who is now your suitor for…awhile? I’m not sure if we’re talking, like, the Nolans type of relationship or the Bachelor type of relationship.”

Her face immediately heats and she squirms in her chair, adjusting herself and suddenly finding a junk email about a sale on cars the most interesting thing in the world. She does not want to answer Ruby’s question, or statement really. She knows her answer, but saying it out loud seems like it’s too much too soon. She feels…a lot for Killian, her feelings teetering so close to love that she could easily be knocked over and fall head first in if she’s given the right push, but she doesn’t want to admit it too soon. She’s not sure where Killian is in that whole regard, but it’s not something she’s actively thinking about. They’re working how they are, and there’s no need for her to think otherwise.

It’s like what Killian told her this morning, just before Ruby apparently saw him “slobbering” on her, he makes her happy. It was cheesy and made her cringe a bit, but then she saw the emotion in his eyes, heard it in his voice, and she realized how sweet it was, how sweet he is. Killian’s had some screwed up things happen to him in the past, things that make her blood curdle that anyone could try to take advantage of a man who’d do anything for anyone, and he still has the ability to be that kind, if not a bit self-loathing when he doesn’t need to be.

Not that she has any right to call someone out for being self-loathing.

She pretty much has that one in the bag.

“So what’s lover boy doing while you’re working?” Ruby asks, obviously sensing that Emma did not want to talk about how long she thinks her relationship is going to last.

It’s forev…nope. She’s not going to even think it. That’d be crazy.

“I’m not sure. I gave him some suggestions on places to go, so he might go explore the city a bit on his own. But honestly with how tired he was, I’m thinking he’s going to go back to my place and crash before doing a bit of work.”

“Sounds like a hell of a vacation.” “I have Netflix and food. What more could he ask for?”

Ruby eventually has to go do actual work, as does Emma, her day passing by at a snail’s pace with little more to do than twiddling her thumbs and cleaning out her desk drawers. Some days are like this, slow and steady, something to do coming in every few hours, while others are nonstop, making her feel like she can never get a moment to breathe. If it were a perfect world, those days would blend together to make a day where she’s never overwhelmed or underwhelmed. To quote Gabrielle Union in 10 Things I Hate About You, she would just be whelmed.

(That movie came on twice in a row the other night, and she was too lazy to get up and find the remote to change the channel.)

But the world isn’t perfect so the rest of day goes by achingly slow with nothing to do, and like it’s some kind of karmic payback for her complaining about her day on Tuesday, Wednesday is a nonstop day that has her so frazzled she forgets to eat lunch and doesn’t realize it’s far past six thirty in the evening, nearly an hour and a half after she should have gone home, until there’s a knock at her office door and Killian’s standing there in a suit with two cups of coffee in his hands.

Oh shit. They were supposed to go out tonight. That’s what they’d decided on when she got home from work yesterday. He’d spent the day catching up on emails and reviewing new scripts even though he apparently promised himself he wouldn’t look at anything new for at least a month. So since he didn’t explore Boston last night, especially with the way they stayed in bed continuing to make up for lost time, they were supposed to tonight.

But she screwed it up.

She groans, throwing her head down against the desk and hiding her face in her arms, hoping that she can somehow go back in time and meet Killian back at her apartment when she was supposed to.

“I am so, so, so, soooo unbelievably sorry. Ah, fuck, I’m really late, aren’t I?”

“Well, you were supposed to be home two hours ago, so yeah, I’d say the fact that you’re still in your office means you’re pretty late.”

He doesn’t look angry or disappointed, the smallest of smiles gracing his face, and she wonders how the man who is on time for literally everything could somehow not be irritated with her.

She’s irritated with herself.

“How pissed are you at me?”

He hums, taking a step away from the door and making his way over to sit on the edge of her desk, his thighs spreading out and gray pants tightening with the movement. That’s not distracting at all. Nope. She doesn’t find the muscles in his thighs in any way attractive. She’s also a liar. “Well, I wouldn’t say pissed is the right word. I’d say more concerned.” “Why?”  

He hands her the coffee then, and she notices the cups are from Iron Bank. He must have gone back there instead of going to Starbucks or something. “Because it’s seven, Swan. And I know you like your job, but I don’t think you like it enough to stay here because you want to. Not when you have a devilishly handsome date waiting for you, especially when he got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Killian’s waggling his eyebrows and smiling down at her, his hair coiffed up in a way that makes her know he put some effort into it, which only makes her feel worse. Obviously Killian doesn’t take as long as she does to get ready for a date, but still. He was at her apartment getting ready and waiting for her all while she was trying to understand why her Excel programming decided to glitch and malfunction and make none of the numbers align.

She feels like an awful human being.

“I’m sorry,” she whines again, saving the program and exiting out, figuring that she’ll fix it in the morning. She’s got to fix this now. “What time is our reservation?”

“At eight.”

“Okay,” she sighs, getting up from her seat and straightening out her pants, “if we break, like, every traffic law or maybe just make a run for it, we can get me home to change and then get there in time. Of course, if we just went to, like, one of my usual places we wouldn’t even need a reservation. So maybe if we don’t make it to Sorellina’s then we can do that. Or we can go and be late and hope they don’t give up our table, or I’ll just wear what I have on. This is fine, right?”

Killian chuckles, not even moving from his perch on her desk while she’s gathering up all her belongings, running through the scenarios again. Before she gets the chance to walk out the door, Killian grabs her wrist, pulling her closer so that she stands in between his splayed knees. Before she can even say anything, he’s pulling her wrist up to his lips and kissing right under her palm. Her eyes flutter closed at the touch, the contrast of the softness of his lips and harshness of his whiskers causing her skin to tingle the slightest bit. She didn’t realize how quickly her heart was beating, how heated her face was, but she can feel it all now as she cools off.

“Swan, calm down.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just…I’m sorry.”

“Love, do not apologize again.”

“I’m – never mind.”

He smiles, running his thumb back and forth over her wrist. “You lost track of time at work, something you do all of the time. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just a dinner reservation. I don’t care if we miss it. But luckily for you, I called and traded it out with someone else for a nine o’clock one.”

“You could have told me that before I felt like the worst person in the world, KJ.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have seen you sweat.”

“You’re not a kind man.”

“Never claimed to be.”

Traffic takes forever, the roads on the way back to her apartment seemingly staying at a standstill for over forty five minutes, but they do eventually get back to her apartment. Luckily, she washed her hair this morning, even curled it a bit, so all she really has to do is slip out of her blouse and pants and slip into a black dress she’s had for years. It’s a little tight, looks more like something she’d wear out to a bar, so she throws on her red leather jacket and favorite ankle boots to look a bit nicer. She knows that she has time to redo her hair and makeup, but all she does is flick on another line of eyeliner and reapply her lipstick before heading back out into the living room where Killian is typing away on his phone.

“Okay, I’m ready to go, though I think we might actually be early now.”

He looks up at her then, his phone dropped into his lap while his lips part and his eyes trace up and down her body. A shiver runs down her spine, something that happens a lot when he’s around, and she reminds herself that they absolutely have to go out tonight. She’s not messing this dinner up again.

“You look – ”

“I know.”

“And you say I’m cocky, love,” Killian laughs, looking back down at his phone and typing a few things in. “I’ve got an Uber coming to pick us up in five minutes.”

“I can drive.” “Aye, I know, but this way we don’t have to worry about parking or if we have anything to drink.”

“I like the way you think.”

It’s a relatively cool night as they wait outside for their Uber, so she’s glad that she grabbed her jacket, but they’re not outside long before loading up into Devin’s car as he takes them across town to Sorellina’s. She’s been in more Ubers than she should for someone who likes to drive herself places, but Devin is definitely the quietest driver she’s ever had. He doesn’t say much, just asking how their evening is going while they chat in the back, but she does notice him continuously looking back at them through his review mirror.

She has no idea why until they’re pulling up outside of the restaurant, and he asks, “Hey, are you?”

“Yeah,” Killian answers, quickly sliding out of the backseat and holding his hand out for her so that she can easily get out of the car. Maybe he is the gentleman he claims to be. Okay, so he definitely is. “Have a good night, mate.”

