#i had. no time nor motivation to draw this on paper. sorry one person liking my posts.

[eseapo]

Day 8 - Satan's bolere

[miasbby]

indefinitely ours.

(teacher!reader x teacher!Ellie x Abby)

summary : You're not willing to date nor looking for anyone, but Ellie Williams, the art teacher working in the school that hired you a year ago, is making you seriously doubt that decision. With her flirting, praises and constant touches, you're all but ready to give up and ask her out. That is, until you meet her girlfriend, Abby, who to your greatest shock seems very… curious about you.

word count : 7.2k (sorry)

note : this is my first fic in the tlou fandom ever, so it'll hopefully be good and i hope the characterization is okay! i wrote this to practice writing shorter fics and failed.... it probably won't get a part 2 but who knows!

warnings : smut with a bit of plot, female anatomy reader, occasionally mean!ellie and mean!abby but they love you<3, light objectification, degradation and exhibitionism, mention of anal, alcohol use and light intoxication, sub!reader, consent is respected but there’s a few bold moments, bit of a housewife kink, crying from overstimulation, threesome.

●○●○●○●○●○●

An ordinary life is not what most aim for, but you have to be honest in that regard: there’s nothing you’ve craved to achieve more than the simple peace of life, a peace often found in modesty yet sought in extravagance. 

The primary school you joined last year has fulfilled that goal in more ways than one, allowing you the safety of a job you spent years dreaming of, a kind group of colleagues that have befriended you ever since you first arrived, and a class made up of the most adorable group of pupils, all eager to learn and earn the good graces of their favorite teacher judging by how the blue of your classroom’s walls are now entirely hidden by drawings. It’s on the outskirts of the city, in a cute area where prices had not soared just yet when you first bought a house, and the neighborhood couldn’t be more welcoming. 

Your time is well-spent: between preparing lessons, finding original ideas to keep a hyperactive group of six years old entertained, taking care of the renovations your new house still requires, and caring for a vegetable garden you did not expect to grow so well, it’s safe to say that you don’t have much time left for anything else, and that includes a relationship. You haven’t been looking, really, happy to settle down on your own until life picks up a slower rhythm and to make friends rather than losing yourself in back and forths. Your previous relationships were never particularly fulfilling and often ended up being on and off until you got tired of the uncertainty. You’re done with all of that. 

The only person that could make you doubt the choice of celibacy, however, currently has her back turned to you, rummaging through a tiny box of chalk sticks on her desk. The kids are out at lunch and you know she tends to eat on her own in here instead of the break room where all of the teachers often meet up. Of course, you only chose to come get her because she’s been a good friend, not because of any ulterior motive…

“Planning to stay hidden in there for long or are you going to come out and eat?”

Ellie doesn’t even appear startled and you wonder if she could somehow sense your presence by the door. She throws the tiny, useless pieces in the trash, reminding you to filter through your own box of it, and turns to face you with that eternally smug smile, leaning back against the side of her desk. It’s a mess, but that’s not surprising coming from Ellie. Whether it’s because she’s the art teacher in charge in the school or because that’s simply in her nature, you’re not sure, but you know to no longer be shocked by the sight of paper and paintbrushes thrown randomly on her desk. 

“Planning on distracting me for much longer or is that gonna stop at some point?” she answers back. “You can’t come in here looking like this and seriously expect me to think of lunch.” 

And that is exactly why Ellie is making you reconsider your opinion on dating. 

If it weren’t for the constant light flirting you still don’t know how to read into, you think that handsomely sweet face would have convinced you anyway. It’s not that Ellie is your style, it’s that you’re convinced no one on this planet could be more attractive to you. Today’s look isn’t helping either: that opened cargo shirt barely hides the simple white tank top she must own in four identical copies and doesn’t do much to conceal the tight, sculpted lines of her arms, blues veins running down to paint-stained fingers. 

Oh, if only you could stop thinking about how they’d feel dipping into the heat spreading from your clit down to your entrance, filling an emptiness that rings between your legs as much as it does in your heart. Unfortunately, such luck cannot be granted to you. Not yet, and perhaps not ever. 

“You’re not flattering yourself out of coming with me.” You slide your hand down to the doorknob and motion for Ellie to follow you out, but she shakes her head, grabbing her phone in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Sorry,” she says, smile dropping with hesitation before she continues. “The girlfriend forgot her lunch at home and I’ve gotta go get it for her. But I’ll see you tonight, we’re still grabbing drinks with the team, right?”

You blink, cheeks straining from the efforts required to keep your smile up even as it turns dishonest, and try to make sense of the word she just uttered, any heat in your belly extinguished by an ice storm. Did she say girl friend or… girlfriend? Why would anyway refer to their friend that way, though… Stop lying to yourself, you got the meaning right on the first try. 

Your heart does not break per se, but it skips a few beats you’re incapable of missing. In the few months you got to know each other, Ellie never mentioned a girlfriend nor did she introduce anyone to you. 

Well, there goes your only temptation for a relationship. Celibacy it will have to be.

“Of course. See you tonight.”

If Ellie notices the light dim in your eyes, she doesn’t show. 

—

That evening, you hesitate until the very last second about going home and finding a new show worth obsessing about or going out as promised. Ellie doesn’t give you much of a choice, however, when she shows up in your classroom right after the last student filters out with his father and pulls you out of your seat, refusing to take no for an answer. 

(If it’s the request that convinces you or the strong hold she has on your wrist, you’re not sure. But you still let her tug you to your car anyway.)

The ‘team’ as referred to earlier consists of five other teachers whose classrooms are all sharing a hallway with yours and with whom you spend your Friday evenings in a local beer bar next door, a place Ellie first dragged you all into when you were still relative strangers, to celebrate your arrival. Your usual table is free when you arrive, Mel and Ellie right behind you, and you suppose a beer might be the best way to forget about your stupid little crush and the shame eating at your insides for having taken friendly banter as flirting for months now. 

Overall, the night is fun, and after a few well-placed jokes at your expense, you finally manage to leave what happened earlier behind and enjoy yourself. Unfortunately, whatever superior being out there who’s decided you should, after a year of knowing each other, finally get to know all about Ellie’s girlfriend, is not on your side today. 

“Oh, hey Abs!” Mel waves behind where you and Ellie sit, still somehow pressed up against each other, and your friend immediately brightens up, turning around to face someone. “Have you finally decided to join us? I thought you’d never leave that work of yours for even one night a week.”

“Maybe next week if she forces me to come.” The woman comes into view and immediately rests a hand on Ellie’s shoulder, smirking down at her before her eyes travel to you and stay locked onto your own for one second too long for it not to feel somehow… knowing. “But nah, I only got here to take Ellie home. I bet she drank too much to drive and that none of you would have been able to convince her not to take her car.”

Mel laughs, joined by the others, and even you have to agree on that. Ellie is particularly stubborn on the average day, but she gets even worse after three beers and a few shots. 

“I’m fine, come on… I could drive on my own, a few beers have never killed me.” 

The problem is, she says that while stretching an arm over the booth seat, enveloping your shoulders and tugging you closer to her side, and the only explanation for doing that in front of that literal goddess-looking muscle-paradise girlfriend of hers has to be the alcohol. ‘Abs’ raises a curious eyebrow but her smile never dies, and you look away to focus on the bottle clutched in your hand, guts turning into a mix of nervousness and shame that does not blend well with alcohol.

Abby stays around for a bit. The whole time, her eyes remain on you, taking in the features of your face, sweeping over your figure and translating what you would interpret as unabashed attraction if it came from anyone else. It’s like she’s trying to memorize your face, your body, your soul. Like she means to lay an invisible mark on your heart you’ll feel with every beat, right next to the one Ellie has unconsciously placed there long ago. 

The arm only leaves its place on your shoulders when who you now know as Abby urges Ellie to go, and you leave soon after, sitting in the dark of your car for five minutes before your head clears enough for you to drive. 

That was… definitely something. But you could unfortunately not explain what in any way.

-

The next time you see Abby does not offer any sort of clearer explanation as to why the mood always seems odd around you and Ellie, and particularly so when she’s there with you. 

She comes around for drinks for the first time in months the following week and turns your offer to change seats down, seemingly fine with sitting next to you, her girlfriend on your other side. Her presence warms the hearts of everyone around the table but yours, stressing you out beyond sanity. You know you didn’t do anything wrong and that it’s probably a good thing that you learned of Ellie’s seemingly very joyful and fulfilling relationship now rather than after an attempted kiss or a date proposal. Yet, you cannot help but feel unsure around her - like she knows, like she can read through your heart and flick through its pages until its secrets have been bared. 

Abby never talks to you nor mentions you in her conversations, yet, she’s always got an eye trailed on your figure, always silently insists on you being aware that you’re taking all of her attention. 

And Ellie, well… Ellie has not changed, and that’s probably where the actual problem lies. 

She still smiles at you with that signature smugness you know is only reserved for her girlfriend. She still flirts and teases and touches, still makes comments about how prettily you blush and how well that shirt fits you and you never know what to answer to any of those things. This time again, one of her arms is spread over your shoulders, her fingers fiddling with the fabric of Abby’s shirt on your other side, and if anyone were to look, they’d probably think you’re dating either of them - if not both. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by her voice, and you almost let go of the glass of water you requested earlier when its now familiar murmur tickles your ear. “I like this skirt. Is it me you got it for? I’m sure Abby would like it just as much.”

Poorly disguised shock shines in your eyes but Ellie appears unphased, not even bothering with a glance at where her girlfriend listens to Mel vent about a fight between two of her students. You clear your throat, avoiding the heaviness of her stare, and shake your head timidly, scared to voice out your thoughts or to be heard. The fabric isn’t anything short per se, but it rode up your thighs through the night, and you’re suddenly far too aware of where Abby’s glances might have led to earlier. Ellie’s only response is a chuckle. 

You think that’s the end of it but that’s without counting on the end of the night - when everyone leaves but Ellie insists you stay around some more, and Abby doesn’t show any interest in moving away, her thighs spread and pressing you further into Ellie. The arm behind your back moves and this time, you can’t control the way your body jumps when she places a hand just above your knee, stroking the tight fabric of your skirt. 

“So,” you begin, trying to break the silence. “How long have you two been together?”

Abby takes a swing of her beer and your eyes follow the bulging muscle of her biceps until Ellie reminds you of her presence by patting your thigh affectionately. “Three years now. We met when Abby came around the school to renovate the gym with her crew and ended up moving in two months later. She’s a carpenter.”

“Oh,” you exclaim, interested but also still very much nervous. “That’s definitely helpful to have around at home. How long have you been doing this for?”

It’s the first time you address her directly and the kindness you’re met with feels almost surprising. You don’t think you would be kind to someone your girlfriend is two inches away from touching inappropriately right under your nose, but you suppose you should be glad that’s the case here. 

“Ever since I was a kid, really. Being a carpenter didn’t exactly fit my father’s plans but he always encouraged me anyway when I saw how much fun I had fixing things and building my own. What about you? What got you to into teaching?”

Tension leaves your back altogether when her answer reflects the smile perched on her lips and the mirth shining in her eyes. “Children, really. It started with babysitting and then all I could think about was teaching.”

Abby’s eyes dip down to your lips. “That’s cute.”

“I told you she’s adorable,” Ellie interrupts. “And beautiful too, isn’t she? I knew she’d be your type.”

Your lips part to speak but before a protest can slip past them, Abby nods, smile turning almost predatory. “I’d say she’s your own just as much. You’ve always liked your girls a bit innocent.”

“I’m not-”

“Can you blame me, though?”

