#guts has a selfie stick attached to his arm

[thealmostblackswordsman]

when the physical manifestation of ur inner rage is like “ay bitch lets take a fkin selfie” and u can’t exactly resist that and u also forget to turn off the fuckin flash

[heartbreakgrill]

Love Song; Corbyn Besson

description: yeah just some good ol’ friends to lovers 😋

Your face clenched up as the nurse swabbed your nose. The urge to sneeze came over when she tugged it out, and you quickly pulled up your mask. After a round of watery eyes and the oddest facial expression, the sneeze subsided.

“Thank you,” you told her, a laugh dancing at the edge of you tone.

Her eyes crinkled, showing the smile beneath her mask. “You’re welcome. It’ll just be a minute.”

You stood from the chair, plopping down beside Zach on the couch. He was playing on his phone, but looked up when he noticed your presence.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” He watched your hand rub at your nose over the mask.

“Uh, yeah,” you chuckled.

Zach went back to his phone and you unlocked your own, crossing a leg over the other. Soon, his name was called and he snapped off his mask. Negative.

Daniel replaced Zach in the seat beside you. You bid him hello and he said, “Hey. How are you today?”

“Was doing fine before I had to have a stick in my nose,” you giggled.

Daniel laughed as well. “Yeah, but whatever we have to do to get to celebrate.”

“New normal,” you nodded.

“Y/N!” The other nurse called out from her clipboard.

You flashed your eyebrows at Daniel and stood from the couch. Slipping your phone into your butt pocket, you walked over to the table.

“You are negative, my dear. We’re having everyone who has already been tested to stay in the kitchen.”

You took the packet of your information from the nurse, thanked them again, and joined Zach, Corbyn, and Christian in the kitchen. You slipped the pink mask in your jean jacket pocket as you took the empty bar stool next to Christian.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted.

Corbyn perked up at the sound of your voice, peaking up from his phone. He was directly across from you, leaning his chin against the ball of his palm. You glanced around at the boys, meeting his eyes over the top of his phone.

“Hey, Y/N, when did you get here?” Christian spoke, drawing your eyes away from Corbyn.

You cleared your throat and folded your hands in your lap. They were clammy now, budding heat throughout your face. His eyes.

“Like ten minutes ago. I said I was here in the group chat,” you reminded Christian.

He shrugged, “I don’t really pay attention.”

“Rip,” you laughed.

Zach and Christian went back to their conversation about the album, the only valid topic of interest for the night ahead.

You glanced back over at Corbyn, who had shifted so he could pretend like he hadn’t blushed at your presence. You sat there for a moment, contemplating saying anything at all. Ultimately you settled on tugging out your phone again.

You leaned on the counter, scrolling through people’s Instagram stories. You swiped past Why Don’t We’s shared page and fell on Corbyn’s. It was a selfie, one he took mere moments before you sat down. You flushed red, eyes gently lifting to take in how he looked right now.

His eyes.

You forced an awkward smile at the awkward eye contact, feeling...awkward.

You looked back down at your phone. It seems everyone of the boy’s friends and family members had posted about the album. Except you. You felt slightly guilty, voicing your concerns to the boys before you. Jonah and Daniel had since joined you guys in the kitchen, talking with Christian and Zach.

“No worries, Y/N. I mean, you’re here,” Jonah shrugged it off.

Zach added, “Yeah, but if you wanna post something go ahead.

“Why don’t we just take a selfie or something?” Daniel suggested, tipping his water bottle towards the phone in your hand.

“Oh, yeah. That’s good. I know it doesn’t matter, but I really want you guys to get number 1 on the charts,” you grinned sheepishly.

Jack appeared beside you, slinging on arm around your shoulder. You noticed Corbyn shift again, gulping and eyeing Jack’s arm.

“Oh, we will, Y/N, we will,” he winked at you.

You laughed loudly at his expression. “I believe in you, Jack Avery.”

He squeezed your shoulder. Everybody moved to stand around you, Corbyn ending up too far away. You tried to see where it was he was standing, just because you felt comfortable being able to see him, seeing you. But you couldn’t.

You were attempting to hold the phone out far enough to get everyone in frame, but your arm wasn’t long enough. Everybody laughed at your struggle. Jonah took the phone from you and angled it at the group. He snapped the photo and everyone dispersed.

Jonah ended up in the seat across from you, Zach next to him where he had been. Daniel, Jack, and Christian decided to start pouring drinks, since it was nearing 11 pm. Corbyn stood there for a minute, contemplating running off the edge of the world.

He settled in the seat beside you which drew your attention from your phone. You had been captioning the Instagram post, struggling to come up with something interesting.

“Hey, Corbyn,” you weakly smiled.

He smiled. “Hey.” His voice made your knees weak.

You flashed the screen at him, pushing down the red blush willing itself to paint your face. “What do you think I should caption it?”

“I don’t know,” he let out a breathy laugh, “uh, maybe a joke. Like, track 4 was written about me.”

You shared a laugh with him, happy nothing felt stuffed of weird energy for even a mere few minutes of conversation.

“That would be really funny, but probably cause some drama. How about, like, ‘dibs on Love Song?’ Because I genuinely feel like that ones gonna be so good.”

Corbyn gulped, “I wrote that one with Daniel.”

“Oh,” you breathed. “Then, I call it.”

Red cheeks all around.

You quickly posted it. Soon, the room was engulfed with music, the 3 singles the boys had released filling the air. There was a single camera on the band, standing around the kitchen island you had once been sitting at.

You stood to the side with Anna and Kay, a glass of champagne in your hand. You had since abandoned your Jean jacket, revealing the flowery, thin strapped corset that left your midrif out in the open. You felt really hot, be it because of the outfit, your sparse interactions with Corbyn, or the alcohol beginning to take hold of your bones.

See, there was something there with Corbyn, something nobody really even knew about. In fact, you didn’t even know if Corbyn himself remembered.

You had been good friends with the entire band since they moved to LA, attending concerts when you weren’t in school and hanging out constantly. Of course, as any pathetic pining story went, you’d been in love with Corbyn since you’d met him, but his heart had always belonged to Christina.

When you discovered they broke up, you felt elated for half a second. Then, he called you in tears.

“I know we’re not expectionally close, but I need somebody. The guys, they just don’t understand.l

Since that moment, you guys had been attached at the hip. Quarantine had been boring at first, terrifying, even. But, then you’d begun to spend every waking moment with Corbyn. You were the one who suggested he dye his hair black, had helped him do it. you’d gone with him when the tattoo shops opened again and helped him pick which one looked best. You’d helped them move into their new house, helped Corbyn decorate his new space. Hell, you’d even suggested a song lyric or two when laying on Corbyn’s bed, listening to him across the room on his guitar.

And then, on your birthday a few months ago, you had gotten exceptionally drunk to drown the sorrows of lusting after your best friend. When the clock struck midnight, Corbyn had already hauled down a taxi from the bar, slung your arm around his neck, cradling your waist as he tried to get you inside.

Out of nowhere, the sky began pouring buckets of rain. You fell against his chest, laughing hysterically at the ironically cliche moment. Corbyn somehow nuzzled his nose into your neck, giggling along with your drunken haze.

You pulled back gently, the closeness emitting a fierce confidence in your gut which enabled you to lean up and kiss him. He kissed you back, but when he remembered how drunk you were, he tugged away.

“I can’t do this,” he urged, but you mistook his respect for consent as rejection.

You mumbled, “But I’m in love with you.”

You didn’t remember for a few days after, what had happened that night. All you knew was you had woken up in Corbyn’s bed, his clothes on you, a headache in your head, and your dress soaking wet over the bathtub.

Then, a few days later, when you were perched on Corbyn’s bed, watching an episode of Big Mouth, he made a joke about how, “in love you are with,” him. Your eyes widened, breath hitched, and a memory pulled itself from your brain. You suddenly stood up, his arm dropping to the comforter since it had been around your shoulders.

You made some excuse about homework, though you both knew you had finished your finals the night prior. Since then, neither of you had really spoken at all.

You clenched the champagne glass between your fingers, turning them white from frustration. You felt a hand on your shoulder, turning towards Anna.

“Everything okay?” She glanced between your eyes, noticing the tears welled up there.

You sniffled and blinked the tears away. One dribbled down your cheek. You quickly wiped it away. Anna’s bottom lip jutted out in a pitiful expression and she pulled you into a hug. You wanted to collapse into her, sobbing your way through the album’s release. But, you squeezed your face shut and grabbed the composure that was running away from you.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you tugged back and set your glass on the table beside you. You quickly strode to the bathroom, shutting it behind you.

You wiped under your eyes with a wet cloth, salvaging your eye makeup. Your eyes were still red, though, red and pupils blown up in a sad countenance.

There was a knock on the door and you tensed up. Daniel’s voice came from the other side of the door, soft and sweet.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

You already knew he had seen you crying on Anna, and probably watched you storm away as quietly as one could when they were this upset. You were taking him away from his night and that made you feel just horrible.

“Yeah,” your voice was weak.

Daniel gently opened the door. He didn’t try to hug you or tell it was going to be okay. Instead, he cradled your face in his head, pushing the hair back from your cheeks.

“I know. You don’t have to explain or try to push me away. I just know. All I can give is the fact that we wrote these songs about our lives. These songs are personal.”

You met his eyes, swimming in the undemanding answers he was laying in front of you. “What do you mean?”

He gave a warm smile, “Corbyn got really good at songwriting. Just listen.”

You hugged Daniel quickly before shutting off the light. He slung his arm around your shoulders, guiding you back to the kitchen. Everyone counted down for midnight and soon enough, the new songs were blasting through the kitchen.

You anticipated Love Song through the entirety of Be Myself, barely paying any attention to the song that you knew Daniel wrote exclusively by himself. Soon, Daniel’s voice was dancing through the speakers in an upbeat rhythm, singing the literal love song.

Right after, Corbyn’s voice came again.

“You came out of nowhere like a hurricane.”

You perked up, holding yourself together with your arms. Daniel caught your eyes and nodded firmly. Your eyes flickered across the room and met Corbyn‘s. He’d been watching you for a while, you settled. Though his band mates and friends were dancing around the kitchen, he was solemnly drinking his own champagne. His hair was damp from the bottle Jonah had cracked open at midnight.

“Pulled me in and kissed me in the rain. And I fell for you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You found his eyes again, your face bright red. An overwhelming grin came over you. Corbyn smiled in response, a dry chuckle shaking his shoulders. He shook his head, finally relieved.

You set down your glass again, tapping Anna on the shoulder. “I’ll be back, k?”

She squeezed your shoulder again, still feeling sympathetic. You looked to Corbyn and nodded towards the back door.

You slipped outside, taking a seat on one of the pool chairs. It was dark outside, only the light from the kitchen washing through the glass sliding doors.

You heard the doors open and close again, looking up from your shoes. You stood up, breathing in deeply. Corbyn stopped in front of you, fingers squeezing each other.

You nervously smiled up at him. “So...” you ached, “so, um, I guess I really did call track 4.”

Corbyn laughed, his hands coming around to your back. He pushed you into his chest, yours going up around his neck.

“Yeah,” his face drew back, “and it was about you.”

You grinned, pursing your lips to try and push it down. But, you were tired of pushing it all down, so you let your lips widen before landing themselves on Corbyn’s.

“You could be the one, girl you’re driving me crazy.”

[jenonctcity]

Destroy Dick December - Jaemin

Na Jaemin – Smut, Crack, Fluff

Warnings: Graphic smut, oral.

Word Count: 3k

Summary: 00’s line take part in Destroy Dick December

 Like No Nut November, Destroy Your Dick December is a month-long challenge related to orgasms of the penis persuasion.

On the first day of December you orgasm once, on the second you orgasm twice, on the third you orgasm three times, and so on. 

Day 1:

As if making up for lost time, Jaemin had gone a bit sex mad the last few weeks of November. You’d previously hoped that if he had succeeded in no nut November, then the sex he’d provide you with in the beginning of December would be mind-blowing and unforgettable. He’d only lasted a week, and since then, he’d been trying to worm his way inside of your underwear nearly every day. You didn’t mind, he was pretty good at using his penis and the charm he used on you was enough to make the fabric of your panties stick to your dampening heat. But, where he had warned you in advance to no nut November, he’d neglected to tell you about his decision in destroy dick December.

He’d just finished fucking you till your eyes were rolling into the back of your head when he tucked his face into your perspiring neck, his cock still inside of you as it slowly softened, and his arms wrapped around your body to stop you from escaping him. Not that you wanted to.

“Baby,” He sang in a cute voice, hoping if he used a bit of aeygo on you it would persuade you to go along with his ridiculous idea. “I have something to tell you.” He started to whisper now, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine with every word.

