#he has homework to do for college anyway so if we do wind up cleaning more it won't be much

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 9, day 30

Skirt shaded! I was right, it was super fun to do, and I'm so happy with how it turned out :D

Next is her belt and boots, then her body, and hopefully by the time I'm done with that I'll have figured out something for the spearhead!

[ubemango]

one time, in your room (m)

note: I wrote this after receiving such an enthusiastic response to my virgin!jk drabbles. I really can’t thank you guys enough for expressing interest in this story, it really helped jumpstart lunyua lol 😭😭🥰🥰!!!!!!! I’m happy she’s back:) I would be absolutely nowhere without it heheh. My thank yous are also due to Violet and my crème de la crème for helping me write this back in March--I love you both very, very much!!!!!! Enjoy :D

DISCLAIMER. there’s one scene based off a tweet that I can’t find the link to lol... it’s about getting fingered till u cry. You’ll know when you get there 😭

PAIRING. jeongguk/reader GENRE. romance, college au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 17.3k WARNINGS. alcohol, oral (f receiving), cum shot, fingering, sexting, phone sex/masturbation, face sitting, riding, talks about Babies, jk loving oc A Lot SUMMARY. There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. (You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later.)

                                          part 1: emergency tactics

It started five months in.

Jimin probably didn’t mean anything by it. There’s talk and then there’s inebriation, and Jimin slurred roughly between the two like the drunkard he is. But Jeongguk was still hurt and you didn’t know what to do.

“He called me a pussy then told me to fuck one instead,” Jeongguk said under the strobe lights, the plastic ones you buy at the dollar store and you know it’s Hoseok who got them because he’s frugal, not cheap. The couch was itchy under your skirt. “Am I—is it really that bad? Like am I doing this wrong? Am I taking too long, or—”

“No, oh my god. Babe,” you said, and the cooler in your hand found the floor before you cupped his face. He was pouting. “Doing things—like that—it’s—it shouldn’t be something you stress over, okay? Don’t listen to other people. I like you. And Jimin is a whore.”

Jeongguk snorted. You could still see the doubt in his eyes, though. Shiny because he’s tipsy, but that downward droop still there. “You’re the best,” he said as sincere as he could sound.

And he’d left it at that. He got way more drunk though, definitely influenced by his post-teen-pre-adult angst but what’s a 21-year-old supposed to do with ample service of alcohol and an aching heart? You’d left him to it and cleaned the vomit on his shirt after. It was an okay party.

It stayed okay for a bit, too. Jeongguk isn’t an insecure person, but his bouts of uncertainty were getting more and more frequent. Especially when all his friends were naturally horny and really fucking stupid.

“So you’ve been dating for almost eight months and you—still haven’t defiled him,” Jimin says, now absolutely sober and still absolutely dumb.

You can feel Jeongguk’s ears heat up. “Dude.”

Jimin ignores him and turns to you. “Aren’t you like—bored?”

“When will you stop talking,” Jeongguk murmurs through a bite of his burrito bowl.

“I’m not,” you answer Jimin, flipping through another page of a study on birth control. A convoluted piece of shit, as Taehyung put so eloquently, but he left a couple minutes ago for a study group. “And stop bullying him.”

“I’m just shocked,” Jimin continues. “How does someone so hot end up with someone even hotter and like—not immediately participate in procreation. This is a crime!”

“Look.” Your textbook flips closed. “I don’t know what your obsession is with this guy’s dick over here, but it’s mine to worry about.”

“I think you upset her,” Jeongguk says.

“I know what it’s like to be pressured into sex,” you say. You feel Jimin lock up. “Look—sorry, that was baggage and I’m stressed.” Jimin nods. “But seriously? It’s—he’s—Jeongguk’s fine the way he is, alright?”

You taper off. It’s silent save for the milling of other students in the quad, but the air is thick. Sliced through with your anger but you’d rather have this conversation in private, without Jimin and his probing. Unnerving Jeongguk was like lighting the fuse in you, and maybe it was the instinct to preserve whatever purity Jimin keeps insisting on but you’ve never seen your boyfriend so upset about something. It kind of hurt to see him like this.

You get back to taking notes when Jimin talks again. “I’ll go,” he says. “Jeongguk I—”

“It’s fine.” Doesn’t sound like it though because he’s tight-lipped. 

Jimin salutes and sidles away. A bubble of unfinished conversations swells around you.

“Thanks for—that, I guess,” he says.

Your highlighter squeaks against the paper. “Jeongguk.”

“M’yeah?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

Maybe that was a bad start because Jeongguk sputters. You think he squawks, too—and he’s definitely fidgeting, lots of cut-off noises in his throat as he tries to say anything coherent. You look at him and he finally takes a breath in. “I—”

“You’re worried.”

His face contorts in confusion. “About what?”

“I don’t know. But I can feel it.”

“Same wavelength,” he laughs. Empty but he knows you’re just trying to help.

“Look.” He doesn’t but that’s because you’ve turned back to your books. “We have sex when we have sex. And if someone tries to—bother you about it, you can tell them they can suck on my fat cock.”

You hear him chortle. “I’ll do that.”

The conversation ends. You study. You still feel Jeongguk fidgeting.

Now there’s three weeks left till the term is over.  

“My—brain. It’s exploding. There’s too much going on.”

Jeongguk’s desk is a cramped space—the only place you can prop your textbook up against is his sweatshirt wrapped into a wrinkly ball. Graciously taken from his hamper because he still hasn’t done his laundry. The chair creaks when you spin to look at him: a dejected blob of comfy clothes surrounded by looseleaf paper and sticky notes. “Break time?”

He slumps against his pillows, arms out like a sad toddler. “Break time.”

This probably means you’ll cuddle for the next three hours but there’s little to complain about when Jeongguk purrs into your hair once you settle into his chest. There’s a warmth to him you can’t get anywhere else. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Just working too hard.”

“Okay,” you murmur. Jeongguk’s breath evens out the way it does when he wants to stop thinking. You can hear the hum of the fridge outside. 

“Want this to be over.”

You trace your nail over his collarbone. “I know.” 

“When’s your awards ceremony?”

“In two weeks,” you say.

“Same time as our final game.”

You lean your head up when he sighs, watching his eyes flutter in the afternoon shade of his curtains. A calmer period right after a hectic schedule of school, because you have Professor Kwon to thank for her excessive meetings about tutorials and assignments. It never occurred to you that you might’ve been imposing when you showed up to Jeongguk’s dorm with your homework, but he’d been studying too. Same wavelength, he’d say.

“Jimin been bothering you lately?”

“No, thank god. Don’t think I could take anymore prodding.”

This is the first time you’ve asked since that afternoon in the quad, though now Jimin’s been less annoying whenever you see him with Jeongguk. You know he’s just itching for your boyfriend to finally get his dick wet. 

And you can’t blame him—that was his intention when he finally got Jeongguk to ask you out. Friendship with Jeongguk was a weird stretch of time, especially when he’d spent the entirety of it silently pining for you: involuntarily single, but so preoccupied with the care and keeping of your GPA you’d been blind to any advance. Not that he tried anything, though. 

He’d been in his second year, still getting used to the enormity of campus grounds as a scholarship-bound athlete. And on top of all his schoolwork he had to balance the fragility of having a crush on an upperclassman well on her way to PhD candidacy. It was a good thing he was cute, though, and Jimin had no qualms about embarrassing Jeongguk any chance he got when you were around. The blush when Jimin had pushed him to your desserts table at one of the indoor Farmers’ Markets still burns in the furthest love-lit corner in your mind.

“You remember when you asked me out?”

“God.” A too-late night in the library that prompted the chivalrous part in Jeongguk because he’d brought you to the bus stop too close for campus police to escort you. You’d been good friends for a while already, the hurdle of skirting around each other knocked down when Jeongguk finally got the guts to insert himself in the your friend circle. In that wet shelter, a quivering lip. The sure that now has you seven-and-a-half months down the line with arguably the best thing that’s happened to you since you started your college career, but you won’t tell him that. “Why are you bringing that up?”

“I don’t know. Just—feels like forever ago.”

“Sappy.”

“Maybe the stars are aligning,” you say.

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know, just. Sometimes when I lie down with you I feel like I have to—lay myself bare.”

“Then bare yourself.”

You pause. “I’d like to suck your dick.”

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna need you to elaborate,” Jeongguk says like he’s winded.

“Two weeks of me finishing assignments and you at hockey practice. You know. Take advantage of the time we have with each other.”

“Good point. But I have a counter offer.”

Jeongguk is always a giver. “Which is?”

“I eat you out instead.”

“You’re too good to me,” and this is the only response you can come up with without sounding too shocked. Or horny. Not that you’d ever shy away but Jeongguk had a way of burning you up from the inside. “You’re down for that?”

“Always,” he says, then rolls you over. All that muscle from his workouts barring you from even thinking about fighting him back so you let him push you till you’re comfortable. But this isn’t about you. Not at the moment, anyway. 

“Take your shirt off.” Jeongguk does this so quickly his face almost crashes into yours when he comes back down, gasping a laugh that he breathes into you when his mouth meets yours. A quick tangle of your legs around his waist has him lying over you with ease, caught in his cage of pressed-down elbows and intimacy. 

“Wanna—take care of you.” He trails his mouth down your neck, bed squeaking when his knees pad down. Lips tasting lower and now he lifts your shirt up to your chest, pressing wetness to your stomach and you’re quick to discard your clothing if only to see Jeongguk pause at the zipper of your jeans. “Can I—?”

You nod. 

His fingers don’t shake but he’s blinking fast, pulling on the waistline of the rough denim and shucking it past your feet, sighing when your panties come into view. A short-lived reverence when he leans down to mouth at your sex above the thin cotton and your legs spread wide for his arms to cling onto.

“Tell me—tell me what you like,” he says. A shy demand.

“Take my underwear off then I’ll tell you.”

There’s warmth lost when Jeongguk slides your panties down to one ankle but he’s over you in the second it takes for you to flick it off. No pause in his eagerness but now he lies in wait for your instructions. The way he pauses for you is so agonizingly hot you might combust.

“It’s—I like it when… I feel you lick at my…” God you sound fucked. But Jeongguk’s a wild card and takes it in stride, hands once again finding purchase around your thighs and you feel his hard tongue on you, a wet slide that has your stomach caving. It’s the natural twitch in your fingers that prompt you to keep a loose grip in his hair, other hand tight in the bed like your proxy anchor. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah…”

Jeongguk laves your core, pressing harder the higher he goes. Contingency he takes advantage of because you get louder. It’s the lick on your clit that has you sighing. “Oooh, you—use the… tip of your tongue. And lick right—there.��

He’s so pliant you feel like you’re throttling him. There’s a forward insistence of his head until you feel the flat of his tongue pressed fully against you, his neck rolling with every shift of your hips. In control of your pleasure and he makes it feel like this is what he was made to do. His fingers get tight. “You taste good,” he exhales right onto your sex and you nearly crush his head with your thighs.

“Oh my god.” Your breaths are lost. You might hide your face but that would mean losing sight of Jeongguk providing a service only he can spell out with his tongue. “Ah—”

There’s a little squeak further down the bed and you notice the small flutter of his groin caught in the warmth of him and the sheets. His lips close around your nub before you can say anything, slurping that has your gut wrangled, your fingers gripping his hair as you get lost in his love. Your eyes roll back. “Oh fuck, that—agh—”

He’s made you come before. And the familiar tone of your incoming bliss is something he can memorize—he probably already has judging by the train wreck of your throat and the sounds he pulls from you. A swindler of your orgasms but you’d gladly hand yourself over if it meant deceiving your pussy into its own demise.

“Fuck you’re—so sexy like this,” Jeongguk mumbles. You whine at his attention but now you’re running even hotter than ever.

You’re not even telling him what to do anymore but you know he knows it’s good, a message sent with every twitch of your sex into his mouth and now his fingers are splayed along your pelvis to keep you from bucking up. He doesn’t even need his fingers. It’s the hardened tongue, the little slashes on your clit as his head swings back and forth that have you squealing: “Yes, like that. Oh I’m cumming—fuck—!”

Jeongguk hums when you jerk your hips up, convulsions in all your sweetest parts and your throat is dry from all your moaning, the swell of your lungs so hard to keep up with but he always has you losing your breath. Spit collects in its warmth down your ass but it’s a lost thought when Jeongguk lathers you into your come-down, legs like jelly and he helps your knees together when you finally stop trembling. You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you feel his lips on your mouth, complaint of catching a break right behind your teeth when you kiss with what little strength remains in you. 

“That was. Really good,” you whisper. Jeongguk laughs. And he doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with his wet mouth and red cheeks. “Do you wanna cum?”

He looks like he’ll say no. A bitten lip instead of confirmation. “I—”

“Please, I want you to.” Like a switch turned on he lights up, head bobbing and now he’s shoving his jeans past his ass, underwear down too. “You wanna—come on my face?”

His eyes look like they’re leaking out of his face. A strangled noise escapes his throat. He probably thinks you’re on crack but it’s just in his nature for him to assume a dazed auto-pilot whenever you say shit so outlandish. “You—I—I-I—Can—?”

“You can cum—god you can cum anywhere. I’m yours. Remember?” Reaching behind, you feel for the clasp of your bra, flinging it off before you pull on Jeongguk by the dip of his back until his knees straddle your ribs. “Is this good?”

“Can—could you—spit… on it.” His voice dwindles like he’s caught between the threshold of dirty and pushing it. You don’t answer because your neck straining for the tip of his dick and down the rest of his shaft is all he needs for one. Jeongguk bucks into you. “Oh fuck—ngh—ah!”

If his grinding on the mattress was a ticking bomb, your tongue on his cock is the thirty seconds till detonation. And by the sounds of Jeongguk groaning into the mid-afternoon sun slipping through his curtains you know he’s almost there. “Lie down, lie down,” he instructs, hand replacing your mouth in a stroke so quick you’re scared he might get cum in your hair.

“Agh—fuck yeah I’m—”

A spurt of his cum stains your lip, then your cheek. You feel some on the tip of your nose too but Jeongguk points his dick down to your tits, spilling all his hot frustration on your even hotter skin and you might cum again from the visual of him looking so spent. “Wow.”

“Yeah, that—” Jeongguk swallows twice— “I… wow.”

His dick is getting soft. There’s sweat pooling where your body meets the sheets. “Wanna pass me tissues?”

“Oh fuck. Yeah, yeah—here, sorry.” Jeongguk makes soft passes with a wad of cotton over your chest, handing one to you for your face. “Do you—do you like it? When I… cum on you?”

“Yeah.” You think about making a weird comment about sipping on his juice but you’ll save it for later. You focus on not letting his spunk flake on your cheek. “It’s hot. Really.”

“Good,” he says. Flopping down after shooting the soiled tissue into the basket and now he seems exhausted. “Do you feel gross or is it just me.”

“Gross how?”

“Gross like I need a shower.”

You can’t deny him. “Wanna shower?”

“Yep,” he says with no hesitation, and he doesn’t let you say anything else when he grabs you by your wrists. Somehow, everything feels lighter.

Sometimes Jeongguk invites you out to practice. It’s boring and you don’t know a single rule about gameplay, but the presence of him despite being a ways away on the ice is still a comfort on its own. 

The arena is frigidly cold, and while you aren’t without distraction (re: Assignments) it’s still one you can barely get yourself to really focus on. You rub your face in frustration. You hear the sound of the hockey puck passed around in harsh slaps.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Jimin,” you acknowledge. He drops down next to you. “Here to spy on hockey ass too, huh.”

“That and Hoseok promised to get me dinner later.” You raise your eyebrow. “Did one of his assignments.”

“Forgot you were a chemistry genius.” Clicking your tongue, you watch the big 97 of Jeongguk’s jersey as he glides around behind the glass. He waves when he sees you looking. You’d greet him back but your hands are too perfect where they are in the heat of your sweater pockets so you wave your head in what you hope looks like excitement. 

“Been holding up okay?” You turn. Jimin’s eyes are a blaze of concern. “The other week, in the quad. You were pretty stressed.”

“Final paper.”

“Dissertation?”

“Working up to that,” you say.

“So you’re a scholar scholar.”

“Mm.” Your laptop screen blinks to black. “Something like that.” You hear Jimin snicker. He’s coiled up, stomach caved in a tiny laugh, eyes crinkled. Too amused. “What?”

“I’m just—” Jimin takes a breath in to stem his impending laughing fit— “so confused. Like, there’s Jeongguk who can eat eight cups of spicy ramen and literally bomb the bathroom with his shit—and then right next to him is Jane Goodall but with human babies.”

“He loves spicy ramen,” you comment.

“Yeah but do we like his stank? Nope. And you really just compared pronatalism to liking ramen. You know you’re out of his league.”

Jeongguk, completely oblivious to Jimin’s really weird anecdote, brings a fist up in cheers when he shoots the puck into the net. “Well. At the very least he’s cute.”

Jimin heeds with a hum to watch the play on ice. Seeing the team skate around with their broad-shoulders and thick helmets is an odd kind of relaxation. A team of huge men cutting the ice with knives on their feet but the sound is a swish satisfying enough for those kinds of videos that put you to sleep. Rough and gentle, just like Jeongguk. “I’m glad Jeongguk met you,” Jimin starts again.

“Mm. I think he has you to thank.” You boot up your laptop once more in the hopes you get inspired to type, but now Jimin has you distracted even more. 

“He just… used to be so quiet. And I’m gonna brag here but he’s got good friends. But meeting you was a game-changer.”

“Hm.”

“He was so passive.” You think to Jimin almost two years ago, pushing a slightly-smaller Jeongguk towards your table at the market. One look in your eye; pointing to the donut closest to him. Your finger touched his palm when you dropped the chocolate-glazed on it and he looked lost. “But now he’s just. Happy. All the time. It’s nice to see.”

There’s 97 again. Then Jeongguk turns and glides closer to the rail. He holds up ten fingers. Ten till over. You give a thumbs up. You feel yourself shivering but you’re not cold anymore. “Then I’m glad, too.”

“Good kid.” Jimin waves too, and Jeongguk skates off without looking at him. “Bitch! Anyway.” He leans back on his hands, feet perched on the row in front. “You guys… good now?”

And your screen fades to black again. “Oh god.”

“Sorry, fuck. Sometimes I think—no sometimes I don’t think. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, whatever.” You turn to Jimin looking very apologetic, keeping mum with his lips folded in. “It’s—he’s. A lot more eager, I have to say.”

“And are you okay with that?”

You hesitate. “I mean if we’re getting vulgar here—”

“Absolutely not, you are not telling me what he did with his dick.”

You raise your hands in surrender. You wouldn’t have told him anyway. It’s just nice to see a flustered Jimin, especially after what he’s subjected you and Jeongguk to. Good-natured but overtly so, and now you’re both blushing. “It’s been good.” 

Great. Now you’re thinking about Jeongguk and his cock again. Obviously it’s not unwelcome but riling you up is getting too easy.

“Then that’s good,” Jimin says. You hear the blow of the whistle. A congregation of fist bumps forms at the exit of the rink, and Jeongguk lets everyone pass him to get off. “Well I’m gonna go get ready for some free food. See you, yeah?”

He offers a high-five you hit hard. “Bye.”

“Oh. And good luck on your paper. You coming to the game by the way?” Jimin asks. He jumps off the bleachers, leaving you to stare at your honest attempt at getting work done. You close your laptop with a sad click. 

“I have an awards ceremony that day,” you explain. “I’ll try and catch it.”

“Don’t work too hard.” Just then, Jeongguk runs up behind Jimin not at all silently—his gym bag is ginormous—to catch him in a headlock. “Wha—”

“Why are you talking to my girlfriend,” Jeongguk interrogates. He’s probably wet with heat because Jimin scrunches his nose and shoves him off.

“You’re a pig, did you even shower.”

“Smell my armpits and you’ll get your answer.”

“Anyway,” Jimin groans. “I’m off.” He walks to the changing room in a swagger so calculated you’d yell at him for showing off his ass. But Jeongguk drags your attention away when he steps in front of the bleachers, leaning over until you greet him with a kiss.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says against your mouth.

You plug your nose for effect. “So you didn’t shower.”

“I rinsed! Don’t be mean.” He watches as you shove all your things into your bag, his hand poised for you to give it to him, and inside you falter at his generosity but you shoulder the strap and use his outstretched palm to help you up instead. “I wanted your bag, miss.”

“No, you already have a heavy one.”

“Let me carry it for you—” But you shut him up with a tiptoe and a peck to his open mouth. “Don’t distract me!”

You ignore him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward the exit. “Let’s go, I might miss my bus.”

Eight p.m. is a dead hour on campus grounds. You see only a handful of straggling students going back to res, even more going into the library building. The lamps guide your every step. Jeongguk’s fingers tangle in yours. “So you aren’t free at all the rest of the week right?”

“Yeah.” You try not to look at him because you know he’s pouting. “I didn’t get any work done thanks to your shouting.”

“That was Yoongi,” Jeongguk defends. “And sorry.”

You reach the bus shelter. “I’m kidding.” The neon sign overhead says your bus is due in three minutes. “I’m—I like going to your practice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I like seeing my star hockey player tear it up on the ice,” you joke. Jeongguk laughs into your lips when he bends down lock them with his own. 

“Was it sexy enough for you?”

“Oh yeah. Got my pussy rumbling.”

He balks. “You’re so annoying.”

Two minutes. “It’s starting again.”

“What is?” In the dark light of the evening moon rising, you are reminded of this bus shelter seven months ago. A tower of nerves over you. If you think hard enough, you can still hear the shaky question he’d let dangle from his tongue, the one that has you here with him now. But now Jeongguk is nervous for different reasons. “Oh, like when you disappear on me for like five years.”

You see the light of the bus coming. You wrap Jeongguk in your arms. “Yeah. I’m only free next week.”

“Take it easy,” he says. Only one person gets off at the stop. “Just text me. Don’t need a repeat of last time.”

Last time—a month into your relationship. When you texted him every four days because of your midterms and he’d gotten so worried he genuinely wept when you showed up to his doorstep. It was a good thing you’d brought food too; not that you were expecting a cry fest but he’d felt better once he was filled with fried noodles and your affection. You concede to his request with a nod.

He lets you leave with one last kiss to your forehead. “See you,” you say. The air is alive with what you have to leave behind for the time being.

The week is rough. Professor Kwon asks you to submit marks sooner than you anticipate, so the need to get your paper done becomes a lot more urgent. One student hasn’t even handed in her assignment, which—fine. You don’t have any qualms about the zero you input. But the angry email with the threat to report you to an academic advisor the next day has you so on edge Namjoon agrees to grade half your assignments next time.

Jeongguk, somehow, eludes you too. Graduate school demands more tears than sweat and blood and while he tries his best to comfort you during your work-filled days, he’s been getting busier with hockey practice too. The added thought of starting to study for your exams is just another cake-topper. And it isn’t as if you’re going days without talking to Jeongguk, but it’s still a sting to the romantic part in you that misses him.

A week and a half before your big paper is due is a Tuesday. The girl who dissed you in your email doesn’t show up to tutorial. Everyone is dismissed for the evening. It’s good. 

Nothing beats the giddy jump in your step when you find a cubby in the library close enough to an outlet, though.

Then you get a text from Jeongguk.

[8:07 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m free the rest of the night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Let me love u bich u really deprived me of touch for an entire week  [8:07 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wya

He meets you at the library with sweaty bangs and indents on his cheek from his helmet. You briefly contemplate jumping him. The feeling is quelled with the reminder that the library doesn’t tolerate loud noises and Excessive Romantic Gestures, so you opt for:

“Sexy.” You’re up on your feet to give him a quick hug and he makes a disgruntled face before dropping a kiss to your mouth.

“You wet yet?”

You glare to hide the need to balk. You plop back down. “You ate pussy once, don’t think this gives you free points to get so cocky.”

He pauses. “Sorry?”

“Sit. And don’t—ask me that again.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jeongguk cowers into the seat next to you. “What’s my scholar up to tonight?”

“Researching about Western Europe and their refugee policies.”

He doesn’t look like he’s interested but he makes a contemplative noise. “Very… educated. But anyhow. I’ve been thinking.” Uh oh. “And I have something. It was a week-long thought process but I have it.”

Your pens roll along the wood of the desk. “Have what?”

“A plan.”

“For?”

“For how I’m gonna fuck you. Eventually, I mean.”

“I leave you for a week and this happens,” you answer, but he’s not fazed. You feel yourself melting. Something you learned about Jeongguk during the preliminary stages of your relationship was that he liked getting things right. And if that meant practicing until he was ready—well. There’s a part in you that fears for the livelihood of your vagina. “Babe. That’s—you know we don’t need some sort of… five-steps-to-success thing.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” He pouts like you have it all wrong. Maybe you do, but it doesn’t sound so convincing to your—to be frank—non-virgin ears. “Good practice.” 

You knew he would say that. “You have something in your noggin already, boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna elaborate?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “What do people normally establish before they start having sex?”

“Well I don’t have lice in my pubic hair if that’s what you wanna know,” you offer.

He scrunches his face. “Don’t—joke about that.”

“Sorry.” Jeongguk gives you an incredulous look because you both know you don’t mean it. “But you really wanna do this here?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, lay it on me.”

“Wait—really?” 

You’re starting to think you won’t get any work done for the night. Like all the nights you spend with Jeongguk and you realize the pattern now, so you might as well indulge in him. “Yeah, go pull on all your pornographic roots.”

“Ha ha.”

“I’m not into getting tied up, first of all.” You flip a page in your textbook to feign nonchalance as Jeongguk wheezes.

“Stop that!” But he just takes a piece of paper and readies a fist to write. “You’re so crude.”

Now you really can’t focus. “Are you seriously going to write about my sexual preferences?”

“No, I’m writing a detailed observation about how to go about. You know.” He purses a lip in thought. “Navigating the ocean of your pussy and its desires.”

You didn’t think the library would be home to both of your sexual awakenings, but Jeongguk makes it hard to be shy when he’s this motivated. “Weird way of asking me if I’m into watersports.”

“Okay you have to take back asking me about my pornographic roots because it sounds like you’re the freakier one.”

“You like me being freaky?” 

He reddens. “Anyway!” (Silently, you revel in your power to tease.) “I was thinking. Since we can’t hang out too much the next week-ish, that we save all the good stuff for later.”

Good point. “Define good stuff.”

Jeongguk gets smaller. Eyes drilled into yours, he whispers, “Putting my penis inside you.”

“Okay now it’s getting weird.”

He drops his pencil in disbelief. “Only now? Tell me how any of this wasn’t weird in the first place.”

“You’re literally the one who took out a pencil to jot down my sexual preferences, don’t act like you’re innocent.” Now he has the decency to look sheepish. He doesn’t say anything. “Jeongguk. It’s fine to be nervous. But I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this.”

You might as well be talking to the wall but he nods anyway. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No! Just… you don’t owe anyone anything.” Something in you longs for him to understand that. You hate to make him nervous but Jeongguk is so adamant you almost want to wrap him in your arms from the sexually-inclined horde that came in the form of Park Jimin. “Remember that.”

He deflates with a sigh. “Then… can you come over tomorrow?” He’s squirming. “I’m done practice at seven.”

“If my advisor’s nice enough she’ll let me off at six,” you confirm.

Jeongguk takes a notebook out but makes no effort to open it. “And. I missed you. Just. Wanted to get that out there.”

There’s only so much texting can do, you get it. The pit of your stomach simmers with affection for the dumb boy sitting next to you, legs jumping the way they do when he’s nervous. “Love you.” And he smiles. Fuel for your listlessness. There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. Especially about the one who just propositioned you with absurdities. But now his pencil is out, and the moment is lost. 

You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later. For now, you settle in the quietude of his presence with yours.

It’s a colder day today.

“Hi!” Taehyung opens the door, bouncing in his pyjamas from the rush of freezing air. “Come, come. Please don’t ask me how I’ve been, I’m so tired of school and that’ll be my answer and I don’t want to talk about it.”

You swallow your pleasantries down. He’s a stressed Neuroscience major. “Fair,” you greet instead, toeing your boots off.

“Coming from somewhere?”

“Tutorial evaluation,” you say. Taehyung lets out a low whistle, closes the door behind you. He knows your shoulders are stiff because of Professor Kwon’s watchful gaze. Sitting at the back, ramrod straight with that black clipboard, taking down notes on your performance as a first-time TA. 

She’d let you go after with a smile, though. Let you know you did fine. You’d practically glided to residence when she’d given you the go to leave for the day. 

“I have a question for you,” Taehyung says. He sits on the couch, watches as you take off your snow-soiled scarf and jacket. “Has Jeongguk been more… fidgety lately?”

So he’s noticed too. “Yeah, I’ve—seen it. Why?”

“I don’t know, he sort of just—” Taehyung scoots over when you plop down next to him— “he came out of the room yesterday squealing, then ran around the living room for a bit then just. Went back into his room.”

Oh. So that’s what he was off to do when said he needed to get something after you linked him to your favourite porn accounts on Twitter.

“Maybe it’s just. I don’t know, pre-game jitters,” you lie. Taehyung’s giving you the look. Like he’s not satisfied with your answer and the only way to sate him is if you let him do one thing. “You can ask.”

“Did you fuck him yet?”

No reservations. As expected, because he’s just as nosy as Jimin and the rest of their friends annoyingly concerned with Jeongguk’s hesitation in the bedroom. “Nope.”

“Okay but like—can you fuck him already? I’m gonna be rolling in my grave by the time his penis passes the two-inch border of your personal space.”

You can’t keep in your snort. “Oh my god.”

“Just. We really don’t mean to be so standoffish but he just likes you so much it’s insane. Like I’ll see his phone light up and he will too. He’ll literally—he just glows. It’s kind of creepy actually but like. Cute creepy.”

The rush of praise runs through you. You don’t like to brag, but you really did snag the campus boy crush. You were popular enough with academia, but after the first time Jeongguk posted a picture of you two at the Christmas market, though—the entire student body went ballistic. It was the nascence of a fairy tale; movie romance budding in the grey concrete of campus grounds. 

No one saw it coming. And knowing that the one everyone has their eye on has its eyes on you—it’s a good kind of blow.

“He’s my baby,” you say, and Taehyung coos. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

There’s a rattling of the door knob. The sight of a ragged Jeongguk stumbles in, gym bag dropped on the floor and he disappears down the hall with the call for a shower and a brief smile your way. “I’ll be five minutes, babe.”

That’s Taehyung’s cue. “Well—I’m off to study group. Take care of him, yeah?”

“You know it.” You offer a fist bump. Taehyung’s knuckles are bony on yours. 

The trek to Jeongguk’s room isn’t unfamiliar. You bounce back on his bed, willing yourself not to close your eyes because you know you’ll just crash. A headache prepares right behind your temple, as imminent as rumbling thunder. Something in you calls for Jeongguk to hurry the fuck up before you succumb to Stress and those horrible, horrible thoughts of due dates.