Abby pretends to think for a second and gets that knowing look again, reading through the blush spreading up to your ears and the fast ups and downs of your chest in ways you fail to understand yourself. Everything’s going too fast, like a ball bouncing from one side of the court to the other, and it suddenly feels like they’re discussing you, praising you, without even including you in the conversation anymore. 

“No. I think I understand.”

Ellie chuckles, inching her hand higher up on your lap, and she allows the silence to persist for a moment longer before standing up to order another round for you. Abby never looks away. You’re still trying to comprehend what just happened, still failing to make sense of why your friend’s partner is staring at you like she’s considering the interest of throwing you over the table dirty with food crumbs and alcohol spills and flexing those fingers inside of your cunt instead of playing with the tip of her bottle. 

“Oh, you’ve got some crumbs here,” Abby says, eyes flicking down to wear your shirt wraps tightly around your chest. You follow her line of sight, wondering how that could be when you didn’t eat any of the fries they ordered earlier, and find nothing. “Here, I’ll get them off for you.”

Before a word of gratefulness can echo between the two of you, your lips part in shock, a hand positioning itself right above your breast and arching a curious eyebrow, staring into the depths of your eyes. There’s no hesitation in the action, but rather a sort of anticipation you find yourself trapped into. “Is this alright?” she asks, the “Yes,” out by your lips before you can even make sense of what she means.

Deep down, you know what it means. Deep down, you’ve got a feeling Abby might have been familiar with you far before your recent introduction. 

Once your agreement has been voiced, Abby startles you, immediately aiming for your right breast and gripping it with the whole length of her palm. A thumb rubs at soft skin only hidden by the light fabric of your shirt, almost transparent, not thick enough to act as a proper barrier, and you can feel it all - the heat of her hand, its roughness, how it’s thick enough, big enough to effortlessly envelop all of one breast.

It’s the first time her eyes have moved away from the trance they had yours stuck into, her stare dipping down to where she pretends to rub at your shirt, only reminding you of the absence of a bra to truly cover you. Your nipple hardens under her palm and that seems to be the goal because her hand changes sides, repeating the process, teasing and rubbing, the cotton fabric too rough for the sensitive little bud. Your thighs rub against each other, failing to get any sort of release from the pressure burning your cunt, hips almost bucking in a silent plea to be filled up by those very same fingers.  

Abby smiles, still kind, still honest, and shifts her hand only to roll it between two fingers, pulling a wet moan from your lips you fear the people behind you might catch. “See, that’s better now, isn’t it?” And just like that, she pulls away, hand settling back around her beer, leaving you to deal with the wetness soaking your underwear and the blush heating your face, shining like a broken christmas light. 

“Y-yeah.” It’s odd that you even manage to speak when flames circle hardened nipples, driving you into unknown depths of desire, but you’re proud to say you at least manage a coherent sound. “Thank you.”

When Ellie comes back, conversation follows a course far more normal, and if it weren’t for the hooded eyes, the pulsing heat, and the hand claiming its spot back on your lap, you’d think you hallucinated all of the tension. 

The state of your underwear when you strip down before a shower later that night, however, is all the proof you need. Yet, you fail to truly comprehend what happened. The innocence that almost shone in Abby’s eyes as she touched you is impossible to make sense of, and the next morning, you’re no longer sure of what her intentions truly were.

Did she mean to tease you like Ellie has been doing - as a friend, a friend who has a pretty interesting definition of the word platonic but a friend nonetheless? Or was this more? 

You’re not sure, but if anything, you won’t be the one to bring up the question just yet. 

-

Ellie and Abby are coming over to your house to help with the endless renovations you’ve been making. And no, it wasn’t your idea. 

You’ve been avoiding thinking about Abby and how she’s just as illegally fine as who you already considered to be the hottest woman alive, and although ignoring Ellie is impossible, you at least made some progress this past week with accepting the flirting as some meaningless fun. When you complained about the difficulties you’ve been having with painting the ceilings of two rooms and fixing the guest room bed, however, Ellie suggested that they come over to help and, well, how could you turn down such a nice proposal?

That’s how you end up watching them by the kitchen’s window as they relax around a glass of iced tea in the garden, cheeks stained with light grey paint and arms bared, water running in the sink and acting as the background noise to your current fantasies.

The mind owns a power the heart only dreams of having, capable of eternal wanderings uncontrolled by even the strongest wills. 

Yours has not resisted purposeless dreams. Dreams that once involved Ellie, a sweet craving for what could perhaps come to exist in the realm of reality - a craving for late-night guitar sessions and paintings in bold colors, for rough palms to sculpt your heart into submission and teasing smirks wiped away by kisses. Dreams that now involve someone else, a person you have yet to truly understand but who seems to perfectly fit a puzzle from which you did not believe a piece lost. Her body rings with a rigidity that’s a lot more pronounced, yet her heart appears softer, willing to lead you further into the depths of a euphoric swamp. 

A blurry motion startles you out of your thoughts and you blink to find the water is still running, the time still passing. Ellie is waving at you and Abby is staring with a raised eyebrow of curiosity. 

You smile, waving back, and turn off the tap. 

Fantasies are just that, unfortunately. You���ll have to make do with your imagination because it seems Abby isn’t intending on repeating what you’re getting more and more convinced was meaningless teasing anytime soon.

-

They spend the next weekend at your house too, fixing broken cupboards and a tall wardrobe you couldn’t figure out how to close fully, helping with the garden and any heavy objects you need to move around. 

It comes to a point where you decide that if you can’t have either of them, then dreaming is fine. The only problem is that you end up doing that a lot, and getting caught is inevitable. 

“Could I borrow your shower?” asks Ellie once the day reaches its end, the sun freefalling on the horizon. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” Abby has fetched a chair for the same reason but you know how much Ellie like to sit beside you. Her girlfriend’s presence has not stopped the oncoming stream of cuddles she requires from you, and you’re more than happy to be held, touch-starved since the end of your last relationship. 

“Sure. I’ll get the food ready.”

You stand from the couch to head for the kitchen but before you can disappear, Ellie grips the hem of her shirt and pulls it up, revealing a glistening, tight stomach in what feels like a slow motion to you but is surely a very normal pace for anyone else. The fabric slides off her shoulders and gets thrown straight to Abby’s face but your brain is in no way capable to register anything but newly revealed skin and soft curves hidden under a white sports bra. 

“Feel free to join me,” she adds, teasingly, and you know it has to be directed at Abby who, it seems, is just as affected as you are judging by the darkened gaze she keeps directed at Ellie, but if that’s the case, then you cannot explain why Ellie is staring right at you as she says it before turning around and leaving for the bathroom. 

It’s that gaze you see once they’re gone that night, writhing on top of your bed, covers thrown to the floor and pillow wet with your spit. It’s that gaze encouraging a second, then a third finger to fit into your cunt, the pressure too much yet so far from what you wish for, from how well you know they would both fill you, breaching past undesired tightness and taking all that you’re willing to give. 

And it’s their voices, blended in as one, whispering praise into your ear and urging you to let go when you finally fall over the edge, tears pooling in your eyes and teeth aching from the marks they’ve left in that poor pillow. 

-

“You know,” you begin, words not slurring but speech clearly affected by physical exhaustion and beer. “I thought you were flirting with me before you suddenly mentioned your girlfriend.”

A chuckle greets you, but you can’t tell if it comes from Abby or Ellie, both of them cuddling on the couch in front of you as you lay on the fluffy chair you bought for decoration purposes but that’s actually pretty amazing to use when sleepy. The night has fallen and you spent a lot of time in the garden today while Abby watched over you and Ellie finished with painting touch-ups, explaining the tiredness numbing your arms and the effects of the alcohol. 

Your eyes remain closed and you shift around when air tickles the bottom of your stomach, your shirt having ridden up to reveal skin. 

“What if I was?” and this time, you know it’s Ellie - sure, because it sounds like her, but also because she’s the one who likes teasing you the most. 

You huff, internally rolling your eyes. “With a girlfriend like Abby, trust me, you were not. You’d be dumb to flirt with anyone else or want to kiss anyone else,” you say, voice barely above a murmur. That second beer should not have been handed in your hand, but Ellie has always been a bad influence and Abby drinks them with little effort. Slowly, you half-whisper, “Bet her lips are so soft.”

Abby laughs this time, reminding you of her presence, but you’re too far gone to care. “I think yours would put up a great fight in a contest,” she says, the smile evident in her voice. “Maybe even win, who knows. I know I wouldn’t mind trying you out.”

“Hey!” Ellie interrupts, “I get to try her out first. I found her. You would want me first, wouldn’t you?”

It takes a while for you to register the question and understand you’re being spoken to. “I think I want the both of you… together.”

Someone’s breath hitches, but you fall asleep before you can find out whose. 

All you remember the next morning is strong arms holding onto the back of your thighs and your back carrying you up the stairs, a pair of sweet lips leaving a kiss on your forehead, and the throbbing traces of a hand on the naked skin of your stomach. 

That must have been a fairly nice dream. 

-

You’re in the kitchen when things truly take a turn you did not expect to happen in reality, breaching the realm of fantasies and fully stepping into your life - your peaceful and joyful life that, as you will soon come to realize, was actually missing two precious souls to reach the desperate form of completion you sought. 

Abby is drying the dishes you’re washing and Ellie is… well, she’s simply being herself, avoiding any sort of chore and whistling in the living room as she chooses what movie you’ll all be watching tonight. The mood has been particularly tense today and this time, you’re glad to say it’s not your fault. Abby has been especially attentive to you, asking about your day, your past, and the shape you imagine your future to take, casually exchanging indecipherable looks with Ellie. They’re more than familiar with your house now yet they’ve never acted more like strangers scared of trespassing. 

If you didn’t know better, you would think of them as almost… afraid. 

Fortunately, the tension left as soon as night fell and you all settled back into soothing habits. At least, that’s what you think, until a shadow looms over your back, blocking the naked lightbulb from shining light on the last plate in your hand, and you realize that Ellie isn’t as busy as she made it out to be. 

“Dinner was great, thanks for preparing all of it again,” she says, supporting her weight with one hand on the countertop and the left one innocently resting on your hip. Her touch is welcomed and familiar, her palm cupping the curve to perfection. “Anyone ever told you you’d make the perfect little wife?”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes although you know she won’t be able to see it. “If that’s truly the case, there’d be a lot more people pilling up at my door, or at least one person. I think you two are just terrible cooks in desperate need of a chef.”

Abby shakes her head, nudging you with her elbow as she wipes water from a pack of forks. “You’re not wrong in thinking we’d wife you up in an instant if you wanted, but not because you’d be a great chef.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agrees, flexing her fingers where they rest on your hip. “I can think of a few other reasons. You’d be an amazing mother, for one, and you’re far more patient than either of us deserve.”

“And you’re ready to put up with her stubbornness, so a perfect match, really.” Abby’s comment makes you laugh but Ellie speaks again before you can tease her about her own issues with never doing as told. 

“All of that, and I even bet you’d be such a pretty little thing to fuck.” Your hands freeze on where you’ve just put the plate away, tension seizing unready muscles. You blink, staring by the window, the night turning it into a mirror and reflecting the shock wild in your eyes. For a second, you’re convinced to have misheard. But the silence that follows tells the opposite story. Ellie’s close, suddenly, closer than she was before, and Abby’s hands have stilled as well, her body tight with stress. “I feel like we didn’t thank you properly for all the meals you’ve prepared for us. What do you think, Abby?”