“What?” You sighed, bracing yourself for whatever stupid thing he was about to propose to you. “You didn’t accidentally send my mum a selfie of you wearing my dress again did you?” You raised an eyebrow, sniggering at the memory of the time you’d left Jaemin alone whilst you showered, and he’d taken it upon himself to put on your dress and take a mirror selfie, meaning to send it to your phone but accidentally sending it to your mother instead. He groaned loudly, wiggling his hips and nipping at your neck.

“You promised never to speak of that again!” He whined like a spoilt brat, cringing at the vivid yet embarrassing memory. You laughed in response at his cute reaction and trailed your hands down his back, swirling your fingertips around his damp skin to soothe him. “I’m going to do destroy dick December, its basically a challenge th-” You cut him off as he started to ramble.

“I know what it is Jaemin. And no. I am not helping you with it.” You put on your stern voice, hoping if you showed your displeasure in it then he’d drop it and not take part in it.

“Why?!” He squeaked in surprise, sounding almost scandalized that you weren’t going to help him.

“Because its so unsafe Jaemin! All that masturbating and sex isn’t healthy for your body.” You scolded him, genuinely concerned for the health of his heart because in your opinion his health was way more important to you than a stupid internet trend. He huffed in annoyance, his breath flooding over your skin again and causing another shiver to ripple down your spine.

“Pretty please.” He whispered in the cutest voice he could muster, your eyes rolling in response.

“No. You can take part in it if you like. But I am not helping you.”

“But surely you can’t go without sex for a whole month and if you won’t help me then you can’t have sex with me.” He used his arms to suspend his body above yours, staring down at you with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, believing he’d caught you out. You deadpanned at him, not responding which caused him to wiggle his eyebrows at you to encourage a response.

“Fine, I’ll have sex with you once a day but that is it!”

“Deal!”

 Day 4:

“Baby…I want to eat you out so badly…can I?” Jaemin’s sultry voice whispered in your ear, his teeth nipping at your ear lobe as a gentle persuasion. You closed your eyes, picturing his face between your legs, a smug look plastered on his face from how wet he’d made you and how you whimpered under his touch. A hum ripped from your throat, almost sounding like a soft moan as you actually felt a dribble of arousal leak from your entrance.

“I already gave you one orgasm today, that was the deal, remember?” You thought back to when you woke up beside Jaemin this morning. He’d rolled himself on top of you and rutted his leaking cock into your thigh until you parted your legs and let him have his way with you.

“I never said you had to do anything to me…” He circled his fingers over your thigh, ghosting his fingertips against the bare skin leading goose bumps to rise up. You scoffed a laugh, rolling your eyes at him as you took his hand in between your own.

“Na Jaemin, do I look stupid?” You raised an eyebrow at him, his eyes widening to show innocence and fake confusion. “I know you’ve had three orgasms so far, and you need another one so you’re trying to butter me up, so I’ll cave and perform another one on you. It isn’t happening.” He didn’t respond, his eyes darting around the room as he thought of something to say.

“Please?” Was the best he could come up with. You sighed, smiling cutely at him with a twinkle in your eye.

“Okay!”

“Really?” He gasped, his face lighting up like a struck match.

“No.” You said in a monotone voice, your face falling to one of no emotion. His face also fell, his eyebrows lowering and a pout forming on his face.

“You’re no fun.”

 Day 8:

You hadn’t heard from Jaemin since earlier on in the morning. He’d sent you a simple good morning text and also told you how beautiful you looked despite the fact he hadn’t actually seen you. It was this charming personality that you fell in love with when you started dating Jaemin. His text had brought an undeniably huge smile to your face on your morning commute to work, patterning your good mood for the day. The day before you’d arrange to go to the dorm to see Jaemin in the evening after your shift at work had finished. You let yourself into the door like you usually do and raised a sceptical eyebrow at how silent it was. The eery silence not sitting right with you and leading your gut instinct to tell you something bad had happened.

“Nana?” You called out gently, removing your shoes and adventuring cautiously further into the dorm.

“I’m here.” A gruff and solemn voice called out from his bedroom. You let yourself in and gasped upon seeing his body all tucked up in bed, his head the only thing visible, a pout that told you he was feeling sorry for himself moulded onto his lips.

“What happened? Are you okay?” You rushed to his bed, sitting on the edge and staring down at him and scanning his head for any damage.

“No.” He stared up at you, a short sigh leaving his lips as he shuffled around underneath his cover, pulling his arms out from their confines. He held up his right hand to you, a wrist brace attached securely to his hand and wrist. Shock took over your body, your mouth popping open and eyebrows dropping in sadness at how your baby was hurt.

“What did you do?!” You moved around so that you were laying underneath the covers with him, resting your head on his chest and rubbing your hand over his chest comfortingly.

“I slipped over and sprained my wrist.” He cuddled you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head. You knew he was going to milk this, your attention being too irresistible to him for him not to milk it.

“How did you do that?” You very gently grabbed his injured hand, pulling it towards you to place a delicate kiss to each of his fingertips. He remained silent, almost as if he was trying to avoid telling you how it happened.

“Erm…ha…funny story really.” He started to stumble over his words as he got nervous, his cheeks flushing red as embarrassment overtook him.

“Jaemin just tell me.”

“Okay well I had already jerked off four times and my penis was starting to get sore from only using spit. But lube is messy, so I decided to use it in the bathroom.” He cleared his throat, letting out another sigh as he continued on his story. “I dropped the lube and it went all on the floor, so I went to get something to clean it up with and when I came back, I misjudged how much lube was on the floor…and I slipped on it…” You had to use every ounce of self-control inside of you to stop yourself from combusting into a fit of giggles. “Don’t laugh!” He whined, snuggling his cheek into your hair, his face now bright red from his mortification. You couldn’t contain it any longer, laughs spilling from your mouth and your chest rising and falling rapidly as you chuckled.

“I can’t believe you sprained your wrist because of lube!” You pulled away from him, gazing at his pouty expression.

“It was so embarrassing babe, I had to shout for Jeno and then explain to him what had happened. Then when we got to hospital, I had to make up a lie to tell the nurse!”

“I hate to say it Jaemin, but I told you that this challenge was bad for your health.” Before you’d even finished your sentence, you’d started laughing again at the irony of the situation.

“Ha ha. So funny.” He deadpanned with no expression on his face. He then whined and started to pout once more. “I have a huge bruise on my hip too and I feel sore. I only have four more orgasms to go too before I completed the day.” You smiled gently at him, leaning forward to cup his face in the palm of your hands. You pressed a tender kiss to his puckered lips and bite your bottom lip at you pulled away.

“Can’t you use your other hand?”

“No, it’s useless.” You gingerly kissed his lips again, letting them linger against his own as you giggled softly.

“Well, I’m not going to make you cum four times, but I’ll hold up my end of the bargain and get you off once. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect.” He reached forward and connected your lips once more. You carefully straddled his thighs, not wanting to jostle him too much and hurt him as he was in a delicate state and very sore. You stroked his cheeks with your thumbs, kneading his lips with your own as the kiss heated up, his tongue breaking the barriers of your soft pillows and pushing against your tongue. He explored your mouth with his tongue, it brushing the roof of your mouth and almost dancing with your tongue in your passionate state of affair.

You moved around, removing your own clothes with ease and discarding them haphazardly on the floor. Jaemin had already gotten his pyjamas on before you’d made your entrance, so it was easy to pull down his pyjama bottoms and free his half-hard cock. You pulled away from the kiss, reaching down to his cock and gripping it firmly in your grasp. He seethed at the sudden contact, his bottom lip finding purchase between his teeth as he watched your every move with interest. You smirked up at him, leaning down to place a barely there kiss to the tip of his dick. Pre-cum coated your lips, your tongue swiping out to rid your lips of it. He groaned as he watched, erotic thoughts swirling around in his mind of all the dirty things you could do to each other. You pumped his shaft repeatedly until he was fully hard, soft breaths leaving his parted lips. Without any warning you took him in your mouth, hallowing your cheeks and sucking him harshly as you sank down further on his cock. His leg twitched up in response, his good hand finding its way to tangle in your hair. You closed your eyes momentarily, enjoying the heavy feel of him on your tongue as you bobbed your head up and down, his hand tugging at your hair in encouragement. You pulled off, your lips smacking together as you leaned down to lick up the underside of his shaft, purposely putting on a show for him. You trailed up the prominent vein with your tongue teasingly, placing another delicate kiss to the head as you reached it.

“No more baby, I want to be inside of you.” You smiled smugly at his request, pulling away from his hard appendage immediately to shuffle back up so you were hovering over his cock. “Wait, hold it there.” His injured hand gently settled on your waist to stop you from sinking down onto him. He used his left hand with slight inaccuracy as he stroked two fingers from your dripping hole up to your clit, only to drag them back to your hole and dip them in swiftly. He curled his fingers, pumping them in and out of you with not much rhythm, the use of his hand proving that it was his non-dominant hand. Nonetheless, it was doing a wonderful job. The tips of his fingers sending sparks of pleasure up through your body causing a chain reaction of your nerves.

“I’m ready.” You whispered, his fingers retreating from you without having to be told twice. Jaemin always liked to prepare you before you took his cock, the thought of hurting you from the sudden intrusion making his heart hurt. So just to be on the safe side, he always fingered you first or ate you out. You held his cock to your entrance, taking a deep breath before sinking down onto him slowly. You let out a whine, feeling how his cock rippled up your walls as he entered you without any resistance. His eyes screwed up as your tightness felt like heaven wrapped around his cock. You leaned forward, attaching your lips to his as you both took a moment to adjust to the sudden connection you had between your bodies. “Tell me if I’m hurting you Jae.” You whispered against his lips, rolling your hips forward and gripping onto his shoulders for support.

“You’re fine baby, go crazy.” He would endure the pain if it meant he could keep his cock buried deep inside of you when he finished. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your bare chest to his as his arms automatically connected around your waist. You ground your hips into his before starting to bounce, his cock doing wonders to your insides. You felt tingles go up your spine, your head wanting to loll back from the pleasure you felt. Jaemin had a tight grip on you, moving his own hips in time with yours despite the slight ache of pain he felt on his hip. You felt your body get hotter the more you moved against him, his skin starting to feel slick against you from the heated activity. “You feel so good doll.” He moaned out, attaching his hot lips to the skin of your neck, sucking his mark into your skin as you slowed your hips to circle them slowly.

“Jaemin you’re gonna make me cum.” You whined, letting your head roll back as Jaemin planted his feet against the mattress, bucking his hips up into yours. His cock started to hit your sweet spot inside of you, stars floating around the backs of your eyelids as you winced from the overwhelming feeling of white-hot ecstasy took over your system. You gripped onto him hard as you rode out your orgasm, moving with him to bring him to his own high.

“Hold on baby, take it like a good girl.” He grunted into your ear, holding you to him tightly as he continued fucking up into you at an almost superhuman pace. You started to experience the high inside of you build up again like a bottle of fizzy drink being shook up. Something inside of you snapped again and you found yourself cumming on his cock for a second time within the space of five minutes.

“Jaemin!!! Oh my god!” You squeaked, feeling yourself release over his cock, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he neared his own peak. The juices you’d leaked onto his cock made a slick sound resonate throughout the room only to be interrupted by Jaemin’s loud moan, his hips slamming into your one more time as he came. The tight rope inside of him breaking as he realised hot sticky cum inside of you.

“Shit.” He cursed, relaxing against the bed in exhaustion from how hard he went. He then winced as the pain he felt overpowered all his other senses. “Your turn to clean me up this time.” He shot you a cheesy grin, his chest rising and falling fast as he tried to regain control of his breathing. You let out a weak laugh, very slowly rising off of him and smirking as you stayed crouched over him, letting his cum dribble from you onto him. “Hey!” He groaned, watching as you made more mess on him.

“I have to clean it up anyway, let me have my fun first.” You leaned forward, pecking his lips before you stood up off of the bed with shaky legs, pulling on his robe before making your way to the bathroom to get a hot cloth. When you came back you wiped him down, doting on him in the same way he normally would for you when he was giving you aftercare.

“I could get used to this.” He winked at you; his cheeky smile still plastered on his face.

“Well don’t.” He pouted at your words, trying his best to be cute. “Still can’t believe you slipped on lube.” You burst out laughing at the memory of his confession, his face immediately falling, cheeky smile completely wiped from his face. 

Destroy Dick December: Na Jaemin - Fail.

(A/N: Hey! This was the last part to my No Nut November/ Destroy Dick December series, it’s been two long months and I’m honestly quite proud of how much I’ve written and by how much love this series has gotten. I hope you’ve enjoyed this series and look forward to my upcoming fics. Please let me know some feedback on this series, or just tell me your favourite part in a certain piece, or which members was your favourite. Love you all!)

[harryandmolly]

The Emancipation of Ginny ~ 1

summary: shawn and ginny could’ve ruined everything six months ago, and sticking together despite their past could make or break them now as ginny stays on as his personal assistant. but what happens on tour doesn’t stay on tour.

warnings: Language, dental health vs. mental health, Longing (TM)

WC: 4.6k

“Shawn, gum.”

