#he coughs and takes a sip of water before raising his voice in order to drown out the sounds of your gawk gawk 5000

[lynnieverse]

undertow // turbulence

✰ second chapter!

✰ 2k words

✰ chapter song -> bad blood by bastille

✰ tags: morally grey, one-sided rivalry, mystery, mutual pining, tension, redemption

✰ a/n: I hope you like the second chapter! Thanks so much for the likes on chapter one! <3

Lennox woke with a pounding in her head and the overwhelming urge to vomit. Groaning, she rolled over, checking her phone before stumbling into her bathroom. 

As she hugged the toilet bowl, flashes of her argument with Rafe came back to her. Calling him an asshole, cruel, a black hole—God she felt horrible. Lennox couldn’t believe she unloaded on him like that, even if he deserved it. She was a very non-confrontational person, and she hated hurting people’s feelings. No matter who they were. That being said, he was a smug son of a bitch. Ordering her around, calling her princess all the time…he just got under her skin. No person had ever been able to do that as much as Rafe Cameron. 

Once she had successfully emptied her stomach and scraped herself off the tile, she slowly descended the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. Her entire family was there, Dad making breakfast as Mom and Topper talked at the bar. Topper noticed her first. 

“Len! You look rough, is the hangover that bad?” he teased, causing her to stick her tongue out at him. She decided not to comment on his own drunkenness the night before, so he wasn’t ripped a new one by their mom.

“Have some juice, honey,” her mom slipped a cup into her hand, patting her on the shoulder affectionately. Lennox took a satisfying sip, letting the cold liquid soothe her dry throat. 

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Breakfast is ready!” Dad sang, moving platters from the counter to their dining room table. Lennox flinched at the sudden increase in volume, caressing her head, but slid into her spot at the table with ease. It was overflowing with food, way too much for the four of them, but that was her dad. As they gathered to eat as a family, her dad decided to strike up a conversation about business. 

“Oh, by the way, Lennox. Rafe Cameron is going to be stopping by later to discuss a potential collaboration on a property.” She immediately choked on her orange juice, causing a coughing fit. Her mom instinctively started to rub her back, a worried look on her face. 

“What?” she croaked, rubbing her throat and wiping the water from her eyes. 

“Yes, and I think this is the perfect project for you to take the lead on, seeing as you’re both lacking a lot of experience.” She looked at her mom and Topper, trying to decipher whether or not this was a prank. Topper was trying not to laugh, and her mom looked sympathetic. Shit.

“Dad, no! I cannot work with Rafe, it’s like asking me to work with…with…I don’t know but it’s not going to work!” She couldn’t believe this was happening; she was expected to work with public enemy number one. 

“Oh quit being a drama queen. You’ll be fine,” he waved her off, cutting into his pancakes as if nothing was happening.

“But–”

“No buts!” he raised his voice. Lennox shrunk down immediately at his tone. “You will work with the boy, and it’ll be great!” Dad smiled. Lennox groaned before stuffing her mouth full of pancakes. This would not be great. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Lennox’s glare must have had some heat to it, because Rafe just made eye contact through her second story bedroom window.

As he sauntered to her front door she couldn't help but notice how nice he looked. He put on an actual suit for the meeting, save for a tie, and carried a briefcase. Still looked like a douche though.

Lennox took a deep breath before checking her appearance one more time. Her brown hair was curled, pulled back by two braids. She put on some light makeup and a business suit, trying to make a good first impression with her dad. He was always business business business when it came to things like this. In the meeting, she wouldn’t be his daughter, she’d be his associate. 

Lennox exited her room and made her way down the stairs slowly. They were waiting for her at the bottom, her dad having already welcomed Rafe. By the amount of hand motions he was making, she assumed her dad was engaged in a passionate conversation about work. Rafe didn’t seem to be paying that much attention.

His eyes never left her as she slowly approached, smirking at how uncomfortable she looked. The sound of her heels on the hardwood floor gave her away, and her dad finally heard her behind him. 

“Ah! Lennox, come welcome Mr. Cameron.” 

“Oh, Rafe will do just fine, Mr. Thornton,” his deep voice rasped, eyes flicking over her. She suddenly felt self conscious in her cranberry suit, wishing she’d worn something less…form fitting. Dad didn’t notice, just chuckled and clapped Rafe on the back. 

“Well then, call me Jack!” Lennox rolled her eyes, already hating the camaraderie forming between the two.

“Lennox!” he whispered sharply at her, the smile remaining on his face. She begrudgingly stepped forward, offering her hand with a strained smile. 

“Mr. Cameron, lovely to have you!” Her hand slipped into his easily, and she felt the warmth that radiated from it throughout her entire body. Their eyes met and she felt a fire in her stomach.

 Loathing. That’s what this was. Pure unadulterated loathing. 

“Lovely to see you again, Princess.” Lennox’s mouth gaped in response, looking over to her father for help. The man simply looked confused and happy to be there. 

She wondered how he got away with things like that. 

“If you don’t mind, can we take this meeting in the sitting room?” she said through bared teeth. He really was going to make her lose her mind. 

“Of course,” he bowed his head a bit, clasping his hands behind his back. She didn’t particularly want to walk in front of him, but swallowed her pride, leading them through the house. When they arrived, she took a seat at the head of the table, gesturing the chair directly to her left. Her dad hovered in the doorway, watching her like a hawk. 

“Alright, I’ve briefed Lennox on everything we’ve discussed, Rafe, and I feel confident she can take over from here if that’s alright with you?” Rafe barely turned his head, eyes directed towards her, and replied. 

“That sounds perfect, Jack, thank you.” Dad nodded and sent her a wink before closing the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone. The silence was heavy, and Lennox knew she’d have to talk eventually, but she just couldn’t. Thankfully he made the first move. 

“You’re not still mad about last night, are you? Or do you even remember it?” She scoffed, unamused. 

“Please, I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Sure, Princess, whatever you need to tell yourself.” 

“Whatever, let’s just get this over with.” 

“Alright, calm down, I’ve got the whole thing planned out. It’ll be fun.” Rafe popped open his briefcase and pulled out a manila folder, flipped it open, and slid it towards her. 

“Fun? Yeah, working with you sounds like a dream come true,” she said with crossed arms. Rafe smirked, but ignored her. 

“It’s a resort. Beachfront, private, exclusive—exactly what the OBX needs. I inherited the land after my dad… well, you know.” His expression flickered for a moment, but he covered it quickly, flipping through the pages. “Your family’s real estate empire handles the logistics, and I’ll manage the operations and design.” 

“Wait,” Lennox held up a hand, “You’re managing the design?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he chuckled, “I’m actually good at this sort of thing. You’d know if you hopped off that high horse of yours.” 

She ignored the jab, leaning over the table to glance at the blueprints he laid out. To her annoyance, the concept wasn’t terrible. The resort was sleek, modern, and perfectly tailored for high-end clients. She could almost see it working—almost.

“This isn’t bad,” she admitted reluctantly, tapping the page. “But the infrastructure on this stretch of land is a nightmare. It’s going to cost a fortune to get it up to code.”

Rafe shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “That’s your problem, isn’t it? Logistics. I’m here to make it look good.”

Lennox rolled her eyes. “Of course you are. You just want your name attached to it without doing the actual work.”

“Hey, I’m doing plenty of work,” Rafe shot back, sitting up straight. “Just because you’re too busy judging me doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Her frustration boiled over. “Judging you? Rafe, you’ve made it impossible not to judge you. Forgive me for not thinking this is suddenly your redemption arc.”

His jaw tightened, and for a second, the mask slipped. “You don’t know shit about what I’ve been dealing with, Lennox. I’m trying to clean up the mess my dad left behind. This project? It’s the first thing that’s actually mine. So yeah, I care about it.”

The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard, and she hated herself for even slightly softening. She shifted in her seat, clearing her throat. “Fine. But if we’re going to work together, there’s no room for your usual bullshit. This has to be professional.”

Rafe smirked again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Whatever you say, Princess. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Lennox pressed her palms flat against the table, inhaling deeply. She wasn’t going to let Rafe Cameron rile her up again. Not this time.

“Alright,” she said briskly, gathering the blueprints into a neat pile. “We’ll need to tour the site first. I’ll need updated infrastructure reports, environmental impact assessments, and a list of contractors you’ve already reached out to.”

Rafe let out a low whistle. “Wow, thorough. You’ve really got this ‘boss lady’ thing down, huh?”

“Or,” she countered, “I just know how to handle things without half-assing them.”

“Lucky me, I guess. The site’s about twenty minutes out. Let’s go.”

Lennox froze. “Go? Now?”

“No time like the present, Princess,” he said, already rising from his chair and tossing her the keys to his Jeep. She caught them clumsily, glaring.

“You expect me to drive your car?”

“You’re the expert, remember?” He grinned. “I’m the ideas guy.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Charming, though,” he quipped, grabbing the blueprints and heading for the door. “Come on, Princess. Daylight’s burning.” 

God, she hated him.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

When they arrived at the property, Lennox was pleasantly surprised. It looked exactly like the pictures. The land was stunning—untouched dunes rolling into sparkling waves, with thick greenery framing the shoreline. For a moment, Lennox forgot about Rafe entirely. She stepped forward, her heels sinking slightly into the sand, and took it all in.

“Okay,” she admitted reluctantly. “It’s beautiful.”

“See? I’m not completely useless,” Rafe said, striding up beside her, hands in his pockets. “This place has potential. High-end suites here, a private marina there...”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ambitious.”

“What can I say, I’ve got big ideas…and deep pockets.” Lennox rolled her eyes. 

“Alright hotshot, let’s walk around.” He nodded and took the lead. She paused to slip off her shoes before catching up. They start making their way down the coastline, Rafe pointing out specifics of his design as they did. She really did hate to admit it, but he was good at this. 

“You’ve really thought this through…” He turned and squinted at her, having to raise his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. 

“Yeah, I’m not dicking around here, Lennox. This isn’t me playing dress up, trying on Daddy’s shoes for fun.” She opened her mouth to fire back, but something in his tone stopped her. She looked at him—really looked—and for the first time she saw something she almost pitied. 

“Rafe–” she started, but he cut her off.

“Just don’t.” He turned away, his usual smirk back in place. “I already told you I don’t do therapy sessions, Princess.” 

“But–”

“You’re the one that said stick to business, alright? Let’s do that.” He left no room for argument, so Lennox shut up. The pair walked back towards his Jeep in silence, Lennox focusing on the waves rushing over her feet. She’d never felt this awkward around him; pissed, sure, but awkwardness was new. When they made it back, Rafe spoke quietly. 

“What’d you think?” She fought for a critique, but it never surfaced. 

“Honestly? I think it’s perfect. We’d be stupid not to partner with you.” His face lit up, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, and for some reason that caused her stomach to flip. 

“Really?” The excitement in his voice was evident even if he tried to keep it down. 

“Yeah. I hate to say it, but you’ve got yourself a deal.” Lennox held out her hand and he took it with ease. 

“So I guess we’re partners now,” he smirked. 

“If this is what I’ll have to deal with everyday, I need a raise.” 

“Careful, Princess. You might end up liking me.”

 “Doubtful,” she replied, but there was no real malice behind it. He had caught her off guard today, being less of an asshole. It wasn’t good for her health, surely. She was being cordial with him. No, professional. She was being professional and that’s all that mattered.

[foxilayde]

Sucking off Leto Atreides under the table during a war council meeting if you even care

[violetarks]

“baby keep talking, but nobody’s listening!”

anime: jujutsu kaisen

characters: gojo satoru, choso, fushiguro toji

summary: they find you on a date with someone they've never seen before, but they don't need to look for long to see how bored you were. deciding for you that it would be the first and only date you ever went on with that man, they come to your rescue.

warnings: afab! reader, she/her pronouns used, reader is on a date with a man, said date sucks ass (trying to regulate what y/n eats, snarky comments, egotistical, rude to hospitality workers), shoko/itadori/shiu help set you up on a date but they suck at it

↣ gojo satoru

"satoru, you have to get out," you huff at him, crossed arms over your chest. he sat on your cough, flicking through tv channels. "my date is coming here in ten minutes!"

"you mean the stranger that shoko met at the mall and said would 'totally be your type'?" he says, looking over his shoulder to you. you raise a brow. "c'mon, blow him off. we need to finish 'the last of us'!"

"don't you dare watch it while i'm gone, satoru, or god so help me—" your phone rings, interrupting your threat. you answer when you see the number of your date. "hello? oh, yes, this is y/n."

you begin to walk to grab your keys and your bag, satoru following after you when you suddenly stop.

"oh, uh... you want to meet there?" you say, tilting your head, "no, that's fine, i'll leave now. see you—..."

"he's not coming to pick you up?" satoru questions, watching as you take out your car keys.

"he's actually already there. and he's ordered for me." you say with a bit of doubt in your voice. satoru can hear it. "it's fine, i should go now. don't you dare watch that show, i will kill you. see you, satoru."

the whole time you're gone, he can’t do anything. he’s sitting in silence for an hour, not even looking at his phone. he felt angry at himself.

so he followed you, obviously.

he looked up the restaurant you had mentioned to him before and saw the pictures posted online. it looked like such a nice first date place. and that boiled even more jealousy in him. of course he had to follow you.

and luckily he did; you looked miserable.

he takes out his phone as soon as possible.

“you know how many calories are in that meal?” your date said after the waiter left your table, “way better for you than what you wanted.”

you had just told him your favourite dish in the menu. and he told you he ordered you just a salad. while he got two meals because he was ‘bulking’.

when shoko showed you his instagram, you had to admit that he was cute. he was fit too, and you did your fair share of exercise. he had a nice smile and he also posted photos of his dog. but that couldn’t shield you from what was right in front of you.

you found out he was a model for a magazine you’ve never heard of, and while that was impressive, it was his whole personality. you asked about his pet, and he somehow turned it back to his career and how he did a fireman themed calendar last year. you’d think he was surely more than that, but it didn’t seem it. you had barely talked about yourself. it didn’t look like he was interested anyway.

“hm, what did i do today?” he thought out. you cringed at the way he tapped his chin, pretending to think. “i hit the gym at 5am, walked my pet for an hour and a half, took some photos for my resume since i’ve got a new deal coming up, and spent time from then to now just at the studio.”

you were waiting for him to ask about your day. he doesn’t.

“and you know, i’m actually the most valued model at my studio. they always call me for shoots, i’m always first on their list. you’d think i could catch a break every so often,” he chuckles out, rubbing up and down his arms. you hold back from rolling your eyes as you sip your water. “but it’s hard being so… handsome.”

you stare at him and fight the urge to roll your eyes once again.

"what about you?" the moment you've waited for comes a little too late. you're not even interested in speaking about yourself.

"well, i did some grocery shopping this morning—"

"what did you buy?"

"me and my friends are having a movie tomorrow, so i just bought some snacks for us," you explained for some reason, "chocolates, popcorn, chips—"

"junk food?" he scoffs back, "no, no, you don't need all that. you oughta' bring it back and get some fruit. way better for you."

you down the rest of your alcoholic drink you had ordered (the one thing he did let you choose) and look away.

that is when you feel a hand rest on your upper back.

"excuse me, ma'am," you look up and widen your eyes when you see satoru standing before you. he's wearing a white button-up, black slacks, dress shoes and a black waist apron. you freeze up. "the gentleman over there asked me to give you this, already paid for."

you look over to where he was pointing. nanami sits in his own suit as he waves his hand at you, pained smile. satoru places a mojito in front of you. your date stands up.

"the hell? doesn't he see that i'm here?" he scoffs as he stands up. his chair screeches against the floor, which collects everyone's attention in the restaurant. "he's insulting me! what a prick! i'm gonna fuck him up!"

"hey!" you stand up as he begins trudging over. satoru places a hand on your shoulder to stop you, and you see nanami roll his eyes and stand up as well, ready for the fight. "what are you two doing here? and why are you dressed like that?"

"i'm the ultimate undercover agent, of course," he replies. he begins pulling off his apron and dropping it on your seat. he hooks his arm with yours and smiles. "let's get outta' here."

"but my date—"

"he's fine," you watch as nanami dodges one of his punches with and irritated face. "nanami will take care of him."

you let him whisk you out of the restaurant while everyone is watching the two men fight (not really). satoru walks you to his car and starts the engine. you see nanami's car behind his.

"did you seriously bring him along to get me out of that date?" you chuckle as you stare at him. satoru purses his lips and looks away. "thank you, satoru. you didn't have to."

"you're welcome, gorgeous," he responds to you, "i could tell from the phone call that he wasn't all that. wonder what barrel they fished him out of."

you let out a small sigh and look out the window. you were embarrassed; this was the first date you've ever been set up on, and it went horribly. you knew you should've left earlier, not wait until satoru came along. he was your saviour for today, you had to admit.

but what was even worse, you seemingly let than man talk to you like that. you could chalk it up to just being friendly and giving him the best benefit of the doubt, but deep down you know you would never have let that slide with people you know. hell, yaga could speak to you that way and you would still give him an earful.

"don't be sad, y/n, now we can go to yours and watch our show," satoru attempts to cheer you up. he flashes you a smile. "i promise, i won't eat all your food."

"you're a liar, satoru." you laugh back.

"seriously though, that guy was a wreck. why did he keep talking about calories and stuff?" he mumbles out with a disapproving shake of his head, "i had to shut him up somehow. i should've just spilt the drink over him."

"oh god, what about the food? i didn't pay for my meal."

"you mean the salad you didn't want? i cancelled it for ya'."

"why aren't you this nice all the time? you usually bully me." you claim in a joking matter. satoru pouts at you. "i appreciate this, a lot. i guess guys who only ever think about themselves aren't my type."

there's a quietness in the car as he turns on his indicator. you enjoy the little noise coming from the radio, a song that you've heard quite a lot.

"you know, yuuji, nobara and megumi?" he clears his throat.

"yeah?" you respond to him in confusion.

"yeah," he hums with a nod of his head, "i think 'bout them a lot. they're good kids."

"they are," you agree with him. it takes you a few seconds before you look at him again. "satoru, that's not what i meant."

"so am i your type?"

"oh my god."

"answer the question, y/n."

↣ choso

"yuuji?"

"yeah?"

"do you know who this is?" choso shoves his phone into his brother's face.

"uh, that's y/n." yuuji responds in a bit of confusion. the two of them were sitting in a new restaurant with ramen on their tables. choso’s sat nearly untouched for the past ten minutes as he flicked through some pictures you sent to a groupchat with him in it. yuuji was halfway through chewing noodles when choso asked him about the photo you sent a few minutes ago. “why? she looks good.”

“no doubt,” choso mutters in response as he zooms in on the other figure in the picture you took of your reflections in the window, “i mean him.”

“oh, that’s the guy who me, nobara and y/n saw last week at the movies,” yuuji responds, “he asked y/n for her number, so i think they’re out together right now.”

he looks at yuuji in disbelief as the pink-haired boy starts slurping on the soup. it takes him a few seconds to properly react.

“are you serious?” choso says a little loudly. people turn to stare at the pair. “you let him get her number?”

“what? he seemed cool and y/n didn’t seem to mind that i gave it to him.” yuuji holds his hands up in defense as choso angrily glares at the photos on his phone screen. “you said you weren’t gonna’ make a move on her anyway!”

“that doesn’t—” a groan leaves his lips as choso holds his head. he lets in a deep breath. “okay, it’s fine.”

“i’m sorry, choso.”

“no, it’s my fault, i did say i wasn’t going to ask her out,” he tells yuuji, who slowly goes back to eating, “i… i missed out, i guess.”

yuuji frowns as the guy in front of him sadly eats his food.

“you know…” he begins with a small smile. choso looks up to him. “they’re just out for lunch nearby. y/n told me where they were going. we could—”

“yuuji! hurry up!” choso has grabbed his jacket and is rushing to the door before yuuji can reply, “we might miss them!”

yuuji scurries out of restaurant after he gobbles down his ramen. it isn’t too far of a drive, actually. it took about 15 minutes to get there and choso had easily spotted your car in front of a cozy cafe. he parks next to it and almost ducks when be notices you in the chair facing the window, facing the two of them, with your date sitting in the booth — your favourite spot. choso always let you sit in the booth side.

choso clutched onto the steering wheel with gritted teeth. yuuji looked towards you to get a better view.

