#effectively it’s a get the fuck out of here we’re busy cocktail

[melis-writes]

Scarface(1983) Prompt:

“Anything beats lying around all day waiting for me to fuck you”.

That scene where Tony and Manny are talking in the bathtub. A little reimagining of it, of course. After Tony’s wife/girlfriend begins being sassy, he asks Manny to leave and then asks his wife/girlfriend to strip for him and shows her a good time.

Oooooh fuck, I love that scene honestly. 😂❤ Gonna get a little hot and steamy after the reader shows Tony some attitude here. 😛🔥

“You told him you don’t give a shit?” Manny stifles back his laughter, grinning at Tony. “Really?”

“Yeah!” With pride in his voice, Tony tenses up his shoulders in the bathtub. “Next time, I’mma tell him ‘fuck you’ too. You’ll see.”

You roll your eyes to yourself, sitting by your vanity table just behind the tub and looking at yourself in the mirror as you carefully take off your diamond earrings.

“We gotta see the guy next week, right?” Manny chuckles, reaching down to the fruitbowl next to his seat by the bathtub. “Gotta play nice.”

“I don’t play nice.” Tony puts his cigar back in the corner of his mouth. “This is business, you know? What we do? Wake up at the same damn time, go put on a suit that gonna match the guy or some shit, no cigar, no drink—nothing, then I go and what? I kiss his ass all day? That my whole day gone, man. Every week. Why you think I was fallin’ asleep today? Boring as shit, I don’t wanna see that guy.”

“You’re really just going to blame someone else for all that?” You raise your voice to be heard over the conversation. “Don’t you bore us all to death by doing that everyday on your own? It’s your fault, Tony.”

“Huh?” Tony mumbles over his cigar, shrugging his shoulders. “My fault? How that my fault?”

“It is.” You set your earrings down with a loud sigh. “That’s all we did today, we never do anything else and it’s your idea. It effects me too.”

“She crazy.” Tony whispers over to Manny with a playful grin. “Just jealous she get no attention from me today. She’s like that.”

“I can hear you loud and clear, you know.” Ignoring looking back over your shoulder at the two, you rise from your seat and readjust your silk nightgown over your breasts.

Munching on fruit and pretending he’s not a part of this, Manny hides his smile behind a mango as you begin to make your way over to the other side of the bathroom.

“And for the record, I don’t get jealous, I get bored.” You emphasize with a huff. “Alone or with one of your business partners, I want to do something else for once. Something exciting. We’re always stuck here in Miami and that’s because of you.”

“Oh?” Tony raises his brows, taking the cigar out of his mouth. “You ain’t saying that when I buy you that five-hundred dollar champagne and them pretty diamonds over your arms. Then it’s a good day, right? Or I buy you a new car, take a spin in it? That kinda excitement? With money? Yeah, with money, baby.”

“It has nothing to do with money, first of all.” You stand by the affixed television set across from the bathtub, pulling over an empty cocktail glass by the selection of iced liquor.

“Oh, yeah it do.” Tony smirks, “money, money, money. It’s okay baby, I know you like money. That’s why we alike, you know? I like money too. The panties on your ass is because of my money, so don’t forget that.” He points at you with his cigar.

“Tony,” Manny laughs softly, “come on, man.”

“And this is the part where you give us your ‘I work hard for the money’ speech, right? Only to do nothing else with it.” You glance back at Tony over your shoulder, putting two cubes of ice into your cocktail glass. “I don’t ask you to buy me those things either.”

“But you like it.” Tony licks over his lips. “That’s your problem, baby.”

“My problem?” You pour vodka up to the rim of your glass, raising it to your lips. “I don’t have a ‘problem’. I’m just stating the truth.”

“Nah, you got a problem. You got two problems.” Tony holds up two fingers. “You know your first problem? You like it. You like the money. You gonna be whining and crying if you don’t wake up in diamonds no more. I gotta be friends with shitheads a little longer to make that kinda money—you know ya shouldn’t complain.”

“And my second problem?” You stare at Tony straight-faced, taking a sip of your drink.

“Your second problem,” Tony begins, raising his hand before turning his head to Manny. “Hey man, you gonna give me some privacy with the lady or what?”

“Don’t mind me, man.” Manny laughs chewing through a piece of mango as he gets up. “I’ll let you two argue in peace.”

You open your mouth to reply but sigh quietly instead, looking down at your drink.

“Yeah, yeah. You do that. I see you for dinner, man.” Tony waves Manny off.

“Won’t miss it for the world.” Manny waves his mango up in the air, closing the bathroom door behind him as he leaves.

“You had to make a big scene like that?” You gesture towards the door.

“Big scene?” Tony smirks, taking a puff out of his cigar. “You sassed me, darling.”

“I didn’t ‘sass’ you.” You roll your eyes, taking another sip of your drink. “You know what I was trying to tell you, Tony. Don’t be difficult.”

“Your second problem,” Tony begins again, moving his cigar to the corner of his lips. “Is you wait all day for me just fuck you. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You just wanna be fucked.”

Flushing red out of embarrassment, you hide half of your expression behind your cocktail glass—trying to give Tony an unamused look. “Really?”

“You want a good time? Fine by me, baby.” Tony extends out his arms. “No worries, I like fucking you. You like fuckin’ me?”

“I…” You pause for a moment, realizing Manny’s not in the room anymore. “Well, yeah.”

“Good.” Tony puts out his cigar on the tray next to him, gesturing with his fingers. “C’mere so I give my girl a little me time. You want some attention, I know you.”

“In there?” You gesture to the bubble bath.

“Yeah, get nice and clean with me baby. Take that off, huh?” Tony points at your nightgown. “Let me see you.”

Swallowing down some of your drink, you set the glass aside and make your way over to the centre of the bathtub—keeping your hands over the straps of your nightgown and blushing a little. “You want me to strip for you.”

“Hell yeah.” Tony leans back, relaxing his muscles. “You got nice tits, got nice ass. You fuck even better. You ever been fucked in the bath?”

“Haven’t,” you feel your cheeks stinging with blush as you pull down the straps and let your breasts spring free.

“Yeah…” Tony’s eyes greedily dart over your breasts as he bucks his hips up in the water. “Gonna show you a good time. Come on, take all of it off.”

You let the silky nightgown pool by your feet as you easily pull it off of you, standing in front of Tony with just a pair of white, lacy panties that you’re just about to inch off when Tony snaps his finger and interrupts you.

“Nuh uh, baby. Give me a show.” He twirls his finger. “Turn around. Let me see that nice ass…”

Doing as he says and feeling yourself already growing aroused by the way Tony’s tone of voice is growing low and husky, you bend down and slowly inch your panties down to your ankles.

“Fuck.” Tony mumbles to himself, feeling his erection already growing underneath the water. “’Atta girl…”

“Tony,” you blush, turning around and approaching the tub. “If Manny walks in…?”

“Trust me baby, he not walkin’ in no more. Come to me.” Tony grazes his teeth over his lips. “I can make up all of last week and today to you just in here alone.”

Stepping into the hot bath, you let the water soak up to your waist as you come right up to Tony who places both of his hands on your hips. “Yeah, baby. Get on top of me ‘ere.”

There’s greed in the way Tony looks at you and pulls you by your waist to straddle his lap.

He inhales sharply when he feels your pussy brushing up against his erection, but the moment you’ve got your thighs around Tony’s is when he cups your face to pull you in for a rough kiss.

Tony could bruise your lips with the dominating, crushing kiss if he wanted to. Slipping in a little bit of tongue in that full-mouthed, sloppy kiss, Tony tastes all of you before parting away from the kiss.

“How you like that, huh baby?” Tony breathes hotly against your neck.

“Don’t tease me,” you whimper quietly in his ear, purposefully pushing your hips down to take his cock in you. “You know I hate being teased.”

“And I—” Tony grips a fistful of your hair, grinning. “Don’t like that sass stuff you do to me. You know what you gonna do now?” Tony doesn’t wait for an answer, speaking against your lips. “Gonna take my cock in you like a good girl. You gonna ride it. I’m gonna fuck you good and when I decide to stop, I stop. Got it?”

“Yes,” you answer early, biting down on the corner of your lip as you feel Tony’s cock beginning to push into your pussy slowly. “Y-yesssss… Fuck.”

“Gonna show you a good time…” Tony groans, squeezing both of your tits as he angles his hips upward to fit every inch of him inside you. “Easy, baby. Come on, fuck me.”

[notasiren21]

26 for Lukanette WIPs please. :)

26. Party Crasher!Luka

I FUCKED UP AND JUST WROTE IT I GUESS???

Party Crasher

-Lukanette oneshot

“You mean to tell me Agreste ditched you? After all that pleading to let him take you to the party for your successful launch line for next season, he’s ditched you?”

“Kagami, don’t kill him.”

“Fine, remind me why I can’t though? This is such an ass move of his if he’s trying to prove he’s the one for you.”

“Because,” Marinette grits out, faking a toothy smile to a work couple that waves from passing, “I want to castrate and kill him myself.”

Kagami laughs roughly in surprise, “Why the castration?”

“So I can fit his small ass into the tightest pair of skinny jeans we have for our tall teenage girls.” The not so stoic girl sips on her wine, pleased with her friend’s rage. “I told him I haven’t been interested since we were 14, but him thinking I’ll forgive him if I even had a silver of interest in dating him? Fuck him.”

“Or,” Kagami drawls, long nails tapping the stem of her glass as she leans to peer over her friend’s shoulder, “You could fuck him instead?”

Mari gasps in offense, “I am NOT trying for a one night stand, no matter what you guys say.”

“No, you little mouse,” she admonishes, fully heartedly agreeing with the sentiment, “I just mean your big and handsome protective snake is here to save the day.”

Marinette’s mind took a second longer to click the pieces together, trying to make sense of Kagami’s nicknames for her friend group, before her heart thudded and she slowly turned.

There, passing by the models who had walked in Marinette’s designs and batted their false lashes at the rockstar, was Luka Couffaine.

Dressed to the nines in a very punk like and sophisticated way that revealed he very much wanted to impress her and did in fact listen to her fashion advice. Black skinny jeans only he could pull off, high top converse and a white button up with a black vest to overlay it. The cheeky and handsome bastard forgoing the tie to leave one too many buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos.

Oh, on the life of his cat Sass was she proud of him.

And maybe drooling just a little?

He approached her, a sly smile working its way to his lips as he eyed her up and down, eyes shining bright at her black low cocktail that she paired with navy blue heels.

So maybe she sometimes used Luka as a whole for inspiration.

He raised a hand, finger wrapping around a loose curled tendril out of an elegantly messy low bun, “I thought it was the models you were supposed to make the stars of the show.”

“Had I known you were gonna show up, I would’ve worn one of my bests here.”

His hand froze, “This isn’t your best? You tease,” he broke out in a grin. His hand moved further, thumbing at the collection of piercings in her ear he accompanied her with to get years ago. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Well, I’m suddenly glad I can only acknowledge this as awkward and not feel it.” Kagami noted into her class. Her phone buzzed, electing a sigh from her as she began turning. “Have fun, my mother decided to remind me why this wine was a good idea to have before she came.”

She watched her friend walk away, her other -her best friend and other half, remained taking her in and stroking the soft spot under her ear he once claimed with a mark-

The one time they admitted their crushes and strong attraction towards the other the night before he left for tour years ago.

It was the only time Luka had indulged himself in his wants and desires, the only time he had asked to and still provided her with an out. And now he still remains far off in her memories, even as he stands in front of her with that look on his face years later.

“How did you,” she swallows when his soft gaze flicks back up to her eyes with his full attention. “How did you get in? It’s a ticket only event.”

He shrugged, turning to offer her an arm and walk around. “I may or may not have seen Adrien’s post about his mom and dad going to a gala event and him going to see his cousin there. Seems like that took precedence I guess.”

Marinette huffed low, “Félix has been in town for three weeks. Adrien and I had lunch with him the other day.”

Luka stilled as a busboy stopped in front of them, offering them glasses of champagne. Luka’s nose twitched, then his lip as he turned away with a polite smile. Marinette shook her head in turn as well.

“You know you don’t have to pass just because of me, right?”

“Hey, we do this ‘young 20 some year olds unable to drink alcohol’ in solidarity together.” He cracked a smile at that, “Soda is my alcohol.”

“Alright, you can be an honorary member of the alcohol intolerance club.” Luka laughed when she hummed gleefully. “Dork.”

“Nerd.”

“So, back on topic, Adrien just really had no excuse then?”

“Ha, no, even his dad stopped by an hour ago to congratulate me and get press photos done to promote the line. All his son did for me was send a text with a sad face attached to his cancellation.”

“... I can kick his ass, you know?”

“I know, I’m just saving for a rainy day.” She laughed, stepping closer to his side and wrapping both arms around his. “So, the ticket, you party crasher.”

“Right, yeah, I may or may not have called your assistant earlier today to swipe it. I took a guess that she held onto it for safe keeping so-,”

“She’s new, I’m not surprised she just gave it up that easily.” She let Luka guide her into a dance. One hand with painted black holding hers to his chest, the other gently tugging to hold his shoulder before he held her waist.

“Oh, that, that explains a lot now.”

“What?”

He flinched, a nervous glint flashing across his features. “I may or may not have lied about who exactly I was since she didn’t know my name-,”

“Doesn’t listen to your music, already told her the sin she was committing.”

“And who I was to you, specifically-,”

Marinette tilted her head back in a laugh, Luka’s arm tightening to brace her weight, “You said you were my husband, didn’t you?”

He flushes at a memory of once getting a creep off her back a year ago by claiming that very title to her.

“Erm, no, I said I was your boyfriend and may have sold it by saying some pet name and swooning over you just a little,” he watched her eyes go wide then soft, a smile twitching to show. He stepped closer, almost pulling her flush to him, “But if that’s what you want, I can go out and get some marriage certificate?”

She flushed, lips parting and a rush of air passing them.

“Maybe call Jagged up and fly us to Vegas? I mean, we’re both looking good right now, you more so.” Her face went a shade or two deeper. She jumped in surprise when he let go of her hand to play with a tendril again on the right side, tilting her face to press a kiss to her left cheek. “God, you’re such a pretty little thing.”

She squeaked.

“What, what was the pet name?”

“Hm?” He lazily met her gaze, a dream like haze filter over them as he moved her body to sway with his. “Oh, that.”

“What was it?”

Baby, babygirl, beautiful, gorgeous- he may have said more than one.

He gave a slow and wicked grin, twirling her out and back into his chest in a swift and stunning movement as he nudged his nose to hers.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He teased, smile spreading wider and radiant as she forgot to breathe for a second.

What. A fucking. Tease.

The need for him to make good on his words and looks hit through her hard and reminded her of their one night together that they both never forgotten. And how much she wished that was every night, as long as it ended up with them curled right around each other and love and happiness coaxing them to sleep instead of stress and loneliness.

He watched her steel her gaze, her jaw tightened. He swallowed when her height, now of five feet thanks to heels, straightened and forced him to pull up. A violent shiver rocked through him when both hands held along the back of his neck, one slipping under the collar of his shirt to scratch along the nape.

“Marinette-,” he choked.

“I’m only asking so I can show my reciprocation.” She leaned closer, kicking her shoes off into some corner and standing on his converse that every elder of theirs had eyed in question during the night. He supported her actions fully, of course. Still stepping them around in dance within a fluid motion. “Not gonna tell me, hun?”

He coughed, loudly and looked away from her to catch his breath. Watching adults cheat on spouses everywhere or everyone else minding their own business to stare at models or the shrimp on the tables.

He almost tripped when she wined in protest, her hand gripping his chin lightly and turning it to face her. His eyes were flickering between admiration, lust and love, growing three shades of deeper blue than was possible.

“C’mon, baby, tell me.”

“Baby?” He stammered out in surprise. Teenage Luka was having a fucking field day with this. “Marinette, I was only joking earlier and-,”

“Were you really though?”

“No,” his response was fast and instant, a wince playing at the corner of his eyes and his button nose scrunching in loss of control.

“Hey handsome,” he preened under the nickname passing her lips, even if close to millions called him the same thing, it paid more effect when it was Marinette calling him it. “Tell me why you came tonight.”

His neck was aching from staring down to meet her eyes now that the heels were gone but he let himself down lower to press his forehead to hers. “Because you deserve better than what he gives you.”

The girl stilled, expecting an awkward or a flirtatious remark. “What?”

The rockstar looked away sheepishly, a little ashamed. “I know you’re considering getting with him, but when I heard he was canceling on you I let my jealousy win out and I just wanted to be there for you.” He bit his lip when he felt her tugging his face back in her direction, choosing to resist the pressure. “You have to believe me when I say I came with no ulterior motives other than protecting you from going stag to your own party tonight.”

“You, you came to protect me?”

He shrugged, another small shiver racking through him when her hands moved along and glided across his neck. “And make sure you had a good night. I even asked your mom what you were wearing tonight just so I could make sure my outfit complimented yours to cheer you up.”

She was silent for a minute or so, and he waited, patiently as ever and guiding her to rest her head against his chest as he swayed them.

Luka, doing all the work. Luka, taking matters into his own hands when someone fails her. Luka, going the extra mile to make sure she has a happy memory.

Fuck giving second chances to other people. Luka is the only one to have shown her he’s the most earning of the concept and notion.

She pulls away, feeling the slight reluctance in his arms on her waist before they drop to his side, “Grab my heels.”

He raises a black brow but complies, turning to find them and hooking his fingers in the backs. He eyes them, used to seeing her shoes laying around the Liberty when she comes over or even at her own place, but he always has to remark that, “You have small feet.”

“You’ve also called them cute,” she huffs, tugging on his hand and pulling him near the entrance.

He follows, like they always do for one another. “Because they are- where are we going?” He stops them as they round an empty corridor, away from the hotel’s event room where the party is still very much happening. The heel of his palm grips tight to archway, pressing against it, the small shoes still dangling in his hold.

“Home, your place or mine. Actually, mine’s closer.”

He laughs brightly, “You can’t ditch your own party for another movie night, Mari.”

The petite girl turns to him, a fierce expression in his eyes that makes him swallow harshly. “No, but I can ditch to celebrate in getting what I really want. For finally getting what I want.”

“The Chinese takeout place is closed this time of ni-,”

“You.”

“What?” Luka wheezes, he blinks stupidly at her. Prettily and stupidly. He straightens, freehand tugging at his collar a little like he needs room to breathe. “Come again?”

“I’m going home. I’m taking you with me. And we’re gonna celebrate that I finally got off my ass and got what I wanted.”

He hums, nervously and a bounce starting in his hand, a shake in one hand, his dark brows furrow, “And you want?”

“You.”

“You- you want,” he sucks in a sharp breath, pain flashing across his features as he clears his throat. “You want me?”

Her eyes soften, a smile showing as she steps closer to him and takes his face into her hands, pulling him down to be eye level with her as he braces his weight on the wall next to them with a hand.

“Yes,” he looks awestruck as she giggles. “I want you... can you let me keep you?”

He laughs nervously, “I’ll fucking sell myself to you if that’s what you really want, fuck.”

She’s smiling, leaning up on tiptoes to alleviate the strain in his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips, muffling the undignified noise of surprise that escapes him. She lets him get used to her for a second, kissing him slowly and purposely as starts to eventually overcome the shock and kiss her back in reverence.

He pulls away suddenly, a guilted expression on his face.

“Wait, wait. What about Adrien?”

“What about him?”

Luka fidgets, a quick glimpse of insecurities and jealousy showing to her before he regains a semblance of control after having his walls knocked down. “He’s been trying to go out with you, win you affections.”

He only knows of the situation, but never presses her to talk about it. It’s natural for it to come up in conversation everyday when he asks her about work knowing the stress of being twenty-two in a high end fashion company could be a bit more than overwhelming. He wanted to be a safe place to her since the beginning.

“There’s nothing about him. I’ve shut him down an handful of times and now it’s just a matter of letting him indulge himself in what he thinks are romantic gestures when me saying no doesn’t cut it. There’s nothing going on between him and I, just his belief that my crush from years ago accounts for something today.”

Luka still looks wary and isn’t touching her, most likely his conscious trying to be the better person between him and Adrien by not going out with the girl his friend is pining after.

Even if said girl is Luka’s legitimate best friend and the very same girl he’s been in love with since he was a kid.

Marinette feels like it’s a dirty tactic as she gets closer to him, trying to gauge where it’s jealousy and where it’s insecurity in regards to Adrien.

She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Luka’s head turns minutely at the attention, tilting less than a centimeter to catch her lips before he catches himself. He struggles when her next kiss falls to his lips and is soft and slow, how he always wants to kiss her.

“Remember our first kiss?” She whispers, wounding arms around his waist and pressing close to him.

He matches her volume, an adoring look winning for a split second, “Of course I remember.”

“Remember our first date?”

“At the ice cream parlor, you wore a pink skirt that kept twirling when you did.” She feels his resolve break a little, his own right to be selfish with her slipping out a little.

His arms slip around her, and he presses a gentle kiss to her temple. “Remember our goodbye at the airport?” His arms tightening around her speak more volumes than his strained, “Yes,” does.

She’s just a little closer to convincing him to stop being so sacrificial with his own wants or needs. She just has to push more.

“Remember waking up in one another’s arms that morning?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, thinking of what he can say in response to that. Wondering how honest to be, “... every day, I think of that morning every day.”

She still hears the clipped apprehension in his voice. That tone she knows so well that’s gonna lead into him giving her advice to rethink this whole decision and talk to him when she’s absolutely sure. How she shouldn’t think on impulse and lunge at what she wants unless she knows she does wanna keep with it.

But, he has to know she always thinks back on moments with him and that she longs to have jumped on impulse if it meant being with him.

Every time he’s showed up with takeout at her place. When he smiles so freely at her. When he bandages her cuts and blisters from working all night long.

When he showed up tonight looking like he had been her dare to begin with. How her heart felt when he admitted to lying to her secretary. The way he looked carrying her high heels that were much too small for his hands but he didn’t care because she asked him to.

How he crashed her own party to make sure she’d have fun tonight.

She’s sure she wants this, him.

All those nicknames they could call each other. All the benefits of dating the other and having a date to everything the other needs to attend. Having her best friend be her boyfriend meaning there’s no holding back from anything.

She’ll cringe about it in the morning, but it’s gotta work to break his long instilled fear of being a bad friend or person. Of being unselfish.

“Do you still remember that night?”

She’s sure he’s stopped breaking by the way his entire body seems to shut down, but then it reboots and he’s shaking against her and can’t seem to breathe correctly, his eyes avoiding hers as he swallows again and looking like he’s willing to risk going into an allergic reaction for the sake of one drink.

“That- that’s not something you forget, Marinette.” His hands are twitching on her waist, grip tightening just a little and a vein is jumping in his arm to do something to prove he remembers alright.

One more push, “Do you still remember how I tasted that night?”

He seizes her waist, lunging to kiss her desperately like he did that night and when he left, a growl passing his lips onto hers. He’s cupping the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, breathing her in and shaking against her as his resolves breaks completely and the selfish side comes out. The one that’s nowhere near as selfish as the average person, but enough to take in the matter of his own needs and wants. He pulls back, letting her watch his eyes darken, the pupils expanding until the blues are next to near mere ridges of color. He’s watching hers do the same before he nudges her nose and kisses her slowly, more loving and affectionate. His control slipping back into place and resulting in the Luka she so loves regaining the handles of his own mind.

He’s careful in the way he tugs her lip with his teeth, how he coaxes her to let him kiss her fully before pull back and panting against her lips.

“Yes, I remember,” his voice is rough and he has to glance away from her and straighten. She watches him take a few meditative breaths before he looks back at her.

“Does that really help?” She gestures to his chest and mouth, “the breathing?”

He laughs hollowly, “No, not really, but it bought me time to create some distance in this,” he glances around, “Not your apartment place.”

She laughs at the suddenly horrified look that crosses his face, the image of them making out and the threat of almost being caught in public instantly dawning on him. He glares playfully at her.

“You did that all on purpose.”

“Had to, you were just about to give me up for the sake of being a good friend to me and Adrien.” She pauses, a wicked idea forming to prove her point, “Unless, you want Adrien to know what that all is like?”

A dark look crosses Luka’s face; unrestrained bouts of suppressed jealousy, possessiveness and territoriality. “No,” he growls out, eyes squeezing shut and having to clear his throat. “I’d rather not let him know any of that personally.”

“Not even how I taste?”

“Marinette,” he warned, the growl resurfacing. She cooed, wrapping him up in a hug and pressing a kiss to his jaw as an apology. He whined, “It’s not funny when you do that.”

“No, but everything you feel is alright to feel. Don’t hold back for the sake of not being selfish. You can be selfish with me, you’re a reasonable guy and know boundaries.” She sighed, nuzzling further into his warm embrace. “I don’t like Adrien the way he wants me to, and lately, it’s hard to even be his friend. He needs to move on from me. Hell, I’m better friends with Félix now than him.”

“Just hope they don’t switch up on you again.”

She huffed in amusement. “God no, I’d kill them.”

“It’s adorable how how your less than five feet body resorts to violence and death threats.”

“Mm, except you, I’m quite fond of you.” She looks up at him, chin pressed to his chest and smiling when he looks at her softly and presses a kiss to her nose. “This, us, is not an impulse. Just a restrained want I’ve had for awhile.”

“Okay, I understand now.”

She grins cheekily at him, “Or need, if that makes you all possessive hot yet secretly adorable rockstar boyfriend mode again.”

“Boyfriend?” He smiled slowly, radiant as always and heart stopping. “If teenage me could hear you, he’d probably shut down from being overwhelmed.”

“Nineteen year old you certainly didn’t that night,” she mumbles, grinning at the loud bark of laughter that surprises the both of them when Luka throws his head back.

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me what age I lost it at, totally rockstar of me, right?” The blush that’s coating his neck and ears is adorable, a shy smile quirking at her briefly.

“I think it’s sweet, cute even.”

“Yeah, because you’re the one I lost it to.” He deadpanned without conviction. “But, I guess I’ll take being sweet and cute.”

“It’s okay though, I mean, I did the cliché of losing my virginity to someone I was in love with.” Luka does in fact shut down in her embrace hearing that. Hands jittering against her and fingers tapping like he’s trying to speak through notes against her skin.

He takes another minute, before pressing a kiss to her hair. “If this is you confessing your love to me -and believe me, it’s killing me to stop you right now, I’d rather you do it in regards to another topic and not the fact that we were one another’s first time.” He avoids the dangerous smirk aimed his way, or the sharp angle of her cocked, black brow above breathtaking blues. “C’mon, let’s go dance some more and celebrate your success before we leave, maybe find your assistant to introduce me as your boyfriend to.”

She pours at him when he tugs on her hand in the direction of the party. “But-,”

He breathed out shakily, a waning patient look in his eyes and a false smirk aimed at her. “Can I sleep over tonight?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “I’m very close to just following you home at this point, trust me. I don’t care how the night ends, just as long as it’s you and me tonight.”

She’s letting him make them dance again, feeling as the nerves leave his body as he gets them to fall in step with the tempo. He doesn’t care that he has to bend a little ways down to rest his cheek on her hair, not when she’s letting him pull her up against his chest when she typically only reaches the bottom of his rib cage.

They work well together, they fit perfectly together because they’re more than used to the instinctive adapting to one another.

Her hands cup his cheeks, kissing him carefully without reservation and the anxiety, “It was only an impulse at times because I love you and have for awhile.”

Luka deepens the kiss just a little, thankful she’s the type of girlfriend to let him indulge in her as he smiles, “I get it, I’ve had my share of impulsive thoughts for as long as I’ve been in love with you since we were young. I love you, Mari.”

“Enough to crash a party for me, apparently,” she whispered, a little moved by the thought that they were finally together. He thumbed her tears away.

“Enough to kill Adrien or Félix if you ask me to,” he replied in a loving tone, soothing her gasps for air when she broke apart in giggles against his chest in reaction.

He didn’t leave after that night. And he went to every party as her date too.

[adorethedistance]

Party Hard - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: drinking, partying, intoxication, non sexual stripping, swearing probably, 

Words: 6343 (which, if you know me, is a FUCK ton)

Summary: Going from tipsy to full on drunk is a terrible idea, but especially when you’ve got a secret to hide that could mean the difference between preserving and ruining your relationship with your best friend.

A/N: A couple items before we get started: I think I’m back on my bullshit? I mean I wrote this fic and it’s three times the length of my normal fics. Also I wrote this headassery as a literal self insert me(ace) x someone and so there are a couple flaws here and there that make this something I’m not 100% proud of. Owen picks the reader up a few times and I’m aware this kind of thing can really effect someone’s experience with this fic so I do apologize for the lack of inclusivity in regards to body type/ableism. I’m falling really behind on school work because I just can’t find the motivation which either means y’all will be seeing a lot more of me soon or absolutely nothing at all. Not sure which yet.

“You’ve got it so bad.” Charlie rests his left arm on his best friend’s shoulder, tipping back the half-full angry orchard bottle he’d been nursing for the better half of an hour. Owen’s stare is immediately broken and he crosses his arms defensively.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Turning to meet his friend’s smug stare, Owen shoots Charlie a glare of annoyance before returning his attention to the girl on the dance floor. Surrounded by a gaggle of her closest friends, Y/n is dancing and singing her heart out to Fergalicious with Chelsea, Leila, Savannah, and Carolynn. The bunch of them share in sporadic laughs as they exchange ridiculous dance moves just to add to the fleeting moment’s laughter. An assortment of screeches and squawks blend together as they all prepare to sing the rap section of the song. Observing the level of excitement the girls have over the verse, Owen can’t help but laugh at the spectacle.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Charlie inquires between sips of his cold drink.

“What?”

“Y/n. Why have you not asked her out.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Yeah. Because you haven’t asked her out.” Owen rolls his eyes before turning 90 degrees to fully face the smug guitarist. He turns about-face to prove a point, but another symphony of squeals at the next song choice drags his attention back to his other best friend on the dance floor. “You’re so whipped.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! Look, if you don’t ask her out tonight, I will.”

“You’re not even into her,” Owen protests unceremoniously. Setting the molasses colored bottle on the counter next to Owen, Charlie steps back and copies his position of crossed arms and a relaxed stance.

“You’re right, I’m not. But you are, and if that’s what it takes to light the fire under your ass then I’ll do it.”

“She wouldn’t say yes.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the only way to know for sure is to ask.” And with that, Charlie is off, speeding toward Y/n at a pace that launches Owen into an impulsive chase. To prevent his friend from doing something stupid, Owen shoves him in the opposite direction from the group of girls on the dance floor. What he hadn’t anticipated was Charlie moving so far so fast. Owen has longer legs, he’s supposed to be the faster one, not Charlie. That’s why he hadn’t anticipated turning away from his musical friend to come face to face with a very flushed Y/n. Her lip-gloss coated lips are parted as she catches her breath from all the dancing. They look so soft and inviting that Owen can’t help but stare, and doesn’t realize the several looks of confusion among the girls around him.

“Everything okay, Owen?” Snapping out of his hyper focused stare, Owen blinks a few times, trying to generate a reason for coming over.

“You’ve been dancing for a while.”

“...Yeah?”

“Let me fix you a drink?” His statement comes out as more of a question but the breathless girl agrees nonetheless. Owen extends his hand to her which she gladly accepts but not without a quick word to her friends.

“I’ll be right back, I’m getting a drink.”

Her friends aren’t stupid, quite the opposite actually. And they see right through Owen’s facade of fixing her a drink because she’d been ‘dancing a while’. Please. As if they didn’t know a desperate attempt at flirting when they saw it.

The pounding music from the backyard begins to fade and muffle once the pair step into the Shada’s beautiful kitchen space. Owen leads her to the kitchen island where he has her take a seat on one of the barstools in front of the high countertop. Stepping around the fixture, Owen busies himself with whipping up a drink for Y/n at the makeshift bar on the island. He doesn’t even have to ask what it is she wants. Ice, pink whitney, club soda, and a splash of lime juice mixed together in a red solo cup Owen had considerately written her name on before going all mixologist-mode.

“Your usual.”

“Thank you, sir. You know, I’ve only had a handful of barbecue chips since I got here, and I’m already tipsy, so this actually might get me completely drunk.” Taking a sip, Y/n hums out of pleasure, “Why do you make my favorite drink better than I make my favorite drink?”

“So you have a reason to keep me around.” At the sound of Y/n’s laugh, Owen cracks a smile in time with his favorite sound in the world. The blonde haired man leans forward to rest his weight on his left forearm. He stares at her with adoration seeping from his gaze, before lifting his own cup to drink with her.

“What is that?” she asks, sitting up taller to try and see into Owen’s cup over the island.

“Jack Daniels.”

“I want some.”

“No,” Owen answers swiftly albeit softly. Y/n, however, is not feeling as conciliatory.

“No?”

“Have you ever tried whiskey before?”

“Well, no-”

“You’re drinking a fruit flavored cocktail that’s like 30% nonalcoholic. A sip of this would knock you off your little ass.” Y/n frowns at his words and employs a fake pout of anger to guilt her now laughing friend. Despite her smile, she whines,

“You suck.” Owen merely shrugs unapologetically before sipping and wincing at his drink of choice. “So… how did your date go- with Amy?” And there it is. The question that’s been at the forefront of Y/n’s mind for the last 24 hours.

Owen met this girl Amy at a more professional house party type of event and they hit it off right away. They spent the night invested in conversation, sharing in a cacophony of laughter. Y/n had no right to be upset, but she was. Amy was drop dead gorgeous in that Mini length red, velvet dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her figure was snatched to the gods, and she was about 5’3”; a seemingly irrelevant thing to notice, but Y/n knew that was the height Owen loved in a partner. At least, based on all his previous flings. And not to mention, her beautiful golden blonde hair that extended all the way down her toned back. Amy was perfect to all standards including that of any straight man with eyes and undoubtedly Owen’s. They spent the entire night together, Y/n long forgotten despite having been Owen’s plus one.

Y/n on the other hand didn’t exactly view herself as the drop-dead gorgeous supermodel type. Seeing how Owen took an interest in her at that event, it was no wonder Y/n was jealous. In fact, she had been so jealous that she allowed their flirting to ruin her entire evening.

She had been invited platonically as Owen’s guest, but Owen didn’t feel guilty about leaving her alone once he saw Charlie was by her side the whole night. Little did he know Charlie was only there for her because Owen wasn’t. It was pity company. Pity company that she was grateful to have as she cried into a few gin and tonics. Y/n avoided telling Charlie about her feelings for the adorable drummer, but with the way events transpired, he had figured out what it was that had upset her.

Charlie so badly wanted to give Owen the guilt trip of a lifetime. And he did once he and Owen were alone, heading home in Charlie’s orange hatchback car. He did so by telling Owen about how his best friend had spent the entire evening crying into gin and tonics. ‘Y/n doesn’t even like gin and tonic’ was all Owen could come up with.

When he inquired about why his best friend was crying, Charlie said he didn’t know, but it may have had something to do with the fact that the person who invited her spent the whole night ignoring her; he left it at that, leaving Owen to connect the dots, sort of. Owen had come to the realization that Y/n must have been crying over him, but why? Unable to comprehend a reason, he pushed the situation to the back of his mind. So far back that when Amy texted him that same night, he immediately responded and eventually set up a date for them to get dinner alone Friday evening.