It doesn’t take that long. There’s the squeak of the shower handle turning off and the black of your closed eyes, the scurrying of an unseen body; the lifting of your shirt for a very heavy weight of a hockey player blowing raspberries into the skin of your stomach. Jeongguk chortles when you nearly break your back trying to dislodge him. “You’re—oh my god—hey stop!”

“Hi,” he says, laugh caught in his breath, “I’m clean.”

“I see that.” He’s in his pyjamas. You let him settle on your side. The lingering heat from his shower makes you clammy but you let him hold you tight. “How was practice?”

“It was nice.” This is code for: I wasn’t yelled at by Yoongi. “I’m excited for our game, I’m feelin’ good. Did you find out if you could make it?”

You were blessed by the gods, because not only were your days coinciding, they were also starting an hour within each other. You’d be at the podium with a flowery speech while Jeongguk tears the ice rink with his pretty skates. And if every award recipient’s was longer than a minute then you might miss the entire game. Two hours past Jeongguk most likely scoring the winning goal; an infinity lost to see your star in action. 

(And seeing Jeongguk play is really attractive.)

You settle with: “I’ll try my best.”

“Okay,” he says. The crown of his head digs into your neck. You feel his lips when he speaks. “How are you holding up?”

“Barely.”

“Did you get your paper done?”

“Barely.”

“So it’s done.”

“Let’s not talk about school,” you dismiss. He leaves the conversation to wither with a suction to your skin. Wet where he lines your neck with quick kisses and you soften into the sheets. “Is this your way of—executing your plan.”

“Hm?”

“You know—your—guide to putting your penis inside me.”

He leans up on his elbow. Unimpressed because his eyebrows are scrunched. “Funny.”

“You love me.”

“And what about it?” His eyes shine the way they do before he tells you he loves you too. “It isn’t even a plan it’s just—a buildup. To when my penis goes inside you. Like a countdown but with orgasms instead.” You snicker. He drags a light hand down your front, settling his palm right over your pussy. “Let me touch you.”

You forget how to breathe for a second. “Yeah—I’m—yeah. Please.”

“Sit up.” Jeongguk plants himself near the wall, not unlike the position he was in when you sucked his dick for the first time. Instead of the afternoon heat, you’re caught under the dying evening rays of sunset: not as hot but still you feel the spark in your belly when Jeongguk lifts your bum to settle you between his legs. His nails play with the button of your pants. “I wanna try something.”

“Sure.” And he helps you wiggle off your clothes, bottom bare to his graces. Doesn’t say anything, just lets his mouth meet yours slowly, tasting the day off your tongue, your worries behind his teeth. 

“Anyone ever fingered you so hard you cried?”

“You wanna make me cry?”

“Don’t say it like that.” Jeongguk nips at your lip. “But yeah, I guess.”

You’re wet. This is a fact you come to realize when you feel him spread your legs, feet planting in the mattress in an attempt to ground yourself.  “Okay,” you agree.

His mouth’s busy with yours, lips unyielding like he could do this all day. It’s almost picturesque, the way he has you: head turned over to meet him in his love, arms wrapped around your own. Yours for him to savour and he always tastes good.

He doesn’t wait anymore. Your clit throbs with the passes of his fingers, head falling back to rest on Jeongguk’s shoulder when he dips in the pool of your heat and drags it back up. Groaning when he spins tight circles like you taught him and your hands find his thighs. “Feels—good,” you utter. Already you’re gone but Jeongguk feeds into your pleasure with no qualms for your embarrassment.

“Can I—put in a finger?” He asks shyly, but playing with your slick like he’s known how to make you putty in his hands this whole time.

“Yeah. Please.” You welcome the insistence in your sex with the buck of your hips. Jeongguk curls his middle finger up, the heel of his hand smooth on your clit and you sigh, “Ooh, fuck yeah.”

He kisses your cheek. “Another one?”

“I can take it,” you say, and he has another finger in you, hooking into your nerves. You might moan but Jeongguk turns your head and molds his mouth into yours, stealing your breath with his tongue. He curves in a little too hard and you squeal. “Oh my god, too—much.”

“Sorry.” He adjusts, fingers straight again. “M’gonna go faster, if that’s okay.” You nod, restless, and then he adds: “And you can’t look away from me.”

“Yes please—”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, because the hand not fucking you into oblivion catches your cheeks, locking you to Jeongguk’s gaze. It’s a fucked out one too, and now you notice his hard dick pressed up against your back. 

It’s a storm of thrusting: wet and more wet and now he abruptly pulls out, smears your slick on your clit in a rub so fast you would squeal louder if it weren’t for his lips swallowing your sounds. 

“Oh-h—!”

You burn. Jeongguk enters you again and your cunt feels swollen. Fucking all the deepest and dirtiest parts of you and you take it, yielding to the draw on your tight walls. The squelch gets louder. So do you. 

“Oh yeah—” And you don’t cry but the feeling of him inside is so overwhelming and all that you need and it’s there— “Fuck, y-eah. Gonna cum soon—”

“Give it to me.” Punctuated with a twist in your sex so rough you would have twitched him off but his legs cage you. Jeongguk smiles. “Come on babe—”

“Nnn—ha J-Jeongguk—” You grab his wrist, the one knocking his fingers so good though he doesn’t stop under the tight hold— “B-Baby—”

“I want it, I want it,” he chants into your mouth, like he’s eager for a release conducive to your early death just so he can say he did that. Awful cocky but you can’t dwell on it. “Just cum for me.”

“Fuck—” He makes you look at him when you do, eyes wide to his imploring ones. He has it in his fingers, a climax that wrangles the most obscene noises from your throat. Your hips grind up uncontrollably, clit a pulsing pain but his thumb rubs it all the same. Jeongguk doesn’t stop till you whine, “God, please—I can’t."

“You’re crying.”

“Am not.” But you feel the sting of heat in your eyes. Jeongguk rubs his nose with yours, wrapped in his arms and affection.

“Was it good though?”

“Was it good, he says.” You kiss him with no bite. “Loved it. Best ever.”

Jeongguk lights up, corners of his mouth lifted into a sated grin. “Woo,” he says. You’re about to ask if he wants one rubbed out but he continues speaking. “So plan’s going well if you wanted to know.”

“Shut up. Shut up!” You make a point of getting up with as much force as possible, disturbing the coils the mattress as Jeongguk laughs. “You’re so gross.”

“You love me.”

Your panties are sticky against you. You turn to see him staring at you already. “I love you.”

The room glows in the last few minutes of red, coated darker and darker. But the look Jeongguk gives you—maybe astonishment, maybe longing—casts a glow that blazes within. Like all he wants is for you to be here and you do too. He breaks the silence with a smile. “You’re the best, you know that?”

You climb back over him, unable to resist anymore. “So I’ve been told.”

“I mean it though.” He shifts so you’re lying down again, head on his chest. Warm again. “Sorry if I’m—pushing the agenda. And I know I say Jimin’s not getting to me and it’s true but it—makes me want you. All the time.”

You settle for the truth with a kiss to his sternum. “I have no free time after today though.” 

“That’s okay,” Jeongguk whispers. “Just love me now and you can always love me later.”

“I can do that,” you say. 

He lets you dig into his side even further. “Are you sure you don’t wanna talk about school?”

“Mm.” You know it’ll help to air your dirty laundry. But knowing Jeongguk has his own shit to deal with is enough for you to hesitate. “Nothing I—haven’t said before. Just stressed.”

“About your last assignment?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re smart. And for whatever reason, really into baby-making in foreign countries.” Jeongguk groans when you pinch him. “But I know you. And you’ll do well. Also it’s official that you’ll do well because you’re dating someone really good at what they do, and I was just inside your body so technically my energy transferred to you.”

“Very solid process.” 

His breathes warmth into your skin. “Believe me. You’re gonna be fine.”

And it’s not the end of the world, not being able to see him for a bit. You both know this. You hug him tighter to you regardless, like making his skin stick to yours was an actuality. You know he feels it too when his arm locks just a tiny bit harder. An unspoken longing for the mold of your body.

You’ll get there.

It’s been four days since you’ve seen Jeongguk, so Namjoon takes the responsibility of keeping you sane. He books a study room for three hours and meets you with a two cups of coffee and three extra pens just in case they run out while you mark your assignments together. He takes the stack of papers from you with a frown, and you work.

The paper is coming along well. You think you have a good five pages to go, but the amount of hounding Professor Kwon has done is scaring you into another late night-in. More and more marks are due, and Namjoon has his own work to deal with. You hate to burden him with your own but now you’re really feeling the Stress from school.

[6:01 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hey what are you doing [6:02 PM] You: i’m doing work :(( [6:02 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Poo poo [6:02 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m bored [6:03 PM] You: 💩💩 [6:03 PM] You: sorry bout it !!!!!!! [6:04 PM] You: wait how can u be bored ur @ practice ?? if ur just…. doin practice [6:05 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: On break [6:05 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: And I miss you [6:06 PM] You: omg!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [6:06 PM] You: my heart

Namjoon’s eyebrows are scrunched. “I can’t tell what this student is saying.”

“Read it out loud.” 

“I will argue that the legalization of crack cocaine will act as a beneficial potential towards the bettering of society. With the advent of legal marijuana usage in Canada—yeah.”

“That’s… an abuse of thesaurus privileges,” you comment.

He hums. “They’re young, let them live.”

Again, Jeongguk texts you.

[6:09 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: When are you free [6:10 PM] You: tonight [6:10 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m not 😩😩 What about Wednesday? [6:11 PM] You: i’m only free rn baby :( might have to wait till after friday [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Damn [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I need to go now text me when you’re done k?????? Love you [6:13 PM] You: okay ! 💜

You hear Namjoon snapping at you. “You’re getting distracted.”

“Sorry.” Your pen twitches in your grip. This is your third cup of coffee. “Just—need a goddamn break.

You can sense Namjoon’s nerves grating too. “I get it.” He looks at his watch. “Well. We need to leave in five minutes.”

You graded almost all of your half of assignments. You let yourself breathe a sigh of accomplishment, clearing your work into your bag. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“Buy me lunch someday and we’ll call it even,” Namjoon says. He swipes the papers your way to collect. “And by the way—” he takes one last sip of his coffee— “I caught wind that one of the Commissioner-Generals is coming to the ceremony.”

You stare. “From which agency?” 

“No clue. But I just thought you should know.”

Of course he would. The one time you don’t clear your search history and now Namjoon is up your ass helping you find any potential global PhD programs. And it wasn’t unimaginable either, some higher-up coming to see the semester-end awards the department heads organized, and the student chair had a lot of say in it, current one being Kim Namjoon: a lobbyist, a smart guy, and Twitter-sort-of-famous for being really damn loud about inequality.

But they’re probably not recruiting me, you think. Best not to get your hopes up lest it go to a well-deserved head who apparently doesn’t get distracted by the potential of finally squeezing their boyfriend’s dick. 

Namjoon sighs. “Hey, isn’t the ceremony the same day as the game?”

“Yep,” you confirm. For a split second, an image of Jeongguk giggling pops up into your head.

“Do you think you’ll make it?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, standing outside the door until Namjoon turns off all the lights. “I’m gonna try.”

The hallway to the main entrance of the Humanities wing is quiet. “Speaking of the game. Any intel about your current… predicament?”

“Jimin?”

“Jimin.”

“About Jeongguk?”

“About Jeongguk.”

“Fuck,” you murmur. And you thought he’d be kind enough to keep your secret, but Namjoon is to Jimin like a big is to a little except they’re both too posh to be in a frat. “Not really. And stay out of it.”

“I will,” he says. He opens the door, winter wind as brutal as ever. You think about Jeongguk walking you to the bus stop but he’s probably already back at his dorm. You shiver. “But if I catch you distracted on your phone again I might have to ask.”

You cower into embarrassment.“Sorry.” 

Namjoon waves you off. “Just get home safe, yeah?”

Getting home isn’t that bad; late enough for the absence of the rush hour crowd and you get to sit on the bus the rest of the ride. You all but book it to your place to escape the frost nipping at your cheeks and into the nest of your textbooks. Plans to demolish at least a tiny bit of your not-so-tiny pile of work come to a stand-still when you hear your phone vibrate.

[7:46 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hey did u finish yet [7:46 PM] You: fuck sorry forgot to text [7:46 PM] You: yeah i did, i just got home [7:47 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: That’s good [7:47 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Do you have a lot of work to do tonight?? [7:48 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Please say no [7:48 PM] You: ….. [7:48 PM] You: why [7:48 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: The plan [7:50 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Still building [7:50 PM] You: should i be scared [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I know you wouldn’t like it if I didn’t ask, and I’m a good boy, so [7:52 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can I send you a picture of my dick?

A boot hangs limply from your toes from when you were trying to tug it off. Dumbly, you’re gaping. Gaping at this transition from shy Jeongguk to… whatever the fuck this was. The pulsing of your sex betrays your shock.

It’s not like things were changing fast, either. That moment in his bed—after he fucked you with his fingers—was the last time you’d been together. A solid evening of knotted arms and Jeongguk’s breath down your neck. He’d only let you go because your complaints to do homework got too loud for him to sleep properly, and you left him in his room like that: heavy-eyed and full of low murmurs for you to come back.

“You’ll miss me, right?” He’d asked. It sounded so innocent. Looked like it too when he stood next to you as you slipped on your shoes. The answer was easy.

“Duh.”

And it wasn’t like you weren’t affectionate. Sure, gaining the impulse to hug and squeeze him was one you had to work up to, but this came with new relationships, that novelty of being someone else’s: one that Jeongguk had no problems getting used to. Took you a little longer to warm up to his kisses in public but you’re here now. Here, slack-jawed at this distant intimacy. Feet mired in your shock, on the carpet of your front door.

You don’t remember feeling this desperate for Jeongguk before. 

[7:54 PM] You: i [7:54 PM] You: definitely wouldn’t be opposed

You lock your screen fast. Fling your shoes off, slap your jacket onto a hanger. You nearly bust your bedroom down in your hurry to get the fuck on the bed, like the rush of a late night with a stranger but Jeongguk is wholly familiar and isn’t even here to touch you. The ding of your phone is enough to keep you on your toes. You don’t swipe yet because already you’re sweating.

Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 1 Photo and 2 Messages

Should you take your clothes off? Or is he supposed to ask you to do that? Should you ask? What the fuck. This was too much.

You open it. It takes one second to download.

That’s his dick. Jeongguk’s dick, flash on, held up by the tips of his fingers at the base like he knows his angles. The tip is flushed with a wetness you’d lick right up if you were there just to feel the way he shivers under you.

[7:55PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Baby I’m so hard [7:55PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wanna kiss you all over

You squeal. 

This was your boyfriend, mister-campus-hotboy, the one literally everyone got hard over and now he’s sending you his own personal dick pics. Maybe you do need to thank the high heavens one day because

What

The

Fuck is going on.

No matter. 

[7:57PM] You: i want u to [7:57PM] You: want u on top of me [7:57PM] You: with ur lips on my neck [7:58PM] You: getting me wet. u always make me. wet

You can’t wait anymore. Your shirt is off, bra tossed, back bare on your sheets. You shimmy out of your pants just as Jeongguk texts back.

[7:58PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Fcurck baby [7:59PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can’t stop thinnking abt u [8:00PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: The way u sounded [8:00PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: When I was e ating u out [8:01PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: u tasted so good on m y tonguel fucckkkk [8:01PM] You: are u jacking off rn ??? [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Yess [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Touch urself [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Please?

Panties come off. It’s not a surprise when your finger is soaked in your arousal, teasing your clit and you sigh.

[8:02PM] You: fuck im so wet [8:03PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Yeah??? [8:03PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: What r u thinkgnin about [8:03PM] You: your mouth [8:04PM] You: on my tits [8:04PM] You: my cunt [8:04PM] You: u got me off sooo good [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Fuucckckk baby [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You’re so hot ho ly shit [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Want u so bad [8:06PM] You: how??? [8:06PM] You: u already treat me so good [8:06PM] You: maybe i’’ll take care of u now hm? ?? [8:07PM] You: mymouth on ur dick [8:07PM] You: taste so good [8:08PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Shit

Everything was jumping out of your head so quick your one hand couldn’t keep up. The two fingers on your pussy dipped again, jolts of sweetness straight through your nerves when you rub yourself faster. Focusing on his texts was as easy as trying to stave your orgasm off, which… really wasn’t going too well, pelvis meeting the palm of your hand in a desperate kick.

[8:08PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Take your clothes off [8:09PM] You: past that

It takes him a minute.

[8:10PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Could you send a pic [8:10PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Pleas e

Oh. Okay.

You lean up on your elbow, push your chest against your bicep in the hopes that your cleavage could somewhat be evocative enough in the weak light of your phone. (You notice you forgot to turn the lights on.) The picture cuts off right above your nipples, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t do that just for the possibility of a desperate plea. You lie back down.

Sent.

[8:13PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: urruhguhgkehrdhfg [8:13PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Baby pleease I want more [8:14PM] You: of what ??? [8:14PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: FUck [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I want you [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: On top of me [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Grnding yuor pretty pussy on my dick [8:16PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You’re wet ik ur wet

Of course he would. He knows your body better than ever before, and you might tease him but the throbbing you’re attending to is too much of a distraction.

[8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can you imagine that [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Teasig my cock into you [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I won’t putnit in yet [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Bc I want u squirming o n top of me [8:18PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Ik u don’t beg [8:19PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I would ask u anyway if u want me to sink u down on my cock

Oh my god. The soft sucking sound of your fingers inside your cunt isn’t enough to drag you out of this reverie. It just sinks you deeper into this bliss Jeongguk spells out for you so well. He has you like putty. Your knuckles curve you into a hopeless whimper.

[8:20PM] You: i want that [8:20PM] You: iwa nt that so bad pleas [8:21PM] You: let me feel your dick inside [8:21PM] You: u want that so bad baby [8:21PM] You: to feel me squeezing around u [8:21PM] You: im so tight and wwt [8:22PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wanna hear u  [8:22PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Ft [8:22PM] You: just call

You don’t think you could handle seeing his dick now. Especially when the build in your pussy is this close to tipping you into a climax he probably wants to hear.

Your phone blares in the quiet. “Baby—”

“I’m so close,” Jeongguk says. He sounds like he’s panting. “Tell me you are too. Please—!” He cuts himself off with a gasp.

“Y-Yeah.” You burn in his desperation, curling into your cunt in the spot you know would have you keeling over. “Ngh—!”

“I wanna hear you. Wanna—hear you when I fuck you. So—good.”

“Oh fuck—”

“You want that too baby?”

You heave. “Yes!”

“Let me hear you cum. Please. I’m so fucking close—”

“Jeongguk!” You sputter, moaning loud, crying in the extremity. It zips through your core, has you reeling, legs shaking as you rub it out so hard you arch from your bed. You barely register Jeongguk’s own completion.

“Fuck I’m cumming—shit!” He groans, long, noisy on the line but the image of his cum onto his hands has your stomach clenching. Clobbered by his own doing and it’s almost endearing how fucked out he sounds. There’s a moment where you hear fumbling, a distant breath; shifts in the mattress probably. “Baby…”

Your phone lights up again. 

Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 1 Photo

You don’t hesitate this time. 

His dick is wet, probably with his spit, but now his entire first is closed around it, dregs of his cum pooling in the suction of his palm against the pink skin. The urge to put your mouth on him is so over-whelming you groan in frustration.

“Want it in my mouth,” you say.

“You’ll make me hard again,” Jeongguk murmurs with a laugh.

It’s just past 8:30. “So. What got you so hard that had you begging for me over the phone?”

“Hm.” You move until you’re under the covers. A makeshift warmth because you don’t have Jeongguk to cuddle you for post-sex softness. “I don’t know. Just missed you. Again. Sorry if you had work to do.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah I’m not.” You think you hear him in the washroom. The vent is loud. “Made a mess.”

“Not my fault.”

“Uh, it kinda was. Hoping for more nipple next time.”

“Now you’re asking for too much,” you sigh. There’s a sleepy pull in your head, dragging you through the waves of feelings that currently bombard your heart. “I miss you too. Hope you’re not working too hard.”

“I have a bruise on my ass! Oh my god I forgot to tell you. But Hoseok checked me so hard for no fucking reason and—boom. Landed right on my booty.”

You coo. “Aw. Want me to kiss it better?”

“Yes please, it’s on my fatter butt-cheek I think.”

It dies down again. “So what stage are we at for your build-up?”

“Close to the finale.”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling. There’s only three days left till your prospective hells come to a head. Then it’s back to loving Jeongguk but closer to him this time, not through the cracked screen of your phone. “Can’t wait.”

“Me too,” Jeongguk says. “Guess—I should leave you to your work?”

As much as you want to say no, the pile of essays on your desk is calling for your ass to get moving. It sends a quick ripple of nervous tension down your spine but the sooner you get it done the sooner it is to texting Jeongguk again. You know he’s impatient too. “Yeah. Might stay up.”

“Not too late, okay? You’re almost there. And make that tea I bought you, it’s supposed to help with your headaches.”

You’ll cry. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Text me when you’re gonna sleep.”

You’re probably ovulating because a tear really does slip over your cheek. The stickiness between your thighs rubs your skin when you finally get up, avoiding the offensive stack of work in your periphery when the hints of a new headache start to come up. 

Jeongguk probably knew you were heading straight into another painful night of working. There’s a tin of loose leaf tea sitting patiently for you in your cupboard. And maybe taking on the teaching position wasn’t such a good idea, but then again, dates where everything loomed over you were inevitable. School’s a bitch. But you have an attractive boy waiting for you to finish, and that’s what prompts you to face the music. One more time.

Three more nights. 

The first night is actually okay. You get a page and half done, and Namjoon checks in with a text in the evening to make sure you aren’t pulling your teeth out. Jeongguk has practice the whole day. 

During the second night, you forget to save one of the articles you cited, and you spend a frantic hour searching through all your sources to trace it back. It’s a painful process and you almost cry, but you text Jeongguk and he sends you a selfie of him sending you a thumbs up. Your phone lags trying to scroll through the gigantic box of of hearts he texts you. You find the article. It’s good.

Third night and you’re about ready to give up. Jeongguk and Namjoon are both out of commission because apparently the universe hates all of you and you’re all busy with your respective work. But you have a page to conquer, and the onus is on you to show up with nice skin tomorrow because the department likes to take pictures to post online. The tea Jeongguk got you steams as you type diligently.

One

More

Word

Andit’sdone.

“Oh god,” you whisper to yourself. You scroll through your paper, making sure all your citations are right. Page numbers there. No excessive use of the first-person, your professor’s name spelt correctly. Formatted correctly.

It’s done.

You bask in the harsh light of your desk lamp, weight lifted off your shoulders the instant you save your document to submit online.

The assignment page loads, and you hit the button.

The line of your phone rings twice.

“Hello?” Jeongguk groans. It’s three in the morning. “Babe? Are you okay?”

“I FINISHED I SUBMITTED IT IT’S IN!” You yell. A genuine rise in your throat that has Jeongguk whooping with as much energy as his sleep-ridden voice can allow on the other side of the line.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I wanna hop on your dick right now.”

Jeongguk just snickers. Your eyebrows raise, because for sure he would’ve been choking. But maybe it’s because he’s tired. “Don’t tempt me into a boner, it’s too early for this.”

“Fuck—sorry. You have your game. Okay I’ll hang up. I’m gonna—sleep. Try to. Okay I love you! Sorry bye!”

“Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You knock out the second your light is off and your head hits the pillow.

You asked Namjoon earlier in the day to call you awake because your ringtone is more annoying than your alarm. And even though the ceremony is later in the evening, you’re scared that you’ll sleep the entire day away. 

Jeongguk texts you before you’re up. A congratulatory message, and another saying that he’ll be at practice the whole day so he’ll try to text you at lunch. But the afternoon sun sees no text from him and you know it’s because he’s sweating his balls off on the hockey rink. Stubborn like you know he is but now you miss him again. 

One thing that sticks in your head the rest of the day: the thought of it being over. Because once you get your awards and hopefully get to see the end of the game, you get Jeongguk to yourself again. Two weeks of agonizing to get to this point all but crashes into your loins to spark a frighteningly hot fire, and now, once again, you’re left to fantasize about Jeongguk’s dick. You force yourself not to dwell on it too much, makeup a risk to your fidgeting and if the reason why you have an ugly picture up online is because you were longing for dick then—well. 

It’s Namjoon who greets you when you get to the conference hall downtown.

“You look good,” is all he says. 

You stick your tongue out at him. You had to redo your lipstick twice. “Shut up.”

He leads you to where he was sitting: the massive table stuck in the middle with the microphones sticking up along the perimeter. Maplewood and entirely unfitting for the green carpet, though Namjoon beats you before you can say anything mean. “If you look up front, that’s the Commissioner-General I was talking about.”

You look. She’s a petite woman, scarily thin, wearing a bright scarf. “Yoon Soomin,” you recognize.

“Correct.”

“Namjoon!” You hit his shoulder, and he winces with a grin. “Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Because I knew you’d get stressed!”

Well he’s goddamn right you’re stressed now. Yoon Soomin, Commissioner-General of one of the programs you had your eyes on for the past year now. Applications are open next week. You’ve had yours done for a solid six months, and now the head of the program is right here. In the flesh. Watching you about to get your award.

The chatter of all the other students is drowned out when the program head gets up for the commencement speech. “Good evening everyone. My name is Bae Joohyun. Thank you—”

Ding.

Namjoon kicks your shin. You silence your phone. It’s Jeongguk.

[7:39PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hi babe hope u had a good day!!! Sorry I got distracted [7:40PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I know ur gna win like fifty awards so advanced congrats!!!!!!! Proud of ur big brain [7:40PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Love you [7:41PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I hope you make it later pls try ur hardest but if u can’t it’s okay but like I would really appreciate if you. Came [7:41PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: OJO [7:42PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Heh Taehyung said that looks like me 

There’s clapping. You don’t know why everyone’s clapping but you do it too.

[7:42PM] You: pls don’t break any limbs while i am here i won’t be fast enough [7:42PM] You: love u. play smart not hard. i’ll be there for ur final goal 🤪 [7:43PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Anything for my scholar [7:43PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You r so cute please come soon [7:44PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I have to go now I LOVE You

“I will now invite the Student Chair Kim Namjoon forward to deliver a speech,” Professor Bae says.

No last text to Jeongguk because now you join the applause once more. Namjoon gets up with practiced ease, staggered steps of confidence because if anyone is going to get a PhD first, it’s him. And you know he applied for the program too.

It starts simple: “Thank you for coming today.” A celebratory gathering, gratitude for everyone’s hard work and commitment. A call for everyone to continue being ambassadors for the Humanities. Nothing you haven’t heard before. 

“I would also like to announce that the department has decided to award a special recipient tonight for their academic work and contribution to graduate research,” Namjoon continues. “The award will be presented by Yoon Soomin, Commissioner-General of the Anthropology for the Humanities Global Network. Please give your warmest applause to Doctor Yoon.”

Oh god. Your literal idol because she was just as interested in babies as you were and Jeongguk would for sure be goading you into a frenzy because of your shaking. But you clap as normally as normal clapping goes, and Doctor Yoon takes the mic.

“I’ll just head straight into it,” she says with a pretty smile. You catch Namjoon looking at you. He raises an amused eyebrow, and now you’re suspicious. “It is an honour to call upon ___, for their recent submission of pronatalist work based in Europe for the research study funded by the Global Network.” That’s—you. That’s you, and these are your legs moving on their own accord to the beat of the eager applause. You don’t look at Namjoon but you can hear him, because he’s clapping the loudest. “___ has been recognized before: for an outstanding submission in undergraduate research on cultural genocide, as well as active participation in the Anthropological department.”

Yoon Soomin extends a hand to you, as well as a pretty certificate gilded with bold letters in the form of your name. Again: all offered by Yoon Soomin. Again, you are shaking. 

“T—hank you,” you stammer, and her hand is soft in yours and you really just might cry but it’s probably because you’re exhausted. You’d slept for a solid ten hours but no amount of rest would have ever prepared you for her pretty voice congratulating you again. “I—It’s an honour.”

“Picture time,” Namjoon interrupts. He’s got his phone up. “Smile!”

“Congratulations again,” Doctor Yoon says. She grins like she knows something too, and the rest of the ceremony is static in your ears.

Like always, it’s repetition. A name called, award presented. Your name is exhausted three more times, and you’d cower under the attention but you worked too goddamn hard not get to this point. You think of Jeongguk, probably three to none even though it’s only been half an hour into the game. You and Namjoon are practically trembling when Professor Bae dismisses everyone.

Your jacket is on, purse about to swing over your shoulder when someone comes up to you.

“Hello.” Doctor Yoon again. “Oh—are you in a hurry?”

“Not at all,” you rush out. You can feel Namjoon vibrating too. “I—Thank you so much for presenting the award.”

“It was my pleasure. The overseas program application opens next week,” she advises, and you really might scream but you will yourself to stillness. “We don’t know where it’s based yet, but I hope that doesn’t discourage you from submitting your application.”

“Oh she’s been interested for years,” Namjoon offers. You elbow him. Doctor Yoon laughs. 

“I’m glad to hear that. Keep up the good work!”

You all but skirt around her with a quick thank you again! and make a mad dash out the building and to the underground train because Namjoon sucks and can’t drive on highways yet. “Good thing you didn’t wear heels because you’re so fucking slow.”

“Shut up,” you growl. The people on the sidewalk offer no space for you to slither through, and you grind you teeth with impatience. “And don’t give me shit when I beat you four to one.”

“Not everyone’s into babies like you are, genius.” You reach the closest subway entrance, a seedy staircase down into the dirty cement and your fare is paid with a drop of a coin; running for the departing train and you make it by the wisp of your hair. You sigh into an empty seat, Namjoon right next to you. “Time.”

It’s nearing 9:00. “Oh my god it’s almost done.”

“You’ll make it,” Namjoon says. The jostling ride is another twenty minutes, and you know it’s cutting it short but you promised Jeongguk. He’s so close. You’re out of breath. “So you’re free now, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“You worked hard.”

You scrunch your face in embarrassment. “Thanks Joonie.”

“I mean it,” he says. “No one deserves this more than you. Yeah? Cut yourself some slack.”

“I know—it’s just—I couldn’t be there for Jeongguk as much as I could have—” And it’s all coming out now. There’s only one other person on this cart other than Namjoon so you let yourself have the moment, the breakdown. The awfulness of preoccupation and missing your boyfriend and too much work. You don’t want to cry but the screech of the metal tracks makes it easier to hide. “‘M so fucking tired.”

Namjoon pats your back when you heave. “Two more stops. Then you can curse the gods all you want.”

Good incentive, because once the doors slide open on your stop you book it up the escalator as fast as your fatigue can allow. Luckily campus is right around the corner, cars taking up all the space on the road. Probably all here for the final match of the year, your university against the one a city over, and the cheers are so loud you hear it from the two sidewalks over. “Let’s go let’s go!”