At the edge of your vision, you can sense that Abby has given in and glances at you from the corner of an eye, the sound of her breathing audible, loud. “I think she very much likes politeness, and… it would be rude not to give back after taking so much, wouldn’t it?”

“Right. And what about you, um?” The hand on your hip slowly slides closer to your front before drawing back, again and again, in what feels like a maddening caress. “Do you think we should thank you? Together, I mean.”

Later, you’ll have more than enough time to consider just how stupid it was for you, at that precise moment, to doubt the true meaning behind Ellie’s suggestion. There’s a part of you that yearns for this to be real, for it to feel real, but that part cannot be allowed to exist because it is directly connected to a risk of disappointment you’re not sure you would survive. So, when you reply a breathy little, “Yes,” you don’t actually expect what follows. 

“Good girl.” 

A whine spills past your lips but the reason behind its existence is blurry - is it the praise, vibrating through your lungs and soaking your cunt, or is it the hand that fully slides against your front, rubbing at the seam of your jeans frustratingly right above your heat, the other suddenly palming the curve of your ass and roughly kneading skin? You think you’ll never know for the first moan, but the next one is inevitably due to the second pair of hands finding a place to have some fun of their own. 

“I can feel how soaked you are already,” Ellie says, tone teasing, taunting and forcing past your defenses. “Are you sure you didn’t expect this to happen? How often did you fuck yourself wishing it was us, hmm, pretty girl?”

You think that question should not require an answer, mostly because you’re incapable of giving any, incapable of getting that brain of yours to think and function properly. But Abby doesn’t seem happy with your silence, and she finally decides to remind you of her presence. 

“We asked you a question, sweetheart.” Her voice startles you and your head turns to face her, your heart soothed by the admiration and the awe and the desire reflected in usually tight features. She’s smiling, not that usually kind expression but one that’s almost amused, and you realize you’re in serious, serious trouble with these two. Two fingers seize you by the chin, pushing it upward, and a thumb rubs at your bottom lip. “How empty did you feel thinking about how good we could take care of you?”

“I- I didn’t-” Ellie’s nails sink into the flesh of your ass, reprimanding, and Abby tuts, shaking her head disappointedly. 

“It’s alright,” she adds. “You can be honest with us. There’s not a single time we fucked since you started working here that we didn’t think about you, about how complete you’d make us.” And you’re going to process that at some point, but now will not be that time. Not when she continues to speak, stealing any hope for coherency from under your feet. “We’ll take care of you now, though. Come on, Ellie, don’t be a tease.”

Ellie hesitates, hands still, fingers flexing. They stare at each other with blazing heat in what you think could be a fight for dominance you’re not sure to make sense of when they could just take out all of that on you. 

“You better beg for it.”

When the gearwheels begin to roll again, you lose all sense of reality. 

It’s like they both observed you for months, like they figured out what button to push and with how much strength, what you love and what you’re too ashamed to admit you need. Chills of shame erupt on your arms at the idea, worsened by how smoothly Ellie works your body. 

“Let’s get these off you,” she mutters, lips hovering right next to your nape, inches away from a kiss. “You won’t be needing them around us anymore.”

There’s possessiveness in her words and there’s possessiveness in how fast she slips the button of your jeans off and tugs on the material, slowly, as if to admire what is finally hers to worship and use as she deems fit. Abby growls, watching with a well-trained eye as the tight fabric slides over your ass, and her hand moves down to press against your throat, keeping your back shamefully arched, ass raised for their eyes to feast onto. Your pants end halfway down your thighs, and you have to say there’s nothing surprising about Ellie’s eagerness to get to the source of her desires, hot between your thighs. 

“Abby told me I’d love your ass. Guess she wasn’t wrong.” You expect your underwear to follow next but she decides not to bother with that. “Ever gotten fucked there before, or are you keeping that tight little hole for when we decide to use it?”

“N-never, I- I don’t-”

Abby sighs, shaking her head warningly. “Ellie… focus.”

“Right, sorry. We’ll keep that in mind for another time, you’re ours now anyway, aren’t you? Our pretty little toy.”

You’re all but ready to cry when fingers slides into the front of your underwear, familiar roughness perceptible in the actions, immediately drenched in your desires. Your cunt aches, your core throbs, and your nipples harden. A cocktail of needs that can only be sated by much more than what you’re given. Efficient fingers part your folds before expertly reaching that little bud of sensitiveness at the top of your mound, circling it, pinching it, driving you crazy with it. 

But that’s not what truly seals the first release of the night. That only comes when Abby decides to fully join in on the fun. 

Fingers unbutton your shirt until it parts to reveal the pale pink bra that matches the current dark pink of your panties, only abandoning your neck until the offending lace has been pushed right under your breasts and returning to its hold. You think Abby’s going to kiss you, for a moment, but she’s only reveling in the hot puffs of air slipping past your lips and trying to swallow down the guttural moan that vibrates in your throat when Ellie decides she wants to take the next step.

The hand that had for now been palming your ass travels closer to your center and tugs flimsy fabric out of the way carelessly. You’re not given a warning when the first finger breaches past your entrance, only the sound of Ellie spitting on her fingers for unnecessary lube and that feeling of needing frustratingly more. A whine lodges itself at the back of your throat, and they both laugh, only turning your frustration worse. 

You want to move and fight back, tell them you’re more than capable of taking charge yourself. But there’s something about being treated as a toy meant to receive pleasure, about being admired and taken and praised, about that second finger joining the first and filling the tightness of your cunt, that forces you into a soothing form of submission, allowing every touch and taking them willingly. 

Abby palms at one breast, rolling a nipple under the strong surface in a touch that translates all of her strength. “Is that blush for us, pretty thing? You’re gonna come all over her hand like a good slut already, aren’t you?”

And, it’s cruel, but of course you do. 

Ellie flexes her fingers, increasing the speed of her arm. You can’t see it, but you know veins must shy prettily all over her forearm and biceps must be bulging from the tightness required to fuck you like she does now - like she wants to pull orgasm after orgasm from your core until you no longer understand what it means not to feel the maddening pulse of a release coursing through your body like liquid fire. Abby turns meaner, rougher, pinching a nipple between two fingers and pressing the hand further into your neck, forcing you to follow its direction and standing further on your toes. 

Four hands - teasing, fucking, taking. 

Two souls tauntingly attracting your own into their orbit, sealing an invisible lock around your heart, your body, your being itself. 

And sweet, sweet praise, whispered right under your ear, sending you into a release you’re helpless to control. 

“Ellie, Abby… I-” The moan that travels from your chest and spills past your lips is rough, guttural, connected to the inhuman waves of pleasures rocking through your body. Your cunt clenches around the fingers still thrusting in and out of your center, clinging onto the digits until they’re forced to stop, Ellie breathing heavily in your ear. Abby kisses down the curve of your throat, teeth nibbling at sensitive skin and laying a mark you refuse to ever cover. 

Your moan ends, broken off in tense breathing, your heart threatening to jump out of your chest, and that’s when you catch the groan vibrating Ellie’s throat. It, too, falls into silence. 

Abby swears against your skin, a deep, rough “Fuck,” that sends shivers down your spine. 

“Told you she’d be the cutest little thing to corrupt,” Ellie teases, slowly sliding out of you, fighting against the tightness of your walls and your eagerness to be fucked into a stupid mess. “She’s all proper and shit but I could tell she’d love it.”

“I never doubted you.” Abby says, kissing the lone tear sliding down your cheek with all of the tenderness she can conjure. “Come on, let’s get her on a proper surface.”

Heat blooms on your cheeks when Ellie steps away to allow Abby to take you into her arms, the ground suddenly disappearing from under your feet. The way they talk about you like you’re not even there, like you’re too fucked out to understand a single word, would be shameful under any other circumstance. You know it’s only a game when Ellie takes advantage of finally facing you by planting a soft kiss on your forehead, pushing away a lazy strand of hair. 

They begin to walk toward your bedroom like they perfectly know the way, and your vision turns dark right as they push the door open.

-

“Can you hold her open for me or have you been slacking at the gym?”

Your eyes remain closed, but your brain kickstarts itself into working properly again. You can feel the familiar linen of your sheets under your ass and soft naked breasts pressed against your back, another weight shifting in front of you on the bed. 

The body behind yours shakes in rhythm with a chuckle and you recognize Ellie. “Can you still eat pussy or should we trade so I can show you? Sorry we didn’t plan for your strap, I thought she might have a cock lying around but… we’ll have to take care of that next time.”

“Fuck you,” says Abby half-heartedly, the sound followed by more shifting. 

You’re fully aware again when Ellie grabs the back of your thighs and tugs them, spreading your legs and allowing air to tickle the slick still running from your center, drenched folds bared for anyone to use as they please. 

“Come on, get to it. I know you’re hungry.”

Another pair of hands holds you by the ass and your eyes flutter open, hoping to catch sight of what you once dreamed about. Abby barely spares you a glance before she all but leaps to feast on your cunt, igniting a fire not yet extinguished. 

“Abby… Abby…” You repeat her name like a plea, like a prayer. Your hips buck and trash around, your heart pauses and starts again, your releases come and come again right after each other until you exist no more, a broken toy a kid cannot help but continue to play with. 

Lips circle your clit and suck, pull and deliver rough kisses. An expert tongue gathers slicks at your entrance and spreads it all over already drenched folds, eating rather than licking, a starved woman relishing in her first and last mean. It’s all too much, too soon, too sensitive, and you’re in no way capable of pulling away, four hands keeping you all tight and secure in their hold, a prisoner to your own pleasure. 

“Keep them coming, pretty thing. I want your cunt red by the time we’re done with you tonight,” Ellie murmurs in your ear before resuming the path of tenderness her mouth trailing on down your neck. 

You only find the strength left in yourself to follow that order. 

-

An unwelcomed warmth burns your closed eyelids and you shift, attempting to escape its path. To your great despair, it doesn’t budge. A tired groan echoes in the room and you blink sleep back into your body, limbs stretching and encountering a soreness that did not exist before.

Oh. Right. Last night happened and… it was not a dream this time. 

Fear seizes your heart for a moment and you quickly look around, scared to find the bed empty save for your body. A happy sigh of relief marks the moment you see them - Abby clinging to Ellie’s back, still sound asleep and temptingly naked, and Ellie holding onto your waist, staring up at you with a smug look and a kind smile.

“Morning,” she says, voice broken from sleep. “You didn’t think we’d abandon you, did ya?”

“N-no I… I’m just happy to see you.” You cannot control the dumb smile that widens on your lips, and Ellie’s smirk only widens, her hold pulling you back into the eternal depths of the sheets. 

“We’re not going anywhere, try to get some more sleep.”

It’s a simple sentence, meaningless on the surface. 

Yet, you know it’s more than that. 

It’s a promise. 

A promise for more, meant to suppress the doubts blossoming in your chest. A promise that they’ll be there when you awake again, and again, and again.  

[damagnificentcookie]

Love Beyond The Art

Fraeulein Elisabeth von Bernburg X Fem! Reader

Summary: An art teacher got hired, she became everyone’s favorite. She even got the liking of the Headmistress. All this new sudden popularity got someone jealous. Elisabeth loathes Y/n for no particular reason, she finds she isn’t talented enough to teach art. So one day she goes to Y/n’s room during the night and asked her to draw her…

Warning: Slight swearing, slight intimacy(?), probably slow burn but I doubt I would have enough motivation to write one

A/n: This story may be a chaotic mess, sorry. I don’t know what I am doing. Enjoy!

“Welcome Ms. Fawn, we have heard a lot of great things about your teachings and talent!” Ms. Racket said as she grasped your hand and shook it.