Before they go inside, she grabs onto his jacket sleeve, tugging at him to look at her. “Hey, is it okay that we’re out? I didn’t think about people recognizing you.”

“It’s fine, love.” He leans down and kisses her, making her forget her worries for the moment. “As long as you’re okay with the possibility of people seeing us together, I’m fine with it.”

“I’m fine with it too.”

“Good.”

Despite being fine with it, she does notice how Killian’s reservation is for a booth in the back, the lighting not as nice as it is everywhere else in the restaurant. But whatever works for him works for her, and she really doesn’t have any complaints about tonight. It might be a nicer place than she usually frequents, but that’s not going to keep her from having a nice time.

She gets a lasagna, though it’s definitely got a fancier name than that on the menu, while Killian gets gnocchi, which she definitely would have pronounced wrong if she had ordered it. Maybe she needs to expand her palate a little bit. But it’s fine for tonight. The food is good, the wine great, and even though she’s never been one for fancy restaurants, she finds it doesn’t matter when you actually like the person who’s sitting across from you.

Maybe that’s been the problem.

Or maybe the prices.

Probably both.

Definitely both.

“ – no, no, I’m serious. I won the spelling bee when I was in primary school. I was quite the little academic. Top five in my class, too.”

Killian’s been telling her all about his academic prowess and all of the clubs he was in when he was younger. He played a green bean in a play about how eating your vegetables is important, and she thinks that’s where he got his penchant for healthy eating. And maybe why he’s such a good actor.

“Who knew you were such a little genius, KJ?”

“I did. My entire life.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her wine to hide her smile. “So why’d you never go to college…or university? That’s what you call it, right? I know you moved here when you were eighteen to get away from…everything, but I bet you could have gotten a scholarship. That’s what I did. And a hell of a lot of student loans.”

Killian takes a sip of his rum before reaching up to scratch behind his ear, his lips ticking up on the right while his eyes squint. “Eh, it was the money, the fact that I didn’t know what to do. Liam had busted his arse to pay for me to live after he managed to get me into his custody, and I didn’t want to burden us anymore. I was good at manual labor, so if I hadn’t found the set building job, I think we would have both worked in construction. I like being able to work with my hands.”

Oh. She didn’t think of that. She should have. She went through doing it all on her own, worrying about finances and how to live, and she should have known that Killian did that too. She knows enough about his childhood to know how rough he and Liam had it for a few years. But sometimes the words just slip without her thinking.

“I’m sorry that I asked, if that brought up bad memories of something you didn’t get to do.”

“Hey,” Killian soothes, reaching across the table and twining their fingers together, his palm warm in hers, “it’s fine, love. It’s not a sad story or something I’m ashamed of. It’s my past, and I kind of like my job situation now. I don’t think I would have gotten it if I’d studied somewhere.”

“What…what do you think you would have studied? Hypothetically speaking.” “Then? English. Would have been dirt poor for my entire life, but I would have liked to have been a teacher. Now? Definitely acting. I’m pretty self taught, but the academic in me likes to always know more, to be learning.” He squeezes her hand before releasing it and moving it back to his side of the table. Sometimes she sees little flickers of darkness behind the brightness of his eyes, but he either hides it well or truly doesn’t let his past affect him too much. “But I don’t regret anything, Swan. I spent too long being bitter, and I’m not going to complain about how Liam and I made it here. Though, I would take having my mum back.”

“She’d be proud of you.”

“I’d like to hope so.” He smiles softly, almost sadly, and it breaks her heart like it does every time she thinks of Killian losing his mom, someone he very obviously loved with his entire being. “She’d love you. You remind me of her, actually, and not in some kind of weird, psychologists would study it, way.” “Well that’s good to know,” she laughs, messing with the leftover food on her plate so that she has time to process all of this. She kind of wishes she could have met his mom, too. Mostly she wishes that she was here for Killian. And Liam.

She may have never known her parents, may not know anything about them, but Killian knew his mom. He grew up with her and had to watch her die when he was ten. She can’t…she can’t imagine. But at the end of the day, she and Killian have both been left, abandoned by people who were supposed to love them and be there for them, so they understand each other. And she’s known that from the night they met when he shared with her that he’d been in foster care for awhile, something people don’t know.

He trusted her from the beginning, and that’s not an honor she takes lightly.

Oh God, she’s kind of thinking like him now.

“I just mean that you two are both bloody brilliant with huge hearts and a quick wit. And, you know, the ability to knock me back down to earth when my head gets a little too big.”

“So all of the time?”

“Aye, so all of the time.”

“All of the time, KJ.”

After they get the bill, she and Killian walk outside and wait for their Uber, not really wanting to walk around the area. She can feel the wine buzzing through her the slightest bit, not anywhere near enough to be drunk, but definitely enough to be a little wine happy. Killian wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her a little bit closer so that she can rest her cheek against his shoulder.

“You know, darling, I don’t think I tell you this enough, but I think you are phenomenal.”

“Hmm, I feel like you should just tell me that every day. You may not need to have an inflated ego, but I certainly can.”

“I’m serious, Swan. You’re a badass. The life you’ve made for yourself, all by yourself, it takes a strong woman to do that, and you deserve all of the credit in the world. And in case no one has ever told you, I’m proud of you.”

Oh shit.

She wasn’t expecting that. Not at all. Not in the slightest. And she’s not going to cry. This was supposed to be dinner, a night out that’s fun, not something that’s going to make her cry. But she doesn’t think anyone has ever told her that. Maybe Mary Margaret and David, but she’s not sure right now.

She’s barely able to even tell herself that sometimes, even if she is damn proud of herself.

And then another thought comes to her, the very one that was teetering on the tip of her tongue that she was trying to push down, and it nearly takes her breath away. She thinks she loves him. No, she does love him. She…expected it in a way, but really, in no way could she have ever expected this, expected him.

In no way could she have ever expected herself to even want to love again, not after everything, but she’s here and weirdly, she’s not scared of it.

Okay, so maybe she’s a little terrified, but the voice that’s telling her to run away is oddly quiet. Maybe it’s replaced by the sound of Killian telling her he’s proud of her.

She turns in Killian’s embrace and wraps her arms around his neck before capturing his bottom lip with her mouth, feeling the softness and warmth that always accompanies him. He gasps a little when her lips move, almost like he wasn’t expecting it, and she smiles into the kiss, not able to help herself from her teeth clanking against his before she moves back in with fervor, trying to let him know how she feels even if she can’t say the words yet, if she wants to hoard them and keep them to herself for now.

For tonight at least.

“Hey, are you, um, Liam Jones, who ordered the tan Toyota Camry with Madeline driving?”

She pulls back a bit when a girl yells at them from the restaurant’s driveway, her face red enough that Emma knows she’s been watching them for awhile. Oops.

She’s not at all sorry.

“That’s us,” Killian laughs, quickly kissing her once more before pulling back from her.

“Liam Jones? That’s definitely not your name.”

“Aye, I know, but this way if I ever get a bad review, it’s under Liam’s name.”

“But it’ll still be under your account. I don’t think that’s – ”

He dips his head and kisses her again, making her almost lose her balance on the sidewalk. “Aye, I know that’s not how it works, Swan. Let’s just get in the car and hope Liam doesn’t get a bad review from me not being able to resist you until we get back to the apartment.”

“I think the bad review might be worth it.”

-/-

“So who are we playing tonight?”

“The Orioles. If you’d come, like, a week and a half later we could have watched the Astros, but nooo, apparently you have schedules and things like that.”

“I mean,” Killian begins, wrapping his arm around her shoulder while they walk down Van Ness, the sidewalk crowded with people heading toward Fenway, even if tonight isn’t a big game, “I do occasionally have to work. Meetings and such. And family obligations.”

“Excuses, excuses.” She reaches over to pat his back, rubbing up and down in circles. “Have you ever been to a baseball game?”

“Aye, I’ve been to several Dodgers’ games.”

“Okay, better question. Have you ever been to a baseball game and not sat, like, behind home plate?”

“Are you asking if I’ve ever sat up in the cheap seats?”

“Yep.”