The date was fine. Objectively there was nothing wrong with it. But every time Amy took a sip of the gin and tonic she had ordered, he couldn’t help being reminded of Y/n that night. It took Owen a solid thirty minutes to finally conclude that maybe Y/n was... jealous? Of what? Of Amy? Quickly reviewing a long list of qualities, identical to the one that Y/n had thoroughly checked through when she first saw the blonde, Owen realized she was indeed jealous of Amy. But why? What did Amy have that Y/n didn’t?

Oh.

His initial conclusion in the car with Charlie had to be right. Y/n was crying over him, and seemingly jealous of Amy, all because Amy had his attention. Why was that a problem?

Oh… no. No, Y/n does not have feelings for him. Y/n is... well, Y/n. His best friend, his partner in crime, his confidant, there’s no way she’s in love with him. There’s a different reason as to why she’d been crying into drinks she didn’t like. And that different reason is why her text replies have been short and cold when he had asked for date night conversation pointers. And that different reason is why her smile kept faltering on FaceTime when he was asking for fashion advice for his date.

Y/n is not in love with her best friend.

Owen had spent the past year pushing down his feelings for the girl that threatened to bubble over the top. If Y/n was truly into him, he would’ve acted on them. But she isn’t, so he didn’t. At least, that’s what Owen told himself…

“It was alright,” he offers lamely as a reply to her inquiry. Y/n simply nods and takes another swig of her drink to dull the ache in the center of her chest.

“Just alright?”

“Okay, it was better than alright. She was great.” There’s a hole burning in the center of her heart, and against her better judgment, she expands the deficit by asking for more information.

“What does that mean- that she was ‘great’?”

“You know…” Owen trails off in search of the right words, some words, any words, but nothing comes to him. To sell her nonchalant demeanor, the hopelessly devoted girl is staring down into her cup as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room. She didn’t expect Owen’s eyes to be boring into hers when she looked back up, so she quickly musters a polite smile. Maybe the average onlooker couldn’t tell it was fake, but Owen knows something is off. He just knows. Because he knows her.

“How did those conversation pointers pan out?” She’s deflecting, he thinks.

“One of them worked.” I’m just feeding into it, he thinks.

“Only one of them?” He’s holding back something, she thinks.

“Well, yeah. We didn’t really do much talking if you get what I mean.” I don’t think I can handle this, she thinks.

“I see…” The pair stands together in a silence so tense they felt like strangers. It’s awful. Y/n and Owen hate every second of it, but what could they do? In a moment blinded by upset, Y/n reaches across the island to grab the newly opened bottle of grey goose and pours what must’ve been no less than three shots of liquid into her cup. No club soda or lemonade this time, she chugs down the rest of her drink in a flash; Owen stares at her in disbelief and shock.

Y/n hates being drunk, she likes being the designated driver, she’s never had straight up liquor in her life, and she’s a lightweight, that’s for damn sure. Owen knows all of these things and is even more surprised to see her reaching for an almost empty bottle of gin.

“Hey. Maybe you should take it easy, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a lightweight and you know it. Put the cup down.” When Y/n shakes her head no, something in Owen snaps and his desire to be gentle is long forgotten. “Y/n. Put the drink down.”

“Why do you care, Owen?” In taking time to respond, Owen sees the opportunity and goes for it, taking the cup from her loose grasp and splashing it down the drain of the vegetable sink. “What the fuck?!”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink. Come on.” It’s only a matter of time until Y/n becomes an incoherent human being that’s impossible to wrangle, so Owen is very aware he’s on the clock. Snagging two Arrowhead water bottles in one hand, he takes Y/n’s hand in the other and brings her into the Shada’s den. There are only a few other people in the room, one is a couple and the other a pair of pining idiots, to which Owen becomes slightly wary. Not that the dynamic would change much. He and Y/n are practically a couple according to everyone around them.

Chelsea and Charlie are sitting fairly close together for just friends, on the chocolate brown loveseat facing the couch that Owen has plopped his increasingly intoxicated friend onto; Leila is sitting in a single armchair that a very tipsy Taylor is hanging over the back of to hug her shoulders. Upon seeing Y/n’s pouting expression Chelsea seeks more information,

“You good, fam?”

“He threw it down the sink!” She’s fading faster than Owen had hoped.

“I did. I poured what would’ve been her fifth and sixth shots down the sink.”

“Jesus, Y/n, are you trying to kill yourself?”

“What are you, a cop?” Even tipsy she’s still sharp as a tack. If Owen wasn’t frustrated with her at the moment, he would’ve probably laughed. But he is, so he didn’t. Slipping back into caretaker mode, he hands her one of the water bottles he snagged from the cooler on the way out. In her typical stubborn and petulant fashion, Y/n weakly throws the unopened bottle onto the couch cushion next to her. All their friends laugh but Owen isn’t having it.

“Y/n.” And it only takes a firm call of her name for the slumped over lightweight to glare at him but oblige. She retrieves the bottle and sticks her arm out straight toward Owen’s still standing figure.

“I can’t open it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucked up,” Leila comments.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you fucked up period,” Chelsea adds on. Charlie laughs lightly before resuming whatever conversation the four of them had going pre-Owen and Y/n’s entrance.

Satisfied with the small sips she’s taking of her water, Owen relaxes and takes a seat next to her on the couch. The temporary break in her temper tantrum allows Owen to save his breath; he opens his own water bottle, taking a few drinks which ended up being half the bottle. He’s given her a good bit of room on the couch but it isn’t good enough for Y/n. It takes her a few failed attempts to screw on the cap of her water but once it’s properly sealed, she moves closer to her best friend. The water has acted like some magical temperament cure as Y/n’s previously permanent pout has disappeared.

Owen knows he and Y/n are close enough to where cuddling wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But the way she’s burrowed into his side, picking up his seemingly ‘heavy’ arm to place it around her own inebriated frame, laying her head high up on his chest, and unintentionally resting her hand on his lower abdomen, something feels off. Her hand isn’t dangerously low, but low enough that the side of her limp palm has met the waistband of his jeans. Owen can’t help but feel his skin tingle and burn under her touch. Why is he so affected by her touch all of a sudden?

Owen is pulled from his snowballing thoughts by the sound of Y/n’s muffled voice against his chest. He leans down as far as he can which places his head on top of hers gently.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry,” he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. A tiny drop of warmth on his shirt under her head triggers Owen’s memory: Y/n’s an emotional drunk. She doesn’t get drunk often but when she does, she goes all in and becomes somewhat manic as a result. That accounts for her previous anger. Now it’s sadness, so in about ten minutes, she’ll be easily excitable and bouncing off the walls.

Y/n had carpooled with Leila and Chelsea to the party, and though Owen was upset about her not picking him up like they’d briefly talked about at first, he’s suddenly thankful for the arrangement.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Unhhh.” The lack of a coherent response is enough for Owen, and after finishing the rest of his water, he sits up on the couch.

“Where’s your house key? Hm?” The prospect of losing her key is absolutely devastating to Y/n as she begins to weep. Her imminent distress in response to Owen’s question has all their friends laughing once more; Leila speaks up,

“Check the left chest pocket of her jacket.”

Owen nods, noting the directions, and gently rolls his friend over on her back. Deciding against using her strength, Y/n flops over onto her other side which still allows Owen access to her pocket. His long fingers dwarf the button fastener on her jacket that she often struggles to open, and sure enough her sky blue house key is in her pocket just as Leila said.

“Thanks,” he acknowledges Leila before taking Y/n’s cold hands in his own larger ones to help her stand. It’s a bit of a struggle to stand and as a result, the fading girl leans a bit of her weight into Owen’s side. “You gonna say bye to our friends?”

Y/n nods a goodbye to each person in the room, moving from left to right naming Leila, Taylor, Chelsea, and then Charlie. Upon saying bye to Charlie the small girl starts to cry again, harder this time, much to everyone’s confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie looked a-at me like he didn’t l-like me.” The entire room bursts out laughing, Owen included this time, but she’s still crying. “It’s no-not funny.”

“I know. You’re right, it’s not funny.” Owen’s exaggerated sympathy goes undetected by the very emotional Y/n as she presses her face into his grey long sleeve shirt. She reaches up to hug her arms around Owen’s neck for stability as she adds more tears to the tiny spot from before. “Can you walk?” He asks genuinely as more of her weight leans into him. The only response Owen gets is a few soft sobs, and in reaction to her messy state, lets out a subtle eye roll. He shakes his head before bending down to place one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades, sweeping her off the ground before she can protest.

“Would you guys tell Jer thanks and that I had to take her home?” A symphony of affirmations and goodbyes usher him out of the house, and once outside Y/n’s crying diminuendos into short sniffles and the occasional sigh.

“Here, be careful,” Owen panics as his friend nearly bangs the front of her head against the roof of his car. Once he cautiously places all her limbs in the passenger side, Owen shuts the door and hurries over to the driver’s side as if Y/n could hurt herself in the next five seconds. He places the key in the ignition but before he even touches the gear shift, he turns and looks quizzically at his best friend. The sniffling and sighs coming from her puffy face have lulled her into an almost unconscious state; Owen puffs out a frustrated sigh as he reaches across the entire car to grab Y/n’s seatbelt for her.

Another thing about drunk Y/n is that her emotional state makes her more likely to give in to physical impulses. So after she registers Owen leaning across her lap for the seatbelt, she grabs his shoulder so he doesn’t move away. The action surprises Owen and he turns his face to look into her half-lidded eyes. He’s trying to make sense of the action but his trailing thoughts are interrupted when the girl in the passenger’s seat leans forward slightly to put her face against Owen’s neck.

“I like your smell.” Owen tries so hard not to laugh in fear of upsetting her again, but he can’t conceal the smile growing on his face. He then gently pulls away from her grasp in order to actually start driving,

“Okay. Thank you.”

The car ride is composed of mostly comfortable silence with the occasional inebriated comment or nonsensical sound from the girl in the passenger seat; Owen had been so captivated by Y/n’s uncharacteristically relaxed state, he’d been driving on autopilot and instead of turning left to get on the highway that runs south to where her apartment is, he’d gone north to go to his own place. No big deal, Owen didn’t plan on leaving her intoxicated and alone, and she’s stayed the night plenty of times before now. What’s one more night? It isn’t until he puts the car in park and helps her out of the vehicle that Y/n clocks her surroundings.

“I don’t live here.”

“You don’t, no, but I do,” Owen replies simply before he slides out of the car. Y/n stays in the car as if Owen told her not to move, and looks up at him confusedly when he opens her door. In her tipsy state, she is able to recognize what Owen is doing and smugly places her hand over the buckle of her seatbelt. With her tiny palm over the red button, she begins giggling maniacally.

“What are you doing?” Owen asks with a frustrated sigh although he can’t help the small smile overtaking his features at the sound of her growing laughter. He doesn’t get a response, just more giggling which lets him know he’s going to have to do things the hard way now that she’s in a lifted mood. “Kid, you have to get out of the car.”

“You can’t make me.”

Owen takes a step back from the open door to reevaluate. Y/n always tells him to work smarter, not harder. Another one of her many bouts of wisdom is that you can keep the attention of children and adults alike with a vastly dynamic change in volume. The question is will she notice Owen using this tactic on her in her drunken state?

“Hey, Y/n/n,” his speech drops to a low whisper. “I’m sad, can you hold my hand?” The change in volume works exactly as described; completely convinced by the sincerity of his whispering, Y/n gives him her right hand. “Can I have the other one?”

When she nods a small ‘yes’ and gives him both of her hands, Owen finds himself fighting the urge to laugh at how easy that was. He takes both of her cool hands in his larger left one to reach across her body and release her seatbelt with a swift CLICK.

Luckily Y/n didn’t tangle herself up in the seatbelt, but she had other ideas for causing trouble. Owen helped her out of the car but once she was standing on her own two feet, she began running away from him. With a slam of the car door and a string of breathy curses later, he chases after his best friend before she can hurt herself on literally anything in the parking garage. The sound of Y/n’s laughter carries through the vacant space, and despite all her best efforts, Owen quickly catches up to her. Her giddy intoxication allowed for the suspension of disbelief that she could outrun the much taller Owen Joyner, but she’s sorely mistaken when his strong arms wrap around her waist and lift her feet off the ground. Y/n’s bouts of laughter are contagious; Owen finds himself laughing alongside his best friend. Setting her feet back on the ground he asks,

“Are you going to run away again if I let go of you?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out through the tail end of her laughing fit. The candidness of her reply prompts Owen to throw his head back, shaking it as if in disagreement with the universe itself,

“I appreciate your honesty.” And with that, Y/n screeches in glee as her best friend maneuvers her body in his grip to lift her over his right shoulder.

“Owen!”

“You did this to yourself, kid.”

The silent elevator ride up to his flat is comfortable relative to the current position they’re in. Y/n’s no longer fighting being carried but instead entertains herself by tapping out an intricate beat on the surface of Owen’s back.

“Guess what song this is.”

The beat she’s playing is close to incoherent and Owen tries to stifle his full laugh in fear of making her cry again. He’s been successful so far, but now having Y/n over his shoulder, she can feel the movement of his abdomen that was unintelligible by sight alone.

“Your favorite song,” he guesses insincerely.

“No, my favorite song doesn’t sound like that. It was sicko mode.”

“That was not sicko mode.”

“Owen, how come you don’t wear a badge?”

“What?”

“Because you’re the song police?” Owen can’t help but snort out a laugh even though the comment was made at his expense. Still sharp as a tack.

Once the pair reach the front door of Owen’s ‘bachelorette pad’ as Y/n liked to call it, he sets her back on the ground albeit reluctantly as he recalls why he was carrying her in the first place. Thinking quickly on his feet, Owen forms a plan that’s more likely than not foolproof.

“Hey, Y/n/n?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is still right behind him thankfully.

“Can I have a hug?” After a few seconds of silence in the hall, Owen begins to doubt his plan until he feels the weight of his best friend leaning on his toned back. With her cheek pressed against the middle of his spine, Y/n brings her arms around his waist, clasping her hands tightly together. Her semi-public display of affection allows Owen some time to unlock his front door. Once he props the door open, Owen realizes that Y/n probably isn’t going to let go any time soon and opts to waddle through the threshold with her still attached to him. He’s able to turn around and lock them back in for the night which makes the girl begin to laugh.

“Was this your plan all along? To get me drunk so you could lock me in your apartment and hold me prisoner for the rest of my life?”

“And I would’ve gotten away with it, too...”

“If it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog.”

True to his imagination that Y/n wasn’t letting go any time soon, Owen swivels her around his torso so that he could hold her to his side rather than support her with his back. He now has his right arm over both of her shoulders as she continues to hug her best friend. The way she leans her head onto his chest makes Owen’s heartbeat the tiniest bit faster. ‘She’s drunk, she doesn’t know what this does to you’ is the mantra blaring through Owen’s subconscious. Shaking any and all sort of romantic thoughts out of his head, he begins to lead her back to his bedroom.

Flicking the lights on proves to be a mistake once Y/n starts groaning miserably, and Owen decides the floor lamp is a better option than the overheads. Much to Owen’s surprise and relief, Y/n moves to sit on the edge of his bed on her own volition. She’s not upright for long as she collapses into the sheets of his unmade bed that contemplated neatening before leaving the house; hindsight is 20/20.

“Hmm. I like your smell,” Y/n parrots despite already bringing up the topic on the ride home.

“This is the same cologne I always use.”

“No. I like your natural smell.”

“What?”

“I was reading up about pheromones the other day. And there was this thing that said when couples like each others’ scent, it’s like a primal way of seeing if you’re immuno-compatible with someone so your offspring have the best chance for survival. It’s an evolutionary thing for the survival of our species. Ants have pheromones, too.”

Sometimes she has trouble remembering to feed herself, but leave it to Y/n to remember extensive information about pheromones whilst intoxicated. The concept is intriguing to Owen, so he proceeds to ask questions, ignoring the tug on his heart he felt after hearing her say the word ‘couples’.

“So, if I like your scent, we’re immuno-?”

“Compatible, yeah. But it’s mostly me because you can sniff out my period.”

“I can what?”

“I read that men can tell when a woman is at her most fertile because that’s when they like her smell the best. They did a study where a bunch of men were introduced to a few different scents, and without fail, the one they liked the most or would describe as ‘sexy’ or ‘attractive’ was the scent they took from the woman who was ovulating.”

Y/n continues talking about what she learned about pheromones as Owen picks up a bit of the mess around his room. She returns to the topic of ant pheromones as he digs through his surprisingly large closet for something for his friend to sleep in. His temporarily bubbly best friend also notes that he should ‘sniff her now because she’s ovulating and he would like that’ which makes him laugh into the drawers of his waist-height dresser. Returning to find her still slumped over on the bed, he pats her leg and beckons her to sit up. After Y/n’s upright again, Owen hands her his classic black ‘BEANS’ t-shirt and a pair of briefs that won’t properly fit her but will fit better than a pair of his actual pants.

“Can you put these on for me?”

“Yeah.” Owen’s conflicted with both wanting to respect Y/n’s privacy by leaving the room, and prioritizing her safety, and not leaving her unattended at any moment. He comes to a compromise which is staying by her side but turning a full 180 to face the wall of his bedroom. A couple of moments pass until Y/n begins whining frustratedly.

“Owen.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t ubns-” her words become incomprehensible as she begins to cry again and Owen turns around to find her struggling with the buttons on her shirt, her jacket long discarded on the bedroom floor. This shirt: her white, cap-sleeve crop top with a peter pan collar that she wore for anything mildly significant, this was her favorite. Owen remembers her fussing about how she ruined it only to find that she just forgot to steam it one day. So with a little heat and water, Owen had fixed the shirt like nothing ever happened, and he’d do it a million times over again if it meant he got to relive seeing the smile that graced her face for the first time again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do the buttons.” She runs the back of her right hand against her tired eyes to wipe away her tears and Owen internally curses himself for the way the small action makes his heart flutter.

“Do you need help?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen to me, you are okay,” he sinks to kneel in front of Y/n as she sits tiredly on the edge of the bed. Owen doesn’t miss the slight tremble of his hands as he reaches up to unbutton her shirt, but he prays that she will. Through tiny sniffles and teary eyes, she watches his hands effortlessly work down the length of her shirt, each button modestly dancing between his fingertips. Once the short top is fully unbuttoned, Owen returns to his normal standing height and Y/n attempts to shrug the fabric off her body. She struggles lightly and knowing her frustration is imminent, Owen reaches down to gingerly push the sleeves off her shoulders. The light graze of his rough, calloused skin against her own skin sends electric-like shocks through the both of them; yet neither of them believed the other felt it too.

Owen hastily withdraws his hands and, without warning, Y/n quickly removes the bralette she was wearing. Owen’s eyes widen slightly at her lack of inhibition. He does his best to be a gentleman and swiftly redirects his gaze to the white ceiling fan that has all of a sudden become the most intriguing object in the universe. His lower peripheral vision indicates that she’s finally slipped the black tee over her head, but she begins sniffling more fiercely as she struggles with taking off her jeans. Owen sighs and drops to his knees once more in spite of himself, and aids his best friend in slipping the material over the length of her calves and off the tips of her toes. Hoping to speed up the process, he grabs the briefs he had brought her and unfolds them in preparation for helping her into them. His efforts are all for naught as Y/n forgoes the need for any more clothing and slides under the covers of his unmade bed. Owen then turns to leave the bedroom, opting to set up on the couch for the night before Y/n’s small voice is cutting through the comfortable silence.

“Where are you going?” He sighs,

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get you some water and Advil for when you wake up tomorrow.” Y/n then nods acceptingly and allows her eyes to flutter closed as he leaves the room. Despite how tired she feels, Y/n won’t quite yet let herself sleep--not ‘til Owen is beside her. When he returns he sets the ibuprofen bottle on the nightstand before uncapping the Kirkland brand water bottle he had in the fridge. He coaxes her into sitting up just one more time so she can drink some of the water before falling asleep. She sits and rubs her tired eyes as she drinks and Owen has to physically force himself to look away from the adorable sight. He just wants to take care of her forever but things have always been strictly platonic between them.

The risk of making their friendship weird or awkward was just too great.

“Goodnight kid, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Owen leaves without awaiting a response and lets out an annoyed sigh before setting himself up on the couch in his living room. He was so focused on getting Y/n to bed safely that he forgot to grab clothes for himself. Not a big deal. He simply strips down to just his underwear and climbs underneath the thick Pottery Barn throw blanket Y/n had gifted him as a housewarming gift. That and a fire extinguisher because ‘you don’t notice its absence until you need it’ she claimed. The memory makes Owen smile and he allows his eyes to close after a long day.

A long day that was about to get longer. Owen finds himself sinking further and further into sleep until he hears the padding of footsteps that are now in his living room. He’s too tired to open his eyes, and it’s not like he doesn’t already know who it is. What does surprise him, however, is the feeling of the familiar weight squeezing between the couch and his turned back.

“What are you doing?” He half mumbles into the night.

“You’re warm.”

“That was not the question, Y/n/n.” After not receiving a reply, Owen turns as best as he can to look at his friend who’s nestling her way into his sleeping arrangement for the night. “Kid-”

“I just wanna be with you.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out of irritation, exhaustion, and a sliver of adoration before sitting up on the couch, “Come on.”

He stands up, fully expecting to have to drag her back to the bedroom, but finds relief in seeing her struggle her way off the couch. Slipping her tired hand into his unexpecting, larger one, Y/n allows her friend to lead her into the bedroom for the second time that night.

Owen considerately lifts the covers for her to climb back into before getting into the other side of the bed.

“Owen.”

“Hm?”

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.”

“No,” Y/n speaks in a casual tone as if she’s not divulging into her biggest emotional trepidation to date. “I love you, Owen.”

Owen can’t help the way his heart seemingly stops. The way the butterflies in his stomach are going wild. The way he wants to smile like he’s the biggest lovestruck idiot on planet Earth.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She won’t remember this tomorrow.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

She won’t remember that tomorrow.

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas@crybabyddl@kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @n0wornever​ @dream-a-little-bigger-x​  @curlybrownhairedboys​ @amazinggracy​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @ghostlygreenbean​ @merceret​ @jemimah-b99​ @ifilwtmfc​ @thesweetestsinner​ @imsydneywalker​ @lovesanimals​ @thebloodthirstyvampress​ @bumbleberry-pie​ @losers-club6​ @tefilovesreading​ @dmcfarland1 @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer@sunsetcurvej​ @warmnesss0ul @lilyjoyner​ @joynerxmercer​ @juliefromaustralia @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @mrstodorooki @morganayennefertyrell

[mel-the-fangirl]

The Escort

Walter Marshall x Reader

Words: 2,064

Warnings: none

Happy super late Valentine’s, Cavillry! As usual, this is a very very late upload but in my defense, it does say in my bio that I am a procrastinator soooo... Anyway, I’m really excited about this miniseries because I love the movie (The Wedding Date, 2005) and I really wanted to write Walter, I hope I do him justice!

Feedback (good and bad!) means the world to me as rookie writer, so I hope you’ll like, reblog and leave me some replies!

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

You could not believe you were doing this. You just couldn't. But there you were doing it, even though your mind screeched at you to stop and save a little dignity for yourself.

The fact that you even considered doing this was already a serious loss of dignity points, so what the hell. People did this all the time, didn’t they? There wouldn’t be a whole network of people clumped into this app if it wasn’t a normal occurrence.

It just wasn’t a normal occurrence for you.

Once you filled your head with rationalisations to make yourself feel better, you took a deep breath and began browsing through what the great city of New York had to offer.

Z, 6’, loving hands, fit, athletic, good manners, for water sports, caramel complexion.

For water sports? What in the hell did that mean? And that single initial in place of an actual name? Serial killer vibes. No, thank you.

Lenny, 6’2”, pretty fit Italian, excellent dinner companion, all occasions catered.

Alright. Okay. Now we’re talking. Tall, European, excellent dinner companion equals to good conversationalist, accommodating. Lenny goes on the list of possibilities.

Terry, 6’, my soft voice will arouse you, my strong hands will pleasure you,  let me show you how a woman should be treated, hourly/overnight rates.

Oh no no no. Major creep vibes from Terry. That ad alone had you reaching for another long swig of wine.

Joey, 5’8”, are you into champagne?, bodybuilder, will treat you like a queen.

“If you like piña coladas…” you sang in not even remotely the right key, topping off your drink

Josh, 5’9”, I can make you feel sexy and wanted. Fit, sensual, strong.

“Well!” you exclaimed drunkenly, almost spilling wine on your couch, “Tough beans, Josh! I don’t need a man to make me feel sexy and wanted!” you faltered a bit, your drunk mind still seeing the holes in your logic

“I just… Need a man to help me not look like a tragic spinster in front of my family and my ex...”

With that thought fresh in your mind, you reached for some more wine.

The ads went on and on as you scrolled through your phone, it was all a little overwhelming, how were you going to make sure you weren't hiring some psychopathic serial killing pervert to pose as your date to your sister's wedding?

The groan you let out bounced off the walls of your apartment. The reality of your situation was sinking in little by little. 

Yes. You were hiring a male escort for your sister's wedding. It was your baby sister's wedding, by the way. You were a hundred percent aware that what you were doing was completely and utterly pathetic but you’ve already weighed the pros and cons in your head countless times.

Showing up alone: pitying looks, whispering behind your back, having to face ex by yourself, staggering levels of embarrassment.

Showing up with handsome -hired- date: mother can finally get off your back, date is more handsome than ex, ex will want to shrivel up and die, no one will know date is male escort except you and him.

Now, let’s break down some of the guests just for the sake of being thorough. 

There’s your slightly overbearing mother (slightly meaning every call you have with her opens with the question: “how's your love life, dear?” or “I have the most amazing man to set you up with!”), all of her judgy eagle-eyed friends (mostly rich widows whose sons your mom shamelessly shoves your way), your extended family (some terrifyingly old school great aunts and uncles who will definitely ask if you’re married and smile sympathetically when you say you’re not), and last but certainly not the least, Jeffrey, your ex-fiancé (best man, but apparently not the best man for you, his words not yours).

"Lordy fuck." you exhaled hard, chugging your wine straight from the bottle

How on earth did you get here? Sitting alone in your apartment, working your way through your second bottle of wine (or third? Who was keeping count?), clicking on ads that spoke of "hot single males in your area" waiting to meet you.

Would it be fair to pin it all on the end of your engagement?

Picturing that moment, you decided that it was only fair. Those were five years of your life you would never get back, you were prepared to sign on for more but, yeah.

You were blindsided, that's the only way to describe it. All the while, you thought that you and Jeffrey were on the same page, at the same place in life. You were the golden couple, the couple that all the other couples wished they could be, when you two walked past, girlfriends would give their boyfriends a slap on the shoulder that meant, "Why can't we be more like them?"

It was so out of nowhere, one minute you were discussing wedding cake options over dinner, then suddenly you're putting the ring in his palm, completely in shock. 

After that, you threw yourself into your work despite the fact that you were already a budding workaholic to begin with. That's how you ended up earning six figures a year. 

Six figure salary, check. Doing pretty well in life all things considered, check.

But even with all that, there weren't any conversations over casseroles and cobblers about your many achievements. Nope, your mother and her friends would much rather discuss their worries that you would essentially, die alone.

Your little sister, Amy, getting married before you didn't exactly help to put a lid on all the chatter. And with Jeffrey being the best man? And you being maid of honour? 

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make up an excuse believable enough to get you off the hook so you wouldn’t have to go?

Were you really thinking about bailing on your little sister’s wedding? If she wasn’t taking cues from your mother, it would be the only one she ever had.

Not one of your finest moments as a sibling.

With the complications of your situation fully realised, you took to reading the ads with a little more effort. Luckily, you didn’t have to look for long.

Nick, 6’, male, tall, good looking, strong build. You will not be disappointed.

The ad was considerably less flashy than the others but you supposed that’s what drew you to it in the first place. It was understated, simple, and his ad wasn’t entirely made up of overcompensating flexing pics.

Mostly because he didn’t need them.

Call off the search, send the boys home. You had a winner here!

Staring up at you from your phone screen was the most handsome man you have ever seen in your life. Literally.

A mane of thick, artfully disheveled curly hair, eyes that were a light shade of blue that had a sort of dark intensity and intelligence that you could spend days trying to understand, and a smile. Oh, that smile was absolutely suckerpunching. It was odd though, something in your head was telling you that this man did not smile often.

You couldn’t tell if the warmth blooming in your chest and creeping towards your cheeks was from all the wine or from examining this prime specimen. Jeez Louise!

“Phew!” you fanned yourself upon stumbling on a photo of him crossing his arms in a tank top. Good God, you hoped he had a license for those guns!

You had to set your phone down for a minute to think things through although it seemed absolutely nuts that you had to think twice at all. It’s just that after the initial excitement and hormones wore off, it was becoming more and more evident that this man was too good to be true.

Just look at him! Were there actually men that looked like that? And why didn’t they live closer to you? A quick sweep of his profile placed him in Minneapolis.

What were the crime rates like there? And did they have a high rate of murders relating to escort services?

Before you could even google anything related to that, you stopped yourself. If you kept at this rate, you would never get anything done! Finally, after a methodical deliberation (aka ogling the pictures on his ad), you saved Nick’s contact number to your phone.

Aaand that’s as far as you’d go for the night. You could call him tomorrow when you weren’t a floundering drunk. It was like your mother always said, “Always be sober for a business transaction, but anything else calls for a cocktail.”

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

The following morning, you sat at your little breakfast nook, eggs still piping hot and untouched, and a hangover in full effect. You’ve been staring at the phone number for so long, you could say it in your sleep.

Come on, Y/N, the wedding is five freaking days away.

What if this guy was fully booked? You didn’t want to spend five days surrounded by family with Mr. my-soft-voice-will-arouse-you, did you?

You slammed your finger down on the call icon and stuck the phone to your ear. Your heart beat faster and faster with every ring and your palms became so slick with sweat that you almost dropped your phone a couple of times. 

Maybe you should have taken your mother up on the multiple occasions that she wanted to set you up with someone. Alright, on second thought, you didn’t really want to be with someone who only looked good on paper but was actually an insufferable mama’s boy.

“Hello?” a male voice answered, catching you off-guard

Oh, God. Okay, you’re really doing this.

“Yes, hi! Hi. Uh, I’m looking for Nick!” you chirped, in a startled high pitched squeak you didn’t dare recognise as your own

The silence on the other end was starting to make you sweat behind the knees. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn’t mention any specifics.

“Uh, sorry! I got this number from the, uh, the ad. I’m looking for Nick?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right, but Nick isn’t in right now. This is his manager.”

Was that a good sign? That a male escort had a manager? Did all male escorts have managers? You clearly didn’t know enough about this stuff.

“It’s a pleasure, Mister..?”

There was another beat of silence before the person on the other line answered, you tried your hardest not to overthink about what that could have meant.

“Foley! I’m Foley, Nick’s manager.” Mr. Foley’s voice returned to your ear, sounding much too bright for your liking. 

Christ, what were you, a cop? To be honest, you were exhausted. Despite all the alcohol in your system last night, you barely got any sleep. You spent the rest of the night reading through some reviews of Nick’s service as an escort.

He had a glittering five star rating.

One woman hired him to pose as her husband at a high school reunion and by the end of the night, she ended up proposing to him. He respectfully declined and even bought her dinner afterwards.

That review alone was enough to convince you that you would be in good hands. So, it was time to buckle down, swallow the nerves, and handle your business like the adult you were.

“Mr. Foley,” you shook your hair out and put on your professional voice. “I’d like to book your client for five days, give or take. I need a plus one for a wedding. Is he available to leave on the-”

“Please hold. I’ll check his schedule.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mention when I-”

“He’s available. Would you prefer to pick him up at JFK or will he meet you at your place of residence?”

“Oh. Uh, I guess I could pick him up. Do I pay for his ticket or..?” you were feeling a teensy bit of whiplash at how fast this was all going

There was some rustling on the other line and the muffled sounds of bickering. You tried not to let that concern you.

“We’ll handle that, Ms. Y/L/N. We have your number, we’ll be in touch for further details. Good bye.”

The line went dead and you were left staring at your phone in confusion. Did you tell him your name?

[fumingspice]

All The Things She Said

Pairing: Lana Winters x Reader

Request:  student x teacher au fic with lana, billie or cordelia?

Note: Added in a little sparkle with a soulmate AU. Those who are lucky enough to have a soulmate are assigned a necklace with a small pendant. No one knows where they come from or how they’re decided; they just appear and will match your soulmate’s identically. Also, yes the reader is eighteen, and yes there will probably be a part two.

Requests are open!

Your routine was like clock-work; every morning without fail. 5am you would get out of bed and go on a run. There was no reason, really. You weren't someone who was that interested in athletics, it was just a way to clear your mind and wake up your mind and body before going to school and having the energy sucked out of you.

You adored the way the sky looked this early in the morning as you ran through the country park. The heat gave you an extra kick of gratification as you watched the sky dance in colours of orange and pink, painting everything in shades of gold. The sun crept through the mountain like liquid glory and you couldn't get enough of it.

Realising the time, you made your way back to your neighbourhood, waving at neighbours you often saw at this time of morning.

You saw many of the same people on morning runs that you eventually learned by name while running past them, shouting a greeting and waving as you sped past them. This morning, you noticed that the home a few lots down from your own had been purchased; the new inhabitents were outside, speaking with a contractor.

As you ran, you noticed the woman watching you. Breaking your glance, you made a mental note to introduce yourself later.

The shower couldn't come soon enough as you lathered the cool water on your body. Cold showers after a run provided that little extra adrenaline rush that you needed to get you through the day, and boy would you need it today.

After months of persuasion, you had finally given in to skipping the end of school and heading to a gay bar with your friends Emmett and Heather. Being the model student you were, you had declined the offer time and time again; but after catching your boyfriend with another girl and the subsequent break up of one of the most liked couples in school, you decided that now would be the best time for it.

The school day rushed in and at 12pm on the dot, you and Emmett made your way to Heather's car, where she sat impatiently tapping her foot.

"You two took your sweet time," the blonde muttered, pulling on a pair of sunglasses and revving up the engine.

The plan was simple; Heather's parents were out of town for the week so the three of you planned to stay over. Today would be spent getting ready and having a few drinks before hitting the bar in order for you to have a "drink in celebration" for breaking up with your ex-boyfriend.

The bar was lively, and you could smell the mixture of cheap cigarettes, alcohol and weed and hear the music from the street behind. Emmett compared the similarity of the three of you strutting to the bar to the Sanderson sisters from Hocus Pocus.

Heather nudged you yet again, her elbow hitting a nerve in your ribs and making you bounce.

"Will you quit that?" you snapped, realising your fourth cocktail was making you slightly irritable.

Heather glared at you and pulled you over to whisper in your ear. "The brunette at seven o'clock has looked from her phone to you at least four times," she hissed, releasing you and nodding her head in the direction.

You nodded in understanding and gestured for her to tell you what to do. Picking chicks up at a bar wasn't exactly something you were accustomed to, after all.

"Go up to the bar and order something-" she looked at your outift, "-I don't know. Some business casual-sounding drink. Like an Old Fashioned or something. Make a joke about how much you've drank and if she's warm then ask if she's here with someone. Then go in for the kill and Emmett and I will be your wing-people when you break your seal."

"Break my what?"