“Of course we heard good things about her, after all the queen suggested her too us personally! And Fraulein let go of the poor girls hand your scaring her.” The headmistress said as she motioned you to sit down.

“Thank you for welcoming me and accepting me to work here, but I do have a few questions regarding about where I will be staying, my classroom, students, and how I would get supplies for all the students.” You said as you set your case onto the floor and un-done your hat.

“You will be staying in a room at the school, Ms. Bernburg will show you where you will be staying and where you will be teaching. As for students and supplies, you will be teaching all the students and the supplies will be taken care off. We hope to see your talent and I do hope it won’t be a mistake that I hired you.” The headmistress said as she shook your hand from across the table with a smile.

“Elisabeth will you please show Ms. Fawn to her room and give her a quick tour?” Ms. Bernburg nodded and started heading towards the door with you following closely behind.

“Ms. Fawn, what a pleasure to finally meet you. As you can’t tell already we have heard lots of good things about you.” Elisabeth turned around abruptly making you bump into her.

“Oh dear are you alright Ms. Fawn, you look quite pinkish?” You looked up as Elisabeth is holding onto your waist careful to not have you fall. She quickly let go and you took a step backwards.

“I am so sorry for tripping, you were just moving a little too fast and I couldn’t quite keep up, and thank you for the welcoming Ms. Bernburg, you can also call me Y/n.” You sputtered as you straightened yourself up and took your bag and hat that has fallen onto the floor.

“It’s quite alright dear, and you can call me Elisabeth” She said as she smiled and started walking up the stairs.

Elisabeth glanced next to her as she noticed you were walking next to her a little bit out of breathe. Her face flushed a bit before she realized what she was doing. She walked faster and decided to get this tour over faster so she can leave.

Oh what were you doing to her.

˚˚˚

Elisabeth was not happy at all. Everywhere she turned all she hears is “Ms. Fawn this or Ms. Fawn that”, not once does she not see nor hear you. You were getting onto her nerves, she couldn’t get you out of her mind. 

For god’s sake she has to share a classroom with you and every time she is grading work, she looks up and on the other side of the room you were quietly checking and hanging the students work.

She would stare at you till someone calls her name or there’s a sound that snaps her out of it. You were so elegant and careful with everything you do, so beautiful and glowing under the sun. But you were bothering her without even knowing.

Unbeknownst to her occasionally you would catch her staring, your cheeks would turn a tad redder and you would make a mistake and let out a string of profanities where she would let out a little laugh which makes you grow redder and smile sheepishly.

This went on for a while until she finally had enough.

She was starting to put away her papers and glasses and turn in for the night when she over heard some students say how talented and patient you were. Some even said you were a better teacher than her, but of course some of the girls disagreed and said no one can be as great as Ms. Bernburg.

She opened the door causing the girls to stop talking and run to their room where she ignores and walks upstairs straight to your door.

She knocked on the door waiting for you to open it. She hears a creaking of footstep before the door is opened and standing infornt of her was you sleepily standing there holding a candle.

“How may I help you Elisabeth?” You asked groggily as you rubbed your eyes.

“Paint me.” You looked at Elisabeth in confusion.

“Elisabeth its half past 12, I can draw you tomorrow during lunch time if you don’t mind?” Elisabeth looked inside your room and saw your easel was next to your bed with paint buckets all around the floor.

“You have everything out already, paint me, I want to see your talent personally.” You looked at her before moving to the side and motioned for her to come in.

You gently closed the door and went to get a chair for her to sit on.

Elisabeth looked around your room and saw paintings hanging everywhere. Though she saw a book opened and walked towards it.

She picked it up and noticed the page was filled with drawings of her grading work, she flipped through the pages and noticed a few of them were from where she was reading a book at lunch or where she was sitting by the lake fishing. She blushed heavily before she heard you place a chair down. She quickly put the back where she found it and walked over to the chair.

Thankfully you were too focused on getting your painting supplies ready and preparing a canvas to notice Elisabeth looked through your book. You looked up from your canvas and noticed she has sat down on the chair before your canvas but was a tad redder then before but you decided not to mention it. 

“Can you bring the chair closer please, I can’t really see you too well?” You asked as you got more comfortable on your bed and started to sketch Elisabeth.

She brought the chair closer too you and that was where she stayed for the next 2 hours. During that time her face got profusely redder by how you would look at her, how your hair started to dangle infront of you face, the paint splotches on your face, oh how gorgeous you looked.

“Done!” You said as you put down your brush. You climbed onto your bed to get a better look at it and smiled.

"I would say it looks beautiful, but I assure you I did not do you enough justice." You said as you looked over at Elisabeth.

Elisabeth got up from her chair behind the canvas and went over to your bed to take a look. You patted a spot on your bed for her to sit on as you moved over a little.

The painting, it was beautiful. It looked so alive and well, now she can't deny you are quite talented at the arts. She smiled at it and resisted the urge to touch it since it needed time to dry.

"It's beautiful, you really are as talented as they say. I don't know why I doubted your ability's" Elisabeth laughed and turned to face you but froze when she realized how close your face was to hers.

You smiled and looked at her before also freezing.

Looking deep into each other's eyes in such a peaceful silence. You looked down at Elisabeth's lips before looking back up at her as if asking if you could kiss her. Elisabeth slightly nodded, which was all the confirmation you needed before you gently cupped her face and kissed her.

Elisabeth was shocked but soon kissed you back. She hadn't thought this visit would have ended with her not leaving your room till early next morning.

Elisabeth loves you, more than she loved the painting. You were her art, but you were priceless and she will treasure you forever.

A/n: Sorry i didn't finish it, something happened and i didn't want to finish it. enjoy

Edit: Yeah so that bad thing that happened just got even worse but hey I finished this story so yall won't be left on a cliffhanger, so excuse me while I continue to go cry now.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

part 12

ink was getting nervous. Error was coming by at night, and since every other vampire was sleeping, he couldn’t do anything but wait in his garden-

Something wasn’t quite normal with error. He looked pretty anxious, wary even-

 Ink sighed. Life was so empty- not even death could fix that

 He discovered that over time, most vampires could get used to the sunlight after being exposed to it very lightly. He also noticed that vampires couldn’t be murdered unless they were shot or stabbed in the soul

He not only wasn’t affected by the sunlight in the first place, but he had no soul to begin with-

Death wasn’t an option.

Boredom was the only thing that was “killing” him

 Ever since he could remember, life was always so boring

 Empty

 Without any goal to achieve or get going with

 He clenched his fists

The only thing that was following him around and that let him stay alive was…

 Guilt

 For something he could never forgive himself for

Maybe he could fix it?

 He didn’t want to think about it now-

 He traveled inside his garden, wandering around his maze, then sat down near some bushes

He was an immortal being with barely no will to live, but he did have a passion to stay sane

And it ended up being art.

Painting, sewing, designing, sculpting-

Creating was a nice compensation for destroying everyone’s lives…

 Now that he was thinking about it…

…….

 Wait, who was that?!

 Ink noticed a shadow fly away from his garden. ‘Right when he had some inspiration to draw’. He ran to them, but he realized they already left.

It was probably another vampire, but the vast majority preferred to go out at night since they won’t be so visible to the mortals. Though it was unusual for a one to fly off so fast and early in the morning. The sun was bright, and even he felt pretty nauseous staying on spot without anything to shield himself from the heat of it.

Even so, he stared at his surroundings, curious to see if the person left something, when he noticed a crispy letter on the grass.

Ink sighed, who could it beee?

He painfully leaned down to catch the letter, and opened it.

Right, it was him.

Just when he thought he’ll get to talk to him personally-

He sat down and read the long paragraph that decorated its paper.

 …

 “…oh-“

 He got up and dusted off his clothes from the remaining dirt and leaves that stuck to him, then trailed off to his castle-

 “Looks like the meeting is still ongoing”

 ******

 His steps were heavy,

And he was getting weaker-

He collapsed on the ground

It was so painful to be alive

And he hated it

He HATED ink for what he did!

He-

He…

….

Well, the forest wasn’t a good place to fall unconscious in, so he painfully got himself up.

He could hate ink all he wanted, but the mortals were even worse

If only he could just KILL THEM ALL

ALL OF THEM

Ugh-

 “…”

 Huh

Crying?

Him?

Out of character, right?

He wiped away the tears that were slowly forming themselves in his sockets. He had to- he had to go and ask for help like the idiot that he is! He…he didn’t want him to-

…

Die? Who? What the flip was he even doing in that forest anyways?!

Oh yeah, heal himself

Obviously

He sat by a tree and painfully tightened the holes and scars with bandages after carefully removing the bullets and disinfecting the injuries with his magic. He really didn’t want to see him again,

But he didn’t have a choice anymore

********

*tap*

*tap*

*tap*

*tap*

*tap*

*tap*

He sat on his sofa, slowly waiting for his guest’s arrival in front of his large window.

He closed his eyes patiently, then sighed calmly

 “nice seeing you again, error”

His silhouette slowly appeared in front of him, threatening as always.

“…”

He looked away, a frown still in place.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to see me, but god can you be stubborn!” ink pouted. They knew each other for years, but one thing that didn’t change was the fact that error was never happy to see him

Nor to spend time with him

Actually, the times where he’ll be “happy” is when he almost “kills” him, or when he leaves-

Yeah, a nice “friendship”

“I swear if it wasn’t for an important reason I would’ve never stepped a toe in your hell of a castle!”

“but you still came here. And I’m sorry if I am worried about this reason that’s so important it actually made you sit here, and talk to me for once.”

Error flinched at his sarcastic tone, and he thought about giving a spiteful remark back, but he sat on the sofa in front of him, directly facing the window, choosing to ignore his off handed retorts to leave that place as soon as possible.

“… well-“ error tried to collect his words, obviously tired of what had happened to him this past weeks.

“there is a small town very far away from here who sent a…detective? Spy? Whatever, A trained mortal to hunt down the vampires while being hidden amongst the normal villagers, and he’s been very wary of YOU especially.”

“He had been giving some “ideas” to the mortals, and if he manages to convince them to overthrow your rules and influence, he’ll quickly discover your intentions and the hidden place of multiple thousands of vampire, causing the extinction of the race in a second. And while I flipping hate your guts and I despise you all so much, vampires and mortals alike, I can’t really be all that powerful and safe when the humans can win over me; the amount of vampires decreasing giving them “courage” to kill the remaining.”

He stated the last sentence with disgust. He didn’t give two cents about vampires, even less monsters or even humans, which he hates even more, but ink’s motives were vastly different

ink loved vampires, because he had to; Being the original vampire who first existed. He was the reason so many mortals turned into those people, feared by the pitiful society called the living. And just like that he and the other vampires that followed began growing stronger in number and power.

You could say that he didn’t have a choice- that it was in his nature; he’s a vampire! He can’t help but drink blood, in the case of monsters, magic-

But

No

Not only can vampires resist the urge to drink blood, by simply eating meat, but in ink’s case

He doesn’t even like drinking blood nor magic

He was more into literal ink

The only reason he drank blood in the first place was to get feelings

The first vampire didn’t have a chance to get a soul, so he discovered he could get feelings another way.

And he despised doing that

Because

Of how he discovered

That-

“INK!”

Ink looked at error, realizing he must’ve been daydreaming for too long

“…”

Ink got up, then undressed himself from his coat.

“Huh? What the he- what are you doing???”