“Well, believe it or not, I was once a poor young lad.”

“From a poor family.”

“I don’t think Bohemian Rhapsody is really the song to quote here.”

“Okay, go on, go on.”

“So Liam and I, when we first moved to California, would go and buy the nosebleeds for the Dodgers, and go a couple times a summer. Yeah, we could have just watched on TV, but there’s only so much time you can sit in a small apartment with your older brother who was very hot and heavy with his girlfriend.”

“Elsa?”

“Oh no, this was long before Elsa. Liam was quite the ladies’ man when we first moved here.”

“Really now?”

“Oh yes, think about it. A British transplant fresh out of the Navy with those stunning Jones looks.”

“You’re either conceited or confident. I can’t decide.”

“Maybe a bit of both.”

They get to their gate, Emma pulling up the tickets on her phone and scanning them before going through. She thinks Killian gets a few weird looks, but he’s got on his aviators and a hat, which is obviously not a complex disguise or anything, but he says that it works, which is a really weird thing for her to think about. She sometimes (all of the time) forgets what he does for a living, or really, the consequences of what he does, even if that is how they met. But then they’ll be out and he’ll tug his hat down on his forehead or, like the other night, make sure their table is in the back corner of the restaurant.

After going through security, they wander around in the concrete halls, passing by all of the food and souvenir stands until they find the staircase to lead them to their seats. Only a few people are in their area, the stadium mostly empty, but she didn’t really expect anything else. She’s been to enough of these games to know that some games just are pretty empty. But it is Friday night, so as the first few innings go by, the score staying steady at one run a piece, people begin to filter in, the red seats slowly being filled with people as the sun sets over the stadium, coating the Boston skyline with pink clouds and a red sky that would almost look creepy if not for the way that there’s still light blue mixed into sky.

She looks to her left where Killian is holding up his phone, very obviously taking pictures of the sunset over the stadium.

“You are so basic, KJ.”

“Basic and getting a picture of this sunset.” He turns to her, holding the phone right in front of her face in what she knows is an unflattering angle. “Smile, love.”

“No,” she groans, covering her face and letting her hair fall in front of her eyes. She should have never taken her sunglasses off. “That’s going to look gross.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian laughs, pulling back and flipping through the photos where she pretty much looks like the girl from The Ring with a double chin and only one eye that opens, “I think these look pretty good.”

“Delete those.” “Oh no, I’m keeping them forever. Might even post them online.” “That is a threat that I do not like, and I will unfollow you. That’s one less like on your artsy pictures of your food.” “Oi,” he reaches over and pinches the skin on her inner thigh, “that was one time, and you won’t let it go.”

“You stood up over the table and turned your flashlight on to get good lighting.” “It was a good breakfast.”

“Sure, babe,” she laughs, placing her hand over his on her thigh. “I know you’re just a basic girl on Instagram.”

“Well, in that case,” he yawns, dramatically stretching his arm over her shoulder and yanking her closer, “let’s take a selfie.”

“Oh my God, you are so not smooth.” She can’t stop laughing, is sure that her face is heating from the constant movement, but that doesn’t stop her from leaning her cheek into his and smiling while he holds the phone up and takes several pictures. “But I like your basic girl tendencies.”

“Good, and now I have photos so I can scrapbook my big trip to Boston.”

“Stop,” she groans, burying her head in his shoulder while his entire body shakes in laughter underneath her. He is not going to make a scrapbook. That would just be…ridiculous.

“Never. You want something to eat?”

“Obviously, yes. I thought about just waiting until afterwards so I didn’t spend the money on the overpriced cheeseburger, but I want the damn overpriced cheeseburger.” She gets up from her chair, pulling her shorts up and making sure her sweater is still tucked in. “What do you want?”

“I was going to go get it, Swan.”

“Nah, my treat, KJ. You can stay here and watch this riveting game. There’s so much happening.”

“You say that and something will definitely happen while you’re gone. And I’ll just eat whatever you’re having, but with a water.”

“How do you know I wasn’t going to get a water?”

He taps his forehead, smiling up at her so that his eyes crinkle. “I just know.”

She rolls her eyes before grabbing her purse and maneuvering her way out of their row of seats, apologizing to everyone as she steps over them and blocks their view. There’s a concession stand just outside of their gate, so she quickly slides into line, pulling out her phone and scrolling through Instagram. Maybe she’s a basic girl of Instagram too.

There’s a picture of Leo at the top of her timeline. He’s holding a sign saying he’s going to be a big brother. She likes it, laughing under her breath. Maybe they’ve all fallen into the trap of being basic. It’s whatever. She likes the cute pictures. As she continues to scroll, she sees a hell of a lot of pictures of her old classmates from college standing in front of colorful murals, cheesy captions with them all, as well as one from Victor where he’s posted all of the used coffee cups in his office. Kind of gross but whatever. He works weird shifts.

And then suddenly there’s a picture of her. Well, kind of her. Or at least her hair. Her face is buried in Killian’s shoulder while he smiles at the camera. It must have been when he was taking the pictures and she couldn’t stop laughing. When she slides to the right, there’s a picture of the stadium with the sun setting over it. It really is a good picture.

KillianJonesOfficial: She knocks my (red) sox off.

Her cheeks immediately blush while she likes it, knowing better than to click on the comments. They talked about how things with them would likely go public the more they go out, and she said she was fine with it. She doesn’t necessarily like it, especially if there’s going to be the occasional person following her around, but she also doesn’t want to have to hide away in her apartment when they can go out and do things like this.

Though, Killian probably shouldn’t have posted this while they’re at the game. That doesn’t seem like a good idea.

She eventually gets to the front of the line, ordering their meals and waiting for them to be made until she’s got all of the junk food she needs (she’s definitely going to have to go for a run in the morning) and is making her way back up the stairs, hoping that she doesn’t drop everything while navigating the small aisles.

“Thanks,” Killian says as she hands him his tray and his water, holding down her seat so she doesn’t do something klutzy like fall on her ass.

“Mhm,” she hums, popping a fry in her mouth. As good of a time as she had at dinner the other night, this is her kind of date. “So, um, I see that you’re stealing my jokes for your captions.”

“You are not the only one to ever say that joke.”

“It was still my joke.” She eats another fry as Martinez hits a homerun, something finally happening in the game. Everyone around them cheers, a few wolf whistles thrown around, while music plays over the speakers and the hit is replayed on the jumbotrons. “But I’m glad I make you write cheesy captions. Aren’t you worried about people coming to find you, though? Isn’t that a thing?”

“Aye, but those girls down in front of us have been sneaking pictures of me all night. I figured it was just a matter of time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, love. I’m having a bloody good time even if this is the most boring game I’ve ever been to. I was expecting more from the team who beat my Dodgers for the World Series.”

“Ah, I get it now. You’re just salty that you lost.”

“Damn straight. I was at the game.”

“And things just make all the more sense.”

The game finishes a little before nine, most everyone having cleared out already, so as a breeze washes over the night, they make their way back to the parking garage she parked in a few blocks over. Most people are beginning to settle into bars and pubs, a Friday night just beginning for most, and when she suggests that they go to a pub, Killian almost falls out on the sidewalk talking about how his ass hurts from sitting in tiny plastic seats for three hours and how he absolutely cannot sit on anything that’s not a soft cushion. When she teases him about thirty-three hitting him early, he doesn’t say anything, stretching his legs out only for his knees to pop…and then to pop again when he settles down into the passenger seat of her car.

She doesn’t say anything then, just silently reaches over and pats his thigh while they wait in traffic to get out of the garage. He grabs her hand only to put it down and reach over to take her left wrist in his hand, quickly kissing the inside of her wrist. She doesn’t know why he does that, but she’s noticed it over the past week. It happens about as often as he reaches up and scratches behind is ear, and it makes something inside of her flutter. She’s not sure if anything in her body is supposed to flutter, but something does.

Maybe one day she’ll ask him why he does the wrist thing.

Maybe one day she’ll tell him she loves him too.

Once they get away from Fenway, the traffic thins out and it’s a quick drive home, Emma easily pulling into her parking space in front of her apartment and grabbing her bag of work clothes out of her backseat before unlocking the front door of the building and taking the stairs up to her apartment with Killian behind her.