Heather practically shoved you off your chair.

You shrugged and walked towards the bar, standing close to the brunette, but not close enough so that she knew what you were up to. The bartender approached and you smiled at her.

"Hey, could I get an Old Fashioned pl-"

"And get me another piña colada while you're making your move!" Heather called, acting more drunk than she was in an effort to hint off to the lady. You glared at her, and in return, for some added effect she lent into full view of the lady, shot her a cheesy grin and gave her a thumbs up.

You spun on your heel to see if the lady had noticed, and to your dismay she had. She looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

At least she didn't look disappointed.

"Was that for me?" She chuckled, taking a tip from her class. You grinned as casually as possible, looking down at your hands. You finished off your order and paid, waiting for Heather to get her drink to no avail.

"You know what, yeah I think it was for you actually," you replied. Keeping it cool was the buzz phrase Heather had been using all day. "I'm sorry but my friend claimed that she had seen you checking me out a few times and was pretty insistant that I come over and talk to you."

You sat in the stool, leaving one between you.

The lady chuckled. "It's fine," she said, taking another sip. "I'd be grateful for the company."

"You're alone? You're more than welcome to sit with my friends and I," you offered.

You cut off immediately by Heather collecting her drink, standing between you and muttering, "don't you fucking dare," into your ear before walking over to the woman and leaning over her shoulder.

"Now, you see, Ms- I'm sorry what's your name? Jesus, Y/N! When you flirt it's basic manners to ask for a name," Heather muttered.

"It's Lana," she replied, smiling at you.

Lana. A pretty name.

"Awh, that's a lovely name actually, I wish my parents liked me enough to call me something like that. Anyways, enough about me. So, anyways, my good friend Y/N here just got two-timed by a piece of human trash that she's way hotter than and everyone warned her against dating but hey- you know our Y/N, she's balls-ier than a dodgey testical. So, all I'm really gonna say is we came here because we really want to get her laid so she doesn't need to feel like she got the short end of the bargain so, you know-"

At this stage Heather was trying to communicate through a series of dramatic gestures. Emmett strod over, took Heather by the shoulders and apologised to Lana before walking your drunk friend back to your table.

You were both a little shell-shocked and you feared that Heather's drunken rant had ruined any sembelance of a chance that you had with getting anywhere with this.

"I- I'm so sorry. She doesn't get out much," you said. Lana's smile returned as she waved it off.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot younger than twenty-one?" she asked. You couldn't tell if she was being genuine or if she was trying to hint that she thought you were younger than your ID said.

You nodded. "All the time," you say, it's not like that's a lie. "How old are you? If you're not offended by my asking."

"I'm twenty-nine. I hit the big three-oh in November," she replied. Lana reached into her bag and pulled out a box of Newport cigarettes. "I'm sorry, I've had a long day and I'm dying for a smoke. Care to join me?"

You sat still for a moment before excepting the offer. The club was absolutely packed and you could barely follow Lana through to the balcony without getting separated from her. She noticed and turned around, taking your hand and keeping you close so that you didn't get lost in the crowd.

Lana lent over the metal fence, cupping her hand over her lighter. You watched how her cheeks sucked in, defining her cheekbones and her jawline. You mirrored her position against the fence.

"Hard day at the office?" You asked, declining the cigarette she offered you. "Thanks but I don't smoke."

Lana smiled down at her cigarette. "I like a smart girl. Stay away from these for as long as possible," she took a long draw. "And to answer your question; I moved into a new house today only to find out that none of the plumbing was actually installed and contractor has no idea why."

"My house was like that too; turns out the pipes are just in really weird places," you replied. You turned to face in the opposite direction, laying your elbows onto the bar and watching the crowd. "What do you do? Career wise?"

Lana blew out a puff. "I'm a teacher. French and English Literature."

Ah great; a French student trying to hit on a French teacher. This was gonna be a fun story to tell the group.

"You're kidding? I'm studying French," you replied. 

Lana laughed. "Damn, Y/N. This just has to be written in the stars," she replied, you could sent the well-meant underlying sarcasm in her voice. "You think I have that chance?" You ask, your eyes dart down to her hand. Her ring finger, although bare had an imprint on it as if she had only recently removed a ring. She noticed you looking and brought her hand into a fist.

"Don't look at me like that, Y/N. We're getting divorced," she said. She bit her lip and looked down into the woods beneath. 

You felt slightly guilty. "Oh, I'm sorry." Lana shook her head in response.

"I'm in a gay bar for Christ's sake. We definetly weren't compatiable," she chuckled, reaching for another draw of her cigarette. She turned around, some noise in the background catching her attention. Her sleeve dropped a little bit, revealing two bruises at the side of her wrist that she had clearly tried to cover with foundation. Lana turned back around and you dropped your eyes before you noticed, unaware if it was your place to ask.

"If I'm honest, I don't really like bars. I know this really nice café a few places down. Do you wanna come with me?" You asked. Lana's head cocked slightly, her eyes scanned you as if they were looking for some alterier motive. "I'm not trying to get laid, Lana. I just don't like clubs and I don't think you do either."

Lana's shoulders relaxed, as if trying to decide. "Sure," she nodded. "I'd love to."

You walked back in through the bar, telling Emmett what you were doing. He made you promise to turn on your location and to call him to pick you up when you were ready to leave.

"It's nice that you have friends to watch your back," Lana said as you walked down the street. The air was now cold, nipping at your cheeks and nose. Lana slid her arm through yours after asking if it was okay to do so.

The café in question was small; dimly lit, decorated with plants. It was warm inside and the candles lit everything in orange. It was peaceful. You heard Lana sigh with relaxation as you asked her what she'd like to drink.

Two lattes later, you and Lana lay on the same old, green, springless couch. You giggled and talked for what could have been hours.

Lana noticed your Soul Necklace. “I have one too,” she said, touching the stone delicately. “I’ve never worn it though.”

She told you stories from high school and college while you sat and listened to her in some new form of fascination. You could listen to her talk forever. Your head rested on her shoulder, and hers rested on your head. There was an echo of peace which bounced around the both of you.

Eventually there came a moment when you had finally plucked up enough courage in a moment of silence between you to lift her chin with your finger and close in for a kiss. It was short and sweet, but you could still rellish the feeling of her lips kissing back against yours in a gentle passion.

She waited on you while Emmett drove back to get you, with an extremely drunk Heather in the backseat. 

"Are you free tomorrow night?" Lana asked before she walked away. You nodded. "Would you like to maybe go out? On a date?"

Her final question was asked with a shyness that you found adorable, and giving her a kiss on the cheek as

The next day you went to school in a good mood. Your run was better than ever. Your breakfast was tastier. The sky was more beautiful. You couldn't contain your giggles as Heather drove you and Emmett to school.

"I cannot believe you've landed yourself a date with a teacher," Emmett said as the three with you walked to your French class. You practically danced down the corridor with happiness. The three of you were slightly late to class.

You pushed the door open harder than you intended, making it crash against the wall with a loud bang. You muttered an apology while your friends laughed at you and the teacher settled them down, chuckling under her breath.

That it until she looked up at you.

And you looked up at her.

Lana muttered a profanity under her breath as she realised that she had asked one of her students on a date.

taglist: @its-soph-xx​

[endxwithme]

just gonna vent here for a second. under a readmore. ignore this if you want.

so i’ve been having a huge issue lately with loss of muse. john, sam, my other blogs. i have muses that come and go, and when my muse is nonexistent, i don’t touch tumblr or even discord usually. and with the personal stuff me and the wife have been going through recently, it’s been effecting both my mental health and my muses. but when i have muse, i try to communicate with people and encourage people to come to me with their muses.

if you’re not willing to help me with plotting or move it past plotting, that’s on you. if i can’t think of a plot or a connection, i try anyway. i will try to write with just about anyone, and i am always happy to talk to people if they come to me, whether it’s just to talk or because of an issue.

as it is, my wife and i have been going through ivf for almost a year, with multiple losses, and we both struggle with chronic pain. for the first time in a long time, we’re both in a place to get help for both our physical and mental health. coming up on our one-year anniversary, we both recognized that we needed to take some time for ourselves to strengthen our relationship. we were stressed out, ignoring each other, and being inconsiderate of one another’s feelings, at the detriment of our relationship.

so we both went on a temporary hiatus. given that i was barely active, i didn’t talk about it then, but my wife did. she poured her heart and soul out and let everyone know we were gonna be gone. to work on ourselves and our relationship.

we weren’t sure we were coming back entirely, and have barely been active online. neither of us have been talking to people really. mostly because between being back at work and having hundreds of doctor’s appointments, we just. didn’t have the time to be online.

but to be told that taking time for us is a problem? when people could have reached out to us at literally any point to say ‘hey, i’m struggling’ or ‘can we talk’? that’s bullshit. yes, friendship is a two-way street. but when you’re not even gonna walk down the street yourself, then how do you expect someone to want to meet you halfway? if you don’t talk to me, i tend to forget people are there. it’s not me being an asshole, it’s literally that my person permanence is pretty much zero if you’re not in my face.

as it is, i just started a whole new cocktail of meds, half of which i haven’t even technically started yet, and i’m trying to figure out who i am when i can actually function. i’m trying to figure out who i am, who my wife is, and who we are together as a couple. and getting bitchy because you didn’t reach out to us and we’ve been busy?

blocking people for asking a simple question?

that’s childish and no mental illness or spiralling is an excuse. if you have an issue, come to me. if you want to talk to me, talk to me. i’m really fucking done babying people who claim to want to be friends but do nothing about it. so i’m gonna go back on hiatus for a while, and if i do come back, i’m gonna be updating my rules severely.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Together, We’re Just Better Off

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is my “new look” bingo square fill for @starkerfestivals January event - I love the look of Tom in a nice suit & just kind of went from there!  Word Count: ~4.7K Warnings: This is strictly NSFW (there be smut ahead, y’all!) Summary: 

For this year's Parker Tech silent auction, Peter decides to get a custom suit made - the result is a randy Tony and porn without much plot.

Read on AO3 here.

Tony was in trouble.

There was no other way to describe the feeling in his chest when Peter walked down the stairs after two hours of secretive getting ready for the annual Parker Tech silent auction.

Standing on the last stair, Peter looked – obscenely sexy. The brand new, custom made, charcoal colored suit hugged every line of his husband’s body in a way that shouldn’t be legal. The cut of the pants made his slim legs look miles long, the snug fit of the jacket tapering off just right at the cusp of narrow hips. Adding the slightest dash of color, Peter paired the grey suit with a dark green button up, the top two buttons undone – the slightest flash of smooth chest the penultimate addition to the entire outfit.

The dark color of the shirt brought out Peter’s eyes, and when he looked up, the most confident facial expression sat on blush painted cheeks. It took Tony a second to remember to breath, their eyes meeting with a spark of electricity that felt tangible in the few feet of space between them. The need to eat Peter alive sat low in Tony’s belly, the muscles in his legs loading up in desperate preparation to pounce – the tantalizing idea of Peter under him in that very second almost enough to beat out the rest of his higher brain function.

Shaking his head, a millisecond before he acted on his animal instinct, Tony brought himself back from the cusp of ruining Peter’s tailored made suit – but only just barely. His fist clenched tight at his side, the delicate throb of his half-hard cock against the seam of his own suit pants just enough stimulus to keep him grounded.

Instead of pouncing, Tony took measured steps towards Peter – the space between them narrowing down to inches. When finally within touching distance, Tony reached out to rest his hands on Peter’s hip, the soft fabric of the delicious suit as lovely as the aesthetic it portrayed. Gripping slightly, Tony tugged until they were pressed flush together, Peter’s chest warm and firm against his own.

“If you had any idea what I wanted to do to you right now, Pete.” Tony whispered, his lips pressing against Peter’s ear, breath brushing against the smooth skin there. “It shouldn’t be possible – you looking this fucking good. How am I supposed to focus tonight? Or get anything done?” He peppered kisses down Peter’s jaw and neck as he spoke, goosebumps following in his wake.

“I’ll have Obie following me around all night, desperately attempting to get my attention – but I won’t be able to focus. Not when I’ll be able to look across the room and see your ass so delightfully encased in pants that are so sinful; so fucking distracting, Peter – even now.” Tony drew back then, his lips finally finding Peter’s for a softly teasing kiss – “who do you think you are?”

The chuckle against his lips made the heat in Tony’s belly burn a little hotter – Peter knew the exact effect he was having, the knowledge of being not only attractive, but dangerously so, giving the younger man a sort of fuel that stoked a different kind of fire. Already the smartest person in the room, Peter armed with anything extraneous at all was frighteningly perilous. His aura spoke of curiosity and excitement, a cocktail of things that always proved interesting for Tony – especially in such a public setting.

Peter drew away after a minute, there kisses settling down to just the barest press of lip on lip. “I know exactly who I am, Tony Parker – your husband, the very one who will be teasing you to within an inch of your life while we play nice. The one who, when we can finally sneak away from our own event, will let you strip me down, piece by piece, until there’s bare canvas for you to do whatever you wish with.”

Kissing his forehead, Peter let his lips rest there, each gust of warm air making Tony’s skin tingle. “That’s who I am.”

Tony let a groan fall from his lips, every one of Peter’s words caressing his skin with liquid fire, only to settle in the depths of his belly where the boiling pit of heat was steadily gaining height – the prospect of combustion a real threat.

He grabbed one of Peter’s hands where they took up residence on Tony’s shoulders, his fingers tight on a pale wrist. Bringing it down between them, Tony brushed Peter’s knuckles against the already insistent bulge there – both men sucking in a breath at first contact. “You’re going to kill me. Death by unresolved want.”

Peter wiggled his hand until he could turn it around, his palm all of the sudden pressing hotly against Tony’s cock. “Just be good, Tony. I’ll let you have what we both want.”

Letting their lips touch ever so slightly, Peter gave Tony one more squeeze before pulling away, the space between them once again huge – every inch feeling like a million miles apart.

Tony felt Peter’s eyes roam over him, the rich chocolate of them almost entirely taken over by blown pupils, making his stare dark and inviting. Every inch was taken in, from the fine Italian leather shoes on his feet to the purposefully done bed-head hairdo at the top of his head. The gaze made him stand a little straighter, Tony’s cheeks reddening with a flush he couldn’t push down.

“You look pretty damn good yourself. Love the all black on you.” Peter seemed to want to take a step back into his orbit but thought better of it – his hands slipped into tight pockets, feet shifting, instead. “Getting through the night might be a challenge for us both.”

And it was – if the leering stares and hidden touches were anything to go by. Having gone into business together as equal partners after their first year of marriage, both Tony and Peter were in high demand; everyone wanted to speak with the brains behind the operation. Tony spearheaded the design elements, while Peter manufactured and created all of the brilliance that came from Tony’s ideas – which usually meant both were detained in their own conversations throughout a good majority of every event.

Yet, for some reason, the space between them seemed even bigger than usual. Tony’s fingers ached to press against Peter’s lower back, his skin burning with need. When he couldn’t see Peter in any direction, Tony’s brain wandered to the perfect rendition of Peter’s silhouette in his thoughts – the visual so very distracting. So distracting in fact, Tony found himself unable to really follow any of the conversations he attempted to be immersed in. In all ways, Peter owned him; his entire body so wrapped up it was impossible to focus.

Any time he could, Tony circled back to Peter, their bodies pressing tightly against each other each time he felt the need to approach. Though the encounters were always brief before one of them got swept away by someone else needing to talk to them about some sort of bull shit, Tony felt able to catch his breath and refocus – as if Peter’s touch was his grounding force, a simple moment of contact just enough to refresh him for the minutes to come.

Despite the dynamic tension between them growing with every second, the event went off pretty swimmingly. Most of the things up for auction were donated by people within the crowd (who would unsurprisingly bid on their own junk, just because they could). The alcohol flowed nicely, each guest spending most of the evening with never-ending champagne in their hands and the slightest bit of rose tint on their cheeks from the constant drinking. Items sold, speeches were made, and money was collected – a through and through success.

When neither could stand it any longer, Tony made a couple of excuses before grabbing Peter and making a hasty exit. Warm fingers slid into the gaps of his own, Peter squeezing the digits in an attempt to make the touch a little closer – anything to make the connection between them more solid.

In leaving early, Tony decided to leave the Audi with the parking attendants, the two of them stumbling home hand-in-hand – the crisp, cool night air dulling the fire building between them down just enough to actually get back to the penthouse without any public indecency charges. It pushed the control of their patience, letting their hands and the occasional brush of their sides be the only point of contact until they got into the bedroom; but when Peter started to strip without a word being said, Tony knew it was worth it.

Shrugging out of his suit jacket, Tony sat at the edge of their bed, his fingers distractedly undoing the buttons of his shirt – his hazel eyes laser focused on Peter’s movements. As each piece of gorgeously tailored clothing hit the floor, Tony’s anticipation and want skyrocketed, his cock hard as nails before Peter’s pants were completely undone – the fly just barely down enough to reveal the answering bulge of want.

Tony managed to get his shirt off before attempting to get off the bed and reach for Peter. His husband shut down the move pretty quickly, however, his brows quirking as he spoke. “Mm, I don’t think so. Just sit there, Tones – watch me.”

Unable to do anything other than what was asked of him, Tony quickly shed his shoes and socks, pants following along a few seconds later. Down to just his boxer-briefs, Tony let himself lean back and watch the rest of the reveal – his plan of attack starting to culminate with each new inch of bare skin on display. His fingers itched to touch; the feeling of what Tony knew to be completely smooth skin something he felt starving for.

Before he could fathom it, Tony found himself with a lapful of Peter Parker, his husband now completely naked – the strong thighs straddling him squeezing as calloused hands moved to grip slim hips. Too distracted by pale skin, he wasn’t quite ready for the real thing so suddenly thrust upon him. Tony’s cock throbbed with want as Peter settled firmly on his legs, his cock nestled so nicely against the crease of Peter’s ass.

Wrapping his arms around Peter’s hips, Tony pressed up and forward, his lips seeking out the warm expanse of flesh. He nestled his nose in the slope of Peter’s clavicle, tongue peeking out to trace the sharp bone. As he worked his mouth along traps and up the length of Peter’s neck, Tony let his hands trail along hard planes of muscle, the tips of his fingers tracing the light dusting of hair coating Peter’s pale skin.

Peter worked his hips teasing over Tony’s cock as he let his husband take his fill – the slide of his boxer-briefs against an over-sensitive cock drawing long moans from Tony’s chest each time he let himself come up for air. The motion was hypnotizing, the tease of Peter’s warm hole like a siren calling his name.

Not willing to wait any longer, Tony grabbed under Peter’s thighs, hefting him up enough to turn and switch their positions – Peter’s legs splayed open wide when he hit the bed, the space there quickly occupied by the length of Tony’s body. Before getting comfortable in the warm press of their bodies against each other, Tony wiggled out of his boxer-briefs until they were finally skin to skin, both parties stark naked and eager for what was to come next.

For a while, the only sounds in the room were panted breaths and the slick suction of lip against lip or lip against skin. Tony trailed his tongue from the small divot between Peter’s collar bones, down along rippling six pack abs until he reached his destination – an excited cock pressing against his chin upon arrival. He let the tip of his tongue fall into the crevice of a deep belly button before finally peeking out to lick across the purpling tip of Peter’s already leaking cock. The bitter saltiness of pre-cum made his mouth water, Tony’s lips opening just enough to suck and tongue up the leakage.

Strong fingers found their way into Tony’s hair, Peter’s hips rising in hopes of getting more of his length inside the wet warmth of a talented mouth. Reaching up, Tony gripped Peter’s hand, his fingers signaling the other man to grab on a little tighter. With a sudden burst of energy, Tony opened wide, taking the entire length of Peter’s cock into his mouth, only stopping when the tip hit the back of his throat. After the initial reflex to gag passed, his throat relaxed enough for Tony to comfortably start bobbing his head.

“Fuck, Tony – you always surprise me with that move,” Peter panted out, his fingers loosening and tightening rhythmically in Tony’s hair with every move and bob of his head. “You suck my cock so well, baby.”

As if he were highlighting his words, Peter let his hips come up off the bed, the move pressing his cock even further down Tony’s throat. Giving no sign of resistance, Tony tried to relax further, his hands that were grasping Peter’s hips tightly slipped down until both ass cheeks fit within the palm of his hands – his fingers gripping until Peter caught the drift and started to thrust.

It started out gradually, Peter moving into his mouth with the smallest of thrusts. Tightening his mouth around the rigid length, Tony brought his eyes up, the honey hazel of his stare meeting chocolate brown of Peter’s. The silent conversation that took place spoke volumes, and within minutes, Peter was recklessly pressing his cock in and out of the depth of Tony’s throat – the gags and moans of their push and pull echoing around the otherwise silent room. Hearing it made the heat in Tony’s belly simmer hotter, his cock hard and sticky against his own stomach.

With every intention to get Peter off before the fun really began, Tony redoubled his efforts – the rawness of his throat making it easy to take thrust after thrust. His own hips pressed down against the mattress, the slightest bit of friction just enough to keep Tony from going completely crazy because of the heart rushing arousal continuously pulsing through him. His body felt like it was on fire – the throb and growth of Peter’s cock in his mouth the biggest catalyst to the coursing desire.

By the time Peter’s fingers were tightening in his hair, Tony’s mouth was red and abused, spit dripping down his chin and neck readily – any sort of residual embarrassment gone; Tony’s only thought revolving around making his husband cum as soon as possible. With every second that past, Peter’s huffs of breath got a little quicker, the pitch reaching a new height the closer to orgasm he got.

“Jesus, fuck – I’m going to come, Tony. I can’t – I can’t…” Peter babbled, his hips stuttering in their thrusts, the fingers in Tony’s hair tight, each strand so close to being yanked out by the root. His final gurgle brought a sound from Tony’s chest, the noise spit slick and muddled. With a final thrust, Peter fell apart, his loud shout like the sweetest music.

Letting him settle, Tony kept his mouth around Peter until his husband was pulling away, his spent cock pulsing from the oversensitivity. He shifted away then, Tony sitting up slightly to pull in several deep breaths, his jaw tight and tired from being open and extended for so long. The lactic acid already starting to accumulate there was worth it, Peter’s fucked-out look sending a whole new wave to Tony’s center.

“You should turn over,” Tony mumbled as his hand tapped at Peter’s hip – the man already moving to oblige before all the words were out of his mouth. Peter looked so damn good that way – his weight equally distributed between forearms and knees, pert ass spread and on display. With no hesitation at all, Tony pressed his nose to Peter’s crease, his lungs drawing in a deep breath – the scent and sensation forcing his eyes closed. Here soon, Tony would be buried deep within that delicate heat. His cock would be encased so perfectly, like every inch of Peter was made for him, not just his beautiful brain and intricate personality.

He caught Peter looking back over his shoulder, glazed eyes taking in every one of Tony’s movements. A soft smile graced his lips, the laziness of post-orgasm making him that much more beautiful.

“Hurry, Tones – I can’t wait to feel you inside of me.” Thrusting his hips back, Peter spread his legs a little wider, the soft pink of his hole enticing; the view upping the ante.

Impatient to once again exist within Peter’s tight heat, Tony dragged the bedside table drawer open, his fingers hastily wrapping around the half-used bottle of lube. He settled back between Peter’s legs, the bottle resting against his knee while he used both hands to spread pert cheeks. His tongue darted out, the tip brushing against the furled muscle.

Peter shouted out a moan, the slick heat of Tony’s tongue causing him to press his hips back, the move a desperate attempt to get more of him; tongue, teeth, fingers – whatever Tony wanted to give.

The earlier thought of eating Peter alive came back tenfold, each pass of his tongue bringing the musky taste of his husband’s most private place to the forefront of his attention. It felt good to consume Peter’s very essence. There were so many ways Tony’s couldn’t possess every inch of him that times like this were fucking intoxicating; every inch of Peter’s body called out to him, Tony’s touches an irresistible stimulus that neither wanted to ever give up. If he couldn’t have him all the time, Tony would cherish the hell out of the times he could.

Fumbling blindly for the bottle of lube, Tony lapped at Peter’s hole distractedly, his hands working hard to get the tube open and the slick on his fingers. The lube was cold on his molten skin – runny liquid warming up quickly up contact. It felt absurd to give up his mouth’s position, the tightness of Peter’s hole around his eager tongue delicious but never enough. Yet, the desperate urge to finally be buried inside spurred Tony into action – he shifted slightly then, the tip of his index finger joining Tony’s tongue in deep exploration.

Slowly, like he was trying to remember every ripple and crevice, Tony ran his finger around Peter’s rim, his tongue following in swift pursuit. He did that a couple of times, feeling with a certain kind of awe, as Peter loosen under his ministrations. Little by little, the tip of his finger slipped inside, Tony only stopping when the webbing of his finger hindered his movement.

Intimacy with Peter, despite how many times they came together in that very way, always felt like a brand-new experience. In his rapture, Peter would make a new noise, or tighten in a spot that Tony couldn’t remember being affected by. It shouldn’t have surprised him then, when Peter pressed back into the sensation, the greedy muscle of his ass pulling Tony in further – anatomical limitation be damned. Groaning, Tony finally shifted his face away, his lungs burning from the lack of oxygen consumption – when he was focused on the delicacy that was Peter’s ass, oxygen was the furthest from his mind.

The shift in position gave Tony a little more leverage. Within a few thrusts, Tony found Peter’s prostate, the tip of his finger running teasingly over the spot before withdrawing in hopes of repeating the process all over again. He moved into the teasing rhythm, the flutter of Peter’s hole a few minutes later the only thing reminding him to add another.

Little by little, Tony felt Peter relax around him – his cock was thick and full again, the length hard and dragging against the sheet below them. Each thrust forward or spread of his fingers to the side drew a loud huff from one of them, both men making enough noise to make it hard to decipher where one sound ended and the other began.

Three fingers deep and both reaching incoherency, Peter seemed to be just cognizant enough to push them towards the next step – his hand reached back, gripping on to Tony’s forearm. “That’s enough – I need you in me. I can’t wait, anymore.”

Letting a groan fall from his throat, Tony nodded – the capacity to form words leaving him in an instant. He forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths, his entire body was on fire and every minute shift felt like a sharp tilt to the universe – Tony already so far off his own axis.

Tony sat up on his heels after pulling his fingers from Peter’s heat, his hands shaking slightly as he opened the lube again. He poured the cool slick directly on his cock – the sudden change in stimulus calming him down, bringing him back to Earth’s surface where he could actually focus on finally sliding home.

His hand wrapped around himself, Tony gripping his cock as lightly as he could while spreading the lube around, each touch like a cattle prod to the heat so close to overwhelming him.

“How do you want me?” Tony thought to ask, his hand falling by his side to stop himself from stroking the throbbing length.

Without answering, Peter turned until he was sitting, his hands wrapping around Tony’s chest. In a quick move, Tony was on his back, the wetness of pre-cum and lube collected on the sheets rubbing against his bare skin. The feeling of it made his skin pebble, the rush of arousal getting to be too much.

Peter grinned down at him – his muscled legs bracketed Tony’s hips, a steady hand reaching behind himself to grip Tony tightly. Strong fingers wrapped around his cock, the electric pulse of Peter touching him magnifying the effect of sweet contact to his neglected sex. Another low moan sounded from his chest, the sight of Peter over him and the touch of his husband’s skin driving him up the fucking wall.

“Pete, please – “ Tony started to moan just seconds before Peter gripped him tightly.

Shifting, Peter moved until Tony was lined up perfectly, the loosened heat of Peter’s rim teasing him with little twitches and enticing heat. One small move and Tony would be buried in delicious tightness, Peter’s warm walls welcoming him home like a solider home from battle.

He couldn’t recall who finally made the shift, the initial connection too good to really give two shits about rational thought – all Tony could think about in that moment was the swift slide of his cock into Peter’s depth; the heat and affectionate feeling all consuming. He shouted Peter’s name as they fit together – each inch inside like another step to the most gratuitous pleasure. Gripping Peter’s hips tightly, Tony slammed his eyes shut – his stomach clenching.

“Fuck – don’t move. I-I – I need a minute.” Tony forced a harsh breath from his lungs, the grip of his fingers tightening with every ounce of fight needed to keep from falling over the edge.

Tony tried to keep his breathing level, the heat in his belly cooling down as his heart slowed – though he wasn’t going to last long, he felt in control enough to actually enjoy whatever happened next.

The soft brush of fingers along the length of his face had Tony finally looking up, hazel meeting brown in a soft glance. “You’re beautiful like this. Fighting for control – steps away from your most vulnerable.” Peter started to roll his hips as he spoke, the soft caresses to Tony’s cheek a gorgeous juxtaposition to the delectable grind. “I can’t wait to watch you come undone, Tony. Hear you shout my name and fall apart because of me.”

Tony couldn’t help the slur of fucks dropping from his mouth, Peter in complete control of his pleasure. Wanting to thrust up didn’t matter, not when Peter moved his hips the way he was – each roll and lift calculated – the timing and pressure instigated to tease every ounce of pleasure from Tony that he could.

One particular slam down must’ve felt good – Peter moaned loudly, then doubled his efforts. The slap of skin on skin overtook the entire room; each thrust heard, felt, seen, and remembered – the entire sensory experience latching on to the little shards of control Tony was death-gripping, the small chips turning quickly into large cracks ready to break apart at any minute.

Unable to stop himself any longer, Tony gripped Peter’s hips tighter, his own lifting in time with Peter’s rolling thrusts. Each press up caught Peter’s prostate on the upstroke, Tony completely overwhelmed by the tight squeeze around him as he pulled out, only to wind-up and press back inside impatiently. It was too much – both Peter and Tony babbling mindlessly, the pace now random, completely out of stride to the rhythmic fucking taking place just moments before.

“Cum – please, Pete. I’m so close and want to feel you lose it around me.” Tony was practically begging, his skin gleaming with sweat, the muscles just under the surface burning, exertion and overstimulation a tantalizing pleasure-pain that felt SO good.

The jump over the edge never ceased to be anything short of amazing. Tony felt Peter clamp down around him, his cock pulsing between them untouched – shot after shot of warm, pearly cum landing on Tony’s chest, each pulse like a spot of lightning caressing his skin. The squeeze was too much, all of the stimulus coming together in a glorious culmination of orgasm, and Peter, and heat – a glorious cocktail of little deaths.

When Tony finally came back to, Peter was slumped over on his chest, the evidence of his husband’s orgasm now smeared over Peter’s abs and the hairy expanse of Tony’s belly. The feeling of being marked made the satisfied thrum of happiness in the back of his mind pulse a little harder – his heart beating in time with the contentment coursing through him.

Soft lips pressed against his after a while, Peter’s fingers gripping his cheeks lightly.

“That was amazing.” Peter’s voice was gruff, his throat scratchy from moaning and shouting out his pleasure.

Tony turned his head, leaning his forehead against Peter’s cheek. His own fingers made soft paths up and then back down his husband’s back, the sweaty skin cooling quickly in the aftermath. Soon, they’d need to shift and clean up – the many memories of waking up glued together enough of a reminder that ignoring their mess wasn’t really an option. Until then, he’d soak up the closeness, Peter’s post-sex clinginess one of Tony’s favorite parts of the process.

“You’re amazing,” Tony finally mumbled, the capacity to form sentences and understandable words finally coming back to him. “And that suit, Pete – I’ll have that first look of you in it stuck in my mind for the rest of my days.”

Peter chuckled against his neck, the two of them now separated, Tony lying flat on the bed with his warm bundle of a husband tucked tightly against his side. The bask of afterglow enveloped them both – their jumble of limbs a beautiful thing.

“It had the desired effect, then,” Peter said, his lips moving against their spot on Tony’s neck. “I’m thinking about adopting the look – something new, you know?”

Turning his head, Tony pressed a kiss to Peter’s hair, a soft smile on his face. “I guess I better get used to getting nothing done, then.” He thought about all the distraction coming his way – all the clothes ripping sex they would have. Grin growing, Tony settled further into the mattress, sleepy and content with the newest change of events.  

[jeonqukie]

OUT OF LOVE / 04.

SYNOPSIS / During a house warming get together with your closest friends, an unexpected guest shows up and attempts to catch your best friend’s attention. Too bad he’s too focused on making sure you’re not pushing your limits.

FEATURING / Jeon Jungkook.

GENRES / Jungkook being the biggest gamer & best friend ever, lots of angst and secret feelings, lots of fluff especially from our soft bunny, and eventual smut.

WARNINGS / This part will contain alcohol consumption, graphic language, and mature themes. Warnings will be updates accordingly.

WORD COUNT / 5.6k

TABLE OF CONTENTS / To be redirected and get the latest on the story, click on the table of contents.

NOTES / Hi all! I hope everyone is doing well especially the current state of the world right now. First, I want to apologize for the delay on any updates whatsoever. I’m currently stuck in a rut and have been doing anything I can to get the spark again or the same excitement again when I write. It honestly comes spontaneously and occurs for a brief period of time which is why even short drabbles like these take so long for me to write. Second, this new norm has been a difficult adjustment for me, so I’m trying my best to get accustomed to this. I hope everyone is doing well. But I’m so glad with how this part has turned out, imo. This was nothing like I imagined to begin with but I’m very happy with the end product bc it gives me something to work with. The next part may be the final part but it will be much longer maybe? Anyway, feedback is very much appreciated. Thank you so much for reading through this mess, but I really do appreciate anyone who actually takes their time and reads through my work. Stay safe and healthy. ( ◡‿◡ *)

© All rights reserved to jeonqukie. All or portions of my work may not be reproduced, distributed, modified, or used in any way whatsoever without my permission.

The housewarming party was just a suggestion; that’s all it was —  a simple, silly joke that was meant to go over Jungkook’s head. But he didn’t think that it was such a bad idea at all.

“But we’ve literally moved in like, a month and a half ago. Kookie, you’ve been living here for nearly 2 years, you just moved to a new unit.” You reasoned with him. “I think it’s just an excuse to throw a party.”

The both of you sat in the living room couch with the bowl of popcorn placed on your stomach. It was one of the rare occasions that you and Jungkook had coinciding free time together. Normally, the both of you would decide on a movie together, but Jungkook had been invested in a brand new video game. So he had hooked up his gaming console to the living room television while he decided to go through the first play through while you listened to him explain what he was doing.

“I mean, it’d be cool! Plus, I heard from Mr. Lee from 3B that the manager would be out of town next weekend, so why not throw a little get together?” The timing of it all seemed to be perfect. Perhaps it is meant to be. “Why not have a couple of your friends come over and a couple of my friends come over as well? Namjoon-hyung has been dying for a hook-up maybe one of your friends would be —“ 

“I am not setting up my friends with one of your friends.” You scoffed at his suggestion and threw a handful of popcorn right at his direction which ensues a fit of chortles to escape his mouth. 

“I was just fucking around, YN. But I’m serious about the house warming. It’ll be so cool!” Jungkook encourages the idea and he pauses his game to shoot his doe eyes straight at you. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

The “get together" was in full swing; the most popular music playing in the background of your apartment came from Jungkook’s bluetooth speakers while you began refilling the dip bowls for the tortilla chips you have laid out for your guests. Meanwhile, one of Jungkook’s good friends, Taehyung and Jimin offered to stop by the closest liquor store to purchase some more bottles of beers before their arrival at your new home.