“huh… she looks annoyed.” yuuji points out.

“this guy…” choso grunts.

inside the cafe, you had taken a few photos of your food and your drink. you’re glad yuuji suggested this place, you loved the service and the food here. the servers were always so nice and helpful and quick, and the food was amazing too.

it was obvious to you that your date didn’t think the same.

“god, everything in here is so…” he begins as he examines the design on his waffles. he cringes a little. “girly.”

“it’s just a bunny design,” you point out as you sadly stir the cat-shaped foam into your hot drink, “it’s cute.”

“it’s embarrassing,” he reiterates. you purse your lips and sip your drink. the delicious taste was enough to make you forget his sour tone. until he speaks up again. “can’t believe your friend told us to go here.”

“i love this cafe,” you state, “everyone here is so nice.”

“the service is slow and they gave me the blueberry waffles instead of the normal ones like i said,” he complains. you set your drink down and hold back from rolling your eyes. “i don’t care how busy you are, you always check five times that the order is correct.”

you don’t even reply to him after that, only trying to enjoy your meal that you paid for. he wasn't helping at all. you thought that because he was so charismatic when talking to yuuji that he was probably a good catch, but you couldn't have been more wrong. maybe he was just putting up a front in order to score you. you really shouldn't judge a book by its cover anymore.

"hey. over here," he begins to snap his fingers and nodding at a server with four full plates of food. the guy looks over frantically, obviously under pressure. "i wanna' ask you something."

"ah, right, give me a second, sir—" the guy was trying to distribute the food with the customers who he was serving.

"i told you, slow service," your date scowls towards you. could you be any more embarrassed right now? the server finishes off his task before coming over to you two. before he can even ask, your date is holding up a nearly empty cup of coffee. "this is the most bitter coffee i have ever had in my whole entire life."

"oh, well, you ordered an americano, sir," the poor server explains, "they tend to be bitter."

"what? no, no, no," the guy in the booth starts shaking his head, "i ordered a flat white."

"you..." the server begins. he was the one who had taken your order too.

"you ordered the americano, actually," you pointed out. the guy raised a brow at you, unamused. "it's okay, you can just order a flat white—"

"god, i did not order an americano." he claims.

but you distinctly remember him saying 'americano' for his drink. and the server repeated the order back to him before it was confirmed annoyedly. you stare down at his nearly empty cup.

"y'know what? just put the flat white on the tab, i will pay for it." you sigh out as you rub your neck.

your date looks more pissed off as the server leaves.

"he was wrong, you don't have to pay for another drink." he mutters out.

"it's nothing, don't worry." you retort and stare back down at your food. you didn't have an appetite anymore and a few minutes pass in silence.

the flat white comes out after such a long time of waiting. your date drinks it quietly, but you notice that he makes a face to show he doesn't like it. you quickly excuse yourself to go and pay at the counter for your food (he insisted on splitting the bill since he didn't like the place) so that you don't have to hear him bicker about it.

"hey," you turn behind you to see choso standing there in a baggy hoodie, a bit nervous, "fancy seeing you here..."

your eyes flicker to outside, where you see yuuji waving at you from choso's car. a smile lands on your face.

"nice to see you, choso," you mutter back as you fish out your wallet. the cashier rings up your total and you press your card to the reader. "how was your lunch with yuuji?"

"good. we cut it short to save you," he bluntly says. you blink as he glares at your date. "i don't like the guy you're with."

"me neither," you sigh out, "i think this is the last time i'll see him. but i gotta' tough it out for the rest of the date."

"you could just leave now." choso adds. he looks at you with furrowed brows.

"ah... i'm not that confident—"

"a takeaway box and takeaway cup, please," choso asks the cashier. she had been sitting there and silently agreeing with you that the guy you were sitting with was a total jerk. "thank you."

he places them in your hands and pushes you gently towards the table.

"who the hell is this guy?" your date scoffs and glares at choso, who does the same back.

"look, i'm not really having a good time on this date," you say as you play with the takeaway boxes. choso hastily takes them from you and fills it with your food in an organised matter. "i think this is the farthest we go. please enjoy the rest of your food, though."

"you serious? ditching me for some jackass?" he accusingly points at choso who wears a shit-eating grin on his face. "this is bullshit!"

"calm down, god..." you groan and rub your temple, "i just don't like you, you're so rude."

"me? you're the one who dragged me to this shithole!"

"shut your mouth before i drop you right now," choso scowls as he pushes the guy back into the booth seat. everyone was watching now, quietly thanking choso for showing up and dealing with him. "grow up, man. you act like a child."

choso grabs your hand and tugs you out of the cafe. you both thank the service with your takeaway in hand. yuuji gets out of the car with a wide smile once you two get closer.

"so, how did it go?" he asks with wide eyes.

you throw your keys at his chest.

"you're driving my car back to my apartment as punishment for setting me up with that asshole," you say with a small frown. you all knew you didn't really blame him, though. "never giving my number out to anyone ever again."

yuuji apologises thoroughly before getting into your car and driving off in the wrong direction. choso opens your door and gives you the food. once he's inside the car himself, he starts it up and begins driving.

you rest a hand over choso's on the middle console.

"thanks, choso," you sigh out, "i should've done that earlier."

"it's fine, y/n, i just wished i came sooner." he replies.

you stare at the side of his face, how irritated he looked just thinking about your date. a smile settles onto your lips and you brush your thumb over his knuckles. he falters and looks back to you for a second before muttering a 'what'.

"i'll take you out for dinner as a thank you," you state, which makes his ears go red, "you're a sweetheart, choso."

"i... uh, yeah, i'll go out with you," he mutters, "thanks..."

the laugh you let out is worth ruining thousands of your dates.

↣ fushiguro toji

"have you ever been to france?" the conceited finance guy in front of you asks, fixing his tie. he wears this smirk on his face that proves that he just knows how rich he was. he wasn't coy at all. you force a smile and shake your head slowly, trying to enjoy your meal at least. "really? that's a shame. i've been plenty of times before, and i've gotta say, the best part is..."

you begin to zone out, sighing to yourself as you move your pasta around on your plate haphazardly. he had chosen such a nice italian restaurant to absolutely ruin your perception of this guy after the first ten minutes of talking to him. you look to your watch, showing it had been only two hours since your date started.

cursing out shiu in your head, you cautiously look out the window to the sky. it wasn't that dark yet, but it felt like your night had been taken away. your mind wanders to yesterday to your conversation with shiu.

shoe

you're getting picked up at 5 tomorrow

y/n

am or pm?

shoe

???

shoe

don't show him how stupid you are, he's a rich guy. maybe he'll bring you to a yacht

y/n

why would i want to be on a yacht for our first date? is he nice?

shoe

he's rich, y/n. that's all that matters.

sometimes, you wonder how he managed to meet all these people. but then you remember that assholes attract assholes. they move together in flocks.

you stare at your red wine and tap your finger on your cheek.

"what do you think about it?" he questions, getting your attention again. you look up to see his smug face. did he really want to know?

"oh, me?" you asks, sitting up straight. you had no idea what he had been saying for the past 15 minutes.

"well, who else would i be talking to, silly?" he says in this mocking tone.

'yourself, it's who you've been talking to all night', you internally say. you had wasted such a nice outfit too. it was such a shame.

"mmm, well, it's a bit—" you begin, only to get interrupted.

"it's insane, isn't it? how could you lose so much money in only a year?" he barks out a laugh, as obnoxious as he was. the table shakes as he bangs his fist against it, waiters and guests looking towards you two. "it's absolutely preposterous! i would never make such a decision like that."

you chew out an awkward laugh before turning to your wine, sipping it.

unknowingly to you, toji was waiting in the car outside the building, getting a good view of you and your new date. he cursed shiu in a huff; not only did he set you up with someone, but the guy was a total prick. he couldn't have done a worse job, and he was broke. he pulled his seat back, watching him with pointed eyes. that guy's mouth hadn't stopped moving ever since you entered the restaurant.

and you? you looked gorgeous, your dress hugged you just right, so much so that he was jealous. toji knows it should've been him to go and take you somewhere like this.

he snaps when the guy calls the waiter over, complaining about his half-eaten food and causing a scene. you looked so uncomfortable. standing up, you excused yourself to the bathroom. and toji is quick to get out of the car.

"he's such an asshole." toji claims as you exit the ladies room. you freeze, pressing out the creases of your dress before walking closer to him at the end of the hall.

"when did you get here?" you ask, hand on your hip, "and how do you know he's an asshole?"

"been watchin' the whole time from the car," he tells you, watching as you widen your eyes and tilt your head at him, "what? couldn't help myself. shiu said you were on a date with some rich guy, 'n i had to see it."

"yeah, well, remind me to kill shiu. he's got the worst taste in men." you sigh out, crossing your arms as you lean against the wall with him. he peers at you. "you know he asked to try every single wine they had before we ordered? and he complained about the merlot not being darker. not only that, he saw my plate and said 'are you gonna' eat all of that?'. the dickhead!"

"that shit looked good." he commented, shaking his head, "who wouldn't finish that food."

"right? ugh, i hate him so much. and he hasn't even asked me about myself other than my name. he explained to me his 'entrepreneurship' and dropshipping. wanted to clock him in the face." you complained more, only fueling toji's own hate for the man.

he lifts himself off the wall, grabbing your arm and dragging you with him. "go 'n get your things. we're gettin' out of here."

"what? what am i supposed to say to him?" you mumble, stumbling behind him, "where are we going?"

"don't say anything to him. if ya' feel bad, pay for your own food." he explains to you, hand moving to rest on your back, "i'm not lettin' you waste that pretty little dress on someone like that guy."

you stare at the back of his head before falling into step with him, stopping at the table with your date. he does a double take once he sees toji, slowly standing up.

"who's he?" he asks, scanning him up and down.

"none of your business." toji retorts, looking down at him.

you begin to grab your purse when he holds out his hand to you. "where the hell are you going?" your date asks you.

"here. for my food." you say, handing him a fifty. the note flutters onto the table in front of him, which he stares at in awe. tugging on your jacket, you stare back at him with furrowed brows. "good luck in life."

with that, you turn around and begin to walk to the exit. behind you, toji sticks his tongue out at the other man and follows after. his hand finds your back once more and you wait to cross the road, sighing out to him, "thank you, toji. saved me."

"no problem." he replies, opening the door for you.

"how did you get in my car?" you ask, sitting in the driver's seat.

"don't ask." he tosses you the keys, making you wonder even more. he gets into the other side, looking back at you. “we’ll hit up that restaurant downtown. the one you always talk about wanting to go to.”

“but you said you don’t like their cuisine.” you claim, starting the car.

“it’s the only place i know that’s fancy.” he explains, looking out the window.

“sweetheart, i wouldn’t say that’s fancy—”

“do you want to go out or not?”

you laugh, reaching out a hand and holding his. he gives a small smile before looking back at you. “thank you, toji.” you say, stopping at a red light. you glance at him, sincere look in your eyes. “it means a lot that you care.”

“jus’ saving you from being stupid as fuck.” he tells you, making you roll your eyes and snatch your hand back, “could ya’ not tell he was a tool when he didn’t knock at your door? motherfucker waited in his car.”

“my god, you’ve been watching since then? toji!” you jokingly reprimand, looking at him for a split second, "i should've known from the start though... he was on his phone the whole time, in the car ride. on bluetooth speaker too."

"i woulda' jumped out the car." he retorts, shaking his head, "we should jump shiu."

"we really should." you laugh, smiling at him, "maybe for our next date."

toji can't help but roll his eyes. he knows deep down that you were hoping shiu was going to set you up with him instead. he can see it on your face, a smile that is pushing through on your lips. you're secretly happy that it was toji who 'ruined' your 'date'.

"i say that because i know you can't pay for dinner."

"did you think i was paying for this one?"

you scoff back, elbowing him, "you leech."

"you know you love me." he says it teasingly, but he knows better than anyone that you actually do.

[glittervame]

Lets go make a slpash

Pool party/ water balloon

This post is going to be part of the Jinxed July by @thatdammchickennugget and @finalgirllx check it out if you want to know more!

Sorry its short, I didn't really have a plan for this because I found out about the challenge out late. I don't think I have a tag list for Mattheo but tell me if you want one.

Mattheo Riddle x FEM! Reader 18+ Basically just smut, Unprotected P in V (Wrap it before you tap it), degradation, hinted overstimulation

Mattheo's eyes widened as Y/n emerged from the bathroom in their shared room in Malfoy manor. He'd seen her in swimsuits before, of course, but there was something about this particular one that seemed to highlight every curve and angle of her body in the most flattering way possible. It was a two-piece number with a plunging neckline and high-cut bottoms that had been a gift from her friend Pansy, and it was clear that Pansy had excellent taste.

Y/n noticed his stare and smirked, twirling around to show off the full effect of the ensemble. "Like what you see?" she asked, her voice teasing.

Mattheo coughed, trying to clear his throat and regain his composure. "I-I mean, yeah, you look... you look good."

"Just good?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to look away, focusing on the book he'd been reading. "You look great, Y/n. Really."

Y/n grinned and winked at him before sauntering over to the mirror to check her hair and makeup. She knew she had him flustered, and she enjoyed it a little too much. It had been a while since she'd seen him like this, and it was a nice change of pace from their usual bickering and banter.

They had just been so buys hanging out with their friends that they hadn't got time to be by themselves in a while. It was summer break, and they were all staying at the Malfoy manor for a month-long vacation. It was the perfect time to strengthen their friendship and maybe explore something more, or so Y/n hoped.

Y/n had had a crush on Mattheo for what felt like forever, but she was never sure if he felt the same way. They had always been close, almost like siblings, but lately she had been noticing that their friendship had been taking a different turn. 

There was a spark between them, something that made her heart race every time their eyes met or their fingers brushed against each other's. But she knew that Malfoy manor was not the place to be making any big romantic moves. There were too many people around, too many eyes watching. Plus, she didn't want to ruin their friendship if he didn't feel the same way.

"Alright, I'm ready," she announced, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her waist. "Let's go make a splash."

Mattheo nodded, still trying to get his thoughts in order. He had noticed the change in their dynamic too, but he wasn't sure if it was just his imagination or if there was something more there. He didn't want to jump to conclusions and risk losing her friendship.

They headed outside to the pool area, where their friends were already gathered. Pansy, Blaise, and Draco lounged by the pool, sipping on butterbeers and chuckling at some inside joke. Ginny and Hermione were splashing around in the water, while Ron and Harry were engaged in a heated debate about Quidditch strategies.

The group greeted them with cheerful hellos, and Y/n couldn't help but feel a little nervous as she approached the pool. She had never felt this self-conscious before, but she was determined to enjoy herself. She took a deep breath and dove into the water, the cool liquid enveloping her and washing away her nerves.

The day passed by in a blur of laughter, games, and good-natured rivalry. The sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the manor grounds. The group decided to end the day with a game of hide and seek adding their own twist to the game, the loser got pelted by water balloons by the rest of them. As they counted down, Y/n took the opportunity to sneak away to a secluded spot she had discovered earlier in the week.

It was a small grove of trees, hidden from view of the pool area, and she hoped it would be the perfect place to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. She had just found a comfortable spot when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she realized it was Mattheo. He looked around, spotting her tucked away in the shadows. "Found you," he murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"find your own hiding spot," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

He stepped closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I think I like this one just fine."

The air between them grew thick with tension, and Y/n's heart raced as she took in his wet hair and the droplets of water that clung to his skin. "What do you want, Mattheo?"

He took another step closer, so that they were only a breath apart. "I want to know if this is just me," he whispered, his hand reaching out to lightly brush her cheek. "Or if there's something here."

Y/n's eyes searched his, looking for any sign that he was joking or teasing. But all she saw was earnestness and vulnerability. 

"There's something here," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've felt it for a while."

Mattheo's hand moved to cradle her face, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in the softest of kisses. It was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, filled with promise and potential.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/n felt like she was floating. "Is this...are we..." she stumbled over her words.

Mattheo grinned, his eyes shining with excitement. "Let's not overthink it, Y/n. Let's just enjoy this summer, and see where it takes us."

Well where the summer took them was you getting pounded into. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer still. You feel the heat between your legs, the ache that only he can soothe. You moan into the kiss, arching your back as you press yourself against him, needing him to touch you.

His hands slide down your back, gripping your hips before moving up to cup your bottom, squeezing gently. You feel his fingers dig into your skin, leaving a trail of desire down your spine. You whimper into his mouth, wanting more. You need more.

He picks you up, carrying you over to the bed. You watch as he kicks the door shut before lowering you down onto the mattress. His lips trail a line down your neck, sucking and nipping at your skin. You tilt your head back, arching into the sensation. You can feel his erection pressing against your core, begging to be let in.

He slides his hand between your legs, parting your folds. His fingers are rough against your skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. You gasp as he circles your clit, teasing it expertly. You buck your hips against his hand, needing more. You need him inside you.

"Please, Mattheo," you whisper, your voice hoarse with desire. "I need you."

He groans, his fingers leaving your aching folds to unbuckle his belt. You watch in anticipation as he pulls his pants down, revealing his hardness. He straddles you, positioning himself at your entrance. With a deep breath, he pushes inside you, filling you completely. You cry out at the feeling of being so completely claimed, your body clenching around him in welcome.

He begins to move, his hips rocking against yours. The friction between you is exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body. You arch your back, meeting his rhythm as he thrusts deeper and deeper. You can feel him getting closer, can feel the tension building inside him.

"I'm close, cara mia," he breathes, his voice rough with need. "Come for me."

You moan, your nails digging into his shoulders. The sensation of being so close, of feeling him inside you as he reaches his climax, is almost too much to bear. You feel the wave of pleasure building within you, threatening to overwhelm you.

"Mattheo," you whimper, your body tensing as the sensation crashes over you. You cry out his name, your body pulsing around him in a release of pure ecstasy. You feel him follow you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he comes deep inside you.

He collapses on top of you, their sweat-slick bodies sticking together. You breathe in the scent of him, the heady mix of sweat and arousal. Mattheo kisses your neck before brushing off the tears on your cheek, "You can go again yeah?"

You nod, a sly smile playing on your lips. "As many times as you want."

"Good" He thrusts back in harshly, his hand finding its way to your neck. He squeezes gently, a hint of dominance in his eyes as he sets a punishing pace. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

You moan, your body responding to his touch, his claim on you. This is what you've been waiting for, what you've been dreaming of. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on, eager for more of him.

Your hands claw at his back as he pounds into you, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep within you. You feel yourself building towards another climax, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

But he never lets her cum after that first one, he keeps her on the edge, her eyes glazed with lust and desperation. His grip on her neck tightens, and his teeth graze her earlobe. "You're mine," he whispers, his voice a dark growl. "Say it."

"Yours," you gasp, your voice barely audible. "I'm yours."

He smiles a cruel twist of his lips, and slams into you one final time before pulling out, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You look up at him, confusion and need written all over your face.

"Not yet," he says, his eyes gleaming. "We're just getting started."

And so as the night goes on, he continues to tease you until you become a sobbing mess of pleasure, begging for release that he never fully gives.

[taylor9736]

Hello!

Please can I request Newt being worried for and taking care of a Reader who is injured or has a fever (whichever you want)

I just care about you

A/N: I wasn’t sure what gender you wanted, so I just did gn. I hope that’s okay!

Warnings: none really just fluff.

As they dragged their feet towards the gardens, attempting to steady their breathing, Newt noticed from across the way. He had been watching Y/N more closely for a while now, though he wasn’t always sure why. Maybe it was their stubbornness or their resilience. But today, there was something off.

"Y/N!" Newt called out, jogging over. He eyed them carefully, noting the slight paleness of their face and the way they seemed to sway with every step. “You look like bloody klunk. Are you alright?”

"I'm fine," Y/N replied, their voice hoarse and raspy. They tried to shake off his concern, giving him a faint smile. “Just a little tired. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Newt frowned. “You sure? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

"I said I'm fine," Y/N snapped, though there wasn’t much bite in their tone. More exhaustion than anything.

Newt crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Fine? You can barely stand straight. You’re not working today.”

Y/N groaned. “Newt, come on. There’s a lot to do, and—”

“And you’ll be no help if you collapse halfway through the day,” Newt interrupted, his tone firm but softening as he gently placed a hand on their shoulder. “You’re sick. You need to rest.”