“I’m going to go take a shower, okay?”

Killian nods as he settles himself down on the couch, and she quickly makes her way into the bathroom, turning on the shower and waiting for it to heat while she strips away her clothes and tosses them into her hamper. It’s been a long week, and as much as she loves having Killian here, she hasn’t gotten nearly as much sleep as she usually does. She really likes her sleep.

It’s probably the fastest shower of her life, just a quick rinse off of the sweat and grime collected at the game, before she’s hopping out and wrapping a towel around her chest and in her hair so she can wash her face. She usually does a face mask once a week, and she’s definitely neglected that this week and can already feel herself breaking out. So she slathers on the cream, covering herself in the green mask before sliding on pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt.

When she walks back into the living room, she plops down next to Killian, who is watching Live PD for some reason. Kind of weird but it’s whatever. One of her favorite things about him being here are discovering his weird tendencies that she doesn’t get to see when they’re apart.

“How was your shower, Jim Carrey?”

She turns to look at him, and he’s smirking at her, his lips ticking up to the right while his eyes slant. “What now?”

“Jim Carrey,” he repeats, waving his hand in her face, “you know, like the Mask?”

“Oh my God,” she groans, having to restrain herself from hiding her face in her hands so she doesn’t mess her mask up while it dries, “I knew I should have stayed in the bathroom until I wiped it off.”

“Yeah, that was a horrible mistake on your part, love.”

She chuckles, leaning down into the cushions and watching someone get pulled over for driving without a license or a license plate, which is definitely not a smart move. She lets out a large breath, her stomach extending with the movement. Another thing about Killian being here is that she’s eating a hell of a lot more and going to the gym less.

And sex only counts a little. She’s not going to be one of those weird people who says their gym is the bedroom. Like, why are there people who not only think that but who feel the need to share it with others?

“Do you want to get up and go running in the morning?

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“Are you still going to be wearing that mask? Because I’m just not sure I can be seen with you looking like that.”

[bangtanstanst]

Han

When you have to stay late at the office, Taehyung joins to keep you company.

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff, office!au

warnings: none

word count: 1.7k

a/n: short and sweet, I hope you enjoy it♥

masterlist

Sighing, you lean your elbows on your desk, face too close to the monitor of your computer to see much of anything. You rub your eyes, feeling the urge to just keep them closed and take a little nap right here at your desk. You’re pretty sure your aching muscles will manage to keep you awake until you finish the last few pages, but you’re definitely willing to prove yourself wrong.

The shrill ringing of a phone makes your head snap back up and you look around, checking to see if anyone has noticed your short ‘break’, though you realise for the third time in an hour that all your colleagues have left the office by now. Huffing, you swipe your phone off the table, turning it over to see Taehyung is calling. Just before you can pick up your boyfriend’s call, though, the ringing stops and the screen turns back to black.

With another sigh, you put your phone back on your desk and lean back, seat creaking with your movement. Turning your head to look out the large office window beside your desk, you see the street lights glittering in the dark night air outside, reflecting against the water of the Han river your office overlooks. Before you know it, you find yourself staring, your mind gladly taking the distraction to rest for a few moments.

Letting out a long breath, you rest your chin in your hand, eyes glazed over as you keep them on the streets, the river, the lights below. You lazily follow the pedestrians that pass outside, the cars that speed over the roads, the harsh street lights that shine down on them. Quite honestly, you wish you could just pack up and go outside, even if it’s so cold you’re guessing the river is almost freezing over. You’d much rather be freezing than have to sit at your desk for another hour, editing the fifty pages of text your boss gave you mere minutes before she’d left, and half an hour before you were supposed to be off. Sometimes, you wonder if she even understands that you’re not Grammarly, that it doesn’t just take five seconds for you to finish editing a page of writing. Especially hers, and especially not on a Friday. Can’t she just –

“Boo.”

You jump at the sudden voice right behind you and a gasp escapes your lips, heart beating out of your ribcage as you turn around to face the culprit. “What the fuck, Tae?” you say as you breathe out, hand on your chest.

Taehyung just smiles back at you, stuffing one hand into the pocket of his long winter coat. He’s holding a mysterious plastic bag in the other. “Hello to you, too,” he replies, putting the bag onto your desk and grabbing a chair from the one beside you, settling down beside you to face the window.

You laugh. “Hi,” you correct yourself, glancing at the bag, now close enough that you can smell it. You catch a whiff of the food it contains, an immediate smile growing in response. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going out for drinks with your floor,” you question, turning to peck his lips now that he’s shrugged off his coat. The wind has messed up his soft brown hair, some strands sticking up at weird angles, though running your fingers through his locks doesn’t seem to help much.

He hums and shakes his head, rolling his chair closer to your desk. “That’s tomorrow,” he says, grabbing a few takeout boxes from the bag. “And since a little bird told me Doyun gave you a good night’s work again, I thought I could get you some dinner,” he adds, sending you a smile as he sets out the boxes in another desk chair he’s pulled up in front of you.

“Oh? We have a tattletale in the office, huh?” you joke, helping Taehyung take off the lids. “Who was it this time?”

“I never sell out my sources,” he says with a grin, handing you a pair of chopsticks.

“Let me guess, Minsu?” His hand pauses in mid-air and he glances at you with wide eyes, though he shrugs in an attempt to keep it mysterious. With a knowing laugh, you continue anyway, “It’s not that bad, really. I only have ten pages to go.”

Taehyung shakes his head, stirring the food in the container he’s holding. “That’s ridiculous, you shouldn’t even be here at this hour,” he insists, looking up at you as he stuffs a rice cake into his mouth. “You should really talk to Doyun about it, Y/N.”

You shrug. “That’ll only make her hate me,” you shoot back, eyes glued to the food you stir around with your chopsticks, though you don’t actually eat any of it just yet. “I’ll be fine.” He looks at you warily and you send him a smile in an attempt to reassure him. “Promise.”

Though he doesn’t seem entirely satisfied, he takes your word for it and turns back to the food. “So how was your day, despite all of this?”

“Lots of meetings, but I got through them without falling asleep, so I guess that’s something to celebrate,” you reply with a laugh, stuffing some fried rice into your mouth. “You?”

He returns the smile you give him. “It was pretty good, too. I finally finished that report they’ve been on my ass about.”

“Oh, nice!” You hold up your hand for a high five, though neither of you has any free hands, so it just turns into a weird back-of-hand bump. Laughing a little, you continue, “Guess we’ll have to celebrate properly tonight.” You think nothing of the implied meaning behind your words until Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you. “And I wasn’t talking about that.”

With a huff, Taehyung digs into one of the other takeout boxes, cheeks bulging as he chews. “But we haven’t had a movie night in ages.”

You let out a laugh and shake your head, quite sure a movie night really wasn’t the first thing on his mind. “Movie night sounds good. We can buy snacks on the way home.”

His smile returns, not faltering as he continues eating, and you sigh happily as you turn back to the food as well.

Both a little tired, you sit in silence for a few minutes, picking food from different containers and savouring the tastes, all with the large office window in front of you, giving you a beautiful view of the streets outside with the Han river flowing right beside it. Its water is as dark as it ever is at this time of night, though its waves glitter in the lights from the skyline it’s surrounded by.

You glance at your computer screen, where the cursor is blinking on the forty-first page of fifty, then at Taehyung, eating his food as he stares ahead of him, eyes sparkling with wonder as he looks out the window. In a swift move, you roll back to your desk, which catches Taehyung’s attention, though he doesn’t say anything. Still remaining silent, you mark where you are, save the document, then switch off the computer.

“I thought you wanted to finish it before we left,” Taehyung says with a frown as you roll back to sit beside him and finish the last container of food. The whirring of your computer is the last sound to fade away, a serene silence falling over the office. It feels strange, this feeling of peace in a place that usually has quite the opposite.

You shrug. “I’ll be fine,” you reply, raising your head to look at him. “I’ve done enough for today.”

The smile he sends you is bright enough to light up the room. “Movie night, then?”