He shuffles over sheepishly and spits his sugar free Dentyne Ice into the garbage can with a metallic ping. He makes a face at her and turns away.

The morning doesn’t look much like morning. It’s so absolutely dark at 3:30am as they huddle in the Air Canada Maple Leaf lounge. There isn’t a single soul in there that doesn’t work for Andrew Gertler, so the team, a.k.a. Andrew himself, Shawn, Cez, Josiah, Brian, Jake and Ginny, are spread out over every available surface. Most of their cast of misfits is asleep. Andrew checks email on his phone, Jake is fighting a cold and snorts into a tissue every few minutes. Shawn and Ginny are the only others conscious.

The only reason they too haven’t passed out before their 5am flight to London is because Shawn has a call-in interview with a radio show in Paris. When they’re in full single promo mode like this, these kinds of squeezed operations are not uncommon. Ginny has to stay on the ball.

Maybe she’s nitpicky, but she just winces at the idea of some snotty Parisian gossip blog making comments about the tacky Canadian kid smacking his gum on air. It would get to Twitter, then Insta, then Tumblr, then god knows where else and she’d really rather just… not.

Shawn’s crisp, clear voice cuts through her fog as he tries to gamely repeat phrases in French (“vous les vous couchez… hey, don’t try to trick me, I know that one!”) for his beloved French listeners. Even at this ungodly hour, he can put on the charm when he needs to. And he rarely complains.

Ginny sighs, tipping her head onto her fist as her elbow props her up on the skinny arm of a terminal seat. She blinks slowly, listening to him laugh and try to pronounce French names as the fog takes her back.

+

Shawn and Andrew have fought time and circumstance for a week to sit down and have whatever this talk is about to be. Shawn leans forward in the armchair, sitting on his hands and bouncing his knees as Andrew wraps up his phone call. Before his thumb hits the “end call” button, Shawn is on him.

“So what’s up?” he chirps.

Andrew chuckles, exhausted. “Sorry, man. It’s been crazy.”

Shawn nods eagerly for him to proceed. Andrew eases into the chair across from him and rubs his stubbled chin. He smiles wearily, a man exhausted.

“I need some help, dude.”

Shawn’s gut lurches. Andrew’s never asked for his help before. Andrew doesn’t seem to need much of anyone’s help, the way Shawn sees it. Andrew’s his own personal superhero. Shawn’s eyes widen and he nods for him to continue.

“I mean, you’ve seen us lately. We haven’t had 45 seconds to catch up and get our heads on straight since before we started recording. Our world is changing. I think we have to expand to keep up.”

Shawn narrows his eyes and bobs his head again.

“I think we should bring on an assistant. A right hand for you to help you with all the stuff you don’t really need me for, you just need someone. Someone to help keep the schedule going, help with travel, deal with your personal stuff. Someone young who I can lean on too, and help train. Someone interested in artist management who I can help groom from the start of a career.”

Shawn shifts in his seat and sighs. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help Andrew. It’s not even that he doesn’t think he needs a PA -- he accepts that he probably does. He just… the chemistry of the team is so good. He gets hesitant about adding new ingredients. He’s grown so very attached to his people and how they all work together.

He’s about to voice this concern when he looks up at Andrew, his partner, the guy who reached down and hauled him up from Vine and YouTube and gave him the best chance he’s ever had. Andrew, wizened and worn to the bone, though he wears it well. Shawn’s heart swells.

“Of course, yeah, dude.”

+

“Ok,” Andrew sighs, shifting his glasses against the bridge of his nose, “Security says there are about 40 girls outside.”

Ginny doesn’t have to look to see (or hear) Jake wince. Her nose twitches in response, displacing the little gold hoop in her septum. Shawn just nods like a quarterback taking direction from his coach.

“So, they’re gonna lend us a hand to get us out to the cars. I’ve got Shawn, Ginny and Jake. Cez, Josiah, Brian in car two. You’re heading for the hotel.”

“The party car,” Cez chuckles, raising his eyebrows at his travel buddies. Brian and Josiah agree with a laugh and start hauling their bags over their shoulders in preparation to sift through the crowd.

“Hey, what time is it?” Shawn murmurs from just above Ginny’s head. She’s sifting through texts from Tiffany about scheduling Shawn’s next fitting. She cracks a smile.

“You don’t have time, mate,” she answers softly, reading his mind.

Shawn wrinkles his nose. “Just to say hi. Take a group selfie?”

“Might be late as it is,” she grunts under the weight of the backpack she’s overstuffed. Shawn helps her with the other strap and adjusts it against her back with a tap.

“Ok,” he says. It’s a little despondent with a candy coating. Ginny knows the voice well.

“But we’re gonna have time after Grimmy to say hi to the fans outside the Beeb,” she adds as they begin stalking off down the corridor toward the hulking men in black jackets waiting to escort them out to arrivals’ ground transport.

That seems to perk Shawn up. She snickers at his change in demeanor and flicks at a curl over his forehead. He wriggles his fingers by her face, widening his eyes as he slowly reaches for her hair. She smacks his hand away with a gasp.

“You wouldn’t,” she gripes, drowned out by the resounding shrieks of some very happy British girls as the automatic doors slide open. Shawn wiggles his eyebrows and smirks at her for a moment before he converts it to a billion-dollar rockstar grin and a double-handed toddler wave.

Ginny keeps her head down. It’s easier this way. In the beginning, she thought engaging with the fans would be fun, and Andrew encouraged it at first, thought it would be a good way for her to feel welcomed into the team, but things got out of hand quickly. As the only female on Shawn’s travel team, interest heightened to a level that none of them could handle. After Ginny’s personal Instagram was hacked for the third time, they sat down and had a meeting about her pulling back and becoming a face in the crowd. It was the right thing for everyone. Plus, she’s always really hated the flashes of the paps. If she isn’t expected to be photographed, she slides away from them more easily.

Andrew gets into the passenger side of the first blacked out Range Rover. Shawn and Ginny climb into the back after Shawn throws out a few more waves and “THANK YOU!”s.

With his gaze down at his phone as he thumbs through Twitter, Shawn mumbles, “I don’t know what the fuck they were saying, but this is definitely the fun car.”

Ginny’s lips twitch. Shawn looks over. She giggles. He giggles back. Andrew smiles down at his phone.

+

Ginny stares with her top lip squeezed under her teeth. She forces her dry, cracked hands between her knees and blinks quickly.

“You know I’m sorry, Gin,” Hannah moans, sitting forward to plant her tiny dark hands on Ginny’s legs, urging her to look up at her.

“No, I know, listen, it’s fine. It was going to happen sometime,” Ginny reasons politely over the smashing of her heart against her ribs.

“But listen, this is better for you!” Hannah hisses, shaking Ginny like she does when she’s trying to get something through her thick head, “If you’d stayed with me forever, you’d never have grown, never have learned anything new. This way, you’ll have direct artist management experience. And Shawn Mendes is one of the biggest acts on the planet. This is invaluable.”

Ginny hears it all, and she knows Hannah is right. But it doesn’t make being fired by your best friend any easier.

Ginny Dresden and Hannah Dyer have been best friends since primary school when they were sat next to each other because they were the only two little girls of color in their class at the tiny posh school in Bedford Park. In the back of their classroom, they colored each other’s hands purple and planted them on construction paper, giggling when they realized even though Hannah’s skin was much darker, they made the same color handprint.

As children, they sang in choir after school until it was no longer cool and then they sang in Hannah’s basement and recorded each other for when they became famous someday.

Now, Ginny waits for the day those tapes will become useful. Because Hannah isn’t just famous, she’s practically iconic.

Hannah, at exactly the right place and the right time, was discovered singing (though underage) at a bar in Fulham and within a few months was signed to a contract with Sony. As her star rose, she took Ginny with her in the hopes that her oldest and dearest friend could explore the world with her and find where she belonged. So she put Ginny on the payroll and off they went.

For four years, they took the world by storm. Ginny was a regular star of Hannah’s Snapchats -- “I’m building your brand,” Hannah would tell her. Ginny was happy to be along for the ride and took an interest in artist management as she saw Hannah cycle through a few different ones, the good, the bad, the ugly.

And then came Marcus. Marcus is the keyboard player of a group called “Bend Daylight” that played the festival circuit with them two years ago. From that first day of Pukkelpop, Ginny knew, even if Hannah didn’t. Marcus was the one.

Hannah and Marcus were married last summer. Four months ago, Hannah announced her pregnancy. And it’s not like Ginny didn’t expect things to change, to slow down. She just didn’t expect to be let go completely. But Hannah wasn’t about to throw her out into the world empty handed. She had set up a gig for Gin through a friend of her manager’s who knew Andrew Gertler from Shawn Mendes’s team. Andrew wanted an experienced PA who was looking to be educated out of her position into artist management. It’s the perfect fit.

Ginny agrees to a meeting. Her hesitance is clear by the furrow in her brow. Hannah reaches across the coffee table and over her swelling belly to plant a kiss between her best friend’s eyes with a wet smack.

+

“... and you love it here in London, don’t you, Shawn?” spouts Nick Grimshaw in that brilliant Mancunian accent that always makes Ginny feel at home wherever she is in the world. As she sits in a seat against the wall watching Shawn and Grimmy volley banter back and forth live on BBC Radio 1, she feels Shawn’s eyes. She lifts her head from her notebook and smiles warmly.

“Yeah, yeah I do, I really love it. I’ve thought about getting a place out here, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” quips Grimmy, leaning into the mic that he’s gripping with his bony fingers, “Where would you look?”

“Ahhh, I dunno,” Shawn begins, again looking to Ginny, who raises her eyebrows and shrugs as if to say, ‘you’re on your own, pal.’ Grimmy picks up on the gesture.

“Does Ginny have a say in this?” Grimmy laughs, his grin wide and toothy. Ginny shuts her notebook and sits up, shaking her head.

“Ginny, my assistant, she’s from Bedford Park in West London,” Shawn explains proudly, a smile in his voice, “So her vote would be somewhere over there, I’d guess.” He glances to Ginny for confirmation.

Ginny rises from her chair and steps toward the mic Grimmy is waving her toward. A producer hands her headphones. Ginny props her hands on the desk and leans down toward the mic, eyeing Shawn.

“I’d want you to get a posh bachelor pad in Mayfair for us to rage at, actually,” Ginny jokes, winking at Grimmy. Shawn rolls his eyes as Grimmy cheers, “way-hays,” and chants “lads, lads, lads!” Ginny joins him.

“Yeah, definitely my style,” Shawn snarks, lifting his chin at Ginny, who shrugs and settles back in her seat.

“Nice that your team knows their way around, though,” Grimmy concedes with a final smile toward Ginny before he gets back down to business.

“So, this new single…”

+

As things work out, ever so bizarrely, as is the norm in the Mendes camp, Shawn and Ginny’s first meeting is for a flight from Toronto to New York. By themselves. It’s circumstantial -- Andrew left earlier for New York for a few meetings and Shawn stayed behind in Toronto for his dad’s birthday. Jake, Josiah and the rest of the squad are absent for various reasons, so it’s just… Shawn and Ginny.

“How do I know what she looks like?” Shawn mutters to Andrew on the phone, knowing Andrew won’t judge him for his anxiety over this, as his car pulls up to departures.

“She’s tall. Like, really tall. Just… oh, hey Mike, can you wait up for a second? Hey… yeah, hi, sorry Shawn, just look for a tall, beautiful black woman with a septum piercing. I gotta go. Safe flight. Call me when you land.”

He hangs up before Shawn can say anything else.

Shawn’s gotten over his hangups about bringing on a new team member. He’s had a phone interview with her to make sure he didn’t hear anything crazy in her voice. And he trusts Andrew’s judgment the way he trusts that of his parents. All that remains now is the awkwardness of meeting someone new that’s meant to wait on you day in and day out as their profession. And she’s a tall, beautiful black woman? Why couldn’t they have hired a dude? A scruffy, old dude who Shawn didn’t have to worry about growing close to?

Andrew said she’d be waiting by the Air Canada check-in counters. When Shawn walks through the doors to the airport flanked by a couple security guys in lieu of Jake, he sees one person pacing back and forth in front of the counters on the phone, rolling a sleek red hard-covered suitcase that was absolutely silent as she tugged it around.

It seems almost everything about her Andrew had mentioned was an understatement. She’s tall. Yeah, she’s fuckin’ tall. She’s at least 5’11” but the height of her hair adds at least a few more inches. Shawn doesn’t often interact with women as tall as he is. So that’s new.

And beautiful. Yeah. Also probably undersold her a little.