Y/N looked at him, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes. It made their stubbornness waver, but only for a second. “I can manage,” they whispered, though even to them it sounded weak.

Newt sighed, rolling his eyes but smiling faintly. "You're the most stubborn shank in the whole Glade, you know that?"

Y/N gave a small, tired chuckle, which turned into a cough that shook their whole body. Newt’s hand immediately steadied them, his eyes widening in alarm.

“Alright, that’s it,” Newt said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re coming with me.”

Before Y/N could protest, Newt wrapped an arm around their waist, gently guiding them towards the Homestead. Their face flushed, not from the fever but from the close proximity. They didn’t fight him, though. Not this time.

Once they reached the Homestead, Newt helped Y/N onto one of the beds. He knelt beside them, brushing a strand of their y/h/c hair from their sweaty forehead.

“I’m getting you some water and food. Don’t even think about moving,” Newt ordered, giving them a pointed look before leaving the room.

Y/N sighed, their stubbornness still flickering inside them, but the exhaustion was winning out. They rested their head against the pillow, their y/e/c eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

A few minutes later, Newt returned with a cup of water and a small bowl of broth. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding the cup to Y/N’s lips.

“Drink,” he said softly.

Y/N obeyed, taking small sips. When they finished, Newt set the cup down and dipped a cloth in cool water, gently pressing it to their forehead.

"You didn’t have to do this," Y/N murmured, their voice weak but grateful.

Newt smiled softly, his gaze warm and kind. “Course I did. Can’t have you pushing yourself until you collapse, can I?”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You’re too nice to me.”

Newt blushed at that, his cheeks turning a light pink. “I just care about you, alright?” he muttered, focusing on dabbing the cloth against their skin.

Y/N felt their heart skip a beat. “I care about you too, Newt.”

There was a moment of silence, filled only by the distant sounds of the Glade. Newt glanced at Y/N, his expression softening even more.

“Get some rest,” he whispered, brushing his thumb gently across their cheek. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Y/N’s eyelids grew heavier as the fever and exhaustion finally caught up with them. As they drifted off to sleep, they could still feel Newt’s hand resting gently on theirs, his presence comforting and steady.

[icanhearcolors]

Close Encounter

Summary: A conversation between my Tav and Astarion inspired me to write a short one-shot (I lied it's a series) reader insert about what I think would happen if they met before they were taken by the mind flayers

pt 2 | pt 3

This is pretty much my first attempt at reader insert so be nice to me pls ;-;

Lemme know if I made any grammar or spelling errors

Word count: 2.9k

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

“I’ll take the most you can give me of whatever has the most alcohol in it” 

You announce, slapping some gold coins down on the scuffed wooden bar. The barkeep who probably hasn’t had any business for the past hour startles out of his daydream and glances at you in surprise. He’s a dwarf, with a braided beard and kind eyes, and if it weren’t for the creaky wooden step stool he climbs up on to take orders he would barely be able to see over the bar top.

“Bit early in the night for that wouldn’t you say?” He asks as he climbs a ladder to retrieve a glass from the shelf above his head. You glance out the window as the last few rays of the setting sun color the night a deep reddish purple before it fades into a comforting black. 

You slide another gold coin across the bar. The barkeep smiles,

“Perfect time for some chultun fireswill if I say so myself miss.” He winks, slides the hefty glass full of orange liquid your way, and swipes up the coins before turning to another customer making their way into the tavern. You hold the glass up to your nose and sniff its contents. The fumes coming off the heavily spiced spirit has your nose burning and your eyes watering- perfect. 

You tap the glass on the counter and knock it back. You manage to get a few swallows in before your brain catches up to you and the fireswill burns a searing path from your throat into your stomach, settling there and warming you from the inside out. You slam the glass down and cover your mouth with your hand, trying and failing to hold in a fit of coughs. 

“Easy now.”

A cold hand lands on your shoulder, cooling your heated skin, and you turn, bleary eyed, unprepared for what you find.

He’s an elf, a very very pale elf- but not sickly pale. He just looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in a century or two. His hair catches your eye, a shocking shade of pure white that makes his skin seem tan in comparison. It’s shorter than most elves keep their hair, and it curls in every direction, framing his face beautifully. Once you recover from your initial dazed attraction to him you attempt to level him with your meanest glare that you hope says piss off. He raises his hands in playful surrender and smiles disarmingly at you.

“Rough day?” He asks in a drawling voice. You take him in. He’s wearing a clean white shirt under a set of padded leather armor, and spotless black leather boots. He looks every bit a spoiled noble that has never seen a day of work in his life, but his hands are calloused, and his eyes look haunted. Speaking of his eyes, they’re quite an alluring shade of red. What an odd color for an elf-

His eyes narrow perceptively, as if he’s reading your thoughts as they flit across your face. He turns away, gesturing at your drink and turning your gaze away from his unique appearance.

“Most Baldurians don’t even touch that stuff until well past midnight, are we celebrating or forgetting?”

You turn your body away from the charming elf and stare into the last few sips of your drink. 

“We aren’t doing anything. I’m here to drink, not to talk.”

“Forgetting it is then. Excellent.”

From the corner of his eye you see him grin roguishly, the flash of his white teeth sending a curious spark of adrenaline through your system. Before you can discern why you suddenly went from warm and buzzed to fight or flight, he turns away, tossing a blue coin purse onto the bar and calling for the barkeep, allowing the alcohol to calm your frazzled nerves once more.

“Excuse me Lydon, I’d like to buy our grumpy friend here a drink that won’t burn a hole through her stomach,” He leans over the bar and drops his voice to a low murmur as if he were sharing a secret, “got anything good for me?” he practically purrs.

The dwarf, Lydon, flushes a deep red and grins coyly at the mysterious patron, “Maybe. But I don’t have enough for everyone Astarion, what if someone comes asking me how she got the good stuff and all I’m willing to sell them is stale ale and swill?”

Astarion’s answering grin is downright lethal. 

“It’ll be our little secret,” He winks. “I’ll take it to my grave.”

Lydon blushes even darker if that were possible and mumbles something about having a type before trodding off toward the old wooden door behind the bar. You’d never related to anything more. Astarion turns toward you and raises an expectant eyebrow.

“Waiting for a thank you?” You ask, wrestling with the instinct ingrained in you to be polite. Your tendency to people please is what landed you in this run down tavern in the first place. You don’t know this elf, and you don’t owe him anything.

“Well I wouldn’t say no to a little gratitude darling- especially not from you” his eyes trace a path from the top of your head to your scuffed leather boots and back up again, stopping at the blush on your cheeks, he smirks, and meets your eyes again. He steps closer to bump your shoulder with his teasingly, and stays there, close enough that your arm brushes his.

“But no my dear, I’m not waiting for a thank you. I’m waiting for a story.” 

“Oh yeah? Keep waiting.” You growl, and he tosses his head back, a genuine laugh bursting out of him. The sound of it is contagious, and you fight the urge to grin yourself. You nearly manage it, save for a slight twitch of your lips that he of course notices.

He tsks, shaking his head at you “I saw that. No use hiding that smile from me, love. The damage is already done.” 

You glare, this time with much less hostility. 

“Who are you? I’m morose and drunk on purpose, elf, and I will not let you wrestle me from it.”

“My name is Astarion” he says with a wink and a mock bow before he leans in, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, “and I’ll wager you’ll let me do a lot worse than that before the end of the night.”

Your breath catches, your pulse picks up, and you’re about to lose yourself in those strange eyes of his when a loud creeeeeaaak and a crash causes both of you to leap away from one another. The dwarven barkeep’s old step stool seems to have finally given in. He lay sprawled on the floor behind the bar, his foot caught in between the split wood.

“GODS DAMMIT” He howls, kicking off the stool. He sighs and hobbles up to you and your new… companion. You can see nothing but his angry eyes and the flushed red tips of his ears as he pours your drink and reaches up to hand it to you. When you grab for it he pulls it out of your grasp and stares at you with a threat in his eyes.

“You didn’t see that.” He snarls at both of you.

“See what?” Astarion feigns ignorance, looking around the room dramatically for whatever the dwarf could possibly be talking about. The barkeep rolls his eyes and hands the drink to you before limping off to find a chair to stand on.

You breathe slowly through your nose.

In.

Out.

In.

You will not laugh.

You have self control.

You take one glance at the pinched “I’m trying not to laugh” look on Astarions face, one that probably mirrors your own, and you explode in a fit of giggles so intense they make your stomach ache.

Astarion can’t hold it in either and slaps the table in his silent gasping laughter, the two of you making quite a scene, but somehow you really don’t care. 

You wipe tears from your eyes and sigh once your laughing fit subsides, your sour mood a distant memory despite your best efforts to cling to it.

“How dare you,” You whine half-heartedly. “I was so committed to my bad mood and you had to go and ruin it.”

Astarion’s eyebrows lower in confused amusement.

“Awww you poor sad little thing. I’d apologize, really I would, but unfortunately for you I’m not sorry.”

You take a swig of the drink he bought for you. It tastes of cherry and currant, and you have never had something so delicious from such a tiny little tavern.

“You should be” you murmur, hanging your head, the humor fading as you’re reminded of why you’re here in the first place.

Astarion notices your shift in demeanor and reaches down, lifting your chin with a cool finger and bringing your gaze to his.

“About that story,” He smiles encouragingly, and you give in.

The alcohol must really be getting to you now, there was no other explanation for the warm, safe feeling that hummed under your skin. Astarion was sweet, and attractive. His attention felt good, and before you could even make the decision to trust him you were already talking. You told him how you were a magistrate in the lower city, complained how the court system was broken and corrupt, and how the judge only appoints magistrates that unthinkingly obey his preferences, never allowing them to make their own judgements. You had tried for months to get on his good side but you think all you did was obliterate any meager scrap of respect he did have for you, and now every interaction you have with him he barks orders at you like you’re his dog and then dismisses you. You were thinking of finding a new profession altogether, but the lower city was plagued with crime, good people died every day because of it, and you had the power to help at least a little if only your boss wasn’t such an asshole. To your embarrassment you began to tear up as you finished your story.

Astarion for his part never interrupts you. He listens with rapt attention to your woeful tale, an indiscernible look on his handsome face. You try to turn your head away as a tear escapes your eye but his grip on your chin tightens, forcing you to stay right where you are. He wipes it away with his other hand and stares at you for a moment, seemingly deciding something.

He reaches up and drags a hand through his hair, releases a held breath, and plucks the glass from your hand, drinking what was left of its contents in two gulps. He brings the glass back down to the counter, a drop of the crimson wine dripping down his chin. The image gives you an odd feeling, like you’re missing a revelation that is only just out of your grasp. He glances behind you, and you turn and follow his gaze to another rather pale looking elf, this one with darker hair but similarly colored eyes watching the two of you with rapt attention. Goosebumps rise on your skin and that fight or flight instinct is back in full force. Your heart begins to pound against your chest, understanding the danger that you’re in even if you do not. 

“Smart girl” Astarion murmurs, and you whip back around to face him.

He wipes his face with his sleeve and grabs you by the hand, pulling you off the bar stool.

“W-what are you-” He places a hand on your lower back and begins deftly guiding you through the raucous crowd of drunk Baldurians. One stumbling wizard in the crowd pats his pockets down and cries,

“Has anyone seen my coin purse? It’s blue!”

“Walk faster” Astarion says into your ear, his warm breath whispering across your neck. You do as he says.

After what feels like a lifetime of dodging drunk elbows and slipping through temporary openings in the crowd you reach the exit, and Astarion rushes you soberingly into the cold night air. 

“You stole that guy's money didn’t you?” You accuse.

He doesn’t even have the decency to deny it,

“What are you going to do darling? Arrest me?” is his reply.

He doesn’t slow down for a single second, ushering you into a dark alley near the tavern.

“Astarion what are we doing? You can’t just wander into abandoned alleyways at night! This is how people get kidnapped.”

His startled gaze clashes with yours in the dim light for a moment before he laughs. Not an amused genuine laugh, but a pained, choked sound that claws its way out of his throat involuntarily. He runs a hand through his hair once again and then turns away from you, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“It is indeed, darling,” He whispers so quietly you have to lean towards him to hear it. 

“You have no idea.”

You don’t have time to react, the alcohol slowing your reflexes, before his hand is around your throat and your back is against the brick wall of whatever building is behind you. You reach up and grab his wrist, eyes widening in panic. For a flash you see in your mind your body lying asphyxiated in the revealing light of morning, another victim to the merciless city of Baldur’s gate, and you prepare to fight like hell, when Astarion lunges for you and…

Kisses you?

Your brain short circuits, all thoughts drifting away with the sensation of Astarion’s mouth on yours. His hand around your throat gentles, his long fingers drifting over your skin until they press into your pulse point, feeling your racing heartbeat. 

You fist his shirt sleeve in your hand. Maybe it's because you’re smashed, maybe it’s because you can’t remember the last time someone kissed you, maybe it’s because you know no one that’s ever kissed you has been as good at it as this man- whatever the reason may be, you kiss him back. 

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, stepping closer until his body is pressed against yours. You reach up to do what you’ve been dying to do since you first saw him and feel the soft strands of his hair.

He leans into your touch and it emboldens you to kiss him deeper, your tongue scraping against something… sharp?

He gasps and pulls back, just a few inches, staring into your eyes. He seems to be searching for something, almost desperately.

You stare back, equal parts terrified of and enraptured by this beautiful stranger.

Finally, he drops his hand from your neck and steps back, the cold air assaulting you once more as you crash back down to reality. You gaze at Astarion, confusion written all over your features.

“I can’t do this” He laughs. It sounds just as pained as the last one.

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t bring you to him”

His head snaps up to the sky, studying the stars.

“I still have time to find another. Petras saw me with you, he’ll tell Cazador if I come back with someone else. But I can lie. I can say you knew what I was, escaped before I could lure you back. Maybe he won't question it. I’d spend a few weeks in the kennels but it could be worse. I can’t tell him I changed my mind, I can’t spend another year in that tomb.” He’s rambling now, not to you but to himself. 

He rubs his face in his hands and takes another stumbling step back.

“Go” Is all he says.

“Go? Go where?” You mumble, feeling cold and strangely a little hurt by his retreat into the shadows.

You don’t have dark vision, in the dim torch light much of his face is now hidden from you, but his eerily red eyes seem to glow like a cat’s now in the dark. The sight fills you with dread. Pieces begin to connect, the hundreds of unsolved missing person cases, the handful of eyewitness accounts claiming they saw the missing leave with someone. The descriptions varied, but a few details remained constant. The unknown person was always charming, flirtatious even, they tried to get their victims intoxicated in some way, and they always had a pallid complexion, red eyes, and sharp canines. Sifting sluggishly through your muddled memories you can even recall a couple of accounts of victims leaving taverns on the arm of a white haired pale elven man.

Astarion was a vampire.

“Go back to the courts,” He begins, “and never apologize to Judge Eruien. Stand up to him when he’s being an ass, he’ll never respect you otherwise. Go back home and lock your doors safely behind you. Never invite anyone in unless you trust them implicitly. Go back to your life in the sun, make Baldur’s gate a little better just by being in it, and if you ever-” He leans toward you, his face inches from yours once more. Now that you know what to look for, you catch glimpses of his uncomfortably long canines with every word that he speaks. 

“See anyone with eyes like mine again… run.”

With that he steps back into the shadows. They seem to swallow him whole, and you do run, a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you never told Astarion the name of that judge you were lamenting about.

In the years that follow you take his advice, and your work life drastically improves. Enough so that you feel comfortable asking the old elven judge about his former magistrates, a tear dripping down your cheek as he tells you what he can recall about a white haired elf with golden eyes and a promising future that was ripped away when he was murdered almost two centuries ago by a gang of Gur that didn’t appreciate his final ruling.

A month later you wake up in a nautiloid.

[ninetyminutes]

Sure! I’d love to read a bit of the fic!

Okokok I’m lowkey nervous to share this because I don’t have much experience writing getting together fics but I actually kinda like this bit. This chunk takes place before they get together (obviously), but Lorne is already aware of his growing crush. Chevy is still a little oblivious to his crush on Lorne, so the flirting is mostly just Chevy being Chevy.

* * *

Lorne was jolted awake by the relentless pounding on his apartment door. Groaning, he rolled over to squint at the glowing red numbers on his alarm clock. 4:00 PM. He ran a hand through his hair, still groggy from an interrupted sleep that had been far too short.

He shuffled out of bed, pulling on a pair of wrinkled sweatpants that had been draped over a nearby chair. The floor felt cold beneath his bare feet as he made his way to the door, rubbing his eyes and mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

Unlocking the door, he barely had time to register who it was before Chevy breezed past him into the apartment.

“Morning, sunshine,” Chevy said, holding two steaming coffee cups in one hand.

“It’s four in the afternoon,” Lorne mumbled, still half-asleep.

Chevy smirked and set the cups down on Lorne’s cluttered kitchen counter before taking a seat at one of the mismatched chairs. Lorne blinked a few times before joining him, his curiosity piqued by the comforting aroma wafting from one of the cups.

He took a tentative sip of the coffee Chevy handed him, expecting the usual bitterness, but paused in surprise when he realized it was made exactly how he liked it: not too sweet, with just the right amount of cream.

“How’d you know this is how I take my coffee?” Lorne asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chevy scoffed, leaning back casually in the chair. “I pay attention.”

“Really?” Lorne tilted his head, the words catching in his throat and surprise flickering across his face as his groggy mind tried to process the unexpected thoughtfulness. His stomach gave a traitorous flutter at the idea that Chevy had cared.

“Not at all,” Chevy admitted unapologetically. “You’re a caffeine addict, and I asked the barista downstairs for whatever the short guy in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt usually orders.”

Lorne nearly choked on his coffee, startled by Chevy’s bluntness. He coughed, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling up in his chest. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, still shaking his head at Chevy’s audacity.

“It’s too early for your bullshit,” Lorne groaned, his voice rough with sleep as he shook his head. He drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down on the counter. He started a fresh pot on his coffee machine before heading toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Don’t have too much fun in there!” Chevy commented dryly, not even looking up from the newspaper he had picked up at the café.

Lorne paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder just in time to catch the sly smirk playing on Chevy’s lips. That familiar, maddening smirk. Lorne shot him a deadpan look, the kind of empty glare that unsettled most.

Chevy glanced up, grin widening at Lorne’s reaction, entirely deterred. “If you do, I want an invite!” he teased just before Lorne closed the bathroom door.

Lorne froze for half a second, his face heating to a shade that rivaled a ripe tomato. He gritted his teeth, willing himself not to engage, and twisted the shower knobs with more force than necessary.

The spray of water hit him almost immediately, freezing cold and shocking enough to pull a yelp from his throat. Still, he stayed put under the icy blast, as if the cold water might drown out both his irritation and the strange flutter of something he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

He leaned his forehead against the cool tiles, letting the water cascade over him. It was starting to warm now, but he barely noticed, his thoughts still churning. Chevy’s voice, his teasing words, and that damn smirk played on a loop in his mind.

“Unbelievable,” Lorne muttered under his breath, reaching for the soap. He scrubbed his face harder than necessary, as though washing away the memory of Chevy’s stupid, flirtatious comment would help.

But it didn’t. And as much as he hated to admit it, a small, traitorous part of him didn’t entirely want it to.

[crystalsnow95z]

Can you do Hobi with a scratchy voice the day of a concert and he gradually feels worse until he completely loses his voice right before the concert?

(Sorry its not right before the concert it ended up in the beginning of it. Hopefully you won't mind)

"We're drenched, drenched, drenched

In sweat, in our practice room. Look, my great, great, great dance mo..." J-hope's verse was cut off by a cough, sighing loudly to his reflection in the mirror. "This isn't good.. my voice is in bad shape.."

"Hoba! Are you up? It's time to leave practice." Namjoon calls from the hallway.

J-hope goes to call back to him, but stops himself. He needed to save what he had left of his voice for tonight.

"Hoseok-ah?" Namjoon knocks again.

J-hope goes to the door, opening it. "Hey, good morning. Yeah, I'm ready. I was just finishing up brushing my teeth."

"Are you feeling okay, Hoseok-ah? Your voice sounds off. Did you catch a cold?" Namjoon reaches to touch J-hope's forehead with the back of his hand, relieved when he doesn't feel anything out of the ordinary.