You stuff the last of the fried rice in your mouth, throwing the last empty container on the pile with the rest. “Yeah, movie night,” you reply softly, throwing one last look out the window at this skyline, one last moment of this serenity before you leave it behind.

You and Taehyung pack up quickly, throwing out the takeout boxes and putting the chairs back behind their desks. You switch off the lights when you’re done, walking towards the elevators.

“You know,” he starts as you step into one of the elevators, punching in the button for the ground floor. “I’ll warn you up front, it’s pretty cold outside.”

Looking up at him, you laugh a little. “Yeah, that’s why I grabbed my winter coat this morning.”

Taehyung quickly shakes his head as the doors open to show you the lobby. “No, no, I don’t think that’s enough. You’ve spent all day in a warm office,” he says seriously, glancing down at you and putting an arm around your shoulders as you walk towards the revolving doors that’ll lead you outside. “I think I’ll have to keep you warm.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, putting an arm around his torso and leaning into him. “You could’ve just said you wanted a hug, Tae.”

He grins at you. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

Smiling, you roll your eyes, though you feel your heart flutter when you look into his bright eyes. “Let’s just get popcorn and have this movie night, yeah?”

He gives you a soft smile, leaning in and kissing you briefly, arm tightening around your shoulders. “Sounds like a plan,” he replies, pressing his lips to your cheek before pulling back.

Waving a last goodbye to the night guard, you step outside into the cold night air you’ve been wanting to step into for hours now. There’s a thick air of car exhaust that hits you in the face, but even with that, you already feel much better as you start on your way home, the Han river flowing right beside you. Your muscles are still aching to get a rest, your eyes are still dry from looking at a computer screen for so long, and you’re slightly worried Doyun might just yell at you for not finishing the pages on time, but you don’t care. You’ll worry about it later.

Right now, you just want some popcorn.

masterlist

a/n: thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought and what you want to see next :) I hope you have a great day/night wherever you are!♥

[verosmoonshine-blog]

// Wrote this for Discord, wanted to share here ^u^

"You know, it's been a long time since I saw you."

"A few months isn't a long time, Moo."

"To those not like us, it is. I'm offended you never visit anymore!"

A harsh tug on the bandages deft hands handled elicits a small 'ouch!' from Veros, and he knows the movement is deliberate. He laughs off the sting, looking up at the Shal'dorei woman's scarred face, smile fading when he recognizes the tension that he knew meant she was upset. He's had thousands of years to learn all of Fifi's habits and expressions -- the quirk of her lips, flick of her brows, the muscle that tugs her long, fine nose -- and though he tries to maintain an aloof composure, he knew she would have none of it.

She tightens the bandage around his bloodied forearm, the sting replaced when chi flows through him, and she hovers over him, tilting her head and forcing a grin. "Well, I've visited now, haven't I?"

He sighs, sitting up on the couch once she had finished with him. He was worse for wear, his runic tattoos still glowing from overuse of mana and vaguely burning against his skin, lacerations and wounds marring his violet skin. He had fully intended to return home, plop on this very couch with a simple warpfield, and drink 'til he was asleep to forget the pain of a less than favorable mission. Coming home to Fifi Vitale in his living room, judging, was the last on his agenda.

"Should have told me you were stopping by, I would have--"

"-- would have tried harder not to wreck your damn self?"

Veros holds a finger up, brows raised. "And gotten us some food."

She huffs, but there's a touch of humor in her expression he catches. She drags out the small seat closer to him, plopping down and crossing her legs, staring at him. Her gaze is enough to make him wary; she has something to say, but it was unlike her to spend so much time choosing her words. His curiosity and impatiences gets the best of him.

"You really don't come by often. Why are you here?"

Now, she regards him with a foreign expression, and it does nothing to settle his worries. Hurt? Anger? Confusion? Say something.

"When I heard you weren't going to be in the military anymore, I was hoping it meant an end to all of... this." She gestures to his sorry state, and he drops his head back against the armrest of the couch. "No offense, Moo, but you're not a fighter type. Never have been. It's so wrong to see you like that."

"Believe me, it's equally startling to see you take on a healing role, given how far from gentle you are," Veros retorts, prompting a pillow to be thrown at him.

"You're welcome, asshole." She puffs her hair out of her face, shaking her head. "I'm serious. I came by to check in and chat, and just finding you like this only confirmed my worries. This life is eating away at you."

He sits up straight now with a groan, eyeing her as she stares right back. Usually, Veros would find himself grateful to see the softer sides of the cold-hearted woman, but today, it did nothing but aggravate him. "Aren't you actively fighting with the Horde's army, Miss Honorbound? Why am *I* suddenly too fragile to do what needs to be done--"

He shrinks back instinctively when she's suddenly on her feet, grasping at the strands of black streaked hair and tugging it for him to see, his eyes almost forced to cross as she holds it to his face. Her expression is serious, eyes dark with something words can't speak, and he's surprised when her voice still comes out calm and even. "The entire time I've known you, you've been nothing but reckless and self destructive. The people out here only enable you to be an idiot further." She shakes the black hair she held. "Are we going to have a repeat of this? What would you have done if I didn't stop by here? Drink and hope you didn't bleed out?"

"Fi--"

"How many times does this shit happen when I'm not here? You don't owe these people shit. You don't need to be putting yourself out there and bleeding for *nothing*."

"It's not for nothing!" Veros shouts back, swatting her hand away. "I have my purpose, and I'm fulfilling my duties --"

"Yours? Are they yours, or just orders?"

"What the fel is your problem?!"

They were both glaring at each other, lips curled back in a snarl, angry and hurt in so many ways. Five thousand years they had maintained a friendship with one another, living off frivolities and cynical banter, scamming businesses and ruining parties, running shops and drinking until there was no coherent string of thought. How so much changes so quick with just the drop of a spell, and now, for a moment, a fleeting, terrifying moment that seized his heart, he worried that they didn't know each other at all anymore.

She's the first to settle and calm down -- another thing that takes him by surprise, more fuel for the fear that he was losing a friend. "Something is happening, Veros." So rarely, did she ever use his first name. Every word keeps sinking further, and further. "I don't know what it is. Something more, beyond this fucking war. I don't care if you hate the Horde now or whatever the fel it is you feel, but there's something... darker. And I don't want to come back and find out that your dumbass got yourself caught up in it and killed."

Her eyes are on his black and white streaked hair again, a remnant still of the Void corruption he barely manages. His shoulders sag, and he doesn't know how to respond. She continues. "You're the only person I have left from Suramar. You know this. I'm just asking you this as your friend, Veros. Because for some reason, I fucking care about you. But... come back to Suramar. Please."

He can only stare numbly. It was the last thing he expected to hear, and it takes him a moment to process it. She already knows what the answer will be, the look in her face says that much, but the question still weighs heavy. His silence seems to take its toll on her, and she straightens up, smoothing her regalia out and putting on that face she always wore when she's desperate to preserve her dignity.

"Nevermind. I don't know why I came here." She packs her things noisily, storming for the door before Veros can do anything about it. "Don't let that get infected. I've got shit to do -- hopefully you know what you're doing."

The door slams, and the roaring silence envelops him, drowning him. There is nothing left to say.

[lumosinlove]

I have a request! So Basically it takes place when the marauders are in school, maybe around year 5 and Sirius is distancing himself from the others, even Lils cuz his boyfriend is kinda abusive and controlling and Remus finds out and asks for help from James and Pete or maybe lils.... idk I just like the concept and maybe Sirius and Remus get in a fight and “Why do you even care about me, Re?!” “Because I love you, Sirius!” And they do that cliche kiss. Thanks if you do!

So, I sort of strayed a bit from the prompt but I hope you enjoy anyway!!

Remus was sure the thought that he would gladly murder Alex Silenson without even a blink entered his head at least once a day. It didn’t matter where they were. Charms? He’d be careful not to get blood on the summoning cushions. The Great Hall? Well, he supposed some people losing their appetite was a risk he’d have to take. The dorms? He’d close Alex’s curtains and worry about the body later.

They were dark thoughts, but since Alex was the someone who got to kiss Sirius Black on a daily basis, Remus deemed them appropriate.