“Well, suffice to say we’re going to catch that little comedian and eliminate him as soon as we can”

Error didn’t expect such bluntness from ink, but he couldn’t care less about that, more like, he was caught off guard by the “we”

“Hey, hey, hey- this is YOUR job, mister! It is not my business to attend”

Ink looked back at him, and gave him a warm smile

“Didn’t you say earlier it affected you if all the race disappeared? Wouldn’t you want to stop that from happening? I might add that you wouldn’t come here unless you really had to, so is it just for a message or did you need my help?”

He hated it when ink gets smart

But at the same time he was right

Though there was still another reason on top of it all, but he kept his mouth sealed

That bastard didn’t need to know

“…fine. What to do now”

Ink’s smirk became predatory

“What makes you think we’ll need to do anything?”

Error flinched

“What?”

Ink giggled-

“Well, it’s getting quite late don’t you think?”

Error looked back at the window, the moon shining bright in a cold, dark night

“Ink! I need answers!”

Ink paused his laughing, then smiled

“I’ll tell you more about it if you’ll be my guest.”

He bowed slightly, still keeping eye contact with the other

Error tensed- he didn’t know what to do now

“…is this a trap?”

Ink looked surprised at that statement, but quickly rectified

“Not at all!”

“Then what makes me believe that you’re not going to kill me in my sleep!”

Ink paused a second, kind of offended by the other’s skepticism when he just wanted to welcome him

Well, guess it can’t be helped

“I promise you that I will answer your questions tomorrow, It’s just that you might be exhausted from the constant travelling- the bruises and scars look like they just need a bit of attention, and you-“

He trailed off, citing multiple reasons why he needed a shelter from him, and error quickly cut him off

“Okay- okay- I get it”

It did make him feel a bit better though, considering ink takes his promises very seriously, so he might as well stay for a night

“Just ONE night”

He crossed his arms, and ink chuckled

“Sure, sure-“

He smiled

“Goodnight then, error”

*******

“well, how about we talk more about it in a more...private environment, yes?”

**********

ink belongs to @comyet​/ @myebi​

error belongs to @loverofpiggies​

dark cream belongs to @zu-is-here​

well, it took a while to update you guys, but i’m really happy about it!

error holds a huge grudge against ink- what is it? still haven’t finished that part yet guys ;D

also, the illustration is a spoiler for the next part focusing about ink, but as they say- it’s not a real spoiler if you have no context right ;)?

((remind me not to paint an illustration for a writing i haven’t updated in a while it just makes it worse))

also, the reason i haven’t drawn error once is because i can’t decide on a design he often hides his face with a very dark cape. i will give you guys a sheet with everyone’s faces (protagonists only) their mouths (the difference between their fangs) and their markings/eyelights

very exited to write more about ink though- it’s going to get interesting very soon ;)

first- previous- next

[rosaline-kei]

Disclaimer:I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan nor its characters.

Title: Playboy no more - EreMika Fanfic ; OneShot

Synopsis:  Mikasa wins the heart of a playboy who never knew he’d have wanted something so committed with someone like her.

Requested by: @eremika-forever12

Rated: T

Pairings: Mikasa Ackerman / Eren Jaeger

Read it also on / Please Leave a Review at: my Ao3 / FF net (might post there soon.)

A/N: never written this eremika trope before considering as the attack on titan series continues, Eren’s character is further explored and his decisions/character development makes me unable to picture him as stuff like a playboy. But hey, I’m open to trying I guess haha. Albeit admittedly I hated how this turned out as i lost motivation and yeah :/ My apologies dear requester; i hope you’ll enjoy anyway.

-

Mikasa hadn’t expect for her first kiss to turn out like this, in this sort of accidental predicament, with this person, with her on top of him—literally—on the ground.

Her lips were pressed against the school’s infamous playboy who had his eyes opened widely at her, filled with surprise at how direct she was—but more than anything, his cheeks resembled a ripened tomato while his brain was still processing the entire situation; of the fact that she—someone that he thought that not even someone as smooth as him would ever be able to get her to fall for him—kissed him.

But he wasn’t that dense to not know that it had been an accident, with her tripping, falling; falling onto him.

What he didn’t know, though, was that she hadn’t just fall on him; she had fell for him too.

-

It started when Mikasa Ackerman transferred to Shiganshina High.

She was fortunate to know someone from that school. That particular someone was a boy named Armin Arlert who just so happened to go to the same math tuition as her.

‘I’ll meet you at the cafeteria before class starts!’ He had texted her, leaving her to wait quietly in the cafeteria where a few students ate their breakfast or were burning the midnight oil as they dipped and curved their pens in a messy rush, desperately trying their utmost best to finish it before the bell rings.

One particular boy caught her attention, though. Sitting a few seats away was a boy who had chestnut coloured hair and green eyes that could’ve come across as striking if only she had a closer view. He wore a pitch-black leather jacket which gave Mikasa the impression that he was those typical boisterous gangsters that went around threatening people to surrender either their lunch money or answers for homework to him. Next to him was a blonde-haired girl with eyes that looked like a lovestruck puppy when he had his arm wrapped around her, and if she had to guess, they were probably flirting.

She looked away shyly, feeling like her eyes shouldn’t linger at what should be a private moment in her opinion. This early in the morning? She thought, sighing. She had heard wonderful things about Shiganshina High and its students from Armin—but it seemed that impression would soon change if there were more ‘bad boys’ like him roaming freely.

“Mikasa!” Armin called, waving his hand to get her attention before approaching and then sitting next to her. “Sorry for being a little late.” He chuckled nervously as he scratched the back of his head.

“No worries.” She assured with a warm smile. “Its good to see a familiar face… especially since I’m the new kid.” She sighed, transferring in the middle of the year wasn’t her cup of tea. But due to family circumstances, she didn’t have much of a choice and being an obedient and filial daughter, she complied without much complaint.

“Yeah. Oh and—” Armin’s cheerful look soon soured into something disgusted that confused Mikasa for a moment. He didn’t seem to be directing that disgust to her, though, but a couple that sat not too far away demonstrating PDA that Armin could only wish he could unsee; so did Mikasa, who turned out of curiosity, to flush and turn back in regret. “A-Are… all students here like th—”

“No.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mostly him… that’s Eren Jaeger…”

“Oh.”

“…and its sad to say, he’s a close friend of mine over here.”

“Oh—wait, what?” Mikasa’s eyes widened in bewilderment. She knew Armin enough to be sure that these two boys were most likely living in two different worlds. She found it a little hard to believe that the both of them were best pals, especially after that revolting look he had when watching him making out with who she taught was his girlfriend.

Suddenly, she felt Armin’s hands gripping on both her shoulders, startling her slightly. “A-Armin?”

“Listen to me, Mikasa.” He took a deep breath. “No matter what you do, do not fall for him or his flirtation. Not when… he’s going through this irking playboy phase.”

“P-Playboy?” She stuttered, in disbelief that he was friends with a playboy… and more than anything, she was flustered when he even brought up the idea of her falling for him.

While she was a teenager, Mikasa was yet to have any romantic experience. And by no means did she plan to rush into it. More than anything, her priorities were her studies. Yes, it may be boring. But if she wanted to get into one of the top universities, she didn’t have much of a choice.

“Yes. Playboy.” He shook his head in utter disappointment, as if he was a father that failed to bring up his son right. “He’s a… childhood friend. I don’t know what happened along the way but he became a playboy and I can only hope one day he will stop.” He said.

All the girls who got involved with him knew of his playboy nature, and for the most part, they didn’t care so much of how he would go from one to another when he was bored. Most of them knew getting involved with him meant no commitment.

“What makes you think I’ll fall—”

“It’s just a warning. In case.” He sighed. “He has a… way with his words. Only a few people aren’t swayed by it.” He shrugged. “But he’s a good friend, so give him a chance. For the most part, I already told him about you and to leave you alone. I don’t know if he’ll listen, though.”

Mikasa had never seen Armin so done with life (or more specifically, the wild, playboy heart of Eren) until now. It was amusing, but a little worrying.

“If he bothers you, just tell me, okay?” The bell rang at the same time Mikasa nodded her head. “Yeah… don’t worry. I’m not looking for romance, anyway.” She assured.

Besides… I don’t think I’d ever fall for someone like him.

-

“So, you’re the Mikasa Ackerman huh?” Eren grabbed a chair, sitting himself right in front of her desk with both his arms invading a small space on her desk to rest. “The girl Armin told me about?” He queried curiously. It was break-time now, and the first time he approached her.

“Eren.” Armin couldn’t believe he had the audacity to slide right in with eyes that screamed his intentions right in front of him. “Don’t.”

“Gee, Armin, chill. I’m not doing anything.” Eren raised his hands, innocently surrendering for a brief moment before his eyes found himself fixating with her greyish hues.

“Yes… I am.” She mumbled, her own pair of eyes staring right at his to realise that yes, they were indeed as striking as she had thought. And on top of that, they had a sort of allure that were trying to draw her in more and more, trying to get her hypnotised and immersed. However, before she could, she looked away right back at her book.

Eren smirked. “Eh? Why are you looking away?” He asked with a tone so gentle, but it sounded awfully playful. His hands raised, two fingers walking close to her hand that fidgeted with a pen. “I don’t want to have a beauty like you hating me…” He mumbled, his hands finding its way to hold hers softly, causing Mikasa to flinch, let go of the pen and snap her head up right at him.

“B-beauty?” She stuttered. That was a first.

“Yea—ow!” He screeched, and let go of her hand while turning behind to see Armin with a rolled-up paper that was just used to smack his head.

“Eren.” He cautioned again, and it amused Mikasa that the brunette that had acted all slick and brave around her was suddenly looking a little fearful and nervous when he saw Armin’s stern, furious and protective look. It was a stark contrast to the bad boy image she originally had of him earlier, and she couldn’t help but let out a chuckle that didn’t come across unnoticed to both of them.

“Why are you laughing?” Eren huffed, sounding rather defeated before he stood up, hands shoving itself in his pocket as he turned away embarrassedly. “gee Armin, ruining the mome—” He saw the blonde rolling the paper tighter and shot his hand up in defeat. “Okay, okay! Ah, whatever! I’m late for a date with some other brunette anyway.” He grumbled before walking off, casting one final glance at Mikasa. “See ya around, Mika.” He nodded before he left.

“ ‘Mika’?” Mikasa murmured to herself, before meeting a pair of blue eyes that looked at her with both concern and disappointment.

“…What?”

Armin crossed his arms. “Do not fall for him.” He said before slumping onto the seat that Eren sat on earlier. “I saw you blushing.”

And the pink rose back up to her cheeks when Armin brought it up. “I… It’s just a first for me. Someone… flirting with me and calling me… that.” She answered shyly, and Armin sighed. “Well, you’re not the first nor will you be the last person he ever calls that.” He spoke, “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Those who actually, genuinely fall for him get hurt when faced with rejection. You heard him, he’s going on a ‘date’ with some brunette when he was making out with some blonde earlier…”

Mikasa nodded. Armin is right, she thought. He is a playboy… do I really want to…?

Besides. She reasoned with herself. I just met him. I don’t… really like him in that sense. He just caught me off guard with that… look and his tone. I feel so silly.

“I understand.” Mikasa sighed. “On a different note, it’s hard to believe the two of you are friends… does he leave you alone for his ‘dates’?” She asked, a small concern rising in her.

“Nah. He hanged with me more often before you came. He’s just ‘freer’ now since you’re here to keep me company.” He laughed lightly, “He’s more loyal as a friend, trust me.” He paused for a bit, and then sighed. “I hope he’d make time for you, as in, talk to you under a more friendly circumstance. He’s different, as a friend.”

-

And what Armin said was proved to be true two days later when he found himself sick at home with the flu.