"No, I feel fine.. my throat is just a little sore." J-hope slides on his shoes, leaving his hotel room.

"Alright, but if it gets worse, you tell me, okay? I'll get staff to get you some hot tea ready when we arrive." Namjoon leads J-hope to the van where the other members were waiting.

"Morning Namjoonie hyung, Hoeseok-hyung." Jungkook greets them with a smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"I probably got three hours in. I'm nervous about doing Dionysus. It's been a while.." Namjoon answers honestly.

"We've been practicing it for weeks, and we did it perfectly yesterday.." Yoongi says, reaching to touch Namjoon’s thigh. "We'll be fine."

J-hope stays quiet, relieved that Namjoon took over the conversation. He stays quiet as the others talk about the set list, making sure they have everything in order.

The urge to cough was getting worse, but he ignored it, sipping on water every time the itch started becoming unbearable to try to sooth it, choking on the water when a cough forces its way out.

"Hoba, are you okay?" Jin pats J-hope's back lightly.

"we just hit a.. a bump while.. I was taking a drink... It's fine." J-hope avoided his question between coughs, but Jin believes him.

"Be careful.." Jin rubs his hand across J-hope's back until the coughs stop completely. "You don't want to hurt your throat before tonight.."

It may be too late for that..

"Hyung you're moving too slow." J-Hope tries to lead the members through the choreography, but his voice doesn't carry over the music like it usually does.

Namjoon motions for staff to turn the music down when he sees him struggle, tapping Yoongi. "Hoba was trying to talk to you."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was too focused. I didn't hear you. Was I doing it wrong?" Yoongi says, giving his full attention to J-hope.

"You didn't get in your position quickly enough.." J-hope repeats, feeling his throat itch with a cough. It's getting harder to talk without coughing. What am I going to do?

"Here Hyung, why don't you use a mic so we can hear better?" Jimin rushes to the table, picking up J-hope's mic and handing it to him.

"Thanks, Jiminie." J-hope powers it on, keeping the mic close to his mouth so he hardly had to raise his voice.

"Hyungie doesn't sound very good.." Jungkook whispers to Taehyung.

"We'll just have to be sure we do it right so he doesn't have to correct us." Taehyung whispers back.

Everyone had the same idea, hyperfocusing on getting it perfect. J-hope thought he had everyone fooled, but they were all aware that he wasn't okay. Even with him only coughing when he wasn't facing the other members, they all knew it.

"Let's take a break." J-Hope calls halfway through the set list, feeling his voice straining with effort.

"Here, Hoba. Try this..." Namjoon gives him a small handful of cough drops and a cup of hot tea. "It sounds like it's getting worse.. maybe you should let someone else lead dance practice."

"Huh? I'm fine. I can do it." J-hope tried to control his voice, smile dropping when it cracked at the end.

"Hoseok-Ah, you need to save your voice.." Namjoon drops the suggestion, using his leader role to make him step down.

J-hope goes to argue, but the tickle in his throat becomes unbearable, a bout of coughs coming out instead of words, taking a drink of tea to try to ease the pain.

"Just do the dancing for now, okay?" Namjoon puts his hand on J-hope's shoulder.

"Alright. Just the choreography.." J-hope agrees, knowing he was right. He couldn't keep pushing it.

One of their dance coaches leads the rest of the practice, J-hope staying quiet until it was time for the sound check.

Even while resting his voice and drinking only hot drinks, he found it harder to control his coughing, his throat now just constantly feeling irritated.

"Hyung did you take any medicine?" Jungkook asks. "Maybe you should see a medic.."

"I saw one yesterday. They said it was just laryngitis.." J-hope admits softly. "It's just from over using it, there's no infection.."

"But you could damage your voice if you don't rest it.. Did you tell Namjoonie hyung?" Jungkook knew the answer. Namjoon would've told him he couldn't do it tonight.

"No, but I'll rest it after this concert, and I'll be careful. Please don't tell anyone. Just let them think it's a cold.. please Koo?" J-hope forces his voice to sound stable, keeping his voice quiet.

Jungkook knew he'd regret his choice to stay quiet later, but he saw J-hope's pleading eyes with his smile gone, he caved in. "Alright I won't say anything.."

But the others could find out on their own...

He clung to that hope as practice continued.

"Army are you ready?" Yoongi gets the crowd going by just his voice, Army screaming for them.

Everyone gets into position to do I need U, the song Army voted for them to add to the set list, laying on the stage. J-hope felt his heart pounding in his chest, the nerves making him feel sick to his stomach as he heard Yoongi sing his verses, pressing the cough drop to his cheek.

I can do this..I only have a short solo part..

"All of the words you have said are a.."J-hope voice cracks as he tries to sing, being followed by a cough, Yoongi quickly taking over his verse.

I messed up...

J-hope swallowed back the tears, feeling Taehyung hugging him from behind, walking to his position, gently pushing him toward his. "Focus on dancing.. it's okay.." he whispers.

J-hope's vision blurred with tears, moving just by instinct. I can't stop now, even if I messed up my part I need to do my best..they spent hours waiting and paid good money to see a good show.. I have to do this..

Every member was watching J-hope, taking every chance they could to touch his back or make a heart towards him to try to cheer him up. They left the stage right away after the song, bowing in apology to the army as they dragged J-hope to the back, tears still rolling down his cheeks, his crying only making the coughs worse.

"Hoseok-Ah, look at me. Look at me, it's okay.. it's not your fault.."Jin strokes J-hope's hair, hugging him to his chest. "Don't cry..Don't cry.."

"I can't.. this..my..throat hurts..so m..h.." j-hope sobs, but Jin could only hear half of what he was saying, his voice cutting in and out. His whole body trembled with as he broke down, squeezing Jin tightly

"Baby, you got to breathe.. you'll only make yourself worse. Please don't cry.." Jin rubs J-hope's back.

"He's really upset.." Jimin hugs J-hope from behind. "Hyungie.."

J-hope sniffles, coughing into Jin's shoulder. "It..it's not okay.."

"We'll figure this out. Don't cry, Hobi-hyungie.." Jimin squeezes him.

"How...? We're... time..." J-hope's voice continued to come out unclear, making him sob.

"Well, crying will only make it worse.." Yoongi puts his hand on his head. "Stop crying Hoba.. even if you can't sing Army will be happy to see you out there.."

The idea of not being able to sing at all only made J-hope feel worse, another sob escaping. Can't sing at all? No, no, that can't happen. Not when we have four concerts this week..

"Hyung.." Jimin narrows his eyes at Yoongi. "Don't listen to him, we can think of something.. maybe gargling salt water or using a humidifier, but hyung is right about one thing..you need to stop crying Hyungie.."

J-hope nods, sitting up and wiping his face with his hands. Namjoon hands him a tissue. "Thanks.."

"Seo-sii says he wants to check you over." Namjoon tells him. "See him when you calm down a bit."

J-hope nods, trying to wipe the snot from his face, then goes to the staff member.

"Yoongi, I know it's a good possibly, and you were trying to cheer him up, but you could've at least waited for him to calm down before saying something like that!" Jin scolds him.

"I didn't think it would make him more upset. I just don't want to give him false hope. His voice has been getting worse.." Yoongi looks over at J-hope, the medical staff checking out his throat. "He doesn't seem to be sick because if he doesn't try talking he doesn't cough.. I think his voice is just gone.."

"This is a nightmare.." Jungkook says, looking at J-hope helplessly. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

"They'll do whatever they can to help Hobi-hyung.. all we can do is get ready for the concert." Jimin sighs, going to get changed, everyone following suit. Only time would tell if J-hope's voice would make it.

Staff tried every treatment they could in such short notice, and Namjoon got staff to set up the backing vocals for J-hope just in case, but at least for the moment, he had his voice mostly normal.

"We got your mic up as loudly as possible, so don't try to push your voice too much. It should carry, okay?" Namjoon warns J-hope, putting his arm around him.

J-hope nods, trying to rest his voice until it is time to sing. They went into their positions, the stage lift raising them to the stage, army cheering loudly even with the lights not even turned on yet.

I can do this..

The members jump right into the first song, DNA. He was relieved he didn't have any major parts, but he knew next was going to be one of the first voices heard, making him nervous. He curses himself for moving stiffly in the beginning, the anxiety caused by waiting to see if he can sing knotting his stomach.

Everyone gets into position for Idol, Namjoon starting strong, J-hope forcing his voice to come out. It still sounded off, but he was just happy he didn't cough..

I did it...

J-hope sighed with relief, but that was just one hurdle. He still had the third verse with Yoongi and this time he was going to start first.

"Face off..." J-hope's voice was came out breathy, not even picked up by the mic even with it right by his mouth, only the soft back track being heard along with a fit of coughs.

"Oh no Hoba.." Jin leaves his position to quickly grab some water for him, and Jimin hugs him from behind.

J-hope pushes Jimin away. "No, we have to keep going.." He knows he was trying to speak, but nothing comes out, so he just points to Jimins position, taking the water from Jin. "Keep going.." he mouths the words, taking a quick drink, turning off his mic.

Jin goes to argue, but a nudge from J-hope was enough to get him to get back into line, everyone falling back into position as if nothing happened.

I can't use my voice.. this is a nightmare. No. No I have to focus..

J-hope felt the tears trying to come back, but he didn't have time to be upset. He had to perform. Dancing is my specialty anyway.

Everything was fine until they reached the intro ment. Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi do their introductions, but when it came to his turn he looked at the sparkling mic in his hand, switching it on to try to get his voice to work again, but before he could even try to speak he heard thousands of voices answering for him.

"I’m your hope. You’re my hope. I’m…” Army pauses.

“J-HOPE!” the other members answered for him.

"Hobi is really Sorry he can't sing for you, but he's lost his voice.." Namjoon apologies for him.

Tears swelled in J-hope's eyes, getting into a bowing position.

"It's okay.."

"I love you!"

"Just focus on getting better.."

J-hope feels Jimin rubbing his back, pulling him out of his bow. "Don't cry, Hobi-hyung. You're gonna make me and army cry, and Jungkookie already started.."

What?

I can get through this... I have my members with me.. and thousands of army..

J-hope rushes to see the mankae, hugging him. "Don't cry.." A hoarse whisper comes out.

"I'm sorry, Hyung.." Jungkook sniffles.

J-hope wipes his thumbs across Jungkook's cheeks. "I'm okay now.." He mouths the words, gesturing for the show to go on.

"I love you, Hyungie!" Jimin yells into the mic, then pretends he did nothing, introducing himself not even a second after, getting a giggle out of J-hope.

I can do this.. I have army to be my voice...

[diablescharmants]

     Had he known that his presence had comforted Gajeel then he'd at least have one reassuring factor about this very scenario. Alas, he was still left with a mess in his mind and incredibly opposing feelings. Freed didn't find himself to be dumbfounded very often and he wasn't fond of the rare times that it transpired. Gajeel's voice was but a distant sound in his head and his movements were lifeless as he moved aside to take a sip from the glass of water offered to him.

     Timing couldn't have been any worse because he almost choked on the liquid upon hearing just what he had asked his friend last night apparently. How graceful. How very controlled. He despised how he felt heat seep into his cheeks as he coughed a single time, gaze all but coming to rest somewhere as he looked back and forth as the memories returned one after another.

     They had kissed. And had it assisted him with anything? Leaving out the fact that it created this absolutely awkward situation? Absolutely not. The kiss had felt nice, as hazy as his senses had been at the time. How the hell had his brain conceived this genious idea in the first place? Intoxication at work. None of this was helpful, the fact that his gaze did finally settle no exception because it got caught on Gajeel doing his stretches of all things. His mind, still attempting to order all thoughts, did not need this distraction nor did he need his heart and body to tell him that he felt attraction.

     Waking up in someone else's bed after a mutually agreed upon hook-up was one thing, no big deal, but finding himself in a bed with one of his best friends, memories hazy and discovering that he had made the foolish suggestion to kiss the evening before was an entirely different matter.

     And then finally he snapped out of the depths of his mind, forcing himself to look away from his friend with a groan as he noticed that he had yet to say anything at all. "I'll take a cup of coffee. Thank you." Freed briefly closed his eyes, brows raised and taking a slow breath. "I apologize for my behavior last night. I should have refrained from making that bet in the first place, huh?" A half-hearted chuckle was forced between lips. He couldn't deny that he felt tense while he absolutely didn't want to. Gajeel was comfortable around him, and he was comfortable around Gajeel. Nothing about this should be changing.

He'd been asleep until he felt the bed move. While his bed was incredibly comfortable he wasn't the deepest sleeper. Though, he slept without a single nightmare due to Freed's presence so that was saying something at least. There were absolutely no marks marring his upper torso that would show anything (because nothing aside from the kiss had happened).

"There's a glass of water on the side table for yer head, Freed. I'd have given ya pain killers but I remembered ya sayin' ya didn't like those,"

His voice was laced with tiredness still, and then the Dragon would yawn. He was still laying down but had moved some of the blankets off of himself. He was shirtless but wearing at LEAST his boxers. It was his house after all. All he'd done was remove Freed's coat he'd not undressed his friend any further after they got to his house.

"If yer wonderin' what happened last night, ya lost a bet or somethin' and got trashed. Ya asked me for a kiss to 'prove we didn't harbor any feelings for one another'."

It was at this point he'd finally be sitting up, and quite a few of his bones would crack causing him to groan. Tired laced ruby eyes would turn to look at the slightly dumbfounded expression on Freed's face due to how he awoke and not due to the words the Dragon had said so far.

"If ya keep stressin' yerself out yer gonna make yerself sick. Ya want some coffee, tea, or somethin' to eat?"

He'd slip off the bed and do a couple stretches to get his blood flowing before turning to look at Freed who still sat among all the black that made up his bedding. He'd roll his shoulders before grabbing a pair of pants from a nearby dresser and pulling them on.

[bnhabadass]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader Genre: Smut, 18+, Mafia AU Trope: Woke up married Dialogue Prompt: “Aren’t we supposed to be working?”  Warnings: overdosing on cold medicine, mixing cold medicine with alcohol, dub-con, mentions of sex while unconscious, vomiting Word Count: 4,480

This is my contribution to this month’s bnharem collab. I was so happy when I spun the roulette wheel and it landed on my favorite au, the mafia au. I hope you all enjoy and make sure to check out everyone else’s contributions here. Also a big thanks to @doinmybesthere​ for being my beta reader and putting so much work into creating the master list for this collab.

“A fever? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You winced at the voice coming out of your phone. You were curled up in bed, a heavy futon draped over your achey, chilled body. “I’m really sorry,” you croaked into the receiver. “I can’t get out of bed; there’s no way I’ll be able to come into work today.”

“You know how important tonight’s meeting is.”

You could feel the fire in the eyes of your underboss as he spat at you about how important tonight’s festivities were. You couldn’t care less. You hated the guy, but more importantly you hated your father for getting you in this mess.

A debt needed to be paid and your family couldn’t afford to take out a second mortgage on the house. So your father, as smart as he thought he was, went to the nicest restaurant on the far side of town where the boss of one of the most dangerous mobs in the city stationed his office.

A debt for a debt. That’s what he told you as he came home smiling with a big check in his wallet. No one in your family knew where he got the money, but he seemed confident enough that he’d be able to pay it back.

A month went by and one day, three scary men knocked on your apartment door. They said they were there to “collect”.

You were terrified. You thought they were there to rob you, to take the money you had been saving in a rainy-day fund. But no, they came to collect you. Now, it’s been four months and you’re still stuck doing odd jobs for them--grocery and coffee runs as well as spending reports and other money related things you are less than qualified to do.

You hate your job. You hate having to put up with the unorthodox hours and the unsavory jobs and the complaints about your work ethic and the having to do it over again because you didn’t do it right the first time. You want out. If you weren’t positive that if you left they would be able to hunt you down, you would have fled the country by now.

But your father’s debt still hasn’t been paid.

“Look,” you pleaded. “I can come in tomorrow and work double my usual time. Please, Kirishima-san, I just need the day to rest.”

“Not a chance. You’re coming in today and that’s final. If you don’t, well, then maybe we need to take an extra payment from your parents.”

Before you could even process what he just said, he hung up the phone.

Another payment from your parents. You couldn’t possibly let them take any more from your family. With a new threat looming over your head, you mustered up enough strength to push off of your futon and get dressed for the clients’ dinner.

By the time it was 7:00 in the evening, you had taken a large swig of cold medicine and were ready to spend the night serving these criminals.

Outside of the restaurant, two bodyguards were stationed at the front door and one at the back entrance. All three of them were dressed in black from head to toe. You, on the other hand, were tasked with serving your boss’s clients, so your outfit differed from theirs.

You were dressed in attire suited for waiting tables. Black slacks stretch across your legs and your pristine shirt was smoothed against your body. A tight black vest clung to your chest and pressed against your boobs, squishing them together. If it weren’t for the fever, chills, and headache, you would look like you belonged with this crowd of criminals.

You flashed your ID to the guard at the back door and he nodded you in. Your eyes had to adjust to the fluorescent kitchen lighting, but once they did you saw how busy everyone was. It truly was one of the most important nights for your boss, so you understood why you were needed. Still, this night would truly take the most out of you.

“Oi, (L/n),” one of your boss’s associates called for you. “Take these to table four. I’ve been covering your ass for the last twenty minutes.”

“Of course, Kaminari-san.” You bowed your head and skirted over to the table where two well-dressed men spoke with one another in a hushed tone. You placed their meals in front of them and bowed your head.

“Wait,” one of them called as you began to walk away. “I asked for a Jasmine tea. This is Sencha.”

“Yeah,” the other one piped up. “And I asked for a Sencha tea and this is Jasmine.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to yell into the abyss and slap those men across the face. But of course all you did was bow in apology and take the cups back. Kirishima’s words to you over the phone rang loud and clear in your mind.

“Anything they need, you get it for them. These are important people the boss works with and we can’t have idiots like you messing this up for us.”

The men smirked at you and as you turned around to grab their “correct orders,” the man who ordered the Jasmine tea leaned over to leave a hard, painful smack across your ass.

You froze but didn’t say anything and walked away.

It was still early in the night but you had run yourself thin. You needed to sit down or to at least take a sip of water, but there was no room for breaks as you bounced from table to table getting the people what they wanted. You had even left the venue a couple times to retrieve items like the proper creamer one client required in their coffee.

Your throat was so sore and dry and it was aching for a break. Your entire body was aching for a break. But as you saw someone sitting at one of the tables raise her hand to wave you over, you had to put all of your aches aside to tend to her needs.

“Good evening, ma’am.” You bowed your head. “How may I assist you?”

A small smile was on her dark red painted lips. She seemed to be searching for something as she eyed you up and down. “Do you happen to know when Bakugou-san will be joining us?”

Bakugou-san… Were you supposed to know who that is? You had never heard the name before, although you knew your boss had many ties throughout the district. It could be one of them.

“I’m not sure,” you answered honestly. “I could ask my supervisors if they happen to know.”

She waited a moment. She seemed to be searching for something in your expression. “That’s all right. You may go back to work now.”

You bowed and thanked her.

Bakugou-san.

The name did sound familiar, but you’re not sure where you could have heard it. It wasn’t until you were deep in thought, trying to recall where you had heard the name, that you could feel something pushing up against your throat. Oh god. Your stomach was churning.

You ran to the bathroom, pushing someone out of the way to get there. You’d probably hear an earful from Kirishima for pushing a guest, but you needed to find a toilet before--

Oh no.

You barely made it into the stall before emptying the contents of your stomach onto the white tiles of the bathroom floor. Your legs collapsed from under you and you kneeled in your vomit as you coughed up your stomach lining into the porcelain bowl.

Tears fell from your eyes as you struggled to breathe while hacking everything you had into the toilet. The black eyeliner you threw on before leaving the house had smudged into raccoon eyes around your lashes.

You rested your cheek against the toilet, ignoring all of the germs that were most likely crawling up your skin and into your pores. The toilet seat felt cool against your burning cheek and watering eyes. You thought you could die happily here, kneeling on the bathroom tiles in a pile of your slowly cooling vomit.

“Aren’t we supposed to be working here?”

Your eyes shot open, and in trying to stand up you slipped. Your ass landed in the smeared vomit. You winced and let out a drawn out, “fuuuck.”