They had just entered Transfiguration, and McGonagall was poised primly at the front of the room, a fluffy bird in hand that made Remus feel almost positive they would each be taking home their very own fluffy feather dusters at the end of the day.

“Settle down, please, and take your seats. You’ll each find an owl has been provided for you. Please do not extract them from their cage until I say so.”

Remus felt a shoulder bump his and he looked over, finding Sirius’ bright, gray eyes, “Wha’do you reckon Minnie will do if I set our two free?”

Remus raised an eyebrow, “You know Pads, people are going to stop recognizing you soon, you’re in detention so often.”

Sirius just laughed, sliding his bag off his shoulder and slouching down onto the desk bench beside Remus. Remus set his bag down more carefully, rummaging for his notebook, when a shadow fell over them.

“Sirius, what are you doing?”

Remus froze, fingers tightening around the binding of his Transfiguration book, and kept himself well bent over his bag, heart sinking.

He felt the weight of Sirius’ pause in response to his boyfriend’s question, and felt the even heavier, forced laugh that followed.

“What do you mean, Al?”

Remus straightened up then, setting his quill and ink in front of him. He felt Alex’s gaze flicker to him and returned it only briefly, flashing what he hoped was a casual smile. His shoulders, tense and nervous, were anything but casual. Alex looked back to Sirius.

“I think you missed the perfectly free seat next to me.”

Sirius set his textbook on the desk, “I just thought I might, y’know, change it up a bit.” He sent Alex another grin, but it faltered under Alex’s gaze, “I—I mean, just for today—“

“Come on.” Alex picked up Sirius’ textbook, and proceeded to stalk towards the back of the room with it.

Remus, inexplicably to himself, suddenly felt a strange sort of panic. They both watched him go for a moment, and then Sirius looked back, the light gone from his eyes.

“Pads.” But Remus didn’t know what he wanted to say. What could he say? You don’t have to go. Please stay. He’s not good he’s not good he’s not.

“I’ll catch up with you tonight.” Sirius supplied a weak smile, shouldering his bag. He dropped his voice to a whisper, just for Remus, “Kitchens for cake?”

Remus nodded, almost minutely, afraid someone might see. And he hated that, hated feeling like he was disobeying some law for wanting to be with Sirius. Alex was just a boy, and a bad one at that.

You don’t have to sit with him.

But Sirius was already gone.

~

Remus was glad, at least, that Alex wasn’t in their year. He was in the seventh year dorms, an entire staircase away from their sixth year ones. That also meant that Sirius was also generally a staircase away too. As he was tonight. While Remus put slippers and a sweater on to venture down to the kitchens, he looked at Sirius’ empty, unmade bed. That was the part that had been the hardest to get used to in the beginning. Surprisingly not Alex’s presence all the time, disrupting the dynamic of their group, but the lack of Sirius’ presence. He was almost never around anymore. It had gotten to the point where class was their biggest social event. Remus put his sweater over his head angrily, but the bed was still empty when he came out the other side.

He opened the dorms door, trodding lightly down the stairs and into the common room.

“Hey,” James grinned up at him from the loveseat by the fire, head in Lily’s lap, “wanna bring me back a slice?”

Lily looked up from the book she was reading, “Oh, me too?”

Remus rolled his eyes, laughing, “Well sure, but I don’t know how late it’ll be.” He nodded at James, “How was Quidditch earlier?”

James flopped his Charms textbook open on his chest, “Quid got cancelled. Something about rogue plants from the greenhouse…” He trailed off, then shrugged, “Didn’t want to get involved.”

“Huh.” Remus was only half listening, already moving towards the portrait hole, mind on being alone with Sirius, “Well, two slices of cake. Got it.”

Remus loved the castle at night. It was quiet, and he could trail his fingertips along the walls and swing around corners. He could get a good look at all the portraits without the portraits looking back. It wasn’t a long walk, just down a lot of stairs, past the Hufflepuff common room. As he eased the wooden door open, he saw only a few house elves lingering about, flashing him smiles, but no Sirius.

He got nervous for a moment, glancing around at the huge fire places and polished tables, mind automatically racing through how long he should wait before accepting that maybe Sirius wasn’t coming—

“Moons! Over here.”

Remus turned, relief flooding his system, “Oh, there you—“

Sirius winced, but whether it was from the look on Remus’ face, or the black and blue on the high of his left cheek, Remus wasn’t sure.

“Fuck.” Remus maneuvered around the tables quickly to get to Sirius, stopping directly in front of him. He reached out, unable to help himself, then stopped, fingertips inches from Sirius’ cheek, “What the hell?”

Sirius waved him off, he ducked away, instead pushing the cake towards Remus to slice up, “S’nothing.”

“Sirius.” Cool dread was starting to trickle into Remus’ veins. If this was what he thought, he thought he’d take all those stairs two at a time back up to the common room and strangle Alex in his sleep. “Sirius, what happened?”

“Nothing.” Sirius smiled up at him, shaking his head, “Nothing, Re. Fletchner got a little rough in Quidditch today, that’s all.”

And the dread wasn’t cool, it was ice, freezing over and thawing and freezing again. Remus saw James from a few moments ago, sprawled in the common room.

Quid got cancelled.

Remus didn’t realize he was still standing, inches from Sirius, until Sirius scooted his chair back, trying to play it off like he was giving Remus room to pull his own chair out.

“Should I cut the cake instead, then?”

Remus sat down slowly. He didn’t think he could even smell the cake, much less eat it right now, his stomach was in too many knots.

Alex put his hands on you. He wanted to scream, He knows everything you’ve been through and he put his hands on you.

I’d be better. This was the part of his brain he tried so hard to quiet, I’d love you so much, I already do.

Alex hit you. You’re lying for him.

“Why are you—“ Remus didn’t know why the words were stuck in his throat.

Sirius pushed right on ahead, “I’ll cut it then.” he pulled the plate towards him with a huff, picking up the knife with a white-knuckled grip.

And Remus let him. His hand was steady, despite the grip, and Remus wanted to shake him, to pull the truth out of him.

“I…” Remus swallowed, “I was just going to say. Why are you always so reckless in practice?” His voice shook against the force of the lie, “You know how James will mother you.”

“You know how James gets in practice. Crazy lad.” And just like that, any sign of Sirius breaking, any sign of the mask cracking, was gone, spello-taped back together, and he was smiling, pushing a generous slice of chocolate towards Remus.

And Remus smiled back, almost feeling relief, because it was never like this anymore. There was always someone else around. He wanted to push, wanted to get Sirius to tell him what really happened, but at the same time he wanted to believe that it hadn’t happened. Because it was never like this anymore. Always a boyfriend, or a class to be getting back to. He hated it. He hated it, and he loved this. This, these quiet moments.

“Right.” Remus picked up his fork, “Right, yeah, I do.”

He felt Sirius’ eyes on him as he took a bite, but when he looked up they had flitted away.

“Anyway,” Sirius was saying, “it isn’t as bad as it looks. He wasn’t even going for my face he was just…” Remus watched Sirius’ expression get a little foggy, eyes far away, back in the moment of the hit, whomever’s hand it had been, “into the game I guess.” Sirius blinked, looking down and stabbing at his cake, “Happens to all of us, right?”

No. Remus thought. No, it doesn’t.

~

Remus barely jerked as his copy of the daily prophet was pulled from his hands. Alex grinned at him, food in his mouth.

“Mind if I have a look?’

Remus looked at him deadly, flicking away the small corner of newsprint that had ripped in his fingers, and picked up his fork, “Didn’t give me much of a choice.”

Alex laughed, and flatted the paper next to his eggs and sausage. He barely raised his head as he pushed his glass towards Sirius, “Poor me some pumpkin juice?”

Remus stabbed his fork into his eggs and looked determinedly downward. He didn’t want to watch Sirius get pushed around.

He heard Sirius’ voice with an edged, seemingly casual laugh to it, “S’right there.”

Remus couldn’t help it. He glanced up then, neck still bowed down, through his eyelashes, and watched Alex’s face change. He straightened, fingers drumming on Remus’ stollen paper. He was staring hard at the table, muscle working in his jaw, “So?”