And you and Namjoon run again, down to the set of doors of the arena nestled into the corner of your school. The doors are heavyset but you yank them like you’ll die if you aren’t inside within the next twenty seconds, and it’s only now that you feel the buzz of your phone from a text.

[8:58 PM] Jimin Bimin: I’m on the east side with taehyung, third from the bottom bleacher, mostly in the middle. hurry!!!!!!

Namjoon’s no doubt just following the beeline you make because even you can’t feel where your legs are taking you. All you know is the rush of school pride and the deafening yells of the crowd, lost bits of popcorn on the floor scrunching against your shoes as you search for Jimin. You see Taehyung first: warpaint on his face and he waves you over quickly, scooting over with a pull on Jimin to make room for Namjoon too.

“You made it!” Jimin screams and it still sounds like a squeak with the roar of the people everywhere.

But you ignore this, laser-beaming the rink for that familiar 97. You catch Jeongguk closely following the puck, stick clenched tightly in his fists, legs quick in their glide as the offence. You feel everyone’s bated breath, hands grabbing Jimin’s arm—the other team’s members flying past Jeongguk, the raise of the wood, a slap to the puck—

The red blares. The crowd goes wild. 

“HE WON!” Jimin screams and so do you, the wave of excitement passing over you like fairy dust and now everyone’s cheering. You have no idea what went on. But now all the boys off the rink jump over the barrier to grab Jeongguk in a hard throttle, arms tangled around each other, chant lost on your ears but they look so happy. 

Somehow, a body breaks away from the huddle, and now they’re skating in your direction. 

Jeongguk waves. You smile. A wave back, and now you have each other again.

You wait outside the building, watching as the throngs disperse. Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jimin already said their goodbyes, last felicitations from them both and a promise for lunch from you somehow gets squeezed from the conversation too. The brick is hard against your back.

[9:30PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: WHERE ARE YOU [9:30PM] You: i’m outside already!!

A door bursts open. There’s an inhale, then you turn your head. Jeongguk drops his bag the second you charge for him, arms ready for your attack as you jump and wrap your legs around his waist, arms caught on his neck. You think you hear someone gasp but it’s all lost on you now. “Oh my god I love you,” he breathes, and you cry. “Babe—”

“I watched you,” you sniffle, and you frown when he laughs. “Watched you win.”

“I’m glad.”

You kiss him. “Missed you.”

Jeongguk looks like he might cry too. “Mine again?”

“Yours again.” And you mean it. 

“I would—I would invite you over to the after-party but I’m sleepy,” he says in between presses of his mouth, “and I ran out of contact solution the other day so I can’t invite you over and also Taehyung’s probably sleeping right now.”

“Then you come over.” You melt into his tongue, his feet staggering in your grind and he bites your lip.

“R-Really?” 

“Yeah, actually get some shut-eye.” He lets you off when you wriggle your ass against his hands, dragging him to the bus stop before he can put them back against your jeans or else you might really fuck him this time. “Because Taehyung snores too loud anyway.”

The ride to your apartment totals eight minutes because it’s late, and living on the edge of the suburbs means no one’s up this late anyhow. Jeongguk hadn’t even let you find a seat, balancing through red lights on his feet just to fly out the door when you’d reached your stop. You’ve already done too much running today but Jeongguk still rushes you up to your floor, and before you can get the key to your door he has you pressed up on it instead.

“Want you,” he says. Hard against your throat like he means it.

“God—let me—open my door and you have me,” you say through your teeth, gritted because the hallways echo and now Jeongguk has his thigh pressed up against you. “Babe let go—”

He does, but only with a lingering kiss promised by your burning attraction. You don’t fumble with the lock but you do stumble in from how quick you open the door, slamming shut in your haste and you hear his duffel bag meet the ground and now your back meets the hard metal again. “You have to stop shoving me into this thing oh my god.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jeongguk whispers. He’s kissing you again. Lifts you up with no warning and you yelp into his curious mouth, dick grinding into the rough of your pants. “Fuck I—”

“Did—you want to—”

“No—wait yes, yes—I just—” He doesn’t let up. You can feel his cock straining against his sweats, flimsy layers you could just shove down but his hips are glued to your own. “I can’t—cum. Right now. Too much. Wind—wound up.”

Your tailbone is starting to dig into the door. “Then let me down and let’s just—sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. One last kiss, nose meeting yours. “Still on my hockey grind.”

“Ew,” you snort. “Also don’t wear your pants to bed.”

“Oh.” He shoves his shoes off when you do. 

“I don’t like it when people wear their outside clothes on my sheets.”

“Oh.”

“But it’d be nice to wake up to your dick on my ass,” you add. Jeongguk makes a strangled noise, then carries you to bed.

“I’ll brush my teeth tomorrow,” is the last thing you remember him saying. 

The morning rushes in too soon. Your curtains aren’t closed and Jeongguk hogs the blanket, sprawled on your side of the bed no less. You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to spoon but at least his cock is warm with something just as soft as your ass.

You settle in the calm. Jeongguk isn’t one to snore but his soft breaths are just as jarring, disbelief apparent when you realize this is the first time he’s ever slept-over at your place. As convenient as it is to live somewhere that only needed one bus ride, you’re on campus all the time; making sense meant taking up space in his res instead. But now the lump he occupies in your bed is something you think you could get used to.

(Even if he hogs the blanket.)

You’re still in your clothes from last night, but at least you had the decency to shuck off your jeans. And you’d gotten up well past Jeongguk-sleeping-hours to take off your makeup because it took you forever to pry his ridiculously strong arm off around you. You get up with a kiss to his mane of bedhead and a silent reminder to grab an extra toothbrush.

The next plan to execute on your list after washing the tired off: breakfast. And you know you don’t have eggs but you open the fridge like you’ll see the carton sitting there anyway.

You’re standing, coming to a blank for what feels like forever. You think briefly about ordering in, then remember the guilt of just grabbing groceries instead. The internal battle is cut short when you hear the creak of your bed, a long groan. Then, footsteps.

“You look sad,” Jeongguk croaks two seconds later.

You frown for effect. “I want eggs. And why are you up.”

“Come here, egghead.” Jeongguk is groggy. The sexy kind too, because his voice is a tenor that scratches the needier part in you, the one telling you to bury your face in his chest and you do just that. “I felt you move. Sorry I couldn’t wake you up with my dick against your butt.”

“S’ok. And go shower because you’re stinky.”

He lets you go. “Good morning,” he says for the first time. A domesticity you feel lightheaded from. “You should shower with me.”

“Unless you’re scared of detachable shower heads I think you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be cocky,” he whines. “And you’re dirty too, you sweat a lot just like I do.”

That’s true. “But it’s not even a hair washing day.”

“Why are you resisting me, woman.” He brings two hands up, wiggling his fingers. “I’ll tickle you.”

“You will not—”

“I will tickle you and if you don’t shower with me I will cry.”

You huff. “Fine.” He leads you down the hall to the bathroom, satisfied in his quick win, back flexing when he takes his shirt off. “And I’m the cocky one.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says. You know he’s baiting but you don’t want to resist him anymore. “You need to turn the shower on because I don’t know how to.”

Getting naked is a different kind of intimate when you’re not in the bedroom. You know this because Jeongguk can’t even look your way when you’ve stripped, but you’re shivering like he’s staring.  You step into the tub before he can back out. He doesn’t come in till the water’s running.

You like it hot. Jeongguk—not so much by the looks of his hesitation, so you compromise with a slight shift of the knob and a switch in place so he’s under the pelt of water. He’s all hard muscle under your hands. “Hope you like cherry blossom.”

He doesn’t say anything. Grabbing the loofah you spurt your pink soap, lathering it on his chest first. Jeongguk just stares. “I really missed you,” he says.

You nod. Nodding fast to keep yourself from thinking too hard because then you might start getting soft. “Me too,” you croak out. “Want me to wash your hair?”

Jeongguk just brushes his lips against yours in answer. You’ve just reached over his shoulders to get the back of his neck but he forces you back into the tiles, back inundated with cold hardness and there’s no room for complaint when your tits press against Jeongguk’s skin like this. He groans a desperate sound into your pliant mouth. “I—I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

You pause. “For what?”

“I don’t—know—I—just having you here again. Makes me want to do everything.”

You are enveloped in mist and so much longing. “Let me finish then we’ll—go back.” You don’t know if you want to focus southward because one look at his dick and you’ll fall to your knees. “Turn around.”

He does. The glass of the divider fogs up in your intimacy. You give a half-hearted scrub along his skin, focusing on the grime you can’t see. Can’t think.

“Okay you know—I think we’re good,” you say, voice tight.

“Come here.” Jeongguk spins to find you again, a hard kiss into you and you feel his dick press up against your stomach. “Towels.”

“Turn off the shower.” You push open the door, shaking legs dripping onto the floor as you scramble to wrap yourself in warmth other than Jeongguk. He grabs the other one, quick passes over his skin before he drops it to the floor and nearly bowls you over to get you out into the bed room.

It’s bright. Jeongguk reads your mind. “Can I—shut the blinds?”

“Please.”

He goes to twist the plastic while you dry off the last remnants of water clinging to your skin, and before you know it Jeongguk has you lain flat across the tangled blankets, legs dangling from the side of the bed. “God I tried really hard to have a normal morning with you but I—just can’t anymore.” He kneels over you. “Please tell me you feel the same.”

You could go on about how quick the one-eighty was. From your thoughts about breakfast to this absolutely insatiable need for your boyfriend to insert whatever valid body part he could use into your pussy. But you and Jeongguk are never conventional, and going too fast is an illusion now. 

You have each other again, and no one’s counting the seconds anymore.

“Will you fuck me?” You ask.

“Yes,” he decides, and he unwraps the towel you’d clung onto before pressing downwards and caving into your lips. “I—have never wanted you so goddamn bad in my life, oh my god.”

“Good,” you choke on your breath because Jeongguk slips down your throat with his tongue and a pucker of his lips. “Ah—!”

A bloom of your slick runs through your cunt when he sucks hard on your skin, thumbs a shy presence on your breasts but they peak under the pressure. “You have the cutest tits,” he says. 

“Shut up.” You flare with embarrassment. “You can—be more rough.”

Jeongguk twists your nipples and you pant. “Like that?”

“Suck on them too. Make it—hurt.” His eyes flutter, determined in your command. Mouth a hot suction, laving you with his spit. His teeth graze in a bite and you moan. “Fuck—yeah. That’s so good…”

He stays like this: feeding into your sounds with sloppy grips of his tongue, suckling till your tits pop out his mouth and your hands find the nape of his neck in desperation. “Ugh—please—”

Jeongguk slurps on a nipple. “Get up there.”

You scramble up the bed, comfortably nestled in the centre and Jeongguk’s fingers go to spread your pussy,   cheeks heating in the sound of wet. He sighs.

“Do you want to cum now?”

You dip your head. “Please.”

He settles on his stomach, diving in to latch onto your clit, sucking that has your head thrown back further with every inch he covers with the jerk of his tongue. Honed in on the dangerous tip that could have you teetering over in a second and your hips pull back, but his hands take your bucking and locks you down to his attention. Too much so and now you wail. “Oh my g—od.”

Curses caught in the grit of your teeth because now he licks the stretch of your cunt like he’s thirsty. Jeongguk’s good at making you want more when you don’t know what means. “Gonna—use a finger.”

“Fuck, yeah. Yeah.” He curls in and up, a sweet crevice touched. Eyes rolling back as you puff. “Holy fu-uck yeah, finger it.”

“Wanna beg?” He suggests. Challenging.

“You’re asking me to?”

“I’m begging you to,” Jeongguk snickers.

“Then—” you settle up on your elbows, watching the minute thrusts into your cunt like a lazy cartoon— “please use another finger. And—make me cry this time.”

His eyes bulge in your confidence. Pulls out; now there’s two hard intrusions and it digs into a sweeter part inside, a touch that has you keening right into the pillow, drool smearing on the sheet. Clit sitting pretty on his wet tongue and you’d let him have it all day if he asked. Then Jeongguk thrusts in a drill so hard you vibrate. “O-O-Oh my fuuuuuuck—”

He curves into your loudness. “So fucking sexy,” he praises, rushing right through you and onto his fingers. “So wet—”

“Ugh—!” Your sobbing isn’t a tearful one but the scratch in your throat is smarting. Jeongguk swipes right over your nub. Leans up, fingers still a consistent presence and now his tongue is teasing yours, a muscle spasm more than anything and you can’t fucking breathe.

“Sit on my face,” he says.

“You—really?”

“I might cum.” Oh. He looks at you, eyes a wonder of pleasured agony. Probably because he’d been grinding into the sheets like last time but now you’re even more gone.

“Okay,” you gulp, and Jeongguk rolls over. Knees above his shoulders, using his elbows to slide along the mattress till you’re settled comfortably over his eager mouth. “You okay?”

“Fuck yeah.” He pulls on your thighs until his neck doesn’t strain up anymore, a stretch you can ignore if only to feel the traction of his rough love on your sensitivity. “This is—so hot.”

“Are you—pulling on pornographic roots right now?”

He hums into a suction. “Yeah.”

“What else have you thought about?” You can’t see his entire face from your view, but his forehead is scrunched. Thinking hard for you.

“Nothing—crazy,” he says. He kisses your leaking cunt. “Always wanna make you feel good. But it’d be hot if I choked you, yeah.”

“Oh—”

“Whatever you like,” Jeongguk decides. “I like whatever you like.”

“I would like it if you made me cry,” you contend.

He doesn’t say anything else. Jeongguk squeezes your ass, neck straining to get you dribbling on the tip of his tongue, pleasure pulled from the bottom of your stomach into moaning so loud you’re worried for the thinness of your walls. “Oh my god I’m close—don’t stop—”

Your pussy grinds right into it. His fingers are lax on your skin like he’s given up if it means you feed into your own demise. And you do: grating all your nerves from Jeongguk’s insistence into your sex and your hands tangle into his hair. “Oh fuck I’m—Jeongguk—!”

The feeling settles heavy in your pussy. Taken with a vehemence you’d praise forever and Jeongguk is nothing but passionate, a power translated through all his work and one he insists on when he paints your cunt like it’s his favourite thing to do. His hands tighten their grip on your ass, nearly falling over when his tongue slides like that—

“I’m cumming—oh my god I’m—fuck!”

Your eyes sting. It bursts—starting on Jeongguk’s tongue and spreading so fast you can’t tell up from down.  Moans wrenched from your chest and you can’t catch your breath, even when you push yourself off from Jeongguk because you can’t stop riding into it. “Ah—oh fuck.” You’re sniffling.

“Babe wait did I actually make you cry?”

“Yes you idiot, come here.” And Jeongguk crawls over you, kiss-ready, lips wet on yours. “Do you—is it—are you okay? Do you wanna try now?”

“Sure,” he says. “I just—might not last too long.”

“We take it slow,” you say. He nods. “Got condoms?”

Jeongguk looks sheepish but he nods again. “Please don’t ask me why I have them on me.”

“I’m asking why you have them on you.”

He groans. “Let me just—get them from my bag.” And he runs, hard penis and all, outside to the bag he’d left outside in your haste to the bed. He’s not even gone for two seconds before he has the string of foil in his hand. “Remember there was a party last night? Taehyung gave them to me just in case—you know. Something happened.”

“Good friend. Do you—have lube too?” 

Jeongguk pales. “No.”

“Come here,” you order instead, because you’re ridiculously wet anyhow. He gets closer, lying down when you push his chest down. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Just wanna kiss you.”

He lets you. You stay in this moment, a precursor to a new era if you were being dramatic about it. But having him so soft and yielding under you like this makes you want to enjoy it, bit by bit. “I love you,” he says.

You mold into him. “I love you too.” Reaching over for one of the foils, you tear it as Jeongguk stares with a still chest. The condom rolls easily. “Okay?”

“Yep.”

Then you sit on top of him, your own breath caught in the butterflies jumbled in your stomach, a flit when his hands come to rest on your thighs. Nerves tangling with his and you feel the low tremors in his body. Your pussy glides along his dick lying pretty on his stomach. You tangle your hands with his. “Don’t be nervous,” you whisper.

Jeongguk gulps. “Just—kiss me again.”

You lean back down, his hands tightening yours when you meet him again. “Are you okay?”

His eyes are closed. “Yes—yes. You can put it in. Please.”

“Just—say the word and I’ll stop.”

He nods.

There’s a lump in your throat. You want it to be good for him. The griping all his friends did had done a great deal for your sex life, yeah. But the point of his comfort was crossed so many times you feared he’d back out by this time. And now he waits: waits for your go, on your own time, because the last thing he wanted to do was pressure you too. You know it in his attention, his quiet insistence on making you cum first. His patience for you to come back to him. Waiting so that you could get comfortable before he did, because he’s only ever comfortable when you are. 

You hold the base of his dick, tip straight below your core, positioned at the height of both your breaths.

You sink down.

It’s a scarcity, to feel this good from the get-go. A prodding that pinches a little stretches you right, Jeongguk’s length gloved in your heat, so much heat because he groans. “Oh my god.”

“Is that—okay?”

“Yes—”

His hands find your hips when your knees drop down even further. Slow, slow, slow; so wet because he makes you feel it—until you bottom out. Jeongguk shivers. “Tell me—when I can move.”

You watch his eyebrows scrunch up, teeth gritting when you shift to ease the weight on your legs. “I’m good. I’m good, please move, fuck.”

You do. You pick up to an easy pace, not straining yourself but enough for the tip of his dick to hit a spot in your gut that has you cooing. Your hands find his chest. “Ooh—fuck yeah.”

“Is it good—for you?” Jeongguk pants, bucking his hips when he watches your tits bounce. 

“Yeah. Feels so good…” You trail off, getting used to the feel of something so much thicker than his fingers. A burn you can’t say you haven’t missed, teasing your insides and you squeeze.

“Baby—that—fuck—” He’s sweating. His forehead shines, hair caught on his skin. His chest is a flushed, wet where your palms meet him because you’re getting a little winded now. But the little grunts he lets out every time you bounce is enough to keep you going. 

“Do you think—you can cum like this?”

His grin is sheepish. “N-No.”

You opt for a closer grind then. “How do you want me?”

“Your back,” he says, hesitant. “Let me—fuck you from the edge of the bed.”

You can do that. You lift up till his dick lies wet on his belly, sheets a mess under your bum when you let Jeongguk get up to move you the way he wants. He stands, one knee on the mattress as he spreads your legs, pussy served like it’s his to take. Makes a grab for his dick; jostles around a bit on your clit to see your hole tighten, stomach clenched. 

He presses in slow just to see you shiver. In control of your pleasure again, and you sigh into the sheets. 

“Oh my god.” You grasp the blankets, elbows strong to watch what you now know is the visual of Jeongguk fucking you. A little stilted in his rhythm, but only because he’s getting used to the feel of your pussy like this. 

You don’t care for the semantics of proper fucking. As long as his hips meet your ass in the beat you can only call nasty. The squelch of your arousal is loud. “Fuck—baby…”

“Yeah—feels so good.” Buried deep in your walls and maybe you could learn the ridges of his dick like this: lain here for him to use, cunt fit only for his pleasure. A position you’d gladly take everyday from now on because fuck if this isn’t heavenly. 

You know he feels it too when his chest picks up in his panting, dick a piston now and you mewl. 

“Yeah—faster, baby—like that—!”

“Shit—” Smearing your walls with your own slick, made for him to dirty. A push so vigorous you would be sliding if it weren’t for Jeongguk’s tight hands on you, and all you can do is take it. “Babe I’m close—”

And he bends down, kissing you with a pant into your mouth because he’s getting spent, efforts all going into your pleasure. He still thrusts. “Cum. Cum when you can, fuck.”

“What about—”

You shut him up with another press of your lips. “I’m fine.”

He leaves it at that. Jeongguk leans up again, adjusting one more time till he’s got both knees on the bed, cock a heady presence inside your sex and he gives it hard now. You’re trying not to squeeze so hard around him but it’s getting difficult; seeing him so focused, his eyes wild, sweat dripping on his shoulders. Sweltering in your heat and love and novelties—defiling him but in the best way possible. “I love you,” he chokes. “Oh my god I might—”

“Give it to me,” you whisper.

He does. Your pussy is still in Jeongguk’s indulgence, his whines escalating until he groans out: “I’m cumming—”

Jeongguk slams into you, a final push for your core and he croons into your neck. Streams of his pleasure in the form of a long sigh, his pulses inside. And maybe you’re dumb but you’re laughing and crying again, arms wrapping around his neck, swaying him back and forth as he calms down. 

“How was that?” You ask.

He’s crying, too. You wipe his under-eye when he takes one more kiss. “Best ever,” he says. “I’ll make you cum.”

“You don’t need to—” But his thumb is already on your clit, still wet from his doing and you force your hips to stillness— “Jeongguk no—”

“I wanna feel you cum around my dick,” he says, and the plea is enough for you to tighten and cry even more. It hurts, a nudge of pain but it’s already beginning to spread into pleasure—

“Jeongguk—”

You cum into his kiss, walls clenching into an orgasm so sweet your toes tingle. A ripple of pleasure running through all of you and he moans like he feels it too. 

Out of breath. It’s hot under his skin.

“So. Who do we tell first?”

Jeongguk laughs. “Maybe we can decide over breakfast.”

And you feel something, better than orgasmic bliss, the pleasure of a tryst: the simplicity of being in love. Jeongguk makes you feel like you can do anything.

“Eggs?” You ask.

His tongue is sweet. “Eggs.”

[themilky-way]

the help

gif credit: starkissedtom

pairing: peter parker x gn! reader

summary: when peter comes back home from being spider-man, he finds that someone is already there to welcome him. 

warnings: mentions of cuts and bruises, a very hilarious, mistaken taquito robbery (in my opinion, if i’m to be quite honest lmao)

author’s note: back on my peter parker bandwagon bc i miss that mf

----------

as soon as it had come, summer left without notice. the sun rays that continued till the evening were now replaced by the moon’s melancholic ones, and it appeared that this year they were brighter than they’d ever been. tricolored leaves-dry and shriveled from its ending cycle-peppered the crosswalks, streets, and roofs of new york without leaving a junction of space. drafts of sudden wind caused random civilians to pull their jackets closer and walk into the closest coffee shop for warmth. night came sooner now, with the time change and all, so the majority of the city’s lights whirred to life beginning at five in the afternoon. no one ever complained because they’d been looking forward to these aspects of autumn ever since it’d left the year prior, and everyone made sure to express their excitement as vividly as possible. 

the one person who didn’t fit into this group was new york’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, and who could blame him? stacks of messy and scribbled papers lined the desk he should’ve been at, with his backpack unopened from every zipper and pencils and pens of all hues poking out from them. the wall in front of his workspace was decorated with tiny sticky notes that had reminders on them, almost as if they’d encourage peter to finish his tasks. they served a purpose, perhaps not its intended purpose, but more of an excuse in case aunt may asked him. essentially, his plan went like this: cross out random assignments, maybe add a few question marks for emphasis, and hope for the absolute best. so far, it’d worked.

tonight, peter’s plan was still in effect. towers of packets and due dates were now progressively worse than they’d been last week, but his mind was somewhere more important than his college entrance exams. as of now, he was kneeling on the edge of an old building that provided a clear view of downtown queens, internally debating whether a suspicious-looking man exiting a 7-eleven had stolen a box of taquitos or a whole wad of cash. “friday, what’re we thinking?” 

“peter, it may be that he just has these things at random.” 

he furrowed his brow. “no one has stacks of cash unless you’re dwayne johnson,” he paused for a second, and a cricket chirped as if on cue, “that guy’s not dwayne johnson.” he swung away before he could register another thought, changing the direction of his webs to ultimately land at the small shop, and he did what he needed to do. the mask allowed him to voice his witty commentary amidst a series of hard blows, which did not earn any laughs from the opposing side. his vision was pure technology and estimated diagrams-courtesy of friday, thank heavens for her-that enabled the web-slinger to trap the robber against the counter. the man yelled something, but it was too vague for anyone at the scene to fully comprehend. peter snatched the money back and handed it to the owner and then stood back, waiting until the sirens of police cars became more audible to swing away. when he did, he wished his fellow observers a good and safe night, placing a web ball shaped like a spider to a little boy gazing up at him. truthfully, he’d be lying if he said this wasn’t his favorite part of his (unofficial) job because it most certainly was. 

on the way back to somewhere, he asked his computer buddy for the hour, and he realized the somewhere was going to have to be home. so, he swung and he leaped and he ran for a short while to get to the window of his bedroom, except he found the light on instead of how he left it: off. 

his mind first told him it was may who had discovered his absence and was about to give him a whole lot of hell for leaving without notice. yet, as his eyes scanned the window for clues of a foreign presence, the panic in him settled and was replaced with confusion and then with relief. 

“hey-oh, crap-hey, watcha doing here?” peter asked as he entered through the narrow vicinity of his window, bumping the top of his head along the way. it was you he was referring to since you were seated rather comfortably in the chair of his desk, writing what looked to be like his homework?

“may let me in. i just told her you needed help with physics and that we’d be studying,” you spun the seat to answer. you weren’t totally lying per se; you had been filling out his study guide and reading his physics textbook-minus peter. “i hope you don’t mind me showing up like this, and doing your packets. i know you’ve been struggling and i wanted to help.”

the boy standing in front of you still had his mask on, but the moment he dragged it down his tired face, you abandoned everything near you to rush up to him. new but trivial scratches caressed his chin and nose, while a bruise or two accentuated the highlight of his cheekbones. he hadn’t noticed them at all. hell, he hadn’t even felt them for a split second until the pads of your thumbs had touched them. “can you-wait, just hold on for a little, let me go grab the kit,” you stammered. peter’s hand grabbed your own in an attempt to keep you there instead, assuring you they didn’t hurt as bad as they seemed. his eyes were honest, and maybe it was the pent-up fatigue washing over him or the stress of needing to be everywhere at once, but he was genuine about his pain for once.

“you’re tired, too. get some rest, yeah?” his grip tightened on your hand to hearten his request before leaning in steadily to kiss the skin of your forehead. “you’re warm? do you have a fever?” he questioned, “i’ll go run-well, swing actually-and i-i’ll buy you some medi-”

you placed the gentlest touch to his cheek and kept it there so he’d take a breath and calm his nerves, surprising you a bit when it looked like it worked. “i’m perfectly fine, i promise. you need to sleep, too,” you repeated, adding a tiny smile.  

somewhere in the joy of the moment you entangled into an embrace. peter’s suit smelled of smoke and barbecue sauce when your nose pushed against his chest, and he laughed at how detailed you expressed your opinion on the matter. he, on the other hand, was more curious about whether you solved problem three on-what was it? page 5? no, definitely page 6.

in the middle of bickering, you’d cleaned up and peter had changed to regular sleeping attire, to which you’d been offered a matching set as an insinuation for you to stay. “i, personally, would like to rejoice in the act of sleeping in the top bunk,” you proudly claimed.

he turned off the light when he ensured you were under the blanket. before settling down below, he reached up to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. 

“yeah, yeah. it’s full of baby spiders anyway.”

[spagbol99]

Heyy happy FFWF! You’re amazing and I love your fics! So, my brain just decided to remind me of one of your posts from a while ago where you gave us a snippet of a fic you’re currently writing (it was the seven-sentence challenge I think) and I got curious about it again. Is it something you’re still working on? If it is, would it be possible to get another sneak peek to satisfy our irondad cravings? I’m sending some sunshine your way, hope you have an awesome day!☀️

Hiya!  Happy FFWF!

I am indeed still working on my BioDad fic.  I am about 90K written but I won't lie, I’m struggling a bit.  I think a lot of it has to do with wanting it to be good enough- it doesn't feel like it has the same flow like I had with A Peter Parker Problem.  I mean, I think what I have is ok but I want it to be as better (- sorry couldn't resist a Homecoming pun..!).  So I prob need to get out of my own head about it.  Anyway, that really isn't what you asked me, is it?!  Can you have another sneak peek?  Yes you can!  Ok, you know how long winded I am so it’s more of a half a chapter rather than a snippet - oh well!

----

                                                  Peter

“Peter, Boss would like to see you in his workshop.” FRIDAY’s voice filtered down from above.

Peter looked up towards where it had emanated from, worrying his lips between his teeth.

Why did Mr Stark want him to go down there?

Peter had retreated back to his room after they had said their goodbyes to Harley.  The weekend had turned out much better than he had expected.  He’d actually enjoyed himself and not felt like he was taking up space in the Penthouse.  They’d tinkered about with tech and watched movies.  Mr Stark was so much more relaxed in the workshop.  He couldn’t deny that it’d been fascinating to see the man in his element.  He’d left the two teenagers to do their own thing at one point, but Peter’s eyes had been drawn to the man as he worked: watching him work with holographic schematics with singular focus.

Peter put down his pen on top of the homework packet that he was working on and headed towards the workshop.

Sweat started to pool under his armpits as the doors to the room swished open as soon as he was in front of them; no need to knock or announce his arrival.  

He tentatively followed the sound of metal on metal and as he turned the corner, he could see Mr Stark was working a sheet of a thin alloy into – well he wasn’t sure what, but something else.  There was a bead of sweat running down the side of his face, and his hands were oily.

The banging stopped for a moment, and Peter cleared his throat.

Mr Stark twisted towards the noise, pulling his safety visor up when he saw who it was and sending Peter a warm smile.

“You, um, wanted to see me, sir?”

Tony took the visor off completely now and headed towards him, picking up and rag and wiping his hands as he did.

“Yeah kid, I did.  It’s about borrowing the tools.”

Peter straightened up.  Shit, he was in trouble.  He looked at the floor and put his hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry.  FRIDAY said you wouldn’t mind, but I should have asked you directly.  It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant…” Mr Stark’s face crumpled.  “My tools are your tools.  It’s just, I figured it’s safer if you use them in here.  So, I set you up with your own workstation in here, you know, so you can have a proper area to create.”

Peter stared at him.  He’d never had his own place before.  A million possibilities went through his mind.

“It’s just over here…”

He followed Mr Stark a few steps to where there was indeed a cleared off desk.

“I figured you might like a holo projector too.”

Peter’s eyes widened as Mr Stark opened it up.  

“I set you up your own server so you can save your work easily.  You can talk to FRIDAY just as you’ve seen me do and she’ll help with any calculations or, well, anything you require.”

Peter continued gaping, as Tony jotted something into the holo and a rotating gauntlet came into view.  “I took the liberty of putting this on here for you to practice getting used to working with the system.”

Peter stepped forward straight away.  This was the coolest thing ever.  He pushed his fingers forward and grabbed a piece of the floating gauntlet in his hands, pulling it apart in a motion that he’d seen Mr Stark doing yesterday.  The image separated out into the component parts.  He moved the pieces around with no more than a flick of his wrist.  God, the whole system was so intuitive, it was incredible.

Peter spent a few moments engrossed before he realised that Mr Stark was standing there watching him.

“Oh, thank you, this is awesome.  Th-thanks.”