It took you a moment before opening your eyes again and looking up at the man in front of you. And boy did your eyes widen. He was clearly a guest at the clients’ dinner. His blonde hair was slicked back and the bulge of his muscles under his crisp black button down didn’t go unnoticed by you. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms and as he crossed his arms over his chest, his sleeves began to tighten.

“Who the hell are you and why are you puking on the floor?”

It took you a second to find your voice. “I’m, um...” you trailed off. “(L/n), sir.” You cleared your throat. “I am a worker for the person hosting this dinner.” You tried to stand up and bow, but he put a hand up to stop you.

“You work for them.” It was a statement not a question, but you nodded anyway. “Why? What do you owe?”

You’re not sure why he was asking, but his intimidating glare compelled you to answer his every question. “My dad owes them money,” you admitted. “And he wasn’t able to pay them back.”

“Who do you mean by them?”

You weren’t sure how to answer. You didn’t even know what these people did. For all you knew they were drug mules or assassins. You never wanted to know what they did when you were roped in. After all, the less you knew meant you could have more of a normal life. “The boss,” you finally answered. Who the boss was, you weren’t sure. You answered to Kirishima but he didn’t have much power aside from ordering around you and every other person unfortunate enough to be roped into working for them.

The man in front of you scoffed. “Get up.”

You scrambled to your feet, ignoring the wave of nausea that hit you. The man led you out of the bathroom, and as you walked behind him, people who passed the two of you stopped and stared. Oh no, it had to be from the vomit stains on your leg and down your shirt. You probably stank to high hell and your eyes wouldn’t stop watering from your fever.

The man stopped and you had to keep from bumping into him. “There’s an extra work shirt in the closet,” he said. “There should also be some slacks in there. Leave your dirty clothes in a pile and I’ll have someone collect them.”

His voice was demanding and it took you a moment to register what he said. It wasn’t until he snapped in your face that you moved.

“We don’t have all day, princess.”

You flinched and nodded before scurrying into the closet and flicking the light on. Inside the closet was the restaurant’s sad excuse for a boiler room. The low humming from the machinery brought you back into the present as you searched for the change of clothes you were promised.

There was a crisp white shirt folded on one of the shelves as well as a few different slacks in varying sizes. The shirt was a size too small, so you had to leave the first couple buttons popped open. Before leaving the closet, you tried to think about who the man was and why he was helping you. Was it possible that he wanted something in return?

When you emerged from the closet, he looked you up and down. You were too tired, however, to notice his lingering glare on your chest and the way the button down squeezed your breasts closer together.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking down at your shoes. You’re not sure why you were too scared to look into his vermillion eyes, but the way he called you princess earlier as he snapped at you had definitely made you tremble in your core, and you swore that if you looked up to meet his eyes, your fever would only go higher and higher.

“Why the hell’d you come here if you were sick anyway? Are you trying to poison everyone in the damn building?” His words were like little bullets that shot at every one of your doubts of coming in tonight.

You thought back to why you had come in the first place. You were huddled up in your futon that morning when Kirishima called. You begged to stay home, right? But you couldn’t. You squinted hard as you tried to remember why you weren’t allowed to rest. “I was threatened,” you thought out loud. It wasn’t directed towards the man but he nodded in any case.

“(L/n) was it, right?”

You finally managed to look up at him with bleary eyes. “Yeah, um...” You couldn’t seem to remember what his name was. Wait, he hadn’t told you. He had just led you around and given you new clothes, but he never properly introduced himself.

“Bakugou Katsuki,” he said as if he could read your mind. His lips turned up into a smirk. “But call me Katsuki.”

“Katsuki,” you mumbled. “Bakugou Katsuki.” You had heard that name before, but where. “Bakugou,” you mumbled again as if you were trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together. “Bakugou-san.”

He quirked an eyebrow up at you.

“Oh!” It hit you like a ton of bricks and as soon as you shot up, you had to recoil because of the ache in the back of your neck. “There’s a woman looking for you, Bakugou-san, er, Katuki,” you bowed.

He just chuckled. “There’s a lot of people looking for me tonight. Who was it?”

That’s a good question. You squinted as if you were looking deep into your memories to remember who it was who asked for him. “She was a woman,” you remembered. “With long dark hair and dark red lips.”

Katsuki nodded. “I see the Yaoyorozus are here.”

The Yaoyorozus. You weren’t sure what that could mean but you didn’t feel like questioning it, so you nodded instead.

Katsuki was looking down at you. His arms were crossed over his chest but a smirk that had been playing across his face all night wouldn’t seem to go away. “Feeling better?”

You didn’t feel better. Although you felt cleaner in the new clothes, there was still a throbbing in your head that wasn’t going away and the overhead lights made your eyes water. But the way that Katsuki looked at you like he was expecting you to say yes just drew you in.

He could tell that the way you nodded a yes in response to his question was a lie, and his face fell before pushing a hand up to your forehead, checking your temperature. “Have you taken anything today?”

You had to think back to earlier that day when you brought the bottle of cold medicine up to your lips, not even reading the recommended dose before downing what you could and leaving your home. “Yeah, um, I took some medicine.”

The grin that had been spread across Katsuki’s face returned. “Well I guess we’ll have to get you some more.”

He grabbed your wrist and led you through the halls and over to the bar. You didn’t pay attention to where you were going. The world seemed to be going too fast for you to keep up. What you were able to notice was that everyone’s eyes were on you as you gently swayed back and forth, trying to settle yourself down. As you were in your own head, you couldn’t start to picture what everyone else saw when they looked at you. You with your raccoon eyes due to streaky makeup that you couldn’t stop rubbing.

“Here.” Katsuki shoved a glass in your face. “Not necessarily traditional medicine but it’ll get the job done.”

You looked up at the whiskey glass in his hand. The ‘medicine’ was a deep brown color which swirled around as he handed it to you. Your fingers brushed against his thick ones as you took the glass. You lifted it up to your nose and took a deep breath in, gagging at the smell. “Um, I don’t think I should.” You had been warned about mixing alcohol with drugs and the dangers that came with it, but no one had ever told you not to mix drinks with cold medicine. Still, that couldn’t be right, right?

“Come on, it’s good for you,” he egged you on. “Besides, it’ll get that nasty taste out of your mouth.”

You had never tried whiskey before. You were used to lighter drinks, something bubbly with a shot of vodka or two in it. But this was almost too much. You lifted the glass up to your lips and tilted it back. Your lips stung as they made contact with the drink, but you didn’t want to seem weak to Katsuki. He’d taken care of you so far and seemed pleasant enough, albeit intimidating.

As you tipped it back further and took more of the drink into your mouth, Katsuki pushed his hand against the bottom of the glass so you couldn’t tear it away, making sure you would drink every last drop. It stung going down and the cubes pressing against your lip were colder than you expected. You gagged as a couple loose tears rolled down your face from the drink’s burning sensation. You bet you looked even more of a mess now.

“Good girl,” Katsuki said with a low demeanor. With his thumb, he wiped away a drop of whiskey that rolled down your chin.

“And this’ll make me feel better?” You didn’t think you were supposed to drink when you were sick, but you were far too tired to even think about what was wrong and what was right. If he said that it’d make you feel better, then that had to be a good thing. You’re sure of it.

“Sure will.” He placed a firm, calloused hand on your head and stroked down your hair. You nuzzled into his warmth.

It was such a nice sensation that it almost made you forget that you were supposed to be working. That there were people waiting on you to bring them their food and fetch their creamer, people who were ready to slap your ass and laugh as soon as you turned away.

“I have a,” you started, not really sure where that sentence was going. “I have to go back to work.”

As you began walking away, Katsuki stopped you, pulling you back over so your face was practically pressed up against his chest. “No you don’t. You’re sick, remember?”

Right, as if you hadn’t forgotten. But he was right. You were sick and your medicine hadn’t kicked in yet. You couldn’t risk spreading your germs and getting anyone else sick.

You watched the dinner guests from afar. You leaned in to hear conversations about hitmen and other rivaling mobs around town. Some were about money laundering and clients that needed to be taken out, whatever that meant.

At one point, someone asked to pull Katsuki aside and talk alone, but instead he just pulled you closer.

“The hell do you want, Yoarashi?”

Yoarashi was a big guy, bigger than Katsuki, but it was clear even to you that he was intimidated by the blonde in front of him.

“You owe me for what I let you borrow last month.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

To you, they sounded like they were underwater and you weren’t sure what they were discussing, but you were curious to learn more.

“Come on, Bakugou. Work with me here.”

“I’m a busy man, Yoarashi. Now get out of my face before I have my men take care of you.”

Something about the raw power and the threatening tone behind Katsuki’s voice made you excited. You wanted to melt into his words, but you weren’t sure why.

“Busy man?” Yoarashi scoffed. “Come on, Bakugou. You’ve barely been seen all night. Where have you been, fucking this little lackey of yours?”

He didn’t mean you, did he? Before you could even comprehend what he just insinuated, Katsuki turned you around and pressed your face up against his chest. You could feel yourself growing even hotter as you were pushed into one of his pectorals. One of his hands cupped the back of your head. Was he protecting you?

“Listen here,” you heard him say. “Don’t contact us ever again unless you want to end up like your first boss did. I can make your life a living hell and I will, got that?”

“Don’t think I don’t have other contacts, all right? You aren’t the only one in this town with resources, Bakugou.”

You felt something jab into the other side of Katsuki’s chest. Did Yoarashi hit him? A few seconds went by before you heard the snapping of fingers and two men came over to drag Yoarashi away.

Katsuki released the hold he had on you, and you watched as the tall man struggled out of his hold. “You aren’t gonna tell anyone what you saw here tonight, right princess?”

You shook your head. You weren’t sure what exactly you felt when you saw that man being dragged away. You were scared, of course; scared for your own life and of the raw power that Katsuki seemed to hold. But on top of fear there was something else. There was a tingle between your thighs that wouldn’t seem to go away, and there was also a sense of excitement. Out of all the people here, this man was paying attention to you. You were far from Mafia material, but he clearly saw something in you and you wanted more of his gaze lingering on you.

Your mind felt hazy with Katsuki and you wanted even more. You didn’t know what to do when you felt him smooth his hand down your back. You didn’t know what to do when his usual smirk turned into something much more dangerous. And you didn’t know what to do when he leaned over and pressed his lips against your own.

His lips felt heavenly as they explored you. They were soft and welcoming despite his cold and dangerous exterior. His tongue probed its way into your mouth. He tasted like whiskey and something else which you assumed was just him. He bit your lip and it felt like he smiled when you let out a moan.

When he released, you felt as if the whole world was spinning with Katsuki. You wobbled around a bit and he chuckled. You tried asking if you could sit down, but the words refused to come out. The last thing you remember is seeing the world go black, the sound of the clients’ dinner fading out of earshot, and two strong arms carrying you away from reality.

You were in pain by the time you woke up. Your body, especially your head, ached tremendously and you wished the sun would stop shining so bright through your window. But wait, the window in your bedroom at your apartment faced another building. The sun never shined too bright in the morning when you were at home.

Slowly, you peaked your head out from under the covers and looked around. You weren’t in your bedroom, but you were in a bedroom. The bed you had been asleep in was enormous, but aside from that there was not much else furniture in the room or even any pictures to signify who the room could belong to.

It wasn’t until you sat up that you realized just how exposed you were under the covers. You couldn’t find your clothing anywhere. What were you even wearing last night? Where were you last night?

You remembered being sick and being called into work by Kirishima. You were stressed. You were nauseous. There was a beautiful woman who asked for someone in particular but you were too sick to remember what their name was, right?

And then you raced to the bathroom and met--

A groan from beside you shook you out of your thoughts, and as soon as you saw the person lying in bed next to you, all of your memories came flooding back.

“Morning, baby girl,” Katsuki said.

You didn’t know what to say. Your mouth hung open and you felt lightheaded.

Katsuki was shirtless under the covers and you were too scared to ask if he had anything on covering his lower half. “You put on quite the show last night.”

Last night. Where you met him. What did you do last night? “I...” You didn’t know what to say, and that made Katsuki let out a booming laugh.

“Come on, you remember at least a little of it don’t you?”

You shook your head. Then you shook your head again. You couldn’t stop shaking your head.

Katsuki put a hand on your shoulder and you stopped. He had a shit eating grin spread across his face that you wanted to both punch and kiss at the same time. “First throwing up at my party and then getting blackout drunk in front of all my guests.”

“What?” You could barely remember anything. What did he mean ‘his party’? The clients’ dinner was run by…

Your eyes widened as you realized just who you had found yourself naked in bed with. Who had found you puking on the bathroom floor. Who that stunningly gorgeous woman was asking for earlier.

You clamped a hand over your mouth and Katsuki let out another chuckle. “You really were the life of the party.” He grabbed your wrist and dragged you over to his side of the bed, and you let him. He dragged his hand up and down your exposed body and roughly cupped your sex. “I had a blast toying around with you last night, but now I want you to be able to remember what it feels like when I bury my cock inside of you, sweetheart.”

You hated the way he was grabbing you and the way he forced your legs to open up for him, but what you hated more than any of that was the way his words made your inner thighs ache and how they instinctively parted just for him.

You turned away as he leaned down to smother your chest with rough kisses, and as you looked over to your left hand, you couldn’t help but notice a diamond ring that wasn’t there the night before.

[musicprincess1990]

Chicken Soup

I know I said I was taking a break from writing, but... I'm a goddamn liar. And this is for @mizjoely, because she's not feeling well. Hope you get better soon, friend!

~*~

"I am never ill."

Famous last words of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and arrogant prat. He would be forced to change his tune now, as he was currently laid out in bed, nursing a fever, a sore throat, and sinus congestion. By the tone of his texts—Baker St immediately, followed by a rare and unembellished, Please—one would have though he was dying, or at least seriously injured.

But no. Instead, Molly found him curled into the foetal position atop his duvet, a hot water bottle pressed against his temple and three empty teacups on the bedside table. He presented quite a pathetic picture, and she couldn't quite stop herself from smiling.

"Molly," he grumbled, his voice gravelly and deeper than normal. "I can feel you smiling.

She let a little giggle escape. "Serves you right, Mr. 'I'm Never Ill.'"

"Yes, yes, hilarious—" here he was forced to pause in order to cough several times, "—now, help me."

Molly perched her hands on her hips. "Say please."

One quicksilver eye opened and glared daggers at her. "I already did."

She didn't budge. "Say it again."

He huffed in exasperation, eye falling closed again, and finally said in a pitiful groan, "Please, Molly."

Satisfied, she let her hands fall and softened her smirk into a gentle smile. "Of course, Sherlock," she said softly, taking the hot water bottle, which was more lukewarm by this point. "I'll refill this, and I'll make you some tea, shall I? Maybe get you some paracetamol, if it's still in the same place?"

Another wave of coughing, then he replied, "Same place."

Without another word, Molly set to work. She put the kettle on the stove and rooted around the cupboards until she found a few bags of herbal. He'd likely make a face and some snide remark, but it was much better for a cold than Earl Gray. Then she ran the tap until the water was warm enough, then filled the hot water bottle and carried it back into Sherlock's room. He mumbled incoherently, which she took as the closest thing to a thank-you she would get.

Next, she went into the bathroom and found the paracetamol—expired, but only by a few weeks. It would do for now, but she made a mental note to pop over to the nearest Boots and pick up a new bottle for him. She'd get him something to eat, as well; knowing him, he likely hadn't eaten for days, which only exacerbated the illness. It would do him good to have something, even something small.

The kettle whined, and Molly returned to the kitchen, pouring water into the cup and letting the tea steep. Glancing through the fridge, she was happy to find a fresh lemon (I wonder what experiment that is for...). Adding a bit of lemon and a hint of sugar—she did know him, after all—she took the tea and medicine into his room.

"Up," she instructed, and he reluctantly pulled himself up into a seated position, leaning back against the headboard. Molly handed him the paracetamol first, which he immediately took, then the tea. As expected, his upper lip curled a bit, but he made no comment and sipped the steaming liquid.

"When did you eat last?" she asked.

"Can't remember," he answered before taking another sip.

"Have you got anything in?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You were just in my fridge, I think you'd know better than me."

Molly narrowed her eyes, but let the snarky comment pass. "That's a no, then. Think you can manage half an hour without me?"

"I shall do my level best," he deadpanned.

"Says the man who all but begged me to come to his bedside."

"I never beg."

She smiled sweetly. "Just like you never get ill?" He scowled at her, and she let out another giggle. "Alright then, I'm off to Boots, back in a few. Sleep, if you can."

"Yes, Mum."

~*~

Just over half an hour later, Molly made her way back up the stairs to Sherlock's flat, carrying a new bottle of paracetamol and a tin of soup. Chicken noodle soup, to be precise, a favourite remedy of the Hooper household when Molly was a child. She hadn't a clue how Sherlock would react to it, but it was certainly worth a go.

Peeping into Sherlock's room, she saw him fast asleep, breathing slow and steady. Molly paused for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall. Even pale and sickly, he was beautiful, like he was cut from marble. But now, with his features relaxed in sleep, there was a vulnerability to him, softening all his sharp edges. He was human, like anybody else. Best not tell him that, she joked privately, then left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

While he slept, Molly spent some time tidying up the flat, though she took care not to disturb the flasks and petri dishes in the kitchen. As she did, she got a call from Mrs. Hudson, thanking her for looking in on Sherlock while she was away. She was in the lake district with her sister, due back in a week or so, and Molly wished her a nice holiday and ended the call.

Not long after, she heard Sherlock stirring, and went to put the soup on the stove, along with a fresh kettle. Soon, she took another cuppa and a bowlful of soup in on Mrs. Hudson's usual tea tray.

Sherlock's brows pulled together as she set the tray on the bed beside him. "What's that?"

"Soup," she answered. "And you're going to eat it."

He stared at the soup for several seconds. "How?"

Odd question, she thought. "Well, you take the spoon and—"

"How did you know?"

"I... know what?"

His throat convulsed as he swallowed hard. "Never mind. I'll eat it. Bit difficult to do so in bed, though." He stood carefully, sniffling and coughing as he carried the tray back into the kitchen.

Molly watched closely, curious and confused by his reaction. What had he meant? How did she know what? Know to bring him soup? For God's sake, she was a doctor, even if her patients were already dead when she saw them. And he knew that, so that couldn't be it... so what was it?

"Are you going to stand there staring at me all night?"

Her face flamed and she shook herself. "Sorry, just... thinking."

"Always a good thing to do," he said with a hint of a smile.

Molly watched him for another few moments, mustering the nerve to ask him, then finally did so. "What did you mean, Sherlock?"

His hand stopped, holding his spoon in midair, but he didn't look at her. "Nothing," he mumbled.

"Liar."

Now he did look at her, seemingly stunned that she'd called him out, but to his credit, he didn't keep lying. He set down his spoon, eyes following it, and it was several seconds before he spoke again.

"The last time I can remember being ill," he began, "I was six years old. My parents were on holiday, Mycroft was at school, and I was spending the week with my grandparents. I was miserable, thought I was going to die—ridiculous, obviously I wasn't, but to a child who didn't yet know better, it seemed likely." Sherlock took a breath. "I woke in the middle of the night in hysterics, and... my gran brought me a bowl of chicken noodle soup."

Molly smiled. "Your gran sounds lovely."

His ears turned pink. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will... I don't know what I'll do, but it won't be pleasant."

She snorted a laugh. "Mum's the word. So, is that why you reacted like you did? You thought I knew about your gran somehow?"

Sherlock self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck. "It... wasn't my most rational moment."

"Well, you're ill," she pointed out. "No one's mind is ever perfectly clear when they're ill. Not even Sherlock Holmes."

His eyes flew up to meet hers, dancing with humour. "So I'm only human?"

"Afraid so," she said with a smile. "Now, eat up. I don't want a single drop left of that soup."

"Yes, Mum," he quipped again, but did as he was told.

When he was finished, Molly set his emptied bowl in the basin, then refilled his hot water bottle for him as he shuffled back into his room. He was already curled up under the covers when she brought it to him, eyelids beginning to droop.

Without thinking, Molly brushed his curls back from his forehead and pressed her palm against his heated skin, in order to see if his fever had lessened any. Then, realizing what she'd done, she froze, her eyes only slightly wider than his. "I-I'm sorry, I know why I did—"

Molly's words suddenly caught in her throat. She had been about to jerk her hand back and make a hasty retreat, but she'd barely moved an inch before his fingers closed around her wrist. He studied her hand for a moment, then pressed his lips into her palm, sending jolts of electricity up her arm. And when he looked back up at her, she wished more fervently than ever that he wasn't so ill.