She’s lithe and thin in that yoga-doing way. She’s wearing leggings that crop at her ankles and show off a truly stunning pair of legs, paired with a plain white t-shirt and a worn old jean jacket, the kind that even the most hipster store couldn’t replicate the cool of. Her hair is a bouncing, living whirl of tight, pencil thin curls that don’t have an ounce of frizz, somehow. She’s got a pair of aviators tucked up in there behind her ears. She doesn’t look to be wearing any makeup beyond a striking red lip color that makes Shawn lick his. Her face is angular but warm with a sweet little nose and a little dip in the center of her chin that reminds him of his own. Her eyes are a dark, clear brown and look like the kind of eyes that reflect every thought in her beautiful head.

Shawn’s chest deflates. He pastes on a friendly smile and tries not to imagine how complicated this could get.

+

“Shawn, gum!” Ginny calls from the back of the group of troops heading out from the Radio 1 building to greet the fans waiting outside.

Shawn raises a swallow-emblazoned hand and waves it at her as a thank you. She watches as he darts out from the pack to spit his gum into a bin and fall back in line. Ginny hears when they come into view of the crowd because it starts with a collective gasping of teenage breath and becomes a steadier, louder wail that Ginny knows well by now.

Jake looks to Ginny for a nod. She gives it. He shadows Shawn as he strolls over to meet and greet them, taking selfies, doling out hugs, signing and signing until he looks down at his pen with a frown. Before Jake can even look back to Ginny, she’s got a fresh Sharpie at the ready and hands it off to Jake, who hands it to Shawn. The minor interruption is noticed only by Andrew, who grins at the efficiency and shakes his head.

Thank god for Ginny Dresden. He thinks it to himself at least once a day now.

The crowd is only barely dissipating as it becomes time to wrap up. Ginny glances down at her watch and back up at Jake for the nod. Jake nods back and leans into Shawn for the heads up. Shawn does his bowing and praying hands as he backs away from the reaching, grabbing hands. Cameras flash. Ginny ducks her head. They pack themselves into the Rover for the next stop, a dinner at the Connaught Bar with some Island Records people who want to celebrate the new single, “Against the Noise.”

Shawn drops into the seat next to hers with a heaving sigh. She fights her instinct to dip her head onto his shoulder and snuggle into him. Instead, she smiles gently.

“You good?” she hums.

Shawn blinks over at her sleepily. He nods, “‘m good.”

+

What do I even say? Ginny wonders, trying not to look up at him from her Spotify, but he’s got one of those faces that’s hard to look away from. She knew, obviously, that he was criminally good looking, but Hannah neglected to warn her how overwhelming he is in person. She wants to put her nose right up against his jaw just to feel how sharp it is. What a weird instinct. She blinks hard to rid herself of the notion.

They’re in business class. He’s got his recliner out and is drumming his fingers against his thigh that Ginny’s also trying not to look at because his black jeans look like they’ve been painted the fuck on and his quads are magnificent and she would know because she’s got a very fine pair herself from yoga and pilates.

They’ve been in the air for 20 minutes. The fasten seatbelt sign just went off. Shawn has free WiFi because he probably has enough Air Canada miles to, well, buy Air Canada so he’s looking through his phone. He generously shared his code with her but it got lost somewhere between his big hazel-ish eyes and soft pouty lips and Ginny’s ears. She was too shy to ask for it again, so she pulled out her book instead.

She didn’t have to do this last time, the bonding thing. She and Hannah had been so bonded they were practically attached. But Shawn is essentially her new boss, though she’s technically employed by AG Artists, and she needs to make a good impression.

She’s studying a pathetic mental list of small talk starters that really should be longer given the British peoples’ propensity for chat when Shawn pipes up out of nowhere.

“Hey, where did you get that suitcase from? The red one?”

She looks up from her tragic cuticles and sees him looking at her curiously. Did his eyes get bigger? Warmer? Sweeter? Fuck.

“It’s a Victorinox,” she spits out, “It’s a great case. Super durable. And light. And the wheels are--”

“They’re like, silent,” Shawn interrupts, his voice hushed like he’s talking about magic.

Ginny smiles slowly and a giggle rises up from deep in her chest. And Shawn thinks maybe that really is magic.

+

Ginny likes the idea of the guerilla bookstore acoustic set better than the reality of it.

The planning was a headache. She and Andrew have been on the phone for a month planning it with the label -- which bookstore would get the honor? Exactly when? What would security be like? Would they drop hints? Would they do a treasure hunt? Would Ginny like to design and manage to execute the treasure hunt from a continent away? Please and thank you.

But Shawn’s excited. So she’s excited.

They crawl out of the Range Rover and traipse over slick pavement into the back entrance of the Waterstones in Piccadilly. Ginny picked it for practical reasons -- they agreed to the contract with the label, their chain could handle the security, it was a central location.

But Ginny’s grandmother used to take her here as a little girl and pick out books every third Sunday of each month like clockwork. She told Shawn this in a hushed voice beside a flickering candle at a business dinner in Century City a few weeks ago as he smiled and gushed over what a great idea it was, how sweet that she planned it to be there.

“It’s always nice to be home with you, Gin.”

+

Shawn runs the pad of his thumb along the sleek cut of her jaw. He doesn’t worry like he used to about getting her lipstick all over him. He’s living proof that it really is very long wearing. Instead he focuses on drawing out that sweet little noise from the back of her throat that he’s obsessed with.

Ah, god, there it is. It’s so perfect.

Just as soon as he gets it out of her, she pulls away. He grunts and chases her down, pinning his lips to her cheekbone. His fingers trail the seam of her jeans on the outside of her hip while he listens to her pant.

“We’re telling Andrew today. Or it’s done.”

Shawn swallows and he worries for a second his tongue will go down with it. He backs off her cheek and licks his lips with a firm nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

It’s Ginny that spearheads the sit down. Andrew doesn’t even look surprised when Shawn reaches over for her hand mid-shaky explanation that they’ve been working together six months now, and they know maybe it’s unconventional, maybe it seems like a bad idea, but this is how they feel and they want to pursue it.

Ginny, to her credit, is not a shrinking violet about it. Her jaw is set, but her eyes are as warm and welcoming as ever. Andrew slumps into his chair and removes his glasses to rub his face.

“Guys…” he groans through his hands, “The thing is, I can’t tell you no. And I can no sooner kick Ginny off the team. Both of those things will lead to immediate chaos. And… and Shawn will be miserable.”

Shawn lifts his eyes from Ginny’s blunted round fingernails.

“I am trusting you both to be adults. Please, god, please don’t make me regret it. If this runs its course, it cannot explode in our faces. We cannot afford that. So if you’re doing this, do it smart. What the fuck am I saying? You’re in love. There’s nothing smart about it. Just… try to minimize casualties.”

He stalks off with his phone. Shawn and Ginny hold each other’s limp fingers, dumbfounded.

Ginny glances over. Shawn meets her gaze. She lifts her eyebrows. He lifts the corner of his mouth.

“Ok.”

+

Shawn’s smile is glorious after he plays a set, any set for anyone. He could be in a field playing an acoustic for the three blind mice and he’d be beaming like he just got offstage at Madison Square Garden. It’s beautiful. And it’s addictive.

Ginny follows him closer than usual as they leave the bookstore. Her general rule is to trail around the back of Shawn’s entourage. Any time she was photographed within five feet of him, they’d hear about it. But tonight, after he played under an arch where she used to curl up with the Chronicles of Narnia and the Series of Unfortunate Events, it’s harder to stay away.

She indulges the whim and walks beside him through the hoard of paparazzi flashing their cameras and hollering “Shawn! Oi, Shawn!” for a glance from the wonderboy. He notices her presence and offers a subtle smile, a moment he hopes won’t be plastered across the front page of The Sun in the morning. Perhaps that’s naive. But he doesn’t actually care that much right now.

They climb into the car, finally on the way to the hotel. Shawn sits back and tilts his head against the headrest, watching the Thames go by.

Ginny shifts and slides something out of her back pocket. Shawn hears plastic and foil crackling.

“Shawn, gum?”

He turns to see her holding a packet of sugar free Dentyne Ice. He grins.

+

“Please,” he begs, voice shaky with unshed tears, “Please don’t leave. Please. I know it’s fucking unfair to ask. I hate myself a little. I really do. But, fuck, please, I can’t do it without you, Gin. Not because… because I’d forget to fuckin’ put on pants in the morning if you didn’t tell me to, but because you’re… Jesus Christ, you’re my best friend. I can’t lose you like this.”

The conversation the night before had been quick and so, so painful. It had to be, coming out of nowhere like that. Ginny was blindsided, having woken up naked under him in the morning with his lips on her ear only to shuffle off to her own hotel room for the first time in two months because he wanted to focus on his career and their relationship had become… too distracting.

She really can’t blame him for that, she supposes. Things had gotten pretty mad. They were obsessed with each other, refused to spend even a few hours away. It was easily negotiable, given that he was the artist and she was his personal assistant. But the energy around them for those two months, it was like an overstretched coil waiting to snap and send the whole team back to 14th century Verona for a full-on Romeo and Juliet scenario.

Snap it did. Ginny was packing quietly in a daze, ready to tell Andrew she was leaving, that she was sorry, but that he’d made the choice. Instead Shawn knocked on her door and she let him in like she always had.

Ginny’s dry cheeks sting with her tears. She sniffs and toes at the floor, locking her arms over her chest. “Don’t really want to leave, you know,” she murmurs, “This is a good opportunity for me. I’m learning a lot.”

“So don’t leave,” Shawn pleads, lurching forward. She adjusts, taking a step back. Shawn notices and shivers, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Don’t leave. Stay. I think we can do it. I honestly think we can. We were best friends first, remember?”

She remembers. She remembers being in love with her best friend until that first night in Germany where he kissed her under the table in the Hofbrauhaus and they didn’t turn back.

Until now.

I know Brits love tea but consider buying me a Ko-fi (link on my mainpage)!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @stillinskislydia @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @accioarmenian @sinplisticshawn @mutuallynotmutual @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve

[kairi-chan]

I Got You (XVII) - BoruSara

Title: One Down

Genre: Romance/Humor/Angst

Rating: T

Chapter 1: Childhood Friends, Chapter 2: The Dinner, Chapter 3: Disconnect, Chapter 4: Spill It, Chapter 5: Nighttime and Bottles of Beer, Chapter 6: Sunsets and Ninbucks Frappes , Chapter 7: Past and Present Dates , Chapter 8: Contemplation, Chapter 9: Awkward AF, Chapter 10: Punch Some Sense Into You, Chapter 11: Anything For You, Chapter 12: Reason For Jealousy, Chapter 13: Permission, Chapter 14: He’s Perfect, Chapter 15: Dreaming of You, Chapter 16: The New Girl in Town

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has supported and encouraged me to continue this story. I really thought you guys didn’t like it enough to care if I didn’t finish this. ^^; 

This is unbeta’d. All mistakes are my own. Sorry about that! 

“I’m sorry I’m late!” Sarada plopped on the seat in front of her best friend and released a deep sigh. Her hair was in disarray, and her clothes were wrinkled. It was very un-Sarada like.

“Honestly!” Chocho pouted. “I never get to see you anymore and when we do, you’re late! I had to start eating while waiting.” She took a big bite of her pasta and continued to pout at her friend.

Sarada laughed nervously. “Please go ahead. I’m really sorry. Kagura-kun didn’t want me to leave.”

Chocho’s amber eyes scanned her friend again, landed on the yellow scarf around her neck, and smirked. “Oh? I wonder what you two were doing for him to not want you to leave.”  

Sarada froze and looked away, hiding the heat that had risen to her cheeks. “It’s not like that!”

She laughed and munched on her food some more. “No shame, girl. But really, Sarada. He’s always with you. We never get to hang out with you anymore.”

“I know, I know.” Sarada slumped back in her chair and released a heavy sigh. “Mama and Papa have been wanting to see me more often, too. I’m just glad I get to see Mitsuki since he’s been helping Mama these days and staying over more often.”

“Ooh? He got that internship he wanted in Auntie Sakura’s hospital?”

Sarada shook her head. “I don’t think you can call it that, but I think he has a good chance of getting it. He comes over and stays in Mama’s library, and she goes over her cases with him.” Sarada waved her hand in the air. “You know how Mama favors him.”  

Chocho nodded and spoke in between bites, “Well, it seems like he’s been struck with the lovebug. Too bad for him, Mitsuki will never stand a chance with me.”

Sarada blinked. “What are you talking about?”

The brunette let out a loud and dramatic sigh. “You really have been gone and out of the loop! A few days ago, we were at Wasabi’s place. He confessed to having feelings for someone, but we couldn’t get him to tell us who.”

“Mitsuki likes someone?” Sarada grinned. It was so unlike him, but she was glad he finally had found someone. She made a mental note to go and interrogate him later.

Later that day, Sarada was packing up her books in the library, when one of her friends approached her.

“Hello there.”

“Oh, Sumire.” Sarada pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and put her books back down on the table. “Doing some studying, too?”