He saw Mr Stark moving slowly, no doubt on purpose, to place his hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.   It felt warm and secure.  It had been a while since he’d felt such a gentle, warm gesture from an adult.  He turned his attention back to the hologram; trying to keep his cheeks from burning but knowing he probably wouldn’t succeed.

Mr Stark’s hand retreated and he did too.

“Um, Mr Stark?”

The man turned around with a hopeful expression.

“I, uh, don’t suppose you have time to show me how it all works.”  Peter chewed the inside of his mouth.  He didn’t need help, not really.

Mr Stark let out the biggest smile that Peter had seen since he arrived, and he came and stood next to him.

“Yeah, sure bud.  All the time in the world.”

                                                   Tony

Tony’s heart had taken a while to calm down.  He’d been in a lot of high pressure situations in his lifetime.  Literal life and death situations; Afghanistan, the wormhole and yet here his heart had been hammering just as much as it had then.  At least that is what it felt like to him.  Hell, the kid could probably hear it from where he was stood next to him.

He was stood shoulder to shoulder with his son.  Just that thought alone was enough to make his stomach flip – though this time in a good way.  His heart rate gradually began to decline, and he tried really hard to keep the ridiculous smile off of his face.

Being so close to him, hearing him talk.  And God, he was so fucking smart.  He seemed to want to hide it, but then he’d start to get excited, and Tony could see the inquisitiveness and joy in him.  It was there, had been all along, there just hadn’t been the chance to push it out from behind the sheer fear the kid must be feeling about this whole new situation, this whole new identity that he had.

Tony knew that they should have talked about it all directly by now.  But the kid was so on edge, he didn’t want to do anything to make it worse.  

Social Services had reminded him that one of the major conditions of their breaking protocol was Tony’s agreement that Peter would attend Counselling sessions – both individual and family sessions.  They were set up to start next week – it was just down to Tony to tell him.  Tony looked over at him, as Peter studied some calculations, his dark eyes intent on the numbers in front of him, knocking a pencil against his lips as he did.  Not today.

This whole weekend had been incredible – he’d be sure to send Harley a fat gift for his part in that.  He’d made it all so effortless.  So Keener would be getting a gift and an extra bump in his college fund too.  But if the weekend had been good, then this afternoon had been perfect.  

Tony hadn’t been too sure how the offering of the worktable would go down.  It could quite possibly have been met with the same polite distance Peter had shown him since he got here.  He was sure he was being totally transparent.  Having the worktable in here meant spending time with him.  He wasn’t sure that was what Peter wanted.  But then, he’d just been about to leave him to it, not wanting to hang around applying pressure and Peter had reached out to him.  Peter didn’t need guidance on the system – not really, that much was obvious in the first five minutes - so Tony could only surmise that Peter wanted to spend time with him.  He’d asked about Tony’s old projects and tentatively asked Tony to show him them.  Which was how they came to be elbow deep in giving DUM-E a proper tune up.  Self-admittedly, Peter wasn’t as up with mechanical engineering, so it gave Tony the opportunity to teach him – something that he had always imagined that he’d have the opportunity to do with his son.

Peter’s head lifted and a moment later Tony heard the tell-tale click of Pepper’s heels.

“Tony!”  Pepper’s voice called.  And oh yes, that was her pissed off tone.

“Over here,” he called back cheerfully.

“So you are here!”  Her voice was starting to grow louder as she got closer.  “You can’t just mute FRIDAY and include me in that; we had a meeting, what was so…”

Pepper had made it to where they were and stopped still, her eyes training from him to Peter and back again.

“Sorry Pep, forgot about that meeting.”  Tony couldn’t help but smile at her with what he hoped was a ‘look at this, don’t mess this up’ vibe.

Pepper’s mouth was open but before she could say anything, Peter did.

“Sorry Miss Potts, I asked Mr Stark to show me how DUM-E worked…” Peter seemed to hunch in on himself.

“That’s no problem.  Tony appointed me as CEO specifically so he didn’t have to deal with meetings, if I remember correctly,”  Pepper said, sending him a warm smile.

“That was one reason.”

“I suppose it is pointless of me to ask if either of you have stopped to eat whilst you have been down here?”

Tony looked at Peter, who looked back.

“Erm…”

Pepper rolled her eyes.  “Tony, it’s 8pm and he hasn’t eaten!”

“Oh, sorry kid…”

“I didn’t even notice the time, I was so focussed,” Peter said sheepishly.  

“Oh no, now there are two of you.” Pepper put a hand to her forehead.  “I’ll go and order something in whilst you finish up and wash up.  Pizza ok, Peter?”

“Yes, Miss Potts.  Thank you.”

With that she turned on her heel and was off.

Tony looked to Peter who looked a little chastised.

“You did good, kid.  If you hadn’t been here, she’d have had my head.”  Tony grinned and Peter seemed to push a little smile out.  “Shall we get cleaned up?”

Peter looked down at the robot in front of them as he twisted his hands together.  “We are about ready to close him up, right?  I don’t like to leave him all hanging out.  Can we just finish it off, sir?”  

Tony shifted his weight back.

“How about we make a deal?  You stop calling me ‘sir’, and we can finish DUM-E off.”

Peter looked up at him, a look of uncertainty in his face.  Was it so hard to not call your own father ‘sir’?  Had his parents or uncle been so formal?  Or was it something else?  The words emotional distance floated into his mind – huh- maybe he had paid some attention during his past therapy sessions.

“Ok,” he said softly.  

“Great,” Tony gently knocked his shoulder into Peter’s without thinking too much about it and was rewarded with a smile.  “Let’s get this guy back on the road.”

----

Thanks for the ask!  

[bittysvalentines]

Would That I

From: @lizards-online

To: @pieandpucks

Sometimes in life, things are missed. Opportunities are lost, but as a whole we cannot stop moving. Still, something feels left behind, dropped in a time before. We keep going, with something lost and something gained, until life gives us our chance again,to take destiny’s chance to reconnect and find what is lost. 

At Samwell University resided one Dr. Jack Zimmermann, a professor of history with an affinity for ice sports and queer literature. His smile was kind and his hair was just beginning to hint at touches of grey. He was a hard grader, and his readings were long, but his passion for teaching and his love of his students always showed through in his work. Students left his classes better thinkers, harder workers, and with only the smallest crush on him. Okay sometimes, not so small. Even the straightest of men recognized that Dr.Jack Zimmermann was a resident hottie. Rumor had it that he was voted “Samwell’s Most Gorgeous” four years straight back in the day.  

 Jack shuffled a few papers at his podium so as to get them in order before the end of his lecture. “Everyone, thank you for your attention today, just remember if you want to earn some extra credit points, you can attend one of the alumni guest lectures that will be on campus this weekend, and then write a one page response on the speaker’s topic and your thoughts. I’ll be popping in to a couple of the speakers myself, so if you see me, don’t be afraid to say hello.” 

Jack began walking across the front of the classroom, dispersing flyers advertising the Alumni Symposium to be passed back. 

A student in the back of the room raised her hand, staring down at the flyer in her hand “Dr. Zimmermann, when did you graduate Samwell?”   

Jack paused for a moment. “2015. Why?”

“Well, I was just looking at the graduation year of some of these alumni, and it says here Eric Bittle Graduated in 2017. So that means you were only two years ahead of Eric Bittle when he went here!” 

The class erupted in murmurs and comments. Eric Bittle was one of Samwell’s most famous alumni. He led Samwell to the Frozen Four his senior year, while being the first out NCAA hockey captain, was drafted by the Falconers and was the first openly LGBT+ player in the league. He won the Stanley Cup his rookie year (first of many) along with the Calder and Art Ross. Even outside of hockey he was famous for his witty vlog which evolved from a cooking vlog to a hockey, cooking and life blog with now over 18 million followers from all walks of life. 

Jack swallowed hard. Yes, it was true, his time at Samwell and Eric Bittle’s time did overlap by two years, and in fact, during those two years, he ran into Eric all the time. They were...friends. Shitty made sure of that. Jack would watch the hockey team’s games, not only to support Shitty, but to watch Eric weave and maneuver across the ice unlike anyone else. Even though Jack had decided against playing in college, he never did lose his love of the game. Meanwhile Eric would hover about the library doing anything but homework when Jack was working. Plus, the semester they took a class together was definitely a bonding experience. But it had been a long time since they had spoken. After Jack graduated, he felt too awkward reaching out to someone who he had a massive crush on but was WAY out of his league. And when one month turned into two, and then one year turned into five, and five years into a decade, Jack had trouble remembering where all the time had gone.

“Hah. Uh, yes he was two years younger than me. We had a class together once.” Jack decided firmly against mentioning his large crush on the blond to his entire History 336 Seminar. 

The students in the room all lamented about how cool it was that their professor knew a celebrity. 

Jack closed the door to his office and scrubbed his hand over his face and let out a sigh. Would it be awkward to see Eric again? Would Eric even remember him? Probably not. It was just a youthful crush. Even if Eric was still as attractive and charming and wonderful as he was back in the day, Jack was far past his prime. He could just not go to that lecture, but he felt drawn to it, as if something wanted him to see Eric speak. Jack picked up his phone and dialed the most recent number. It picked up on the first ring. 

“What the FUCK is up Zimmermann, to what do I owe the pleasure of one of your rare and coveted calls? Are you in legal trouble? Did you kill someone? Did you kick a goose and now you’re losing your Canadian citizenship?” Shitty was Jack’s best friend. He was boisterous and energetic but genuine nonetheless. His words washed over Jack with a wave of excitement and familiarity. 

“Haha Shits. I’m good. And no, no geese, at least not this time. I was just wondering, would you want to come down to Samwell this weekend? There’s an alumni symposium going on, and I think you’d enjoy the speakers.” 

“Ah ha old Jackabelle misses me. Of fuckin course I’ll come down to the symposium, but I’ll warn ya man I’m not gonna sit through more than ONE old white man talk. ONE. Who's the lineup anyway?”   

“I can forward you the flyer but  just off the top of my head: there's the current head of the English department, Dr. Masawa, she’s gonna be talking about her book, um Dr. Atley is going to present some research, and um, Eric Bittle is going to be there.” 

“Bitty fucking Bittle? The myth, the man, the legend himself? Well fuck my ass and call me chicken we HAVE to go to that. It’s been like FOREVER since I’ve seen Bits. What a fucking beaut. We texted a bit last month but it's been like a year and some since I last got to hang with him. You know he’s got a daughter now?” 

“Oh. Uh, no?” A daughter. Jack’s head spinned. He knew he didn’t have a chance with Eric but he didn’t realize that Eric had gotten married and had a kid. That would’ve been big news right? Was Jack really that out of the loop? He needed to read the news more. 

“Yeah she’s fuckin adorable as fuck. Like, two, three now maybe? He posts pictures of her on Facebook like all the time.”

“That’s uh pretty cool. Listen Shits, I have to go I have a, uh, book to read. I’ll see you this weekend. You can stay at my place. Text you bye.”

“Bye Jac-” Jack hung up the phone before Shitty could fully say goodbye. Why did he feel like there was a pit in his stomach? He didn’t care that Eric Bittle was a married father. So what? It’s not like he had a chance with him anyway. What would he have done? Gone up to him after his speech and say “Hello, I had a crush on you in college, and then we never talked after I graduated. Want to go on a date?” Even if Jack had had the confidence to do so, it was literally impossible now because Eric was a married father, a professional hockey player, celebrity, and an A Level hottie. All Jack had was a doctorate, a wall of books and a million papers to grade. He wasn’t even in the shape he had been in when he was in college, so really, he didn’t have anything to offer. Jack should just shut out all the fantasies of those big brown eyes, and golden hair, and gorgeous toned legs. Gosh what was he doing? 

Jack crossed the room and slumped into his chair behind his desk and picked up a stack of papers sitting on a chair beside the desk. The best way to distract himself was to drown in work. 

Eric Bittle woke up at 6 a.m. Saturday morning to the sound of his daughter crying. He was tired and sore from his game the night before, and a bruise was starting to form on his left thigh due to a nasty check from a Bruins defenceman but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. 

Eric threw off his sheets and rushed into his daughter’s room. Allie was just about two and a half years old, and was in the midst of potty training. Unfortunately for him, Eric was also in the middle of the thralls of hockey season so a lot of the potty training fell on her daycare teachers. Being a single parent was tough. When his cousin Elizabeth had passed away, leaving her and her partner’s daughter to him, he had no idea what to do. He had been five years into his professional hockey career, out, single and totally unprepared for the hurdles of parenthood. 

He pushed open the door to the nursery to find his daughter sitting upright whimpering. “Oh you poor thing. Looks like we’re going to have to get you changed real quick now aren’t we Miss Allie?”

Eric brought her to the changing table and cleaned her and dressed her for the day. It was a little earlier in the morning than he had planned, but he needed to get a move on to get to Samwell in time for his guest lecture. Eric had reached out to his old advisor and she recommended him an education major who would be glad to watch his daughter while he spoke and mingled, not wanting to be away from her for the entirety of his day off. He dressed her in cute bunny socks and a yellow shirt and white pants. She was just about the cutest thing in the world. Soon Eric himself got dressed, packed a diaper bag and headed out. 

On his way Eric’s thoughts winded through his head. It had been quite some time since he’d been back to his alma mater. Samwell had been such an influential and formative place for him. From developing his hockey skills to coming into his own as a gay man. And even though he never did have a long lasting romantic relationship, the friendships he made there pushed him through his life and helped him become who he was. Thinking back to some of the people, he thought about the boys, Lardo, some of the other team captains, and his mind landed on one Jack Zimmermann. 

Eric had always had such a massive crush on Jack, with his boyband bangs, his droopy eyes, jaw that could cut glass and a behind that would give greek statues a run for their money. Eric had first met Jack through Shitty, but then subsequently kept running into him in the dining hall, gym and then one semester for a class. Jack would come to their games and Eric would watch him stack books in the campus library while he pretended to do homework, but always ended up back at the circulation desk, talking about everything and nothing until it closed. They had been friends, and Eric had had the largest crush on earth on the sad-eyed Canadian. But Jack was way out of Eric’s league.  He had been voted Samwell’s Most Beautiful for four years straight, and suitors were constantly trying to ask him out. And then Jack graduated, leaving Bitty yearning for what could have been. According to Shitty, Jack was a professor at Samwell, but the two hadn’t really kept in contact. After the fact, there had been some boys, some boyfriends, even some hookups, but nothing lasting more than a few months at a time. At 30 years old Eric Bittle had never been in a relationship longer than 9 months. 

The sight of Samwell pulled Eric out of his thoughts and Eric shook his head. He had things to do, and he wasn’t going to let ghosts from the past distract him from his job today: to speak about Samwell, sports, and his activism. 

Jack entered the packed auditorium with Shitty in tow. He smiled and waved to a few of his students while Shitty was speaking as if he was a physical manifestation of stream of consciousness. They took their seats in the front row reserved for faculty, staff and alumni. 

“I wonder what he’s gonna talk about. I hope he brings up all the swawesome shit the SMH did. Like that one kegster when-” 

“Wait Shits shhh there he is” Jack cut Shitty off. 

Eric Bittle walked onto the stage with a mic affixed to his shirt. He wore tight fitting navy blue slacks that highlighted just how well the NHL had bulked him up. His top two shirt buttons were unbuttoned on his white and navy blue patterned shirt. The sleeves were rolled up ¾ of the way showing off the definition in his arms. Jack’s throat immediately went dry with his face getting more red as the moments ticked on. 

Fuck. Eric Bittle was even hotter than he remembered and was a million times more attractive in person than he had been in promotional pictures. And his voice, the accent was so cute! Keep it together Zimmermann, that’s a married man. Jack was going to have a hard time sitting through this entire speech. 

  Fuck. Eric walked on stage, scanning the audience and almost immediately his eyes landed on one Jack Zimmermann. He was wearing a tweed jacket, with glasses and his hair was just a touch grey. Time had been very kind to Jack. Eric’s throat became dry as he stumbled his way through his introduction. Shit Jack was in the front row. How was Eric going to concentrate when the hottest man in the world was right in front of him, watching him speak for an hour and a half. 

Clapping. Jack was clapping. He zoned back in after having not actually comprehended a single word for the past 90 minutes. He had just sat and stared at the most gorgeous man he had ever seen and tried not to get a boner. Shitty was speaking to him. Jack needed to respond. 

“Yeah. He does look good in those pants” Shit. Probably not what Shitty asked him. 

“Not what I was talking about, but yeah you know what now that you mention it, mother fucker looks fresh as fuck! I gotta fuckin tell him those pants are doing it for him.” Shitty bolstered himself out of his chair, and up the steps and onto the stage where some faculty were gathering to congratulate him on his speech. Jack followed. 

“Eric Mother fucking Bittle” Shitty bellowed as he walked, Jack close behind, to where Eric stood, now holding a young baby girl on his hip as he spoke with alumni and faculty alike. 

Eric turned to face the two men and smiled. “Shitty B. Knight you best not be swearing around my daughter like that. And Jack, it’s good to see you. It’s been awhile.”

“Fuck yeah it has been. You two were adorable back in the day. You should’ve kept touch more!”  Shitty laughed. 

Jack smiled awkwardly. “Yeah it has been a bit hasn’t it? I’m sorry I never kept touch. Congrats on the hockey, and the Stanley Cup, and the marriage and uh, kid.” 

Eric’s face twisted into a confused half smile. “Marriage? Jack Zimmermann I am not married. I was her godfather. Life happened and now I’m her Daddy.” Eric looked at her, and kissed her forehead softly.

Jack’s brain short circuited. Not...married? “Oh so are you…”

“No I’m not seeing anyone. I’m doing quite fine with her all by myself.” Eric blushed. 

“Okay I see where this is going, I’m gonna back out of this convo..” Shitty etched away from the two men. The latter hardly noticing. 

Jack awkwardly ran a hand through his hair. “In all honesty, Eric, remember all those years ago, when we went to Samwell together. I had the biggest crush on you, but you were so out of league I never did anything about it. I should have, but I was a bit of a coward.”

Eric’s face turned a bright shade of pink as he stammered out a response. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann! You had a crush on me back then? I’ll have you know I pined for you for two whole years thinking you were straight until someone told me YEARS later that you weren’t, and then when I did realize you were an option, I never thought in a million years that you would be in my league anyway. You’re meaning to tell me you had a crush on me that entire time?” 

Jack blushed furiously. “We both had crushes on eachother I guess. I’m sorry I never made a move on you back then. If it means anything, I’d like to uh make one now.”

“Well how about our timing. Gladly Jack. Here, ” Eric pulled out his phone with one hand, careful not to disturb Allie, and handed it over to Jack. “ text me.” 

Jack put his number into the phone and texted himself. “In the meantime, would you like to catch up? It’s been a long time.”

Unbeknownst to the two men, several students stood by in shock, watching their professor flirt with and score a date with a literal celebrity. Two in the front high fived. “Get it Dr. Zimmermann!”

[koolcatkenma]

Tsukkiyama. Tsukki is a vampire and Yamaguchi is his favorite snack. Yamaguchi is down with feeding his bed friend but is normally scared of other vampires. What happens when another vampire also tries to go after Yamaguchi?

btw none of these are beta’d!! so forgive any spelling/grammar mistakes :)

Yamaguchi was quite familiar with the fables in stories that were read to him at a young age. Fairies and werewolves and vampires. But what he didn’t know was that they actually existed, living in the same neighborhoods and attending the same schools. Apparently, there was a set of rules that kept them from showing their true selves to regular humans. But after years of being shielded from this world, he was finally sat down at his own kitchen table, on his 18th birthday, and told that his mother had been a fairy, something akin to a witch. She had magic powers and could fly, but lived a short life after succumbing to human sickness. But that was so long ago.

And the reason he was told this was because they had hoped their son would be born without the magic from his mother. But alas, he was gifted with the power of sight and low-level magic. Human blood coursed through his veins, thanks to his father. But he could see the fable world and control some things thanks to his mother.

Soon after this talk, after it had finally sunk in, Yamaguchi saw things that he hadn’t before. And it was always at night. Shadows too big to be just dogs, smoke that couldn’t be from a fire, sounds that weren’t human. It was about two weeks after this that Yamaguchi finally caved and while sitting on his friend’s bed, everything came spilling out.

After his rant, Tsukkishima just stared at him, silent. The freckled boy worried that he came off as crazy, and he was about to lose a close friend. But before he could open his mouth to apologize, Tsukki leaned toward him and lowered the collar of his shirt. Two small dots decorated his otherwise clean, white skin. And then it suddenly clicked. His best friend, who he had known since he was young, was apart of the world he had just learned about. How could he have missed this?

So many questions came spilling out, his mouth moving faster than his brain. Tsukki just smiled and chuckled.

“How could you not have known? I never tire or sleep at away matches, and I never made any effort to actually cover the bite.”

“But...you age.”

“Vampires now aren’t like the ones in stories. Over the generations, our kind has evolved to age with the humans we surround ourselves with. Recluses and vampire exclusive communities don’t age, but my family has chosen to live amongst humans.” He explained it like it was common knowledge as if Yamaguchi should have known this already. 

He sat back, leaning into the pillows behind him. Tsukki acted as if this was just a regular conversation, returning to the homework splayed out in front of them. But the boy had one more question.

“Do you...do you drink blood?” The words rushed out of his mouth, and he immediately regretted the question. He didn’t want to know the answer.

But again, his friend took it in stride. “We have to, at least once a week. Preferably every day, but the blood supply isn’t always full. We can eat some human foods, such as red meat. But blood gives us the most nutrients.” He turned to Yamaguchi once more.

“But I’ve never drunk straight from a warm body.”

For the rest of the night and most of the week, those words stuck to Yama. They hung in the air. He watched the other people who hung around his friend in class. He could clearly see that they were also vampires. They didn’t try to hide the bite because normal people could not see them anyway. But Yamaguchi did.

Their third year passed by quickly, Yamaguchi being deemed captain and Tsukki becoming the best middle blocker on the team. The pair grew closer as Yama learned more of the world that had opened up to him and always went to Tsukkishima with any questions. By the time University rolled around, the two were close to inseparable. Nobody knew why.

It had happened at the week-long training camp. The third years spent all their time teaching and training younger players from different schools, spending from the crack of dawn until late at night out of the court. The lot was bone-tired, shuffling to their beds and most of them passing out as soon as their head hit the pillow. Yamaguchi knew Tsukki was going to be spending the night reading up for the maths exams next week. He turned to face him and say goodnight when he noticed the beads of sweat on his forehead and the panicked expression on his face. Not wanting to stir the rest of the team, he reached out to him, whispering his worries. Tsukki motioned to the door and they quickly and quietly got up, heading out.

The taller boy ducked into the first closet he saw and pulled his friend in with him. When the door was locked behind them, he turned to Yama, looking more desperate than ever, the worst he had ever seen him.

“I...I need blood.” He panted. The fact that it had been more than a week since his last fill and they had spent every day working out took a toll on the vampire’s body. Yama knew that his friend wouldn’t last the bus ride home tomorrow without any; he knew what he had to do.

He removed his shirt, gripping it tightly. He tilted his head, exposing tanned, freckled flesh. 

“U-use me.” He mumbled, averting his eyes. Without another word, Tsukki’s instincts overtook him. Fangs became visible and Yamaguchi only got a glimpse of them before they were sunk into his neck. He had expected unbearable pain and burning, but it was nothing like that. When his skin broke, it felt like two small pricks, and instead of a burn, it was warmth; steadily growing warmth. Yamaguchi sighed into the feeling, unconsciously dropping his shirt and clutching to Tsukki’s waist for support. His mind went cloudy, the bite feeling good, pleasurable for him almost. And then it happened. After several minutes of feeling this way, his body betrayed him.

He moaned.

Tsukki pulled his fangs out, wiping away stray blood with the back of his hand. Yama cried out at the loss of warmth. Tsukki’s eyes were clouded, but he wasn’t as far gone as Yamaguchi, who gripped him even tighter than before, leaning in to gain just a little bit of the lost warmth back. He was pushed against the door, his friend ushering him into his shirt and out the door, into the dim hallway. The captain stumbled, still trying to attach himself to Tsukki. Eventually, after almost falling face-first into the floor, Tsukki lifted him easily and carried him back to their beds. 

After that night, Tsukki feeding off of his friend became a common occurrence. Before school, before and after matches, when they were in either’s room, alone. Yamaguchi was Tsukki’s favorite snack and his only. College came and they ended up attending the same university, rooming together as well. The feedings eventually included fevered kisses, desperate and full of need. Yamaguchi blamed it on the feeling that came with every bite, and the two never discussed it outside the feedings. 

That was until Tsukki got caught up in class, which left Yamaguchi to walk to their dorm alone. It was close to ten at night, the sky dark and cloudy, threatening rain. He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around him. He thought he saw shadows out of the corner of his eye, following him, but chalked it up to wind. But of course, it wasn’t. 

The first vampire came up behind him, wrapping one arm around his neck and placing his other hand on his mouth. The second appeared in front of him from the fog, baring his fangs.

Yama couldn’t cry out, couldn’t scream for help. He was powerless against these supernatural beings. And when the first set of fangs sunk into him, he nearly passed out. 

“So sweet, just like how you smelled. Only better.” The man sucked harder, ripping more skin and bruising the surrounding area. This wasn’t the warmth Tsukki gave him.

Before the attacker could take too much, he was ripped from his neck and thrown to the ground in front of him. The vampire behind Yamaguchi released the boy and tried to run, but a flash of blonde hair stopped him, tossing him into the woods like he was just a baseball. Yama crumpled to the ground, drained. Tsukki picked him up, speaking to him but none of the words made sense. He could feel his blood trickling down his neck, and watched it stain Tsukki’s shirt. His fingers went to the spot and looked up.

“Sorry, Tsukki.” He muttered before closing his eyes and succumbing to the dark.

***

 He woke up in his room, in his own bed. It was still dark outside and the room was quiet. He would have thought he was alone if it wasn’t for the person standing at the side of the bed. And when he shifted, hands went to his face. Worried eyes met his own, scanning his face.

“You scared me, Yamaguchi. I didn’t think you’d come back.” Tsukki engulfed him in his arms, tucking his face into the side of his neck that wasn’t wrapped in gauze. The boy immediately felt relaxed, arms reaching out to return the embrace. They stayed like this for a while, Tsukki eventually climbing into bed with him to make the boy more comfortable. Before sleep could pull him back under, Yamaguchi looked up.

“Tsukki...I-I love you.”

The blond placed a kiss on his forehead.

“I love you too.”

buy me a ko-fi!!

[cruezins]

       ☣  ;  (  KIM TAEHYUNG  ,  24  ,  HE/HIM  )  coming up next on rebel radio is OPAUL by FREDDIE DREDD  .  this tune goes out to SIWON RYU  .  rumor has it they just rolled into town and are fightin’ for the GHOULS  .  they’re AFFABLE  ,  INQUISITIVE but also AIMLESS  ,  MERCURIAL so watch your backs out there  .  we wish them the best of luck here in our golded city of light  .  stay vigilant  ,  stay dirty rock ‘n rollers and we’ll catch you for the next one  .

𝐎𝐎𝐂  :  hello  !  i’m deni and i don’t know what editing is  .  i use she/her pronouns and live in the gmt+9 timezone  .   i’m terrible with ooc chats and half the time just want to vibe a connection or plot idea  ,  so please don’t hesitate to throw a half-formed thought at me because i swear i’ll do the same  .  my discord is gay fairy#6371  .  anyway  ,  here is siwon  ,  someone i’ve been work-shopping for a while  !  looking forward to writing with you  ♡

                     ☣  ;  𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐇  .

cw  :  drug mentions  ;  stop me if you’ve heard this one before------

       his dad’s a junkie and he hasn’t seen his mom since some fatcats bought their restaurant for a steal a few years before  ,  but that’s the way of life for a lot of people in the underground  .  young  ,  bored  ,  and desperate to hear and smell anything that wasn’t the rottenness of his own childhood home  ,  siwon found himself on the streets more nights than not  ,  spray paint in one hand   ,  painting nights in greens and purples until reds and blues chased him away  .  makes his first steal before he can tie his shoes  .  creates alliances with the neighborhood kids  ,  sneaks around to watch how the haves live with their pretty  ,  pretty screens and their ugly  ,  ugly words  .  school isn’t anything special  ,  either  ,  and while siwon can’t remember shit that he reads from a page he can work with his hands  .  fast and efficient  ,  nimble fingers whether they’re flying across a keyboard or fucking around with some screws  .  you can make something of yourself  ,  some of his teachers tell him while others can’t stop bitching about homework or tardiness or the way he falls asleep in the middle of class  .  but what’s siwon supposed to make  ?  he and his ragtag group of weirdos he calls friends  .  when he gets older and nights get hungrier  ,  siwon learns to stop relying on the benevolence of neighbors and finds a job  ---  he’s fast  ,  after all  ,  with a sweet face and wide eyes  ,  makes a helluva getaway after years and years of running  .  

       thieving’s a natural grift  .  he’d been training for this his whole life  .  then he catches the eyes of a boss man who isn’t nearly as mad as he should be catching some kid with his wallet in his hands  .  courier comes next  ,  ferrying messages from a bunch of suits all over the city  .  siwon never opened the packages  ,  never second guesses the credits that start bloating his account  .  desperate  ,  he does what he’s told and does it well ------ and that’s the real kicker  ,  isn’t it  ?  that after a year and some-odd months of dedicated service they leave him high and dry with some bullshit he doesn’t have any involvement with  .  after years of running  ,  boys in blue finally catch him and he’s left to take the fall of some dumb fuckery  ,  man  ,  and he’s pissed  .  steaming in jail  ,  it’s a wonder some other gang didn’t get to him first  .  the longer he sat and talked with that ghoul member  ,  the more he grew to despise the rich  ,  the ones who left him to rot after all the shit he did for them  .  what was even the point anymore  ?  dog eat dog kind of bullshit  ,  no sense of loyalty or shit anywhere  .  the law and all that money was out to get him from the beginning and siwon had enough of it  .  a few months locked up but he learned and leaned and learned  ,  only able to get out on a technicality  .  the second he stepped back out into the sun  ,  siwon followed the map given to him and signed up for the ghouls  .  city of light be damned  .  the only lights he wants to see are flames eating this hellhole alive  .

                    ☣  ;  𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  .