"Thank you, Molly," he murmured, his thumb softly grazing her pulse point. "When I'm rid of this blasted cold, I'd like to show you just how grateful I am." His lips ticked up in an impish smirk. "And I promise never to call you Mum again."

Well. How the hell was she supposed to respond to that?

"Just go to sleep, Sherlock," she hedged, and moved to take her hand back, only to have his grip on her tighten. "Sherlock?"

"Stay," he insisted. "Please."

Molly hesitated, partly because she knew the chances of her getting "this blasted cold" were already fairly high, and would be even higher if she stayed. But mostly, she was afraid this show of affection from him was only because he was delirious with fever and exhaustion, and that he'd scorn her once his mind was clearer. It didn't matter, though; clearly, he was determined not to let her leave.

Taking a deep breath, Molly seated herself on the edge of his bed. "I'll stay until you've fallen asleep, but I can't stay all night. I've got a cat at home, and no pyjamas with me. Besides, I don't fancy being ill myself."

He sighed in defeat. "Fine. But you'll be back in the morning?"

"Well, someone has to take care of you," she teased. "Clearly you can't be left to your own devices."

"Hilarious."

"And true," she pointed out. "Where would you be if I hadn't turned up?"

His eyes, half-lidded and drowsy, landed on hers as he whispered, "I'd be lost without you, Molly Hooper."

Oh.

He was serious... completely serious. Hope, the likes of which she had never felt before, swelled within her chest as she watched him finally surrender to sleep. Did he really mean... was it possible that he...? Well... there was only one way to find out. She would ask him in the morning.

That hope lingered as Molly tiptoed out of the room and gathered her things. She was half tempted to stay the night after all, up in John's old room, but decided against it. If she stayed, she would spend the whole night listening for him, waiting anxiously for the conversation they needed to have. No, she needed to leave, for her own sanity as much as her literal health.

She looked in on Sherlock one last time, though, unable to resist lightly running her hand through those curls once more. Sherlock sighed contentedly, but didn't wake.

"Until tomorrow," she whispered, then made her way back home.

~*~

Uh, this was supposed to be silly and fluffy, but it turned into a whole thing... and there's gonna be a part two. I'll post this on Ao3 in the morning (well, the later morning, it's 1:00 AM now), then part two will be up as soon as it's finished.

Yep. I'm a goddamn liar. I can't stop writing to save my life. 😄 Get well soon, MJ!!

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

original idea, m | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader

summary: Your boyfriend, Kim Taehyung, is observant. He noticed you started your period today and picked up your favorite can of sweet Thai tea on his way back from visiting his best friend Park Jimin. How nice of him until he asks you mid-gulp if he can go in raw.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; unprotected period sex, do not do this unless you absolutely trust the other person; established relationship; low-key crack; lots of fluff; shower smut (fem reader is on her period, handjob, unprotected, wall sex, creampie, doggy); non-idol!BTS, ft Jimin putting ideas in Taehyung's head, who would have guessed

--

“You started your period today.”

You cracked open the can of Thai tea you boyfriend handed you. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I saw the pad wrapper in the trash.”

“Oh.”

You took a large sip, thinking the conversation was over.

“Does that mean I can go in raw?”

You nearly spit out the entire contents of your mouth. Instead, you choked and swallowed hard, coughing and sputtering. “What?”

Kim Taehyung expression didn’t change. “Does that mean I can go in–?”

You held up your hand, coughing wildly, hacking the words out. “I heard what you said, I just can’t believe you said it, who the fuck?”

Taehyung seemed to understand and nodded, dark brown hair falling over his forehead.

“Oh, right. I was talking to Jimin and he mentioned–”

Oh, of course, how could you not guess, Taehyung’s best friend Park Jimin was putting ideas in Taehyungie’s little noggin and now murdering you as you struggled to breathe.

“–that it could be possible, because you’re right, it’s too early to have kids and having a monetary plan to prepare is a better idea–”

You were glad that Taehyung was interested in finances when it came to having children but he sure picked a weird ass time to agree with your sensibilities.

“–but I love having sex with you, so I was telling Jimin I haven’t been in raw yet and I completely understand that you prefer condoms over hormones since that might affect your mental state and I don’t like the idea of only you doing something like that to yourself anyway, it doesn’t seem fair–”

You were still processing the fact that Taehyung had told Jimin he hadn’t been in raw. What the fuck?! At least he loved having sex with you. You were staring at Taehyung slack-jawed, but he was scrunching up his face, trying to remember the rest of the conversation.

“–and Jimin mentioned, ‘hey, at least you can do it when she’s on her period, it’ll add more lubrication and it might even be better for her,’ so I was wondering if we could try it, if you’re interested.”

Silence.

You still hadn’t picked your jaw off the floor.

Taehyung opened his eyes and smiled at you. “Hm? What do you think?”

Okay, you very much enjoyed Taehyung’s eager, boxy smile, so that unfroze you, but you still blurted out your next question in sheer shock.

“Why did you tell Jimin you’ve never been in raw?!”

He blinked, tilting his head. “It just came up.”

You looked around, expecting Jimin to pop out and tell you you’ve been pranked. He did not.

“…. H-How…? Actually, don’t tell me, I’m going choose ignorance…” you mumbled, now taking another long sip of your Thai tea, but more like a swig and wishing it was forty-percent alcohol.

“But what do you think though?” Taehyung persisted, leaning down with his tilted head to try and catch your eye. “Do you wanna try? It might be nice!”

You looked down.

Someone was thinking about it for sure.

You looked back up.

Taehyung smiled at you innocently with a massive tent in his pants.

You stared into those big brown eyes and sighed.

“Ah… probably not. It’s going to be so messy and dirty and cleaning up is going to be such a bitch… I’m sorry, Tae, but I don’t think…”

-

“So…”

You stood under the showerhead, your hair wet and sticking to your forehead.

“So.”

Hey, in your defense, you were also curious.

Taehyung chewed on his lip, watching you inquiringly. “Hey, we don’t have to. I was being kinda pushy… but…”

You scratched your head, moving your wet hair out of your eyes. “Ah, it’s okay, I understand, I just… it feels wrong, you know? Aren’t you grossed out?”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Mmm, at first? But the more I think about it, the more I think, well, isn’t it natural? And you have to deal with it every month for many, many years, right? Plus, when we have children, they’re going to come out of you slightly, erm…” He made a little bit of a face but shook his head, spraying water everywhere from his dark wet hair. “Anyway, it’s not too bad. We’re in the shower. You like it when we do stuff in the shower,” Taehyung added brightly.

You contained your laughter, giving him a hopeless smile. “Why are you acting so weird?”

Now Taehyung turned red, his deep tan skin flushing, eyes shifting from side to side. “Um…”

You tilted your head.

He shot you a quick glance and mumbled under his breath.

“Idon’tknowhowlongI’mgonnalastIalreadydon’tlastthatlong.”

“What?”

He chewed on his lip.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You reached up and pushed your hair back, swimsuit-supermodel style, and now Taehyung was doing more than glancing, he was observing very closely and very intently under wet strands of dark brown hair, curling around his strong features and moody brown eyes, his lips parting slightly, probably unnoticed on his part.

Looking like a fish wasn’t exactly an image Taehyung himself considered sexy.

Secretly, you enjoyed it because it meant he wasn’t conscious of what he looked like and was too distracted by your actions and your body to do so.

You smiled. “Why were you talking to Jimin about something like that anyway?”

Taehyung stiffened as you neared, biting his lip. “Ah, well…” He frowned slightly. “You’re so good at certain… things… It’s kind of frustrating for me… sometimes. I want to be better.”

Now you hesitated. “What are you talking about? Haven’t I taught you a lot of things? And you learn quickly and are amazing once you get the hang of it.”

His lips twisted into a small pout.

“For once, I’d like to teach you something.” He let out a small puff. “Or at least suggest something you’ve never heard of before.”

You blinked at him.

“Er… going in raw isn’t exactly a new concept… rather… that’s the original idea of dick and pussy in the first place…”

Taehyung scrunched up his face. “I know that, argh… I just mean… ah…” He trailed off, baritone voice now unsure and unsteady.

You saw he was rapidly losing confidence and you placed a hand on his chin, lightly lifting it with your knuckle. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I want to try it. I just thought you wouldn’t like it, because… I mean… Period blood isn’t sexy per se… And I’m certainly not sexy during that time of the month…” You frowned uneasily, lowering your hand, but now Taehyung raised your chin, smiling at you.

“Don’t be silly. You’re always sexy.”

He leaned in, smile morphing into a smirk.

“Also, your boobs get bigger during that time of month, so I always appreciate that.”

Your eyes widened. “You noticed?”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I noticed. I keep close tabs on your boobs.”

“Close tabs? Do you record the size in a notebook or something?”

He chuckled, tapping his temple with his free hand, the other sliding down your chin, tracing the contours of your neck and collarbones. “Mental notes. I remember all the important stuff. Your boobs are on the top of the list.”

Your cut in with your inquiring quips. “My ass? My mouth? My hands? My pussy?”

Taehyung frowned slightly and placed his large hand on your breast, kneading it as if he needed comfort. “Okay, near the top, but don’t make me order them, it’s too difficult.”

You grinned. “That makes me feel better.”

He breathed out in relief. “Whew, that’s good–mphf!”

You seized the moment and pushed him into the wall, pressing your wet body into his, your tongue snaking out and lightly flicking against his lips, taking advantage of his surprise and the beauty of his widened eyes to kiss him firmly, falling into his warmth. It took him a second to compose himself, tipping his head down to take charge of the kiss, squeezing your breast and running his thumb over your hard nipple, but you placed your palms flat on the shower wall and resisted him, dancing your tongue between his lips and not letting him catch it, smirking at the growl he made in frustration.

“We were having a moment,” he muttered.

“Mmm, I know, but I want my moment with him.”

Your fingers ghosted his thigh and he sucked in a breath as your hand closed around his cock, not quite hard yet but getting there, especially after your hand came into contact with it. You feathered kisses on his lips as you stroked his length, nice and slow, his other hand coming up to cup both breasts, panting softly, hot breath on your lips.

“You’re too quick…”

“Can’t waste too much water,” you chuckled. “And…”

You kissed up his jaw, adjusting your body to get a better angle, licking his skin lightly and feeling the vibration and depth of his moan under your tongue and lips, whispering gently into his ear.

“It’s kind of hard to focus when you’re so handsome, Tae.”

He let you have the moment, tipping his head down so your teeth could catch his ear, nipping at it lightly, contrasting with the pace of your hand, firm and intense, shivering at the thickness and the weight in your palm, savoring the taste of his skin, moaning into his ear, long and sensual, everything he liked and more, his head turning, black-brown eyes looking down at you under lashes covered in small droplets, adding to his already ethereal appearance.

“Let me…”

He leaned in, not finishing his sentence, kissing you long and deep and sweet, changing your positions, but you didn’t let go, toying with his tongue. He made a small tch sound of annoyance, shifting his hips, picking up one of your legs.

“Ah, w-wait…”

“Why?” he chuckled. “You don’t wanna wait. I can tell.”

You tried to hide the smirk, but it came out.

Smugness just refused to be hidden.

Taehyung grinned against your lips. “Thought so.”

Your hand was already guiding him. “This isn’t going to be the optimal position for you to cum.”

“Good.”

You raised an eyebrow and he thrust up into your pussy.

You sucked in a breath, relaxing yet still stretched out. It did hurt slightly. Taehyung was sizable after all, in length and girth, but you had practice and muscle memory, and maybe (definitely) a pain kink.

What? It was fun getting stuffed with dick.

Especially when it was Taehyung’s dick.

You? You were fine.

Taehyung?

“Oh, fuck…!”

Er, maybe not?

He had such a cocky expression beforehand but the second he entered you, it instantly changed, sudden tension in his strong features, gasping as he slid in, surprisingly much easier than you expected, perhaps due to the consistency of the slippery blood, almost stopping halfway, but you didn’t let him, firmly grabbing his hips and yanking him towards you, his eyes rolling back, whining your name loudly, the volume and depth reverberating in the bathroom.

“You’re so t-tight… fuck… soft… oh, shit…”

You let him run through every expletive he knew, holding him firmly by his juicy ass, enjoying it too much, but thankfully Taehyung didn’t notice, eyes closed, head thrown back, dark wet hair curling around his cheekbones. He reached up and pushed it away from his face, exhaling hard, slowly opening his eyes, hazy and unfocused.

“Fuck… it feels so fucking good, you have no idea…” he shuddered, twitching inside you and moaning once more, body shaking so he had to plant his hands on the walls of the shower, volume increasing as you pulsed your muscles around his length. There was slight pain from cramps, but not from his cock, and you could ignore the dull ache and focus on the pleasure, slowly moving your hips and biting your lip, feeling the added slickness of your juices mixing with the blood.

You often cursed your period’s arrival, but maybe it was time to reconsider.

Always good to find the silver lining in things.

“Taehyung…”

You rolled your hips and he gasped, thrusting back lightly.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he panted, swallowing hard. “Shit, it feels so fucking good, I can’t t-think…”

“I’ll tell you if it hurts,” you managed to say, pressing your hands into his ass and angling yourself to take him deeper, shoulder blades and head touching the shower wall, sighing in satisfaction.

“Alright, I’m gonna…”

He clenched his jaw, faster, harder, one hand coming down to grab a handful of your ass, you wrapping a leg around his and meeting him in the middle, increasing the depth of each thrust, both of you gasping at the tightness and the wetness, the messy slap and squelch echoing in the bathroom, water raining down on his broad back and spraying onto your chest, clenching around him so he could feel more, his eyelids fluttering, biting his lower lip, tendons on his neck popping out, and you realized he was trying not to cum, trying to hold back, so you gave his stiff length a particularly firm squeeze and Taehyung groaned, barely able to shoot you an incredulous look.

You grinned.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

You felt it, his cock twitching and spilling into you, eyes widening at the sensation, not quite as strong as porn seemed to make it, but noticeable for sure, pushing out your juices in a rough sputter, loud and obscene, flinching as Taehyung’s hand quickly moved down, rubbing your clit, making you squirm and twist of his cock, almost falling off but he kept his other hand on your ass, digging his nails into the softness, holding you in place.

“Come on, come on, come on–”

It didn’t take much, you were already turned on by the fucking and then the sensation of being filled up, and you cried out, trying not to move your hips, the high peaking.

“Tae, fuck!”

Hot shivers and burning electricity tearing through your veins, jerking your hips forward and tightening around his cock, harsh throbs racking your body you came, pussy squeezing so hard that you felt his cock stiffen again, swelling and growing inside you as your orgasm roughly roused him back to life, both of you moaning at the sensation, feeling his cum and yours drip down your thigh, hearing it plop thickly onto the bathtub below and wash away, stunning both you and him at the lewd noise.

“Whoa…”

You panted hard, letting out a tense puff as he slid out of you.

“That felt… so fucking good…”

You thought for a moment, catching your breath. The pain your felt was only from cramps, although it seemed to be less now. Was that the ibuprofen? Or the euphoria of orgasm? You paused on consider the differences, chewing on your lip thoughtfully.

“I think for me it’s about the same? You feel very similar with and without a condom.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Not for me, you feel way better, I don’t know how I can go back, the condom is seriously a nerf…” he mumbled.

You shifted your eyes. “You didn’t last… the longest.”

His ears turned red.

“W… Well…”

“My pussy is pretty overpowered, maybe she needs the nerf.”

He sighed, frowning. “True… I still stand by the fact that it physically feels better, but more time to enjoy does even it out…”

You tapped your fist in your other palm. “Oh! Let’s do it from behind.”

He blinked. “Eh?”

But you were already turning around, Taehyung stumbling back, pushing the showerhead out of the way and pointing it towards the wall so he didn’t drown, audibly gasping as you bent over and presented your ass, hands spreading open your pussy with one fluid motion. You turned your head back and grinned.

“Yes?”

“Oh, fuck, yes.”

You felt him position the head against your opening and he pushed in, slow, steady, both you of moaning at the feeling, centimeter by centimeter, this position tighter, more heavenly, giving you added control over your muscles so you could pulsate around him. He inhaled sharply, gripping your hips and forcefully pushing in the rest of the way, bottoming out, balls smacking your clit.

“Stop t-that, fuck…”

You let go of your ass and placed one hand on the edge of the bathtub and the other on the wall.

Then you rocked your hips back.

“Ah, yes, Tae…”

“Are you trying to kill me? Oh, shit!”

You continued and Taehyung had no choice, fiercely grabbing your hips to try and get you to stop, but you were undeterred, so he had to ram his cock into you, exactly what you wanted, the sudden sensation of the head hitting you deeply rendering your speechless, and he had no time to gloat, too driven by lust and pleasure to taunt you even if he wanted to.

“A-ah, it’s good like this too, oh, fuuuck, yes, you always feel so fucking tight…”

He had a good rhythm and pace like this, deep, controlled, fast, making sure to give you the powerful thrusts you liked, loud, audible smacks of hips to ass, rough and wet, and you knew you had his cum inside you now along with yours and the added slickness of your period, and, sure, maybe someone found it gross, but in this second (and lucky all subsequent seconds involving this very behavior that would certainly continue at least once a month) you nor Taehyung gave a single fucking shit, pleasure flaring up your core, the dull ache of cramps forgotten, completely focused on the feeling of his cock entering you over and over, your hand on the wall curling into a fist, hitched breaths and flinching shivers taking over, clenching around him, oh fuck, his rock-hard, thick length plunging into your tight, wet hole, too much, so good, your thighs tensing from the overwhelming proximity of release.

“Taehyung, oh, fuck, you’re so good at f-fucking me…”

You could tell he wasn’t talking on purpose, probably clenching his jaw to last as long as possible, but he wasn’t going to last much longer because you smacked your palm into the tile wall, gasping his name loudly, shot into free-fall.

“Gonna cum, fuck!”

That was all the warning he got as your walls spasmed, brutally massaging his cock and he hissed your name, turning into a half-moan, half-whine as he yanked your hips down and slammed into your pussy, fully sheathing himself all the way up to his balls, his cock jolting and spilling his orgasm into you, his hands on your ass shaking so bad they seemed to be vibrating, gripping tighter and tighter, rolling his hips inside you and moaning, prolonging the euphoric feeling.

“S-So good… ah, yeeeeeees…”

It took him a while to still, breathing loud and hard, holding you in the bent over position, the additional time getting slightly awkward, but you waited it out, his grip finally loosening, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you up, your pussy too wet and his cock giving up, sliding out, a mess of juices splattering out of you.

Good thing you were in the shower. Easy to clean up.

“It’s… too good…” Taehyung huffed, broad shoulder leaning against the wall to hold himself up, still clinging onto you. “Your pussy does need a nerf, but, fuck, I’m still gonna think about it all the time…”

“Good thing for you that my period lasts at least five days.”

Taehyung looked up to the sky and whispered his gratitude.

“I know you kind of hate it, but I’m still going to thank them.”

“Maybe I have a reason to hate it a little less now. It’s still inconvenient.”

“Yeah, but going in raw…”

Mmm, yeah, that still sounded weird. Oh well.

“You’re not going to tell Jimin, right?”

-

“You let him go in raw?!”

“Taehyung!”

--

masterpost

[nymphbnny]

perfect strangers

MINORS DNI // 18+

part one; part two; part three

genre: nsfw

pairings: jean kirschtein x female reader

word count: 2.6k

tags/warnings: penetrative sex, dom jean, fingering, praising kink, slight body worship, dirty talk, sneaky.

synopsis: your recent discovery makes you certain that you won't be able to control yourself around him and neither will he, hence you decide that it was time to make an agreement that was rather spicy.

a.n: hey babies! so i finally decided to turn this into a short series since some of you were intrigued with the idea of having a continuation for the previous part i wrote. i hope you like it, enjoy <3

“How was I supposed to know?!” I yelled as soon as Jean exited our apartment. I had put on a random t-shirt to follow Connie to his room, trying to convince him that I had no idea that I fucked his best friend.