Sumire smiled and looked down. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something, and I hope you don’t think I’m being too bold.”

Sarada grinned. “Don’t be silly. We’re friends. Ask away.”

The girl shuffled a bit before she finally raised her gaze and made eye contact. “Do you like Boruto?”

“Me?” Sarada was shocked, but managed to smile. “No way.”

“Well, I do.” Sumire admitted.

This confession made Sarada’s mind go blank, but she was certain her face was betraying her, and showing her confusion evidently.

Sumire giggled. “I wanted to ask you if--if you thought he might like me, too? I want to ask him out. Do you think he’ll say yes?”

Her dark eyes widened and her lips parted. That was not what Sarada was expecting to hear. She stared on for a few more seconds, and Sumire was patient enough to smile and wait kindly for her response. Sarada shook her head and said, “Boruto goes on a lot of dates, as far as I know, he’s never turned a girl down.”

Sumire’s eyes lit up and her smile grew. She looked so happy, and yet it twisted Sarada’s gut to think about Sumire and Boruto dating. Her pocket started vibrating and she fished out her phone. She looked at the screen.

Mitsuki: where are you?

Sarada raised a brow and took a peek at her watch. “Oh! I need to go!” She hastily stuffed her books in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.” She ran out of the library, earning a heated glare from the librarian but that didn’t matter to Sarada. She was late, again.

Sarada jogged over to Mitsuki’s car, holding on to the strap of her duffel bag, and an apology ready on her lips. She knew Mitsuki wouldn't even need to hear it, but she said it anyway. “I'm so sorry I'm late!”

Mitsuki smiled, took her bag and placed it in the compartment. “It's no big deal, Sarada. Were you with Kagura-san?”

She shook her head. “No. I was at the library with Sumire.”

His fingers nearly got caught on the compartment’s lock. “Ah.” His clumsiness did not go unnoticed. Sarada blinked a few times, but chose to stay quiet. Instead, she hopped in the passenger seat and strapped her seat belt on.

The car ride was mostly quiet, but comfortable. Mitsuki’s presence always calmed her, and placed her mind in a state of peace. Sarada always did like Mitsuki’s driving. It was fast and smooth, but still careful. They chatted here and there, catching up with each other's classes and other extracurricular activities. Soon enough, they reached the Uchiha Mansion, and Mitsuki pulled up the front. The two unloaded their belongings, and entered.

Sharp steps echoed from the top of the stairs. “Mitsuki, Sarada, welcome home.”

The boy bowed slightly, while Sarada climbed a few steps to give her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I'm home, Mama.”

Sakura smiled at the two and said, “Why don't you two freshen up first? Dinner will be ready in a bit. Mitsuki, you'll be staying the night.” Sakura wasn't requesting, it was a statement. One which the boy was accustomed to. He only nodded and said his thanks.

Both of them carried their belongings and made their way up their rooms. Since Mitsuki and Sarada had been friends for a long time, Sakura turned one of the guest rooms into his own room.

Mitsuki turned the knob and pushed the door open. Cream colored walls, light colored furniture, and the distinct scent of the Uchiha Manor mixed with his own scent welcomed him back. The twin bed was well made, and had fresh light blue sheets with abstract snake patterns. There was a desk, a bookshelf, his own bathroom, and a large window that overlooked the garden. He placed his bag down on the floor and laid down on the bed, then decided to stare at the ceiling for a few moments. There were glow in the dark stars stickered on. He smirked remembering how those got there. Mitsuki used to be afraid of the dark, and even if he would never admit it, Boruto and Sarada knew that and understood. One day when they were only twelve, he came by the Uchiha Mansion to drop off some borrowed books, and found his best friends standing on each other’s shoulders trying to stick the stars on. The memory made him smile wider, and he closed his eyes.

The three of them were no longer twelve, and even if they were all still friends, things really haven't been the same. Boruto and Sarada were growing distant with one another, and Mitsuki was getting busier with his classes. Not to mention trying to juggle his work with Sakura.

He opened his eyes. His parent was in the medical field too, and he was often away. He could count with his fingers the time he'd spent with his parent, but for all the times he had spent in this room, in this house, even the stars in the sky wouldn't be enough. Sarada was like a sister to him, and Sakura did far more than teach him how to be a good doctor. And Boruto… He always was Mitsuki’s sun. He made everything fun and interesting. But he wasn't so sure if he still thought that way since--

Knock knock.

Mitsuki sat up. “Yes?”

The door opened and Sarada popped her head in. “Dinner time.”

The two of them walked to the dining room and found Sakura placing down bowls of rice.

“Papa isn't here?” The slight disappointment in her voice did not go unnoticed by Mitsuki and by the way Sakura's green eyes softened, it didn't pass her by either.

“Your father is away on a business trip with Naruto. You know how urgent things pop up.”

Sarada simply nodded and took a seat at the left of the head of the table. Mitsuki sat next to her, but before Sakura sat down, she pulled her phone out and took a selfie of her, the food, and the two kids. Sarada and Mitsuki were quick to smile and hold up peace signs, already used to Sakura's quick photo ops.

Dinner was a lively affair, Sakura badgered the two with questions how their university life was going, and they both answered and indulged her. Sakura cracked a joke about how she was the “perfect balance” of a studious and party going girl during her college days, making Mitsuki and Sarada laugh.

On sync, both Sarada and Mitsuki’s phones dinged. The selfie Sakura took earlier was attached to the message.

Boruto: I can't believe you two didn't invite me to this! That's not fair, ya know?

Sarada smirked, and showed her mother the message. Mitsuki was typing up a reply but then a photo of Boruto with his arm around Sumire popped up on the screen, making Mitsuki stop and frown.

Boruto: Whatever! I'm hanging out with Sumire now. We have to get together on Monday. I think she’s into me. But then again, who isn’t? :>

Sarada was still holding her phone up for Sakura when the message and photo appeared. Her mother’s face lit up. “Does Boruto have a new girlfriend?”

Mitsuki and Sarada exchanged glances, both refused to say a word. Sarada looked at the photo, turned her screen off, and shoved the phone back into her pocket with a little more force than necessary. The tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Sakura clapped her hands together, breaking the silence. “Okay, I think it's time for dessert.”

You can read more of my stories in my masterpost, or visit my FFnet!

A/N: I know it was kinda boring, but it’ll get better in the next. Promise! 

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

All His - Part 8 (A Kyungsoo Series)

Genre: Fluff / Angst / Romance

Characters: You X Kyungsoo

Description: You are hired as an interpreter for a tour in Europe where you join forces with EXO and soon grow closer to one member, in particular, Do Kyungsoo.

A/N: this is not the end….

All His [M]: Canon AU - Fluff / Smut part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11 FINAL

Kyungsoo had been overreacting.

He overreacted with his worry prior to joining the group of members and your coworker Anna who was hard at work reading the display signs around the various spots of interest. She felt like a tour guide with as much as she seemed to be talking and your arrival with Kyungsoo went mostly unnoticed.

That didn’t stop him from pointedly ignoring you though. He stood just out of arm’s reach of you, walking quickly ahead of you down the stone pathways that lined the outside of the Abbey and very close to Chanyeol and Junmyeon who snapped pictures and laughed and joked with each other. The group moved quickly. A bunch of fit young men who regularly exercised was no match for the hundreds of steps needed to trek around the mountaintop churchyards. The mountain breeze had been chilling your bare legs for an hour now and you began to feel the cold seeping deep inside your bones as you shivered and rubbed your own arms for warmth when you simply couldn’t stand it anymore.

There was the occasional question from someone in the group and you gritted your teeth to keep them from chattering as you answered in as level a voice as you could, feeling even more like you were actually working today than you had felt all week. After all, translating for just one person wasn’t quite what you had ever been tasked to do. Making love to that one person while you two had been left alone was even less so.

You watched the back of Kyungsoo’s head as he laughed at something Chanyeol said. You knew with the way his head was thrown back in laughter that his teeth and gums would be on full display as his eyes closed tight into little moons up high on his shiny round cheeks. His efforts of keeping away from you had settled in well. He was enjoying himself with his friends and you kept to the back of the group, enjoying the astonishing views keeping as far away from the edge as you could when things began to get a little too scary up here.

You shivered and roughly rubbed away the goosebumps on your arms before a sudden and overbearing warmth covered your back.

“Dummy, why didn’t you wear something warmer. I thought everyone knew mountains were cold.”

The voice came from behind you, low and teasing and you turned to look up into the soft smile of Oh Sehun. The warmth was from his jacket, which smelled like him and felt like the sunshine itself with as warm as it made you feel. You were flooded with gratitude and your genuine smile reflected it.

“Thank you Sehun,” you gave him a little bow of your head as you quickly pulled your arms through the too-long sleeves of his coat. Did all men’s coats smell so wonderful or was this merely an attractive man thing? He responded to your smile with a tiny bump with his hip against yours as you both walked and the impact, though small enough to not do much, the actual hit caught you off guard and sent your feet stumbling.

Stumbling toward the edge.

Stumbling over the edge. To your certain death.

You saw the edge of the walkway closing in and despite the railing that would surely keep you from going over, that didn’t stop the small yelp of terror that came out of your lips.

Rather than fly right off the edge, you opted to just drop. It was a gut reaction intensified by your fear of heights. The floor below your feet was preferable than a certain fall off the cliff to your death on the rocks below and when your knees hit the rocky walkway below your feet they did it hard. You followed with your hands, feeling a stinging in your flesh as the heels of your palms scraped the rocks just as hard as your knees did.

“Oh shit.”

There was a fuss now. Sehun moved down to reach for you, yanking you up with strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist, hooked under your arms and you felt lifted into a standing position just as quickly as you had fallen.

“Shit. Shit. Sorry,” Sehun swore quietly under his breath and he bent down in front of you now, his focus down on your knees with worried pulled together brows and a frown on his face. “I didn’t mean to make you fall, I hardly even touched you.”

Your heart was still racing from the very idea of going over the edge and you rubbed your hands together, brushing some of the dirt from the ground off your palms.

“I…thought I was going to fall off the mountain,” You mumbled, feeling just a touch of the encroaching embarrassment that bubbled just below the surface of your skin. He looked up from where his fingertips brushed against your skinned knee with wide eyes and parted lips before looking off toward the edge of the walkway.

From where you stood, it was easy to see now that the edge was at least 15 feet or more from where you had taken your little tumble.

“You thought I would push you off the edge?” His voice was closer as he stood up straight and looked back into your eyes. “That edge way over there?”

“I know,” You grimaced as the heat flooded your cheeks. “I panicked.”

His eyes watched your face for a moment before his lips pulled into a definite frown.

“You thought that I would do that though?” His voice took on a wounded tone and you felt his soft hands reach for both of yours as he broke the hold he had on you with those hurt eyes and looked down at the scrapes on your hands.

He moved both of your hands up, closer to his face and you watched the purse of his lips that preceded the soft wind you felt as he blew off stray bits of dust still on your hands. His warm fingers brushed away imaginary dirt for longer than necessary and you could feel the guilt of your overreaction settling heavy inside your belly.

“Sehun, I didn’t think that… I’m just…scared of heights and I panicked.” The frown on your lips mirrored his before he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and bit down.

“You got hurt.” He said softly and you looked down at the tiny scrape that was tinged red now on the palm of your left hand. “I’ll see if anyone has any medicine. Maybe they sell some at one of the shops in the town.”

You could feel it then.

A gentle urging in the back of your mind. A nagging like the brush of a hungry cat against your legs as you busied yourself in the kitchen. Only this nagging came from further away. The distant sound of a car alarm that sounded just familiar enough to sharpen your ears to, on the off chance that it could be calling for you.

It took you less than a second to find the source.

Big brown eyes on that pretty face you had memorized down to the placement of those tiny moles spread like constellations against the tapestry of his brown skin.

Kyungsoo stood at the head of the group, a chattering and giggling Chanyeol at one side, a sightseeing Junmyeon posing for a photo; fingers in a V, bright smile in place as he cheesed for his own cell phone attached to the end of a selfie stick and right in the middle, ignoring the spectacularly breathtaking, once-in-a-lifetime view in front of him, Kyungsoo stood to face you, staring at the moment shared with Sehun.

He stood too far away to intervene. But just far enough away to overreact and misunderstand.

The loose grip with which Sehun held both of your hands was easily broken and he didn’t even deepen his pout when you pulled your hands away.

“It’s fine. Doesn’t even hurt.” you forced a smile on your face and you forced your eyes to stay trained on the person standing in front of you instead of the person staring daggers into his back from meters away. Or were the daggers missing Oh Sehun and landing on your chest?  

A bathroom sign caught your eye and you nodded ahead toward it, pulling Sehun’s attention from your hands to sweep around behind him where you indicated.

“I’ll just go wash them off. I’ll be right back.”