Sirius was looking just as hard at his own copy of the prophet, turned slightly away from Alex. Remus could see his bruise more harshly at this angle, “So, I’m saying it’s perfectly in your reach.”

“Why are you being difficult?’ Alex’s teeth were clenched and the phrase came out a bite, “It’s just juice.”

“I’m not.” Sirius drained the rest of his own glass and made a move to get up, “I’ve got class—“

“Sit.”

Remus straightened in a second, feeling James do the same beside him. He had a feeling that both of their eyes were trained on Alex’s tight grip on Sirius’ shoulder, so high up that it was nearly his neck.

“He has class.” Remus heard himself say, “What’s your issue?”

“It’s just,” James parroted, eyes cool, “juice.”

Sirius closed his eyes, lowering himself back to his seat. His shoulders were hunched away from the grip, head turned awkwardly to the side. Remus was ready to lunge across the table.

“What?” Alex looked between him and James, eyes cool, smile verging on wicked, “It’s not big deal. We’re just sorting this out, right Siri?” When Sirius didn’t answer right away, Alex reached forward, palm against Sirius’ jaw, and stroked the greening bruise on Sirius’ cheek with his thumb, “Right, Sirius?”

“Stop.” Remus felt all the air leave his lungs with the word, “Stop.” He was standing, hands pushing the juice pitcher right into Alex’s lap where it spilt, sloshing its contents all over his robes.

“Jesus fucking—“

But Remus didn’t stop to hear his exclamations. His eyes were on Sirius, on the way he was still trying to make himself small. Remus felt something in him snap at the sight, felt some string inside his chest slowly springing part and unraveling. And he let it, suddenly wishing it had snapped a long time ago, and stepped onto and over the long great hall table in one stride, making it to Sirius’ side, and taking his bag from the seat for him.

“Pads.” He glanced nervously to where Alex was still spluttering, throwing vague curses at the laughing onlookers, then back to Sirius. Remus didn’t know how to tell him that he needed him to follow him. He didn’t want to sound demanding, not like Alex. He didn’t want to grab Sirius in any forceful way, but he needed, needed him to know, “Sirius.” He whispered, his fingertips just barely brushing the side of Sirius’ palm where it was flat against the table.

And Sirius looked up from the floor, saw Remus with their bags, and swung his legs out of the bench. He walked ahead of Remus out of the great hall, fist clenched. He didn’t look back to see if Remus was following him until they had made it a good four floors above the Great Hall and into an darkened hallway.

Only then did he turn around, cheeks wet, chest rising unevenly. And Remus was right there, dropping their bags to the floor carelessly. Remus wasn’t sure if he was allowed, he didn’t know what made him do it, but his hands were on Sirius’ cheeks, carefully avoiding the bruise.

“I—“ Sirius’ chest jump, breathing harsh and face breaking, “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I don’t know why—“

And Remus’ own chest ached with the look on his face, like he’d done something wrong, like Remus would be mad. He was anything but mad at Sirius, if anything he was angry with himself.

“You didn’t have to tell me.” Remus shook his head, “I knew. I knew the second—“ Remus closed his eyes, dropping his head, “And I didn’t say anything. I don’t know why either.” He felt the burn of tears in his throat and he looked back at Sirius, thumbs stroking the new tears away, “I hoped I was wrong. I wanted to be wrong so bad.”

“I wanted it to have not happened.” Remus could feel Sirius leaning into his touch as he spoke, and his heart picked up, “I wish it never happened, I wish all of it never happened—“

Remus shushed him softly, thumb moving to press a curl of hair off his temple, trying desperately to make it better, “I know. I know, I…” His words trailed off, breath dying in his lungs at how Sirius had suddenly pressed their foreheads together. “Sirius.” His voice barely came out.

“You’re so gentle, Re.” Sirius’ hands came up to Remus’ neck, one resting at the back of it, the other pressing over the back of Remus’ palm, “Always, you’re so… It’s everything. With everyone, it doesn’t matter who it is, but I feel it so much. In the way you look and touch and speak.” Sirius let out a soft sniff. He was still crying, but he was practically cradling Remus’ face now, instead of the other way around, palm having moved to Remus’ cheek, Remus’ dropped to Sirius’ chest. Sirius’ words were quiet, even in the space between them, “What have I been doing? Remus, what have I been doing?”

Remus let out a breath, “I…” They were so close. Remus was desperate. He could just lean forward and…That was what Sirius was saying wasn’t it? But after what had just happened he pulled up short. His hands moved to Sirius’ neck, feeling his heated skin, but he willed himself back, “God, Pads, your cheek. You need—“ Remus shook his head, “I can’t believe he hit you.”

Sirius closed his eyes, “I can’t believe I let him. Jesus, I could stand up to my mother, and not to him?”

“It’s not your fault, Pads—“

“No, I know.” Sirius closed his eyes, lashes brushing his cheeks, “I know, I just. I feel—“ He looked at Remus again, really looked at him, eyes flicking to each part of his face. His gaze burned, “I feel awake. Or something. I feel like I’ve been wasting time.”

“Wasting time?” Remus whispered. Sirius pushed the hair off of Remus’ forehead, palm a warm pressure that made Remus’ eyes close, his voice shake, “What do you m—“

Sirius kissed him instead of letting him finish, hard and insistent, salty and gentle. His fingers held Remus’ neck softly, thumb brushing over Remus’ bottom lip when they broke for air, “This.”

Remus let out a breath and pulled their mouths back together, suddenly unaware of how he ever survived before this second. Sirius’ words were muffled against his mouth,

“I mean this.”

Remus’ back hit the wall and then they were pressed together, “God—“ Remus couldn’t help it, he started smiling, “Pads.”

Sirius’ lips moved from his lips to his cheek, his jaw, “What’s so funny?” He pressed a lingering kiss to Remus’ cheek, “I’ve wanted to do this for so fucking long, Merlin, there’s so many of them.”

Remus laughed, pure, giddy, relief-filled and borderline tearful, “What?” He threaded his hands in Sirius’ dark hair, bent to press a kiss just above the collar of his shirt, “What?”

“Freckles.” Sirius sighed, “I love them.” His lips peppered kiss after kiss, “I love them, I love them, I’ve been wasting so much time, Merlin.”

Remus shushed him, thumbing over his bottom lip, “We’ll make it up. It’s okay, god, my cheeks hurt.” They both laughed, “Those tides turned quickly.”

“Well.” Sirius brushed their noses together, “You always make everything better, it seems.”

Remus bit his lip, grin softening. He carded his fingers through Sirius’ hair a few times, felt the way he leaned into it, “I don’t really feel like sitting in class. Do you want to… I don’t know, grab breakfast in the kitchens? Maybe bring it back to the dorms…” His eyes trailed down to Sirius’ lips, and he watched has they parted slightly before shifting into a grin, eyes bright.

“That,” He leaned down, picking up their bags before lacing Remus’ fingers with his own, “feels like all I’ve wanted forever.”

Remus pressed a kiss to Sirius’ knuckles, “Well, we’d better go then.”

[coveredinsweetpea]

Dazed and Confused 1.b || Jordan Connor

Ok, so, I've been a hoe these past few weeks and I didn't write, but I'm back now. To read this, all you need to know is that Y/n plays Megan in Riverdale and that she and Jordan are super close friends.

I'm naming this part 1.b because I didn't wanna jump right into the story after not posting for so long. Part 2 is coming, feedback and ideas make my day!! Love you, hope you enjoy!

Also, part 1 is here.

-

The next day on set went by without a hiccup. You had close to 10 lines to deliver, all in just one scene, where the serpents got together to plan their next move. Jordan, dressed in his usual dark leather jacket, flannel shirt and tight jeans, was leaning against his bike as you were all getting ready to start filming.

You made you way towards him, and he circled his arms around your waist instinctively. As much as you loved this, you knew he was in character and that it was actually Sweet Pea hugging Megan and not Jordan hugging you.

"I can't wait for tonight" he sighed rubbing your side with his left hand as the scrolled through his phone with the other.