➤  full name.  ryu si-won ➤  date of birth.  january 29th ➤  hometown.  city of light ➤  gender.  cis male ➤  affiliation.  ghouls  ➤  primary occupation.  drug runner  ,  pickpocket  ➤  secondary occupation.  network manager at an internet cafe 

➤  sexual attraction.  pansexual ➤  romantic attraction.  panromantic ➤  character alignment.  chaotic neutral ➤  personality type.  enfp ➤  temperament.  sanguine ➤  wants.  power  ,  family

       stands around 5′11  .  broad shoulders  ,  slim hips  .  floppy  ,  messy hair and sun browned skin  .  half legs  .  a few pieces of silver in his ears and a small hoop on his bottom lip  .  dresses somewhere between a washed up rockstar  ,  your college weed dealer  ,  and a miami vice reject  .  style’s a whim with a closet’s chaotic mix of anything he thrifts or patches together  .  most of the time he’s sporting cuffed jeans  ,  vintage blouse  ,  a denim jacket or tweed blazer and thick ass boots  .  keeps all that hair back with a bandanna or a headband  ,  hair ties on his wrist  .  nothing in his closet’s technically new and he loves looking for a bargain steal —— or simply just a steal  .  likes colors just as much as he likes his neutrals  .  wears a black air filtration mask and fingerless gloves  .  considers his floral button-up shirts fancy material and his trousers cut off at the ankles  .  likes the smell of old leather and the breathing of fringe on a jacket  ,  the weight of heavy rings on his fingers and sunglasses swooped low on his nose  .  wears a monocle because he can’t be fucked with reading glasses  .   his hair’s been every color of the rainbow and he’s always changing it up thanks to temporary dye  .

                                    ☣  ;  𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄  .

       hustles at arcade halls  ,  scarfs down ramen and burritos like they’re gonna disappear  ,  looks as comfortable in a dark  ,  dirty alley as he does standing under all those lights in the neon district  .  pockets full of candy and a lollipop between his lips  .  likes cheap beer and cigarettes  ,  fast talking and smooth smiles  .  gets up when the sun goes down  .  who knows if he ever gets a full night’s sleep  ,  but you can find him taking a nap just about anywhere  .  seems to live for the dark hours and stays busy as a bee  ,  at the internet cafe one moment and grabbing fried cheese sticks in the next before crossing the bridge to watch the street races and venturing to the tunnels for the fighting rings  .  complains about being broke but puts down bets faster than anyone  .  lives for the feeling of wind in his hair so the window of his top-floor one bedroom shit hole stays open all the time  .  feels the rain on his skin  ,  plays with matches  .   learned how to assemble a gun in less than sixty seconds and stays packing nowadays though he can’t really shoot for shit  .  spray paints boobs on the sides of government buildings and dicks on malls  .  looks like an angel under all those holographic lights  .

       rides a motorbike and his skateboard  .  can do crazy math in his head and spot fake bills with incredible accuracy  .  can barely stand to sit still  ,  always moving except when there’s a computer screen in front of him  .  gets addicted to things so easily it’s scary  ---  people  ,  food  ,  liquor  ,  feelings  .  craves that intimacy  ,  craves that closeness that’s always been denied to him  .  has a loud as fuck laugh and a love for sneaking into places where he doesn’t belong  .  catches extra cash on the side by fixing up broken-down machines and can figure his way around a motor with a bit of elbow grease  .  still sees his family  .  not as much as a good son would  ,  but he sends cash when he can and looks after his younger sister  ,  makes sure she stays well and clean  .  they don’t know half of what he’s gotten up to since he was let out of prison  ,  but they might have some idea --- after all  ,  who’d pay a crooked boy with a record as well as he seems to be  ?  when the sun starts to come up and he crashes into bed  ,  siwon stares out the window and thinks about how in another world  ,  or in another time he probably could’ve been something  .  could’ve made something great  .  but for now he’s just got a whole lot of anger  ,  raw like a fresh wound he can’t stop picking at  .  

                           ☣  ;  𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔  ?

➤  bonds.  my loyalty to my friends is unwavering  ;   i owe everything to my mentor --- a horrible person who’s rotting in jail somewhere  ;  i fleeced the wrong person and must work to ensure this individual never crosses paths with me  . ➤  flaws.  once i pick a goal  ,  i become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life  ;  when I see something valuable  ,  i can't think about anything but how to steal it  ;  i have a weakness for the vices of the city  . 

       he’s friendly  ,  but he doesn’t make friends easily --- the ones that he has made  ,  he’d do anything for  .  because that’s how he’s gotten this far  ,  right  ?  all those people who looked after him when others tried to stomp him out  .  he’s still close with his teen friends who threw a few grifts with him  ,  gaming buddies that he knows only through a screen  .  little escapes from all the other bullshit going on in the world  .  even though he isn’t a club guy  ,  he runs into more than a few faces on his rounds  .  maybe they’re bad influences or sweethearts who help that touch starved affliction that comes from living in a city so wired  .  on the flip side  ,  there’s some enemies --- competitors in the runner world  ,  antagonists he meets at the races or rings for whatever reason  (  insane bets make tempers run hot  ,  who knows when they’ll flare for good and siwon’s learning the hard way how to keep his mouth shut  )  .  he’s fixed up a few cars or weapons for people recently because he misses working with his hands  .  y’know  ,  making nice  .  then there’s people he’s caught in a crossfire with  ,  where they’ve met something nasty one too many times before over turf  ,  territory and clients  .  a newer face to the ghouls  ,  he’s bugged someone into mentoring him  ,  and gone on a few runs with someone he loves to call a coworker  .  

       eager to prove himself as more than a green kid with a keyboard and an eye for detail  ,  find him cutting deals and making trades in smokey barbecue houses  ,  hole-in-the wall ramen shops or by taco tents  .  a full bellied class of clients are happy clients in his opinion  ,  and siwon isn’t above not making deals with the other groups who’s names aren’t violent delights  .  speaking of which  ---  there are definitely some skeletons there he aims to confront  ,  some old demons to fight from that class of people that fucked him over  .  there’s an ex lover in there somewhere  ,  probably met in that pre-prison childhood phase when he mingled past class lines more  ( ~1.5-2 years ago )  .  someone he’s healthily fearful of for whatever reason  ,  and maybe a vendetta against the family that scammed his parents out of their business and basically sent his life spiraling  .  there’s someone who isn’t what they seem  --- he doesn’t know who they really are  ,  and maybe they don’t know who he is  ,  either  .  they’ll learn eventually  .  someone he’s protective over  ,  someone who protects him in ways he doesn’t even know  ,  and those he looks after because they grew up on the same side  .  desperate for connection  ,  desperate for a place  ,  he finds it all in heaven and hell  .

[hungline]

love and school days

pairing: namyoonjin  genre: fluff, teacher au, slice of life, rated g  warnings: none  words: 1500 

summary: Seokjin's students ask him how he's able to love two people at the same time and Seokjin explains that it isn't really that hard. 

“Mr. Kim?”

Seokjin looks up, a patient smile on his lips as he meets the gaze of one of his students.

They have their little fist stuck up straight in the air, a look of determination painted on their face. Seokjin nods and lets his smile curl at the edges, hand held out towards his student.

“Yes, what is it Jaehyun?” Seokjin asks, eyes darting once to make sure none of his other students also require his attention.

Jaehyun stands up then, surprising Seokjin, but he says nothing as his student readies himself, taking a deep breath before he asks, “How can you love Yoonie and Namsjoon at the same time?”

Seokjin’s smile doesn’t waver, bemused at how the rest of his class suddenly falls silent.

It’s no secret that Seokjin is with two people, two wonderful people who are still struggling through college and live with him while whining about their finals and homework, but questions like this always make his breath come a little quicker. His class has met both Yoongi and Namjoon twice before, once when they came in together to surprise Seokjin with lunch and two other times when they came in separately, their conflicting school schedules being the cause of that. His class adores them and they love how happy Seokjin becomes whenever they’re around or brought up, but Seokjin also knows that they’re children and children always have questions, especially about things they don’t quite understand yet.

Seokjin nods at the question though, unsurprised because knowing Jaehyun and his curiosity, the question should have honestly come sooner.

“Well,” Seokjin begins, tapping his chin in mock-thought when he already knows how he’s going to answer this one. “You love your mom and dad, don’t you?”

Jaehyun nods, eyes wide as he waits for Seokjin to continue.

“They’re two people, aren’t they?” Seokjin asks, patient smile back on his face. “You love two people. I love two people. We all love more than one person.”

Jaehyun tilts his head in thought before snapping his fingers together and lighting up from the inside. “Oh! I get it!”

Seokjin, still smiling, nods again and lets his eyes wander over the rest of his students, looks of understanding on almost all their faces. Until he meets the eyes of little Minhyuk.

Minhyuk stands just as Jaehyun sits, hand stuck up in the air. Seokjin nods at him, giving him permission to speak.

“What if we don’t have a mom and dad?” Minhyuk asks, teeth worrying his bottom lip.

Seokjin nods yet again, all too knowing of Minhyuk’s home situation. “Who helps your mom take care of you? Your grandma, right?”

Minhyuk nods silently, teeth still buried in his lip and Seokjin smiles at him, no judgment to be found in his open expression.

“You love your grandma, right? Just as much as you love your mom. You also love two people. That’s normal,” Seokjin says, relieved when Minhyuk finally lets his bottom lip spring free.

Minhyuk sits then and when Seokjin looks over his class again, everyone understands now.

  “Hey, you’re home early,” Seokjin says when the front door closes, letting a worn-out Namjoon spill into the foyer.

Namjoon looks up, his eyes glazed over but quickly perking up with excitement when his gaze land on his eldest boyfriend laid out on the couch in the living room. Seokjin smiles at him, amused at how puppy-like he can seem sometimes.

“Study group let out early. I think they’re finally getting a hold of the material,” Namjoon mutters, kicking his shoes off before dropping his backpack and making his way over to the couch. “Is Yoongi-hyung still in the studio?”

Seokjin holds up his phone, showing Namjoon the messages from their group chat. “You know he is.”

Namjoon grins at him, that dimple-y, goofy one that always makes Seokjin smile in response. “Oh, right. I think my phone died so I didn’t see those.”

“Gimme your phone, I’ll put it to charge while you shower,” Seokjin says in response, smile still on his face as Namjoon digs his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and drops it into Seokjin’s palm. “No kissing until you do. You smell, Namjoonie.”

Namjoon pouts at that but manages to sneak in one kiss anyway before disappearing down the hallway to their bathroom. Seokjin soon hears the shower head turn on and sits up on the couch, searching for Namjoon’s charger.

He finds it in the kitchen, resting atop the island and tangled beyond belief. Seokjin shakes his head at it before promptly untangling it and plugging it into the outlet, hooking Namjoon’s phone up to the charger. He turns back to the kitchen and rolls his shoulders before pushing his sleeves up and approaching the sink to clean his hands. He may as well get started on dinner now that Namjoon is home and Yoongi is sure to follow.

Seokjin hears the shower turn off a few minutes later and almost laughs when the shower curtain falls. Namjoon groans loud enough to be heard all the way from the kitchen, but Seokjin knows he’s fine and continues to work on dinner, digging out their wok for the stir fry he’s making. The bathroom door opens and Seokjin almost laughs again when Namjoon’s grumbling only becomes louder as he heads towards their bedroom. Namjoon’s phone dings on the island and Seokjin looks over to see a text from Yoongi, saying he’s on his way home.

When Namjoon finally comes into the kitchen and sits at the island, playing with his phone as Seokjin works, Seokjin feels the tightness in his chest begins to recede. It doesn’t disappear completely, but when Seokjin’s feeling antsy or someone has asked him about his relationship, he always feels the quick tightening in his chest. It doesn’t loosen until he’s at home, having dinner with both of his boyfriends.

The front door opens just as Seokjin is throwing everything into the wok and Yoongi drops all of his things in the foyer, rushing into the kitchen to drag Namjoon out. Not that Seokjin would have burned the younger, but Namjoon is accidental-prone and being near fire is enough to make Yoongi break out in a nervous sweat. Seokjin laughs as they kiss hello in the foyer, before Namjoon is pushing Yoongi towards the bathroom, nose wrinkled up in slight disgust at how sweaty Yoongi smells.

When Yoongi comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Namjoon is already in the bedroom, an outfit for Yoongi laid out as he waits for him to dress. Seokjin is putting the finishing touches on their dinner as Yoongi dresses, jumping when arms wind across his waist as he turns the stove off.

“Jesus, Yoongi,” Seokjin mutters, hand held to his heart as it races underneath his touch.

Yoongi’s lips press to his nape, large hands gripping at Seokjin’s sweater. “Food done?”

“Yeah. Set the table, please?” Seokjin asks, turning in the younger’s arms to press a kiss to his nose.

Yoongi pouts at that then goes on tiptoe to give Seokjin a proper kiss and the elder melts under it, laughing when Namjoon’s hand is suddenly on the small of his back, warranting both of their attention. Yoongi kisses him slowly, pulling Namjoon down by the neck to meet his height before releasing them both to grab the plates and cups. Namjoon kisses Seokjin’s cheek first until he gives in and kisses him square on the mouth. Seokjin’s hands curl into Namjoon’s hair before he pulls away, remembering the food behind him.

“Go sit. I’ll be out with the food right now,” Seokjin murmurs, pressing another kiss to Namjoon’s lips before letting the younger go, a dopey look on his face as he approaches Yoongi.

Yoongi laughs at him as he sits down, ruffling Namjoon’s still damp-hair as he sits across from him, leaving the head of the table empty for Seokjin. Seokjin rolls his eyes but grabs the wok, glad that it isn’t burning hot anymore and grateful for the block of wood Yoongi set out in the center of the table. Seokjin places the wok on top of it, quickly sitting down as Yoongi serves them, slapping Namjoon’s hands away when they get too close to the wok for his liking. Namjoon pouts at that like a kicked puppy but forgets about it when Yoongi sets his plate down in front of him.

Seokjin smiles at Yoongi when his own plate is set down in front of him and waits until Yoongi’s served his own plate before raising his chopsticks and taking the first bite. The younger two watch him chew, only digging into their own food once he’s swallowed and moaned aloud at his own cooking, smiles on their faces at their hyung’s theatrics.

The tightening in Seokjin’s chest is gone now, his feelings loose as the two men he loves sit and eat beside him. He knows with certainty that Yoongi and Namjoon love him back.

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

God's in his Heaven

Still waiting for my laptop to get here... starting to get afraid it might be lost in the mail 😬 I tried to upload this a couple times before and the connection has been bad today so it destroyed my drafts. Crossed fingers!

Anyway, here is the next Young!Patience chapter. Warnings for major creepiness.

***

A neatly manicured finger ran down her homework, which was smudged and stained and scribbled over. The only sound in the room was the tick-tock of the clock.

Patience stood still, hands joined behind her back. She shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for the time to be over. He studied the paper, his porcelain face blank and passive, before he smiled and his dark blue eyes lit up.

He said, "Very good. Your fractions are improving."

She heard him stand up and move over, and flinched as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You can go play outside for a while." 

***

When she had arrived in Mr. Borghese's mansion, she had not been cooperative. She still wasn't. But she was better.

At first he had taken away her belongings and locked her in a bedroom downstairs. He only entered in order to rape her, and after a while the timeless sun setting and rising blurred in her mind, and her loneliness got to her, and she promised to be good if he let her out. He smiled and did so, and she tread lightly around him.

She learned to be afraid of him, and fast.

When he took her out, he expected her to be his perfect little girl. She could growl and grouch as much as she wanted, but she had to smile for the cameras and lie down with him when he wanted to. The lying down was the worst part. It didn't hurt as much as it did the first time, but it still made her sick and uncomfortable. She could barely sleep when he was breathing beside her. To make it better on herself, sometimes she pretended he was her father and cuddled close to him.

St. Joseph's was better than high school, but that wasn't saying much. The students ignored her, and the teachers treated her nicely because of her adopted father, but at least people left her alone. If she wanted to cry by herself in the gym room because Mr. Borghese had wanted to sleep with her early in the morning and she could feel his wet spend sleeping through her skirt during her classes, then people would leave her alone.

Church was worse. He kept her close to his side the entire time, monitoring her interactions with others. She hated being in the Church of the Holy Virgin--her old churches had been small, cozy, made of balsam wood and slowly burning candles, and she had known everyone there. Here, everyone seemed to speak a different language, and the congregation changed each week, although what didn't change was that everyone seemed to know Mr. Borghese.

The first time she had been in confession, she was perplexed that Mr. Borghese didn't give her any instructions, nor accompany her into the booth. But she spilled herself anyway. She told the priest that he forced her whenever he pleased, that he told her she would have his baby and that she was destined to be his housewife whether she wanted it or not. She even told the priest that she had seen him kill her parents--and her voice had broken and she had peered out of the shade at him, leaning against the church dome in his black suit, his hands behind his back.

She held an impossible hope that the Father had called the police, even through the long limousine ride back, and it was only when Leonardo turned the key to the lock of the front door did she realize what she had done wrong.

"There is not a single person you have met who does not answer to me," he said softly. "And every word you told that priest enters my ears."

The priest had seemed so nice. So sympathetic. His voice had even broken a few times. 

"He..."

"He will tell me everything." He sat down on his armchair and spread his arms. "Give your daddy a kiss."

She looked at him, rooted to the spot and fists clenched, and eventually, out of fear, climbed onto his lap.

He was warm and smelled flowery, a scent she had become to despise. He shifted her on his lap, settling in until her crotch snugged deeply into his own. He always liked her in this position. Right above his cock. 

"How long has it been since you had your monthly?"

There was that typical question. She lied and said, "I'm having it right now."

"Bugiarda. You had it almost a week ago. Still trying to lie to me."

He began to pull her skirt up. He liked it when she wore her uniform. It was neat--he ironed it every night--with a white blouse and a shirt skirt that reached just past her knees.

Patience wanted to cry. Big, wet, sobbing tears. But instead she pressed her face into his shoulder and let him do what he wanted.

When he finally let her go, she ached and throbbed. "Go to your room. I'll come up later and bring you some cocoa."

She did so without complaining.

***

The next day was a Monday. She was watching cartoons on the TV after school, her favorite, Rocky and Bullwinkle.

A man came in. Tall, stubble on his chin. He stated at her with a mixture of suspicion and sympathy. She recognized him. "Goose Eppy?"

"Giuseppe." He sat down beside her, tan trench coat and all. He watched Rocky and Bullwinkle for a while, laughing at jokes he couldn't understand. "So you live with him now?" He said. "Where are you from?"

"Massachusetts," she muttered.

After an uncomfortable silence, he said, "Ah, Massachusetts. My family is Neapolitan."

"That's bullshit."

"Pardon?"

"Neopolitan is made-up. It's an ice cream, not a place."

Giuseppe stared blankly at her, but was saved from answering by Leonardo entering the room. They spoke briefly in Italian, then he stood up and left her, leaving her to watch Rocky and Bullwinkle by herself, but with her ears pricked. 

Patience ran to the locked door, then pressed her ears against it. Their voices were fading as they left down the stairs. 

She went around the vast wooden mansion. It was far too big for her to explore, even if she had wanted to. But she he found a grate to the cellar hidden beneath a tall tuft of grass, and it was so rusted she pried it open and wriggled in.

The edges of the grates dug into her breasts, but she wriggled on, until she came to a wire air conditioning unit, which she peered through.

She saw a clean metal room. Like a veterinarian's room. Giuseppe and Leonardo were talking to each other in Italian beside a metal wheeling cart. Something covered with a black bag was on it.

Patience narrowed her eyes. It smelled like disenfectant in there.

Kneeling was beginning to hurt. She had to sit with her knees together, or else she would hurt between her legs. He never gave her any time to heal.

Giuseppe pulled the black bag off with a flourish, and what Patience saw made her heartrate skyrocket. It was a human--naked, his face battered beyond recognition. It didn't even look like a face. It was a mass of black and blue.

Patience pressed her hands over her mouth. She wiggled backwards until her knees reached the grass.

The face of the man kept flashing in her mind. She hugged her knees and looked back at the air conditioning grate. What had she gotten herself into?

***

Patience twisted her hands in her skirt. The waiting was making her nerves heighten. "Why does it have to kill the bunny?"

"Do you want a pet bunny?"

"No! I just don't want the bunny to die!"

"Don't you want to find out if you're having a baby?"

"I do, but..." she hated the thought of living with the fear of having to drop out of school, but she liked bunnies.

The doctor, a man with a thick Santa Claus beard, came out. "The tests were negative."

She wilted in relief. One cautious glance at Leonardo, and his mouth had tightened somewhat. "Very well. Thank you for running the tests, Heinrich."

He had to meet a friend at a restaurant downtown. She wasn't hungry, so he let her wander around the shops ("stay where I can see you").

Patience wandered around, peering through a toy shop. Stuffed animals and train sets, little kid stuff. Leonardo kept her room well-stocked with those, like she was an eight-year-old or something. She was more interested in fashion magazines and singers like Frank Sinatra, to his trepadation.

The minutes ticked by, to her annoyance. How long was he taking? Stupid jerk was probably having one of his long-winded boring conversations that he had with his friends.

Patience turned a corner and something caught her eye.

Like a golden altar, it sat there. Blue painted eyes and pink quirked lips. An hourglass waist and a blue shoulderless dress. Fresh and vibrant and fashionable and so cool.

She couldn't stop staring. When Leonardo came to look for her she was still staring.

"Can I get this?" She said. She never asked for anything, but she REALLY wanted this.

When Leonardo saw, his lips curled. "Don't you want a baby doll instead? I'll get you any baby doll you want."

"No. I want this."

"It's too expensive," said Leonardo, who was a millionaire. "Come on. We need to get home in time for dinner. I'll take you here some other time."

Leonardo towed her out, her still protesting, and she was sullen as she got in the car and headed home. He put on her favorite station and tried to sweet-talk her, but she ignored him.

Halfway home he slammed on the breaks and pulled into an alley.

Leonardo closed his hand around her jaw and yanked her face to look at him.

"You will never," he said to her quietly, "Be like that Barbie doll. You will never be blonde. You will never have a boyfriend. You will never "hit the sunset strip" or whatever nonsense that is. Your destiny is to be a housewife and mother. My housewife and mother."

Her eyes were watering at his iron-hard grip on her jaw. He put his mouth next to her head until his warm breath washed over her ear.

"You will never go to college. You will never be a police officer or lawyer like you keep whining about wanting to be. You will have a baby after you finish at St. Joseph's, and you will be my wife like you were meant to be, as is the best you could have hoped for in your useless life. And you will be satisfied with it."

He let her go, and she rubbed her jaw, tears starting in her eyes.

His voice turned soft. "You can have some ice cream when we get back, how does that sound?" He said. She started ahead, tears blurring her eyes like rain on a windshield.

She thought about Barbie, but the painted face seemed so far away now. Blond and smiling and happy, not the pale, freckled, trembling little girl in the passenger's seat.

I guess he is right, some part of her whispered. I'll never be Barbie. I'll never ride in a convertible or flirt or go to college.

All I can do is dream.

***

The phone sat there, black and shiny. 

She had the napkin hidden under her mattress. She had memorized the numbers. She agonized and agonized, aware of the time ticking away, before she picked it up.

Leonardo was becoming discontented. She was not conceiving, and was due to graduate St. Joseph's with honors. She had already had several scholarship offers. He had made her stay home from school several times during exams, to sleep with him and force his seed deep down. She could see her life closing in on her, and so she strove in school, aching to attend a university, any university, as long as she could get away from him.

The cords to all the other telephones were disconnected. She knew this was the only chance she had.

Patience dialed the numbers, heart thumping. She was praying desperately for that rough, growly voice to answer, but a different voice spoke from the other end.

"Pronto?"

"Uh," she said, startled at the unfamiliar voice.

"Chi parla?"

"I..."

"Who is this?" Growled the voice.

"I want to talk to Salvatore Mallozzi."

"Who do you think you are, to talk to the boss?"

"I--"

The dial tone rang dully in her ear.

"Salvatore Mallozzi?" said a gentle voice beside her. "Just who do you think you're talking to?"

[h0nie]

Number 29 | Chapter One

11.25.18 

↳ m.list | prologue | 01 | 02

pairing: athlete!yoongi x photographer!reader

genre: drama, humor, au

word count: 8k

⌜ a/n ⌟ fun fact: the corgi part is based off an actual experience I had with my sister. Also, the mentioning of the football players is exactly what I saw one of them do, absolutely disgusting.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Through your eyes, you viewed the world uniquely from others; a captivating place that men and women were given the privilege to walk on. 

Who knew, that observing through the clear lenses of a camera, anyone, even a living creature was able to experience the euphoric feeling that displayed in front of them; coordinating yourself within various of angles that you wouldn’t believe to envision that existed before you — just through the thickness of a lens. 

From the scintillating sun that dazzled beautifully off the reflection of the ocean sea to capturing the quintessential moment of the ombré mixture viewed in the hazy sky, changing elegantly within a split second; pigments of autumn leaves shrivelling, ere dropping softly — transitioning to the winter breeze.

Snapping pictures of practically everything, you treasured every piece you took. You saw the perfection of it all, obtaining peace and comfort. Dwelling in your own little world, your own adventure; happiness through every landscape you came across.

After taking an interest in your high school’s photography class, you learned everything about the lingering emotions and distinction behind every concept; following the year by begging your parents in buying you, your very own black digital camera.

The camera that you loved and held onto so protectively throughout your entire high school days; keeping it alongside you wherever you went — you hadn’t stopped since — joining the yearbook committee right after, leading you here; Ridgeview’s newspaper editor.

Outside on the team’s football field, where you laid. Your entire body sprawled out on the grass while you held your camera above your face. The glasses that were previously on your nose, were now settled on your forehead as you looked through the pictures you had taken from the recent basketball game; deleting the ones you didn’t like.

Concentrating and humming along to the music that blasted loudly out your earbuds, you were oblivious to notice a slim figure approaching. It wasn’t until you had accidentally clicked out of the pictures and saw a face pop up, focusing into view — smiling as they leaned down at you.

You violently shook, “Jesus Christ!” You shrieked, nearly dropping your camera on your face.

You took out your earbuds just in time to hear a faint laugh escaped from their mouth; plopping themselves next to you.

“You should have seen the look on your face. Like, you’ve seen a ghost or something.” She giggled, recreating the frightened face jokingly.

You propped yourself up, bringing your glasses back on your face and crisscrossed your legs. “Ha-ha. Very funny.” You were unamused and your voice made it obvious.

“You weren’t at the coffeehouse today, so I figured you’d be here.” Taking her hands out from her pockets, she rubbed her hands together producing a bit of friction before blowing into them.

Yuri Yen, a second-year student like yourself and was also your best friend. Before moving here, she had originally came from Hong Kong with her family at the age of 4. You met Yuri back in high school during your junior year, having not one, but three classes throughout the entire semester.

Since the significant convenience of having classes together, it was a great conversation starter for you — asking whether if she understood the homework or if she did the homework at all. 

The two of you even helped each other cheat on tests. Gradually, you seemed to talk to Yuri almost every day in class, instantly exchanging numbers and before you knew it, you two became close friends.

After graduating, you were excited and relieved to hear that Yuri was enrolling in the same college as you. Knowing at least someone, especially when that someone has been with you for years, put your mind at ease. You were thankful that you weren’t going to lose your best friend and be alone.

Her bangs shifted as the wind blew. A small smile crept up on your lips as you stared at her hair. She consistently kept her hair the same, even now. She never dared to get rid of her thin bangs that hung, along with her signature high ponytail that she wore every day.

Quite honestly, you had always viewed girls with bangs to be for preschoolers. You pondered, by having them at this age was a bit childish looking. But of course, your opinion had changed since learning that haircuts like these were popular in the Asian culture and after being around Yuri for so long, you realized that her bangs did as well, suited her well-rounded face.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” She re-adjusted herself, having now both her elbows securely on the grass as her face planted into her hands; legs up, swinging back and forth as if she were a little girl you thought.

“Well, for starters...” You drifted off, grabbing your camera and turning it on. You then handed the semi-heavy object to her.

“I’m now in charge of taking pictures for the basketball team. I had to take a couple during their tournament we had and I’m still debating which pictures I should submit for the papers.”

A constant beep came from the camera as Yuri clicked through. After a few moments, she stopped. “Woah, who’s that?” She turned, tilting her head as she looked up at you. Scooting closer, you peered over her shoulder.

It was the picture you had taken of all the boys together after they won. Her finger pointed at the screen, landing it right on top of a boy with dark brown hair. His expression was stone cold, showing no emotion. His eyes were dark, staring straightforward as if he was peering right through you.

“Apparently, that’s the almighty Yoongi.” You playfully joked. Yuri’s eyes widened in surprise, turning back to the screen, she clicked the button and zoomed in.

“No way, that’s who everyone talks about?”

You shrugged.

Why was Yoongi praised so much?

What was so great about him that people constantly talked about him?

He may be an athlete star in basketball, but that was all he really had and was known for.

“For a basketball player, you’d think he’d be a sasquatch. Thought he’d be a lot taller, to be honest.” You chuckled, nodding your head in agreement.

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You stood in silence, fiddling with your thumbs as you waited for your teacher’s approval. The room was quiet, with the exception of the ceiling fan quietly blowing; to your liking. Your eyes wandered around to occupy yourself.

Regardless, having been in this room for multiple occasions and knowing specifically what it held, you continued to stare as if you’ve never stepped a foot in the room.

Stacks of papers scattered around the desk as well as small photos of your teacher’s family members pinned to the small cork board he had. Your teacher, Kim Seokjin has been the head of the department since you’ve been here. You didn’t know too much about him, but overall, a nice man.

“Excellent job, _____.” Your teacher smiled, holding out your camera for your hands. You stretched out and grabbed it gently from him, letting the strap tug on the back of your neck as your camera dangled.

During your time out on the field, Yuri had helped pick out the pictures that were best for the newspapers.

“These will look fabulous once they’re printed. We also might frame some of your additional pictures around.” You couldn’t help but blush at the compliment. Adjusting your glasses, you looked up and returned a sheepishly grin after.

“You can start printing right away. The sooner, the better.” He clasped his hands together before placing them on his knees and got up from his seat. He grabbed a folder filled with papers from his desk and tucked it under his arm, “I’ll let you get to it,” as he made his way out.

You listened to the sounds of his footsteps distancing, although it wasn’t long until the sound echoed back. Presuming your teacher must have forgotten something considering he was a forgetful man at times, you saw his head peek back in the door.

“Say, _____. I recall you mentioning to me that you’d like to help out more, correct?”

You nodded.

A month ago, you had told Mr. Kim that you’d like to request something new to do, possibly join a new club perhaps? You’ve thought about seeking the art club, however, after one day in and compared your work to others, your untalented ass wasn’t going to cut it. So, scratch that off the list...

You had then asked for your teacher’s advice and he advised you that he’ll keep an eye out.

“Would you consider assisting the basketball team?”

“Me?” You gazed at him dumbfounded. “Helping the basketball team? By doing what?”

You didn’t know if your teacher had noticed at all, but your puny weak arms weren’t exactly capable of shooting a ball nor did you know anything about basketball.

He noticed the discomfort that was accumulating on your face and raised his hand towards you.

“Relax, they’re looking for someone who’s responsible and able to organized the binder’s spreadsheets, put away equipment, clean up — the basics.”

You nibbled the corner of your lip, hesitant about the offer.

“You don’t need an answer immediately, they aren’t in a rush. I think this would be beneficial and convenient for you, considering you're going to have to take numerous amounts of pictures of the team anyways."