As you filled up each bowl with different dips, your can feel the heat of your cheeks burning your skin and your eyes constantly moving from one object to another — unable to keep a steady vision. It wasn’t until you feel someone grab your arm to spin you around only to be greeted with your friends with another shot filled with cheap tequila.

“Alright, last shot, YN, then we’re moving onto margaritas.” Jisoo offered you the mini clear cup before she offers you a red cup filled with what seemed like to be Sprite.

“I’m a pro at this now. I don’t need a chaser.” Right behind Jisoo was Rose welcoming a new guest and you take the shot before you swallowing the warm liquor coating your throat.

With pinched eyes, you feel a rush of energy shoot through your body before you are greeted with a new face. “YN, this is Lisa! Lisa, this is YN.” The name sounded so familiar to you yet you couldn’t quite point out where you had once heard it from. 

“Oh my god, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” The exaggerated niceties in your words can be heard from a mile away and Jungkook, from across the room, kept a close eye on you. He noticed you clutched onto the shot glass so tightly on your palm while he nursed his beer bottle.

As he had spotted your dazed eyes, his mind has suddenly focused on your demeanor; no longer offering his attention to the conversation his older friends are having with each other. It had been your fifth shot that evening. You were very good at pacing yourself… after some stern discipline from Jungkook himself. You knew that every fifteen minutes you would feel the effects of the shot you just drank.

A lazy smile etches onto your face as you drunkenly offer an unfamiliar face a hug. Jungkook knows your circle of friends. You had a close knit of them and he absolutely appreciated the fact that you would introduce you to them. Obviously, you had mutual friends considering you two met in an elective course.

He remembered that silly music course you two picked out for a stupid requirement. He remembered the first time he saw you. It took him by surprise but you took the seat right next to him and you had already pulled out your notebook, ready to taken notes on the first day. From then on that desk is where you sat and he would inevitably find a way to sit right next to you.

“Wait, you haven’t had a drink yet, have you?” The words came out so muffled to Jungkook when he realizes that Taehyung and Jimin had burst right through the door with their recently purchased beers. The boisterous entrance of his two closest friends distracted him for a moments time before you turned your back towards him and he catches glimpse of Rose and Jisoo pouring more shots into glasses.

“You’re giving me no attention at all, Jungkookie.” Hoseok, an older friend of Jungkook, nudges at him to earn it back. But his eyes remain fixated on your grinning face and he watches the rim of the shot glass touch the edge of your mouth. Your eyes squint at the taste of the new liquor and the burn that shoots a new moment of energy in your system.

“That’s because he’s watching over his girl right now.” The sounds of beers being popped open attracts his ears and the unexpected voice of his hyungs.

All of Jungkook’s posse shoots a quick glance over at the group of girls huddled in the kitchen counter doing multiple shots. His anxiety is creeping up to him because he knows how clumsy you can get when you were not sober. “Relax, Guk.” Namjoon attempts to comfort him. “You’re here and her friends are here. Plus, she’s home, anyway. Isn’t this the best time for her to get shit faced?”

Jungkook knew that Namjoon was right. If you did want to test the limits with your alcohol consumption, this would be the perfect time to do so. You weren’t in another person’s house or in a bar; you were in the comfort of your own home. If you did get hurt, you were surrounded by your friends and Jungkook would be nearby to assist you.

The thought brought some relief to Jungkook. Jimin offers Jungkook a cold bottle of beer where he takes a long swig out of it, only to feel the same anxiety when he witnesses you taking another shot for the third time in a row.

Hiccuped slurs can be heard as you sat on the kitchen counter along with a bunch of your friends who have been mixing cocktails for the rest of the group. Meanwhile, an aftermath of your drunken stupor involved shoveling chips and guacamole into your mouth while you would take slow sips of Rose’s sickeningly sweet margarita mix. The tequila was sneaky; though the beverage was primarily juice and she’d add soda for the sweetness, but the liquor would sneak back to you.

“Hey Rose, who’s that Jungkook guy you were talking about?” Lisa nudged as her eyes wandered around the kitchen and then the living room where a group of guys had been too busy conversing and guzzling beers of their own.

“Jungkookie’s my roommate.” A crooked and lazy grin appears right across your flushed face as your eyes met over with Jungkook who stood at the corner where his phone had been charging. The music changed in the background and you figured it was Jungkook who had decided to switch up the ambience.

Just an hour ago, everyone had been laughing their assess off with shared stories. Perhaps it was the liquor speaking. Nevertheless, everyone had been having a good time. But the excess consumption of mixed alcohol had the atmosphere winding down. The haze of exhaustion is beginning to settle amongst everyone in the room and you are leaning on your cupboards for support as you listened on quietly to your friends’ conversation.

Lisa sized him up from head to toe and you conceal your reaction from the rest of the world as you continue drinking your margarita mix to drown out what you’re able to hear. “He’s cute.”

“Oh, c’mon, Lisa — he’s more than just cute. He’s fucking hot.”

More chips, more guac.

“Plus, from what YN tells us, he’s peak boyfriend material.” Jisoo swoons silently in order to hide the conversation from the group of guys at the other side of the room.

More margarita.

“Is he now?” Lisa’s perfectly sculpted brows shoot up in interest and you are chewing on your cheek as you are soon running out of margarita to swallow down. A red plastic cup appears in front of Jisoo’s face and she narrows her eyes at you at your simple request.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” With a simple shake of your head, you nudge the cup further to her and she shrugs off any doubt because surely you could handle the alcohol. You just needed something to drown out the conversation that was being held at that moment, so what harm would another glass of margarita do? 

“Do another shot with me.” Lisa encourages to Rose who shakes her head in response. “Liquid courage to ask Jungkook out. I thought you’d given him my number, YN.”

“Must’ve slipped my mind.” You mumble incoherently before Jisoo is wary of your behavior. You take a large gulp from the plastic red cup and squint at the sweetness of it all. You can’t help but shoot your eyes over to Jungkook where an eruption of boisterous laughter can be heard from across the room.

“Well, no one’s really stopping you.” With Rose’s encouragement, you are endlessly swallowing your refreshed drink only to discover you had continuously drank the entire thing in one go at the sight of the bottom of the cup.

“More, please.” You sighed.

The little get together came to an abrupt end when Hoseok began dozing off in the middle of one of Namjoon’s stories. Everyone collectively agreed to clean as much as they can, but with everyone being heavily intoxicated, it took nearly an hour to properly organize everything. You and Jungkook had agreed to let Hoseok and Yoongi to crash on your sectional couch since Yoongi came with Hoseok that evening.

Taehyung, a lightweight, was one of the few people who was the only one tipsy that evening and had managed to sober up within an hour and a half and had driven the rest of the gang home. As always, you were already calling an Uber for your friends who seemed to be slowly dozing off as they moved lethargically around the kitchen.

Jungkook’s gentlemanly behavior had been exhibited when he had gathered three bottles of water; one for each of your friend as they awaited for the arrival of the Uber driver you had ordered for them.

“Thank you, Kookie.” Three of your friends had collectively expressed their gratitude for your roommate in a sickeningly sweet manner.

Sickeningly sweet.

“YN can’t even walk, so I’ll accompany you three downstairs, if you’re okay with that.” He offers and Lisa is already nodding her head instantaneously.

“Aw, Jungkookie, such a sweetheart.”

Disgustingly sweet.

And, suddenly, there is a revolting heat seizing in your throat and your were thankful you possessed one brain cell that evening that ordered your body to move. You sprinted nearly tripping on your way to the bathroom where you fell on the tiled floors and propped the toilet up to regurgitate all of your stomach’s content into the porcelain bowl.

Tears began pooling your eyes and the awful taste of the margarita mix and tequila was all you had been focusing on. In the midst of coughing, someone’s digits came crawling to your neck as it gathered your thick mane away from your face. A soothing hand can be felt on your back where slow circles can be felt to ease the pain on your abdomen.

“What did I tell you about pacing yourself?” Jungkook’s rough voice can be heard to your left side and you continue spitting the grotesqueness that had been inside your stomach.

You grunted in response to his stern scolds and he is still caressing your back as a second wave of vomit come spilling out of your mouth. “I — I’m fine.” You croak out as he wipes the tears off of your cheek. “You should go and see if the girls need help —“

“I woke Yoongi-hyung up so he can accompany them.” His answer is quick and brief as he continues to brush away stray hairs off of your face. “You done?”

When the nausea subsides, you nod your head and he instantly stands from where he had been kneeling. He flushes the toilet and searches the sink for your toothbrush.

“Take this first.” He sees a small clear glass with filled tap water and a cap full of mouth wash. Closing the lid of the toilet bowl and sitting on it, you are sloshing the minty liquid in your mouth before you spitting the rest out.

He offers you your toothbrush with a pea sized toothpaste already placed at the center of it. “Brush your teeth.” He demands and you nod silently.

Unsure of what he had been up to, you can’t help but mentally slap yourself in the face for drinking so heavily. The past minute had gone by so quickly yet it had felt like a million years. When you completed brushing your teeth, Jungkook comes back with your pajamas. “Here; you can change into this and I’m taking you bed.”

“But I want to help clean up —“

“We can clean up tomorrow. You’re too fucked up to stand up right now.” He sighs seeing that you were trying your best to hold yourself up. The sound of someone reentering your front door notifies you and Jungkook that it was most likely who had returned to his peaceful slumber. 

“Change now, please.”

Once Jungkook exits the bathroom and gives you the privacy you need to change into cleaner and comfortable clothes, you shut the door in front of you to strip off the rough layers of your sweater and jeans into your linen pajamas. You’ve decided to wash your face as well to give you some sort of cleanliness to your skin.

“Yeah, thank god they’re cooperative when they’re drunk — giggly but cooperative.” Muffled grumbles came from outside but Yoongi’s voice had been drowned out by the sound of water sloshing down the drain. “Oh, yeah, I think one of YN’s friends thought I was you, so she gave me this.” You turn the knobs of the water off and listen more closely to Jungkook’s conversation with Yoongi.

Little did you know that it had been Lisa’s phone number with a brief message to give her a call some time in the near future. But Jungkook takes the small note only to crumple it up and throw it to the side. When you’ve successfully cleansed your face, you’ve pat your face dry, trying to conceal your thoughts, and hoping you won’t say anything that would reveal your inner most feelings for Jungkook.

You have feelings for Jungkook.

“You can take my bed, hyung.” Jungkook offers. “I’m afraid YN’s going to feel sick again, so I’ll just sleep in her room tonight.” Yoongi grins mischievously at Jungkook and he nudges at him jokingly, earning an eye roll from Jungkook himself. “Don’t smile at me like that or I’m letting you sleep next to Hobi-hyung.” Yoongi pats Jungkook on his arm before he waltzes over to his bedroom where closes the door shut.

Footsteps approach the bedroom and you hear two knocks on the door where you open to reveal yourself in your pajamas, face completely bare and clean for Jungkook. Your exhausted eyes meet his and your pouty lips form a downward curve, obviously asking for forgiveness from Jungkook. “Sorry for drinking too much.” You grumble and he scoffs at your apology, but he can’t help but think of how cute you looked — tired and worn yet you had managed to win his heart over.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Jungkook merely suggests. His voice had been a little bit more delicate, so you step out of the bathroom as he takes your arm to guide your lethargic body over to where your bedroom resided on the other side of the apartment. You had tidied your room before you had your little get together with your friends and you are already thanking your sober self for doing so. At the sight of your bed, you immediately crawl underneath your duvet covers and savored the softness and the fresh scent of the linens.

“You know, Guk, I’m not that bad. I probably just ate too much, that’s why I threw up.”

“You know, I hate how stubborn you are, but I hate myself more for even letting you do this to me.” Jungkook sits at the foot of your bed and you’ve successfully tucked yourself in, cocking your head to the side as the words have finally sunk in.

“What’re you talking about?” The curiosity is evident in your eyes and he was melting at the way your bottom lip protruded over your upper lip; the obvious pout on your face exhibited his biggest weakness.

Oh, how he’d want to lean down and place the most delicate of kisses upon your lips.

The thought is tempting and, given the state of you, if he had done it, you wouldn’t even remember a single thing the occurred in your room that evening. But Jungkook was not that guy — not at all. He wasn’t the type of guy to take advantage of your vulnerable consciousness. He wasn’t the type of guy who went out seeking for temporary… encounters.

He is a hopeless romantic and he is hopelessly in love with you.

“It’s whatever. You’re too drunk to understand.” Jungkook scoffs and you stare at him for the longest time. Your hazed voice chanting just how much you realized just how beautiful he looked despite the shittiest lighting in your bedroom. The dazed look painted right across your visage disappears into a crooked smile before you giggle.

“I am drunk, huh?” The intonation of your voice tickled his ears and you scoot your body to the other side of the bed before lifting the sheets to over the spot you had originally occupied. “C’mon, I know you’re not leaving me alone any time soon, so you might as well get comfortable.”

The suggestion was tempting but you see the hesitance across his face before your lips did that… stupid pouting thing again and Jungkook rolls his eyes in defeat before he slips underneath the covers as an act of surrender. When you giddily turn your attention over to Jungkook who laid right beside you, he faces right towards your body and you face him as well.

“To be fair, I was impressed; four shots in half an hour and you did not throw up.” You smile proudly and a bit too lazily. Your eyes remain half lidded as the comforts of your bed envelope your aching body.

“You have got to give me some credit, Kookie. I’m not so much of a lightweight anymore.” You nuzzled your head into the pillow but as your eyes come to a close and you are met with darkness, your brain immediately drifts to an imagination of Jungkook’s soft chest underneath your cheek instead of the fluffy pillows. Perhaps you’d hear his loud heart beating against his chest and feel his steady breathing.

But this was close enough; the scent of his cologne and beer lingered a mere inches away from you and the softness of the pillow was enough to let your imagination run wild.

And Jungkook notices this.

He notices the way your eyes come fluttering close and the grin remained etched across your face. He didn’t want to disturb a you drifted off in your sleep, but he can hear the soft giggle coming out of your mouth. He can see your body relaxing and succumbing to the exhaustion before he begins moving a stray hair away from your face.

The pads of his thumb brushes against your nose and cheeks as his nails lightly tap your ear lobes to tuck the hairs off of your sleepy face. “You wanna know something funny?” Jungkook begins.

“Hm?” It’s all you can really respond to at this point. Your poor body is succumbing to the exhaustion of this evening’s events. Half of Jungkook urged for you to go straight to slumber — that way he’d get a good night’s sleep too. But another half of him desperately wanted to savor this moment; you laid so comfortably right next to him and there’s nothing in the world to worry about.

He wasn’t spending time with you as much lately. Your schedules never really clicked; he woke up too early to go to the gym on the weekdays and, by the time he was done working out, you were already on your way to your morning classes. But there was already breakfast ready for him to eat because you always saved some for him to eat before work. Even though Jungkook went to work later, he would still manage to get home first. He understood why you were staying out late though; being a full-time student and working on the side was not an easy task to do at hand.

So he would be relieved to see you come home because, to return the favor, he had dinner ready for you. Most of the time, you would scarf down your meals and go straight to doing your homework before you freshened up for bed. However, as exam season approached, you wouldn’t eat half of the time; it was a relentless cycle of sleep and study.

To have you him right in front of him with the most serene grins plastered on your face, though hammered, he savored every second of it. And, suddenly, his warm fingers are still caressing your cheek and you are relishing in the warmth of his palm against your skin. The soft hums of pleasure vibrating on your throat brought a leap to his heart and he can feel you nestling your face into his palm.

“Yoongi-hyung tells me that one of your friends gave him their number. The funny thing is they thought he was me.” Perhaps this wasn’t the perfect time to introduce a new subject, but he was quite curious as to how you would react. But there is a silence that filled the air and your steady breathing is all he can manage to decipher. When he hears the light snores coming from your small mouth, he chuckles endearingly.

When he things that you have gone to your tranquil dream land, he peels the duvet off of his body and the weight shifting causes you to stir but he manages to put it to a halt and you are breathing steadily again. When Jungkook reverses towards your door to take complete his slumber in the living room, he hears you call his name.

“Wait, where’d you go, Kookie?” You say so tiredly as you began searching the empty bed side and your eyes come fluttering open. “Can’t you stay? I liked it when you were playing with my hair.”

Jungkook couldn’t believe what he had been hearing. He keeps reminding himself that you were intoxicated and you won’t remember your own words the following morning. But, on the other hand, he is reminded of a saying Jimin always told him.

When a person is drunk, the most sober thoughts come spilling out of their mouths.

So was this your most sober thoughts? Did you actually enjoy his physical touch on you? Did it bring comfort to you? Because he would continue doing all night if he could, just to please you. 

“I’ll stay, don’t worry.” He hums and he wonders whether this is the correct thing to do.

Was he taking advantage of your vulnerability like this? Though his intentions were pure, he is reminding himself that you were clearly inebriated and the sooner you slept, the sooner he would be out of the room. He was drunk and his imagination is running wild as he lays right next to you once again. His tattooed hand reaches towards your face where he continues to caress your hair, twirling the soft ends around his large digits. His nails would comb right through them and, occasionally, massage your scalp.

It was a tantalizing experience. You were too lost in the feeling of his fingers tangling through your mane and the pads of his fingers digging upon your scalp which soothe tension around your head. You were melting at his touch and you can feel your consciousness surrender to the exhaustion overwhelming your physique at the very moment.

“Kookie?” A soft whisper leaves your lips.

Unaware of your actions, you are moving your body closer to the warmth of Jungkook’s body right across from you. One thing you are aware of is that your arm instinctively reached over to his waist where they slither on him; a sense of reassurance that he wouldn’t leave you whatsoever. He freezes for a moment and relaxes when he sees your nose scrunch in response. As he resumes to play with your hair, you are back to the hypnotic feeling of his fingers on your hair. Your arm relaxes onto his waist and, in response, Jungkook is growing accustomed to the weight of your arm on his body.

“Hm?” He hums in response.

And, suddenly, when the snores increase in volume, his fingers completely stop playing with you hair. Instead, they fall lower to your own waist where his arm lays where you are already fall asleep. At the feeling of someone’s touch on your waist, you instinctively pull yourself closer to the warmth of his body; your head pressing onto his chest and the scent of your lavender shampoo is so addictive when he nuzzles his nose upon your head.

“Don’t text her."

Your steady chest rises and lowers against his body and he can feel his heart beat… steady from its increased acceleration earlier. The sounds of your soft exhales on his chest was enough to knock him right off his feet because he cradles you close to him as Jungkook, too, drifts off in his own subconscious.

“I won’t.” 

The violent rays of the sun shone right across your face which forces you to flutter your eyes open. The duvet completely tangled around your legs and you had managed to kick them off as you slowly and cautiously lift your exhausted body off of the comforts of your bed. The dryness of your throat is alarming and you are searching for a water bottle by your nightstand, but the door swinging open has managed to catch your attention and you are met with a freshly showered Jungkook.

“Huh, I wasn’t expecting you to be up yet.” You had caught sight of his waist as he is tugging his shirt on him. His nearly dry hair is ruffled as he is reaches towards the bottle of the pain killers before he tosses you a water bottle. “Take two of them right now.”

The grumble that emitted from your mouth ensued an upwards stretch on his mouth as he examines you trying to process the events of last night, that is, if you can even remember a single thing. When you pop the cap open and attempt to spill out two pills into your mouth, your throat is desperate for the coolness of the water to satisfy your thirst.

Jungkook takes the empty space right next to you as you scratch the back of your head. He is much bigger than you thought as he towered over you, trying to remember anything from last night. “How’d you sleep last night?” The gloat was so evident in his voice and this was not something you wanted to hear first thing in the morning, so you found yourself laying back down only to shove the pillow to your face.

“I don’t want to hear it, Kookie! If I did something stupid, just say it! Say you told me so.” Your muffled whining can only be heard to Jungkook and he is already chuckling at your reaction. Most of the time when you are unable to handle your alcohol and he ends up having to take care of you, he happens to find a way to embarrass you the first thing in the morning.

“It wasn’t really that bad.” He begins and he waits for you to peek out of the pillow you had shoved out of your face. When he meets your eyes, there is a smug grin right across his handsome face. “You did throw up though.” You are shoving the pillow back into your face before he catches it before you can cover your shame. When you are exposed to him, you are pulling the pillow on his hands while one of his hands attempt to peel the cushion right off your face and the other pushing your arm away from it.

“I get it, Guk!” A fit of giggles begin erupting from your mouths at the idea of you just throwing up.

“I gotta give you props though, YN. You managed to run to the bathroom; 10 points for quick reflexes.” Your grip on the pillow softens and Jungkook’s strength overpowers yours so he completely rids of the pillow of your face and you are now fully facing him as he is practically towering over you.

“Well, I learned from the best, didn’t I?” The playful wink was enough for both his arms to cease their function. Both of his hands are on either side of your bed and you find it quite hard to believe how the both of you have found yourself in a very compromising situation. But you didn’t mind it at all and, quite frankly, Jungkook didn’t either.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changes as faint memories of last night’s conversation come replaying in Jungkook’s head. He wished the memory would come jogging back to you, but he knew better not to say much.

“Was there anything else that happened last night?” There was one thing you did remember; it was the primary reason for your choice to be completely shit-faced that evening. You couldn’t… live with the idea of Jungkook being remotely interested in one of your friends — it’s not that they were unlikeable. You love them and believe they’re great girls, but… their intentions were purely… physical and just the thought of it brought up an emotion you were unaware you would feel.

He simply shakes his head and Jungkook remains frozen as he stares into your eyes. “Well, Lisa did give me her number.” He announces and he witnesses the split second of sincerity in your reaction; the micro reaction of your eyes looking directly into his with such pain and the pout that threatened to etch downwards, but you had manage to force yourself to remain unfazed. “I threw it out though.”

And there it was.

There is a weakness in your grin but he witnesses your cheeks turn a light pink color and he is gnawing on the inside of his cheeks, desperate to steal a kiss. But he wasn’t that type of guy. “YN,” He starts and you are aware of the atmosphere changing. His tone changes and you are aware that he is serious and you can see that he is hesitant; you can see him contemplate his choice and you’re aware of the consequences. If he chooses to pursue anything, you two have crossed a line between friends where you both cannot reverse your actions. On the other hand, you two can continue this game of what ifs. “YN, I really want to kiss you.”

You swallowed hard at the word.

Kiss.

“Kiss?” You repeated.

“Yes, kiss; my lips on your lips.” The heat on your cheeks is rapidly increasing in temperature and it soon radiates to your lobes. “Is that okay with you?” When your eyes lower to his moist lips, you cock your head to the side before you offer a single nod. When you grant him permission, his hand moves a stray hair out of your face and his thumb caresses your cheek to feel the softness of your skin. You revel the sensation of his soft yet calloused skin on yours; you flutter your eyes closed as you smell the scent of minty toothpaste as he moves closer. The tip of his nose delicately hits yours and you are aware, now, that you were holding your breath. Your heart races so hard on your chest and you are afraid it could nearly break through it.

“Breathe, YN.” He laughs as he notices such gesture.

“Sorry, I’m… nervo —“ When you reply, he interrupts you midway to capture your bottom lip in between his mouth. You are returning the favor only to savor the taste of his mouth; so fresh — like air. His hand still cradles your face so closely to his and your mouths move in synchrony with each other.

Suddenly, you weren’t breathing again.

Not out of nervousness.

But because you two just couldn’t get enough of each other.

↪ Please stay tuned for the next part!

[rollercoasterwrite]

I’m So Curious [Chapter 3]

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 

Prompt : Jjong is a college student with tight money, but manages to get into a prestigious uni where he becomes friends with Taemin. One day, Tae asks him to go out on a blind date with his cousin Jinki, a notable lawyer who still hesitates about dating someone. Jjong refuses, but the amount of money Tae offers is a sight he can’t ignore. Jinki adores him immediately and after several dates, Jonghyun falls in love with Jinki, but he doesn’t know how to tell Jinki about his agreement with Tae.

Pairing : Jongyu

Genre : romance, fluff, angst, smut 

Word Count : 10 000 ~

Links : AFF & AO3

Special thanks to Cheryl, my beta once again!!!

"When are you going to tell him?"

The question hit the unaware blonde like a ton of bricks. The hand that held his debit card froze mid-way as his head turned back towards his friend. 

"What are you talking about?" he feigned, trying to keep his face under control. 

"Riiight," the brunette scoffed, rolling his eyes. "What in the actual hell am I talking about?"

The other’s derisive tone couldn’t be missed, but Jonghyun let it slide to go back to completing his transaction. 

Once that was over, they walked out of the store, both of them carrying two bags in each hand. 

"You would’ve never bought a pair of pants worth two-hundred dollars before,” his friend bluntly pointed out as their footsteps synced on the sidewalk.  

Jonghyun felt his jaw tense up, but kept looking ahead. "And your point is?"

"My point is that you seem to be enjoying that prostitution money."

That stopped him dead in his tracks. 

"Excuse me?" he hissed, feeling his internal volcano awaken. 

The younger one turned back to face him. "I said what I said."

"Do you have a fucking problem, Kibum?"

"I do, actually," the other fired back. "That’s not you at all, Jonghyun."

The blonde’s sudden surge of anger fell prey to a wave of guilt, leaving him speechless for a moment. 

"The money was just a one-time thing," he simply said before picking up the pace again. 

"I know, but your relationship isn’t," his friend returned as he settled right beside him once more. 

Jonghyun could feel his face burning, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the sun beaming over their heads or from the cocktail of frustration and embarrassment that was forming inside him. 

"We’re not…"

"Don’t say that you’re two aren’t in a relationship," the brunette cut off. "How many dates has it been now?"

Five. "I don’t fucking keep track."     

Kibum clicked his tongue. 

"You’re so ridiculous, I swear.” 

Jonghyun chose silence this time, hoping that would be enough to make the conversation die. But of course, it wasn’t. 

"You’ve never stuck with someone that long before," the younger one went on. "So you’re going to tell me that it’s nothing special?"

Jonghyun took in a sharp breath, suddenly regretting inviting him out. 

"I’m not going to say anything, actually, because it’s none of your fucking business.”

The conversation lulled for a moment as they rushed across the street to make it before the light turned red. 

“Well, whose business is it going to be when the shit hits the fan, huh?" Kibum picked right back up. 

"I don’t know why you’d think that would become your business if anything were to happen," Jonghyun threw back with contempt. 

The other snorted loudly at that. 

"You like to act like a tough bitch, but do I have to remind you in whose arms you usually end up landing when the going gets tough?" 

The blonde glared at him as if the intensity of his gaze could end a life right here and now .                                        

"And do I have to remind you whose fist can land on your pretty face?"

The younger one rolled his eyes again. "Always threatening with violence, but never actually following-" 

His breath was cut short as he was hit square in the chest with one of the bags the older one was carrying.

"What was that?" Jonghyun asked, smirking, as he watched the younger one bring a hand to his heart with a shocked expression. 

"You know what? I’m not doing this anymore," Kibum settled before quickening his step to move past him. 

The blonde cocked a brow in surprise. When he saw that the brunette wasn’t actually turning back, he followed suit, having to jog to catch up with him. 

"Yah, Kibummie," he hailed as he tried to match his frantic pace. 

No answer. 

"Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re really mad now," the blonde half-taunted, half-inquired. 

Still no answer.

Jonghyun frowned, feeling his frustration grow. He was tempted to just dump him in the middle of the street, but he knew better than to make the situation worse right now. 

"Okay, I’m sorry," he forcefully apologized. 

He was again met with silence, but the look of contempt that was thrown his way at that moment did manage to spark some hope inside him. 

"You know how I get when we talk about that stuff," he tried as his expression grew softer.

That did the trick. 

"That stuff?" Kibum echoed, confused. "You mean love?"

Jonghyun’s eyes grew wide at the sound of that word. 

"The hell?" he all but yelled as his heart started thumping against the confines of his chest. "When were we talking about that?"

"I don’t know how many times you’re going to make me roll my eyes at you… it’s really getting tiring," Kibum said, annoyed. 

"It’s one thing to talk about our…" Jonghyun paused, taking a quick inhale in before pushing out the dreaded word. ""Relationship", but it’s another to talk about love."

"Okay, I can get with that," the younger one accepted. "But can you admit that what’s going on here is not like the other times?"

Jonghyun averted his gaze, concentrating on his feet and keeping a diligent focus on their cadence for a few seconds before nodding in response. 

"Good," Kibum acknowledged, satisfied. "More reason for you to be honest with him if you’re getting serious about this." 

"But what good will that do, huh?" Jonghyun promptly reacted as he looked up again. 

Their eyes met for a second before they both focused their gaze ahead again. 

"Do I really have to paint a picture here?" Kibum said, baffled. "What kind of healthy relationship are you two going to have if you’re already keeping secrets from each other?"

Jonghyun snorted. 

"You’re one to talk…"

The brunette’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. 

"How dare you?" he spat. "That’s not even comparable!"

"Yeah, okay. Whatever," the older one gave up as the onset of a headache began to tug at the corners of his temples. 

"Don’t try to get off topic," Kibum reproved. 

"Yes, Mom," Jonghyun said, derision weighing heavy in his tone. 

"Immaturity isn’t a good look on you, Jjong," the brunette sharply replied. "I can see he’s changing you for the better, so please don’t ruin it."

The blonde’s brow cocked. His curiosity was piqued. 

"What do you mean?"

"You smile more, you’re more outgoing, your energy feels…" Kibum paused, searching for the word. "Lighter," he pinpointed after a few more seconds. 

Jonghyun felt his face burn up once more. 

"Ah, well…"

"I can see you like him," Kibum said. "Like, a lot."

His heart responded with a somersault. 

"Well… if any of what you’re saying is true, I can’t afford ruining things by telling him the truth."

The younger one sighed. 

"Maybe I should be kicking Taemin’s ass for putting you in this mess."

Jonghyun couldn’t help but chuckle.

"The kid means well."

"Yeah? Why does he always have a satanic way of showing it then, huh?"

The blonde shook his head, lips curved into a crooked smile.

"It’s part of his charm, you know?"

Kibum snorted.

 "He must suck dick really good for you to be saying that."

There was a brief silence. 

"And then you wonder why I don’t want to share anything personal with you anymore," Jonghyun snarled, glare weighing heavily on his face. 

"Gosh, you really can’t take a joke, can you?" the younger one grumbled in annoyance. 

"If that’s your idea of a joke, then I’m clearly not the one at fault here," the blonde shot right back, effectively silencing his friend for a few seconds as the latter looked back at him, mouth agape. 

"You’re insufferable!" the younger one ended up spouting in anger. 

"But yet, you still hang out with me," Jonghyun casually pointed out. 

"Don’t think I’ll tolerate anything just because it’s you," Kibum warned. 

They slowed down a bit as the bus terminal finally came into view. 

"Are you still coming back to the dorms with me?" Jonghyun asked, somewhat worried now. 

A heavy sigh crossed the other’s bowed lips. 

"You really don’t deserve any more of my time, but tonight’s a big night, so it’d be cruel of me not to help you out."

Kibum could be a pain in the ass a lot of the time, but it was in moments like these, that Jonghyun was reminded why having him as a friend was a true blessing. 

"Thank you," he uttered with sheer gratefulness as they made their way to the bus stop.

They didn’t have to wait long for theirs to arrive and soon enough, they found a comfortable seat at the back, their legs lining up unconsciously against each other’s. The twenty-five-minute drive had them falling into a trance, calming down their overactive minds as they enjoyed a shared silence. 

It almost felt like a crime to get up and move, but they did nonetheless as their stop came about.

Silence stretched out throughout the five-minute walk to the dorms and throughout the additional minutes it took to reach the seventh floor. 

A sigh of relief left them both as they finally entered the blonde’s lair and put their bags down. 

"I need some water," Kibum said, voice slightly hoarse. 

Jonghyun didn’t even bother to answer, knowing the other would just go on ahead to quench his thirst. 

As he heard the faucet turn on, he walked to his room, closing the door behind him as he undressed.

He gave a quick look to his alarm clock as he tugged down his pants. 5:17. 

There was a little less than an hour before he would have to be on his way. That was plenty of time in a practical sense, but very little in an emotional one. 

His heart jumped as his mind dragged him down the possible paths this evening could take. It was the first time they were going to be alone and he couldn’t help but feel nervous, a little giddy, but also excited. 

He didn’t want to expect anything, but he was also ready for everything. 

He finally made his way to the bathroom and into the shower, sighing in relief as the hot blast of water drenched his skin. He ran his hands through his hair rhythmically, giving himself a good scalp massage, before bringing his shampoo and body wash into the mix to wash up thoroughly. The small space was soon filled with floral scents that tickled his nostrils and subconsciously brought a lightness to his tight neck and shoulders. 

He took a little more time than usual to clean up if the sudden knock on the door was any indication, but he let himself bask some more in the soothing atmosphere he had just created for himself. 

It was another few minutes before he finally stepped out of the shower and wrapped one of his towels snugly around his waist. Water droplets fell to the floor with his every step while some clung on for dear life as they slid down his skin.

He finally reached his room again, gaze falling upon an obviously annoyed Kibum. 

"You could’ve told me you were going to take a shower," the latter said. 

"I thought that went without saying," Jonghyun replied matter-of-factly. "I can’t show up all sweaty and gross."

At that, the brunette’s face brightened with mischief. 

"So… it is going down tonight," he gathered, a sly smile gracing his lips.

A flash of heat coursed through the blonde’s belly. 

"I… I don’t know…" he uttered as his mind started to drag him elsewhere again.

"This guy must’ve had enough of waiting," Kibum observed. "He’s not a fucking priest, for god’s sake!"

Jonghyun chuckled at that, relieving some of the tension that had found its way into his body just now. 

"That, he isn’t, for sure."

"But seriously, Jjong," Kibum started again. "If you do end up fucking, you at least have to tell me if he’s good."

The older one rolled his eyes, silently imploring whatever gods were out there listening to help him bear with his friend’s stubbornness. 

"Fine," he conceded with a sigh. "Now, can you help me pick out an outfit?"

"Of course," Kibum agreed as he sprung up from the bed to land on his feet. 

His hand reached quickly for the wardrobe’s door, sliding it further open to get a view of what he had to work with. 

Jonghyun could only see the back of his head for the most part, but the rustling sound of clothes being sorted through filled in the gap. He knew it was only a matter of time before an inevitable critique would roll off the other’s tongue.  

"Oh, thank god!" Kibum sighed in victory. He made a snap turn around, holding his hand up to show his discovery. 

The blonde cocked a brow. 

"That’s just a T-shirt." 

His words were rewarded with a scowl. 

"No. That’s not just a T-shirt."

“Okay…?"

A sigh of despair left the brunette as he closed his eyes to muster some patience.

"It’s a white T-shirt!" Kibum tried again. 

Jonghyun was even more at a loss. "Okay?"

At that, his friend’s expression grew even more frustrated. 

"You’re so fucking dumb, I swear," he groaned, dropping onto the mattress again. 

"Okay, let me try to put this simply," he started as he laid the t-shirt right beside him. "Most of your fucking wardrobe is on the baggy side, which, if that’s the kind of look you want to sport, then fine," he interjected with a bite of judgment. "But if you actually want to have some shape and appeal, we need to tighten your shit up."

"Okay… I get it… but why white?" Jonghyun asked. 

He wasn’t against brighter clothes, heck, that was his shirt after all, but he did generally lean towards darker clothing. 