Aside from Armin, she hadn’t made any other friends since she was still new. (She wasn’t sure if she could count Eren, since she didn’t really talk to him considering he was too pre-occupied with his ‘dates’).

She found herself huddled alone at a quiet corner in the school’s library during their break, with textbooks scattered around the table she occupied as she did her work.

The last thing she expected was for a brunette to come crashing in, legs crossed, with a smile, sitting right next to her. “Yo.” He greeted, startling Mikasa a little who gave him an odd look.

“…Hey?” She greeted back, confused by his presence. She could’ve sworn he was fooling with a girl in the morning, and had plans to continue later during breaktime. So, she hadn’t expected him to be here, and Eren took notice. “Am I not welcomed?” He asked.

“No… its not that.” She looked away, back at the annoying question she had been stuck on for a little too long. “I just… thought you had a ‘date’.”

“Eh, things don’t go as planned.” Was the only answer he gave her, and Mikasa didn’t care enough to pry. Little did she know, he cancelled his plans to keep her company upon finding out Armin was sick with the flu. While Armin didn’t request that of him, he took it upon himself because he didn’t want her to feel lonely on her first few days in school.

And while they didn’t interact a lot, he considered her a friend (even after the little flirtatious stunt he tried to pull) since she was a friend of Armin’s. She seemed like a nice girl, anyway.

“Oh.” She said, and Eren noticed that she seemed a little tensed, as if she were leaving her walls and guard up. He couldn’t blame her. He was sure Armin gave her long lectures of his… playboy nature. And while that side of him did want to play with her, since it had been a while when he last ‘dated’ the studious type, he was sure Armin would kill him.

And most of all, Eren Jaeger didn’t want to get involved romantically with girls who sought actual commitment. He didn’t want to be a heartbreaker. But at the same time, he couldn’t stay still.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hit on you.” Eren sighed, and Mikasa looked at him, confused.

“Why’d you hit me…?”

Eren looked at her, amused at her confusion, and laughed as quietly as he could since they were in a library. “It means flirt.”

“O-Oh…” She looked away embarrassedly, and it took every ounce of effort for Eren not to continue teasing because heaven forbid the terrors Armin would bring upon him if even thought of leading her on too much.

“Yeah. Armin would kill me. I still have my youth ahead, can’t let that happen.” He said. “On a different note, is this what you do in your free time?” He asked, and his tone ticked off Mikasa a little; it felt a little insulting. “Just study? Even when you’re with Armin, I still see you studying with him sometimes.”

It was something people back in her old school often said to her before calling her things like boring and plain jane. It ticked her off, but she ignored them. Besides, she had a small friend group there to hang around anyway.

“I want to get into one of the top universities.” She defended herself, even though Eren wasn’t exactly attacking her. “So, if I can study then… yeah.”

“No need to get defensive.” Eren assured, “I understand that sentiment. Armin’s kinda like that too.” He spoke. “But you know, you can let loose every now and then.”

Mikasa raised a brow. “Let loose like you? Mr playboy.”

Now, Eren felt insulted. But then again, touché. “That’s not what I mean.” He shook his head and huffed. “Gee, what happened to that shy, easily flustered girl I saw the other day?”

Mikasa flinched, and found herself turning into that easily flustered girl again when Eren brought up how she was so easily swayed by his little compliment. “…Do you want me to call Armin?”

Now, Eren flinched and his shoulders tensed and the next thing Mikasa knew, his eyes looked at her apologetically and desperately while his tone weakened, sounding defeated and pleading. “Please, don’t.” He begged. “He’ll kill me with that rolled up paper.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Mikasa chuckled lightly, “…Underneath that bad-boy and playboy persona, you seem…” She paused for a bit, and then laughed quietly to herself at the first word that came to her mind.

“Seem like what?” His brows furrowed.

“Oh, nothing…”

He grew a little childish—a side only a few got to see. “Eh?? Don’t leave me hanging like that!” His voice was slowly raising and Mikasa instantly hushed him.

“We’re in a library, remember?” She reminded, and noticed him pouting slightly. “Yeah, yeah…” he grumbled, “What are you studying now, anyway?”

Mikasa’s focus switched back to her paper. “Chemistry… I’m not too good at it.”

“Really?” Eren said, as he moved a little closer to take a peek at the question she was stuck at. “Ah… the mol concept.  It’s hard but… I can help you with this question. The answer is 3.8 mol, right?”

“Yeah…” Mikasa sounded a little surprised, resulting Eren to frown a little as he could guess what she was thinking.

“Look, not all bad boys or playboys are dumb-bells.” He huffed. “I happen to know—”

“No, no its not that…” Mikasa resisted a chuckle. “Armin just… told me you were failing.”

“Only in literature! Who the heck understands olden English language! I mean no offense to Shakespeare—”

“Shhh! Eren, we’re in a library remember?” It was only then Eren noticed the glares he was receiving from the people in the library, especially from the bookworms and librarians… and some of the girls who he ‘dated’.

Hell, did he have a bad sense of timing.

And then he heard a soft chuckle, turning around he saw Mikasa laughing lightly at him again and somehow, he couldn’t find it in himself to interrupt her again. And it was not because of the glares that were still shot at him.

Perhaps it was his playboy nature getting the best of him, but… he found her a little cute when she smiled and laughed.

-

One thing happened after the other, and Eren and Mikasa found themselves having study sessions together, with Eren helping her with chemistry and Mikasa helping him with literature.

Armin had been a little suspicious of this turn in events, since the last thing he thought that playboy would ever do in his free time was to have an actual study date, without the date aspect in it. However, upon joining a few of their study sessions at either Eren’s or Mikasa’s home, he realised that Eren could in fact, keep his hands and (in his opinion, sometimes cringey) smooth-talk to himself. It was surprising, definitely.

Although, it didn’t mean Eren didn’t tease Mikasa every now and then (especially when Armin wasn’t around to smack him).

And it didn’t mean his actual ‘dates’ came to a halt, there were a few times he skipped out studying and went on to have some fun.

But as days went by, unknowingly, those dates started to come to gradual decrease when he found Mikasa’s company… genuinely enjoyable—enjoyable in a way that no other girl gave him.

“Do you ever plan to stop being a playboy?” Mikasa scoffed at the brunette when he arrived at her home a little late than the scheduled time she had planned for their study session to start. While Armin was still running late, he had a reasonable reason which involved the bus he was on being caught in traffic. Whereas Eren, was on a date.

“I’m sorry.” He apologised for the tenth time, knowing that she was still irritated at the fact he lost track of time in the midst of his fun. “I mean, not really. It’s fun. You just don’t get it.” He said with a shrug, earning an eyeroll from the raven who just couldn’t understand why.

“Don’t you feel bad when you break someone’s heart?” She always felt a little iffy to Eren’s playboy habits.

“I always cut things off if I realise the girl is actually having real feelings.” He paused. “Otherwise, I just fool around. I’m just in it for the thrill.”

Mikasa raised a brow. Honestly, like what Armin had said, she hoped this was just a passing phase. “Yeah, yeah…” She sighed as she opened up her notes.

“What about you?” He asked. “Went on a date before?”

She flinched. “I…no.” She looked away timidly. “Studying is… enough.”

“Ehhh? You’re missing out on youth, Mika!” He exclaimed, before a mischievous look rose up to his face. “With such a pretty face…” He leaned in slightly, and if Armin had been there, he’d probably immediately withdraw his statement about him being able to keep his hands to himself. “You should be able find yourself a man like me—mmf!”

Mikasa pushed her notebook right up in his face, he was too close.

And a part of her hated how he gave her compliments like that, because it felt shallow with that smug, playboy tone of his. She hated how it’d make her feel flustered (and admittedly, a little happy) because he was definitely smooth with his words, especially when Armin wasn’t there to regulate his habits.

But she also liked it. The teasing; some of which she’d even return with her own playful taunts if she had the courage and wasn’t a flustering mess. It was all a first. Maybe that’s why she never exactly stopped him completely.

Maybe she just hated the fact it was all probably half-hearted, and he said all these things because he was a playboy who just enjoyed seeing girls getting all pink and red for him. Another reason why she hadn’t stop him because at least he knew his boundaries. He never touched her inappropriately nor did he ever push her to be his next new fun—and she doubted he even wanted her to be.

They were friends after all.

Friends… She thought. After spending all this time with him, something about labelling him as a friend made her feel… discontented. And she didn’t know why; not yet.

“You say that to everyone.” She sighed, and while her notebook blocked his face, she still averted her gaze away. “Everyone seems to have a pretty face to you…” It was only when she said the last sentence out loud, did she realise there was a hint of envy in her speech. She didn’t understand why.

“…Too far?” Eren asked, sounding less teasing and more serious as he gently took away the notebook that blocked her face. Honestly, Eren didn’t even know why he was teasing her (sometimes, a little more than he should in his opinion—but he made sure to never cross the line.), he didn’t plan to make her his new source of fun. That was the least of his intentions. Maybe it was because he found her reactions cute, and irresistible; and that became his fuel to joke with her every now and then.

Eren looked at her, at how her cheeks flushed and the timid look she wore as her eyes avoided contact with his. He made a mental note to dial down the teasing, but was quite reluctant.

Albeit, he rather do that than lose the friendship he forged with Mikasa in the past couple of months.

“No, not that. It’s just… I don’t know.” What am I even saying? Mikasa didn’t even know anymore, nor did she know why Eren’s eyes were suddenly fixated on her, looking at her with such softness and fondness.

“…You’re beautiful.” He suddenly confessed.

What? Was he pulling her leg?

Silence briefly engulfed the air, and Mikasa clenched her fist tightly before she forced herself to fill it.

“You’re just saying tha—”

“I’m being serious.” He cut her off.

She was beautiful. Her eyes, her smile, her cute facial expressions—but most of all, her heart. It was beautiful. She had been nothing less than nice to him the entire time. He had gotten to know her better through their study sessions; and sometimes they’d text and call afterwards. Eren hadn’t even notice he began to take less calls from his flings, answered less messages from them. Through the time they spent together, he had found out there were more things common between them than he had first thought. Through the time spent together, he made a friend that he could consider was as close to him as Armin was to him. The only difference was, after all the time he spent with her as a friend, he began to sub-consciously want something more with her. He wanted to have something with her; but it wasn’t the same way he wanted—or use to want the other girls in his life. And he was only realising this now.

“I…” He sounded serious, Mikasa knew and found it hard to react to because he had always been so cheery with her. Albeit yes, there were times when he was down and she of course, comforted him. But this was different.

What exactly was he insinuating?

“I…” Flustered and unsure of what to say, she immediately stood up, turned around. She needed a moment to leave; to have with herself and sort out the sudden fluttery feelings that accumulated in her stomach “I got to—”

Eren, thinking she wanted to leave because he said something stupid, immediately grabbed her arm to stop her. “Wait! I-I didn’t mean to—”

Startled by his grip, she turned back around a little too quickly, her toes bumping and tripping on the foot of the table, and suddenly she lost balance.

Everything happened so fast, and the next thing Mikasa knew was that she had fallen right on top with Eren. Lips pressed against each other.

It was Mikasa’s first kiss. She felt her heart skip a beat before it began to race in a damn marathon. She couldn’t steady the palpitations of her heart, nor could she control the redness that illuminated her cheeks.

And she didn’t want to push away. She didn’t want to let go or remove herself from this awkward position.

Both their eyes were wide, staring at each other’s orbs; a stare that soon melted down to an admiring gaze upon realising that a particular feeling they had was mutual. However, before either of them even dared making the first move, dared deepen the kiss, a blonde burst open the door.