He did have a point, though you still weren't convinced.

"If you do consider it and you have the chance, stop by the gym.”

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Your snug jacket sheltered around your body whilst the noisily sound of your laptop and binders shuffled in your backpack — within each step your fuzzy boots made against the pavement.

The weather was bitterly cold; fluffy clouds began to arise, cowling the blue skyline — unfolding itself to a grey-like colour above your head. Trees rustled against the wind, detaching several individual leaves as you crossed.

You heavily sighed steadily, scrutinizing as the frosty breath slipped from your lips, dissolving itself into the air.

Leaves from the ground swarmed as it spun in a tornado-like manner; as the gelid of wind whispered throughout the streets, its icy breeze slashing utterly through your layers. You gripped your jacket tight — the dangling of your hair dancing rhythmically to the Zephyr.

A red blossom tinged with pink faded, appearing subtly on the apples of your cheeks and the tip of your nose. You instantly nestled your face into your scarf as you felt the sharp shiver snaking its way up your spine. 

Still, you did not mind the weather in the slightest. The serene sound of peacefulness filled your ears, relishing your solus stroll.

As the outline of the coffeehouse came into view, you sensed the excitement pulsating its way through your body. When entering, you were immediately greeted by the lukewarm heat and smell of coffee beans; brewing deliciously, trickling in the inners of your nose.

You settled yourself in, taking your jacket off and planting it on your chair; ordering yourself, your beloved cinnamon dolce latte with extra whipped cream.

The coffeehouse to you was a perfect go-to place when needed to take your mind off things or on treacherous amounts of work. For you, you referred to it your safe place.

From the therapeutic aesthetic to the lightly lit fireplace; the amazingly tasting coffee — you found yourself coming here nearly every day, drowning yourself in the indie music that played softly in the background. All your anxieties, all your stress; swept away.

Removing the lid from the cup, the steam elevated beautifully as you took a straw, shredding its wrapper off and dunk the thin tube in. You sipped, savouring the flavour that awaited.

The hotness of the latte made its way down your throat; lifting the straw out before licking the cream carefully off. You were promptly filled with energy — motivated to work grind and finish your assignments.

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Approximately 8:30 p.m. The time radiated on the corner of your laptop. You had stayed in for a whole 4 hours, ultimately losing track of time.

You closed out of the tab and took your glasses off, placing them discreetly above your head. You rubbed your eyes and held them shut for a moment before opening them and drawing out your phone.

On your screen, text messages from Yuri. She had texted a few minutes ago.

⌜  Today 8:22 PM ⌟

Yuri: HeYyyyYyyYy, we’re friends right??  [8:22]

Yuri: and you know that I love you [8:23]

You: New phone, who dis? [8:34]

Instantly, Yuri replied back.

Yuri: omg- [8:34]

Yuri: oKAY, remember that time during English I let you borrow my pencil cuz I’M NICE [8:34]

Yuri: remember that time where I gave you my jacket when it was cold [8:34]

Yuri: remember that time when I bought you a juice box at the vending machine? [8:35]

You rolled your eyes and giggled.

Typical Yuri.

A pattern that you knew all too well. Whenever she was in need of something from you, she would unimpressively bombard you with things she’s done; like this.

You: Alright, shut up, I get it. [8:35]

You: What do you want? [8:35]

Yuri: can you get me food? [8:35]

You: Can you get off your lazy ass for once and go to the store yourself? [8:35]

Yuri: Blocked. Reported. Deported. Actually, block my number. You’re so rude ;( [8:36]

You: Yeah, yeah. Anyways, guess what Mr. Kim said to me today [8:36]

Yuri: which one? the one for the newspaper? [8:36]

You frowned at the text. You’ve only mentioned one Mr. Kim to her.

You: No, the janitor who cleans the girl’s washrooms. [8:37]

Yuri: MAY I REMIND YOU THAT THERE ARE SEVERAL MR. KIM’S IN THE SCHOOL [8:37]

You snickered.

You: He asked me if I’d like to help with the basketball team [8:37]

You: Probably not gonna do it. [8:38]

Yuri: WHY?! [8:38]

Reading Yuri’s text, you could practically hear her screaming at you for not wanting to go. 

Yuri: um, hellooo? Getting to see hot boys every day in their sweaty uniforms? YES PLEASE! [8:38]

Yuri: if you’re not going to do it then I will! [8:38]

“Ugh-“ You groaned, disappointingly shaking your head at her response. Of course, that’s the first thing she thought of.

Once again, typical Yuri.

Yuri: Seriously _____, I’d say go for it. You might even make some new friends ;D [8:38]

Yuri: It’s a nice change from you always having your face glued to your camera. Just try it out and if you don’t like it, drop it. [8:39]

Maybe Yuri was right.

Maybe helping with the basketball team would be a good change to your routine.

Your routine consists; waking up early every morning at the same time, going to your communal kitchen and eating toast with jam, head to your classes whilst Yuri annoys you, get back to your dorm, and then go to bed.

Pretty plain and boring.

Every day was the same repeated cycle so having miniature perks of having your daily dose of your desired beverage and you exploring out — taking pictures, you were undoubtedly grateful.

Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have a slight change in your life... You were a little wary of the situation; though, you’d start deliberately thinking about it more.

Closing your laptop and placing it back in your bag, you swung your jacket on and grabbed the half-empty coffee cup. Your eyes fixated back down at your device, thinking of a shrewd reply to Yuri as you managed your way to the doors.

Your thumb tapped on the screen, unaware of your surroundings as you lifted your elbow that gripped the coffee cup to push the door. The door flew open from the other side, causing you to fumble — the chest of a stranger had thumped into you, stepping back in alarm.

You dropped the open cup, gasping at the unexpected sultry liquid that splattered on your chest. A brown puddle had now pooled; both your mouths hung open, processing what had transpired.  

“Shit! I- I um — I’m sorry! L-Let me get you some napkins.”

Tightly shutting your eyes, you pressed your lips together, taking in a deep breath. You held it; letting it out slowly, restraining yourself to remain calm.

My favourite shirt...

You mentally sighed, examining your ruined shirt — not to mention that the colour was white.

“Here.” A fist full of napkins held out in front of your face that the stranger had gathered. You clutched the napkins from their hand and comprehended who the boy was.

Face-to-face was undoubtedly one of the school’s supreme point guard basketball player, Jungkook.

His jet-black hair poked out from his baseball cap; having three silver ring piercings, dangling from its side. He wore an expensive looking jacket accompanied by his denim jeans and timberlands — he was pleasantly well-kept you had to admit.

You relentlessly stared, taking in his facial features. One thing that stood out; under his lip, a noticeable tiny black mole. How un-peculiar to have. You’ve never seen someone with such an uncommon dot before. Seeing up close confirmed what everyone said about him. He was unquestionably good looking.

Picking up the now empty coffee cup and disregarding it in the garbage, you began wiping the mess, in hopes to at least soak some of the stains from your shirt. Jungkook also helped clean the remaining mess on the floor and tossed the dirty napkins that you handed to him, including the cup.

���I really am sorry.“ His eyes avoided yours as he rubbed the back of his neck. You let out a sigh once more, “It’s fine, it was an accident. I should have watched where I was going anyways.”

The two of you stood stiffly next to each other. You weren’t sure whether to buy a new cup yourself or leave without saying a word. Fortunately, the silence was broken — clearing his throat, “I’m Jungkook by the way.” I know. Naturally, everyone on campus knew of him.

He smiled as he stuck his hand out towards you. Putting your hand in his, you returned the gesture, “_____,” giving him a professional firm shake back. 

“Let me buy you another one, wait here.” You promptly kept the grip on his hand, preventing the boy from walking away. “It’s really fine! Don’t worry about it.”

Now, we all know how these situations go; someone offers to buy something for you-you can’t accept it. It’s that gut feeling of guilt of not wanting to appear conceded rather than simply accepting — yet, many of us hope that the other pursues the offer.

“I insist. It’s the least I can do, please?” His voice; sincere and soft as his head titled adorably. Another cup would be nice, however, a new shirt would be greater.

“Okay...”

He instructed you to sit at a table as he went to order. When returning back, Jungkook carried a cup holder, carrying four cups of goodness. An eyebrow raised in confusion; passing your newly balmy cup of coffee in your hands. You didn’t question who the rest were for nor did he need to explain — wasn’t your business. Most likely for his friends.

“Do you go to Ridgeview? You look extremely familiar.”

“I do. I’m a second-year student. I’m mainly hidden in the college’s paper room, I’m their editor.” He mouthed an O shape; progressively, the two of you continued your discussion about school — leading towards the exit, allowing the fall gentle dust to whirl its wind, hitting you both. You watched as Jungkook’s hair moved with it.

The sky had darkened. Street lights flickered as well as the illuminating light that reflected from the coffeehouse, glistening on your bodies.

His index finger tapped on his chin, stopping himself as he hummed in a thinking state.

“I swear, I’ve seen you be-“

“Yah! Jungkook!” A yell hollered. Your heads subconsciously followed the sound. “What took you so long? We’ve been waiting for you!” From a distance, Hoseok and Yoongi emerged towards the well-lit frame.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” He lingers his eyes on you and simpers, “Got caught up.”

The lengthy boy shifts his attention towards you, “Caught up, ay?” Hoseok snickers, nudging Jungkook with his elbow prompting Jungkook to lightly bump into you.

“Who’s your friend?” He nods, acknowledging your presence. Hoseok’s notices the large stain on your shirt. Curious, he points subtly, wanting to say something but quickly seals his mouth and retracts his hand.

“Uh, this is _____. We just met actually. I accidentally spilt her coffee...”

“That explains the huge stain.” Hoseok chuckles.

A wave of heat flushed your cheeks, instantly shielding your chest with your jacket. How embarrassing.

You cough, shoving the encounter aside. “Nice to meet you, Hoseok.”

“Likewise.”

You gazed over at Yoongi. His dark chocolate-toned hair was styled messily; drooping forward — completely distracted by his phone.

A slap came across Yoongi’s shoulder. “Oi! Don’t be rude, say hi!” His nose scrunched, lifting his head to face you.

Hoseok gave him a look, “go on.”

“Hi.” Yoongi’s character and mood revealed he was uninterested. You gave him a tight smile. The tension was now becoming awkward.

Thankfully, Jungkook intervened. “She goes to Ridgeview with us.”

“Really?” Hoseok smiles radiantly. “Well, if we happen to see each other, you better say hi!” He taunts.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” As Hoseok kept the ongoing conversation, you tried your best to respond/listen to whatever he was saying.

You glimpsed over at Yoongi. He studied you, trailing his eyes, up and down at your figure — eyes matching yours. You immediately snapped away, staring at the ground. You shifted uneasily. You felt as though you were growing small, feeling Yoongi’s intimidating stare tower over you.

Hoseok checked his watch, “Crap, we better get going. We're already late as is.” You felt relieved. You all exchanged your goodbyes, except for Yoongi; who had already made his way. Hoseok apologized for his behaviour, jogging after him.

Disappointment stirred in your gut. You questioned yourself, presuming that you did something to irritate him to act so grim.

Interrupting your thoughts, Jungkook patted your back, “Don’t worry about him too much. He’s not usually like this. I promise you, when we meet again, it’ll be better.” You gave him a lopsided smile and thanked him for the reassurance and coffee.

Following his friends, the raven boy turned to you one last time for the night, waving, “I’ll see you around, _____!” Before sending you a wink as he walked away.

You watched the boy disappear and giggled, cute. Zipping up your jacket, you slipped out your phone and texted Yuri. You hesitated for a moment before pressing send.

You: Let’s stop by the gym tomorrow. [10:17]

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“Okay, hear me out,” a hand gently rocked your shoulder. 

You promptly finished writing your sentence and dropped your pencil down, directing your attention to Yuri — who was trying to contain her laughter as she held her phone incredibly close to her face, shielding her screen from your view.

“What if, the inspiration for the shape of bagged bread, was inspired… by a corgi’s butt,” she laughed, plummeting her phone on the table and sliding it over. 

The device’s screen unlocked, a full-blown image loaded. Sure enough, two pictures; a corgi’s bottom and bagged bread compared to side-by-side.

You glanced up from her phone, face kept neutral and lifted your glasses, massaging the bridge of your nose as well as letting out a low exhale of annoyance.

“Doesn’t that look like bread — ow!”

“Shhh!”

This was probably the sixth time the two of you-Yuri, had been constantly told, a numerous amount of times to keep quiet. You gave the old librarian another sympathetic look before turning back.

“Why’d you hit me?!” Yuri whisper-shouted, pouting while she rubbed her arm from your impact. 

“First of all, would you keep it down? How many times is that lady going to have to keep shushing you?” By now, both of you knew that this was going to be the last time coming here.

“We’re…” you gestured all around, “in a library.” You looked back at the screen, “And no, it doesn’t look like bread,” it did. 

You slide Yuri’s phone back, “Second, we’re supposed to be studying, why are you even searching that up? Put that away.”

She groaned, “Fine,” tucking in the small electronic in her pocket. “Good, now focus.” You opened your book and flipped to a page, Yuri does the same. 

Not even a second later, she stops and leans in close to you, “So, when do you plan on visiting the gym, hmm?” You ignored her and continued reading, moving slightly away from her in your seat. You were hoping she wouldn’t bring this topic up, you’ve been avoiding the gym.

“_____, it’s been two weeks.” No answer. “Come on, what’s the big deal?” You sigh, closing your book, “I don’t have time for it, that’s all.” 

The girl rolls her eyes and snorts, “Puh-lease, that’s bullshit and you know it.” She jabs her finger in your shoulder, pushing you back easily. You opened your mouth to protest, no, she’s right.

You did have the time, you simply didn’t want to see the boys, especially after your encounter — it was too… awkward.

Okay, maybe you were being dramatic over nothing, you still have exams to study and prepare for, not to mention, the newspaper committee as well. The other part of you was just, lazy.

“You do realize 2018 is coming to an end right?” You nodded, “What better way to start now, early — by helping the team!” She wacks your back, “Shhh!” Yuri’s eyes widen, forgetting that she was being loud, again and mouths a ‘sorry’, slumping in her seat right after.

You shook your head and pushed your glasses up, “You’ve been bugging me non-stop about this. Why do you want me to join so badly?”

Straightening herself, she took your hand into hers, “Listen, don’t take this personally, but you’ve changed a lot since high school… I just want you to try something new,” she pauses a moment to glance at your bag then back at you, “Something other than your camera?” You frowned, tilting your head.

Of course, there’d be a change. You didn’t think “changing” was a bad thing, it was you solely maturing as a person. The two of you weren’t high schoolers anymore, you were college students. One step closer to graduating and then, stepping out in the “real world.”

“What I’m trying to say is, you’ve limited yourself — more like isolated.” You kept your mouth shut, brushing off your best friend’s hold and picked up your pencil again. This time, it was Yuri’s turn to sigh, “Whatever,” and slipped out her phone.

You stopped writing and stared at the page. Were you isolating yourself?

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The entire time at the library yesterday was bothersome, you didn’t get any studying done. Yuri constantly kept disturbing not only you but the people who were studying nearby as well. Eventually, the librarian had enough and asked us to leave. Needless to say, neither of us are allowed back.

“Can’t take that girl anywhere, I swear,” you disappointingly shook your head and snickered. Checking your watch, it was still early, you didn’t have class in the next couple of hours. Perfect.

“Might as well kill some time,” shrugging off your bag, you unzipped your front bag’s pouch and pulled out your wallet; heading straight to the cafeteria to purchase some lunch.

You ordered yourself a regular sandwich and took a seat at an empty table. You peacefully enjoyed your lunch — stuffing your face full.

After finishing your meal, you decided that now would be the best to squeeze in a studying session, one that you should have gotten with Yuri.

Unfortunately, that studying session didn’t last long, having not being able to restrain yourself, you packed your things away and out came your camera; looking through your film for another deleting spree — a regular routine you’ve been doing so your storage wouldn’t be full when your next photo-taking adventure comes.

“Is that _____, I see?” That startled you, causing you to jump. The male‘s voice was low, you knew that voice. Steadily turning around, low and behold, it was none other than, Jungkook. “Oh, hey,” you say, watching him approach and then relaxing next to you. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he lets out a chuckle.

He plants his head on the table and stares, his breathing is irregular; heavy puffs force their way, his nose flaring too. Must have worked hard during practice.

A baby blue coloured towel hung around his neck, wetness dripping from his forehead — straps and the torso part of his jersey clinging to his skin somewhat. He was remarkably sweaty.

Normally, when men produced large amounts of sweat, the odour that drifts from them was utterly putrid to the human nose. Having experienced the stench passing the football hallway; dear god, as if infrequent weeks of trash had been piling up, waiting to be thrown away but was stored in their lockers — by far, gut-wrenching to you.

That wouldn’t be the critical part — no. Arriving back from practice, the athletes would shove their revolting equipment in and would overboard spray their ENTIRE gear with the popular cologne, Axe.

Assuming the cologne would help the situation; the mixture of sweat and the manly fragrance did not go well together at all. Players would carelessly spray it, believing the Axe would neutralize it. Instead, the complete opposite — the smell worsens as if you’re being suffocated when walking through.

You’d have to admit, Axe itself is a pleasant, wonderful smelling cologne on men, particularly, for those who’ve applied an appropriate amount. You found it attractive — a turn on even; when a man’s scent smells astonishingly satisfying. You didn’t know how that was possible, but it was.

However, despite Jungkook’s current position, you didn’t feel grossed out or nauseated. He may be perhaps one of the sweatiest members you’ve ever seen on the team — that never stopped the acknowledgement of how remarkably charming he looked without trying.

“Saw you sittin’ here like a loner, so I decided to do my good deed of the day and accompany you,” he flashes you a cheeky smile, enough for his tiny left dimple to appear. “I’ll have you know, I do have friends.”

Jungkook raises his head up from the table, tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow, “Really?” Straightening his posture, he pans around the room, palm hovering near his forehead, “Cause I don’t see them.” You suppress a giggle and shove the male playfully.

Now that you consider it, you genuinely didn’t have friends, friends — real ones at least. There’s nothing wrong with you, it wasn’t as if you didn’t get along with people, you talked to almost everyone in the class. Except, none of them spoke to you outside of the course nor did you put in the efforts in carrying out another friendship that Yuri and you strongly had.

It also may be the fact that your social awkwardness got the best of you. You see, when wandering through the halls and seeing a classmate, coming to your direction, normal people would converse with them and walk with them even. You on the other hand? Oh boy.

Imagine this, a confused or concentrated expression, doesn’t matter who the person’s face you choose, think of that. Now, add several complicated math equations and questions surrounding them, as if their brain is clustered. That’s how you felt. Overthinking everything.

Should I say hi? Hey! What’s up, how are you? Is that too much? Am I coming off strong? What if my voice cracks? Oh god, I forgot their name.

By then, you wouldn’t even say anything. Abort mission. You’d take out your phone, doing the bare minimum to dodge any confrontation.

Example: sliding up your control panel to lower the brightness, going to notes and typing in some random shit or, your favourite, opening up Instagram to scroll through your already seen feed — something, anything to make it seem as if you were busy texting the friends you didn’t have.

“You’re right, you caught me. I don’t have any friends.”

Jungkook gasps and dramatically slaps his chest in a defensive-like matter. “Jheez, I’m only teasing you. I can’t believe you don’t consider me as a friend,” he begins to sniffle, wiping away his non-existent fake tears on his cheeks.

In all honesty, you didn’t see Jungkook as a friend to you, yet. Nor did you think that he thought about becoming friends with you too. Recurring back to the situation at the coffeehouse, you genuinely assumed that, that was going to be the last of it, but here you were, pretending to console Jungkook.

“Anyways, where’ve you been?” He said, “Haven’t seen you in a while.” You glanced away for a moment, then bit your lower lip and looked at Jungkook, “You know,” you scratched the back of your head and combed your fingers through your hair, “I’ve been, around.”

“We should hang out soon.”

“Uh-”

“Us and the rest of the guys, sometime this week, yeah?”

Without thinking, “For sure, yeah!” Your voice didn’t sound like your own, a bit higher pitched than usual, indicating your uncertainty whether or not to actually go or to bail at the last minute when the time comes.

“Hoseok has been complaining to me about not seeing you, he still wants that hi by the way,” he said, wiping his face with his towel and then giving you a wry smile. You nodded and smiled back.

Silence hung between you two, both mentally scrapping words to say to each other to keep the conversation flowing. You fiddled with the band of your black camera, Jungkook noticed, seizing the opportunity, “You’re always carrying that camera, huh?”

Tucking a large strand of hair behind your ear, you fixed your glasses and replied, “It’s kinda necessary when you’re doing the newspapers.” Jungkook opened his mouth and muttered an ‘Ahh,’ recalling the time you had told him when you two met.

“That’s it?” You stared down at your camera and switched it on, “No, I use it for my own personal use too.” The raven-headed boy scooted close to you, “Can I see?” Motioning to the camera. “What about your team? They’re probably waiting for you,” you said, showing him your watch.

“Nah, it’s fine,” and held the base of your camera, “Can I?” He repeated and you hummed in approval, reluctantly settling the thing on the table in front of him.

“You took all of these?” He voiced his amazement. Never in his life had he seen something so mesmerizing, so eye-catching. No words could describe what he saw. To Jungkook, it didn’t look real, as if all of them had been taken off the internet.

You leaned in next to him, shoulders now touching to see which one he’d stumbled across, “Mhm,” a sheepish smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

A picture that you caught last year of a frozen lake; beneath the mist that swirled, thicker than the pure white snowfall on the ground lies a naked tree, dwindled with budded twigs standing in the center of the overflowing cotton candy — sea-dwelling sky.

You could feel it, only remembering the coldness that you witness, kneeling down on your knee and snapping the picture, a picture you were proud of. The wind carried as you stood still, soaking it all in; just nature.

“You’re good,” Jungkook examined the photo repeatedly, never taking his eyes off it. “Like, really good,” he said, and you blushed. Finally lifting his gaze off the screen, returning you the camera, “You should teach me sometime, teach me a thing or two.”

You shook your head, “It’s not something you learn from, it’s something you experience,” you gestured with your hands, “Experiencing it will make you want to achieve more. See more. Feel more.” He pushed his lips together and formed a line as he nodded, not fully understanding but was willing to give it a shot.

Suddenly, you heard the noise of loud chatter emerging its way from the doors. The sound of, not one, not two, but Jungkook’s entire basketball team carrying their duffle bags and water bottles in hand. Jungkook had spent the majority of his time with you that practice had ended.

“Ay, that’s where Jungkook went!” One of them shouted, tapping Hoseok. The red-head nudged Yoongi and pointed towards you guys. He immediately marched over and waved, “_____!” Nearing closer, Yoongi just a few steps behind.

“Hey, Hoseok!” You beamed, imitating the wave. “Finally got my hi!” The three of you mustered a laugh, but Yoongi. He wore his signature stone-cold expression, hands were shoved in the pockets of his shorts as he shifted his weight on his left leg, peering down at you.

Hoseok and Yoongi were sweating, of course, however Yoongi; taken back, as if you’ve lost your ability to breathe — he was glowing. The tips of his brown hair, clumped together, full of wetness, sticking to his forehead, covering his eyes almost.

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and you felt your heart squeeze. You were lost for words, oh my god. You couldn’t help it, he looked so, breathtaking — literally. 

If sweating and shining at the same time was going to look this good on someone, so be it; Min Yoongi was soon to be trademarking it as his brand.

You found yourself staring and tore your eyes away, nervously coughing. You collected your being before smiling shyly up at Yoongi. He beckoned his head, ‘Hey there’ and smirked. He knew you were staring at him just seconds ago.

Jungkook wrapped his arm around your shoulder, “Our friend _____ here agreed to hang out with us,” You weren’t so sure about going alone with the boys, though, they seemed harmless. Maybe you should invite Yuri, that way, you’d feel more comfortable.

Jungkook shoots you a bunny-like smile, “There’s a carnival happenin’ on Saturday, you guys wanna go?” Hoseok clapped his hands excitedly, “Yeah! We’d love to go, right Yoongi?” He shrugged and licked his lips, “I don’t care.”

Hoseok was trying his best, attempting to involve Yoongi in on the conversation as much as possible  — a way to lighten up the mood between you two from last time, but even you could see the frown starting to form on Hoseok’s face.

“Right… We should probably add each other.”

Yoongi and you were the last to exchange numbers. He quickly finishes setting up the contact and waits for you. “Done,” handing back his phone, he does the same and gently brushes his fingertips against yours as he retracts the device.

Your heart skips a beat. You glance at Yoongi to see, he was on his phone, clueless. It was an accident, relax.

A groan escapes Jungkook as he stands up and stretches, hearing the sound of bone cracking. Snapping back from your daze, you lifted your glasses and rubbed your eyes before checking the time.

“Shit!” The three boys stared at you. You’ve been spending so much time with Jungkook earlier and sitting here now, that you completely forgot about your class.

“I gotta go,” instantly packing away your things. “I’ll set up a group chat sometime this week,” Hoseok said. You gave him a thumbs up and made your way, “You should come to see us during practice!” Jungkook called, “We’ll see!” You turned and grinned.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The clicking of the bottoms of the shoes echoed on the hard surface. Yuri’s eyes observed as she leaned on the wall, following your figure pacing back and forth, left and right, over and over again. “So, do you ever plan on going in?”

You paused for a brief moment at Yuri’s words before continuing whilst chewing on your thumb’s nail; a habit that you’ve never seem to get rid of, a nervous habit that stuck with you ever since you were a kid.

“Never mind,” you finally said, shaking your head.

“What do you mean, never mind?” She cocked her head and pushed herself off the wall, both her hands now on her hips.

“Never mind, meaning I can’t do this,” you were still pacing, not as fast as you were before. You’ve been blowing this off for days until Yuri had eventually got fed up and basically drag you to stop by the gym and talk to the head coach.

You have been stalling outside the gym doors for the past 10 minutes, debating. Yuri’s expression changed, jaw dropped, dumbfounded, “You can’t do this?” She repeated, sweeping her hand over her bangs, now irritated.

“_____, we’re literally right outside the doors,” she grabbed at your shoulders, fully stopping you and spun you around, “Look, they’ve even made it easy for you,” her finger pointing at the gym’s direction, “The doors are wide open, just step in.”

“I know…” Trailing off, tip-toeing your way over. You peeked inside and scanned the room.

Not much to see, the team was warming up; two boys slacking off, your eyes averted onto the next one. Some guy picking his nose, next. One fixing his wedgie, umm? Your eyes then landed on Hoseok, he was practicing his shooting and then you saw Jungkook and Yoongi.

Jungkook’s knees were slightly bent, arms stretched wide, one arm somewhat higher than the other. His entire posture gave it away, he was playing defence against Yoongi. Jungkook attempted to steal the ball multiple times but Yoongi wouldn’t allow it.

A wide grin plastered on his face. He was having fun, enjoying himself, skillfully teasing Jungkook as if he had a chance. At that moment, it was the first time you’ve seen Yoongi genuinely smile, something other than a grave manner.  

Yoongi saw you at the entrance and brushed passed Jungkook naturally, the same technique he used back at the tournament. He dribbling forward, making direct eye contact and gave you a cocky lopsided smile as he shot the ball in the air.

Your breath hitched at the sight. It went by so quick, you almost didn’t even see it. You could feel your heart thumping, the common heart squeezes in your chest recurring.

Swish.

Yuri cleared her throat, “Quit your drooling. You can gawk about which one’s the hottest later,” you snapped your head up at her, her arms folded.

“I’m just — I don’t know,” this whole thing was more complicated than it should have been. You weren’t nervous, were you? Even so, what was there to be nervous about?

What if I screw up the organization? What if none of the other guys like me? I have to make a good impression or else-

“You’re overthinking things again.”

You sighed in defeat, you were.

You wanted to scream in a pillow. Why must you make things hard for yourself? You poked back in the gym, eyes wondering to search for Yoongi.

Yuri caressed your back, “There, there. All you need is a small little push-” and with that, Yuri had shoved you in. “Oh my lord!” A scream escaped you as you fumbled to steady yourself, almost face-planting the ground.

A couple of members had noticed you, directly howling and whistling at your grand entrance. Others didn’t bother, resuming their practice as if nothing happened. 

You sensed the embarrassment beginning to rise, burning away at your pink cheeks. You dusted and straighten your skirt, “Yuri, I swear I’m going to murder you-” you viewed back at the doors, she was gone.

The sound of your phone dinged. On your home screen, an unread text message appeared.

⌜ 1 New Message: Yuri ⌟

Yuri: good luck! [9:05]

You locked your phone, wait until I get my hands on you.

You shuffled your way in, the coach was nowhere in sight. Taking yourself a seat on the bench, you quietly waited and observed the boys. Yoongi kept his eyes on you from the moment the two of you made eye contact, watching from a safe distance — the opposite side of the court as you sat, hands neatly together on your lap. He couldn’t help contain the smirk forming on his lips, you looked confused.

“May I ask who you’re lookin’ for?”

His hair was blonde mixed with a shade of brown; a stunning colour, if you would-say-so yourself — harmonizing with the shone colour of his clear blue eyes and piercings on his ears. On top of that, he had flawless opaque skin, pinchable cheeks, and plump lips. He looked soft and elegant — an idol even.

He stood in front of you, wearing all black attire; black hoodie and black shorts. Nearly as tall as Yoongi you deemed. You’ve never noticed him before, a new recruit perhaps? Even so, he didn’t come off as the type to play basketball, but you knew better not to judge.

“I’m waiting for the coach. Do you know where he is?”

The male clasped his hands together and formed an ‘O’ shape with his mouth, “You just missed him! He left to take a call. I’m sure he’s in his office, want me to get him?”

“Oh no, no, no, no, I’m not in a rush! I can wait until he’s finished,” you assured him with a sincere smile.

“Suit yourself. May I?” He motioned beside you and you willingly scooted over to make room for the young boy. He took his invitation and sat pleasantly close to you, “I’m Jimin, and you?” He tilted forward, both elbows on his thighs as his head dipped a bit to gaze at you.

“I’m _____.”

“What a cute name for a cute girl,” he broke into an essence smile and you blushed, “You even have glasses, that’s a bonus,” shifting his posture, his head now resting on his hand. He’s definitely a flirt.

“What position do you play?”

“Hm?” He cocked a brow.

“I’ve never seen you before, are you new to the team?” You questioned.

“Actually,” he leaned back, “I’m their water boy,” he shyly spoke, stretching the hem of his black sleeves over and rubbed them together, formulating adorable sweater paws before hiding his shyness in his hands.

Explains why he wasn’t involving himself with the other members.

“I’d like to be on the team though,” he muffled — paws still covering his lower part of his face.

“Why aren’t you then?”

“Well, to be honest,” he combed his fingers through his hair and sheepishly smiled, “I didn’t make the cut…” You pouted, “It’s okay though! I like being their waterboy… It’s not that bad.”