The industrial cheap soap stung when it hit the small scrapes in your skin but you scrubbed just the same and by the time you were done the crowd around the bathrooms had thinned some. You could see the backs of the group further up the pathway that lead to the top.

Up up up to the toppity top….where the gravity pulled harder against your limbs and the winds blew fiercely against your back, working together to bring you down. Working together for your demise.

You pulled out your cell phone then, finding the bench that sat beside the bathrooms to be more comfortable than a trek that went any higher. You were certain that Anna could handle the translations for the group that might be needed up there.

A quick group text, letting everyone who needed to know that you weren’t much for heights and would be waiting when they returned to level grounds and you found your headphones and your music collection perfect for the hour or two before they all returned.

You were only half surprised to feel the warmth of a hand over your shoulder about an hour before the group was due to be back down from the top. You were half of that half surprised to look up into the big brown eyes of Do Kyungsoo with his lips parted and his chest heaving with the efforts of his rushed trek up and then back down again in record time.

“Kyungsoo.” Your half surprise tinted his name with a disappointed tone and instantly brought his lips closed and made him clench down hard on his jaw. “You didn’t have to rush through it. I was fine down here waiting.”

He was warmer than you were and when he sat down beside you on the bench by the bathrooms he leaned into you. You welcomed his warmth less than his presence itself and you listened to the steady breathing of his lungs in and out as you watched his profile in silence and waited for some meaning to come of this.

After a moment his hands were on yours and he pulled your hands up to his face, palms up for a quick examination. His eyeballs ticked over the scrapes with a slight tinge of blood and his round fingertips lightly touched the exterior of where the tiny wounds lie.

“Does it hurt?” The question whispered over the steady din of noise from the groups of tourists. Over the shouts of merchants selling souvenirs and wares and it reached your ears with a gentle nudge. It wasn’t demanding or judgemental as you half expected it to be. It wasn’t questioning about the origin of the injury or of just what you thought you had been doing with that other man, no this question was a soft and steady drizzle of rain that merely watered the garden and provided the plants with just enough moisture to wet their leaves and ripen their fruit.

“No.” You answered honestly. The sting had long since vanished and your own question burned in its place.

“Are you upset?” You didn’t even wait for a pause for it for fear of losing your nerve.

Kyungsoo looked ahead, unseeing, at one of the most breathtaking views you had ever personally witnessed with your own two eyes. And he saw none of it. He inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his lips before he slowly shook his head back and forth and looked at you out of the corners of his eyes.

“No.” He said softly, letting the syllable sit heavy in his mouth and shape his lips into the most perfect little circle for just a split second, just long enough for your eyes to drift down and linger over those lips. He inhaled another breath to speak again and finally broke the eye contact he had been holding with you.

“I was, for about two seconds.” He bit down once on the inside of his lip out of habit before continuing.

“I let him get to me, Sehun….but I wasn’t like I could just come and cause a scene here. Baekhyun, he…he had been avoiding me since down at the parking, but that guy is incredibly insightful. I guess he figured out what was going on and he cornered me and forced me to climb up with him…” He was fidgeting with his fingertips, picking at the skin around his cuticles absentmindedly as he spoke to you in that soft warm voice of his. The voice that made you lose your mind a little.

“And besides.” Kyungsoo inhaled again, as if his quiet words, no louder than the hum of a butterfly’s wings in the small space between your heads on this private bench, actually needed this much oxygen to get out. “Besides…do I even have the right to be upset?”

Somehow this small concession stung worse than when you first fell and scraped your hands against the rocks.

It was the truth, yes, but the sting was sharp like that cheap, burning soap that killed the bacteria harbored deep within your fresh wounds.

“What right do I have…right?” The serious expression on his face that pulled his eyes far away from yours and thrust them deep over the horizon that he looked toward had the opposite effect on your attention. You couldn’t force your gaze away from his face as he spoke. As sharp as that sting felt, you still couldn’t pull your attention away.

“We both know this thing has an expiration date.”

It was your turn to inhale a deep breath. Because the air up here was thinner and because these things once said out loud had a way of making your lungs that much more ineffective. You were certain that the blood that flowed through your veins, carried oxygen deprived blood cells to oxygen-deprived organs and certainly something was going to give soon.

The lump in the back of your throat, the one that felt heavy and thick and choked you when you tried to swallow it back down was your first sign of trouble.

Thankfully the breath was deep enough and with your eyes closed, you no longer had to witness the pain you were certain that you saw on that beautiful face. That face that should know only love and only joy.

In that moment that you kept your eyes closed, the lump in your throat dissipated enough for you to swallow away the remnants, enough for Kyungsoo to release his hold he still had on your hand and clear his throat of any lingering emotions he might have been experiencing.

“They’re back.” He said in a more normal sounding voice. Gone was the whisper that watered your gardens. Gone were the fingers roaming lightly over your skin. “Are you okay to drive back to the hotel?”

You shot him your most reassuring smile and wide head nod.

“Of course, Baby.” You said it before you could stop your mouth and no amount of furrowing of your brows or biting your lip would put the word back in. It only took a heartbeat to reach his ears.

His attention that had been on the group that slowly made their way down the stones, was all at once on you and his eyes widened just enough for you to notice. Just enough for you to feel it. His lips parted as if to speak. As if he had some words to tell you, some…name to call you, some sort of response. Perhaps to rebuke you for your slip. Instead, those lips merely hung open and his eyes did a somersault over your face before he shook his head to himself and closed his mouth at last.

The drive back to the hotel was quiet, save for the music and occasional comment about traffic or about the scenery.

That lump from before, the ‘expiration date’ as he had so effectively called it, sat heavy within your chest, irritating your breathing and making your happiness crack. It was a tiny grain of sand sitting under your tongue. And you were the oyster, desperate for some relief as you pushed the irritant around, again and again, unable to rid yourself of it despite all of your efforts.

“We have rehearsals tonight,” Kyungsoo said, “it’s all our staff so there won’t be much for you to do.”

You pulled into a space in the hotel parking garage and he was out of the truck as soon as you shifted into park.

He busied himself with his bag and you reached for yours, coming up empty-handed when the handle disappeared before you could grab it.

Did he really intend to carry it all? Didn’t he know that you were an adult with two perfectly fine arms and hands that, while a little scraped up, could still carry their own fucking weight?

Didn’t he realize that you were a grown woman and you had made your own decisions in this, knowing full well that there was an expiration date coming up fast? Sure it was going to suck, but did he really have to close up and put it all on himself like this?

“I enjoy watching the rehearsals Kyungsoo. And just because you might not need me doesn’t mean the others won’t have something they need from me.”

It was the truth. It was a genuine description of your original job here. To be available for the three members you had initially been assigned to yet saying this out loud made you feel dirty. He had been walking ahead of you. His arms strained under the load of bags he carried and you could make out the shape of flexed biceps below the hem of his shirt sleeve and when you said those words to him, his steps slowed enough so that you could catch up.

But he didn’t stop completely. And he didn’t speak to you, merely continued his journey through the garage toward the elevator.

You had your key card out and ready to use on the elevator and he stepped inside first, face blank and passive and eyes carefully staring ahead at the number panel.

The doors opened on your floor and you instinctively reached for your own bag, brushing against his fist that held on tight around the handle. Only he didn’t let you grab the bag. Instead, he took a step out of the elevator and walked swiftly down the hallway leaving you to trail behind him in futility. Ahead you saw familiar faces of staff members. Out of earshot and preoccupied with something.

“I’ll take your bag to your room for you. It’s the least I can do when you’ve worked so hard for us and our own member has injured your hands like this.”

His voice was boisterous and bounced around the hallway, earning a glance from a few busy people here and there.

“My hands aren’t even that hurt.” You mumbled but knew better than to try and take the bag from him. He was being stubborn.

You reached your room and the hallway was empty anyway. Such a production of him helping you with your bags wasn’t even necessary. They all knew you were translating for him anyway and the clipped professional way he spoke to you only served to make your mood just a little bit gloomy.

Through the threshold of your room, you could see that the maid service had been through and thankfully you had had enough sense to set the thermostat a bit on the warm side. You really had been quite cold today up on that mountaintop in your little shorts.

You heard the loud click of the room door behind you and when you looked down at your feet you noticed your bag had been carefully set on the floor.

There was a thick and heavy silence behind you though. Your heartbeat felt too loud as you froze with your focus down on that bag and your ears sharpened to listen to the complete silence behind you.

The silence behind you felt empty and too complete.

Had he left? Had he just dropped off your bag and left? Without saying a word to you?

You felt frozen on your feet. It was all you could do to remove your shoes and even that felt too dangerous. You felt a tremble in your chest. An instability that made your hands shake as you fussed with the zipper of the jacket Sehun had lent you up on the mountain.

The bottom of the zipper got stuck in the tracks and no matter how hard you tugged it wouldn’t come free. You gripped it hard between your index finger and your thumb and that silence that filled up your ears ever since the door closed was getting louder as you cursed the stupid thing and yanked harder, all the while fighting off the urge to crumble into yourself in that deafening silence that coated your entire back.

Until you heard a sigh. A low sigh from behind you that broke through the thick silence like a gunshot fired through a quiet library.

“Why are you trembling so hard, love? Come here, let me…”

Kyungsoo’s voice spoke low into your ear.

Kyungsoo’s arms, warm and strong, steady as the earth below this building, wrapped around your shoulders and you looked down in surprise to see Kyungsoo’s rounded fingertips pulling at the zipper of this hoodie you wore.

He was there. He hadn’t left.

“I thought you had left,” you whispered despite the fact that you were the only two occupants in your hotel room.

“What?” You felt his hands on your shoulders and he spun you on your feet, fingers reaching inside the warm coat to push it back and off of your frame.

“I thought you just dropped the bag off and left…but I was too scared to turn around and check.”

It felt like quite a stupid confession when it was out of your lips. The air in the room felt warm enough but the trembling was inside of you. When the jacket fell to the floor at your feet you wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging your own belly tightly for warmth.

You heard yet another sigh from him as he watched you with that same blank face he seemed to have gotten stuck in and he bent at the waist as he unzipped something at your feet.

A new warmth cascaded over your back and you opened your eyes to catch the shifty way he kept his from holding on to yours for too long. He bit down on the inside of his lip as he zipped you up again, this time in his own hoodie. The smell of him was overwhelming and you wanted to weep.

He had something else in his hands that dangled down from his hand at your waist. More significantly, at the button that rested just below your belly button that he was undoing as he slid the zipper down just a bit too slowly for your befuddled mind to comprehend.

“Kyungsoo what—“ The warmth of his soft fingertips slipping between the layer of fabric, running around your waist to push the shorts down, interrupted whatever you were about to say. His hands that ran over your hips, just over the panties you wore that offered not a bit of protection from his warmth took your question and tossed it out the window.

You could now see what he was doing, but when he dropped, crouching down on his ankles to guide each foot carefully into the legs of his black sweatpants, you wondered about the necessity of such a hands-on approach. The sweatpants were sliding up your calves, but the memory of his hands as they slipped down your thighs moments earlier still burned. Particularly when you caught the look in his eyes as he met the faint bruises left there by his own mouth on his journey to warm you with his clothing.

How you wished he could use his body to warm you instead of these fleece sweats.

“There,” he pulled a drawstring tight and tied a tidy bow at your waist, “that’s better than that other thing isn’t it?”

His words had the smile that his lips did not and you wished he would just drop the act and look into your eyes for a moment.

“Kyungsoo.” You called his name and he was straightening the hem of his hoodie, making pretend at getting it just right.

“Hmm?” he hummed in response and his hands rubbed in heavy up and down motions on your arms.

“Kyungsoo, what are you doing?” your hands hung limply at your side, your shoulders sagged under their own weight and you could see the slow rise and fall in his chest as he blinked, still looking down at your waistband where he had been fussing over and over with the clothing.

You both knew the meaning of your question. He definitely understood that you didn’t just want to know why he was going through such lengths to rid you of Sehun’s clothing and put you in his own clothing, even though this was your hotel room, you had pajamas here. You had warm pants and a coat. There was no reason for this. At least, none that you could decipher, especially with his mood and his declaration before you left Montserrat. The declaration that he had no right to behave this way, what with the inevitable separation coming.

He stilled his hands and opened his lips to speak, but nothing happened until he finally pulled his eyes up to look into yours.

“What am I doing?” when he finally spoke you felt like this conversation was heading in circles, yet his eyes were finally touching yours and you snapped your lips closed, opting to let him have his moment to figure out what he actually needed to say to you.

His head ticked back and forth slowly, like the face of an oscillating fan.

“I–” with the movement, his brows furrowed and he blinked quickly, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

All at once he came alive. His hands moved up to cover his face, roughly rubbing over his skin, you could see the strain in his body with the actions and each hard flex of muscle in his arms as he rubbed, pressing fingertips roughly into his eyelids there was a sound emitted from the depths of him. A growl. The sounds of frustration coming to a head and bursting through the surface of a tightly sealed vessel that had finally had too much.