“Hey Mikasa! Eren! Sorry I was late. The traffic—” He stopped himself, and was utterly shocked and caught off guard by the two teenagers with their bodies almost entangled with one another, with their lips pressed against one another.

A glare slowly came forth. “EREN?!”

-

Mikasa had a crush on Eren.

Mikasa had a crush on a damn playboy.

Whatever happened after Armin stormed in was all blur, all she recalled was them separating, leaving and not talking about it; the kiss. The feelings.

How did it happen? Mikasa didn’t know. Armin had already made it clear to her that getting involved with Eren Jaeger as a friend was fine, but getting involved with him as something romantic was the last thing someone who wanted commitment should even consider.

Mikasa didn’t like how Eren would approach, flirt, make a move and then made out with girls; at first she thought it was because, like Armin, it was agitating to some extent watching him fooling around, as well as being a fool sometimes. Little did she know that when time went by, the more time she spent with Eren personally as a friend, did she realise she wanted—she desired something more with him. He was a different person when he was with her. Admittedly, he did throw in occasional flirts from time-to-time, but more than that, behind the playboy persona he had in school, he was a sweet and kind boy (who can be reckless sometimes; but that’s a different and another story.) when he was alone with her.

Little did she know that agitation she felt soured into envy; because she wanted something from him that she didn’t think she’d ever get.

She hadn’t spoken to him since their accidental kiss, the weekend was awfully silent, and it went by quick with only texts from Armin who checked on her after that… incident.

He’ll never like me back. She thought, recalling all the girls he fooled around with; the ‘phase’ he was going through. At least, not in the way I want him to. Not in the same way I like…

Her cheeks flushed just thinking about it. However, all her flustered emotions soon spiralled down into one thing: sorrow.

She didn’t want to be his next one-time fling. She wanted to be by his side, as something more than a friend.

“But that’s not going to happen…” She murmured to herself, reflecting to all the flings he had; how wild and (sometimes) crazy they were. She was no match. Besides, she doubted Eren actually liked her back. Why would he? He seemed like he was having fun with all the other girls, so why would he want to settle for someone as plain and boring as her?

Whatever the case, she couldn’t avoid him now. The weekend went by in the blink of an eye and now, she was entering the school’s gates (albeit, a little tentatively). Just… act normal. She thought to herself. It’s just a kiss. Eren has… kissed tons of other girls before. No… big deal. He probably didn’t think much about it either…

She had resigned to accepting Eren as her silent crush; she didn’t think he could ever be hers, not when he was a playboy.

At that time, Mikasa didn’t know nor noticed how the time Eren spent with her had increased—and that was why their bond grew stronger during the time they spent together. She had eventually gotten accustomed to it.

And most of all, she didn’t know that Eren threw away all his other time with his flings just to spend more time with her.

-

Eren received an earful from Armin once he somehow, successfully dragged him out of Mikasa’s house.

“It was an accident!” Eren retorted, defensive. “You saw, didn’t you?! I didn’t make the move! She was on t-…” It was unusual for him to hesitate, or even get this flustered when talking about girls making the first move on him; much less them being assertive—

“She tripped and fell!” He groaned, looking away from the blonde who was practically glaring daggers right at him; or maybe he was trying to burn a hole right at his chest. Either one of them.

After a long conversation with both of them going back and forth, Armin sighed and decided to believe Eren. He wouldn’t lie to him… at least, not to this extent. “Fine. But you better apologise to her the next time you see her.” He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t sure how Mikasa was doing; he for one knew romantic relationships was unfamiliar territory to her. To think that her first kiss was stolen by a playboy sounded quite unfortunate, in his opinion at least.

Well, at least Mikasa didn’t fall for Eren (metaphorically), at least. It wasn’t like she had a crush on him; and that was why she found her on top of him, right? He didn’t want her getting hurt, after all, Eren wasn’t the type to stay still when it came to girls. So—

“…And also…” He started to speak, breaking Armin’s thoughts off. “There’s… something I should tell you.” He bit his lip, knowing that he was going to get another painful earful once those words left his lips. “I… like Mikasa.”

Armin instantly halted in his steps, turned towards Eren, stared, and wondered if this was some sick joke of his. “I’m not joking.” He added, as if he had read Armin’s mind.

“Eren.” His tone grew menacing, “I swear. I don’t bother you and your damned playboy life because that isn’t my business. But, if you—”

“I don’t want Mikasa to be a one-time fling.” He specified, eying his friend with a solemn and serious look. “I… I’m serious.” He softened. What had Mikasa done to him? “I…I want to be serious with her.”

Armin arched a brow, arms crossed. He clearly wasn’t convinced; not yet at least. “So the infamous playboy at Shiganshina High just suddenly want to quit his playboy lifestyle?” Sure, love can change people. Armin knew that. But he had to be sure he wasn’t mistaking his feelings. “Then tell me, Eren. Convince me. It’s hard to believe that you suddenly… like her. That you want her as something more than a normal fling.” He paused briefly. “What makes you think you like her?”

Embarrassing and as flustering as it was, Eren began to tell. And Armin hadn’t expected for him to sound so genuine.

-

Mikasa awaited behind the school, as what Eren’s note indicated. She didn’t expect the first interaction she’d have with Eren after that accidental kiss was through a piece of paper he left underneath her table. Throughout the entire day, he hadn’t even batted an eye at her at all. Is he avoiding me? She thought, biting her lip nervously. Even during lunch, he left—and Mikasa could only assume he went to continue fooling around. I should’ve known better. He isn’t going to like me back…

When she asked Armin, he only shrugged and refused to say anything. That only made her worry worsen.

Why did Eren call her to meet him at the back of the school? Did he… plan to cut ties with her? Did Armin become too protective? Was that why he didn’t say anything?

Anxiousness overwhelmed her, and despite her colourful grades, she cursed at herself for being so stupid, foolish and most of all clumsy for tripping and kissing him. What was worst was that she didn’t even immediately pull away.

I can’t believe you, Mikasa. She thought to herself. You—

Her thoughts were instantly interrupted when she heard footsteps heading her way. Her head snapped up and she watched as a brunette, whose emerald orbs only took a glimpse at her, before averting away back to the ground, made his way towards her.

She watched, and didn’t say a thing.

Even when Eren was finally standing just a foot away from her, she kept quiet; her eyes looking away on the ground. Her heart starting to race again and she hated that it did.

I should just let go. I should just let go. It’s a silly crush. She thought as the silence between them prolonged. I should say something since I was the one who—

“Listen, Mikasa…” He said in a solemn tone, and Mikasa flinched, eyes looking up once again, meeting his emerald hues that now looked her way. “I…”

As Mikasa waited for Eren to deliver his speech, she anticipated and braced herself for the worst.

“I like you!”

Wait, what?

She noticed his cheeks reddening, his clenched fist as he forced himself to continue, “I… like you.” He repeated once again, but slower. The next thing he knew, he was pouring his entire heart out. “But its different from all the other girls I fooled around with. I don’t know how—I mean I know how, like after all the time we spent together as friends I found that you were quite enjoyable to be with even if you have your nose in a book for the most part…and then I started to… want to spend more time with you rather than fooling around I… I don’t know how to explain it but something about you just…” He took a deep breath, “It’s different.”

“I thought I just wanted to be closer friends with you and that was why I hang around you more often but then after that… accidental kiss, it all clicked. It felt different than all the other girls I…” He babbled on and on, his cheeks reddening after each flustering statement he made about how his feelings differed for her when compared to the other girls he fooled with. How he wanted something more with her.

He had gotten Armin’s blessing after he told him how he truly felt for Mikasa. “But whether or not she wants an actual relationship with you is up to her.” The blonde sighed, “You have quite the dirty, playboy reputation after all.”—and what he said was right.

Why would Mikasa want to be with a playboy like him? Would she even trust his words? Would she trust him? Give him a chance?

He hadn’t exactly been in a long-term relationship before.

“…and I understand if you don’t want to be with me… in that way.” He lowered his head, biting his lip. “I mean since I’ve… fooled around a lot and… you might not trust me and… I mean I deleted all their numbers already and cut ties… but… I understand if you still distrust me, however, I just… want to let you know…and I… hope you give me a chance.” He had always been direct, confident and barely ever paused or stammered in between his sentences and yet here he was.

A mess.

He didn’t dare lift his head, and stood there, frozen and silent while he waited for her response.

However, as the silence prolonged, he could’ve already guessed her answer.

No. It was going to be a rejection; that wouldn’t be a first, he had experienced those but none as heart-breaking as this.

And then what’d happen to their friendship? For what its worth, he hoped that they could remain friends. He liked her company. He didn’t want it to be over.

If she was by his side, even if it was just as a friend and not a lover, he’d be fine. He just wanted her—

“…Yes.” Came a soft voice, and Eren snapped his head back up in utter surprise; but his surprise was no match for Mikasa.

To think he’d confess to her. Mikasa hadn’t expect that. While she felt relieved, he didn’t invite her here to break their friendship or ask her to be one his part-time girlfriends, she was at first, undeniably stunned at his sudden confession.

Stunned, but happy. And Eren didn’t manage to see how flushed her cheeks became when he had looked away earlier, how her lips parted but she was still struggling to find proper words to articulate a respond.

She had so many things to say to him—but all of them came out in the form of a singular word.

“Yes.”

He sounded genuine, and she hadn’t seen Eren this flustered before and in his emerald hues she saw nothing but pure, raw honesty when he was pouring out his feelings. To think that she was able to make a playboy to change his ways was shocking even to her.

Eren stared at her, in disbelief. And before he could react ecstatically to this, he was caught off guard when the raventte suddenly leaned towards him, hands cupping his cheek as she (this time, not accidentally), crashed her lips against his.

Blushing furiously, shoulders tensed, Eren looked down at the raven who had her lips pressed against his. Since when was she that direct?

However, he eventually found his shoulders relaxing, his hands tracing down and wrapping around her waist as he found himself returning the kiss.

“Well, at least his phase is finally over.” Armin sighed quietly to himself, having watched the entire scene unfold from an empty classroom’s window before looking away as he continued to pack his bag. “…I wonder how Mikasa’s brother going to react to her dating an ex-playboy, though.”

[reminiscing-writer]

Off The Deep End

-

2

warnings: kidnapping, violence, blood, crying, angst

-

-

“Wakey, wakey,” an eerie voice makes Spencer slowly regain consciousness, “Boy Genius.” The nickname caused chills to crawl up Spence’s spine.

“I know a way we can wake him more effectively.” A second voice boomed, from what seemed like further away.

“I told you, give me my hour with him, then he's all yours.” The first voice spoke. This voice was scratchier. And, upon opening his eyes, Spencer found that this voice also belonged to the man who had asked for directions earlier. The man who had baited him.

He had his back towards the agent. When he heard Spencer straighten himself up in the chair he was tied to, he quickly turned around. Eyes looking as predators to a prey.

“Hello, Spencer.” The man smiled. One may even say wholeheartedly, if circumstances were different. “Ace.” He stretched out his right hand, almost mockingly. “You seem a bit… tied up. We can save casualties for later.” Spencer simply gave him a deadpan stare.

“What do you want?” Spence didn't take his eyes off Ace. “And, why am I here?”

“It's been brought to my attention, that you, Spencer Reid,” Ace began pacing in front of his captive, “were a part of the Integrity operation.” Spencer replied with silence, “Your dear friend Jennifer Jerau was also a part of this undercover mission back in 2010. But, as you may recall, when we had previously taken her,” JJ’s name draws a response out of the fellow agent as he clenches his jaw, “she held out strong till she could no longer bare. She was a strong one.” Ace nodded to himself.