Jimin averted his gaze to the court, “Sure, I’d rather be on the floor playing, but I also like my job. Even though, I only focus on keeping them hydrated and handing out towels,” he smiled.

“I really look up to these guys. Seeing them work as a team, picking each other up after a mistake and then, coming to me, telling me, that they appreciate what I do for them — they’ve made me feel as if I’m apart of them, part of the team. Especially Yoongi.”

You felt touched by Jimin’s words. You could see it, that he admired the boys. “Yoongi’s a great captain by the way. He may look tough, but he’s nothing but a teddy bear. You didn’t hear it from me though,” the both of you giggled.

You couldn’t imagine the way Jimin described him — maybe, just maybe, Min Yoongi wasn’t so bad after all.

[survivemiddleearth]

Cast Reveal- Tribe Perian

Perian is of the Sindarin language used in Lord of the Rings, and is the word for Hobbit; this is the tribe of hobbits:

Dennis (he/him, cest): Heyyy! I'm Dennis and a 24 yo german from Berlin. Timezones should be a problem, but luckily I'm an honorary internet american, so I can be active!!! LOTR is my childhood and most likely the universe I feel the most connected to (love HP tho but what is a starwars?) I remember growing up, reading through the hobbit and the lotr and having multiple fanarticles and posters in my room (yes I am that kind of nerd). I am looking forward to meeting you all, except for the one person who stole my original Character. He shall burn in hell (or be firstboot)

Stephen (he/him, Australia)

Bodhi (he/him, est): Old Tom Bombadil was a merry fellow;bright blue his jacket was and his boots were yellow,green were his girdle and his breeches all of leather;he wore in his tall hat a swan-wing feather.He lived up under Hill, where the Withywindleran from a grassy well down into the dingle.Old Tom in summertime walked about the meadowsgathering the buttercups, running after shadows,tickling the bumblebees that buzzed among the flowers,sitting by the waterside for hours upon hours.There his beard dangled long down into the water:up came Goldberry, the River-woman’s daughter;pulled Tom’s hanging hair. In he went a-wallowingunder the water-lilies, bubbling and a-swallowing.‘Hey, Tom Bombadil! Whither are you going?’said fair Goldberry. ‘Bubbles you are blowing,frightening the finny fish and the brown water-rat,startling the dabchicks, and drowning your feather-hat!’‘You bring it back again, there’s a pretty maiden!’said Tom Bombadil. ‘I do not care for wading.Go down! Sleep again where the pools are shadyfar below willow-roots, little water-lady!’Back to her mother’s house in the deepest hollowswam young Goldberry. But Tom, he would not follow;on knotted willow-roots he sat in sunny weather,drying his yellow boots and his draggled feather.Up woke Willow-man, began upon his singing,sang Tom fast asleep under branches swinging;in a crack caught him tight: snick! it closed together,trapped Tom Bombadil, coat and hat and feather.‘Ha, Tom Bombadil! What be you a-thinking,peeping inside my tree, watching me a-drinkingdeep in my wooden house, tickling me with feather,dripping wet down my face like a rainy weather?’‘You let me out again, Old Man Willow!I am stiff lying here; they’re no sort of pillow,your hard crooked roots. Drink your river-water!Go back to sleep again like the River-daughter!’Willow-man let him loose when he heard him speaking;locked fast his wooden house, muttering and creaking,whispering inside the tree. Out from willow-dingleTom went walking on up the Withywindle.Under the forest-eaves he sat a while a-listening:on the boughs piping birds were chirruping and whistling.Butterflies about his head went quivering and winking,until grey clouds came up, as the sun was sinking.Then Tom hurried on. Rain began to shiver,round rings spattering in the running river;a wind blew, shaken leaves chilly drops were dripping;into a sheltering hole Old Tom went skipping.Out came Badger-brock with his snowy foreheadand his dark blinking eyes. In the hill he quarriedwith his wife and many sons. By the coat they caught him,pulled him inside their earth, down their tunnels brought him.Inside their secret house, there they sat a-mumbling:‘Ho, Tom Bombadil! Where have you come tumbling,bursting in the front-door? Badger-folk have caught you.You’ll never find it out, the way that we have brought you!’‘Now, old Badger-brock, do you hear me talking?You show me out at once! I must be a-walking.Show me to your backdoor under briar-roses;then clean grimy paws, wipe your earthy noses!Go back to sleep again on your straw pillow,like fair Goldberry and Old Man Willow!’Then all the Badger-folk said: ‘We beg your pardon!’They showed Tom out again to their thorny garden,went back and hid themselves, a-shivering and a-shaking,blocked up all their doors, earth together raking.Rain had passed. The sky was clear, and in the summer-gloamingOld Tom Bombadil laughed as he came homing,unlocked his door again, and opened up a shutter.In the kitchen round the lamp moths began to flutter;Tom through the window saw waking stars come winking,and the new slender moon early westward sinking.Dark came under Hill. Tom, he lit a candle;upstairs creaking went, turned the door-handle.‘Hoo, Tom Bombadil! Look what night has brought you!I’m behind the door. Now at last I’ve caught you!You’d forgotten Barrow-wight dwelling in the old moundup there on hill-top with the ring of stones round.He’s got loose again. Under earth he’ll take you.Poor Tom Bombadil, pale and cold he’ll make you!’‘Go out! Shut the door, and never come back after!Take away gleaming eyes, take your hollow laughter!Go back to grassy mound, on your stony pillowlay down your bony head, like Old Man Willow,like young Goldberry, and Badger-folk in burrow!Go back to buried gold and forgotten sorrow!’Out fled Barrow-wight through the window leaping,through the yard, over wall like a shadow sweeping,up hill wailing went back to leaning stone-rings,back under lonely mound, rattling his bone-rings.Old Tom Bombadil lay upon his pillowsweeter than Goldberry, quieter than the Willow,snugger than the Badger-folk or the Barrow-dwellers;slept like a humming-top, snored like a bellows.He woke in morning-light, whistled like a starling,sang, ‘Come, derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!’He clapped on his battered hat, boots, and coat and feather;opened the window wide to the sunny weather.Wise old Bombadil, he was a wary fellow;bright blue his jacket was, and his boots were yellow.None ever caught old Tom in upland or in dingle,walking the forest-paths, or by the Withywindle,or out on the lily-pools in boat upon the water.But one day Tom, he went and caught the River-daughter,in green gown, flowing hair, sitting in the rushes,singing old water-songs to birds upon the bushes.He caught her, held her fast! Water-rats went scutteringreeds hissed, herons cried, and her heart was fluttering.Said Tom Bombadil: ‘Here’s my pretty maiden!You shall come home with me! The table is all laden:yellow cream, honeycomb, white bread and butter;roses at the window-sill and peeping round the shutter.You shall come under Hill! Never mind your motherin her deep weedy pool: there you’ll find no lover!’Old Tom Bombadil had a merry wedding,crowned all with buttercups, hat and feather shedding;his bride with forgetmenots and flag-lilies for garlandwas robed all in silver-green. He sang like a starling,hummed like a honey-bee, lilted to the fiddle,clasping his river-maid round her slender middle.Lamps gleamed within his house, and white was the bedding;in the bright honey-moon Badger-folk came treading,danced down under Hill, and Old Man Willowtapped, tapped at window-pane, as they slept on the pillow,on the bank in the reeds River-woman sighingheard Barrow-wight in his mound crying.Old Tom Bombadil heeded not the voices,taps, knocks, dancing feet, all the nightly noises;slept till the sun arose, then sang like a starling:‘Hey! Come derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!’sitting on the door-step chopping sticks of willow,while fair Goldberry combed her tresses yellow.

JG (he/him, est): Hey y'all, I am so excited for this season but first a little about me. I live in the Pittsburgh Metro Area. I am currently a Department Manager at McD’s until I finish my degree in writing with a focus in screen writing. While not at work or doing homework, I love to play video games, socialize with friends, and go see a movie (or two). The only other thing that I think is important to mention is that I am a huge Star Wars fan like read every book, seen every movie/tv show, etc. big time fan. Anyways, I look forward to getting to meet and know y'all, may the odds be ever in our favor. 

Roxy (she/her, Australian): "Frodo is goo....who is that?”

Sammy (he/him, est): hi guys this is my first game back in a little bit but I’m excited to play with you guys and I’m hoping to see some new faces! I am pretty outgoing and love conversation so hmu I’m usually up( but i am in college so if i don’t respond, I’m prob in a class!)

[artificialqueens]

Older (Biadore) 7/? - nellie

A/N: We’re getting towards the end now. I think there’s only going to be one more chapter after this plus an epilogue, but the plot has changed itself on me a few times as I’ve been writing, so who knows. To be honest I’m not massively happy with this chapter and it’s a lot shorter than I planned, but I’ve had a bit of writer’s block so at this point I’m glad to just get anything written. I hope you like it anyway. If you get bored, you can count how many times someone says “yeah” in this chapter. I think it’s at least five!

When Adore gets home, she writes a list of all the ways she can win Bianca back. Then she reads through them and crosses almost all of them off, because stalk her and beg her to forgive me until she gives in isn’t exactly a sign of maturity and she’s trying to prove she’s grown up. The thing is, she doesn’t know how to make someone forgive her. She can be an asshole sometimes; she’s selfish and kind of immature and she has a bad attitude. But she’s also cute and a little lost, and nobody ever seems to stay that mad at her for long. “Coasting on adorable”, her mom calls it, as though she’s living up to her name. Adore is adorable and she doesn’t know what to do when that on its own isn’t enough.

She looks down at the list in front of her. The only two things she hasn’t crossed out are talk to Courtney and return Bianca’s clothes, which, she realizes suddenly, can easily be combined. Going to the bar to drop Bianca’s clothes off gives her a reason to force Courtney into conversation where she can hopefully prove she’s a changed person. Maybe Courtney will even encourage Bianca to give her another chance, she thinks. It’s a long shot, but Adore can’t help believing that love can conquer anything and it’ll all work out if she just tries hard enough.

It’s hard to decide what to wear. She doesn’t have an outfit that says “I’m heartbroken but I’m going to try to better myself instead of hiding out in bed crying”. She needs to look good, but not so good Courtney thinks she doesn’t care about what’s happened. She pulls clothes from her closet one by one until her bed has been transformed into a pile of colored fabric that she suddenly hates the sight of, before eventually giving up and settling on what’s basically her default look – fishnets, cutoffs and an oversized shirt that hangs off one shoulder. She does what she can with her hair and spends almost an hour trying to get her makeup exactly right, before checking out her reflection in her mom’s full length mirror. She looks fucking hot. Nodding approvingly to herself, she grabs everything she needs and then she’s out the door, hearing it slam shut behind her with a certain kind of finality that she thinks is probably an omen of something.

The nerves hit her when she walks into the bar. It’s busy, but Courtney still manages to spot her within seconds of her walking in and Adore winces at the expression on her face. She’d been half hoping Bianca had been too embarrassed to say anything, but it’s obvious Courtney knows the truth. Adore takes a deep breath and plasters a confident smile on her face as she heads over to the bar.

“Before you say anything, I just wanted to give Bianca back her shit. I thought you could give it to her for me.”

Courtney stares Adore down for a few long seconds before reaching over to grab the bag from her outstretched hand. “Fine. You have to go. You’re underage.”

Adore bites her lip. She’s not sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. “I’m sorry, okay? I fucked everything up. I never meant to hurt her.”

“Look, Adore. I know you’re just a fucking kid, but let me give you some advice. In the real world, nobody gives a shit what you mean to do. Actions have consequences, you don’t get to just opt out of them by saying you didn’t mean it. You fucked up and you hurt her. Own it.”

Courtney’s right. It’s hard to hear, but she’s fucking right and Adore suddenly has to clench her jaw hard to keep herself from crying as she realizes that nobody’s going to forgive her for this. “She’ll never forgive me, will she?”

“Probably not.” Courtney can obviously tell that Adore is close to tears, because she softens a fraction. “If you’re looking for absolution, she’s not gonna give you that. You can’t force someone to forgive you just so you feel better. That’s not fair on her.”

“Have you always been this smart?” Adore has always thought of Courtney as cute, fun and a little ditzy. Now it turns out she’s some kind of relationship genius and Adore’s equal parts impressed and really fucking confused by it.

“Yeah.” Courtney grins for a second before obviously remembering their situation and quickly looking away. “You have to go,” she says again, her tone more sympathetic now. “I’ll give her the clothes.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Adore wants to stay, but there’s nothing more to say and she has the feeling Courtney will probably get her kicked out if she tries. So she nods a farewell instead and manages to make it out the door and halfway down the block before the tears spill over, ruining her perfect makeup as they run tracks down her face. She’s lost everything, and it hurts more than she expects as it suddenly hits her exactly what she has to give up. It’s not just about Bianca. For a moment she’d believed there was more to her than being a troubled, useless teenager with no prospects and no future. She’d seen into Bianca’s world and it had felt right. It was somewhere Adore felt like she belonged, more than she belonged at school, or at home, or really anywhere else she’d ever been.

But she doesn’t belong there. She doesn’t belong anywhere now.

She wipes her eyes, knowing she’s only making her makeup worse, but past caring. What does it matter, anyway? Fuck growing up. Fuck fucking everything, because Bianca’s gone and she may as well just go back to being the same old Adore. What’s the fucking point of trying? She’ll just wind up in the same place, so she might as well not bother.

Fuck it.

***

“Adore. I’m sorry, but you’ve been given ample chances.”

Adore tries to focus on what Principal Charles is saying, but it’s hard to focus and her attention keeps wandering. Occasional words filter into her brain, like potential, disappointed and reconsider. He hasn’t actually said the word “expelled” yet, but she’s been in this position more times than she can count and she knows it’s coming. She can’t even really blame him. She hasn’t spoken in class for weeks, let alone bothered to do any homework. She’s got papers due for every class that she hasn’t written and there have been two tests she failed for not doing anything but write her name at the top of the paper before staring out the window for the rest of the class.

She’s checked out. Fuck school, fuck her college plans, fuck everything. She was stupid for even thinking she could be anything else. She’ll get a shitty minimum wage job somewhere and live her life scraping to get by, knowing every day that she’s disappointed her mom who’s worked so hard to give her more. Sorry, mom, she thinks to herself. Guess I take after dad. Principal Charles is still speaking but Adore’s not listening anymore.

She gets to her feet in the middle of his sentence and turns to walk out of the office.

“But I really think that – Adore, what are you doing?”

Adore turns back to look at him, enjoying the way she can feel numbness spreading throughout her body, distancing her from this entire situation. “You’re kicking me out, right? I’m leaving.”

Principal Charles looks at her with what almost seems like concern. “As I was saying, once we meet with you and your mother we can talk through the options and ways we can best support you on this next step.”

Adore cocks her head, looking at Principal Charles with a distant kind of confusion. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

She hears him calling her back, but she ignores him. He doesn’t want to help her. All he wants is to make sure she can’t sue him later.

She opens her locker, staring at the contents for a long moment. There’s nothing in it worth keeping, just a bunch of books and half empty notepads, so she slams it shut, enjoying the way the sound echoes in the empty hallway. Let them clean it out later, she doesn’t care.

Adore feels invincible as she walks out the front door. If this was a movie she’d light a match and watch the building burn behind her, but she’s no arsonist and besides, Violet’s in there somewhere and she’d literally kill Adore if her face got burned off.

Violet. She’s the only thing Adore will miss. Sure, they might say they’ll keep in touch, but she knows how that goes. It’s just one more lie and Adore’s so tired of lying.

***

Adore is forced back to consciousness by the insistent ringing of her phone. She sees Bianca’s name on the display (yes, she should have deleted her number by now and no, she knows she never fucking will) and rushes to answer it, almost rejecting the call in her haste.

“Bianca? It’s three in the morning.” Adore’s voice is rough with sleep and she sounds every bit as confused as she feels.

“Did I wake you up? I had to… I miss you.”

Oh. Bianca is wasted. Adore can hear it in her voice. It’s the kind of wasted that makes you think drunk dialing your ex is a good idea, while protecting you from remembering exactly what you said the next day.

“You’re drunk, B.”

“So, so, so drunk,” Bianca agrees, every word crisp and defined in a way reserved solely for very drunk people who are trying to sound sober. “I miss you,” she says again, a slight whine to her voice.

“I miss you too.” Adore winces at the words, but she takes comfort in knowing there’s no way Bianca will remember any of it in the morning.

Bianca groans. “Why’d you have to lie to me? You broke my heart.”

“Yeah.” Adore’s voice is soft. She doesn’t want to have this conversation, even when Bianca is beyond trashed. “I’m sorry. You’re just really… I don’t know. I was selfish.”

“I hate you. But I love you, so I hate you more.”

Adore squeezes her eyes shut, trying not to let Bianca get to her. “Where are you?”

There’s a pause, as though Bianca is trying very hard to figure out the answer to Adore’s admittedly very complicated question. “I’m home. You should come over.”

Fuck.

A big part of Adore wants to take advantage of the situation. Who cares if Bianca’s drunk? They love each other and they miss each other and shouldn’t that be enough? But she knows it’s not that simple. Sure, she could leave right now and turn up on Bianca’s doorstep, but she can already picture the morning after; Bianca hungover and furious, kicking her out for a second time and screaming at her for being selfish and immature.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You know you won’t want me there when you wake up.”

“But I want you here now.”

 “I know. Listen, are you okay or do I have to call Courtney to go make sure you don’t die in your sleep?”

“Fuck you, Adore.” Bianca is clearly trying for angry, but she misses the mark but several emotions and lands more on pathetic instead. “I was getting blackout drunk before you were born. Cause you’re seventeen.”

Adore laughs. The whole thing hurts, but there’s a funny side too and she can’t help herself. “You were getting blackout drunk when you were fourteen?”

There’s silence. “Fuck, I really was getting drunk before you were born. Oh my god. That’s gross. I’m gonna be sick.”

Adore hears a thump as Bianca unceremoniously drops her phone, and then silence.

“Bianca?”

Nothing.

Should she call the cops? Courtney? Her mom? A priest? What are you even meant to do in this situation?

There’s a rustling sound and Bianca thankfully comes back onto the line. “Hey. Sorry.” Her voice is rough. She obviously wasn’t kidding about the being sick thing, Adore thinks.

“You okay?” Adore asks carefully.

“Yeah.” Bianca sighs heavily and mutters what sounds like “fuck” under her breath. “I need to go.”

“Yeah,” Adore echoes. She doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want to stop talking to Bianca, but she knows it’s not good for either of them. “Drink water, get some sleep. You know, all that.”

“Mmm.” There’s another pause. “Bye, Adore.”

“…Bye,” Adore says to the dialtone before setting her phone back on the table beside her.

She doesn’t think she’ll be able to get back to sleep tonight.

[ramblingfishhhh]

Cockroaches and Kitchens

Loud screaming sounded in the small house and Ros wasted no time to drop whatever she was doing and bolt straight for the kitchen.

"Upin! Ipin! Are you okay-!"

Ros' face changed dramatically when she saw her younger twin brothers standing on a chair. The older twin looking like he was about to fall off any second from the younger's death grip on him and with the constant rocking of the chair.

"Get rid of it, Ah-Kak!" Ipin pointed to the floor where a cockroach scurried away upon Ipin's pointed finger, causing him to scream louder.

Ros pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned against the doorframe with an unamused expression, "This was what scared you? A cockroach?"

"I don't need your input right now! I just want you to get rid of it!" Ipin cried.

"OW! That hurts! Let go!" Upin shouted and tried to push his brother off of him.

"NO!"

"Stop moving the chair! We're gonna fall!"

Ros continued to watch the twins bicker until Upin turned to her with a desperate look.

"Why don't you do it?" Ros cut in before he could whine. Catching a glimpse of the cockroach near the gap under the sink, "You're not afraid of bugs."

Upin gestured to his brother who had trapped him in a bear hug, "Can't you see what I'm dealing with here? He's not gonna let go!"

"Then that's your problem now." Ros waved him off dismissively as she proceeded to leave the kitchen to resume to her homework.

She wasn't even halfway gone when she heard, "If you get rid of that cockroach, I'll clean your room for a week!"

Kak Ros turned back, smirking, "Make that 4 weeks."

Upin narrowed his eyes, "2."

"2 and a half." Ros gambled, hands on her hips before she heard a loud, audible groan from her brother.

"Fine. Just hurry up and get that bug out of this house so he can get off me!" Upin directed his last words to Ipin, but the younger twin was too scared to process it into his mind. He ended up wrapping his arms around Upin too tightly, nearly knocking the wind out of him, "Please!"

Ros shook her head and grabbed a few sheets of tissue from the dining table, "Okay, okay, I'm on it." On her knees, Ros carefully approached the cockroach which hadn't moved from its spot despite the all shouting. With the tissue hovering just above the bug, Ros brought her hand down quickly but not fast enough to squash it to death and wrapped the it in the tissue.

"There. It's gone." Ros said, a triumph smile as she stood back up.

"It's not gone if you don't throw it away or kill it!" Ipin spoke with a slight crack in his voice. Ros wasn't suprised to see tears build up in his. Ipin never like cockroaches, especially those flying ones.

"We're not going to kill it." Upin said firmly and turning to his sister, "Do not kill it."

Ros shrugged, "If you want it so badly, you could just ask. I know how much you love biology-"

"We are not keeping it!" The twins yelled together in sync and Ros wandered if boys were just this complicated when making decisions or it was just her brothers.

"I heard you the first time, you don't have to yell!" Ros was already stepping out of the kitchen through the door that led to the outside of the house. Opening her hand, the cockroach landed on the ground before beating it's wings in a frantic escape.

"Is it gone?" Came Ipin's voice when Ros walked into the kitchen.

"Yes. Now please let go of me." Grumbled Upin as his brother did as he was told and climbed down the chair.

"Terimah Kasih, Kak Ros." He thanked his sister politely who smiled back in response.

"Sama-sama, Ipin."

"Thank god that's over." Upin said, rubbing his shoulders as he too climbed down the chair. He shot his brother a glare, "Thanks for giving me a massage, Ipin. Nearly broke my bones too."

Ipin smiles sheepishly in reply, "Sorry. But think about it, even if your shoulder bones were broken, at least your other bones would still be intact and functional."

Upin gave him a look and before he could open his mouth to shoot back, Ros cut in again.

"Now that the cockroach situation has been resolved, I want you two to... TELL ME EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED TO THE KITCHEN THIS INSTANCE!" She threw her hands up as to gestured to all of the kitchen.

It had been a complete mess when she arrived upon their screaming; the floor was covered in flour and footprints, the cupboards were decorated in splattered eggs and chocolate, there was whiped cream all over the clean plates and utensils and worst of all, the assortment of berries she had purchased the day before were dropped near the fridge and some squashed.

The twins bowed their heads, unable to look at their sister in the eye.

"THIS PLACE IS A MESS AND YOU TWO ARE GOING TO CLEAN THIS UP OR NO DINNER FOR YOU! UNDERSTAND!?" Ros, red in the face, watched as her brothers gave silent nods and huffed, "Good. Now go tidy yourselves before you first before you clean the kitchen. You can tell me what happened AFTER dinner because I have homework to do at the moment."

Ros turned her heel and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving her brothers to themselves. When they made sure she was really gone, Ipin leaned towards to his brother, hand curled slightly near his mouth as if to tell a secret.

"We're not going to tell her what happened exactly, right?" Ipin asked, looking at Upin for an answer. The older twin shrugged slightly, still hurt from the pain.

"Lie about it for now. Kak Ros is super stress and we don't want her to find out what we're making for her just yet." Ipin nodded before they exchanged quick glances with each other and the kitchen before running past the living room where Ros was to get to their shared bedroom.

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

Okay! That was pretty long! Guess what the twins were making for their sister.

The twins are 10 years old and Ros is 20 (basically in college/university at the moment and yeah it's pretty stressful).

...I should be studying...

Anyways, let me know what you think of the story. I might reveal what the twins were making in another story but I'm not too sure about it yet.

I wrote this at night and I am tired. So my mind isn't aware of all the mistakes and spelling errors.

[daebakinc]

Mercy - Pt 2

Please have mercy on me. Take it easy on my heart. Even though you don’t mean to hurt me, you keep tearing me apart.

Pairing: Jungkook x OC Genre: College AU, angst, romance, Summary: After a homework mix-up, you agree to tutor Jungkook in math in exchange for him tutoring you in dance. In more ways than one, you get much more than you bargained for. Parts:  1, 2 A/N: Some swearing. Also, I’m really sorry this has been delayed! I had some writer’s block&even after I finished, I couldn’t get to internet to post it. It’s one of the downsides to living more than 30 min from civilization. TT-TT

That night is indeed the start of a chain of events. The primary one of those events is that you and Jungkook spend almost every night of the next three months together. The only exception is game nights when he devotes himself to video games. However, even on the weekends, you somehow wind up spending several hours with him in that small studio.

Normally, your non-existent social life confines your comfort zone to your single room. That’s not to say you’re a crotchety hermit. You do have a few friends you love dearly, but most of the time you prefer your own company. But for whatever reason, Jungkook renders that rule null and void.

When you could spend time by yourself, you find you’d rather spend that time with him. Jungkook practices almost all hours of the day when he doesn’t have class, but he doesn’t mind you perching in the corner on the mats to work on your own things while he does so. He often forgets you’re even there. His eyes are fixed on his body in the mirror, following its movements, fine tuning them to be a perfect physical manifestation of the music.

It’s one of the most mesmerizing things you’ve ever seen. You learn for every ounce of talent he has, Jungkook puts in just as much hard work to honing it into true art. His dedication, his drive for constant improvement is just one of the many aspects of his you grow to genuinely admire. So too is his ability to give.

Mutual tutoring still happens, just not every day. You quickly discover alternating how you devote your time works better. One night for dance, the next for math. Trying to fit both in equally in one involves too much clock watching for either of you. Still, Jungkook makes sure that for every minute you help him in Pre-Calculus, he oversees your dancing, especially during midterms, which you both do passably well on.

Although your arrangement is casual, he still takes his teaching seriously. He goes as far as to devise floor exercises specially for you to practice a specific element. As he said the first night, he focuses on “baby steps.” Engrain the basics in your muscles so they become the building blocks of second nature. Sometimes you see Jungkook get frustrated, but he never verbalizes it. He just gives his head a jerky shake to roll it off and moves on. He’ll either demonstrate the correct movement himself, slowly, or guide your pliant limbs through it. The smile he gives you when you succeed on your own is worth every pull of sore leg muscles and drop of sweat.

After your respective sessions, you usually stay there to do other work as well. The long trek to your dorm is off-putting in the face of the studio’s coziness.

You’ll sprawl out side by side on mats you dragged onto the floor. Snacks litter the space between you, within easy reach and shared indiscriminately. After all, everyone needs breaks to focus on something else.

When you are working on math, you share a book. It makes helping Jungkook through trouble problems easier. At first, you keep a certain distance, never allowing your head to brush his as you both huddle over his paper. Within the second month of your friendship, that habit flips on its head.

Jungkook crosses the invisible wall he unconsciously presented first. You’re doing some reading for English while he’s reading for his history. You don’t pay attention when you see him wriggling around. Then a weight settles on your back. Small but worthy of notice. You stop mid-sentence in your notes and look back.

Jungkook’s head is settled in the at the bottom of your arched spine. His lips move as he reads, the fringe of his bangs half-covering his eyes, completely unself-conscious. A heat like the first sip of hot chocolate, burning hot then gratifyingly warm, bursts into bloom in your heart and overflows to settle in the pit of your stomach. You hurriedly look back at your notes before you can think about it too much.

What you thought was a fluke turns into new routine. One of you is always leaning, lying, or touching the other while studying. The relaxing power of simple human touch is one you always underestimated, but no longer. Resting your head in Jungkook’s lap or propping your back against his makes you feel homely, or in simple language, just plain good.

That should have been your smack in the back of the head. You should have seen it coming, but the most troubling development of your new friendship nonetheless catches you off guard: you fall in love with Jungkook.

It isn’t the kind of realization where the heavens open up with a blinding ray of sunlight to enhalo your enlightenment. It’s more like a jigsaw puzzle, minute pieces of his character coming together to overtake your heart.

Jungkook’s passion for everything he loves, from dancing to video games. His cute bunny smile that crinkles his eyes and is at odds with the rest of him. His humility despite his accomplishments so that a compliment from you still makes him blush and cast his eyes down. His little acts to take care of you when he thinks you won’t notice. Bit by bit, you unknowingly give your heart away.

           You are very good at keeping this secret from yourself. Denial is key. You tell yourself he is only a friend. You tell yourself the little shiver you now feel wherever Jungkook’s hands cover your skin or his chest presses against your back to demonstrate a movement is imagined. You tell yourself you catch yourself looking at him too long because any warm-blooded female would.

           But then, Jungkook does something that has your heart pounding too loud for you to ignore.

           During one of the rare times you aren’t in the studio with Jungkook, he slips in a puddle of sweat and falls. Luckily, he only twists his ankle. But it’s bad enough that the doctor wraps it and gives him crutches to use for a few days. He grumbles about it, but for fear of the wrath of his dance professor, he uses them.

           Crutches mean dancing is off the table. Despite how close you’ve become, you still partially expect this to also mean you won’t see Jungkook as much. Instead, the same day, he shows up at your work during the last few hours of your shift.

You look up to greet the customer when the bell dings. The words stick in your throat at the sight of him. He waves at you and parks himself at a small table tucked in the corner by the coffee machines with his books. You hurry to chalk your suddenly irregular heartbeat to too much caffeine and return your attention to the line in front of you. No time for that.

           When the stream of customers lulls, you slip out from behind the counter with cleaning rag and coffee in hand. Jungkook jumps when you set the coffee in front of him. “Columbian, iced, no milk, with a dash of sugar. Am I right?”

           He nods and sets his phone down. He looks nice and snug in a black and red striped sweater that half hangs off his shoulder. Smiling he says, “I can’t believe you remembered that. Thanks.”

           You laugh and tap your head. “It’s literally my job.”

           “And you’ve got an elephant brain.” Jungkook takes a sip, giving an appreciative sigh. He glances at you with a frown. “Is it alright for you to do this?”

           “It was time to brew a new pot.” You shrug. “It would’ve gone down the drain anyway. Besides, it’s not like you were going to buy anything.”

           “I could’ve.”

           “But you weren’t going to.”

           He drops his indignant expression under your skeptical gaze and laughs. “You’re right. You’re right. I just needed to get out of the room and no one else is in theirs.”

           “In other words, I was your last option. Thanks.” You huff in pretend hurt and turn away, secretly grinning when he grabs your arm.

           “You know that’s not true,” Jungkook whines playfully. You can tell without looking he’s pouting in that nearly irresistible way. He doesn’t intend to be charming. It’s just a fortunate, or maybe unfortunate, effect.

           Chuckling, you shake him off and stick your tongue out at him. “Yeah, yeah. See if you get any more coffees on the house out of me now, kid.”