"Seriously?" Kibum deadpanned. 

The silence that followed was the only answer needed.

"I fucking swea-" 

The younger one cut himself off abruptly, realizing it was no use. 

"Because that will actually show off all of that," he all but cried out as he gestured to Jonghyun’s uncovered chest vigorously.     

Jonghyun’s head immediately dropped down, gaze steadying on the planes and dips that stretched out to his towel. 

"I’m not sure I get what you mean…" he half-feigned, half-inquired as he looked back up. 

Kibum rolled his eyes this time.

"Give me a fucking break," he squarely dismissed. "You’ve obviously been hitting the gym more, so why not show off for once?"

Heat rushed up to the blonde’s face at the thought.

"I guess…"

"Seriously, you’d be so lost without me," the brunette asserted before standing up again.

Jonghyun waited to have his back to roll his eyes.

But he was quick to realize that he would’ve indeed struggled so much more if Kibum hadn’t taken charge. Instead of having to go through the pain of second-guessing every one of his styling choices, every decision was made for him in a matter of twenty minutes, even down to the way he should style his hair.

"Forget the gel and leave your bangs down," Kibum immediately said after he finished drying his hair off in front of the mirror. "We still want you to look casual and comfy.”

Jonghyun nodded in approval, always happy to keep things as simple as possible. 

"So what pants did you end up picking?" he asked as he turned back around. 

The younger one huffed at that.

"You’ve seriously not made my job easy with that non-ass of yours."

A frown creased the blonde’s brow as he glared at his friend.

"Smaller asses are valid, too, you know?"

"Oh, I agree," Kibum instantly acknowledged. "But that’s not what we are dealing with here," he added without blinking.

A three-second fantasy of landing a good punch on the other’s face flashed behind Jonghyun’s eyes, but he refrained from acting on it, because he really needed his help. 

"Stop running your mouth and just show me," he said, annoyance spiking his words. 

Sharp slanted eyes shot daggers at him before they moved to the bed. 

"Those tight denims should do the trick," the younger said before throwing the pants at him.  

Jonghyun caught them easily, instantly nodding at the sight of the darker blue shade. He didn’t wear them often anymore, but he could definitely agree that they were probably the best choice for tonight.   

"And it might be kinda chilly outside by the time we step out, so bring this with you, too," Kibum said as he indicated the black leather jacket in his hand.

"Good," the older one approved. "Shoes?"

"Your black Timbs.”  

"Perfect."

Kibum’s lips stretched into a sly smile. 

"Time to get some dick.” 

Jonghyun’s eyes brushed over his friend’s face with a wince of disgust, but somewhere in the middle of his lower belly, there was also a soft pang of approval. 

***

Jonghyun was nervous. 

He hadn’t realized it at first, but the feeling hit him on the road as he got closer and closer to his destination. By the time the car’s engine fell silent, his hands were shaking. 

Why am I so nervous?

The question rattled around in his mind as he let his head fall on the steering wheel. The thought fired through every synapse in his brain, but still failed to resolve itself with an answer. 

After mentally running through more of the same, he lifted his head up again, groaning at his stressed out and frustrated state. Realizing it would only worsen if he stayed immobile, he finally made a move to open the door and step out of the car.  

Once the door was locked, he looked up, taking in the tall condominium complex that stretched out before him. If he were being honest, he had expected something with a more grandiose look, but it wasn’t any more different than others he had seen in other neighborhoods. Somewhat though, that managed to calm his nerves a bit.

He finally started walking, momentarily leaving behind any thought that could’ve glued him into place. His pace was brisk, almost as if he were trying to outrun anything that could attack him from behind. He quickly had to stop again to put in the code that the brunette had sent him the day before. He punched in the numbers with one finger and let himself in as the door buzzed.

The elevator was only a few steps ahead and not long after, he stepped inside, pressing the button for the third floor. A quick thought about taking the stairs flashed through his mind, but he quickly dismissed it to focus back on his breath again. A deep inhale graced all corners of his torso before an exhale emptied it out. He repeated the process once more just before the elevator doors opened. 

His feet were now gracing the limestone floor, the sound of his heels clicking against it filling up the silent space. Every step he took was accompanied by a quick glance to each door as he searched for the right one. His venture ended up bringing him to the end of the hallway, right in front of a white door adorned with a shining number 11. 

Jonghyun just stared at it, mind empty, heart going crazy. 

"There is no turning back now."

His hand made its way to the doorbell on its own accord, his index finger pushing against it while his mind went blank.

His eardrums caught sound from the inside, but it was all too muffled to get a clear sense of what it was. 

Jonghyun stood there anxiously, silently wishing for this nerve-wracking anticipation to be over with. The sound of the door being unlocked a second later seemed to come as an answer to his prayers, but when it was finally pulled open, another draft of anxiety hit him square in the gut.

"I’m-I’m sorry," he stammered, embarrassed beyond words. "I think I’ve got the wrong place."

He immediately stepped back to make a quick exit, but the man’s next words made him halt just in time. 

"You’re Jonghyun, right?" he asked. 

"Uh… yeah…" the blonde confirmed, confused.

A wide smile spread across the unknown man’s face, making his large eyes narrow and crinkle at the corners. 

Who’s he? Jonghyun thought as his gaze scanned the sight before him. He’s gorgeous. 

The prompted thought only made him even more nervous which translated as a deep frown on his face. 

Before he could investigate what he was dealing with, Jinki finally joined in, pulling the taller man away from the doorframe to stand in his place. A mutter of protest came from the other, but the brunette casually ignored it.   

"Jjong!" he sighed, his breath a little shaken. "I’m sorry about that. I was finishing up in the kitchen and Minho got to the door first and…" 

A hand lifted to the back of his neck as his eyes darted down to the space between them. 

"Things aren’t really going as planned."

Jonghyun wanted to wrap him into a tight hug and let him know that he didn’t care, but a more pressing issue was toying with his mind. 

"Who is Minho?" he couldn’t help but ask.

 Jinki had mentioned him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but this was the first time Jonghyun was hearing anything about that man. 

The brunette’s gaze shot up under his bangs and his eyes grew wide with realization. 

"Right… I never actually told you about him, huh?"

Jonghyun shook his head. 

Jinki sighed, more at himself than anything else.

"Come in. I’ll introduce you properly."

He stepped away from the doorframe, leaving an opening for the blonde to pass through. Once the door was locked and Jonghyun had taken off his shoes, he finally ventured into the brunette’s home. There was a subtle burnt smell in the air, but he chose to leave the matter on the back burner and instead give inquisitive looks to his surroundings. 

The apartment was a typical open concept loft, uniting the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room into the same spacious space. The set up was modern in style, the combination of wood and metal surfaces effortlessly complementing the cream-colored walls. Jonghyun wasn’t one to truly pay attention to details of this sort, but he could appreciate how everything seemed to work in unison to give a homey but classy feel to the apartment. He especially appreciated the fluffy white carpet that stretched out before one of the living room’s couches a few meters away. 

"So what do you think?" Jinki inquired as he followed the blonde’s gaze. 

The latter snapped back to attention, a slight shrug of surprise gracing his shoulders. 

"Ah… it’s very nice…" he awkwardly uttered as he let his eyes drag away from the living room and settle back on the brunette. 

It was just then that he noticed his all-black attire, consisting of a tight t-shirt and form-fitting jeans. It was the most casual he had ever since him, but somehow, that made him even sexier. 

"You have a lovely apartment, " he added quickly to avoid selling himself out as a prying pervert. 

A beautiful grin answered his compliment. 

"Thank you," he said. "Although…" His gaze scanned around. "I really had nothing to do with it. Minho chose it and perfected it to what it is now."

Jonghyun’s brow shot up in response, his shoulders tensing. 

"Oh, so he lives here, too?"

"Well, yeah," Jinki replied, not noticing the sudden edge in the other’s tone. 

A clench graced the younger one’s jaw. Oh, well, that sure reassures me.

"Ah, he’s coming back," Jinki said as footsteps resonated from the hallway to their ears. 

The man in question came into view again, now rocking a striped marine suit that somehow made his legs look even longer. 

Jonghyun couldn’t help but frown at the sight. Tall bastard. 

"Sorry for the disturbance, I’ll be leaving now," the young man informed as he gave them an apologetic smile. 

"Good, but first, let me introduce you properly," the eldest followed up. 

"Aaah, right, right." 

He was quick to close in the distance between them, stopping right in front of Jonghyun. 

"So this is Minho," Jinki started. "He’s my-

"I’m his best friend, roommate and law firm partner," the other swiftly interjected with a liveliness that made Jonghyun want to wince. "Is he a hyung?" Minho then asked, gaze moving to Jinki. 

"No, no," Jinki answered with a chuckle. 

"Aaah okay, I can relax a bit more then," the other noted with an easy smile. "I’ve heard a lot about you, Jonghyun. I’m very happy to finally meet you."

Taken aback by the frank response, the blonde missed the blush that crept up the other’s neck at that exact moment. 

"Ah, um," he started uneasily. "It’s nice to meet you, too," he reciprocated despite his reluctance. 

Cackling in response, the tall brunette said, "That doesn’t sound too convincing."

Jonghyun’s eyes widened, stunned by his lie hitting him back in the face.

 "It is, I-"

"Don’t worry," Minho cut in, still laughing. ""I wouldn't be very warm, either, to someone my boyfriend's apparently close to, but that he never mentioned before," he then reassured, not without the double intent of throwing a jab at his friend too. "Choi Minho," the eldest loudly protested in response, not noticing the bewildered expression that had just settled on the blonde's face. "You're making it sound like I was trying to hide something."

As interested as Jonghyun should've been in the course the conversation was taking, everything that followed was lost on him. He could hear their voices, but none of the words reached him. Not after a single one had rendered his senses useless. Boyfriend. The word rung loudly inside his head, replaying again and again in a reckless loop as his heart raced. 

He managed to turn his head to give a look to his right, searching for a hint of what he was feeling on the other's face. But all he could see there was the frown that had settled deep between his eyes. Not used to seeing that expression, his newfound curiosity for what was causing it was what managed to make him leap back into reality.

There was a brief silence and suddenly the giant's eyes were on him, twinkling with mischief. "He's really cute after all," the latter said as his eyes travelled along his body. Jonghyun's reaction was innate, lips parting to give the other a piece of his mind. But he wasn't quick enough. "I wouldn't be worried in a million years. Trust me," Jinki all but snarled.

That was enough for Jonghyun to lose all bite. Instead, his teeth sank into his bottom lip. Shit. He is being hot again. 

The tallest smirked.

"As spicy as that would've been, you know I would never." He then looked straight at Jonghyun, a pleased smile still dancing on his lips. "I'm glad Jinki finally stopped acting like a little virgin. I have to thank you for that." "Can you just shut up and go now?" Jinki burst out as his skin flared up again. Yup. My sentiments exactly, Jonghyun silently seconded, his impatience growing by the second. "You were the one who wanted us to get acquainted," the younger one retaliated, eyes almost popping out of their sockets. "Well I think Jjong has a good idea of who you are now," Jinki indicated. Yup. An unnecessarily tall and annoying prick, the blonde kept on in the secrecy of his mind. "If you say so," Minho dismissively acknowledged. He didn't waste a beat of silence to continue on. "So, how do I look?" The smug smile that followed did nothing to help his case in the blonde's mind.

"Good, as always," Jinki replied, a lace of exasperation tugging at his words. "Thaaaank yooouu," his friend voiced excitedly. "You know tonight's a big night," he added with a wink. "Aren't you just seeing Yejin?" "Meeting her parents tonight actually," his friend filled in as he tugged on the front of his suit to straighten it out more than it already was. "Not worried though," he instantly added. Suuuuure, Jonghyun derided. It was a miracle he managed not to roll his eyes. Jinki was more patient, obviously. 

 "No?" he questioned, doubt raising his voice. "Nah," Minho assured. "She told them I was a lawyer and they apparently screamed from joy." A grin stretched out wide on his face. "So imagine when they see how handsome I am, too." If there had been a camera in the room, Jonghyun would've surely stared into it to display his sheer annoyance at the other's inflated ego. "Riiight," Jinki said, seemingly as annoyed as he was. It didn't go unnoticed by the tall brunette. "Okay, enough about me," he settled. "I'll leave you lovebirds alone now." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys before giving a lazy wave their way. Before he could exit through the front door, Jinki spoke up again. "You're spending the night at Yejin's, right?" Minho turned back around, meeting the question with a sly smile. "Of course." Jonghyun's heart jumped as his eyes grew a little wider. Calm down, calm down. "Good," Jinki voiced in satisfaction. Oh. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Have fun," Minho said with a wink before finally leaving. The clicking sound of the door closing sealed those words dramatically, making them suddenly aware that they were very alone. Jinki made a move first, turning his body towards him so he could look at Jonghyun properly. "I need to apologize," he prefaced, expression guilt-stricken. "Ah, it's fine," Jonghyun quickly dismissed. "We all have annoying friends." Jinki's brows rose, mouth agape. "That's not what I was talking about..." The blonde froze as the words struck him like a bucket of cold water being thrown in his face. "I'm...I'm sorry, I didn't-" The other's laugh cut him short. 

"Don't worry," he reassured. "I know he can be a lot sometimes, but he has a good heart." At that, a frown creased his brow making the brunette laugh even harder. "I swear," the latter defended despite it. "If you want, I can tell you about how he actually saved my ass in a big case." Jonghyun snorted. 

"Does it involve him sleeping with someone?" Jinki blinked. 

"How did you know?" The blonde shrugged. 

"He strikes me as the type." "He really didn't make a good impression on you, huh?" No. "I mean... If he's your best friend and you live with him, too, I bet he has redeeming qualities," Jonghyun conceded despite himself. "You are the worst at hiding your emotions," Jinki snickered. "But I'm glad, actually", he went on more seriously. "Minho can be quite the charmer and maybe a small part of me was scared he'd charm you." The admission came with a sheepish smile, sending Jonghyun's heart into a furious race again. "He's not my type," he said without hesitation. "What is your type?" Jinki asked in a cheeky tone. You. "Aah, you know... Guys that..." His eyes shifted as if an answer was floating around. "Um…" "Guys that get so nervous about a dinner at home that they burn the meal?" the other chimed in, giving an embarrassed smile. 

Jonghyun’s gaze settled back on the brunette, wide with confusion. 

"What?"

"I really hope that type of guy is your type," Jinki continued. "Or else… I’m screwed."

A nervous laugh followed and Jonghyun’s heart fluttered. 

"Don’t worry," he said. "I think that kind of guy is cute."

There was a lull of silence, during which Jinki turned redder than he had before, making the blonde melt and simultaneously cringe at his own corniness. 

"So, um," the brunette cleared his throat. "I was thinking we could order some food instead." 

"Yeah, sure."

"What would you like?"

"I really don’t mind."

"I really don’t mind, either."

"So how the heck are we going to solve this, huh?"

"Hmmm, what haven’t we had yet?"

They both pondered on the matter, reviewing all their previous dates. Apart from the fancy restaurant that had brought them together the first time, they had kept it pretty casual, eating at different local restaurants whenever they felt hungry. Jonghyun wasn’t much of a foodie to begin with, but Jinki was on the other end, so he usually followed in whatever craving the older one had in the moment. 

"What were you cooking earlier?" he thought to ask. 

"I was trying out a Coconut Shrimp Curry recipe."

"Mm, that sounds good. Why don’t we order that?"

"Yeah," the other agreed. "And we can pretend I actually made it while we eat it, too."

Jonghyun smiled at his silliness. 

"Sure."

"Okay, I’ll go find my phone so we can check out places," Jinki indicated, already turning to move. 

But before he could take a step, he was halted by a firm grip on his wrist. 

"Wait," the blonde said as he turned him back around. 

He stepped closer, slow and measured, his almond shaped eyes flicking upwards once there was nearly no more space between them.  

The other’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he gazed into those criminally pretty eyes, waiting. 

"You haven’t kissed me yet," Jonghyun finally said, tone expectant. 

A breathy laugh met his skin.

"You’re forever impatient."

"That’s been established already. So, don’t make me wait any longer."

You’ve made me fucking needy, you bastard. 

Jonghyun was expecting to be left hanging, just to get him frustrated to no end, but before he could prepare any argument in retaliation, the other’s soft lips caught his breath, melding their bodies together. A sigh of contentment left him; it was like everything was right in the world again. 

Jinki held him, arms hugging his waist under his jacket as they shared a soft and sweet kiss. Despite his eagerness, Jonghyun didn’t push for more, knowing well that everything he wanted would come in time. 

"Happy?" Jinki asked as he pulled away, eyes lingering on the lips he had just made pinker. 

"Mmhm," Jonghyun hummed, chest heaving slightly. "For now, yeah."

That made the other laugh again before he stepped back.

"Well, let me get my phone before we actually get to dessert."

He disappeared, leaving a baffled Jonghyun to wrap his mind around what he had just said. Knowing the man a little better now, he knew how purposefully confusing he could get. There could literally be a real dessert waiting ahead without any real prospect of something more. But fortunately, he hadn’t forgotten the exchange that had happened between him and his friend earlier.

He wanted to make sure we would be alone for the night.

That thought alone was enough to make him hot all over again, prompting him to take off his jacket. He walked to the hanger near the entrance and hung it on there before returning to his spot in front of the kitchen island. 

Jinki came back almost simultaneously, gaze fixed on his screen. 

"Hmm… I’m not sure we’ll find what we are looking for…" He lifted his head up. "Maybe we should-"

The pause was abrupt, weird even. But the brunette’s gaze gave it all away as it settled on the other’s chest before traveling further down. It wasn’t the first time Jonghyun was at the receiving end of the taller one’s hungry eyes, but it never failed to make him feel like a blushing schoolgirl. 

"Maybe we should what?" Jonghyun reminded with a thin voice as he tried to distract himself from his own desire. 

Jinki’s eyes shot back up to his face, confused. 

"Eh?"

The blonde cleared his throat.

"You were talking about the food…"

"Oooh, right," the older one said, face lighting up with realization before he looked at his phone again. "Um… so yeah, it seems like no restaurant near here makes that type of food, so it would take an eternity before it arrives here."

"Aaaw, that’s too bad," Jonghyun expressed with disappointment even though in truth, the matter left him highly indifferent. 

"So what do you want to do?" Jinki asked, a slight pout curling his lips. 

That on the other hand, didn’t leave him indifferent. 

"Hmm, how about pizza?" he proposed as he thought of the last time he had ordered in. 

"Yeah, pizza’s good," Jinki agreed. "I haven’t had that in ages actually," he realized upon further thought. 

"That’s perfect then," the younger one settled with a soft smile. "I’m bringing you back to basics."

"Definitely," the other chuckled. "You better not judge my choice of toppings though."

"As long as it’s not Hawaiian, you’re good."

Silence followed. 

"Oh come on, really?" Jonghyun exclaimed in disbelief. 

"What if it is?" 

The blonde crossed his arms resolutely.

"Well, I’ll judge you for sure."

"That’s it?" Jinki taunted, amused. 

"Well, yeah, that’s it," Jonghyun threw back, annoyed. "I’m not going to leave or something. That would be dumb."

The other’s amusement morphed into a full-blown laugh.

"Thank god you’re not that dramatic."

The blonde frowned.

"Is that sarcasm?"

"No, sweetheart. Of course not," Jinki kept on, giving him a sweet smile that made his words ring even more insincere.

"You know that I hate you, right?" Jonghyun threw right back at him.  

"I can live with that," the older one brushed off as he redirected his attention to his phone once more. "Plus, I hate Hawaiian pizza."

“Oh, thank the fucking lord," the blonde sighed out, relieved. 

Jinki shook his head at that. 

"You are truly something else."

"I just have good taste, that’s it," Jonghyun shrugged off. "So what are you ordering?"

"That Meat Lover’s one sounds good."

"And that’s when I remember whose cousin you are."

The older one laughed. 

"We gotta have some things in common."

"That’s really all I hope you two have in common," the blonde scoffed. 

"Are you really friends with Taemin?" the other taunted in reply. 

"Depends on my mood, really."

That was met with more laughter, but Jonghyun hadn’t really meant it as a joke. He did love his friends, but he also truly hated them sometimes. 

"So, what kind of pizza do you want?" Jinki asked. 

"All-dressed is fine."

"I thought you would’ve preferred Bare-Naked…"

Jonghyun frowned, confused, but caught up soon enough when he recognized the pleased smile the other was sporting.  

"Your jokes are just getting worse and worse," he voiced, scrunching up his nose in disapproval. 

"Oh, and I thought you said you had good taste," Jinki struck back before the same smile stretched even wider on his face. 

"Fuck you."

"Wow. Best comeback ever."

The reaction was immediate. Anger flared bright and hot inside the younger one as his jaw tightened and his hands balled up into fists. He was ready to go off the rails and rage, but before any words could come out of his mouth, the adult in him spoke up. 

Let it go. 

The voice was firm and resolute, decided to not let his weakness overcome him. 

If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t think twice and would freely let himself throw a tantrum, but he had enough conscience to not want to self-sabotage in this moment. 

"Whatever," he grumbled instead, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Ah, please don’t be mad at me," Jinki implored as he caught his surly demeanour. "I’ll make my bad jokes worth your while, I promise," he added with a smile that could redeem a million sins and that instantly made the other’s heart somersault. 

“You'd better," the latter grumbled between his teeth before the brunette went on to call the pizza place and put in their order. 

"They said it’ll be here in twenty minutes," Jinki informed as he hung up. 

"Good," Jonghyun answered absent-mindedly. 

His attention had already been caught by something else in the time their conversation had lapsed. 

"Is that a piano book?" he asked as he pointed to the living’s room center table. 

Jinki’s brows shot up with surprise before his eyes followed a few meters ahead. 

"Oh, I forgot to put that away," he realized with some embarrassment. 

"So you’re learning to play piano?" Jonghyun pursued with inquiring eyes that bore into the taller one’s profile. 

"Yeah…" Jinki revealed, the scrutiny making him uncomfortable.  

"Since when? How? Where?" Jonghyun went on eagerly, obviously unaware. 

"Um… Just started a few months ago…" Jinki cleared his throat. "I take a class every Sunday and practice with a keyboard at home whenever I have time."

The blonde’s brows formed a tight frown over his bewildered eyes.

"Why am I learning this just now?"

"Didn’t really think you’d be interested…"

The muttered answer didn’t go unheard. 

"Not interested?" the younger one exclaimed a little louder than intended. "You know I study in a Music program, right?" he tried to say in a calmer tone despite his growing frustration. 

"Yeah, I know…" Jinki sighed, making the blonde’s brow cock upward. 

"So what gives?"

"Nothing," the older one quickly answered. "I didn’t think it was anything important, it’s just a little hobby I picked up again."

"Again?" Jonghyun immediately caught. "So you played before?"

"Yeah…"

"You’re into music!" 

Exclamation points were flashing in the blonde’s eyes, that piece of information alone firing up all his synapses. 

"This is one of the first things I should’ve known about you!" he reproached despite himself. 

"Like I said, it’s not that important in my life that I felt it was worthy of mentioning," Jinki reiterated, a bite of annoyance marking his words. 

"Not important, but the book is on display in your living room?" the blonde challenged, unwilling to let it go. 

"I just forgot it there."

"Well I’m glad you did, because from what I’m understanding you had no intention of letting me know about this," Jonghyun threw back, feeling more and more cheated. 

"That’s got nothing to do with us," Jinki said, trying to keep his tone even. 

Any kind of restraint the other was trying to keep over himself flew out right there and then. 

"Are you serious right now? How is something we have in common not relevant?" he went off, voice not far from a shout. 

"Jjong," Jinki warned. "Drop it."

"Or what?" he scoffed. "It’s not like you’re going to kick me out or something."

Despite his best efforts to keep a neutral expression, that was the brunette’s final straw.  Hard eyes looked straight at the younger one. 

"Don’t think I can’t."

Jonghyun’s frown deepened, jaw clenching with tension.

"You gotta be kidding." 

That clearly wasn’t the best thing to say. 

"Not this time." 

The brunette’s tone was sharp, unarguable even.

If Jonghyun didn’t know any better he’d think it wasn’t the same man before him. This man he was looking at was almost scary. 

"Really?" 

His own tone faltered under the weight of the other’s gaze, sounding almost meek. This wasn’t at all how he wanted the night to end. 

There was a pause, a quiet exchange through their locked gazes. Despite it, Jonghyun couldn’t for the life of him guess what the other would say, but he was praying with all his might that he hadn’t screwed up this whole evening. 

Just as the guessing game was getting the best of his nerves, a sigh broke through the dense silence. 

"I don’t want to kick you out, Jonghyun,” was the first thing the brunette said as his whole demeanour softened.

Thank god. Jonghyun’s shoulders relaxed.

"You fucking scared me for a sec."

"Did I?" Jinki questioned, surprised. 

"Of course!" The blonde gave him an astounded look. "You look fucking scary when you’re mad!"

Jinki chuckled.

"Oh, well," His mouth stretched into a pleased smile. "I guess that’ll teach you."

The blonde’s lips parted, but no words came out. Who the fuck are you? 

"Look." Jinki stepped closer to him, his expression having regained some seriousness. "I’m sorry I reacted that way." 

Jonghyun jumped slightly as a warm hand cupped the side of his face. It wasn’t long before he was melting under the gentle caress.

"No, I’m the one who’s sorry."

"Sorry for?" the older one teased with a soft smile which made the blonde scrunch up his nose in annoyance. 

"Sorry for pushing it," he said, disgruntled. "But you can’t blame me for getting passionate about you playing an instrument," he quickly followed up, arms crossing one over the other. 

The other’s hand dropped down.

"You know that any kind of justification following an apology makes it sound fake, right?" 

The playful jab drew out a scowl on the smaller one’s face. 

"So be it, I’m not taking that back."

Before the brunette could retaliate, he plunged forward, planting a kiss on his slightly parted lips. A barely audible sigh met the gesture before their lips locked fully, bringing a heightened sense of warmth to reverberate through their bodies. 

Jonghyun was not going to play nice this time. His tongue spoke for him as it swiped across the taller one’s lips, asserting its will. Being shown no resistance, he let it slip in with ease, claiming the mouth he had become so addicted to. Desperation and pleasure coiled inside his stomach as the brunette fought back with more passion, pressing their bodies together with a firm pull around his lithe waist. 

The blonde whined against him before one of his hands shot up to the back of his neck while the other gripped on the front of his black shirt. A groan answered the gestures, vibrating low and sensual through the kiss. Clearly, he had struck the right chord, because a moment later, the hands around his waist moved further back. 

A gasp escaped him, his eyes shooting wide open as the brunette’s hands squeeze his ass hard. Their gazes locked as the other checked for a reaction, a self-satisfied smirk breaking their lips apart for a second before he dove back in for seconds. 

Jonghyun moaned again, holding on even tighter to the taller one’s shirt. He was clearly losing the power he had first asserted. But he didn’t mind it. He wanted Jinki to show himself impatient; to show him how much he wanted this, too. 

And impatient he was. Before Jonghyun could get accustomed to the feeling of having his ass cupped by resolute hands, he was suddenly submitted to the delicious pain of having a crotch fully pressing against his own. By the way Jinki was pushing against him, he knew this was no accident. He was finally showing his hunger and the blonde was beyond delighted. 

"Jjong…" Jinki breathed out, barely pulling back. His mind blanked as the other’s tongue poked out to lick at his bottom lip, pupils blown out wide. "I…"

The aborted statement emboldened the smaller one, the grip he had on his shirt finally letting up as he slowly slid his hand down his covered chest, not missing the shiver and the clench it provoked on its way down south.

He tugged on the taller one’s belt, eliciting in him a poignant sense of déjà-vu. Their eyes locked again, making Jonghyun’s heart race from the implications he could read in the dark depths facing him. 

Gaze unwavering, his hand went to work, sliding the belt’s tongue out of its metal buckle with a ringing sound that cut through the heavy atmosphere around them. 

Watching the taller one’s Adam’s apple respond with a slow bob up and down his throat, gave him the last push he needed not to hold back anymore. He dropped to his knees unceremoniously, not minding the dull pain of landing on a hard surface. 

There were more important matters at hand and Jonghyun was going to make sure to give his full attention to them. The first being to close the gap between his first fantasy and reality. His eyes focused on what was before him, the thought of what he was about to uncover being enough to make him lick his lips again. 

Maybe he should have been questioning the fact that he felt hungrier for dick than actual food, but that was going to have to wait for another time.  

Without hesitation, his index finger and thumb pinched at his zipper and unfastened it, letting the curve of a bulge peek out from behind another layer of fabric. Jonghyun was impatient for sure, but he also liked to tease a bit. His hands tugged at the edges of the other’s jeans, sliding them down until they collapsed to the floor on their own. 

Meanwhile, his mouth moved forward on its accord, going straight for what it wanted. A hissing sound and a grip on his hair graced his senses as he took a light bite at the clothed erection that was already swelling up before him. 

He gave another bite, this time harder, and the hiss turned into a curse. Jonghyun smiled, pleased at the power given to him after such a long time. But he wasn’t without being bothered himself, feeling his own pants tighten. Want was coursing through his body making it tense and heated and focused only on making it reach its apex.  

Conscious again of the hand buried in hair, he looked up to see the upstairs result of his ministrations. The sight made his heart skip a beat. The man hovering over him had an expression of troubled lust, brows kneading tightly as his mouth hung slightly open. 

He had seen that face before, but he didn’t want a repeat of previous times. Jonghyun knew what he wanted to see this time. Looking back in front of him, he started kissing at his clothed erection, mouth and tongue traveling along it with languid strokes. He only stopped when he felt a harder pull on his hair, the dull pain making him moan. 

"Jjong…" The brunette halted, voice shaken by a quiver. "Wait, please…the pizza…"

The blonde’s brow arched up in disbelief. 

"You’re fucking kidding me," he spat out. "I’m about to suck your dick and you’re thinking about pizza?!"

"It's not that," the brunette quickly defended. "But the delivery guy's com-"

His brain short-circuited as he was suddenly bared of his underwear, leaving him hard and exposed. He didn't dare look down, an acute sense of discomfort seeping through the excitement that was spreading throughout his body.

"You're fucking kidding me," the blonde repeated, sounding breathless.

A beat of silence followed before his mind spoke on its own.

"You're fucking huge," he said louder this time.

He was too focused on the monumental piece of hard dick before him to notice the blush that had spread across the other's face.

"Fuck..." he let out, mesmerized. "Your hotness just keeps on giving, huh?"

Before the brunette could offer any input, lips suddenly took him in, giving a tentative suck to the crown of his dick already salivating with pre-cum.

His hips bucked, instinctively pushing more of himself into the tight warmth offered to him. The gesture was welcomed with a moan that vibrated through him and made him weak in the knees.

A resumed grip on the other's hair steadied him enough to withstand the subsequent assault. As he felt the base of his dick being squeezed by a firm hold, the blonde pulled back only to leave wet strips on the underside of his cock with an obviously experienced tongue, making him whimper at the bottom of his throat.

"Jjong..." he breathed, lids fluttering over his eyes.

The blonde's answer was sucking at his balls, giving them each their moment of glory inside his mouth before he moved back to the main course.

This time, he didn't test the waters. No, this time, he instantly took the dive, plunging the erection he had been sizing up deeper into his mouth.

Any restraint the brunette had tried to keep over his voice collapsed as the sensation sent a loud moan flying out through his parted lips.

"Fuck..." he cursed out as he finally looked down, hand softening a bit in the other's fluffy hair.

The blonde was covering him almost completely, cheeks hollowed out to accommodate more of him inside. The sight almost made him cum, the familiar pang in his lower belly hitting him deep.

"Jjo-"

His throat tightened around a groan as the one he had meant to warn began moving up and down his length, bobbing his head in a slow but steady rhythm.

A satisfied hum graced the motion, breaking the suction sounds that were filling the room. It wasn't long before Jonghyun picked up the pace, finding a perverse kick in almost choking every time he deep throated the other.

His pants became unbearably tight, but he didn't tend to it. He could probably get off just by sucking him off.

"Shit..." 

The curse above came with a rougher tug on his scalp.

"Jjong, I'm-"

But words came a little too late. A forward thrust in brought him deep inside the other's mouth again, letting it all go with a grunt.

"Ugh."

Suddenly, warm and thick cum was shooting at the back of the blonde's throat, making him wheeze, but he stayed put, welcoming it with all the greed that had built up inside him throughout these past weeks.

And from the load he was drinking in, he could tell the build-up was reciprocal. Jinki was just giving him a taste of it right now, leaving him wanting more.

As the brunette slowly pulled back, releasing his spent dick from his mouth with a wet pop, Jonghyun's gaze shot back up to him like an expectant dog looking at its master.

Jinki met his gaze with a mix of fondness and embarrassment, simultaneously flattening his hand over his bright shock of hair to gently comb through it.

"Sorry..." he quietly said.

Jonghyun almost swooned under his touch, but the apology instantly pulled out a reaction from him.

"What are you even apologizing for?" he retorted, annoyed.

The brunette looked away, averting further scrutiny. 

"I don't know, just..."

They were pulled out of their bubble by the sudden buzzing sound at the door, reminding them of the world that existed outside of them.

"Oh shit, the pizza," Jinki shouted out in panic.

Quickly rushing to get fully clothed again, he then ran to answer through the intercom at the door, leaving an even more annoyed Jonghyun to frown at the interruption.

"Tell me we are not really going to stop to eat pizza now," he verified as Jinki walked back up to him.

Confusion spread across the taller one's features.

"Well I already buzzed him in..."

Jonghyun rolled his eyes.

"I know," he huffed. "But that doesn't mean we need to eat it now."

"But then it'll get cold..."

"Are you fucking serious?"

An apologetic smile crept up the other's face, frustrating him even more.

"I'm afraid I am," he said, before holding out his hand for the other to take.

Jonghyun was tempted to ignore it, but finally grabbed it and let himself be helped up to his feet.

As soon as they were at eye level again, Jinki kissed him, soft and easy, tasting himself off his pliant mouth.

Pulling back just an inch, he said, " We've got all night to ourselves."

Jonghyun shivered, the words settling his impatience just a bit.

"Also," Jinki added. "If I don't eat before, my old bones won't be able to keep up with your youthful vigor."

His words were met with a distinct eye roll that made an honest laugh rumble out of his chest.

The doorbell ringing broke them apart and Jonghyun used that opportunity to take a trip to the bathroom. He ventured into the hallway in search of it, but before he could get there, he couldn't help but peak into a gaping door, the outline of a bed catching his attention.

He pushed it further open as his nose took note of the whiff of savory flavor coming a few meters away.

Even if he couldn't have been sure of whose room it was, what he found on the bed gave him the answer. From head to foot, the whole mattress was covered in white peonies. His eyes widened and mouth fell wide open as his heart thumped loudly inside his chest.

He was so stunned that he failed to hear the footsteps that were getting closer. It was only when a hand settled on his shoulder that he got abruptly pulled out of his trance, jumping in surprise.

Darker eyes met lighter ones as the blonde turned back slightly.

"I decidedly can't do anything right tonight," Jinki uttered, somewhat dejected. "I should've known to keep my door shut."

Jonghyun was immediately punched in the gut with guilt. 

"No, no, it's my fault," he immediately countered." I shouldn't have been snooping around, I just wanted to go to the bathroom..."