“Y/n he literally told you his name is Jean and he was attending my party. You’re acting as you’ve never seen him before!” he scolded taking off his shirt and throwing it across his room.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Connie. The last time I saw Jean I was 16 and he didn’t look like that. He’s so fucking different now how was I supposed to know. And to be fair, he was studying abroad for I don’t know how many years, how was I supposed to know that he metamorphosed like that.” I motioned my arm out, my other hand resting on my hip.

He groaned, rubbing his temples before he looked back at me. “Look,” he spoke softly. “I don’t want to fight with you over this okay? You’re right, I should’ve told you that he was coming back. He graduated a year ago and was considering coming back to his hometown, here. Let’s just forget it all happened okay? It’s a simple misunderstanding.” I nodded, resting my head on his chest as he embraced me into a tight hug.

“Now go take a shower you reek of sex.” he snickered earning a punch on his arm. He winced rubbing his flesh, a proud smile setting on my face.

***

The week went by smoothly. I told Sasha and Hitch what happened and they both had different reactions. Hitch was gushing over the sex and Sasha on the other hand confessed that she forgot to mention that Jean was coming back to stay here. It’s okay though. We all passed it and I was working my ass off to finally graduate.

Connie was spending his days with Jean, which granted me a lot of peace and tranquility. At least, that’s what I thought.

I hadn’t spoken to Jean ever since we hooked up, figured that Connie already explained the whole situation and moved on.

Three knocks on my door broke my focus, a loud frustrated sigh leaving my lips. “What Connie!”

“Actually,” a voice on the other side of the door caught me off guard. “It’s Kirschtein. Can I come in?” A knot formed in my throat.

“Sure.” he turned the knob, slowly coming in. “Connie knows I’m here by the way.” I nodded, adjusting my seat.

“What’s up?” the tension was awkward. The tension shouldn’t even be present in the first place. But how could I not get aroused when he was wearing a black tank top showing off the tattoos on his sleeves with a pair of sweats. He looked effortlessly attractive.

“- and like I said it will never happen again. Y/n?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, yeah. Never happen again. I’m very sorry but I need to finish this assignment.” He chuckled and nodded leaving me alone with my thoughts. Did I just make him talk to himself because I was too busy checking him out?

I shook my head, assuming that whatever he said wasn’t worth my time. Time went by rather quickly and the assignment was done earlier than I expected. It was already ten pm, and I had promised the girls I was going to meet up with them for some drinks.

I picked my outfit and applied some makeup. Simple and effective. We were going to spend the night at Sasha’s so I didn’t make much effort to look hot.

The place was empty when I left and I assumed that Connie was helping Jean to rent an apartment for himself.

Sasha’s place wasn’t very far from mine. As a matter of fact, it only took me ten minutes to get there. Once I got there, the girls were already ordering pizza and picking out some movies to watch.

“Hey whores.” I greeted them, earning cheers from Hitch and Sasha. “Oh my god, Mikasa I missed you!” I rushed to the dark-haired girl who was sitting on the couch and engulfed her into a tight hug. I haven’t seen Mikasa since I moved with Connie. We used to live together, but after she and Eren got together, he wouldn’t leave her alone. So I figured it would be best if I left and lived with my brother.

“I missed you too! I looked for you everywhere at that party where were you?” she asked taking a sip of her soda. Hitch began coughing dramatically as Sasha giggled next to her. “Oh quit it.” I teased rolling my eyes.

I ended up telling her everything, her face displaying a plethora of expressions. “I mean, Jean did change I can’t argue with that. But didn’t he recognize you?”

I shrugged. “I changed too. Puberty hit me like a truck.”

“Cheers to that.” Hitch raised her cup. We laughed and talked for hours. I missed going out with them like that. Fortunately, college will be over soon and I’ll have some time for myself.

Movies were playing in the background but we paid them no mind. We ate our food and cleaned the living room, not wanting to bother Sasha with the cleaning since she was having Niccolo over tomorrow.

I glanced at the clock that was hanging above the door. I gathered my stuff and tucked them in my bag, drawing all of their eyes on me.

“Already? Come on stay longer!” Sasha whined. I smiled softly at her and shook my head.

“I can’t, I’ll see you guys soon.” I waved at them and walked out of the door.

***

“Connie! I’m ho- what are you still doing here?” I froze at the entrance, my keys still hanging from my index finger, my eyes fixated on him as he only stood in basketball shorts.

“What do you mean what am I still doing here. I moved in here remember?”

Silence. Nothing but intense and awkward silence. Moved in? Since when?

“I told you when I came into your room. Weren’t you listening to me?” I stared at him blankly, not able to explain how caught in thought I was when he came into my room. I was too busy checking him out to care about what he was trying to tell me.

“Why didn’t Connie tell me?” I closed the door and locked it slowly, my legs feeling weak, the idea of living with him and seeing him walking around like that making me weak. And extremely horny.

“He said he’d rather if I told you. You know, break the ice.” he shrugged and walked forward, his chest now a few inches apart from mine. “You changed a lot from what I remember.” he lowly said tucking my hair behind my ear.

“So did you,” I replied, staring at his lips. He licked his bottom lip and held my chin between his fingers, forcing me to maintain eye contact.

I was a sweating mess. I still couldn’t believe that this was Jean, the horse face. What kind of water did he drink, and how did he get so big? Look at those muscles-

A sudden feeling on my lips interrupted my chain of thoughts. I soon realized that he held my bottom lip between his brown ones. “Kiss me back y/n, I know you want to,” he whispered, his breath brushing up my face.

It didn’t take me long to pull him to me, crashing my lips on his. He was intoxicating in ways I couldn’t understand nor explain. I needed him close to me at the moment and I didn’t care why.

“Yo, Jean where did you my video game?!” Connie’s voice boomed from the hallway, forcing us apart. Realization slapped my face when I looked at him and saw his cocky smirk. I just kissed him, even though I promised myself I’d never do anything with him ever again.

“I’ll get it!” he yelled back, the same expression resting on his face, his back facing the hallway. “I’d apologize, but you pulled me back. Anyway, I’ll see around beautiful.” he winked and began walking towards Connie’s room, his back muscles flexing at his movements.

What am I doing with myself?

***

The atmosphere felt nice. I couldn’t sleep so instead I lied down on my bed and watched the stars from my window. I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened hours ago and how I had to sit with them and pretend as nothing happened.

Jean was certainly not the little boy he was years ago. He got more confident and a lot more handsome. He was fucking with me and I thought, why shouldn’t I fuck with him too?

After all, I know for sure he didn’t tell Connie anything. He’s too protective of me and if he knew, well let’s just say Jean would be moving out by tomorrow. He trusts him blindly and I honestly just think he doesn’t want me to hook up with him again because he’s just like him.

He likes to mess around. Not the type to stay in the morning after. But neither was I. I sighed and dragged my legs out of bed, my body following.

“Shit now I gotta pee,” I whined stomping slightly on the wooden floor. I ruffled my hair with my hand and slipped on my slippers. I was wearing Connie’s t-shirt, so it was long enough to hide my thighs.

I walked to the bathroom when suddenly a hand grabbed my arm and yanked me into the guest bedroom. My mouth was quick to be silenced by another hand as I was about to squeal.

My back collided with the wall, my hands pinned on each side of my head.

“Jean let me go.” I struggled to get out of his grasp but he kept grinning at me. “Sure.” He let go of his grasp.

I looked around to notice a towel on his bed. “I was going to take a shower but then I heard your footsteps, couldn’t let you get there before I did.” He walked away, throwing his towel over his shoulder.

“Is that all?” I cocked my eyebrow, crossing my arms. He looked me up and down before saying: “You tell me. Need anything else?”

I looked at him briefly, calculating my next move. “An agreement. Connie can’t know.”

“Fuck yeah.” he dropped his towel and stepped closer to me, holding my face with his hands as he crashed his lips on mine. I kissed him back instantly, my fingers finding their way through his hair.

His tongue slipped in, caressing mine. His hands went down my body to squeeze my ass, pulling me even closer to him. My hands traveled across his bare chest, going over his pecs and then gliding one hand down his abs, while the other sat on his shoulder.

We pulled apart, his arms going under my thighs to pull me up and sit me onto the mattress. He walked to the door, locking it before he looked back at me.

Jean crawled over my body, caging me between his arms. “Divine.” he smiled and sat up, his hands tugging at my top. I helped him take it off and threw it on his chair. I was nude underneath him. It wasn’t the first time, yet he still looked mesmerized.

He licked his lips, his fingers tracing my cunt before dipping into my entrance. I arched my back at the sudden intrusion, trying my best to remain quiet.

“I missed your little cunt.” he chuckled massaging my insides slowly. I gasped, my hand immediately covering my mouth.

He rubbed my bud with his thumb, his pace never changing. It was torturing and slow, but I knew we couldn’t make a lot of noise nor make lots of movements that could awake Connie. We had to go nice and easy.

My legs squirmed, the combination of playing my nipples and watching him touch like he does driving me to the edge. My eyes rolled to the back as he added a third finger, my walls clenching tightly around them as I felt myself orgasm around them. “Good girl.” he praised with a chuckle, removing his fingers from my opening.

“Suck your juices off come on.” he tapped my hand, motioning me to remove it and take his fingers in. I stuck my tongue out, his ling digits finding their way down my throat making me slightly gag. “I didn’t know you were such an obedient girl.” he cooed, as I sucked off my arousal.

Jean sat back up, removing his shorts along with his briefs, his erection slapping on my lower stomach. “As much as I’d love you to suck me,” he paused pumping his cock. “I have to say that I miss being inside you.” And with that, he slid all the way in, his mouth silencing my moans.

He stayed still for a while, his eyes staring into mine intensely, almost as if he was trying to tell me something. I nodded my head, his hips moving at my signal. His thrusts were slow and deep, going over every spot. I wrapped my arms around him, my forehead resting against his, as he breathed heavily.

“I want to fuck you dumb, but he’ll hear your moans.” he taunted rolling his hips, his tip almost hitting my cervix. “So good.” I whimpered, wrapping my legs around him, my heels digging into his lower back.

“Jean…” I was close and my legs were a shaking mess. “That’s right baby, say my name.” he breathed in my ear, slightly speeding up his thrusts. I bit onto his shoulder, my orgasm ripping through my body.

I tightened around him, his strokes getting sloppier. It came to my attention that he wasn’t wearing protection, and I wasn’t about to get adventurous like last time. “Jean… pull out…”

“Beg.” was his only reply to which I complied. “Please, anywhere, just not-“ He harshly pulled out, and instead of jerking himself on my stomach, he reached up to straddle my chest and stroked himself. “Open.”

I stuck my tongue out, his hand now replaced with mine as I jerked him off, ropes of cum shooting down my throat. “Such a good girl.” he chuckled, rubbing his hand over his face.

He got off me and pulled his hair back using both hands, his naked body walking around the bed to grab some tissues. He cleaned off my arousal and handed me some to clean the corners of my lips.

“If only you could see how messed up you look,” he smirked and threw me my t-shirt before grabbing his towel and sliding on his shorts.

I put on my top and got off his bed. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and internally yelled at myself. I looked like a mess. My hair was tangled and my skin was all sweaty. Guess I have to take a shower too.

I looked over at Jean to see him staring at me with an amused look on his face. “What?” I cocked my eyebrow. He shrugged and smiled at me. “Connie and I are going out to get some lunch tomorrow. What’d you say?” he requested.

“I mean yeah sure. But Jean he can-“

“Can’t know alright.” he rolled his eyes. We stared at each other for a minute before I decided to leave his room.

As I made my way past him, his hand flew to cup my swollen cunt. “This belongs to me.”

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[platypanthewriter]

Take On Me

Art by @fae-vorite​ for the Harringrove Big Bang!

When Steve pulled up in the drive, he had a mouthful of blue slushie, and he was watching the tiny old lady he’d been driving behind.  She’d barely been tall enough to see over the dash, and as he watched, grimacing, she barely swerved around a row of mailboxes, and then carreened through a four-way stop.

As he stared after her, there was a weird hissing noise by his elbow.  Steve yelled and threw his arm up in the air, spattering himself with slushie.  

“Bwah!” Max yelled, stumbling back, and smacking blue slushie ice off her arm.  “Steve!  What the hell.”

She hadn’t been in the driveway when he pulled in, Steve was fairly sure, and he stared around.  “Where are the rest of you?” he asked warily, rubbing flung slushie off his chin.  He glanced up, half-expecting Dustin to swing down on him with a vine from a tree.

Max squinted at him, her jaw working, and then glanced around.  “In the bushes,” she said.  “Get us inside, now, Steve.”

He rolled his eyes, stalked over and held the front door open—and then swore and dropped his slushie right on the ground and ran over to help, because it wasn’t Dustin and the Chipmunks hiding in the bushes.  There was a woman, shaking, her hands stained with what looked like blood, and Billy Hargrove, who apparently wasn’t dead, barely staggering between Max and the lady.  He was bandaged, and half-naked.  

Steve elbowed his way in past Max, and got an arm around Billy, hefting his sweaty, shivering ass towards the door.  

Once Steve had Billy, Max ran ahead and kicked the slushie cup aside, ushering the woman into his house.  “Mom, come on,” she groaned, and it occured to Steve that he’d never wondered about Max’s mom.  It seemed obvious, thinking about it, that most people had a mom.  One of his girlfriends freshman year had had two, and didn’t seem to have a dad, which Steve had never quite figured out.

Billy looked dead, mostly, pale until he was nearly grey, like instant oatmeal.  “I thought you were dead,” Steve hissed at him, and he snorted a laugh.  

“Guess not,” he breathed, his head against Steve’s as he stumbled along.

When they got inside, the phone was ringing, but Max ran and stood in front of it.  “Don’t answer,” she told Steve, staring at him with wet red eyes.  He nodded, still half-carrying her undead brother, and trying to figure out whether the blood on Max’s mom could have come from under Billy’s bandages.  

“We should call somebody,” Steve pointed out, as he lowered Billy onto the couch.  Billy’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t try and get himself more comfortable, or anything, he just laid there.  Steve threw a blanket over him, feeling like he was covering up a body.  

Max’s mom looked like she wasn’t up for much, staring at her hands and the floor, and Max took a deep, shaky breath, rubbing her face.  

Steve beckoned her into the kitchen.  “We should call somebody,” he whispered, again.  Max set her jaw, shaking her head, and Steve made a face.  “At least a doctor,” he hissed, and she deflated, staring out at the limp shape of Billy on the couch.  

“H-he should be fine,” she mumbled, digging her fingernails into her forearms until the skin whitened.  “He—he didn’t get shot,” she gritted out, and her mom flinched, shivering, and rubbed at her bloody hands.  

“Wait,” said Steve, staring between them.

“M-my husband,” said Max’s mom, and then covered her mouth, and a shaky sob.

“You have a dad?!” Steve yelped, looking around.  “He got shot?!” he added, grabbing his car keys, because it seemed like somebody should probably find the guy. 

“He’s dead,” Max’s mom whispered, staring at her bloodied hands.  “He died right—right in front—in front of—”

“He wasn’t my dad,” Max said flatly, “—and we don’t need to go anywhere.”

Steve nodded, and then shook his head, bewildered.  He hung the car keys up by the front door, and then braced himself, and sidled over to touch Max’s mom’s shoulder, waving at the kitchen sink.  “Um, d’you want to…?”  

She nodded, and took a couple weaving steps to lean against a chair, which she drug to the sink.  Steve leaned down to whisper to Max.  “...so...somebody’s dad got shot?  That’s—that’s where the blood—” he asked, feeling well out of his depth.  His fingers itched to call a functioning adult—Hopper, or Joyce Byers, even, because it looked like Max’s mom wasn’t up for much more than staring at the bloody water in the sink.  “Should I try and find some...tea,” Steve hazarded, and Max snorted a laugh, rubbing her eyes.  

“Billy’s dad,” she whispered, watching her mom.  “The, um—” she dropped her voice further.  It rasped in her throat.  “—Mom let them in because they told her they were the CIA.”

“The CIA shot Billy’s dad?!” Steve choked out, trying to keep it under his breath.  

“They weren’t actually the CIA,” Max said, rolling her eyes.  “Obviously.”

“O-obviously,” Steve echoed, because it sort of made sense.  It did seem weird that the CIA would come to Hawkins, Indiana to shoot anybody’s dad.

“Mom thought they were just...checking on us, you know,” Max said, sniffling, and Steve tried to imagine assuming that the C-fucking-IA had banged on his door just to roll out the welcome wagon.  “Just—just like the FBI does, all the damn time,” Max mumbled, biting her lip.

“Wait, what,” Steve interrupted with a hiss.  “The what now.”

“We’re, um, we’re not really from California,” she whispered, swallowing, and biting back a sharp laugh.  

“Okay,” Steve nodded, raising his eyebrows, and watching Max’s mom cry softly with her arms in the sink, and her head bowed.  “Okay, yeah, no, hang on,” he told Max, jogging the couple of steps over to her mom.  He poked the woman’s shoulder gingerly.  “You all cleaned up?” he asked, keeping his voice soft, and she turned big watery eyes on him, but she nodded.  

“Come out in the front room and sit down,” Steve told her, feeling like sitting wouldn’t really help much, but crying into the sink had to be worse.  He reached in and turned the water off, and guided her by the elbow into the front room.  “Gonna get everybody something hot to drink,” he told them, hoping he still had...something.  Ancient instant coffee from the last time his dad was home, maybe.  Something old and dusty, probably, but Steve didn’t think Max’s mom would know the difference, not after having her husband shot by somebody pretending to be the fucking CIA.  

After he pointed her at the big recliner, Max started fussing around with the color-coordinated throw blankets Steve’s mom had bought and never used, and Steve stepped over to the couch to squeamishly lift the blanket off Billy’s head.

“I-I’m fine, honey,” Max’s mom told her, behind them, as Steve surveyed Billy’s pale, sweaty face.  His eyes were closed, but the skin around them was as red and raw as Max’s mom’s.  His eyelashes were stuck together with the fresh tears leaving trails down his cheeks.  

Steve dropped the blanket again, grimacing, and stalked back into the kitchen to find the teakettle, fill it, and put it on the stove.  He found some packets of hot chocolate Dustin’s mom had given him at Christmas, and dumped them into two mugs.  After a minute, watching the glow of the burner shine off the bottom of the kettle, he grabbed another mug, shrugging.  

 Max shook her head when he walked out and tried to hand her the hot chocolate.  “I’m not a little kid,” she said, glaring at him, but her mom took it with a soft sigh.  

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely.  “Max, sit down, I—I’m fine.”  She reached out and took the mug Steve had offered Max, and held it out to her, and Max sighed heavily, but took it.

Steve went back for the third mug, and then uncovered Billy’s head again.  “Hey,” he whispered, and Billy licked his chapped lips without opening his eyes.  He grimaced before he blinked and squinted up.  “Here, at least hold it,” Steve told him.  “It’s warm.”

“...you made me tea,” Billy growled, glaring at the mug, and then, warily, at Steve’s face.

“It’s chocolate,” Max put in.  “You like chocolate, asshole.”

“...made me chocolate?” Billy asked muzzily, frowning harder, and Steve sat it on the floor, in order to get his arm around Billy-suddenly-alive-Hargrove, and help him sit up.  

“Are you sure you’re not...dying?” Steve whispered to him, lifting the mug and pressing Billy’s hands around it.  “Like, right here?  I need to, uh...kidnap a doctor, or…?”

Billy snorted into his first sip of hot chocolate, biting his lips together as his chest shook with coughs.  After a few seconds, he took a shaky breath, and opened his eyes again.  “Don’t...kidnap anybody,” he rasped out, smirking.  “Didn’t know you had it in you, Harrington.”

“I know a guy,” Steve told him, letting go of the mug, and reaching out to tug at the bandages visible over the top of the blanket.  Billy went very still, holding his breath, which was creepy.  If he wasn’t sitting up, Steve would have checked his pulse.  “A doctor.  M’not gonna let you die,” Steve told him, eyeing the stretched pink scars under the gauze.  Some of the gauze looked wet, not red, but pale yellow, and Steve grimaced, brushing his fingers over it.

“It’s just the surgeries.  Fuck,” Billy creaked out, his hands shaking on the hot chocolate so it nearly spilled.  “They had to cut me open a few more times.  Stitch me back together.”  