“I’m sorry.” You heard from behind his hands, as muffled and distorted as you felt right now. There was something, a sensation of something, a ghost of something that was tickling against your stomach inside. You felt it, and it felt a bit like fear. Like he was about to–

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do.”

No. The fear rose up. It tasted like bile.

You listened to his words closely, too closely. He couldn’t just be done with you right? This had just started, this hadn’t even been given a name and yet, you could feel something desperate brewing within him.

Only he wouldn’t talk. He merely stood there, hands over his face and that rapid in and out of his chest as he breathed through his fingers.

“Kyungsoo, just speak to me. What’s wrong?” You had had enough of waiting. Enough of wanting desperately for him to just say it, but you knew, you knew this wasn’t just a one-time thing with him. You could see it in the way he looked at you. You could feel it, and it was desperate.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said from behind his hands. His voice was thicker than before. So much more concentrated with him so close to you and the surrounding silence of this room.

“When I leave you’ll be hurt. If—If…” You reached for his hands with both of yours and when you pulled them down from his face his eyes remained closed. You could see the movement of his eyes under his lids and his lips were parted with the words he had been speaking. “If we keep going, you’ll be hurt.”

Kyungsoo inhaled a sharp breath before his eyes opened at last and the whites were pink. The browns were dark and affected and the swell of fear that rose up high into your throat felt magnified when you looked into those eyes.

“I was going to put a stop to this. For you, I was going to. I saw you with Sehun and I had that anger inside me and it was so stupid because…because what am I even doing? You…aren’t mine.”  

Through his hands that you held within both of yours you could clearly make out his pulse. The steady rhythm of his heart beating inside his chest echoed against your own and you tried to force yourself to breathe.

He was going to stop this. He was going to do it. He was speaking in the past tense though and he didn’t let go of your hands and turn to leave. He let you hold on to them with absolutely no resistance.

“But then you called me baby.”

You felt one of his hands leave yours and you had to close your own eyes when that hand touched your face. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheekbone and he took a step into you. “And I want you to do it again. God, that felt good to hear from your lips.”

“Kyungsoo–” The whisper from your lips moved your jaw and his thumb which had trailed its way down to rest over your bottom lip tickled over its surface, making your skin feel heated, making your insides flutter with the confessions you heard tumble from his mouth.

“W-What do you want to do? Stop overthinking this and just say it. Don’t think, just tell me, what do you want to do, baby?” You didn’t even have control over the pet name. It just fit so perfectly and so completely that it happened all on its own now.

He was coiled tight and ready to snap. He was holding his breath and his lungs had begun to burn. He was filled to the rim when the last drop landed with a splash and he moved quickly, reaching for your face with his other hand and he took another step, pushing himself into you. You felt the cool of the wall at your back and he took another step and another until his arms bent at the elbows and his forehead rested against yours. His lips brushed against your cheek and his hands held your face tight enough to bruise if he only dug his fingers in.

“I want you for myself.” His voice was a low growl and your own hands found his waist, found his shirt and pushed it up and out of the way as you sought out the heat of his smooth skin. His back was lean and smooth, muscles were tensed and hard and the breaths that escaped his lungs were labored. Hot breaths from his mouth fanned over your face, warming your lips. “I want to keep you and love you and taste you and fuck you. I want you to come to my room tonight and the next night. I want you to sleep in my bed and wake up next to me and call me baby and I want to hear you tell me how much you love me for me, for who I really am. I want it all and it’s killing me.”

He inhaled a deep breath and you felt as if the oxygen had been taken directly from your own lungs as a wave of dizziness flooded your mind.

“Let me be selfish. Tell me it’ll be okay, that this can work and you won’t be too hurt once I’m gone. Tell me we can see each other again after this tour– Please, baby, I feel like such an asshole for wanting you this badly.”

You had already been nodding your head as he spoke, minimally moving in complete agreement with everything and anything he told you. Desperately agreeing with his words, his requests.

“I’ll be okay. It won’t hurt and even if it does this is worth it. You are worth it. I can take it. I can handle missing you, and we can make it work, I know we can.”  

He was close enough that space between your lips and his was an afterthought. Yet when he moved in and closed that distance, the impact was strong enough to open up the earth below your feet and swallow you whole. His breath hit you first, warm and humid over your own parted lips and when his lips reached yours, his own parted and he kissed you in an all-consuming desperation.

You felt constricted around him, your every muscle tensed under his warmth and his weight and yet you craved more. The brush of his tongue against your own, the suction of his mouth as he bit down on your lips, again and again, craving for more from you, taking more and more until you were certain one of you might pass out from lack of air.

This kiss was different than before. This kiss was insatiable and yet the desperation you felt in your chest to satisfy this need left you reaching for more. As if somehow your two bodies could be joined as one with just this kiss.

It was laughable really. And when he finally pulled away and looked into your eyes you did just that. The small breathless giggle that left your lips matched the smile you saw on his lips and he pulled you, molded you into himself as his strong arms secured themselves around your shoulders. He pulled in and he held you closely, deep within a demanding embrace and from somewhere inside his body you heard a laugh.

It was hopeless, this laugh.

You were certain that on the end of that hopeless laugh was the kind of humor that one found in extreme grief or loss. It was madness, this laughter that you heard and you laughed along with him, nestled deep within his arms, you gave in to the utter madness that made that laughter leave your mouth instead of some other wild guttural response to this wildly irrational decision you had both made together.

To give in. To give in to this powerful spell you had placed on each other and to accept the inevitable consequences of such an irresponsible choice. Hidden just below the surface, where you pushed it away to deal with another day, where he briefly touched with his wandering fingertips and recoiled at the blinding sting of it, was the lie.

The lie that either of you could withstand the pain to come.

He was moving and he reached in between your bodies inside his front pocket. You felt the shift and allowed him some room for the maneuver and he emerged with a key card that looked identical to the one for your room.

“I have rehearsal soon, but…” You understood and opened your hand to receive what he gave you, “…will you wait for me in my room tonight? It should be only a couple of hours.”

Of course, you would. You told him as much with a small smile and nod of your head and his own smile broke free once, twice, with each time he looked back into your face that beautiful smile widened on his face until you thought you couldn’t possibly stand anymore. He was backing away. He was leaving yet the spell pulled him back again.

Or perhaps it was when you gave in to the madness and reached for his shirt with your own two hands, balling the fabric up into two tight knots as you did it, you just grabbed hold and pulled and he laughed and stumbled away from the door and into you again, bracing on the wall behind you to keep from crushing you with the force you had pulled him with.

But Kyungsoo was back and his lips were back and those hands touched you again just as passionately as before. It was too short.

He needed to stay.

“I need to go,” he breathed into the laughter you felt against your lips and the kiss was mostly teeth against teeth when you gave into the giggles.

He reached for his bag and his shoes and you held the door for him as he left. His gate was off and he stumbled over a seam in the carpet just outside of the door and laughed as he righted himself and looked back at you with that blinding smile still on his face, yet still moving forward straight toward a turn in the hallway that he wasn’t watching for. The man looked like he was drunk, but maybe you did too.

To his benefit, he recovered a second before slamming right into the wall that he approached too fast and caught himself before any actual injuries could be obtained. Laughing again he turned once more before reaching the hallway where he would disappear and his hand rose to his lips where he placed a kiss, which he dramatically threw in your direction before he was gone from your sight, leaving you reeling from everything that was happening and dizzy from the elation caused by your love for that man.

Do Kyungsoo…your Kyungsoo. You swore that you felt that kiss he threw hit you like a bullet right between the eyes. 

You knew you were done for.

All His [M]: Canon AU - Fluff / Smut part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11 FINAL

[bts-dontknowher]

Best Friends Don't Do This || Park Jimin

Bestfriends Don’t Do This || Park Jimin 

 Words: 2,159 (fuuuuuuck)

 Genre: SMUT 

 A/N: oh my god I’m back at it someone stop me someone send me Jesus bc I need it. I am trashhhh. Anyway, lol, requests are open! Send us some of your deepest desires and we will get to it! ^.^

 -admin courtneycat

 ..-~*~-..-~*~-..-~*~-..-~*~-..-~*~-..-~*~-..

 Spending time at Jimin’s always meant something would go down that night. Whether that would be a movie night, a sleepover with lots of icecream and snacks, or random bruises from mini fights you two would have. Jimin is your bestfriend, has been since you guys were just ten years old. You’ve seen everything about him- from the bad to the good. Bad hair cuts and breakups, to movie nights and prom dates. Now, sitting at the early ages of twenty, you guys both are realizing the differences between then and now.

 A piece of popcorn was thrown at your face, hitting you dead smack in the middle of your forehead. Jimin giggled at your cross eyed glare you had given him.

 “Excuse you, sir, could you fucking not?” He only laughed harder. The Captain America movie was no longer being paid attention to, as it only seemed to turn into background noises.

 “It’s movie night ma'am, get off your damn phone! This is our tiiiiiiiiiimeeee,” he wailed at you, throwing another piece of popcorn at you. His missed this time. Glaring at him, you threw a Twizzler at him. Though not at his beautiful face- wait, what? Shaking your head from that bizarre thought, you messaged your friend to stop bothering you- that you were with Jimin. She messaged you a few dirty emojis back. Rolling your eyes, you locked your phone and placed it on the cushion next to you.

 “Sorry, Y/F/N is messaging me weird shit,” you told him. His eyes scrunched up and a smirk took over his lips.

 “What kind of weird shit? Tell meeee!” He demanded. You shook your head, “Nuh-uh! Not telling. Just weird stuff you don’t need to know, trust me,” you laughed it off. You curled yourself into the couch more, resting your feet onto Jimin’s lap. He made a face at you again, but ignored it, paying attention to the movie finally. Poor Chris Evans. 

 The room felt quiet. Which was extremely odd because Jimin is almost always making some sort of noise- humming, singing, muttering, snoring, and lets not forget… yelling. Yes. The amount of times Taehyung has come over during our friendship nights is astounding. And whenever he does come over it’s constant noise times five because Taehyung. Yes, you probably understand.

 Taking a peek over at Jimin, you see that his eyes are focused on the movie. You mentally shrug and continue to watch the movie. Suddenly, he grabs your feet and tugs you down the couch. You let out a squeak of surprise and grab onto the side cushion for dear life. 

 “What are you doing, asswipe?!” You screech out at him. He only smirks and climbs on top of you. Sitting on your legs and pinning your arms to the couch. He then grabs at your phone, making your eyes widen in fear. Shit.

 “No no no no no! Hey, put that down!” You yell at him. You knew he was going to find those text messages. Your friend is extremely dirty and you guys would talk about interesting topics. By interesting topics, you mean sex. And by sex, your topic of the day was thigh riding. And somehow your friend had mentioned Jimin’s thighs and you had somehow agreed that he had nice thighs. And now here you are. Being encased by said thighs and you couldn’t help but quickly glance at them… because he was coincidentally wearing shorts. 

 Jimin only smirked as he clicked the home screen button. The lock screen showed the selfie of you and Jimin at the carnival from the last time you guys were hanging out. Thank god you had a passcode on it. “Hah! That’s right, so get off me ya lard butt-” you started but,

 “Hahaha!” Jimin had figured out the passcode, “now let’s take a look at those messages.. mhmm…ah! Y/F/N..” he muttered.

 “Please no, please I’ll do anything! Just give me my phone back! Please!” You begged out. He stopped what he was doing and glanced down at you underneath him. Your hair was sprawled out around your head and in your face a little. Your eyes looked at him as you chest heaved up and down because this whole time you have been fighting and struggling to get loose from his grasp. What you didn’t know is that Jimin liked this. You beneath him, sweating, begging. Yes, he liked you. And he definitely knew what those texts were about.

 Still smirking at you, he locked your phone and tossed it to the ground. You looked at him and noticed something much different about him, yet you couldn’t tell. He let go of your arms and slowly trailed his hands down them, and to your back. His trail left what seemed to be fire as your back arched by itself. Jimin then lifted the top half of you up and soon enough you were face to face.

 “Uhm, uh thanks. For-for ya know. Uh not looking at the messages,” you stuttered out. He nodded in acknowledgement, but his hands never budged, but to be honest, you didn’t want them to move. You almost whined when you felt his right hand move up to the back of your neck. Your breath caught in your throat and your eyes looked into his. What was he doing? And why weren’t you stopping this?

 “You’ll do anything? Anything for me?” He asked you. Too caught up in the moment and paralyzed from his touch, you just nodded back at him. He softly chuckled and went with his gut for the first time in a while. He lowered his face close to yours and instead of backing out, you closed your eyes and just went for it.

 Soon enough, his luscious lips were attached to yours. Your mind went blank and nothing around you seemed important to you anymore. Not the movie, not the time and definitely not your phone. You cupped your hand to his cheek and shimmied closer to him. He dipped you back down to the couch and lowered himself down with you, lips never detaching. Holy hell you were kissing your best friend and you liked it. You liked it a lot. 