"It’s alright, really," Jinki halted before looking back at the bed. "So, what do you think?"

Jonghyun followed his line of sight, once again taking in the angelic sight the petals formed on the bed. He had seen such gestures being made in movies and had always thought they were over the top and cheesy, but to actually have someone do that for him...

And they weren't anything generic like roses, they were actually his favorite flowers.

"I... It's... It's..." He swallowed, feeling his throat tighten. "It's perfect."

The words fell out of his mouth with an unfamiliar quiver, prompting him to clear it out with a cough.

"I'm glad you think so," Jinki welcomed with a huge grin. "I remembered you mentioning these were your favorites when we were walking through the national park."

Jonghyun blinked at him, surprised.

"Wasn't that like weeks ago??"

The brunette laughed.

"I know I'm old, but I have a good memory."

The younger one's mind blanked again at that, dumbfounded by the gesture.

"Are you okay?" Jinki couldn't help but ask with a chuckle after a whole minute of silence stretched between them.

"Yeah..." Jonghyun breathed out. "It's just..."

He inhaled deeply before looking straight into his eyes again. 

"Why would you do something like that for me?"

Taken aback, the taller one answered on the spot.

"Why wouldn't I?"

When he saw the unchanged expression of confusion and astonishment on the blonde's face, he went on. 

"I thought I had made it clear that I really like you."

Jonghyun's eyes darted away, embarrassed.

"But..."

"No but," Jinki interjected. "I know that's not what you're used to, but I want you to know how much you mean to me."

The confession made his heart somersault. He felt an overwhelming warmth spread through him and suddenly, it all felt too much.

"Jinki..." he started faintly. "I don't deserve this."

As he watched a deep frown crease the other's thick brows, he went on.

"You've been so sweet and attentive, and I've just been..."

An asshole.

A liar.

"I've just been..." 

He wanted to say the words, but they felt stuck.

"You've been just perfect," Jinki filled in, giving him a loving look that only made him feel worse. "I don't know where this is coming from, but-"

"I've been lying to you," he blurted out as a window of imminence opened wide before him.

The other's gaze widened before narrowing under another frown. "What..."

Jonghyun's heart flipped, stomach coiling with anxiety.

"There is something I need to tell you.”

[fleckcmscott]

The Knot

Summary: Arthur and Y/N finally have the wedding they discussed on their sprint to City Hall.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 4,238

A/N: This was requested by @sweet-nothings04​. It is the fluffiest thing I have ever written. Special thanks to @ithinkimawriter​ for the support and beta-reading!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The nightly routine Y/N had developed over the years was a simple one. Her barely-there foundation, neutral eye shadow, eyeliner, and light mascara would be washed away with soap and water. After changing into a nightgown, she'd brush her teeth and hair. Moisturizing cream would be dabbed on her forehead, cheeks, and chin. (A couple of thin lines had formed at the corners of her mouth, and she hoped to prevent more.) She'd crawl into bed beside Arthur, they'd talk and cuddle, then she'd kiss him good night and wait for sleep to take her. It was a relaxing end to the day that didn't require a lot of effort.

But this evening was not routine. What Patricia seemed to have planned for it put Y/N's habits to shame. Peeking into the mint green satchel she'd brought caused a grimace. It was possible the clay and honey cosmetic masks wouldn't be too bad. The toe separators and nail polish and pumice stones didn't interest her. And the floral, spray-in hair perfume was pungent. God. All this fuss prompted Y/N to pour the both of them the rest of the wine.

"This is too much for me." Y/N frowned in the bathroom mirror and examined the mud on her face. "How long do I need to keep this on?" she asked, the alcohol making her grumble.

"Ten minutes." Patricia set a timer and placed it on the sink. "And don't whine. This stuff is why no one knows I'm over fifty."

"And here I assumed it was your vibrant personality." After taking a sip from her glass, Y/N turned to the tub. There were about five inches of hot water in it, topped with pink foam that smelled like artificial roses. It reminded her of the dusty, scented candles her grandmother had kept in the bathroom, but never lit. Patricia sat on the edge, dipped her feet in and waved for Y/N to join her.

Patricia started scrubbing the ball of her foot. "Are you excited?"

Y/N made a thoughtful noise. When she and Arthur had gotten married at city hall a year ago, she hadn't needed a wedding - she'd needed to be married to him. He'd wished for one, though, and she'd promised him that. "The wedding I had before was stressful. I could go without it." A gentle smile came across her cheeks. "But I am for him." She sighed contently as she submerged her feet. "When we were filling out the invitations a month ago, he was so happy. He pasted one in his journal - he showed me the page - and put exclamation points all around it."

That wasn't all he'd done. Arthur had convinced her to practice a slow dance to one of his mood music records. It hadn't taken much effort for him to talk her into it. ("I've imagined this a lot," he'd told her.) She figured she'd gotten pretty good, having learned to let him lead her instead of trying to anticipate his steps. His generous encouragements and the pleasure in his eyes had helped.

Snorting, Patricia grabbed a nearby smoother and began working on her heel. "How did a hard-ass like you end up with a sweet man like him?"

"He thinks I'm sweet." Y/N shook her head, splashing around with her toes. "Don't tell him he's been had."

At the buzzing of the timer, Y/N sprung up and went to the sink. Getting the mask off was as annoying as she'd suspected. The packaging said to use a cloth, lukewarm water, and circular motions. But the clay was stubborn and didn't want to leave her face. Patricia apparently found it hilarious, laughing all the harder when Y/N looked at her with indignation. Three washrags and an empty glass of wine later, her skin was clear. Irritated, but clear.

Patricia gestured over her shoulder as she dried off. "There's a present for you in my bag. You said no gifts, but it's nothing. And I didn't want to give it to you in front of Robert and Matt tomorrow."

Intrigued, Y/N retrieved the bag from the floor and sat next to her on the tub's edge. Matt, Y/N's former boss, she could understand. But what would Patricia give her that she didn't want her own husband to see? It only took a little digging to find the box, slightly bigger than her hand, with a red ribbon around it. "You shouldn't have." She opened it and pulled out what was inside. Her best friend had given her a black, satin thong with side ties. She stared at it a moment, then burst out laughing. "It's so tiny," she exclaimed, the triangle front barely large enough to cover her palm. "I don't have the ass for this!"

Winking, Patricia nudged her upper arm. "It won't stay on long enough for Arthur to notice."

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Arthur was at a pub with a friend for the first time in his life. He'd been to comedy clubs plenty of times, and Y/N had introduced him to numerous restaurants. But his general lack of interest in drinking and absence of companionship had never made bars a desirable destination. It had been Gary's idea, though. And with his company, Arthur was part of the crowd instead of apart from it.

They were seated at a small booth near the kitchen, away from everyone. Their conversation was sparse. Despite his overall increase in comfort, Arthur still had a hard time with social situations. Granted, Y/N had told him he was steadily getting better at them. And now, with the effect of the Fuzzy Navel in his hand, he was doing all right. There had been no forced laughter (which only happened a few times a month), no bouncing of his legs, and no nail biting. He was proud of himself for that, especially given the hint of nervousness he felt.

Tomorrow was their big day. The wedding was going to be at their apartment. There would only be four guests: he'd made it clear Penny wasn't welcome, and the elderly woman Y/N had invited, Ms. McPhee, had declined with an apology and cookies, saying she was too ill to go anywhere. Dinner would be potluck style. Finally, he'd fucking have what he'd dreamed about for years. Although it was implied every time he touched Y/N, he'd get to vow, publicly, to stay with her forever. To take care of her, no matter their circumstances. To love her ceaselessly. And, he reflected, she'd promise to belong to him, too. He grinned around his cigarette as he smoked, looking into his drink, joy rushing through him at the thought.

Gary took a swig of his porter. "Are you looking forward to tomorrow?"

"Yes." Arthur answered without hesitation. "But I don't know why Y/N wanted me to spend the night out. We're already married."

"You can't sleep with the bride before the wedding. It's tradition."

Tradition. His chest tightened at that. Tradition hadn't meant anything most of this life, anything besides futile yearning. He couldn't remember if he'd been read to as a kid. Lost teeth probably ended up in the garbage. Holidays had always been too expensive to take part in, and with Penny's apathy and all the hours he'd worked, he hadn't had the energy to try. He was glad to be making up the deficit with Y/N. Still. This was an odd custom, and not really applicable to them. "But I've been sleeping with her for two years." Almost as soon as he spoke, he realized his double entendre. He brought a hand to his forehead. "Shit. Sorry, Gary."

A sly smile crossed Gary's face, but he didn't seem upset. Which made sense - filthy jokes and dirty tales often flew around the locker room at HaHa's. The shorter man reached into the breast pocket of his striped shirt, then held out a small package. "Here. I got this for you."

Curious, Arthur examined the cellophane enclosed carton. The teal box of NoDoz said it would keep him awake, was fast acting, and safe as coffee. And there was a sentence, written in a cursive font on the bottom edge: "Number 1 with Newlyweds!" Oh. Oh. He knew what they were for. Once in a while he'd come across The Honeymoon Game when flipping through channels. The tablets were often mentioned, along with comments about "being busy all night long." The burning in his cheeks only amplified his giggles as he tucked them in his pocket. "Thanks. For letting me stay over, too."

"You're welcome. It's just the sofa." Gary gave a shrug. "What time did you want to get back home?"

Arthur recalled the list of errands Y/N had helped him make. He had to stop at the flower stand near their place and get a white carnation for himself and a bunch for her. Garlic bread needed to be ordered at Marchetti's, to go with the lasagna Y/N was attempting. He wanted to give himself a good half hour to change, fix his hair, and practice saying what he'd written.

Gary agreed getting back to the apartment in the early afternoon would be fine. Arthur wasn't expecting his follow-up question. "How'd you know she was the one for you?"

Trying to hide the embarrassment behind his answer, he sipped his cocktail. "Gary, no other woman ever wanted to be with me."

"I'm sure that's not true," Gary replied. Arthur didn't move to correct him. Maybe he'd successfully hidden his prior failures from his former co-workers by simply not joining in when they all talked about women.

It took time to come up with a response. When he gave it, the words were quiet, his tone almost reverent. "She never acted like there was something wrong with me." The corner of his mouth quirked up as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. "No one else ever did that. Not even my mother." Realizing he may have insulted Gary, he backtracked quickly. "You- You were always nice."

Gary visibly brightened and waved at a waiter to order them both another round. Arthur sat back against the torn cushion of the booth, already slightly dizzy from the first one. It was going to a long, hopefully good, night.

~~~~~

The preparation for the 4:00 PM ceremony did not go as smoothly as planned. The dish Patricia brought, which she had wanted to keep a surprise, was macaroni and cheese. Y/N ran out and bought three salads from the deli so there'd be an option besides pasta. She'd made a small tear in the hem of her light blue wedding dress, one she'd picked up at a consignment shop, when she'd gotten caught on a doorway. And Arthur insisted on not seeing her in her dress beforehand, so she spent most of the time cooped up in the bathroom. She could hear Arthur's hushed tones as he paced the living room and spoke to Gary ("I'm gonna fuck up. What if I start laughing?"), and Gary trying to reassure him ("Arthur, just read it.").

But those snags were nothing compared to the issues at her first wedding. The flowers had never arrived. The cake topper had fallen, splitting the groom's head in half and breaking off the bride's arm. And, about halfway through it, she'd realized she was making a mistake. Presently, standing in front of the mirror while she fiddled with her high, split neckline and waited for Patricia to get her, she knew she hadn't erred. Doubt never entered her mind when it came to Arthur - only love, happiness, and gratitude.

When the door opened, Y/N ran her palm along the embroidered lace of the dress's bodice, smoothed the chiffon of the full-length, A-Line skirt, pulled at the wrists of the long, translucent sleeves, and took a deep breath. Her heart quickened when the faint notes of Arthur's favorite, sentimental Jackie Gleason Orchestra LP reached her ears. She stepped out. All the furniture had been pushed up against the walls, leaving space in the middle of the room. Their four friends stood there expectantly. Then she looked at Arthur, and the excitement she'd told Patricia she felt for him suddenly became her own.

He'd slicked back his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to be formal, curls loose around his ears. The white button-up he was wearing was a tad large around the shoulders. But the likely second-hand black vest and trousers he wore fit perfectly. The carnation in the waistcoat's breast pocket was a nice addition. He was wearing his red and yellow tie, still the only one he owned, in spite of it being part of his Carnival outfit.  As she approached him steadily, she studied his face. The affection in his soft expression caused her breath to hitch, as did the drawing together of his dark brow as he admired her. She giggled, hoping he liked the nontraditional dress.

There was no need for the question, however. As soon as their hands met, he clutched hers and smiled. The autumn sun, which was already halfway down the sky, brought out the deep chestnut undertones of his brown waves. And the clear green of his irises glistened beautifully in the bright light. If it would have been acceptable, she would have kissed him on the spot. Instead, she settled for mouthing, "You're gorgeous." The blush that resulted, the way he lowered his head as he grinned happily, and his silent, "You, too," made her stomach flutter.

Listening to what the yellow-pages officiant said was nigh impossible. And from the expression on Arthur's face, he couldn't concentrate, either. But they managed to get through the basic vows, those same, time-honored words spoken at nearly every wedding she'd attended. (Except for "worshiping" and "obeying" - she'd insisted those parts be removed, explaining they were equals.) They'd each come up with their own short pieces, too, and at his insistence, she went first. "I didn't come to Gotham to find love. I just wanted to leave everything behind. Then I met you. You made getting remarried the easier decision I've ever made."

What Arthur said in return, reading softly but clearly from a worn piece of paper, had her beat. "People think I'm weird. But you don't." His Adam's apple bobbed and a slight tremor entered his voice. "You're my one and only person that can understand me." His rasp turned into a hiccup at the end, and he sniffled and scoffed while he tucked his notes away. The clench of her throat was immediate, and she threw her arms around him, not waiting for the words "you may kiss the bride" before joining their lips.

~~~~~~

​​​A wedding day was supposed to be special. Out of the ordinary. Exceptional. Anything but regular. But Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had felt normal for as many hours in a row as he did today. The flash of a pocket-camera when he'd cupped Y/N's face and kissed her after she'd lunged at him. Their short dance, with the shallow dip they'd practiced and her stepping on his foot only once or twice. The gentle "I love you" he'd murmured against her lips. The acceptance of her friends when they congratulated them both. All of these extraordinary moments coalesced into a warm, tender, soothing ache that, in spite of his doubts, confirmed he was a real person, worthy and capable of love.

The glass door opened behind him, and, expecting Y/N to drag him back inside, he flicked his cigarette away. But upon turning he saw Patricia, drink in her hand. They'd spoken briefly a few times since initially meeting a couple years ago. Arthur didn't yet have a clear impression of her. Y/N and she were close, he knew, and they often met for lunch. And Patricia had helped her try to stop the Wayne Foundation case from going forward. Observing the older woman, he noted the gray scattered throughout her hair, the lines on her face that were less prominent than his own, the minimal rouge on her cheeks. She reminded him of Penny before her health had declined. Before everything had changed.

"Could I have a cigarette?" she asked, indicating the pack he was holding.

He blinked at her. "Sure."

She stepped to him as he retrieved one for her. After she plucked it from him and placed it between her lips, she took his lighter. "Y/N doesn't know. Keep it that way. You may not have picked up on it yet, but she can be bossy."

Chuckling, he cocked his head. Y/N had warned him about her bossiness early on, but it wasn't as bad as she'd claimed. Sure, she was assertive about certain things. But smoking was the only thing she was overly pushy about. The reason for her nagging prevented it from being more than a minor annoyance, though: she wanted them to spend a hundred years together, she'd said, instead of him dying prematurely of lung cancer. Blunt to a fault, as usual, with an inkling of sweetness underneath.

"Y/N was crazy about you from the start," Patricia said, pulling him out of his musings.

A glow blossomed in his chest and he dropped his gaze bashfully. "She talked about me?"

She smirked up at him, as if she was about to reveal a secret. "She gave me a note with hearts and exclamation points on it after you slept together."

Eyes widening, he turned back towards the street and focused on a manhole cover. It shouldn't have surprised him - he'd spoken with Gary about Y/N - but it did. And meant the world to him. But he was beginning to wonder what else she'd disclosed. Christ, was Patricia aware he'd been inexperienced? Had Y/N said he'd done a good job? Had she...Could she have talked about his body, the way the men at HaHa's described the women they were seeing? Those notions were laughable, he tried to tell himself, and attempted to push through them amid his growing discomfort.

Patricia gave his forearm a maternal pat, allaying his unease. "It was because you were gentle with her." He watched her angle her body towards the window and peer inside, and he followed her gaze. Y/N was pointing at a spot in the living room for the folding table they'd rented, along with six chairs. "She's gritty - she's been through a lot. I'm glad she has you to let go with."

Nodding slowly, Arthur understood. He was a good partner, a good husband to Y/N. And it wasn't only the woman he loved more than his own life saying it - it was her closest friend, her confidante. Intermittently, his conditions made it difficult, particularly on those days when he needed repeated validation, or the fury he carried deep within him threatened to bubble up. (Though it had gotten better with treatment, the stability his life now had, and Y/N's support.) Patricia recognized that he was trying and believed he was doing well. Accomplishment wasn't a sensation he often experienced, but the foreign sensation creeping into him must have been it. "Thanks," he said, clearing his throat. "I love her a lot, too."

They went inside and put up the chairs and set the table. There wasn't a table cloth, but Y/N had taken out their "good plates," with gold filigree on the rims. One of their cotton napkins went missing, so Y/N put a paper towel under her cutlery. After he lit the two cream taper candles he'd found in a drawer, everything looked perfect.

The food and drink were something else. The only macaroni and cheese Arthur had ever had come out of a box. Patricia's tasted savory rather than salty, but he wasn't sure if he liked the tomatoes it had in it. Although the pasta was too soft, Y/N's lasagna was good, if a bit heavy on the sauce. The garlic bread helped with that. The salad was mostly ignored; he only ate the small serving she stuck on his plate. The scotch Gary brought was passed between himself, Matt, and Robert. Arthur did try a sip, but it was exceedingly strong and stole his breath. He decided to stick with wine.

As the evening went on, Arthur grew pleasantly warm and drowsy. Y/N and Patricia had taken over most of the banter, guffawing and being mildly foolish. Matt had brought a chocolate sheet cake for twenty-four instead of six, and Y/N had to hold her stomach to quiet her tipsy laughter when it was sliced. Arthur's hand crept to her thigh and squeezed lovingly, his eyes locked on her with adoration. The depth of his feelings, his keen awareness of her, her presence at his side, was drowning out the rest of the room. It didn't take long for her to turn to him and mouth, "Let's say good night."

Y/N sent everyone home with leftovers and a hug, and forced Matt to take most of the cake with him. Gary gave Arthur a wink and a nod as he left, and Arthur snorted as he shook his head and shut the door. Propping himself against it, he sighed, trying to clear the fuzziness from his head. She came up behind him and kissed his shoulder. "Patricia's going to have the photos developed in triplicate and give us the negatives."

He twisted to face her and put his arm around her shoulders, slightly dizzy. "Does that mean we'll get copies?"

Giggling, she pressed into him and nuzzled his cheek. "Yes. We'll get three copies." She looked up at him as she leaned back. The ardor in her gaze made his pulse skip a beat. Then she lead him to the bedroom without preamble, blowing out the candles on the way.

He'd read and seen enough to recognize what was expected of him. This was their wedding night. It was when the music would swell and the screen dissolved to black in the old movies he would watch. He was supposed to take charge and make love to her. And he wanted to. Truly. But he'd eaten more than he usually did in two days. That combined with only having slept a couple of hours the previous night, anticipation having kept him awake on Gary's couch, lead to the tiredness he now felt.

Her hands were everywhere, though, roaming his back as their mouths melded together. Arthur slid his tongue between her lips, and he could taste the wine they'd toasted with and spent the rest of the night drinking. Breathing raggedly, he swallowed her moan and held the nape of her neck. When she presented her back to him, he paused before caressing the lace on the back panels of her dress. He took the dainty zipper between his thumb and forefinger and slowly pulled it down. The intimacy of what was happening, of Arthur Fleck unfastening the dress of his bride, made him shudder. Once the bodice was completely undone, he pushed his forehead to her and kissed the soft skin at the top of her back.

The dress fell slowly, catching on her breasts and hips as she brought it down. When she turned to him, his brows lifted. She was wearing the smallest pair of black panties he had ever seen. They barely covered her sex. He huffed. "Where did these come from?"

A grin broke out across her cheeks. "Patricia was convinced you'd love them."

Smirking, he gave a little nod. "I do." They were tied at her waist. If he just pulled the string, she'd be revealed to him. "You're so pretty." His fingers teased a bow, trying to will himself to perform. But he wasn't feeling it. "Um." He chuckled sadly, knowing he was about to disappoint her. "I ate too much. And I think I'm drunk. I'm sorry." He winced and looked away from her.

Y/N stared at him, then laughed throatily and squeezed him close. "Oh, thank god. Me, too. It's been a busy day."

His grasp on her tightened. "But a good one?"

"A wonderful one." She pecked his mouth and moved towards the bed, not bothering to take off her bra before slipping beneath the blankets. "You can untie me in the morning."

As Arthur undressed, he folded each piece of clothing and placed it on top of the vanity. He'd take care of it whenever they got up. By the time he sat on the bed in his briefs to take off his socks, Y/N's breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm. Sleep always seemed to come easily to her. Carefully, he got in beside her and stroked her hair back. Not wanting to wake her but needing to touch her, he kissed her brow bone faintly, gliding his fingers along her cheek. Then he ran his hand down her side and teased the string on her hip, loosening the knot until he could whisper his fingertips over her without obstruction. She mumbled quietly but didn't stir.

Smiling, he breathed against her temple. "I hadn't been happy one minute of my entire fucking life before you." He sniffled and swiped at his nose, sighing contentedly. "Sometimes I am now. Like today." He rested his head next to hers on the pillow, his arm going around her waist to tuck her back against him. "Thanks, Y/N Fleck."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @ithinkimaperson​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​

[ashestoashesjc]

Bad Witches (0.3)

Some towns sleep more than they’d care to admit. They claim to be the town that never does, but they sleep. They bustle until the wee hours when even the traffic lights must catch shut eye. (This is the leading cause of late night car accidents, in fact). But not in Riverwake. No matter the hour, Riverwake is alive and in motion. At the peak of dawn, the rumble of mechanized street cleaners is something of an alarm: A new day is here. The only challenge is survival. The road is now adequately shiny.

On a day this beautiful, a person would be mad to waste even a second of it inside. This is why when the coven meets at their favorite restaurant, Giorgio's, for cocktails and gossip, they ask for outdoor seating, beneath a veil of dark gray umbrellas.

After the waiter brings around the first tray of flutes, Bev flags him down and whispers in his ear. When he returns, he has a pitcher filled to the brim with a hazy, dim yellow. He places it at the center of the table and walks off to attend to other diners.

Shrugging, Bev says, "Save him some trips."

During a third round of mimosas, Kate off-handedly mentions her father-in-law and his rocky relationship with his son, but that he thinks gifting Dan membership to their familial country club is effective enough as tension relief. Dan's typically too busy to take advantage of it, she says.

"But you still want to," says Bev, drinking from her orange-tinted glass.

"I didn't say that," says Kate.

"You didn't have to," Bev says, swatting at the air, "Does anyone else hear that buzzing? What is that? Do you think a WASP snuck in?" The other witches attempt to stifle their giggles.

Turning bright red, Kate leans back into her seat, clutching at her glass and bringing it closer to her face so as to slightly cloud the next words she mutters, "I can invite guests, by the by."

The witches' ears perk up.

"You know, I don't think I've ever been to a country club," Matt says, "The wealthy have historically neglected basic hand-washing techniques. Seems like a petri dish, but in a higher tax bracket.”

"I'm from the country. And I've been to a club. Does that count?" Haley asks, still nursing her first mimosa.

"What should we wear?" Bev asks.

Kate sets her glass down to refill it from the orange pitcher, "Dress for spring."

So, they do. The next morning, they are all casual shorts and solid-colored polos and white visors. Only, it's a month away from the dead of winter and it's the middle of Massachusetts. Bev, Matt, and Haley stand outside of the given address and, with their miserable shaking, resemble a group of very posh street urchins.

Kate arrives in a cozy-looking fur-lined parka and upon seeing the other witches' bewildered expressions, snuggles affectionately into the mink hood, "Teach you to mock me."

The other witches follow Kate into the almost intimidatingly large, red-bricked building. What are presumably wings stretch nearly a kilometer in each direction.

"One of you couldn't have ch-checked the weather before leaving the house?" Bev admonishes, one shiver away from legally qualifying as an icicle.

"T-throwing a lot of stones in that g-glass igloo, aren't you?" Haley asks.

The combination of central circulated heating and at least two fireplaces (one in the den closest to the club's entrance; one in the more formal of the two dining areas) nearly melts the witches as they linger with Kate at the front desk.

"Okay, we're approved," Kate says, shaking hands with the attendant behind the desk, "Just don't touch anything."

"Damn. There goes my Grand Theft Itinerary," says Bev.

Looking at her sternly, Kate says, "Don't even joke about that. They will absolutely kick us out."

The witches huddle at the end of the entrance hall, dissecting the list of offered activities. Bev is interested in exactly none of them, but does wish to examine their stock of spirits. Matt begins spraying himself with hand sanitizer the moment he notices how many of the items have a "Group Activity" label.

A woman in a calf-length Houndstooth coat walks past the group but stops to gaze at Kate's jacket, fawning over its charm and subtle glamour. She asks if Kate also bought her coat from Nordstrom. She then asks if Kate plans to play in a tennis match later.

Kate happily confirms that, yes, she will be playing. They chat for a little longer and Kate is still smiling when the woman bids her farewell and walks further into the club's interior.

"How are you going to play?" Matt asks, pointing to the tennis poster pinned to the cork bulletin board at the lobby entrance, "It's Doubles and three of us will likely solidify if we venture outside."

"Oh, we're still playing tennis. Do you know how much I had to bribe the babysitter to come on such short notice?" asks Kate, "They have a heated indoor court," she says, taking off her coat to reveal a sensible, pale beige skirt and thin, rust red pullover.

"Oh, they're fancy fancy," says Haley.

Kate finds the sports center in the left wing, guided by the rambunctious sound of middle aged aerobics. It is a vast gymnasium filled with varied exercise equipment and a bounty of helpful regimens: elliptical trainers, stair masters, Homeless Person Avoidance Training, medicine balls, etc. There's even a rock climbing wall mounted in the back. There are no cables attached to it for fear that people may actually wish to use it, but it has its scenic benefits. She then sees the tennis court, a green square girded with a chain link fence. She spies the sign-up sheet on a plastic folding table at the entrance and begins scrawling her name.

As she flourishes the Barston-ending 'n' and admires her penmanship, an unexpected voice takes her by surprise.

"You're in the way," says the voice and Kate notices that it belongs to the robust, older gentleman looming behind her. He is accompanied by a smaller, leaner fellow and together they look like a before and after advert for malnutrition.

Kate nearly leaps out of the man's direction when she notices her folly. "Sorry! I wasn't paying attention."

"Never seen you here before," says the shorter, wheat blond man.

"Yes, I'm a new--" begins Kate, holding out her hand in anticipation of a handshake.

"Who's your husband?" interrupts the other man, a gray halo of hair situated on the perimeter of his scalp.

"I'm not sure how--" starts Kate, slowly lowering her hand.

"That's how you got in, right?" he asks as he bends down to add his own name to the roster, "Bring the 'Girls' for a 'Fun Weekend' at the country club and then fuck off to whichever Wellness Spa you crawled out of?"

"That's--" Kate tries to interject.

"We promise not to beat you too badly later, okay?" the blond interrupts as he saunters off, followed shortly by his friend.

She is left standing alone at the front of the sports center, not entirely sure she has correctly interpreted the preceding events. In her mind, she loops through their meeting again and again, wondering what she did wrong. When she does realize that she, in fact, ‘Just Got Dunked On’, grim is not the right word to describe the aura she emanates. It's pretty close, though.

Kate staggers into the common area and, seeing the rest of her coven lying haphazardly across an island of recliners, plops into one of the vacant chairs. Her entire demeanor is a haggard sigh.

Trading concerned looks, the witches aren't sure who should handle this. They play "Rock, Paper, Sigils" while Kate slumps further into the padded leather. The agreed upon worst candidate for helping someone through distress is also apparently really bad at games of chance because when she loses, Bev swears under her breath.

Bev very tepidly strokes Kate's back and whispers, "Now, now. Emotions are..." she gulps, "Perfectly normal. I have them all the time." She retches.

Taking Kate's hand, Matt asks, "What happened?"

A full body sigh later and Kate appears to have summoned the drive to retell the tale. By the time she's through, the witches bear the expressions of those personally wronged. How dare anyone make fun of Kate? And not even behind her back like a decent person. WASPS have feelings, too.

"You should've led with that," says Bev, cracking her knuckles, "I'll kill them."

Matt nods, "I don't know about getting someone else's blood on me, but yes, murder seems in order."

Haley can't believe what she just heard. She really can't. She stopped listening halfway through to stare at someone she thought might be her Little League coach. But why would they be here, ten states away in this country club common area? It just doesn't make sen-- Oh, no, that's someone else, nevermind. Oh, god, now everyone's looking at her. Make something up, make something up.

"Like a flock of crows in V-formation," says Haley. Nailed it.

"You guys... you have no idea how much this means to me," says Kate, a welling in her eyes, "I know with you by my side, Bev, we can--"

"Oh, yeah, no, I don't want to play," Bev corrects.

Clearly disappointed, Kate's face sobers a little, but she looks to Matt with hope.

"Sorry, me either. I didn't mean to mislead you," says Matt, sincerely apologetic.

Kate feels as though the dinghy she just acquired footing in has capsized beneath her.

Haley smiles.

Kate looks to her nervously, but the smile only widens. "Have... you ever actually played tennis?" Kate asks.

"Sure, I played a little at home," Haley says. Kate sighs.

"Of course, we had wooden rackets and the strings were made from goat guts, but how different could it be?" Haley asks. Kate sighs again and internally resigns to her fate, but still intends on having a very fun, very non-competitive time.

On the court, shortly before their starting match, Haley tests the weight of the carbon fiber racket. She tosses it from hand to hand and gives a few practice swats. Once, she sends the racket flying, leaving her to run to the middle of the court and retrieve it.

Their first few matches - one with a couple from Denver and the other with the woman they encountered in the lobby and her "chiropractor" who is definitely only half her age because it helps to be young and limber in his profession. Definitely - are nothing to write home about. Haley's home, in particular, is where you should not be writing to. Because they would not be very impressed with her performance. But after getting used to how light this inferior plastic racket is, the aerodynamics of its slender frame, the whistle of its whip through the air, she feels a touch more comfortable.

This comfort is promptly squished like a windshield mosquito when their next opponents enter the fence. Kate's heart falls when she recognizes the sheen of one man's head and the smarm on the other's lips, but her face is unflinching steel.

"Didn't think you'd still be here," the blond says, his eyes a sneer.

The walking comb over assumes his place across the court and, beginning to stretch, says, "They wanted to lose to real men. I don't blame 'em."

Haley exhales. The match begins.

For the first set, the court is a frenzy of movement. Rhythmic thwacking echoes across the gymnasium. The squeaking of sneakers, the breathy grunts upon each impact, the flicked beads of sweat as they dart to strike the racket. All four are giving it their all.

But Kate and Haley are just too accurate. Too fast. Too relentless in their fury.

Nearing the end of their third set, Kate and Haley have dominated the game, easily leading over their opponents' hefty score of one. What was only meant to be a playful diversion sees the girls one favoring play away from taking the whole kit 'n' caboodle. Reigning victorious. But, like, in a fun, non-competitive way.

This is what it all comes down to.

"They would be good at this," huffs the gray-haired man to his partner, "Chicks and tennis." He serves the ball, and Haley, in her distraction, swings and misses. A green blur zips by her head.

The gray-haired man chuckles, "I think that's our point."

"One of them even looks like Serena," his blond partner wheezes hoarsely. They burst into ill-concealed snickers.

"One more round?" Kate asks, bouncing a tennis ball.

"One more round," Haley concurs.

They trade the tennis ball back and forth with their opponents, the net flapping with every pass. For a few tosses, they are very light swings, measured and contained. But in one of her connections with the ball, Kate applies a considerable amount more force to the racket. The tennis ball responds with equal vigor, shooting from her racket's wired face and careening toward the other side of the court.

But it never hits either of the men's rackets. Or makes contact with the ground. It simply floats and whirls at a standstill just past the net.

No one moves a muscle.

The silent stillness of the moment is broken when the blond man appears to muster the confidence to approach the green rotation. He seems to have descended from glaciers with the time it takes him to close the gap. Mere inches away, he stares up at the tennis ball in the exact way that you're not supposed to stare at the sun.

He lifts his hand and reaches slowly upward with an extended finger.

The ball, still in a rapid spin, yet frozen in mid-air, comes undone and pelts the blond directly between the eyes. He goes to the ground and rolls onto his back, his scream slightly muffled by the hands now covering his face.

Exclaiming his name, the gray-haired man runs over to kneel and assist his partner.

Focused on tending to his friend, he is blissfully unaware when, under Haley's intense stare, his shoestrings loosen and then intertwine, lacing together.

"I think that's our point," says Haley.

The man clambers to a stand and starts off toward her with a warning, huffy "Why, you little..." before tripping and spilling to the ground like a freshly slingshotted Goliath.

The blond, a red burn at the center of his face, goes to help him, but his shorts sink quickly to his feet and he falls in a tangle to the green mat.

"That's set," says Kate.

"And match," says Haley.

They grasp hands in a high five and make their way to the fenced door.

As they exit the court, Haley shouts back to the groaning men, "And I would love to look like Serena! She's a goddamn Amazon!" Even after they've exited, Haley can still be heard shouting, "An Amazon!"

They've made it halfway into the main house when they run into Matt just outside of the kitchen, wearing a black apron, stamped with the country club's logo.

"Why are you--?" Haley begins before Matt raises a hand and cuts her off with a sharp breath.

"I went to the restaurant to sample their Chateaubriand," he says, pulling the apron strings over his head, "But someone mistook me for a waiter and one thing led to another, and I report for duty at 9 am."

Slinking down the hall to join them, Bev says, "That's really going to confuse your students."

"Where have you been?" Kate asks.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you guys about," she says.

Occasionally looking over her shoulder to ensure she's not being followed by any of the club's staff, Bev leads the coven to the rear section of the expansive building. Despite the recently watered ficuses, it doesn't appear as though this area of the club receives much visitation.

Taking another cursory look, Bev waves the witches into a room and closes the door behind her. Once she flicks the light on, an old ballroom comes into focus. The dusty, white grand piano, tucked in the room's corner, has uneven keys. The floor is cedar coated in a thoroughly scuffed varnish.

At the center of the room is a freshly painted and ornamented circle, surrounded in thick, off-white candles.

"You've been busy," Kate says.

"Since we got here, I've sensed a mass of souls, trapped just beneath the floorboards," says Bev.

"I felt it, too," says Matt, "I suspected it was just the unease that comes with being in a country club."

"There's that, too," Bev says.