"What?" you giggled, placing your pointer finger under his chin and prompting him to look up at you, "Since when do you care about Hollywood parties, old man? Thought you hated them."

"Old man?" he asked in disbelief, "Old man?!"

"Cute old man" you laughed

"That's slightly better" he mumbled, locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket so he could wrap both his arms around you again, "- Just slightly"

You looked at him amused, "I'm glad, but tell me about your sudden interest in this party"

"I just wanna see KJ go crazy after Kendall, that's all" he joked.

You hummed sarcastically, but before you got a chance to answer, every one was called to their spots in order for the cameras to start rolling. You settled against his side and seconds later you heard the familiar voice yell 'Action'.

You knew this wasn't going to be easily done, because today you were filming a scene where more than 10 people were involved, and you can't actually remember the last time you all acted like the professional actors you were. Unless the deadline was rapidly approaching, days on set were a blast. If you were behind schedule, it was one of the most dreadful experiences of your life. You were amongst the people that opened the scene, and after getting that done, you were just seated in the back, more like an extra.

A few seconds later, you heard 'Action' being called and got in your character. From now on, there was no more Jordan and (Y/n), just Sweet Pea and Megan in a situation you were more than fond of. The scene was set to open with a close up shot of yours and Jordan's characters making out, before it would move and concentrate on the discussion that was previously held at the bar.

As his hands pressed flush against your waist, your body crushed against Jordan's as you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. It was slow at the beginning, but second by second, his touch would get more and more aggravated, making you push back with the same force. You felt his hand travel lower, moving from clutching your t-shirt to forcefully gripping your hips. Even though you knew it was all scripted, it made your heart flutter like nothing else. You moved your hands to the sides of his neck, allowing your thumbs to run back and forth along his jaw. From this position you could feel his muscles tense as he breathed heavily every time he got the chance.

You had no idea how long it had been, but you knew Fangs clearing his throat was a sign for you to slow down. And you did. You let your hold loosen up and pulled Sweet Pea's bottom lip between yours for a long second, before letting go completely. Toni and Fangs joined the conversation, FP and Jughead appeared a little bit later, and the rest of the serpent gang was about show up too.

The next few hours flew by pretty fast, and before you knew it, you were seated across from Anne, who was one of the serpent extras and your first friends on set, and between Vanessa and Jordan at the lunch table, uncontrollably giggling at something one of them said.

"That's not ok" you whined, eating your fries one by one.

"What do you mean - not ok?" Jordan joked, throwing an arm over your shoulders, "Wouldn't you want your boyfriend to arrange your marriage after 3 months of dating?"

"Would you?" you laughed, turning to look at him with a proud smile on your lips.

"Would you?" he repeated your question.

"I literally just asked that" you said.

"Arrange our marriage?" he completed and despite knowing he was joking, only the thought of dating him, set your heart and cheeks on fire.

"About marriages-" Vanessa spoke, pulling you out of your thoughts, "How's Jax?"

"He's fine, he's good" you mumbled, trying to hide the fact that you hadn't spoken to him in weeks. You hated that you couldn't tell anyone that there wasn't anything serious between the two of you, and seeing Jordan pull away from you as he heard your boyfriends name, broke your heart.

"Is he coming tonight?" he asked, digging into his plate of food in order to avoid the eye contact.

"I-" you began to answer but then stopped, realising you actually had no idea whether he was going to join you or not, "- I don't know"

"Either way, you're coming over before right?" Vanessa asked.

You just nodded and then watched her stand up, and excuse herself before making her way to her trailer. You were left alone with Jordan, who seemed, all of a sudden, awfully quiet.

"Hey-" you said, throwing your legs over his' and leaning against his side, "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing" he said in an unusually low voice. You've heard that tone before, but not from him. He was putting on a tough facade, the one you had gotten used to from Sweet Pea.

"Do you wanna match tonight?"

"What do you mean?"

"Put on your Helsinki shirt" you said smiling, trying to make it obvious you were more interested in him attending that party than Jax.

"You really think that's a good idea?" he asked sceptical, as he looked at you over his shoulder.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, (Y/n)" he sighed playfully, turning to face you, "It's a fancy party, you think a T-shirt will cut it?". You knew that wasn't his main concert and hated how he was beating around the bush.

"Tuck it in your pants and roll up the sleeves a bit" you said happily.

"You want to also tell me how to do my hair and makeup?" he joked.

"Green would look good on-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there" he laughed preparing to stand up. He extended his hand and you took it, without even asking where he was heading. "Come with me, gotta reapply this beauty" he said pointing to his make-up based black eye.

He sat down in the make-up trailer and you leaned against the table in front of him as a pair of delicate hands worked on getting him ready to rejoin the set.

"Smile" you said, pulling out your phone and snapping a short boomerang of Jordan having make-up applied to his face.

"I hope that's a picture solely for your pleasure, and that it won't actually end up anywhere" he growled, rolling his eyes.

"Yeaaah" you mumbled, "It's on Instagram"

Mary, the make-up artist let out a small chuckle and Jordan didn't waste a second before sending her one of Sweet Pea's signature death stares.

The touch up process took a few more minutes and after she was done, and after warning Jordan about messing up his make up again, Mary left, leaving you two alone.

"I think I'm gonna head home" you said, preparing to stand up, as your scenes for the day were all done.

"Ok, but after we start filming" he whined and grabbed your hand to stop you from leaving, "Just like 10 more minutes"

"Fine" you giggled, moving to sit between his legs. He pulled the chair back, making space for you, but instead of settling against the table as you did before, now you just sat down in his lap, "Wanna come over tonight, too?" you asked, looking around his trailer for a second before meeting his hesitant stare.

"Don't think that's a good idea" he responded apologetically.

"Well, do you want to?"

"Of course I do" he chuckled, "But-"

"Then you're coming" you cut him off, smiling broadly, seeing his face light up as you insisted.

"Why are you like this?"

"Like what?" you played, nudging the top of his nose with your own. Despite having your heart on fire, this time you didn't feel like holding back. At all.

His lack of response threw you off, so you just grabbed his cheeks and applied a soft kiss to the top of his cheekbone. His face was an intoxicating shade of pink, and feeling his breath against your lips or seeing the way his chest rose and fell against yours, didn't help your self control at all. Jordan wrapped his arms around your waist, and your fingers made their way up into his raven locks. His hold kept tightening around your frame as you kept brushing your lips along his forehead and down his temple. Clenching your fingers in his hair, you tilted his head back, exposing the skin of his neck. You traced his tattoo as you watched him pant under your weight.

"I love this" you said, scratching his skin as you got ready to attach your lips to his neck, when a loud bang against the door made you jump out of his hold.

"Five minutes, J" someone yelled, before walking away.

"What the fuck" you huffed, "I almost had a heart attack"

"Yeah me too" he mumbled half heartedly, as he grabbed the serpent jacket and made his way to the door, "Gotta go to the bathroom, see you tonight bye"

He stormed out of his trailer so fast you didn't even have the time to say goodbye too. You remained motionless for a few moments, looking around and allowing your mind to roam. He didn't kiss you and that could mean something, but you didnt either and god, you wanted to do it so bad. The more you thought about it, the more confusing it got, so you decided to head right home, and get a bottle of wine to help you solve the problem.

On your way out, you decided to walk past the set, and catch another glimpse of your friends working. You stopped behind a camera man and watched Jordan for a short while until a 2 minute break was requested. He didn't leave the chair he was seated on, but he did spot you over Drew's shoulder. He looked directly into your eyes and smiled proudly, releasing all the tension your lungs had built up. He wasn't mad, and you couldn't be happier.

"I think i like him" a female voice said

"Excuse me" you cleared your voice, turning into the direction of the person that just spoke up, "What?" you asked, as her words seemed to fly right past you. When your eyes landed on her, you realised it was Anne.

"I think I like him" she repeated.

"Who?"

"Jordan" she said with a deep sigh, "And I think he likes me too"

-

Tag list. (sorry i am months late, you probably have no idea what this is) @irishfangirlxx @sweetpeaiscomingforu ​ @taronxfiction ​ @sinfulmango ​