 You two separated for the briefest of moments and looked at each other. You were both breathing heavily and as you looked back down at his lips and back to his eyes, he reattached his lips to yours again. You were in heaven. And he thought the same. He slipped his tongue out and ran it against your bottom lip. Moaning, you parted your lips and let his tongue in. Never in your life have you ever thought about French kissing Jimin in his apartment. 

 Too caught up in the moment again, you gasped as Jimin flipped you around. This time he was underneath you and you groaned at all the dirty thoughts that ran through your mind. Jimin’s hands trailed down to your waist and quickly pulled your sweater over your head and threw it somewhere in the room. A low moan rippled though the back of his throat and you could feel the heat pool in your stomach. His hands attached themselves to your breasts and massaged them, casually tweaking at the perky buds. You were a mess at this point.

 “Ah, Jimin, I think, oh god, I think you’re wearing too much,” you moaned out. You tugged at his shirt, and he got the hint. He pulled the t-shirt off. You didn’t holy your moan in at all when you saw his upper half. Dear god, you ran your hands down his tanned skin and lowered yourself down to kiss his torso. 

 “Fuck, baby,” Jimin moaned out. His hands moved down to your waist and rubbed his hands around. As you began to suck small little marks onto his collarbones and neck, he lifted you up off him.

 “Okay, baby. You said you’d do anything, right? You can’t go back,” he told you. You didn’t care at this point. You nodded. He could get you to do anything and you would care. He propped himself up on the side cushion and smirked.

 “Ride my thigh, baby.” He patted his thigh. You just blinked. So he did read the messages. Fuck. But looking at his thigh, you threw all caution to the wind and straddled him. His smirk got wider and his hands gripped you hard against him.

 “You ready, pretty girl?” He asked you. All these pet names got you off and you were more than ready for this. Nodding, you bent down and kissed him again. His hands moved your lower half back and forth, the rocking motion sending your mind into overdrive. The amount of pleasure you were received was insane.

 If Jimin were to be honest right now, the vision of you, getting yourself off only by the sheer friction of his thigh, could have him cumming himself in no time. Your body glistened with sweat and mixed with his, and he thought that must have come second to things that make you incredibly hot. Just everything about you could get him off.

 “Oh, fuck, Jimin. Oh god, you’re so good,” you moaned out. His shorts would bundle up and run at your clit and send you into overdrive. Sure enough when you looked down, you notice the wetness that was slowly running along his thigh. Fuck was that a sight. You looked back at Jimin and notice his eyes were screwed shut. You decided to help him out a bit. Running your hands down his chest again, you let your hand trail into his shorts and grab his dick. His eyes shot open and stared into yours.

 “Oh baby girl,” he groaned out. You swiped the precum that gathered onto his tip and brought your fingers to your mouth and sucked. “Fuck,” he dragged out, flinging his head back as he moved you faster along his thigh. You squeaked out at the friction and nearly cummed right there. 

 You grabbed his length again and ran your hand up and down. The moans coming from him pushed you further to your orgasm and you tried moving even faster to help him reach his. One of his hands reached up and brought your face down and kissed you hard again. And just in seconds you were sent into oblivion as your orgasm ripped through you. Your sight blurred and gasps left your mouth. The sight of you jerking and gasping, pushed Jimin to the edge and right after you, he let go and white spurts spotted his chest and your hand.

 You collapsed onto his chest, not caring about his mess sticking all over the place, cause really- you left a mess on his leg anyway. Who cares right now. Breathing hard you managed to speak out, 

“Oh shit, Jimin. What the fuck… just happened?” His hand ran up and down your back as you leaned a bit back to look at him.

 “Something that should have happened a while ago, ahh,” he was now blushing and you couldn’t hold back the grin on your face, “this is so backwards but uh, do you wanna go on a date sometime?” You leaned your face back into the crook of his neck and gave him a peck. “I would love to,” you whispered into his skin. You could feel the shit eating grin on his face and he snuggled you closer to him. Resting there longer, you could almost fall asleep. 

That was until- 

 “Hey guys! Guess what Jungko- WHAT THE HECK GUYS. Did I come at a bad time- oh my god!” Shouted Taehyung. Jimin threw the nearest pillow at him.

 “Get the fuck out, Tae!” 

You heard the door slam back shut, loud yells of disgust still being shouted down the corridors. You couldn’t help chuckling a little as you knew that Taehyung will always be Taehyung in the end. Jimin shifted a bit underneath you and you looked down at him curiously. His face looked a worried.

 “Umm, I’m not so worried that my dick was hanging out for Tae to see, but uh, I got a second confession for you,” his voice was small and scratchy, but you just shrugged and let him continue, “okay, so this was kind of planned?” 

 “What does that mean? What do you mean plan, Park Jimin I will end you!” You started grabbing at his bare chest with your hands. 

 “No no no! It’s not what you think really! What I mean is is that Y/F/N was basically trying to get you to think about me like that because I told her that I liked you…” he trailed off, a bit embarrassed.

 “Park Jimin… I have liked you for a very long time,” you giggled a little, “uh, thanks for finally doing something. But, oh is Y/F/N is a dead man.”

[justinehudock]

Nut butter

Really, actually good-looking people will always date really, actually good-looking people. Really. And so suddenly, so dumbfoundingly suddenly, they date. Watching them try out new people in flashes of social media updates, bodies shivering in and out like a rendition of Three Little Maids from School Are We performed under strobe lights. You feel, perplexingly, like you may be the speeddater yourself. Sad and confused, like an especially sensitive newborn, by your attempts to make sense of the endless cascade of matteness and symmetry that shuffle through their profiles.

The sheer sprightliness to their relationship mile is disheartening. You might as well be the visor-wearing sideliner distributing them waxy water cups and sponsor-branded rags to your really, actually good-looking subjects, while they soak up the cocktail of marathon-day sun and you and your fellow physical laymans’ exasperation.

Shut your eyes against the glaring beauty of one escort and a strapping new boyfriend or stripling of a girlfriend emerges in a glimmering, moory mist, like the Loch Ness Monster, except less likely to become scarce when Scotland’s wildlife commission shows up for the uncurtaining. Like the refracted, polychromatic glare of a sunset glinting off a beer can, they seem to shimmer in: shoulders splayed, as long, straight, and suggestive as a carrot. Godlings whose heavenly beneficence to you includes, not passage to a “better place” (at least not on any legally actionable basis), but acting as the breathing justification to that evening’s potato chip bag-descension, for forcing you to confront your own relative resemblance to a blobfish. Eat your insecurities, hisses the oily O aperture of their coiff.

So casually, “This is [one of three cycled names given to the most beautiful in the neonatal wing],” the introduction pours from a pair of perfectly bloomed lips. Eyes, casting out that gleaming farthing candle of their gaze. Visage, remaining otherwise expressionless in that autocratic way that all really good-looking persons tend toward.

“This is Nick/Alison/Griffin/Kelsey/Lance/Nichole, with an h.”

Throughout your acquaintance, you’ve been introduced to so many of their physically improbable Madonnas and Davids. You, their old, comfortable pal, like the satyr Phil to their Hercules. And still, this declaration hits the ear like a lisping museum guide underwhelmingly exhibiting a masterpiece:

This just hangs around places? you barely stop yourself from sputtering.

And you can, just, say its name? There’s no fee? No selfie-stick ban? No crudités?

Where’s the trumpet? you want to ask, searching in the crowd for the brigade of brass that must be crouching, poised for fanfare.

What number are they in the pamphlet? forgetting that you haven’t touched a pamphlet since that stint lifetimes ago in Nutella Addicts Anonymous.

Without a physically splendid magnet to whom to magnetize, really, actually good-looking people feel naked, in that shrunken, shower-liner-yanked-back way the rest of us feel in the buck. Not that they could relate literally. Born to be nude, them.

As for an intelligent explanation as to why really, actually good-looking persons are always dating, and always other really, actually good-looking persons, the jury’s still out. The theories are too numerous, and the investigation is constantly stalled by exasperated huffs from the researchers and intrigued private parties, grumbling, “Does Brock not desire his own, solitary company, as we, the laypeople, desire his solitary company? Pay cable fees and endure inane Youtube ads for gel mattress toppers and sexual dysfunction miracle fixes, all for proxy access to faces on tier with his own mutatedly beautiful one?”

Who knows what logic churns through those brains nested beneath skin-deep flawlessness? New hypotheses are shoved down the suggestion box every day, for, for all their complaints, the scientific community would knock itself sideways to get closure. Closure on an issue which, at its core, posits why their own ideal mate can’t simply learn to love skin and bone, as to why they keep recycling the same brand of taut, bronzed skin, and pointy, prominent bones.

Some will try to tell you that it’s the abs: that these people physically fit together like LEGO, bolted like the tumblers joining in the door of Capital Bank’s diamond vault. Others insist on the hand of an underground eugenics firm. Something neo-Arayan-y. Good Looking Lives Matter-y. Both ideas are largely resisted. Nut butter seems to be the only brick of reasoning upon which academia finds some consensus.

Nut butter: these really, actually good-looking couples fill the relationship mould, without resistance, per se, but still you find that they cling to the spreading-knife with a languidness bordering on flippancy. “Sure: this jar; I don’t see a better jar around,” they say (and it’s true!), when picking out a partner as effortlessly as Averages would pick up a three-pound hand-weight.

Though really, actually good-looking people possess the genetic latitude for ultra-pickiness when selecting mates, in a broom closet, there’s only so much room to spread one’s arms before they hit a wall or a janitor. That is, there’s a square foot or so of considerable romantic leads to choose from. Account for romantic leads within walking distance and that estimation gets hacked down to a splinter.

Indeed, the really, actually good-looking population is in constant threat of extinction. They, like the giant panda, are hence congregated into a sort of social captivity, shuffled forever after into breeding programs of their own supervision. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth they go between new partners, like an idiomatically accurate “hot” potato.

From this hypothetical model, we can see how mating inevitably retrogresses into that of humanity’s predecessors: determined by the autopilot preference for physical congruity which once prevented our smaller-hippocampus-bearing ancestors from mistakenly courting orangutans.

The truth of attractiveness is an enigmatic mistress. Our genes hard-code us with the desire to seek and pursue really, actually good-looking-ness, but apparently, not so hard-coded as to just make everyone really, actually good-looking. What hell is it to know that a few different chromosomes and America’s Next Top Model wouldn’t exist.

Remember, friends, the wisdom of cryologists: to conquer science, we must become science. So, for a moment, close your eyes and imagine existence as a really, actually good-looking person. For some, this exercise will prove a stretch, but, please, attempt the impossible.

Firstly, you’ll notice that your mind is kinder to you: less nagging, sedated by the noodling spirals of dopamine that spring up every time you glance toward a reflective surface, which is constantly.

You’ve just woken up after a restorative night’s rest, sans disruption by apnea, a disease only inflicted upon the less attractive. “Beauty sleep” is all you know the nightly coma to consist of.

You’ve showered, buttered yourself with sampler lotions eagerly pushed upon you by mall cosmetic counterists, free of charge. You’ve eaten a light breakfast, light like your mental load which lacks the normal physical occupations. You’ve breezed to your car with the cloud-riding gate of a demigod, contented by the fact that you still don’t know to what “marshmallow cereal” could possibly refer. Your rock-hard quads, rather, quake at the mention like a limb of ghost-knowledge. As you approach the supermarket entrance, its automatic doors redundantly shoved open for you, fire alarm blaring in a familiar response, by gawking exiting shoppers.

Ah, Whole Foods, the Swedish top model of grocers; the comparably “kosher” grocer for good-looking people. Shop anywhere else and you’d just be donating yourself, you justify, to the market’s stockholders, saving costs on advertising and upregulating the customer return-rate. The phenotypically less impressive Costco shopper, you feel, would only attach unconscious, positive memories based on your radiant head bobbing between the rows.

Gliding through the canned-foods aisle, utilized only as a shortcut to greener, organic pastures, you spot a beauty mark among the stacks of ridgy aluminum and pastoral graphic labels. Between the kerneled corn and pre-sliced tomatoes and quarantined sardines, someone has nestled a jar of maple-pretzel almond butter. Far from the cream of mushroom, it’s evident that this bold, pink-font-beset product was transplanted from the designer-food aisle, over which the transplanter has experienced, you presume, a gut instinct to resist.

In a sea of peas and pickled cabbage, the really, actually good-looking people are the maple-pretzel nut butter of humankind. Delicious. Luxurious. Expensive. In the supermarket, they’re plucked from the orphanage doorstep of can pyramids and quaintly middle-class shelving hierarchies to which they clearly do not belong, rescued by the person, by the really, actually good-looking person, that can—as the majority of shoppers cannot—metabolically justify their richness.