Bev stomps on the floor and a chorus of weak groans ekes up, "That's at least 30? Maybe 40 unhappy ghosts." She locks eyes with Kate, hesitates for a moment, and says, "We have to do something." 

Kate, all out of sighs for the day, brings her hands together and lets them go with a deep breath. "Okay," she says, "What do we do?"

There's no boom box available to blast "Wannabe" while they work, so their preparation lacks a distinct Spice, but they each have their jobs and they each complete them with an expected diminished enthusiasm.

Once Kate's finished lighting the candles, Haley flips the light switch and they take their positions.

Because it was her idea, Bev heads the ritual, and thus initiates the throaty, guttural chanting. As she nears the end, like a musical round, another witch starts from the beginning. And the cycle continues until, thrumming like a locust swarm, the coven is in overlapping cacophony.

As their chanting increases in volume and an impossible wind whips their hair to and fro, the candle flames grow into angry blazes. And in an instant, they extinguish.

And the room goes dark.

Then, suddenly, light returns as a host of faint, blue-white specters encircle the witches. As a few seconds pass and they regain more human forms, a great variety of age among them, the "Leader" of the group, a weathered man in an eagle feather-adorned headdress, nods to the coven. One by one, their forms dissipate. Soon, they've all faded, leaving one little girl, clutching a small toy bunny. She waves at the witches and too disappears.

The candles flicker back to life.

"So good of you to release them," Kate says, laying her hand on Bev's shoulder, "The afterlife will be kind to them."

"Right. Release," Bev says, tapping Kate's hand.

From outside of the ballroom there comes a scream. Looking a smirking Bev in the eyes, Kate pulls her hand away and makes for the door.

The chaos encapsulating the country club can be heard in its full intensity the moment Kate cracks the door open.

It's difficult to decipher exactly what is transpiring: a typhoon of well-clothed, well-fed patrons bounds in every direction. They wail and beg and stumble over each other, flown after by a roaring cavalcade of translucent figures.

The witches watch as the little girl who thanked them earlier flies through the bottom of a couple's table and into their roasted duck, chasing them with scornful, flailing drumettes as they scream for mercy.

Kate's face gets in the way of her palm.

"You know, I saw a hand sanitizer dispenser in the bathroom," says Matt, "Maybe this place isn't so bad after all."

[thatfanficstuff]

The Light in My Darkness - 20

Pairing: Clint x Reader

Warnings: Rumlow, abuse

***

The motorcycle ride had been wholly unexpected and completely wonderful. You hadn’t gone for a ride in ages and honestly you loved it. The evening with Clint came to an early end as you were meeting Steve at the one oh seven to talk about the pieces you had for the show. You were excited to talk about the show with him but part of you feared him telling you he hated everything and cancelling the show. The rational part of you told you he wouldn’t do that. Would he?

You thanked Scott when he dropped you off and he told you to text when you were ready to go home. You paused outside the gallery and sucked in a breath, trying to brace yourself for the discussion to come. Finally deciding you weren’t going to get any braver, you opened the door and stepped inside.

Steve was in front of you in seconds as if he had appeared from thin air. The grin he wore instantly put you at ease as you shook his hand. “Y/N. It is so good to see you again. I’m glad we could get together.” He held out a hand toward your portfolio. “Is everything in there?”

You handed it over with a nod. “Yes. Or at least pictures at any rate. I didn’t exactly want to haul canvases around.”

He chuckled and headed toward the back of the gallery. You followed him into a storage room with a large table in the middle. It appeared he had already cleared a space for you and he opened the portfolio. You’d expected him to just flip through it and maybe go back to look at a couple of pieces. Instead, he lingered over each image. Sometimes he asked questions, sometimes he didn’t.

When he reached the end of your work, he leaned on the table and tapped his fingers against the wood. “Is this all you have?”

You’d completely forgotten the notebook in your purse and hastily pulled it out. “It’s the finished pieces. There are some partials I didn’t see the point of taking a picture of because you wouldn’t be able to tell anything from them anyway. I also have some ideas for new pieces.”

“Good. Let me see.”

You placed the notebook in front of him and flipped through the pages to show him your sketches. He nodded along as you explained your vision for each work. When you finished he frowned. “What about the photography piece at the show? The one with the woman’s back.”

“A friend of mine modeled for it. I promised she could have it when the show was over as payment. I could maybe get her to loan it to me.” You bit your lip. You’d liked the piece as well, but thought you had better work, anyway.

He waved a hand through the air. “Not necessary.” He sighed. “I’m going to be honest here, Y/N. I like what you have here and the other pieces you have planned, but something’s missing.”

A knot formed in your stomach. “Like what?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “A showpiece maybe? A theme? Just something…more.”

You chewed at your lip and flipped to a different page in your notebook. “I had another idea.”

As you flipped through the next several pages of the book, Steve began to nod. “This is perfect. Absolutely perfect.” He glanced from the page to you. “You sure about this?”

That made you smile. “I wouldn’t have shown you if I wasn’t.”

He tilted his head with a grin. “Fair enough.”

“Would it be okay if I took some pictures of the gallery before I go? It would help me decide on sizes and may help me come up with a new piece,” you asked as you gathered your things up.

“Of course.” He walked toward the door and motioned for you to follow. “Come on, I’ll even show you the best angles.”

***

In the days that followed, you noticed Clint was quieter than usual. When you asked him about it, he blamed work and you left it alone. You weren’t certain you believed him, but you also didn’t want to push too hard. Something in his demeanor had changed though you couldn’t quite pinpoint it. It was enough to have you treading carefully around him, afraid if you made the wrong move, you’d lose him.

You’d started keeping the door to your studio closed when he was around. When he asked why you simply told him you wanted him to be as surprised as everyone else when your show opened. In truth, your new work left you feeling vulnerable and raw. That wasn’t a conversation you cared to have with Clint just yet.

Soon it was a Friday night the week before Thanksgiving. You were meeting Clint at another dinner though you couldn’t remember the charity for this one. He was supposed to pick you up, but you lost track of time and told him you’d meet him there. You’d cleaned up as quickly as possible and slipped into the new red cocktail dress you’d purchased for the occasion. Matching heels and a pair of delicate earrings and you were ready to go.

Clint told you he’d send a car. Sure enough, there was a dark sedan and a driver waiting in the parking lot. You were a bit disappointed it wasn’t Scott, but he was driving Clint. You supposed he had to drive the person that paid him at least occasionally.

You gave a nod of thanks to the driver as he opened the back door for you. The ride to the venue was quiet and too long. By the time you arrived, you were more than ready to be out of the car and on Clint’s arm. You made your way inside and were immediately handed a glass of champagne.

Your gaze darted around the crowded room until you found Clint. His back was to you and he was in deep conversation with Tony Stark from the look of things. Pepper glanced up and grinned when you caught her eye. You lifted a hand in greeting but were stopped by a touch on your arm as you stepped in their direction.  

When you turned, you were surprised to find your father. More so, that he was sober and calm. “Can I have a word? It will just take a moment.”

“Of course.” You glanced back to see Pepper frowning in concern. You simply shook your head and did your best to convey that you were fine. Clint was still pissed at Rumlow over the last time so when your father steered you to a small room down the hall from the main event, you went without complaint. He rarely asked for your time when he wasn’t angry so when he did, you tended to give it to him. Ass he may be, but he was still your father.

The two of you ended up in some sort of sitting room and you perched on the edge of a chair. “So, what did you want to talk about?” you asked when he didn’t immediately start talking.

“I still don’t approve of you leaving business school. However, it has been brought to my attention that you are succeeding in your endeavors at this school of yours which I suppose means you won’t switching back.”

You tilted your head and studied him with a furrowed brow. His tone was unreadable and you weren’t certain if this was his idea of conceding the point or if he was annoyed at your success. “I suppose you’re going to have to explain for me just what you’re trying to tell me here, dad. I can’t tell if you’re pleased or pissed.”

He grunted. “Which do you suppose it is, Y/N?”

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. You’d been a disappointment to your father in one way or another since he discovered your existence. Eventually it would cease to surprise you. “Okay, I get it. You’re pissed I’m in art school. I think we’ve already had this conversation two or three hundred times.”

“See, that’s just it. I don’t think you do get it. Because if you did, we wouldn’t need to keep having this conversation.” He paced the small room as he spoke.

With a huff, you got to your feet. He always wanted you to sit while he loomed over you to lecture you. You guessed he thought you’d feel more intimidated. He’d ceased to have that effect on you years ago. “Maybe it’s you that doesn’t get it. Or maybe you just like to listen to yourself talk, because God knows I’m tired of listening to it. So unless you have something new to add, I’ll be going. My date is waiting.”

“Date? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grinned but there was nothing happy in the gesture. “It means we had a different name in my day for women that sold themselves for money.”

You clenched your teeth together resisting the urge to scream at him. That’s what he wanted after all—a reaction. “Well, you would know all about that. Wouldn’t you?”

“Funny. Let’s see if you think this is funny. I met with my attorneys this week. You are cut off. Completely.”

It was always came back to the money with him. Every. Single. Time. You sighed. “You cut me off months ago, dad. This isn’t news.”

“You misunderstand. You will never get another dime from me, ever. Even when I die, you get nothing. If you can’t do as I wish, you don’t deserve it.”

“Is that all?” He would do whatever he was going to do and there was nothing you could do about it. You refused to bend to his will any more.

He stepped closer to you. “Don’t you get it? We’re over you and I. If you decide to do as you should, we can talk about it, but until then, we’re finished.”

“You’re right, we are. Don’t fucking call me, don’t talk to me. In fact, why don’t you forget I even fucking exist?”

“That’s how you talk to your father?” Anger had him tensing and stepping closer to you.

“Are you serious right now? You’re the one who said we were finished, but you’re pissed when I act like it?” You sighed. You were so over his mind games. You’d been dealing with them since you were ten years old and frankly, you were exhausted.

“So, you don’t even care that I’m not going to be in your life anymore? I really mean that little to you?” His voice was firm, angry but you thought for a moment you might have seen just a bit of remorse on his face.

You resisted the urge to stomp your feet in irritation. Barely. “I’m not the one doing this. You are.” His glare hardened as you continued. “But you don’t see it that way, do you? This is my fault because I won’t fall in line. You are such an asshole.”

Pain flared through your cheek and it took a moment for you to realize that he’d slapped you. Before you could even think of responding, he was gone. You cupped your cheek in your hand and gave into your earlier urge to stomp your foot. “Fucking asshole.”

You took a breath and glanced at your reflection in the mirror. A couple more breaths had you looking less frantic and pissed off. Deciding that was as good as it was likely to get, you shoved what had just happened with Rumlow to the back of your mind and went to find Clint.

Nick and Maria had joined Clint and the others and you slipped seamlessly into their little gathering. You linked your arm with Clint’s and leaned into his side, just needing the comfort of his presence for a moment. After you greeted everyone, he leaned down to speak in your ear and you turned your head to hear him better.

“Everything okay?”

You hummed in annoyance rather than answering outright. “We’ll talk about it later.”

He leaned back with a nod.

You were about to say something else when you realized your group had gone silent. They were all staring at you with various degrees of anger in their expressions. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Nick looked from you to Pepper. “Rumlow you said?”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Right, then.” Tony handed his drink to Pepper. He straightened his jacket and looked around the room.

“What—” Clint cut you off when he grasped your chin gently and turned your head so he could see the other side of your face.

His transformation from easy going to furious was instantaneous and severe. “That son of a bitch.” You frowned again and he reached up to trace your cheek with his fingers. “If someone other than your father left this handprint on your face, you better tell me now.”

[insfiringyou]

BTS - Aftermath (Jungkook x Young-soon)

Contains: Angst. Mentions of smut. Mentions of cheating.

Set almost a week following the disastrous events of ‘A Celebration to Forget’, Jungkook’s girlfriend finds out about his moment of weakness at the party. 

This fic contains all members of BTS but centers around Jungkook and Young-soon. Jimin’s breakup with Angel is also mentioned as well as Suga’s relationship with Jeong-sun. 

This is a major chapter in our headcanon universe (find out more about our headcanon universe plot and characters here). 

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin /   Suga /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook

& Our full masterlist can be found here

Rated content below the cut

PART ONE 

"You're pretty chirpy for someone who just got dumped." Taehyung commented from across the dining table, chopsticks in hand. Jimin swallowed his mouthful of Bulgogi, his bright smile slipping a fraction. 

"I wasn't dumped.” He protested, lowering his chopsticks. “It was mutual..."

"You mutually decided Angel would rather be fucking Donghyuk?" Asked Taehyung, dryly, his eyebrow cocking slightly.

"They've known each other for ages." Jimin replied easily with a shrug. "It was bound to happen." The breakup had come as a relief, if he had been honest with himself. Instead of feeling irritated by his nerve, he had been quick to reassure Donghyuk over text with a simple “Yeah, we’re cool,” and left the matter at that.

Sensing that the topic was closed, Taehyung turned his attention to the three seated at the end of the dinner table. "How come you all got back so late anyway? Did you get lucky, Yoongi?"

The elder of the three did not look up, sipping from his glass without much expression. "No." 

"We were waiting for Jungkook," piped up Hoseok, carefully avoiding eye contact. Taehyung suspected that no amount of sunshine yellow punch could have erased the memory for Hoseok of catching him perform oral sex on his girlfriend in the bathroom the previous evening. He sipped his glass of shiraz slowly, savouring it’s sweet, spicy flavour on his palette as he regarded the statement with intrigue. 

Jimin spoke first, his eyes sparkling with glee towards the maknae. "Did you get some?" 

"He has a girlfriend."Namjoon interjected, as though this settled the matter. The youngest man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face appearing a little blotchy in the light of the nearby wall lamp.

"I fell asleep." He squirmed. 

Nobody but Yoongi seemed to pay any attention to the way Jungkook tapped his chopsticks agitatedly against the edge of his bowl, its contents as full as it had been when he had received it. Feeling irked, Yoongi picked unenthusiastically at his own food, not really tasting it. Whilst he knew that whatever had happened with the woman in the blue pyjamas would not have happened were he sober, he simply could not understand how Jungkook could allow a moment of drunken boredom to escalate so wildly. The absent, sickly-looking expression on his face told Yoongi that he was also struggling with the thought and the older man felt a fleeting stab of pity for his friend’s inner turmoil, wondering whether he would be able to come to terms with what he had done. He thought, were Jungkook's relationship anything like his own with Jeong-sun, the damage would be too devastating to repair.

When they had all eaten their fill, it was the youngest of the group who was first to gather his jacket and make his way to the exit, closely tailed by Jimin and Taehyung. Yoongi sat for a while, in no real hurry, as he pulled his phone out from the pocket of his jeans. It had vibrated against his leg a few times in quick succession, and a small smile broke as he stared at the new messages in his inbox. 

The first was a picture of a man who regarded the camera in surprise, clearly caught off-guard as he turned in mid-speech to the photographer, his stubby fingers gently freeing a hook from the mouth of a large, slimy-looking trout. The next made his heart skip inexplicably, and he chuckled softly against the palm of his hand. Jeong-sun, out of focus and half-obscured by a thumb on the lens, looked put-out at the small minnow dangling from her own fishing wire. The wide-brimmed hat and khaki body-warmer clearly belonged to her father. Even despite this, her resemblance to him was immediately obvious. 

A firm pressure on Yoongi’s shoulder made him look away, and he lowered the screen discreetly. 

"Are you coming? The taxi’s are here." Jin prompted.

"Yeah…I’ll join you in a minute." He slipped his phone back into his pocket, getting up slowly as he realised that the others had already left. The brief glimpse of Jeong-sun was welcome, but bittersweet. His heart ached, thinking that the next few weeks couldn't pass quickly enough, and how he wished he too could have gone on the trip with her.

***

"Was that him?"

"No." Young-Soon slid her phone back onto the table, her disappointment obvious as she sighed and took a sip of the sparkling, baby pink beverage in front of her. The ice cubes rattled as she set it down, now half-empty, and picked out a fat, red strawberry from the glass and popped it into her mouth. "Just a reminder that my phone bill's due."

"He probably just has the world's biggest hangover." Her colleague, Mi-Ja, commented coolly. 

Young-soon smiled back half-heartedly, unable to find comfort in the thought as an odd sensation of nerves fluttered in her stomach. It was unlike Jungkook to stop responding to her messages and calls, and she couldn't help but shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The group looked up in unison, momentarily startled as a howl of cheers and screams erupted from across the bar. A petite, blonde-haired woman was staggering towards the group in absurdly high heels, balancing a tray of neon-coloured shot glasses and a bottle of ominously clear liquid. Mi-Ja looked up with a smirk, twirling the shocking pink straw idly around her glass. ”Why don't you just try calling him again?" 

Young-soon sighed, sliding her thumb across the screen of her phone. Her boyfriend answered on the third ring. 

“Young-soon?” Came Jungkook’s voice, swallowed slightly by another loud yell from the rowdy table. Young-soon got to her feet, sticking a finger into one ear and wandered over towards the direction of the bathroom. “What's the matter?”

"Nothing... I just wanted to see how you were." She purred, relief flooding her at the sound of him on the other end of the line. "Why didn't you answer before? I was worried."

"I'm fine...I just had it on silent... are you okay ?”

She thought he sounded a little strange, but perhaps this was just the effect of the pink gin. She did feel a little light-headed, now she was alone and away from the sickly sweet smell of the alcohol. 

"Yeah. I'm out with a friend. She's moving floors at work so we're having a few cocktails to celebrate."

"That's nice...” Jungkook said softly, and there was a slight pause before she broke it, enjoying the sound of his breathing through the receiver.

"So did you find anyone to pair up with last night?" 

"What?" The response came, a little sharply, and Young-soon clarified, toying with the fluffy keychain on her purse. 

"At Cassandra's party. You said Yoongi was busy."

Jungkook cleared his throat. "Uhm, there were a lot of people,” He hesitated. After a pause, he sighed heavily and continued. “I really wish you could have been there."

"Me too. I really miss you."He sounded so gloomy, and she rested her head lightly against the velvety texture of the wall by the ladies' bathroom. The solution was suddenly obvious. “Can’t you stay over tonight?"

There was silence. Thinking maybe she had accidentally ended the call, she pulled the phone away from her ear and saw that it was still connected. Young -Soon frowned, her stomach turning unpleasantly. Gently, she called his name, wondering whether he had heard her.

“Uhm, I probably shouldn't..." Came his voice, uneasily. 

"Oh," Young-Soon said, feeling a little stunned. The guilt in his tone was hard to ignore.  "Alright.”

She tried hard to listen to him over the sounds of music and merry bar visitors. It was growing steadily rowdier as another large group entered through the double-glass doors, and her head had begun to pound. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine… I just really need to pee.” He replied, a little unconvincingly. “I'll see you on Tuesday."

“Okay, well if you change your mind….” Young-soon sighed, trailing off as a woman in red heels stumbled, cross-legged in her direction. “ I love you.”

“You too. Get home safe.”

The call ended and it had not had the comforting effect that Young-Soon had hoped for. Her fingertips paused over his name in her contacts, but she resisted the urge to call him back, knowing it'd do no good. If her instinct was right, he would likely tell her what was bothering him when he was ready and no sooner than that.

***

Jungkook slipped the phone from his ear listlessly and turned it over on the bedsheet, making the room black once more. He was laid in the dark, the duvet cool as a breeze fluttered over him from the nearby open window. But he couldn't settle.

"JK…?" A familiar voice called, soft and low-pitched, from the other side of the bedroom door. 

Jungkook turned over onto his side, trying to ignore it. He was quite sure that Yoongi would not tell the others, but still, he did not think he could bear to hear whatever he had to say. He felt bad enough. 

After a moment's silence, Yoongi's shadow shifted and disappeared, leaving an uninterrupted strip of light glowing from beneath his door. The sound of chatter and noise drifted over from the living room. He could barely even remember the face of the woman in blue pyjamas anymore. Miserable, he rolled over once more and tried to forget everything.

PART TWO

It took a little longer than usual to dress when Tuesday finally came around. Feeling too sore to keep up with the new routine, Jungkook had skipped practice and instead spent the past hour numbly searching online. The same type of articles and forum posts from teenagers with incredibly bad spelling had kept popping up, and after a while had resigned himself to deleting his browser history and getting dressed. He gingerly adjusted himself beneath the waistband of his jeans. He would have to deal with his little problem later. Grabbing a spare pair of underwear from his cabinet, he shoved them into his gym holdall along with the silver gift bag.

He waited outside her front door, shuffling nervously from foot to foot. When she answered the doorbell a minute or two later, he stepped back automatically, his eyes wide. Young-Soon, her body wrapped in a fluffy lilac towel, looked at him in a little surprise as he corrected himself.

"What's wrong?" She asked, wearily, adjusting her make-shift clothes a little around her breasts.

"You're wearing a towel." Jungkook answered quickly, eyes lingering for a fraction on the pattern of moles disappearing between the crevice of her breasts.

Her voice was momentarily prickly. "Well, I wasn't ready." But to his intense relief she stepped aside to let him in, knowing that perhaps he should have given her better warning.

"I decided to drive myself. And your neighbor let me in downstairs." He explained, shuffling off his shoes  as he closed the door gently behind himself. A large sea-green candle in a glass jar was burning lazily on her coffee table, filling the room with the fresh, clean scent of eucalyptus. Somewhere from the apartment upstairs, the muffled pop music changed into a slow, soulful ballad.  Her wet footprints, trailing from the bathroom down the hall, were still visible on the bare wooden floorboards. She had clearly been mid-shower when he had knocked. He couldn't help but watch her as he set down his bag on the coffee table, her long dark hair slightly tangled as she ran her fingers through it and swept it back over her shoulder.

"Is it really that distracting?" Young-Soon asked, catching his gaze as she tugged the towel back up a little. 

She felt strangely self-conscious, wishing in hindsight that she had spent the extra minute or two to dress before answering the door. Her expression softened however when his plump lips parted in a  slight stutter, his eyes wide as they flickered to the glistening crevice between her breasts. She moved instinctively towards him, her arms folding around him into the warm, chocolatey fragrance of his skin. Their lips met tentatively and brief. His pulse quickened as she pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling its frantic rhythm. Gently, she kissed the exposed area of his neckline, feeling him sigh deeply at the feel of her lips. Her meaning obvious, she continued to press delicate pecks to his collar and throat, aching for him to reciprocate.

But a firm pressure on her hips held her back, and Young-Soon couldn't help but feel bemused and hurt as he unraveled himself from her and began to unzip the large holdall. Jungkook looked strangely pained and embarrassed as he handed her the silver gift bag.

"I got you something whilst I was in China," he said quickly. She took the package with a quizzical expression, suddenly feeling nervous too as she pulled out a plush panda from tissue paper. "It's from the reserve...the guide says all donations go to their breeding program."

"It's...it's really cute." Young-Soon said blankly, unsure of what else to say.

"Don't you like it?"

Young-Soon shook her head slowly, trying hard to verbalise the suspicion churning in her mind. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate it. Truthfully, it was the nagging feeling that maybe he was trying to keep her at a distance which made her feel so confused."It's not that. It's just...you're being weird."

"No I'm not." Jungkook replied, suddenly abrupt. The defensive edge in his voice took her off-guard, and she met his eyes in surprise, scrutinising him.

"Yeah... you are."

He looked away and gave a shrug. This irritated her, but not wanting to start an argument, she took a deep breath and set his gift on the coffee table.

"I'm going to get changed."  She said, a little more coolly than she usually might have done. "You can go through to the bedroom if you want.”

***

She found her boyfriend fiddling with the TV remote when she returned from the bathroom 15 minutes later, wearing a simple pair of spotted pyjama shorts and a loose-fitting shirt. Her period was due in the next week or so, and she felt a little too bloated to opt for the matching tank top. 

Looking up at the sound of her footsteps, he watched as she tied back her now dry hair in a ponytail and settled in the bed next to him. "You don't want to go out?" He asked. 

Young-Soon adjusted the pillows behind herself, shaking her head. "Not really. I hoped it would be just us."

The channel flicked onto a  historical drama; judging from the outfits she guessed it was based on the Joseon era, the main actor one she vaguely knew from a series she had enjoyed in her late teens. Jungkook slipped the remote onto the bed-stand, his arm curving behind her. The soft impression of his lips against her hair made her stomach churn guiltily. Up close, Jungkook really did look tired and a little ill, his skin sallow and lacking its usual glow.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to snap at you earlier." Young-soon said, awkwardly, shuffling closer into him. "Hormones..."

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. "...You don't have to apologise."

"My mom said that she saw you on TV," She continued, remembering the phone call she had received the previous night. "...When you landed back in Seoul, it was on the news."

"Was it?" He said in mild surprise. The journey from the airport to the private cars had been so brief that the thought of it being news-worthy was a little ridiculous. 

"Yeah. She said my dad decorated my old room and got a larger bed so we can stay over more often. But they know how hard it is for you to get time off."

The mention of her parents, and what should have been a warm gesture, made Jungkook's insides burn. Young-soon's mother and father had accepted him as part of the family without hesitation and he felt ashamed for their trust, his breath growing shallower at the thought as his eyes began to prick with tears. He couldn't bear it.

"Kook...?" She murmured, her blood running cold as she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. 

“I’ll just be a moment...” He quickly murmured, getting to his feet and heading to the bathroom through the door. 

Young-soon watched him go with an equal amount of confusion and fear. He had looked ghostly pale at the mention of her parents and, when he did not come back a few minutes later, she found herself following in his footsteps, her heart thudding hard as she walked quietly down the hallway. There was a fraction of light spilling from the gap at the edge of the bathroom door from where he had left it slightly ajar in his hurry and she knocked nervously upon the wood, watching as it swung open on its hinges.

It took a moment for Jungkook to notice her in the doorway, allowing a moment for her to regard his pained expression as he clutched himself between his thumb and index finger lightly, his face scrunched up and eyes shut tight as he tried to direct the weak stream into the toilet from his standing position. He gasped, letting out a small, frustrated sound as the flow stopped abruptly before a few more trickles leaked out from the tip and he finally looked up. His eyes widened in horror and he quickly covered himself, swiftly shaking his flaccid cock a couple of times before slipping it into the confines of his boxer shorts.

Young-soon felt her heart sink at the sight, realising immediately what was wrong, despite the part of her which protested against her better judgment that there was probably a simple explanation for this; that everyone got infections from time to time. His guilty look, however, combined with the way he had been acting for the past few days confirmed to her what he had done and she found herself staring at the tiled floor from the shadowy hallway, unable to speak or move until his frantic protest a moment later caused her to look at him once more. 

“Young-soon...” He called out. “I...” 

“Have you been to see a doctor?” She interrupted, her voice strangely numb and empty. He paused at the unexpected sound of her voice, blank and indifferent. He could see from her pasty face and dark eyes that there was no hiding what he had done from her; she had figured it out from the moment she opened the bathroom door and he could no more lie to her than he could himself. He didn’t know how he had expected her to sound, but her calmness frightened more than if she had shouted. 

He hesitated. “Not...not yet.” He said weakly. 

She nodded slowly. “You should.” She murmured. “It looks infected.” She reached out to touch the wooden edge of the doorframe with the palm of her hand, steadying her tall body. “Does it hurt?” She asked.

He paused before nodding, his eyebrows furrowed. She recognised he was worried about this. “Yes.”

“Good.” She muttered collectedly, turning to leave the doorway. 

“Young-soon!” He called after her, his voice panicked. She slowly turned back to him. 

Her emotions were slowly starting to return and she felt a stab of pain at the sight of him. She knew she would be furious in an hour or two, that no amount of camomile tea or Kalms would stop her from hyperventilating in the lofty confines of her bedroom as the events of the evening hit her, but for now, her voice remained serene. 

“Was it while you were in China?” Young-soon asked, wondering whether he would try to lie about this. He surprised her by meeting her gaze as he shook his head. She pressed on, realising when it must have been. He had seemed on edge and uncharacteristically jittery since the party at the country hotel the week before and, even on the phone, a part of her had known something was seriously wrong. “Do you know her?” She continued. 

He shook his head again. “No.”

She thought for a moment, her gaze returning to the floor. “What if you got her pregnant Jungkook?” Her voice trembled, but only a little. “Did you think about that before you put your cock in her?” He was silent and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, knowing his inevitable panic would set her over the edge. 

Instead, she took a breath of air before turning on her heels and heading down the hallway, hearing his footsteps slowly following a moment later. She reached the front door and unlatched the safety lock, holding it open and waiting for him to catch up. Clenching her jaw tightly to avoid it shaking, she refused to look up, even when he hovered in front of her for a moment, wanting to say something and thinking better of it. She remained silent until he was safely on the other side of the door and she returned the latch to its usual place. 

She hovered for a few minutes, gazing into space as her heart began to slow in her chest, before walking into the kitchen to put on a fresh pot of tea. She forwent the chamomile for a regular black tea bag which she placed into her favourite mug, waiting for the kettle to boil patiently and wondering how she was managing to cope so well in light of what had happened. It wasn’t until she was back on her double bed, vaguely surprised to find that the episode of the drama she had been watching earlier had not yet finished, that the first sob escaped her lips. 

She quickly put down her steaming cup on the bedside table before she had a chance to scold herself, before clutching her palms to her face, her cries echoing through the empty space and bouncing off the decorated plaster of the high ceiling. How could she have been so foolish as to let herself fall for him? She had been so reluctant to do so, knowing he was young and naive and too ridiculously famous for his own good. It had taken her months to acknowledge it, refusing to believe she truly loved him until her entire body ached with it; the thought of his smile making her stomach lurch and groan for hours until she could deny it no more. 

“I didn’t want to...” She found herself sobbing, barely able to hear her own voice, low against her wet hand. “Stupid...stupid...stupid...” She murmured, silencing the blare of the television at the obnoxious sound of credits with the remote and throwing it harshly across the room where it echoed loudly against the bare wooden boards. The worst part, she thought as she wrapped her body in her warm piles of covers, her tea quickly forgotten as she pulled a warm patchwork blanket over her torso, was that the thought of him in pain had made her stomach pang miserably, despite what she had said to him. The sight of him, clutching himself so pathetically as he dealt with the aftermath of his grotesque misjudgment, had filled her simultaneously with anger and pity. How did he hold the power to do that to her? 

She wondered if he would try to call and if she should turn her device off, before realising she had left it in the living room earlier that day. Too far away to bother with it, she wrapped herself up in a cocoon of bedsheets, unable to stand being awake a single moment longer. She urged sleep to come quickly. 

PART THREE

Despite waking up two hours after the start of her shift, Young-soon considered going in to work the next day if only to distract herself. She had booked the day off as holiday time, hoping to spend it with her boyfriend, but the thought of being alone in her apartment filled her with dread. She got dressed in a smart pair of trousers and a patterned blouse, filling the kettle with a fresh bout of water to boil for her morning cup of tea, before a thought occurred to her. She didn’t know if it was the sight of the cold liquid in her mug from the evening before or the loose AA battery she trod on as she tried to find her work shoes, the little cylinder having been dislodged from the remote control she had lobbed at the floor, but the image of Jungkook, his features scrunched up tightly in distress, flashed before her eyes and she sighed heavily, opening up her laptop.

A quick search gave her an address and she jotted it on her phone in the notes app., followed by a brand name. On her way to the front door, a large object on the table caught her eye and she wondered how she had missed seeing it last night after letting Jungkook out of the apartment. Slowly, she pulled the stuffed panda from the confines of the bag and regarded it listlessly. Refusing to let herself get upset again, she slid it back in and walked through to her bedroom, discarding it at the back of her wardrobe, behind a messy pile of unironed clothes. 

Getting into her car ten minutes later, she inputted the address she had found on the internet into her satnav and headed towards Eunpyeong-gu. The pharmacy had been the closest which sold the product she was looking for without a doctor’s note according to the search engine on her computer, but she looked around the store anxiously before entering as a matter of course; Wednesday mornings were clearly not the busiest time of day to be a pharmacist. She walked over to the counter at the far end of the room, passing through the aisles of medicine and toiletries before fishing in her jacket pocket for her phone.

The young woman hovering awkwardly behind the stacks of prescriptions looked barely old enough to have left school but one quick look around the room told Young-soon she was the only person serving today. She was bent down, shifting through a tray filled with cardboard boxes of pills and didn’t look up until Young-soon cleared her throat a little impatiently. Smiling shyly, the girl muttered an apology before heading towards the counter and asking if she could be of service. Young-soon showed her the screen of her phone, trying to show an air of indifference as, expectedly, the young woman blushed. Despite having been able to foresee this detail, Young-soon found it irritating and wished she had been served by someone older.

“I searched online...it said you stock these.” The older woman murmured cooly as the girl practically squirmed before nodding. 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just be a moment...” She promptly disappeared into the back room behind the boxes of prescriptions and disappeared from view. Young-soon pocketed her cell and waited, shifting around anxiously at the sound of the bell over the front door tingling as an elderly male entered the store. She sighed and moved from foot to foot as he moved slowly past the glass cabinet of fragrances, walking with a cane towards the medicine aisle. Glancing back at the stockroom, she mentally cursed the young woman for taking so long before breathing a sigh of relief when she came into view.

“I’m sorry I took so long...” The young woman muttered, clutching something in her hand. “My colleague usually covers the stockroom but she’s in Gwangju...” She explained clumsily, more to herself than the woman on the other side of the counter as she placed the box down on the mock-marble countertop.

“Thanks.” Young-soon murmured indifferently, casting a quick glance to the front of the store and letting out a slow exhalation as she saw the elderly man was still a distance from the pair.

“I knew we had them around there somewhere...” The girl smiled nervously, turning the box over to read the instructions on the back. “So, uhm...you can get an accurate chlamydia screening with a urine sample...” She explained painfully, her cheeks stained pink as she squinted a little to read the small text. “If you bring it back to a registered health practice you can get the results in five to ten days.”

Young-soon listened politely but felt herself growing frustrated as she removed her purse from her small leather handbag. She could just have easily paid for the item and read the back of the box by herself in the comfort of her car.

The girl continued. “ But for gonorrhea, a urine sample only works for men. It is recommended that women are tested via vaginal swab...”

Young-soon handed over the correct change in deliberately small notes as she took the box from the woman. “It’s not for me...” She snapped coldly as she turned to leave.

“Wait...” The girl called weakly after her, clutching the handful of change. The older woman turned. “You’ll want a bag for that...”

Young-soon sighed, accepting the carrier and heading out into the deserted streets. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt for snapping at the girl and creating more work for her, realising as she walked towards her hastily parked car that it wasn’t her fault the person she loved had cheated and gotten himself an infection. The situation was almost laughable; she looked at the bag in her hand with perplexity. A shrink would have a field day questioning why she had just bought a chlamydia test for a man who had betrayed her.

Shaking her head, she buckled her belt and tossed the bag on the back seat, adjusting the satnav on her dashboard to input a new address.

*

Young-soon didn’t notice Yoongi’s eyes dart towards the carrier bag in her hand as she hovered awkwardly on the doorstep to the group’s shared apartment. He hesitated before speaking, recognising the logo in the centre immediately. She noted that he looked vaguely surprised to see her, though she didn’t believe Jungkook would have the nerve to admit his blunder to the other members so soon.

“He’s in his room.” The man muttered, side-stepping carefully and opening the front door wide for her to enter. 