           Jungkook waits until you’re behind the counter again before calling your name. When you look up, he wiggles finger hearts at you with both hands. It’s a herculean effort not to giggle helplessly. Clearly taking your smile as forgiveness, he flips to thumbs up and returns his attention to his phone.

           As both of you knew, your threat proves empty. Every new brewing means a refill if he needs it. You keep your eye on the math homework spread before him as well. Jungkook does do half of it, but once he gets frustrated with a problem, his phone is in hand two seconds later. The way his eyes dart around the screen clues you in that he’s playing a game. When he catches you catching him, he gives you a sheepish smile and goes back to the homework like a scolded schoolboy.

           After the fifth time you find him playing a game, you glance at the clock and tell him, “It’s only ten minutes until we close. If you want, just leave the rest and we’ll do them in my room.”

           “Oh, thank god,” Jungkook sighs. “I don’t even know if I did the ones I did right.”

           “Pack up your stuff. I’ll carry it for you when we leave.” On second thought, you look around to find your coworker. Maybe she’ll let you leave early if you promise to do the same for her another night. Instead, you see someone you’d rather not heading for the door.

           Many of your regulars come in solely for the coffee, wifi, and peaceful atmosphere. All they want to recharge their batteries in peace. They’re generally polite and don’t give you any trouble.

Nick is one of those regulars who’s the exception to the rule. He’s a graduate student, something he never fails to mention at least once a visit. Regardless of who serves him, he always has a sly comment that he obviously thinks is charmingly flirty. The predatory gleam in his eye makes them anything but. However, he carefully toes the line of harassment so a complaint won’t be taken seriously by management or the school administration. You wouldn’t exactly call him rude or even ugly, but the word ‘slimy’ comes up often when you and the other female baristas complain to each other about his latest advance.

           Another frantic look around confirms your coworker must be in the back. Swallowing your discomfort, you plaster on the ‘I must be nice because you pay my bills’ smile anyone who’s held a job in customer service knows.

           “Good evening, Nick. You’re cutting it close,” you say. You hide your hands out of sight, clenching and unclenching your fists in an attempt to relieve the anxious discomfort in your chest.

           “Working on that masters’ thesis,” he replies smoothly. He leans an elbow on the counter and smiles at you. “But I hit a block and decided I need caffeine and a beautiful face to get myself around it.”

           You subtly shift away and ignore his comment. Keeping your eyes on the register to avoid Nick’s, you ask, “The usual?”

           “You know it, babe.”

           When you tell him the total, Nick already has a large bill ready. It’s a fight to keep from shuddering at how his fingers drag along your palm as he hands you the money. He does it again when you give him his change. You really want to scrub your hands clean after.

           Since you’re still by yourself, making his coffee provides a reason to turn your back on him. You still feel his gaze boring into your back. Jungkook catches your eye when you go back to the machines. There’s a small frown on his face that lets you know he heard the conversation. He knows you aren’t comfortable someone using pet names with you unless you’re extremely close. After so many nights observing your body, he can read the tension bunched in your shoulders as well.

           You look away and focus on making the coffee.

           Nick’s voice grates your nerves when he unexpectedly says, “Hey, love. I’ve got a question for you.”

           You add some extra flourishes of your hands so he’ll think you can’t look away from your work. “Yes, sir?”

           “Please, ‘sir’ is my father. There’s only one situation I like being called that. Here, I’m just Nick.” His chuckle invites you to laugh at his wit. When you give him a half-hearted laugh, he continues, “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve come to the conclusion we should go on a date, so I’m going to need your number.”

           Your hand jerks. Milk drips down the side of the cup and onto the counter. His demand surprises you, but at the same time, it doesn’t. You just really wish he hadn’t said anything. Conflict, or even the possibility of it, sets your stomach churning and your body trembling every time.

           Taking your time, you wipe off his cup and securely place the lid on it. Your best work smile is back in place when you turn around and hand his drink to him. “I’m sorry, Nick, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

           Nick frowns, recovering quickly. He doesn’t even look at his drink. “Why?”

           “It wouldn’t be professional behavior. I’m sorry, but no, thank you.” You turn your back on him again to start cleaning the splattered milk and coffee.

           Nick follows you, leaning against the small glass partition. “Come on, just write it on my cup or something discreet like that.” His tone grows annoyed as he says, “If you didn’t want me to ask you out, why’re you always flirting with me? Men don’t like it when women string them along like a stupid tease.”

           “It’s called doing her job.” Jungkook suddenly slides himself in front of the other man, forcing him backwards and away from you. Even leaning on one crutch, he cuts an intimidating figure.

           “Are you her boyfriend?” Nick asks cautiously, eyeing the lines of muscle Jungkook’s T-shirt expose.

           “No.”

           The haughtiness returns to Nick’s voice. He puffs his chest and says, “Then this is none of your business. Butt out.”

           You glance around, glad it’s almost closing so the shop is empty. Heart beating and clamminess taking over your skin, you whisper, “Jungkook, you really don’t have to. It’s okay.”

           “If he’s harassing you, you shouldn’t have to put up with it.” Shifting his attention back to your suitor, Jungkook gives him a cold look. You’ve never seen such a look on your friend’s face. “She’s in the customer service industry. She has to smile and be nice to everyone or she’ll get reprimanded. Don’t you think it’s hard enough for her to act happy all the time to creeps like you who make her uncomfortable by coming onto her? Whether or not she has a boyfriend shouldn’t matter either. If you only respect her right to say ‘no’ because you think she’s another man’s property, no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend. Go educate yourself and get a fucking life.”

           Your and Nick’s jaws drop. You manage to snap yours back into place, but Nick’s stays open like a suffocating fish’s. He stares at Jungkook a second longer before grabbing his order and slinking away with slumped shoulders.

           Jungkook keeps his eyes on Nick’s back until the door closes behind him. He then turns to you, concern filling his gaze as he studies you. “Are you okay?”

           You nod, hoping the wonder you’re feeling isn’t showing too badly. “Yes. Thanks. Really, you didn’t have to though.”

           “Yes, I did,” Jungkook says firmly. “No one should get away with behavior like that.”

           Intellectually, you know that. But standing up for yourself is a habit you’re still working on, and someone else defending you is unprecedented. His actions make you feel special and loved, another sensation you’re unused to. It’s indescribable. Before you cry from gratitude and emotion, you nod again and rush to lock the door so you can clean up, close up, and spend more time with Jungkook.

           You’re both quiet on the slow, chilly walk back to the dorm. It reminds you of your first walk together. This time though, Jungkook takes the initiative and speaks first. His light-hearted recounting of a botched routine he and his friend Jimin made is clearly an attempt to make you feel better. You’re thankful for it and play along until you are calm and happy again.

           A few hours and hot chocolates later, when your heads are hitting the paper more often than your pencils, it’s finally time to part company. You follow Jungkook to the door after he packs his things into his bookbag, stopping short when he turns around. Jungkook props one crutch against the doorframe and pulls you into his chest.

           “Tell me if that guy ever bothers you again, understand? I’ll take care of it,” he says softly into your hair. He squeezes you tighter. “You deserve better than that.”

           Although you’re unsure if you can keep that promise, you reply, “I will. Thank you.” You let yourself nestle closer into his soft hoodie and the safety of his arms.

           “I mean it.”

           “I know.”

           After you wave goodbye and close the door, you slump against it. Your heartbeat ripples through your body from head to toe. It disturbs the long-asleep butterflies in your stomach and sends them into flight. Your mind buzzes with what you’re finally admitting to yourself. Jeon Jungkook is most definitely nestled in your heart with no intentions of leaving. And you have no idea what to do about it.

           ‘Torturous’ is the only word that can describe the consequent debate you have with yourself. To tell Jungkook or not to tell Jungkook, that is the question. You’ve witnessed firsthand how flustered he gets when a pretty girl so much as walks past him. His mouth seals up like a safe. Suddenly, he studies the floor like it has all the answers in the world. For Jungkook to close himself off from you in this manner all because you strung three innocent words of a confession together would break you.

           But to open the door for your relationship to become something more…. To be able to hold his hand when you walk together, to kiss his nose just because you feel like it, to curl up in his lap during late night movies. Your dreams may be small, but they are more tempting than all the treasure of Ali Baba’s forty thieves. Maybe you are greedy or weak, but those small things are all you can think of. Their constant invasion of your conscious makes you distracted, enough so Jungkook comments on it during your tutoring. You brush it off as being tired or thinking of an assignment, breathing a sigh relief when he lets it go each time.

By the end of the week, you can’t take it. You are going to tell Jungkook. You have hope if it doesn’t go well, he won’t abandon you. It’s in your prayers every night.

           You’re still building up the courage to follow your decision when, one night, Jungkook bursts through the studio door. He looks bewildered and a little shell-shocked.

           “Are you okay?” You rise from your seat on the mats immediately.

           He nods his head but says, “No.” Jungkook drops his bag right at the door, strides over to you, and collapses. He closes his eyes as he leans against the mirrors. “You’re never going to believe what happened.”

           “What?”

           Jungkook sits up to look at you. “A girl just asked me out to the winter dance. Me!”

           “Oh.” Your heart stops. You suddenly feel queasy.

           “I know, right?” His words come faster as he babbles, “She’s an upperclassman and super hot too. Really, really good ballet dancer. We don’t even have a class together. I see her sometimes when I go talk to Professor Duncan, but I hadn’t even talked to her before now. It’s crazy.”

           Already dreading the answer, you ask, “Did you say ‘yes’?” You hold your breath waiting for his answer.

           He shrugs. “Well, yeah. How could I say no?”

           “Yeah.” You shrink into yourself, a fist pulverizing your heart with each breath. Still, you smile through the pain and give him a forced, “Congrats.”

           “Thanks, I think.” Half of Jungkook’s mouth turns upwards. He leans down to rest his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, cocking his head to study you. “You really think it was a good idea to say ‘yes’? What if I screw this up?”

           “You won’t. It’s only a dance.” But in your mind, it’s much more. It’s your chance to reveal your feelings to Jungkook slipping away like quicksand.

           His smile becomes whole and turns into a grin. “You’re right. It’s only a dance. Not like I agreed to marry her,” he giggles. “Wait til I tell everyone else an upperclassman asked me out!”

           The thought makes you want to vomit but you laugh along. You don’t even know this girl but you envision her being everything you are not and everything Jungkook could want. All your plans and hopes are being dashed. Yet because Jungkook seems happy, you have no choice but to stand there and watch them turn to dust underfoot.

[the-writing-on-the-statue]

finding your way back home

Summary: Tsubomi tries to find her balance, in the days after Claw.

Author’s Notes: Part four of the Esper!Tsubomi series. Make sure to read the others so you know what’s going on. 

the fallacy of memory

in the halls of the mountain king

pull the roses from your lungs and breathe in

[Read on AO3]

It’s very cold when Tsubomi returns to the house. Her aunt is waiting, still lines and shadows curling around her shoulders. The broken furniture is gone, the floors and walls cleaned.

Tsubomi does not flinch, even when she tastes the bitter tang of wine on the air, mixing with the lingering hints of bleach. It perfumes her mother’s words like knives. It soaks them with regret.

“So.”

The word hangs between them. Tsubomi clenches her hands in her skirt, the tattered strips of cloth clinging to her knees. A rose curls thorns around her neck, the only one that had decided to remain with her after she had left.

She wishes then that she had taken up the offer handed out carelessly by Shigeo’s teacher, after the dust had settled and all was the vague semblance of calm once again. You need a place to go, kid?

Tsubomi had said no, because her mother needed her. She had walked home, walked to the cold house without greenery and life. She had walked away from the bright vibrancy of colors that was Shigeo and his Shishou, and the world had gone a little less bright in their absence.

“Pack your things,” her mother says, her mouth a thin, white line.

And Tsubomi stares up at her, at the harsh grooves bracketing her mother’s manic eyes.

“But, Mother-”

Hands curls around her neck, and Tsubomi is so tired, so exhausted, that she can’t do anything but buckle. There’s heat, blinding, familiar, and then there’s pain, and finally-the crisp of ash on her tongue.

Tsubomi thinks it is not fair, that her roses are not permitted the courtesy of screaming with their agony. Thinks it even less fair that neither is she, to scream for them, to scream with her own grief.

“You’ve had your fun,” her mother-her aunt, something inside Tsubomi says, the thing that pulled roses from her lips to burrow into the cracks of the walls that kept her prisoner. “Now we leave.”

“They’ll follow us,” Tsubomi says, on her knees, her head bowed. It feels like genuflection, to a statue wrapped in shadows. It feels cold. “You know they will.”

Her aunt is still. Tsubomi raises her head, feeling blood trickle down her neck.

“I’m tired of running,” she whispers, and it is blasphemy, to say in the cold air these secrets Tsubomi has never given true voice to.

Tsubomi is prepared for the slap. She turns with the stinging, burning blow, and it knocks her to the floor, where she lays still. She remembers what to do. She remembers. She remembers-

Footsteps, moving away.

Tsubomi is quiet on the cold, hard floor.

It is only after several minutes of cautioned stillness that Tsubomi pushes herself up, and goes to find the first-aid kit.

Her neck bleeds in sluggish trails. There’s a bruise curling purple-black around her eyes. These are the worst of her injuries.

There are other cuts and scratches, other bruises – wounds that came mostly from that last frantic battle against the Seventh Division’s men. Most of them are healing well, and will be gone by the time she returns to school.

She doctors the small injuries first, carefully rubbing stinging creams over the bruises, saving the one around her eye for last. She bandages the cuts, gasping as she plucks free from her skin the thorns that still cling to her neck.

The thorns fall to ash as soon as she does.

She wraps clean linen around her neck, only to stop as the door opens. Her aunt stands there, looking less like some great behemoth wrought in shadows and more like-

More like she is simply a woman, bowed under her exhaustion.

“Dinner will be ready shortly,” she says.

Tsubomi nods, recognizing the words for what they were.

A compromise, a truce. An olive branch held out. Peace, for a moment.

The door closes, and Tsubomi tends to her wounds. Her hands do not tremble.

(Not overly much, anyway.)

It’s strange to come back to school.

Her teachers welcome her back with good humor – feel better after that fever, Takane-san? – and her classmates with curious eyes. Her friends say that they’d heard nothing, and that they were worried. Her fellow club members ask her if she’s feeling up to the game next week.

Tsubomi is good with lies. She weaves them like silk in the hands of a master seamstress.

To her teachers she smiles and collects her homework, and says she feels fine, and thank you. To her classmates she says thank you for thinking of her. To her friends she says that her mother has a tendency to get super-focused on Tsubomi when she is ill, because it happens so rarely, and that her mother ignores everything else when she does.

To her fellow club members she says she’ll be fine soon.

But her captain looks at her, and looks past the carefully applied makeup that covers the bruise curling around her eye. She looks at the way Tsubomi holds herself, and at the high-necked shirt she wears under her school uniform (to hide the bandages around her neck).

“Is everything all right, Takane-chan?”

Tsubomi smiles, and spins another tale for her, of thinking she was better and trying to practice a tennis move, and nearly knocking herself out. She rubs the back of her head sheepishly as her captain laughs.

It makes sense to the older girl. Tsubomi, after all, worked hard at tennis – sometimes too hard – and often pushed herself unnecessarily. It’s not the first time something like this has happened.

Tsubomi takes the resulting chastisement with a faint blush on her face, sheepish but accepting, even though she’s so removed from it all that the world might as well be dust outside her ears.

She doesn’t expect how hard it is to keep up the charade.

One of her friends makes a little quip about the most recent episode of a show that had aired while Tsubomi had been in Claw’s hold, and Tsubomi widens her eyes and claps her hands together in a facsimile of glee.

There are flowers blooming in the Gardening Club’s greenhouse, and every time Tsubomi passes the structure she feels the singing in her very bones, and she feels like a magnet on a compass being drawn inexorably north.

But she can’t. It’s one thing to fight in the heart of battle, to call the roses to protect her then, but another thing entirely to lose herself here. And she could.

She wants to – but she can’t.

It’s so hard to do this, to just be Takane Tsubomi, who was good at tennis and an excellent student and a pretty girl admired by her classmates but nothing more than that, when all she wants to do is run in the streets and bloom vines to gather in her hair and roses to curl over her ears.

It’s just as hard as it had been when the weight of Mizuho Tsunami was still freshly laid on her shoulders, when she had to learn quickly what would make her likable and make her unnoticeable.

But it’s what she needs to do. So she does it.

Her aunt is smiling these days, as Tsubomi brings home word of her good grades and how she’s fitting back into school life with ease. Her aunt even lets a few plants come into their house.

(Of course, they are soon no more than ash on the wind alongside burns across Tsubomi’s fingers and back and thighs, but…small steps. It’s progress, and Tsubomi doesn’t want to lose that fragile peace they’ve managed to find.)

“You’re so decisive, Tsubomi-chan! You’re so strong!”

Tsubomi blushes and giggles.

(And later, she laughs until she cries.)

What do you want?

…I-

What do you want, Tsubomi?

…I don’t know.

Shigeo stands across the classroom, beyond the door, blushing and unable to look her in the eyes. But he’s there, she thinks.

If she takes twenty steps, she could be at the door. If she takes five steps after that, she could reach him. She could say hello Mob-kun, and he might say hello back and-

Mezato, the journalist girl Tsubomi’s seen around a few times, says something to him, and Shigeo’s attention is drawn away. He speaks to her.

Tsubomi breathes in, breathes out.

She turns to respond to a quip made by one of her friends. She laughs at a joke made by another.

(She does not mention how it felt, to have those roots pulling away from her, turning somewhere else, turning towards a better sun, towards better light, and she does not mention how much she hates how easily it goes, how easily it’s always gone. How easily those roots have always drawn away from her.

That much has not changed, since they were children.)

If you were a good daughter-

But she’s not.

She’s not, and she knows that.

(Her aunt, drunk and crying, screams Ayako died to protect you? Why did I have to give up everything to protect you? Why did Ayako have to leave? Why did she have to leave me-

Tsubomi takes the words and the weight they drop onto her shoulders and goes to her room.)

Tsubomi is so, so tired.

What’s the point?

Her life has been dictated by hiding, by running, by Takane Tsubomi and all that that name is supposed to mean.

It’s supposed to mean tennis and a pretty smile and charm aimed precisely at the right people and at the right times. It’s supposed to be tutoring underclassmen, and getting ready to head to an excellent high school, and from there an even better ranked college.

It’s supposed to mean close friends and then a husband and then children.

It’s supposed to mean normal.

But now Tsubomi has the pulse of the earth beating in her ears, and the longing for roses wrapped around her wrists and-

And she has no idea what she’s supposed to do about that.

Where is she supposed to go from here?

Tsubomi stops by the greenhouse.

She stands by the door, the glass green and people moving inside, blurred as though from under water. The flowers and plants are humming, a single thread of discordant sound that weaves in and around her spine and pulls her forward, to press her hand against the glass.

You were never worth my sister’s life, her aunt’s voice whispers, as soft as poison.

She jerks her hand back.

Never use that power, do you understand? It will get you killed-

“Oi.”

The door to her right opens. An annoyed upperclassman, hair all askew, pokes her head out.

“You going to come in, or what?”

Tsubomi blinks, and stares, and-

“The greenhouse is open, kid. You don’t have to stand out here all day if you just want to come in.”

She opens the door wider. An invitation.

And Tsubomi thinks of Shigeo’s hand on her shoulder – Tsubomi-chan, she’s still alive – and of rose seeds in her hands.

She thinks of watching the last petals of a dying flower fall to her windowsill, hunger curdling in her stomach. She thinks of walking down the street and finding a rose blooming from a vine at just her height, like it had been waiting for her.

She thinks of Shigeo’s utter trust in his Shishou, that rush of power flowing like a river to its end, knowing it would reach.

Tsubomi thinks of her mother standing in front of her.

She walks inside.

The plants sing.

It’s still hard.

She still has to be Takane Tsubomi, the school’s idol. She still has to smile at the right people, and laugh at the right jokes, and know about this show or that new superstar. She still has to stand in a crowd of people and feel utterly comfortable with their attention on her. She still has to go to her games and win.

She still has to be Takane Ayane’s only daughter. She still has to bear the weight of burns across her back and neck, and not flinch when a tennis ball drills directly into bandages hidden beneath her clothes. She has to learn on what days her mother (her aunt) is likely to be drunk and on what days she is likely to be crying and she has to learn what to do on days like that.

But-

But now there’s the greenhouse.

She digs her hands into dirt and turns the soil, feeling worms crawling over her hands, and roots tangling their tiny fingers over and around hers.

Tsubomi watches as the papers dancing on the wind flow to Shigeo, and the roots around him, that have been growing and reaching and never truly searching for ground to bury in-

One reaches down, and for the first time, curls deep into the soil, as Tsubomi’s childhood friend hands the remade book back to Emi, who takes it with wide eyes and a thank you trembling on her mouth.

Oh, Tsubomi whispers. Oh.

She thinks of Shigeo’s Shishou burning with the power his student had given him, the power that had been handed over with bone-deep trust, leaving only endless, endless warmth behind.

“Well done,” she whispers, impossibly fond.

What do you want, Tsubomi?

…to live.

And how will you do that?

…I don’t know.

I suppose that’s all right. You’ve still got a lot of time left to learn, kiddo.

Tsubomi opens her eyes, tears trickling down her cheeks. She smiles up at the tiny lights of the glow-in-the-dark stars covering her ceiling, and rubs the tears away.

A plant in a small pot resting on her windowsill blooms red.

(These petals do not wither.)

Tsubomi runs her fingers over the bandages hidden underneath her uniform. Tsubomi runs her fingers over a vine that drops down to greet her on the way to school.

She does not think of her aunt, still half-drunk, still crying, still so tired. She does not think of those questions that curl along her spine whenever she wavers.

I want to live.

She takes a deep breath.

 It’s never easy, kid. Nothing worth doing ever is.

Tsubomi cups a small rose in her hands, and wonders if Shigeo would like it.

[drawingsdrawingseverywhere]

Trollhunters Dadswap AU part 12

And here’s where we divert from the main canon for just a lil while. Not for too long, don’t worry! Just long enough to get the “AAARRRGGHH!!! is after Jim” ball rolling.

So late one night on his way home, Jim and Toby are riding along their merry way, not feeling too in danger. I mean, they know they got Angor Rot watching them at night, and Jim is the flipping trollhunter with Bular living in his basement, so I mean there really isn’t much to be worried about right now- especially with Heimdrel and the changelings apparently laying low for a while.

As they ride over a hill, however, something feels off. The street feels way too empty for it’s own good. Jim and Toby gets off their bikes and Jim takes out the amulet. Toby notices something odd near some bushes and trees while jim looks around carefully for any hidden danger. He walks over to check it out, and sees massive paw prints in the dirt, what looks like horn marks in the tree bark, and what could only be tufts of green fur on the ground.

“Hey Jim, check it out.”

Jim comes over and crouches down with Toby to look at the evidence better.

“that’s definitely troll fur.”

“What are we going to do? Whatever did this must be huge!” Toby points at the print in the dirt. “Especially if that’s just what their hand looks like!”

Jim looks around for signs of their silent guardian Angor Rot watching them, but instead hears something in the darkness. He creeps through the bushes- with Toby reluctantly following- to see one of the biggest trolls they’d ever seen, with glowing green runes and similarly glowing green eyes, first drag his horns against another tree and then crouch down by someone’s running sprinkler system. 

The troll appeared to be trying to cup some of the water in his hand and drink, but it seemed to be proving difficult for him. They could see the scars from where they hid, and both seemed to watch in pain as the troll simply lied down in the water once he got a drink- looking pretty soothed by it. It looked like he had been suffering for quite some time, and was still suffering as he tried taking some strange device off from around his neck. the glow of his runes fade away as he begins to relax in the water. Jim was about to approach him when Toby grabbed his arm and shook his head.

“Bro, you don’t just approach a wild animal and expect them to be fine with it!”

“wild animal? Tobes, that troll looks like he’s in trouble! Isn’t it my duty to help?”

Toby pulls him back down before the troll notices them and points.

“I haven’t lived with cats for all 15 years of my life to not know the difference between a sensible creature and one that will attack you on sight! He may be lying down now but trust me he had such an animal stance a few seconds ago! And that looks like some kind of Training Collar on his neck!”

Before the two can argue further, the sprinkler system goes off and the troll rises. Jim and Toby cover the other’s mouth, and try to carefully back up through the bushes back to their bikes. The troll starts to sniff the air as they wander backward, and just as they make it back out through the bushes the troll catches wind of them.

His runes begin to glow again and he lets out an angry roar.

“Run, Toby, run!”

Jim and Toby quickly run back to their bikes and begin to ride for their lives, when they hear the trees crash behind them from the sound of the troll running after them. Toby looks over his shoulder to see the rampaging troll.

“SEE WHAT I MEAN?! THINK OF WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU RAN UP TO HIM!”

“I STILL THINK HE’S IN MORE DANGER THAN WE ARE. TOBES”

“DON’T TALK JUST RIDE”

They race across a corner before they hear a familiar sound. Jim and Toby look back just quick enough to see Angor Rot leap from the shadows and distract the troll.

As Jim and Toby get away, Angor Rot’s eyes widen.

“Aarghaumont? Aaarrrgghh?”

The Troll stares him down, and then raises his fists to strike. Angor Rot summons a Golem and takes a defensive stance. Angor Rot battles with Aarghaumont for ages before the Golem is defeated. Angor Rot makes it very clear that he’s poisoned his blade- in fact he holds it to where Aarghaumont can see him do it.

“I do not wish to strike you with this, old friend.”

Aarghaumont slams his fists into the ground and prepares to charge. Angor Rot takes a step forward and continues to make it clear what he’ll do If Aarghaumont gets too close. Aarghaumont roars angrily at Angor Rot before starting to back up. Angor Rot takes another step froward. Aarghaumont speaks only once before vanishing into someone’s backyard.

“Cannot hide boy forever.”

Jim and Toby catch their breath up in Jim’s room, and after a moment one of Angor Rot’s shadow portals appears in the room as well. He steps out and Jim takes a deep breath.

“Ok so.... who the heck was that?”

“yeah! And what was with that crazy shock collar on him?”

Angor Rot seems really bothered by the fight he was just in, and Jim backs off a little.

“That troll.... was Aarghaumont. He... was my friend.”

“your friend?”

Jim reaches out and puts his hand on Angor Rot’s arm for support.

“he... was the one that stole this back for me.” Angor Rot held up his hand to show them the Inferna Copula. “Many years ago. I made a deal with The Witch. She tricked me, and put my soul into this ring after stealing it from me.”

“And... he stole it back?” Jim is honestly concerned. It’s clear something is wrong.

Angor Rot is quiet for a very long time.

“all these centuries of running, and I had spent them believing Heimdrel had killed him long ago.”

Jim comforts Angor Rot a second before pulling his phone out to text Strickler.

“Well, I should probably tell Strickler what happened. Heimdrel may have gone into hiding, but it’s pretty obvious he wants all of us out of the picture if he’s going to send out trolls like that after us during the night.”

“yeah, we gotta find us some changelings and fast! Who knows how many of them are out looking for us and pieces of that bridge!”

Angor Rot twirls his staff a moment as he walks over to Jim’s window. He opens it without a word before looking back at the two. He clearly seems very bothered by this new threat.

“I will... keep watch on your house until this problem is solved. He...  Aarghaumont doesn’t have much reason to strike again tonight... but I want to keep a closer eye on things, anyway. Bular can only help you so much.”

While Angor Rot climbs out the window, Jim suddenly remembers his study plans with Claire.

“well just call it off!”

“Like I keep calling off rehearsals? yeah real smart Tobes.”

“Well you can’t go over there after dark, then! That big guy already knows what you smell like! He’ll be tearing her house down if he found you there!”

“what am I going to do? I can’t put Claire in danger like that!”

“We’ll figure something out, but for now I think we just gotta get some sleep. We’s seen some crazy stuff tonight, and i have a dentist’s appointment tomorrow anyway.”

“love how you still worry about a dentist when we just ran from an over 9 feet tall attack troll.”

The next day is spent at school with the Gaggletak, checking every last student and teacher until they’re positive no one is a changeling. Toby is pleased with their work by the end of the school day, but Jim still seems bothered by something.

“Still worried about that Aarghaumont guy?”

“I’m sorry Tobes, it’s just... I can’t shake the feeling that he needs help, ya know?”

“I feel ya. Who knows, maybe he’s a sensible guy under all that mange, bloodthirsty teeth, and personified rage. How about next time he shows up you try to talk him out of killing you and tell me how it goes.”

“I’m serious, Tobes! Angor Rot said that he was the one who stole that ring he wears, and for years Angor Rot thought he sacrificed himself to help him escape! What monster would do that kind of thing?”

“good point...”

Toby’s phone alarm goes off and he checks it.

“ack! Gotta get to my dentist appointment. I’ll take the Gaggletak with me! You just get to that study sesh with Claire and try not to get killed on the way home!”

“gee thanks, Toby.”

“Hey you know I got your back if you ever need me, but if I wanna get these braces out before I’m in college I gotta get work done whenever I can!”

While Toby is at the dentist, Jim and Claire have a pretty fun study session. and things continue to go well until not only does it near sundown, but Jim also gets a phone call from Toby- except it’s Strickler on the line.

Turns out the dentist’s assistant and Toby’s place is a changeling and is not after Toby, Strickler, and Angor Rot.

“Uh, Claire this has been a lot of fun, but I really need to head out now. Thanks for the help on my homework and script! I’ll uh... see you at our next rehearsal!”

“Ok, but Jim...?”

Jim stops at the door.

“You’ve been acting really weird lately. Is... is everything ok?”

“huh? oh yeah! Crystal clear! I’m doing just fine.”

“Ok... well... if you ever need someone to just talk to, let me know, ok?”

Jim nods and heads out, riding his bike all the way to the Dentist’s while making sure he gets inside before complete sundown. When he enters it is a literal war zone in the Dentist’s office. Tools are strewn about, the smell of Laughing gas is choking the air, and Toby is strapped to the table while Angor Rot is going head to head with a Changeling and Strickler is trying to untie him while fighting back laughter from the gas.

Jim summons his armor and enters the fray, in the end killing the changeling on accident like in canon. Strickler finally shuts off the laughing gas and unties Toby before approaching Jim. He mentions that he did it in self defense, and how there’s always tomorrow for another Changeling to pop up. And on the bright side, now they know for certain that there are more changelings out and about in Arcadia than just Mr. Takato. All they need is to find another, and surely they will have the proof Vendel requires.

As they leave the Dentist’s office- after of course cleaning up- Aarghaumont watches quietly from the shadows. He remembers Heimdrel’s promise, but still remains where he is. For a split second his eyes stop glowing as he watches the group. Angor Rot seems... genuinely happy. Aarghaumont’s eyes glow again and he growls.

“I give you night of peace. Tomorrow, boy is mine.”