Steve put his hands around Billy’s on the mug, to steady them.  “...I got some duct tape somewhere,” he offered, under his breath, and Billy’s breath huffed against his fingers in a laugh.  His mustache tickled, but Steve held steady, watching him drink the hot chocolate.  His cheeks were pinking up a little.  He stunk, kinda, sweaty, and sour from his bandages.  It was weird to be anywhere near Billy Hargrove and not smell his cologne.  “...I thought you were dead,” Steve said under his breath, and Billy shrugged a shoulder, wincing, and swallowing hard.

“Murphy’s law,” Billy hissed back, grinning, but his eyes welled up again, and he blinked rapidly.  “Whatever you least want to happen…”

 Steve helped him drink the hot chocolate, trying to think of something to say.  ‘Sorry your dad got shot,’ seemed wrong.  ‘At least your mom’s alive,’ didn’t seem right either, and then Steve realized he had no idea whether the woman was Billy’s mom.  Billy and Max’s family seemed complicated, and it was entirely possible both parents were Billy’s, and Max had been snatched from a stroller outside a grocery store.  

“So, um,” Steve started.  “You’re...not from California?  Why would you…”  

“Lie about that?” Max asked, flatly.  “The goddamn FBI told us to.”

“...the ones that…” Steve stared over at her, trying not to stare at whoever’s mom’s hands, where they’d been all over blood.  Max called her mom, he told himself.  Whatever she is, Max thinks of her as her mom.

Maybe they’re aliens, he thought, trying not to laugh, because why was the FBI checking in.  Maybe they’d all raised Max from an alien egg they’d taken turns sitting on.

She seemed okay, for an alien, he decided, as Max said, “We’re in Witness Protection.  Or we were, until the Starcourt Mall footage made the national news.”

“Ohhhhh,” Steve said, nodding.  “That makes more sense than aliens,” and Billy choked on his hot chocolate.  “Did you see a gang murder?” Steve asked politely, that being how it usually worked in Hawaii Five-O.

Billy coughed harder, and Steve patted his back, gently, grimacing as he tried not to break the guy any further.  

“Noooo,” said Max, and when Steve glanced over, she was staring at him.

“What?  Shit happens,” Steve said, shrugging.  “Sometimes monsters steal your brother.”

“They didn’t exactly steal him,” Max said weakly, and Steve blinked.  

“I was talking about Will Byers,” he said, and shrugged.  “No gang shootouts, then?”

“We lived near Portland,” Max said, like that fact made Steve’s question the stupidest question ever asked, and then she sighed.  “It’s, um, it’s actually...stupider.  Than that.  There, um, there was a...lab.  There.”

“Ohhh,” Steve said, nodding, and thinking of Hawkins Laboratory, and Eleven.  

“They wanted children to...experiment on,” she whispered, and trailed off.  Steve turned to see her glowering into her mug.

“Set up this machine to check the local kids,” Billy said, suddenly, near Steve’s ear.  He huffed a laugh as Steve jumped.  “At the arcade.  Looked like a normal arcade machine, but it was keeping track, high scores, you know.”  He took a shaky breath, then cleared his throat.  “Even had a fake name.  Polybius.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know?!” Max shouted, suddenly, her voice wet and uneven, and her mom grabbed her close, squeezing her with white-knuckled hands.  “How the hell...we saw guys in suits parked around the place, we thought maybe the owner was like...running some kind of gambling with the machines and they were watching him, or something, how could I have—”

“Went to pick her up and they were shoving her in a van,” Billy’s voice rasped, and Steve jerked unintentionally, imagining it.  “I followed them to the lab and they tried to tell me it was some...class for special kids,” he hissed.  “Tried to tell us all to shut up.”

“They came and talked to N-Neil and I,” Max’s mom said.  “They were...we did what they asked, if they’d leave Max alone.  We couldn’t talk about it, not with anyone.”  

Steve nodded, familiar with the way laboratories worked, and filed away the fact that Max’s not-dad had been named Neil, before somebody’d shot him.  There was a long silence, then, as Billy bit his lips together, frowning into the nearly-empty mug of hot chocolate, and Max’s mom cried softly again.

“I called the fucking police,” Max said hoarsely into the silence.  “I—I called the goddamn police, they were—they were stealing kids, they—”

“Yeah,” Steve said, grimacing.  He’d found out more and more about what the lab had been doing, after he’d promised to keep quiet.  They’d even killed the nice burger man, he thought sadly.  His name had been Benny, Steve learned later, but at the time, he’d just been the nice burger man, the one who listened and advised as Steve told him about being terrible at college application essays, and his love for the smartest girl in school.  

Luckily, in Steve’s case, the sheriff had already been told.  “You had to,” he agreed.

“They shot the cop she told,” Billy said flatly, in Steve’s ear.

“They were kidnapping little kids—” Max yelled at Billy, her voice cracking with emotion and he raised his voice over hers, his voice wavery as he tried to catch his breath.  

“Shot him in the head.  They shot his partner, too—”

“The FBI helped us sneak out,” Max’s mom said softly, but they both shut up.  “We were shuffled around a lot…”

“Why bring you here,” Steve said doubtfully.  “Where our lab is?  I mean, it’s better, now.”

“Maybe our FBI guys weren’t as on our side as we thought,” Billy muttered, swallowing hard, again, and Steve realized he was trying not to cry.

Steve tried not to do anything, push Billy away, or anything weirder, like hug him.  He’d gotten too good at this babysitting thing, he thought with a grimace, if he was inclined to hug Billy Goddamn Hargrove.  The problem was, Billy’s inaudible, bitten-back sobs felt like when Nancy’s little sister was scared of the noises outside, while her parents were at the movies.  Steve was conditioned to pull that kind of thing against his shoulder, even when it was Billy Hargrove, with his broad, heavy, muscular shoulders, and heavier fists.

“Fuck,” Billy hissed under his breath, pulling his hand loose from Steve’s to rub his wrist across his eyes.  

“...d’you want...anything,” Steve whispered, as softly as he could, fairly sure Billy didn’t want him to sing Old MacDonald even if he was really good at all the animal noises.  

“How about my dad, alive,” Billy snarled, his unsteady breaths taking the sting out of it.  

“Thanks for letting us in,” Max said, hoarsely, and Steve turned to frown at her.

“Of course I let you in,” he snorted.  “I wasn’t gonna leave you hiding in my bushes.”

“We—we’ll figure out what to do,” Max said, as her mother squeezed her close again.  “Soon.  Before—before the lab people figure out where we are.”

“We need Hopper,” Steve told them, starting to stand, and then realizing he was holding Billy up, and he didn’t want to drop him on the floor.  He wasn’t sure how together Billy was under the bandages—he didn’t seem very...healed—and the thought of dropping him on the floor, and just accidentally jostling all Billy’s internal organs out through a big hole in his back made Steve shudder.  

“You can’t call him,” Max’s mom said bleakly.  “They were listening to our phones.  They said, as we...ran,” she choked out.

“...bet they aren’t listening to walkie-talkies,” Steve told her, absently spreading his fingers over the cool skin of Billy’s shoulder, to warm him up.

“Where’s yours?” Max asked breathlessly, and Steve gave her directions to his sock drawer.  

Billy was shivering harder, and Steve waited until his little sister and maybe-mom weren’t looking to pull the blanket away from more of his bandages.

There was red smeared on them.  “Billy,” Steve hissed, urgently, and Billy laughed wetly, wiping his nose.

“‘S not mine,” he laughed, a little hysterically.  “S’my dad’s.  He—he died right—”

“Shit,” Steve said, blankly, watching Billy try to wipe it away with shaking hands, tears rolling down his cheeks.  “That can’t…” he trailed off as Max brought the walkie-talkie down, and she and her mom started whispering about what to say.  “You need new bandages,” Steve told Billy, the one thing he was confident he could do.  “I need to clean you up.”

“I’m fine, fuck,” Billy panted, sniffling juicily, and Steve nodded once.  

“I’m taking Billy up to...clean him up,” Steve told the other two, and they nodded, watching him.  

“He’s still got stitches,” Max said, glaring.  “Don’t get him wet.”

‘Your dad’s blood got all over’ didn’t seem like the right thing to say ever, so Steve just nodded, and got Billy fairly upright.  

“How far we going,” he panted, swaying, and Steve made a face, then turned around.  

“Piggyback,” he announced, and Billy swore under his breath.

 “Fuuuck,” Billy whispered in Steve’s ear, as Steve made his way carefully up the stairs, steadying himself with one hand on the railing, and one hand awkwardly supporting Billy’s ass.  “Watch it there, Harrington,” Billy snorted, with a pained grunt.  

“Sorry,” Steve told him.  “Is this like how you can’t squeeze the donuts at the store unless you buy them?” he asked, because Billy was heavy, and his ass cheek was soft in Steve’s hand, and Steve’s tongue was on cruise control.

Billy coughed, his fingers digging into Steve’s shoulder and chest as he gave a strangled-sounding laugh.  “...yeah, Harrington, it’s exactly like that,” he gasped out.  “I’m...your fucking donut...now, asshole.”

Steve laughed so hard he almost dropped him, all the adrenaline of them showing up covered in blood draining out of him.  “Shit,” he panted, staggering up onto the landing, and taking a minute to breathe.  “Don’t make me laugh on the stairs—”

“You started this shit, I just finished it,” Billy mumbled against his neck.  His breathing was uneven and shuddery.

Steve took a slow breath to steady himself, and carried Billy just that little bit further through his plaid bedroom, and into the bathroom.

Billy didn’t even comment on the extreme plaid, his teeth chattering, so Steve nearly dropped him on the toilet in his urgency to get a few inches of really hot water in the tub to plonk Billy in.  It’d be just like with Holly, he figured, put few inches of water in there to keep her warm, but not enough so she could slide in and drown.  It wouldn’t be enough to get up near Billy’s bandages, he told himself, then, while the water was running, he realized he didn’t know where all the bandages were, so he reached over and yanked at the drawstring of Billy’s sweatpants.

“WAH,” Billy said, grabbing Steve’s hand with his cold, sweaty, shaking one.  “...what,” he breathed, his eyes falling shut, and then blinking stubbornly open again.  

“Come on,” Steve said, grimacing at how pale he was.  “You got any bandages below the chest?”  Billy just shivered and breathed, staring into the middle distance, and Steve finally bit his lips together and grabbed Billy’s cold face, turning it to face him.  “Billy,” he said.  “Billy?”

“...Harrington,” Billy whispered, focusing on him, and then looking around, his eyes welling up again with tears.

“Come on, stay with me, I’m gonna get you warmed up,” Steve told him, ignoring his own heart pounding.  He was aware of shock as a concept—he’d seen Joyce Byers after—after.  But Billy had bandages, he could be bleeding out, or something, and the thought made Steve’s fingers clumsy as he tried to lift the guy enough to get his sweatpants off, and pull him into the bath.  

“Come on,” Steve whispered, pulling Billy up until he was sort of standing.  Steve had to reach down and lift Billy’s feet one by one into the tub, and he yelped, opening his eyes again at the heat.  “Just gonna clean you up,” he muttered, pretty sure Billy wasn’t hearing him, what with the way he was slumped against Steve’s side.  Steve lowered him into the water, and Billy shook his head, mumbling inaudibly.

Steve held his shoulders for a long moment, watching his face, and then yanked at the bandages.  Billy still had some stitches underneath, but to Steve’s profound relief, it didn’t seem like any of the blood was his—or that the blood had seeped in anywhere.  From what Steve remembered of reading Johnny Tremain in middle school, gangrene was a possibility if stuff got past Billy’s stitches, and so he was very careful to wipe around them.  

Billy relaxed slowly against the back of the tub, his head tilting to rest against the corner as his eyes closed.  His hands occasionally lifted to touch Steve’s, and then fell away as Steve washed him all over, until he was pink and warm, and didn’t smell like sour sweat anymore.  Billy snored softly under his fingers, and Steve bit back a laugh.  

The bath water started to cool, and Billy’s shoulders started to clench again, his legs goosepimpling, so Steve ran the hot water again.  He pulled the plug on the cooler water, then when the tub was empty, replugged it.  As the hot water rose, he ran out to grab an old plastic cup from his desk—he had to dump the pencils out—and pour warm water over Billy’s legs.  

Billy screamed, this awful broken noise, scrambling to get out of the tub, and Steve yelped and turned the water off, helping frantic, naked Billy Hargrove out of the tub and half into his lap.  He was slippery and warm, and Steve tried not to think about it, stretching to try and reach a towel, but Billy was laughing brokenly into his hands, muttering “I’m me, Harrington, I’m fucking sorry, I’m the best you’re gonna get, I’m still me, I’m Billy goddamn Hargrove—”

“Shit, I know,” Steve told him, as Billy’s wet shoulder soaked into his t-shirt.  “You’re Billy, you’re okay, shit.  You were just cold, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Maybe I’m better as the Mindflayer,” Billy laughed, gulping and sniffling.  “Could’ve taken out that lab guy before…” he took a shuddering breath, wiping his nose.  “Not just...let my dad get fucking shot,” he whispered.  “F’I wasn’t such a waste of space I’d have answered the door.”

With a sinking horror, Steve realized he had his arm around a naked guy in his bathroom, a naked guy who’d once beaten him unconscious.  A naked dude who wished he was dead.  “Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference,” he said, after some thought.  “You don’t know he’d have gotten away.  Max’d be crying over you again.”

“Like she would,” Billy snorted, reaching for the toilet paper and loudly blowing his nose.

“She did, though,” Steve told him, and Billy glared over.

“Yeah, right,” he said, and then opened his mouth again, shut it, and wiped his eyes.  “...what the fuck am I doing here,” he grunted.

“Uh, well,” Steve started, “—you were um, playing an evil videogame in Oregon—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy laughed, wheezing with pain.  “Why are you...why’d you—” he mumbled, as Steve set his jaw determinedly and wrested him up from the floor, dragging Heavy-Ass-Hargrove out to his bed, and tipping him into the sheets.  

The bandages were an adventure, with Billy falling asleep--and he finally fell asleep again right on Steve, as Steve tried to get him dried off.  

He didn’t wake up for hours, until Steve was sitting up in bed, on the phone with Hopper.  Billy blinked big blue disoriented eyes up at him, frowning grouchily, and Steve held his finger up to his lips, listening to Hopper explain the situation.

“It’s okay,” Steve hissed to Billy.  “You’re with me, you’re safe.”

Billy stilled, watching him, then snorted a laugh as his eyes drifted shut.  “...’kay, Harrington, he mumbled, sighing contentedly as he curled into the warm pillows.

Steve smiled, and rolled his eyes.

[imkylotrash]

Ocean Eyes

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Request: saul silva from fate: the winx saga x student secret love. Anonymous

A/N The reader is on their final year at Alfea therefore in their twenties. I have no clue what age you graduate from Alfea but I want it to be clear that the reader is of age. 

You’re supposed to wait for him to come back. It’s the reason you’re currently pacing back and forth in your room. You’d told him you should come with him but he claimed he wouldn’t be able to focus. As much as you wanted to call his bullshit you knew you had no ground to stand on. You’re still two months away from graduating as a specialist meaning he outranks you in every possible way and you just have to follow orders. That doesn’t mean that you’re good at it. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to get out there when Farah comes to say that some of the first years have gone missing. 

“I’ll go have a look, ma’am. I’m sure they’re fine.” She looks preoccupied which suits you just fine as you turn around and walk to the grounds. It doesn’t take long for you to find their tracks but you’re surprised when you realise where they’re heading.

“Oh no,” you mumble to yourself as you speed up your pace. You knew they were stupidly brave but this goes beyond any moronic idea of courage. They could get killed. You hear the scream before you see them. 

“Saul?” His name sounds like a question but there’s no doubt in your mind what has happened here. The Burned One got out and killed the entire team. How Saul is even breathing is beyond you. 

“We have to get him back to school.” You look up at the frightened first years and you instantly know that you can’t lose your cool right now. They don’t know of your relationship with Saul and regardless of that they are in no way capable of thinking clearly right now.

“Someone call Farah. We need to get him to your father, Terra. He’ll make Silva better. Where’s the rest of your group?” 

“Answer me!” You don’t mean to raise your voice but time is of the essence right now. 

“They went that way.” Musa points towards the shed and you can’t help but curse. Why would they split up when there’s a Burned One on the loose?

“I need you to stay with Silva and make sure he’s alright until Farah gets here. You understand? Under no circumstances do you leave his side.” Every fiber of your being is screaming at you to not leave Saul but you know you have to think like a soldier right now. Farah will take care of him.

“I’ll be back.” You run in the direction Musa guided you leaving behind your heart. By the time you find the two fairies, they’re ripping something off the body of a Burned One. 

“I don’t even want to know what the hell happened. But you need to come with me. Now!” You don’t have time to worry why they would ever go after a Burned One. When you hear that Stella returned to school, you breathe out a sigh of relief. That means you can return now. Everything seems blurry as you head back to Alfea. The only thing on your mind is Saul. Did they kill the right Burned One? Farah’s face is enough of a confirmation that they did not. 

“I need to talk to you,” she says in a stern voice. 

“Headmistress, do you need me?” you ask. When she shakes her head, you walk towards the school. You want to sprint to his room and check on him, but you know you can’t risk it in the daylight. Waiting for nighttime is excruciating but at last the moon shines on the sky and you deem it safe enough to wander the halls. At this point, you could retrace the steps from your room to his by memory. Exactly 10 minutes later you’re standing in front of his door. You take a moment to listen for any sound. When you’re satisfied, you open the door quietly and slip inside. 

“Saul?” you whisper trying not to scare him. He’s sleeping heavily which you’ve never ever experienced in the two years you’ve been together. Rather than climbing into bed with him, you pull over a chair and take his hand in yours. He looks so vulnerable sleeping. 

“It’s not polite to stare at someone who’s trying to sleep,” he mumbles not even bothering to open his eyes. You laugh but it turns into a sob instead. Finally you’re able to let yourself feel all the anxiety and worry of today. When you saw him lying there, you wondered if it would be the last time. 

“I need you to look at me.” He slowly opens his eyes and even in the dim lighting from the moon, you see his piercing blue eyes clearly. You once compared the ice blue colour to the ocean. It’s the best way to describe them and the feeling they give you when you lock eyes with him. 

“Hi,” he whispers lifting his hand to stroke your cheek. Tears are flowing freely as you look at him. He’s not healing which mean the fairies didn’t get the right Burned One. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” you whisper relishing in the feeling of his touch. 

“I’ve been in and out all day. It wouldn’t have mattered much.” You know he says it out of kindness but it makes you feel even worse. You wish you could’ve been by his side even if he was just sleeping. This sneaking around made everything so much worse whenever one of you got hurt. 

“It would’ve mattered to me.” He doesn’t hear you and maybe it’s for the best. The last thing you want to do is start a fight right now. 

“Can you do me a favour?” he asks but he starts to cough. Immediately, you’re grabbing the glass of water by his bedside and helps him take a few sips. Just this little movement causes him more pain than you can imagine. 

“Smile. Please. I need you to smile for me instead of looking like I might die.” You want to point out that he is in fact dying right now if the Burned One isn’t located but he knows that already so it seems futile to bring it up. Instead you wipe away the tears and put on a brave face for him. 

“There it is. I’m feeling better already,” he says pulling your arm to get you closer. And he does in fact seem better as you lean down to kiss him gently. You decide to put the possible consequences of his injures to the back of your mind for tonight and just enjoy that you’re both breathing and alive. 

“I love you. And in two months when I graduate, I will be screaming it from the rooftop. Consider yourself warned.” He smiles as he tugs a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I’ll be standing right next to you, love.” 

“You should get some rest. But I’ll stay until dawn.” You hush him when he protests. He’s always been so stubborn much to your annoyance.

“At least lie down with me then. I’ll never fall asleep if you’re in the room but not in bed with me.” It sounds cheesy but you understand the feeling. Most of the time you can hardly think straight when he’s in the room. You lie down next to him being very careful not to touch him. As much as you want to cuddle up next to him, you know it’ll be too painful for him. 

“Give me your hand,” you say closing your hands around his and leading it to your chest. It’s almost become a sort of tradition at this point. Whoever needs it most places their hand on the other’s chest to feel the heartbeat. It has a calming effect on you both. 

“I wish I could do so much more than just lie next to you,” Saul admits making you laugh. 

“All in good time, handsome.”