“Thanks Yoongi.” She replied as he closed the door behind her, his socked feet almost silent against the carpet as he re-attached the safety lock and headed into the adjoined kitchen. 

Hoseok looked up from the steaming bowl of stew he had finished dishing up at the sound of the door opening and handed it to Yoongi, turning back to the counter to get his own. “Who was that?” The younger man asked, contemplating a clean set of chopsticks before settling on a spoon to capture the sauce. 

“Young-soon.” He murmured, not expecting the other man to pick up on his surprise. He had slept through most of the party, after all. 

“Oh.” Hoseok said, taking a slurp.

They ate in silence for a few moments before the younger man spoke up. “When does Jeong-sun get back from her trip?”

Yoongi paused, his spoon mid-way between his parted lips. The mention of his girlfriend was unexpected, even from his best friend, and he tried to swallow the stew as quickly as he could. “Not until Friday.” He murmured. 

“Oh.” Hoseok thought for a moment, realising the implication. “That’s a shame.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi nodded before taking another spoonful of food, closing the matter before it had the chance to take root and make his chest ache. 

*

Young-soon knocked quietly upon the door, her action causing an unexpected and unpleasant moment of deja vu. She fought through it and opened without waiting for a reply, the door revealing Jungkook’s room in a state of chaos. At first she worried that he had thrown half of the contents of his wardrobe on the floor in anger; piles of shirts and jeans lay messily around the carpet, rendering it virtually invisible. Her eyes flicked towards the figure kneeling topless on the floor, Jungkook’s tanned chest visible above the waistband of his plain blue jeans. The sight would usually make her heart flutter, but for now, it felt stony and still in her chest. She realised he was crouching beside a large suitcase and had began the process of packing for his upcoming trip to Japan. 

He looked up and jumped in shock, quickly shuffling through the few items of clothes that had been folded in the case for a t-shirt to cover himself. She waited dispassionately for him to dress. His hair was unbrushed and slightly wavy and he ran his hand through it agitatedly as he got to his feet. 

“Young-soon...” He stumbled, taking an automatic step towards her as she closed the door firmly behind her, making sure she heard the sound of it clicking in the frame. “What are you doing here?” He asked. 

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes dark and troubled beneath her eyebrows before they flickered to the floor. “When do you go away?” She asked, her voice nonchalant.

He followed her gaze to the suitcase hesitantly. “Tomorrow evening.”

“Oh.” She murmured, reaching out to give him the carrier bag. “I got you this...” He grasped it from her automatically as she continued. “The instructions are on the back.”

The cold tone of her voice alerted him to the fact that whatever was in the carrier was not a gift, but he was surprised to read the label as he pulled it from the plastic. He stared at it stupidly, unable to speak. 

“Just...follow them.” Young-soon sighed, frustrated with herself as she turned towards the door and grasped the handle. “And make an appointment with the doctor.” She turned the knob and stepped into the hallway, closing the door before Jungkook had the chance to follow her out. 

***

Thanks for reading and stay tuned for more fics within this universe. As we tend to write fics out of order, we have already explored scenarios later in Jungkook and Young-soon’s storyline but will be filling in some of the gaps in upcoming fics. 

Please follow the link here to read all of Jungkook’s headcanon universe fics in order

The other member’s headcanon fics can be found here in order by person:  RM   /   Jin /   Suga /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   

Our full masterlist can be found here

You can support us by buying admins a coffee here (if you wish). :)

[gaygent37]

Curiosity Killed the Cat - Day 11

No-Set-Prompt-List-tober, October 11: OVERSIZED SWEATERS

JayDick, serial killers AU, drugged, anal sex, rough sex, knives, mild blood, (kinda fucked up murder related stuff) 1,143 words

/╲/\╭( ͡° ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ͡°)╮/\╱\ 

From across the club, Jason had taken notice of the boy, twenty-one at the oldest judging by his cocktail, sitting at the counter of the bar.

The boy was cute, and Jason labelled him a boy because he looked nothing like a man yet, especially with the peach colored oversized sweater he wore that practically swallowed his small size. The boy looked very innocent and rather effeminate. Just Jason’s type. But not Jason’s sexual or romantic type, but Jason’s victim type. 

He had been watching the boy for twenty minutes, and he did not seem to be with anyone. So Jason approached. 

“Hello,” he said, shooting the boy a smile. “It’s quite quiet here,” he said. “Not much of a social butterfly?”

The boy blinked at him like he was not entirely sure whether or not Jason was talking to him. “Oh,” he said. “Um, not tonight, I guess. I’m just people watching tonight.”

Jason hummed. “People watching, hm? Any interesting characters?”

The boy shrugged. “Not really. Though that woman over there is having an affair with the bartender.”

Jason laughed. “And how did you deduce that?”

The boy blushed. “She’s wearing a ring. He’s not. Five minutes ago, she slipped him a note and then slipped her ring off of her finger. They might leave together after his shift.”

“How very astute of you, Mr...?”

“Oh, not Mister,” the boy said quickly. “I just go by Dick. Dick Grayson.” He held out his hand for Jason to shake. 

Jason grinned at the boy. This was almost too easy. He had let his guard down, and within ten minutes, Jason was pretty sure he had his next pretty victim in the bag. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jason.” He took Dick’s hand, more than surprised to find the boy’s hands rather rough. 

“The hands of a worker?” Jason asked. 

Dick blushed and quickly pulled his sweater sleeves over his hands. “Um... yeah. I’m a gymnast... and a... police officer?” 

He seemed almost nervous to admit that. And Jason was a bit shocked as well, though he did not let it show. But soon, he found it even more intriguing. “Police officer? Are you sure? You don’t look a day over eighteen!”

Dick gasped. Then, he started laughing genuinely. “I’m- I’m twenty-six!”

Jason could not keep the shock off his face this time. Dick was older than he was! Still, somehow, it all made Jason want Dick more. Jason had never taken a victim that was older than him, nor an officer of the law. “Oh, my bad! I’m sorry for assuming,” Jason said quickly. “Here. Let me get you another drink as an apology?”

Dick paused for a second, then nodded. “Okay,” he said. 

Jason waved the bartender over and ordered another one of Dick’s drinks. When it came, Jason moved it over in front of Dick, who had been glancing at a loud argument somewhere to his left. While Dick was preoccupied, Jason slipped a little something into his drink, watching it dissolve instantly. 

“Oh, thank you,” Dick said, when he turned back around. He took the drink and lifted the glass to his lips. His bright blue eyes locked on Jason’s as he took his first sip. Then, he licked his lips and grinned at him. Jason smiled back at him. 

He kept Dick talking for ten minutes, and he started seeing the drug take effect. Dick’s blinks became longer, and his speech had a slurred tone to it. Occasionally, his eyebrows would draw together briefly. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Jason asked with a hint of worry in his voice. “You don’t look so good,” he said. 

Dick grimaced. “Oh... I’m fine, I think,” he said. “Just a bit... of a headache. Maybe I should go home...” He went to stand and almost immediately stumbled. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “I think the alcohol... hit me harder than I meant it to.”

Jason stood up as well. “Did you drive here? I could call you a cab,” he offered, giving Dick a hand. “Anyone I can help you call to pick you up? Or, I drove, and I could drop you off if we’re going in the same direction?”

Dick snorted and shook his head. “Ah, I don’t want to bother you,” he said. “I live in Upper Gotham. It’s wayyyyy over there.” He waved his hand in the opposite direction. 

Jason smiled. “Lucky for you, I’m headed up there too. I have to pick something up from a friend’s house. He lives in Upper Gotham as well,” Jason lied smoothly.

Dick gave him a suspicious look. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “What street?”

“On West Park Avenue,” Jason said immediately.

Dick’s narrowed eyes slowly became normal again. “I guess... I guess you can take me home.”

“Yeah, my car’s this way,” Jason said, gently helping Dick out of the club, smiling to himself from over Dick’s head. 

~~~

“Which floor?” Jason asked as he helped Dick into the elevator. 

“Twen... Twenty-four,” Dick mumbled, practically half-passed out now. He was leaning fully on Jason, and Jason was holding up most of his weight. When the elevator lurched into movement, Dick tipped forward, and Jason barely caught him in time. 

“Woah!” Jason said. “Lightweight, are you?”

Dick shook his head and winced. “Not... usually. I think... the bartender put... too much vodka... in my drink tonight.”

Jason chuckled lightly. “Maybe it’s because he found out you were on to him about the affair.”

Dick laughed quietly, but only managing a few chuckles. 

Jason managed to get Dick’s apartment door open, and he helped the man all the way to his bed. On the dresser, Jason noted that, indeed, there was a rumpled police uniform, a badge, and a gun in its holster. Dick had been truthful after all. 

“Do you need water?” Jason asked. “Let me get you a glass of water before I go.”

Dick gave a half-groan of consent. 

Jason left the room to find the kitchen. He poured Dick a glass of water, but he mixed a stronger dose of the drug into it. It would put Dick to sleep and kill him in his sleep. Jason did not believe in cruel, painful deaths. He was an artist of sorts, arranging a person’s dead body into something that could be appreciated as art, if it were not first seen as murder. 

Suddenly, Jason felt something sharp poking into his back. He froze. 

“Well, well, well,” Dick mused. “What an interesting thing we have here,” he said. “You’re Jason Todd, right? The Jason Todd?”

Jason turned around slowly, setting down the glass of water. Dick held twin knives in his hands, and there was no sign of any drugs in his system. His sadistic grin made Jason’s blood run cold. 

But he kept a blank mask. “I saw you drink it all,” Jason said. “How are you fighting it?”

Dick laughed. “Jay,” he said. “I kill people for fun. I know all the typical ins-and-outs of this line of business. You’d think that I’ve got fail safes in case someone tried to poison me someday, right? I’ve built up an immunity to it, of course.”

Then he nodded at the glass of water. “Though, a dose like that would probably kill me,” he said. “But it would’ve been a slow, painful death.” Dick cocked his head to the side, still smiling. “But you don’t like slow, painful deaths, do you? You believe in it being quick and painless.”

Suddenly, Dick put the knives down. “What would you have done?” he asked. “If I did drink that and I didn’t die in my sleep like you wanted me to.”

Jason did not answer. He had never had that happen to him before. After administering the final dose, Jason’s victims always died within ten minutes into their final nap like they should have.

“Would you’ve stabbed me to put me out of my misery?” Dick asked. “Shot me through the head with my own gun? Left me there to suffer and run away because you failed?”

Jason frowned this time. “Of course I wouldn’t run away! That’s even crueler! I’d... snap your neck or something.”

“Hm,” Dick said. “Good choice. Less cleanup.”

“You were about to stab me in your own kitchen,” Jason accused. 

Dick rolled his eyes. “Of course I wasn’t! These babies are just for show. I’ve never killed anyone with them before. My stabbing knives are in there,” Dick said, nodding at the drawer on Jason’s right. 

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You keep your weapons of choice in- in your knife drawer? In the kitchen?”

Dick nodded. 

“That’s really fucking unsanitary,” Jason said, grimacing.

“It’s not like I cook anyway,” Dick laughed. “Anyway, what do we do now? I mean, I can’t exactly let you walk free, but I can’t exactly turn you in either.”

Jason opened and closed his mouth, having no ideas either. 

Suddenly, Dick gasped. “I have an idea.” He grabbed Jason’s wrist and started pulling him towards the bedroom.

Jason was very hesitant to go with him. He kept his eyes on the exit and made sure he knew exactly where Dick’s knives and gun was at all times. Once in Dick’s room, Dick pulled his sweater over his head and revealed a very fit body. Suddenly Dick did look his age, and Jason swallowed tightly because he suddenly also became Jason’s other type. 

Dick grabbed the rumpled uniform and started putting it on. 

“What... are you doing?” Jason asked warily. 

Dick gave him a wicked grin. “I’ve always wanted to roleplay police officer and serial killer with someone,” he said. “But like, how do you brink that up to a partner in bed?” he asked with a laugh. “But anyway, are you seducing me, or am I seducing you?”

Jason blinked at him rapidly. “How do you even know I swing that way?”

Dick gave him a wink. “Oh, it’s not about whether or not you swing that way, but whether you swing my way. And most people do.”

He stepped backwards until his legs hit the bed, and he fell back onto the bed. And to top it all off, he spread his legs and snapped handcuffs around his own wrists. 

“Well?” he asked with a smirk. “You gonna come make a piece of art of me, Mr. Todd? If you don’t catch me, I’ll catch you as soon as I’m free of these cuffs.”

And then there was a lock pick in Dick’s hands, and he was working it into the lock. That little movement did it for Jason. Though Jason knew Dick was tempting him, with the man spread out so nicely like that, Jason had to take advantage. 

He was across the room in a flash, and he had Dick’s wrists pinned down above his head with a low growl. 

Dick actually moaned. 

“What kind of prey willingly tempts the predator into a game of cat and mouse?” Jason asked harshly into Dick’s ear. He rut his hips against Dick’s at the same time.

Dick arched into Jason’s movement. “The kind that’s also a predator himself?” Dick panted back. “Or one that doesn’t mind playing the prey.”

“Fuck, Dickie, you’re tempting me,” Jason said, gritting his teeth. “I can’t promise you’ll come out of this unhurt.”

“Why?” Dick asked, his voice purely curious, not scared. “Are you feeling tempted to fuck me or to kill me, Jason?”

“I don’t know,” Jason breathed out. “Both.”

Dick fucking giggled. “That’s so hot, Jason,” he whispered. “You feel how hard that made me?” He rubbed the bulge of in his slacks into Jason’s equally hard and equally trapped cock. “Do something about it, Jay.”

That was all Jason needed to make his choice. He practically ripped Dick’s shirt off of him, buttons spraying everywhere. He pushed the torn cloth up around Dick’s wrist and held it there. He drank in Dick’s firm body. He helped himself to a particularly noticeable scar that ran over Dick’s collarbone with his tongue. 

Dick moaned again. “Lower,” he breathed. “Lower, please.”

Ignoring Dick’s pleads, Jason slowly trailed his hand down and put his hand into Dick’s pants, cupping the warm cock confined in the briefs. He let go of Dick’s wrists and started pulling Dick’s pants and underwear down. With the other man completely naked, Jason started working on his own clothes, shucking them away carelessly. 

Then, he climbed on top of Dick again, pushing between his legs roughly. “Lube?”

“Drawer,” Dick said impatiently, nodding at the drawer by his bed.

Jason reached over and fumbling around, looking for a tube. However, he pricked his finger on something sharp and pulled it out, only to see a pinpoint of blood on his fingertip. 

“Oops,” Dick giggled. “I don’t remember putting a knife in there.”

“Sure,” Jason said with a glare, sucking on his fingertip. Then, he grabbed the bottle of lube. Jason made quick work of prepping Dick with only two fingers, but Dick did not seem to mind the roughness, if his moaning was anything to go by. 

“You’ve got neighbors, you know,” Jason said, pouring lube over his cock and giving it a few strokes. Though he understood Dick’s desperateness and need to get on with the sex, he still wanted to be courteous to those around them. 

Dick gave a breathless laugh. “They’re voyeurs, it’s okay.”

Jason gave him a half-hearted frown, but he pushed deep into him with a hissed, “Fuck!”

Dick moaned and arched, taking even more of Jason into him. “Fuck, it’s been so long!”

“Does it hurt?” Jason asked. 

Dick laughed. “You’re such a big softie. I’m- I’m fine. But please, just fuck me!”

Jason was not one to disobey. He plunged himself into Dick’s tight, warm heat, thrusting into him over and over again. He gripped Dick’s waist tightly, pulling the man down to meet his thrusts and get deeper inside of him. 

“Just like that, Jason!” Dick cried, throwing his head back in pleasure. “Fuck, yes!” he shouted even louder, but at that point, Jason had stopped worrying about the neighbors. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Dickie,” Jason growled as he fucked Dick harder, pleasure pooling deep inside him as his orgasm started building. “I’m going to fucking wreck you.”

Dick gasped at his words, his pretty blue eyes opening slightly. “Please do,” he whispered. “Make a mess out of me, Jay. I wanna be your greatest masterpiece.”

That should not have been sexy. Jason did not mix sex with his art form (yes, it was murder, but he considered it an art). But when those words came from Dick’s plump, beautiful lips, Jason could not hold it back any longer. 

His thrusts became erratic, and Dick must have sensed it because he clenched down harder than before, and with a wail, he was cumming on Jason’s cock, tightening rhythmically around him. Jason’s cock was being milked by Dick’s insides, and at that point, it was all over for him. 

Jason spilled deep inside of Dick, painting his insides with his cum. Then, he collapsed down on top of Dick, barely managing to keep him from crushing the smaller man. 

Dick giggled. “How’d that feel, Mr. Artist?” he murmured. 

“Fuckin’ amazing,” Jason said. “Certainly the most exciting I’ve ever had.”

Dick hummed softly. Jason heard his handcuffs click and a second later, Dick’s arms hung loosely around Jason’s neck, but somehow, Jason had a feeling Dick would not snap it. “I agree,” Dick said. “’m tired now. Can we sleep?”

“How do you know you won’t kill me when I fall asleep?” Jason asked, rolling over but still keeping in close proximity to Dick. 

Dick held up a hand. “Pinkie promise?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. 

“I swear I won’t,” Dick said solemnly. “Besides, if I kill you here, your DNA is all mixed in with mine. I mean, it’s literally dripping out of me. And how do I know I can’t say the same about you?”

Jason sighed. “Probably because I literally left cum dripping out of you.” He reluctantly took Dick’s pinkie in his. The smaller man beamed, and Jason could not help but add a little smile as well. 

Then, Dick snuggled in closer to him, rubbing his face into Jason’s shoulder. “Mkay,” he said. “Now sleep.”

~~~

They both woke up around 3 in the morning and decided to get up to grab breakfast. However, it turned out that ice cream was the only thing that was still edible in Dick’s fridge. Jason also spied Dick’s knives still in the kitchen, and he noticed a couple of pumpkins sitting by the door. 

They somehow ended up carving pumpkins and eating ice cream together at 3 in the morning.

“So... what now?” Dick asked.

Jason reached his spoon into the quart of ice cream in Dick’s lap. “I dunno,” he said, licking the creamy vanilla treat off of his spoon before going back for more. “I can’t believe you only have vanilla ice cream in your freezer, Dickie. So boring.”

“Hey, I like vanilla! Besides, no one eats it but me, so why not buy my favorite?” Dick said, sticking his tongue out at Jason. He ate a huge spoonful to prove his point. Then, his face contorted due to brain freeze. 

Jason laughed at him. “Awww, poor Dickie might like vanilla ice cream, but vanilla ice cream doesn’t seem to like him back!”

Dick shoved him lightly, barely budging Jason. 

They fell into a companionable silence and stared at their flickering jack-o-lanterns as the so-to-be-rising sun started changing the colors of the sky.

“Hey, Jay,” Dick said quietly after a few minutes. 

“Hm?”

“What do you think about sticking around? Like, maybe as friends?”

Jason stared at Dick before he started laughing. “As friends? What kind of friends, Dickie? Serial killer friends? Friends with benefits friends? ‘Normal people’ friends?”

Dick was not amused. He glared at Jason. “Fine, not friends then,” he huffed. 

“Hey, I’m kidding,” Jason said. Dick continued pouting. Jason gently reached over and turned Dick’s face towards him. “Dickie, I’d like very much to be friends,” he said with a sincere smile. “Any kind of friends.”

And when Dick started smiling slowly, Jason knew it was all okay.

/╲/\╭( ͡° ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ͡°)╮/\╱\

I’m very sorry to say that that was a very half-assed piece of smut because I just wanted to get it done.

[drjackandmissjo]

Roses are Red, Tattoos are Forever

Chapter 3 --- previous chapter

Feysand masterlist

The Sherlock Conundrum

Florist and tattoo artist Au, Modern Day

“Can you please stop with this madness? Hugh Laurie is clearly the best Sherlock ever!”

They were both sitting on the couch of his living room. Really close to each other. She had her left knee under her body and was fully facing him. He had been throwing glances at her way the whole time she’s been there, and now was admiring her everything as they bantered lovingly.

After a particularly rough client, that had taken her nearly seven hours to finish, she came into his shop claiming: “We’re both closing earlier, I need to rest and so do you.”

At his attempt to tell her off, cause “I don’t need to rest I am in pristine fit every second of every minute”, she simply replied with an elongated ‘Please’ and a pair of puppy dog eyes that would’ve put a Labrador to shame.

Useless to say, they ended up on his couch half an hour later, a marathon of the fourth season of House M.D. on the television and chips and popcorn all around.

Feyre is harder than she looks, tougher. She likes to drink whiskey and burning liquor and beer.

Rhys, on the other hand, is a refined rosé man. He drinks fruity drinks and cocktails and vodka. He tried the same stuff that she drinks, once, when they went out with the rest of the inner circle after Az had received a promotion. It didn’t end well.

Feyre and Cassian will forever tease him about it.

Since their taste in alcohol was on such a wide spectrum, they decided to settle for some sparkly Coca-Cola for that fine night.

About halfway through episode six, the debate had begun. The show was soon forgotten and left as a white noise machine that lulled them into their silliness.

“Feyre Darling. You are being delusional. Dr House’s got nothing on RDJ’s Sherlock. Just cause the character was inspired by Conan Doyle’s work it doesn’t mean it can be considered a Sherlock.”

She laughed. A delicious sound that was filling his days more and more each morning. “Do you know that Conan Doyle based Shelly on a doctor, right? Also, yeah Jude Law’s better than Wilson, that is true.”

“Can we just agree that Cumberbatch and Freeman are equally amazing.”

“Yeah, duh! But, controversial opinion: I don’t actually ship Jonhlock romantically.”

“More like platonic soul-mates? Makes complete sense. They are not interested in each other at all. You are right, Fey-ruh Acheron.”

‘HOW DARE SHE...’, he thought severely displeased.

“Oh please don’t be pissed at me. I like them together and everything, but in my mind, Sherlock is pretty much ace-aro. I mean, Cumberbatch was also Smaug. Which in the books is described as a dragon while the movies decided to portray him like a vixen...” He solemnly nodded.

That is, indeed, a severe problem in mainstream media.

“That is, indeed, a severe problem in today mainstream media. We live in a world where people don’t know the difference between one another! Daenerys Mother of Dragons? More like Dany The Soccer Mom of three cool lizards. That would be more appropriate!”

“Don’t talk to me about Dany, I’m still pissed about Jonerys. I mean, fan-service much? Okay, I can deal with that. But don’t freaking kill Viserion and try to make us all believe that HIS MOTHER WOULD FUCK HER NEPHEW THIRTY MINUTES LATER!”

She laughed again.

‘Gods above and below,’ he thought, ‘how much can a person love another?’

“Agree 100% on Viserion, though Jon after Ygrit should’ve just zipped up his pants and close business. You experience that kind of love once in your screentime. And when you do, Martin kills the counterpart off immediately after the big scene. You know that sadist is gonna kill you off, so just spare him the dirty deeds to write.”

“The dirty deeds are the reasons he is taking so much to finish that freaking book. Also, salty much?"

"You dare calling me salty? It’s been years and you still weep over Robb’s body.”

“Excuse you, it is a very fine body. Have you seen Richard Madden lately? With that kilt at Kit and Rose’s wedding? Fine AF.”

She was now scooting over, moving closer to his face to find a reaction.

“Fine, you’re right. But Darling, you know damn well I am attracted to that man, you can’t just casually throw his name around! That would be like me, saying that Misha has aged like a fine whisky.”

“And where would a lie hide in that sentence?”

“ANYWAY. We were talking of something terrifically important.”

He decided to add a Meaningful Pause to give himself some dramatic effect...

“How can you say you don’t ship Jonhlock romantically?”

‘Honesly I love that woman. She is my other half, I would die for her and with her. My life without her has no meaning.

But if her answer doesn’t please me then so help me God I will suffer through a meaningless life with the strength of my ships.’ His mind said.

“I told you before the 'The Hobbit/Game of Thrones' parenthesis. When I read the books I thought of Sherlock as a madman who cared about Watson profoundly, but mostly cares about himself and his work. Someone who doesn’t dwell into feelings, doesn’t really enjoy sexual times and, truly, a modern-day asexual and aromantic asshole with a kink for unofficial police work. Yes, He and Watson are amazing together, and especially with RDJ and Jude Law I saw the sexual tension, which then I also saw in the BBC’s version. But for me, since I read the books first, Jonhlock will always be the exact relationship shown by House and Wilson. Sorry to disappoint.”

She was so close to him, he could smell her shampoo and count the freckles across her nose. She was staring directly into his soul. Rhys was fully clothed in an old tee and some pants and yet he’d never felt more naked.

“You never disappoint me. As a matter of fact, you never cess to amaze me, Feyre Acheron. You are perfect and beautiful both on the inside as well as on the outside. Here I was, looking for a polite way to kick you out of my apartment after you say you don’t ship one of my OTPs and now, here still I am trying not to be drowned into you and trying not to get lost into your eyes and I love you so fucking much that it physically hurts.”

His inner monologue at the time? ‘Fuck. FUCK. What the fuck did I just say???’

She had managed to fry his whole brain with her smart reasoning and perfect voice and now he had ruined a perfect moment by saying cheesy stuff to a girl that didn’t particularly care for cheese.

That was the end of Rhysand Sphera as we all know and love him.

Cause of death: killed by Feyre Acheron as result of saying something completely idiotic.

Only...

“Do you really mean that?”

She sounded hopeful and scared at the same time. The horrors she had to face in the past came running back to her and were written all over her face. Rhys took her hands in his. They were both trembling.

His mouth had probably never been that dry and yet aching to speak at the same time. He could only nod and pray she reciprocated.

That was the moment of truth.

“Of course I mean it. All of it. Each unsaid sentence and each shared glances. Every time I bring you coffee or a send you a picture of a dog that walks into my shop with its owner even though I’m terrified of them. The dog, not the owner. Even though some owners of dogs are terrifying. I have been in love with you for so long, I forgot how it feels not loving you. I look back at those times when you were not in my life and even back then I knew I was missing something. And when he-who-must-not-be-named showed up and swept you off your feet away from me, I was broken beyond repair. But you came back and made me hope that maybe, maybe all my dreams could become true. But you were hurt and also broken, and you needed time to heal. You still do. I shouldn’t have said anything, but you’re just so fucking amazing that I struggle to not scream ‘I Love You’ every time you breathe. I am utterly in love with you and hopelessly devoted to you. I understand if you still need time to heal or would rather be with someone else. But I said it, and I do not intend on taking it back.”

She was kneeling on the couch, her hands still clutching his, tears streaming down her face.

“Don’t take it back.”

Rhys thought he had heard what he wanted, so he had to ask, “What?”, a dumbstruck disbelieving-his-luck expression plastered on his face.

“I said don’t take it back. I feel the same way. I am utterly in love with you and hopelessly devoted to you too. I thought you hated me after, well, Tamlin. It is pleasant knowing we reciprocate each other’s feelings.”

Feyre laughed again, breaking the spell between them. Only, now the deed was done. Neither of them could hold their emotions in any longer. Feyre leaned in and so did Rhys, and their lips met halfway in a once in a lifetime, epic romance, Full on Princess Bride type of kiss.

After they both ran out of breath, they simply remained connected in every way possible given their awkward position. Foreheads never leaving each other, hands clasped together, lips barely touching. That spell, though, didn’t last for long. Soon they yearned to touch each other’s skin and feel each other’s bodies.

They were never going to have enough of each other.

[oskea93]

Why Can’t I (2)

Hey guys! I just want to thank you all for reading this story! I greatly appreciate it. Please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged, let me know as well!!

WARNINGS: LANGUAGE

“Can we just stay here forever?”

The warm tropical sun beat down from the crystal-clear sky, baking those below it. “Let’s just move here and become island people.” Bryn spoke. “We can get jobs showing all the tourist around, maybe become bartenders or something.”

“Mmh.” I moaned out, repositioned myself on the towel I was laying in. “You only know how to drink alcohol. You don’t know how to serve it.” Bryn let out a scoff. “Plus, you love New York too much to leave.”

I lifted my sunglasses to the top of my head, shifting my body into a sitting position. We had been on the beach for almost three hours. Three hours of sunbathing and listening to Bryn ramble on about random things was getting to be a bit much. “Where you going?” She looked my way.

I brushed the sand off my legs as I stood up from my towel. “I’m gonna get a drink; Do you want one?” She nodded her head, telling me that she wanted a Tequila Sunrise. After waking up with a hangover and having no recollection of what happened last night, her first drink request of the day was a drink with two types of alcohol. “Maybe you should start off easy, like with a water.” I suggested. Her face contorted as if I had just insulted her. “You could get dehydrated and I really don’t feel like dragging your ass back to the hotel again. I’m pretty sure I pulled a back muscle or something from last night.”

I watched as she hastily turned over on her back, throwing both her arms over her head in dramatic fashion. “I want a Tequila Sunrise, dammit!” She exclaimed. The people around us once again looking in our direction. I rolled my eyes, pulling my sunglasses out of my hair and back onto my face. I didn’t bother telling her yes or no, simply walking off toward the bar. Of course, I was gonna get her the stupid drink. I didn’t feel like hearing her bitch and moan if brought her a back a bottle of Evian.

I made my way to the bar, taking a seat beside an older couple. The bartender was tending to the other patrons, giving me time to see what I wanted. I was never one to drink. I drank a few beers here and there, choosing not indulge in the hardcore stuff. Don’t get me wrong, there have been times where I’ve drank straight from a Johnnie Walker bottle, but I was usually having a bad day. “You know the Blue Lagoon is really good.”

I jumped at the sound of the voice, my head whipping around to see the owner. “You’re super jumpy.” Duff laughed, taking his seat beside me. I didn’t even see the older couple leave, allowing the seat to become vacant. “Maybe you just need a shot of Vodka.”

“Do you get some kind of thrill of sneaking up on people?” I asked annoyed. The smile stayed on his face as he shrugged his bare shoulders. I rolled my eyes, turning my attention back to the list of drinks.

“What can I get you, miss?” The bartender asked, placing cocktail napkins down on the bar in front of Duff and I.

“Can I just get a beer, please.” He nodded his head.

“You, sir?” His attention turned to Duff, who was in the middle of lighting a cigarette. I listened as Duff ordered a bottle of beer as well. The bartender moved away from where Duff and I were, retrieving two bottles of Red Stripe.

“Cheers!” Duff lifted his drink, waiting for me to do the same. I looked over at him, a small smile forming across my face. I let out a sigh, lifting my drink at the level of his. “Cheers.” A smirk formed across his face as he brought the bottle to his lips. I watched as he guzzled down the beer, his eyes never leaving mine. My heart started beating a little faster, a feeling of the unknown filling my veins. I barely knew this guy and he was having this kind of effect on me. My own fiancé never had this kind of effect of me and we’ve been together for almost two years. Any other guy I would have forgotten about. I would have forgotten their name, what they looked like, or that they even existed. I would just consider them some guy that I met at the bar, but Duff was different. I remembered his name after only meeting him for 20 minutes the night before. I remembered what he looked like. And I definitely remembered that he was real and that we were on the same, small island.

“So-” Duff began to speak, breaking me out of my thoughts. “What’s your plans for today, Molly?” My fake name rolled off his tongue as if he knew it was lie. “That’s not your name, is it?” He questioned, scooting closer to me. My heart was beating like a jackhammer at this point. He was so close that I could smell the scent of cigarettes, booze, and a certain cologne that I would eventually fall in love with. “No.” I replied softly. I turned my head to look back at the bar but his fingers curled under my chin, turning my head back to face him. If I was a cartoon character, my heart would have literally exploded out of my chest at this moment. Another scenario would be that I would just turn to a puddle of goo and fall to the floor.

“What’s your real name?” His fingers still hooked under my chin, his face even closer to mine. Any other girl would have slapped his hand away, probably throwing their drink in his face seeing how forward he was being, but I wasn’t like most girls. “Lauren.” I spoke. “Lauren Fredrick.” It was as if everyone at the bar had disappeared and it was just him and I.

The smirk from before reappeared on his face, “Does that ring on your finger mean anything?” I looked down at my engagement ring, the diamond sparkling in the sunlight. My body shivered as his fingers lightly trailed down my neck, his hand finding its place on my thigh. I looked down at the callused hand, watching as he moved his thumb moved softly back and forth on my skin.

“Lauren!”

I jumped in surprise as Bryn’s voice snapped me out of my erotic thoughts. I quickly pushed Duff’s hand away, almost falling off the stool. “Lauren, what the hell?” Bryn walked up to me, side-eying Duff the entire time. “What are you doing?” She whispered in my ear, wedging herself between Duff and I. I looked over her shoulder and over at Duff. He had his attention turned to those around the bar, sipping on his drink ever so often. “Lauren!”

I looked back at Bryn, shrugging my shoulders, “What?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes, placing her hands on her hips, “You were supposed to be getting drinks, not fucking around with strange men who aren’t your fiancé.” I rolled my eyes at her statement. “Isn’t that the guy from last night? The one you weren’t interested in since it was only “a random guy at the bar.” She air-quoted the last part.

“We’re just talking.” I whispered back. “Nothing’s happening between Duff and I.” Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

“You know his name; you know his fucking name?” She harshly whispered, going into one of her freak out moments. “You’re not supposed to know his fucking name, Lauren.” My eyes once again drifted back to Duff. His posture was relaxed, another bottle of beer sitting in front of him. ���I think it’s time for us to go.” Bryn announced. “You need a cold shower like right now.” Duff looked over at us, watching as Bryn pulled me to my feet, gathering my things in the process.

“You’re leaving?” He asked. Bryn rolled her eyes at his question, tugging on my arm.

I was being pulled in two different directions, one physically and the other emotionally. “Listen dude-”Bryn began to speak before I could. “My friend here is engaged to be married to a up-and-coming powerful business man. She doesn’t need to be romanced by a guy that probably doesn’t have two pennies to rub together.” This time my jaw dropped to the floor. “So just back off and leave her alone, okay.”

Duff stayed silent, his jaw clenched, trying his best not to stoop to Bryn’s level. I felt totally embarrassed by Bryn’s response. She had no idea what was going on and for her to act that way towards him was uncalled for. Even though she was my best friend, I didn’t want to be anywhere near her right now.

“Stop being such a fucking bitch, Bryn.” I yanked my arm out of her hold. “You have no fucking right to talk to him like that; you’re not my mother.” Everyone at the bar was once again staring. I could see that my words had stunned her. She was speechless but I could also sense the anger that was building. After all, Bryn was a natural red head and that anger was always bubbling like a volcano that was moments away from erupting.

I yanked my sunglasses and wallet out of her hands, stepping back to where Duff was. “I’m staying with my friend here and I don’t give a shit what you think about it.” She looked between Duff and I, glaring at the man longer than necessary.

“Whatever.” She muttered annoyed. She turned around and started walking back toward the pool area. A part of me wanted to follow her and tell her I was sorry for yelling the way I did, but I didn’t. She was the one that was in the wrong. She was the one who showed her ass and it ended up backfiring on her.

I let out the air I didn’t realize I was holding in, suddenly feeling like shit. “You okay?” Duff placed his hand on my shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

I shook my head, “No.” I answered honestly. I spun around on my bare heels, coming face to face with the blonde. “I need a stiff drink.” Duff’s face instantly lit up at my request. He held out his hand for me to take. “I think I can help you with that.”