Stopping his pacing, he kneels before Spencer, “Since then and now, the password to those files have changed. And, it is to my knowledge, that you hold the new password.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Spencer looked his captor in the eyes.

“I'm making this easy on you, Spencer.” Ace said with a tsk, “You tell me, and I let you free. You stall,” he turns over his shoulder to his fellow friend. He stood much taller than Ace. His build was large, and his exposed arms held many scars. “Griffin here asks you.”

Spencer's answer doesn't change, “I have no idea what you're asking from me.”

Ace motions Griffin over. The large man strides over, cracking his knuckles. “What is the password for the new integrity files?” He spoke clearly and with purpose.

Spencer tried his best not to show fear. But, as any sane person in said situation, he gulped hard and licked his chapped lips. “I told you guys,” he looked towards Ace, “I don't know.”

Before Spencer could even look back up towards Griffin, he saw a large first come hurling straight for his left cheek.

As the force of the punch causes Spencer's chair to slightly tilt to the right, Griffin grabs both arms of his chair, and leans in close to Spencer.

There's a metallic taste in Spencer's mouth. “Please, I'm serious! You've got the wrong guy!” He pleaded.

The only answer he got was yet another sucker punch to his right cheek. His head ring, and the inside of his right cheek stung. “What is the password?” Griffin spoke with force in every word.

Spencer simply shook his head with his eyes shut tightly, receiving yet another punch to the gut. The blood which had collected in his mouth automatically spilled out of the corners of his lips.

“Faster you spill the beans, the faster you're out of here.” Ace smirked from behind Griffin as Spencer groaned in pain.

The next hour consisted of the same events. Questions, followed by a lack of answers, which led to Spence eventually getting beaten black and blue.

The doctor was hunched over in the wooden chair which he’d been tied to. Eyes heavy and drooping, breathing scratchy. Every muscle and bone in his body ached.

Spencer looked up through his hooded eyes to see Ace walking towards him. He came close to his captive and grabbed a handful of his curly brown hair.

Spencer barely had enough energy to react. He blinks slowly, urging Ace to speak. Before he does, he pulls up a large black camera that's hanging around his neck.

Quickly snapping a photo of Spencer, a bright flash causing his eyes to see stars, Ace asks,. “Would you like to answer our question yet?”

With no reply from Spence, he smiles wide calling his accomplice back into the picture. “Let's get his wife's package ready, Griffin.”

At the mere mention of Amelia, Spencer's eyes shot open. He tries to sit up straight in his chair only to be held down by his shoulders. “It’ll be easier if you don't move around.” He heard Griffin say as he approached from the darkness.

Spencer's eyes widened as he saw the large man holding a glimmering butcher knife. “What are you guys- look, I'm serious! I don't know anything!” He started rambling, “Leave her out of thi-” his plea cut short as Ace shoved a dirty rag into Spencer's mouth muffling any sound to be made.

-

“He's probably okay, right?” Amelia asked nervously, playing with her brown locks.

“Yeah,” Morgan dismissed distractedly as he watched Penelope type away at her laptop. “He probably just got sidetracked about something.”

24 hours later, when Amelia nor anyone on the team had heard from Spencer, she had called Derek again. When his calls had gone to voicemail with no avail, he called Penelope and the duo went over to give Amelia company.

“You said you spoke to him around 3?” Garcia peeked up to Amelia from the tops of her floral frames.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “at like 2:45. He said he'd be home by 3:30.”

Garcia tipped and tapped away. She opened up surveillance footage from the previous day. Silence laced the young doctors' living room.

“Okay, so here it is. There's Hotch leaving.” She skips ahead a bit, “And, there's me and you,” she clicks her tongue and pulls the video further until the parking lot is empty. “Ah! There he is.” She sees Spencer on screen. Amelia quickly leans in closer to the screen in hope to see her husband.

The video plays and as the events unfold, Garcia loudly gasps, her eyes wide as saucers.

“W-who's that?” Amelia asked as she saw a hunched over white man speak with her husband. Quickly, a big van pulls up next to the two men, hiding the view from the camera. When the van pulls away, Spence and the stranger are gone.

“Wh-what… Derek?” Amelia stutters struggling to find words. She looks up at her equally worried friend.

“Morgan, what was that? Who were they?” Penelope questions quickly, her hands playing with the rings on her fingers. When Derek gives no reply, she calls for his attention, “Derek?”

His eyes dart from the laptop screen, to his colorful coworker, to his friend's worried wife. “I'm gonna go call Hotch.” He excuses himself into the kitchen.

_

It takes no more than half an hour for the entire team to gather at Spencer's apartment. The surveillance footage had been played and replayed over a dozen times. Amelia didn't want to watch it, but it was all that she had so she could see her husband.

“Garcia, any luck with the facial recognition software?” Aaron, the groups’ leader, asks.

“No,” Penelope shakes her head with a frown, “I'm trying to at least get an estimated height and weight. Maybe, that’d make it easier.”

Aaron nods, holding a fist up to his face and biting down on his knuckles. His eyes carefully watch Spencer's worried wife unable to sit still. Amelia gets up from her place on the couch and wipes her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans.

“I haven't even offered,” she spoke quickly, “sorry. Can I get you guys anything? Water, juice? Maybe, coffee?” She looks at everyone, not really holding eye contact with any of them.

Before the team could give a response, she quickly excuses herself into the kitchen.

“What are we thinking here, Hotch?” Morgan asks as soon as Amelia is out of earshot.

“Lots, but none of it is true, I hope.” His sharp eyes flash worry.

Emily is sitting on the couch, manspreading, her hands clasped between her knees. “People don't just kidnap Federal agents without reason, Hotch. If this is because-”

“We don't know that yet.” JJ quickly intervenes, staring out the apartment window in a daze, “And, until we do, I don't think it's fair to worry Amelia like that.”

“JJ is right.” Hotch agrees. He looks at his team. “For time being, all we can do is find another possible motive, and anything else we can on that man.”

Em whips her head towards the kitchen when she hears a soft sniffle. She looks up towards Aaron who gives a sympathetic nod. Getting up she heads into the kitchen, in hopes of comforting their friend.

“This is crazy,” Derek takes a sharp inhale, “I need a breather.” He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. He grabs his jacket off the arm of the couch, and heads for the exit.

Opening the door, he's greeted by a large yellow envelope at the welcome mat. Picking it up, he flips it over to see it read ‘Mrs. Reid’ in messy handwriting.

He quickly turns back into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. “Weren't you just-” Jennifer begins questioning, only to be shushed by Derek. He puts a finger to his lips, and indicates none of the team make any noise for a minute.

He shows the group the new-found mail. Garcia takes it from his hands, only for it to be taken by Hotchner from her.

The team watches carefully as the team leader opens the envelope. They're all so engrossed in the mail, none of them realize that Emily and Amelia have emerged from the kitchen. Both girls stood quietly, not attracting any attention to themselves.

He pulls out a large paper. Upon seeing what's on it, he swallows hard, clenching his jaw. Morgan peels over, and snatches the paper away from him.

Amelia simply watches the men look at the page in horror. She slips out from Emily's hold, and calls for Derek's attention. “What is it?” She asks in fear of the answer.

The team all look over to her. “Take her inside.” Aaron orders Emily. She nods reaching for Amelia again, but she resists.

“No,” she moves away from the female agent, “Derek, what is that?” She asks her husband's best friend, motioning towards the page in his hand and the envelope in Hotchs’. When Morgan doesn't give an answer she moves closer to him.

He takes a small step back, and Aaron intervenes between the two. “Amelia, it's best if you listen to me, and go inside for a moment.” He speaks softly, holding her on either side of her arms. She avoids eye contact with him, knowing if she does look at him, she may be convinced to leave.

She shakes her head, “It's about Spence, isn't it?” She directs her voice to Morgan. He looks away from her. She quickly pushes past Aaron, and snatches the paper from Derek's fingers and runs to the corner of the room.

The team watches closely as she loudly gasps, hand covering her mouth. Her eyes quickly well with tears, and JJ goes close to comfort her.

JJ looks at the paper also, and shuts her lips tightly, looking away. Amelia, however, doesn't look away. She stares at the paper.

The picture. It was a large Polaroid of Spencer. His head was being held up by a hand. His face was cut, and bloodied and bruised. His lip was busted and although his body wasn't the main attraction of the photo, she could see his shirt had been torn, and even on his torso, there were bruises.

Amelia's knees buckle underneath her, and she falls into JJ’s arms, sobbing.

“Spence,” she cries, covering her face into her friends body, “he's- oh god.” She cries harder, her body trembling. JJ strokes her head, cooing her to calm down, her own eyes filled to the brim with tears.

Aaron and Derek both break away from the crying woman, and simultaneously look towards the center table at the yellow envelope. Emily catches their unsaid conversation and looks at the table also.

She reaches over, feeling something light in the paper envelope. The rustling of the mail catches Amelia's attention. She watches cautiously, holding her breath.

Emily simply flips the contents of the bag onto the table. A small ziploc baggie falls out with a small thud. The team and Amelia all slowly lean in closer to get a better look.

As soon as Amelia makes out the object on the table, she screams loudly, once again falling back into JJ, “Oh my god!” She instinctively pushes herself away from the table. Emily rushes to her side. All three woman huddle together, JJ and Emily holding tightly onto a screaming Amelia.

As Amelia is in hysterics, Garcia is sitting on the couch, unable to move. Her hands shaking and her face covered with rivers of tears. Derek sits beside her, holding her close, one arm around her, and one arm turning her face away. He kisses the top of her head.

Aaron remains the last standing, staring speechlessly at the contents on the table.

Staring back at him was a small ziploc bag, with about an inch of what looked to be Spencer's finger, and his wedding ring.

His finger remains bloody, and his wedding ring also covered in the crimson liquid

-

Tag team!

(Drop a comment if you also want to be tagged when the next park goes up!)

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

@twentysomethingloser92 @andiebeaword @dontshootmespence

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

Hey! There's this hc that's been on my mind for a while now but it's a bit dark so I've kinda been scared to ask people about it because IDK how it'd go down.... Okay, it's AFTG, and: What if after Aaron's trial with the whole Thanksgiving thingy they propose Aaron should be on mood altering drugs? What would happen? What would people do?? Also I know there are some fanpeople that don't like how Andrew's medication was represented in the books so I completely understand if you'd rather not reply

I’m sorry this took so long and I’m sorry for my recent inactivity. I’m still not ready to come back from my surprise hiatus but here’s this. It’s largely unedited so please forgive my bullshit. Thanks so much for the ask, love <3

“Aaron Minyard was oft-referred to as "the normal one" of the two, though that was usually followed by a debate over whether or not he could be sane when he shared genes with Andrew.”

Anyone with half a brain knows that Aaron doesn’t need the drugs. Hell, anyone with half a brain would have known better than to put a minor on something so strong but Andrew was on them for like 4 yrs + Exy is a thing so obviously no one in this universe has a single functioning brain cell. Another thing to be considered is that Aaron is a rehabilitated drug addict. He’s been sober (or as close to sober as he’s going to get) since he was 16. In the real world, I seriously doubt they’d put him on anti-psychotics, especially considering his past. But this is The Foxhole Court and I’m invoking suspension of disbelief. 

Screams reverberated through Aaron’s head. There weren’t many words Aaron could discern amid the broken sobs and dry heaving. The overwhelming stench of vomit hit his nostrils. Pain shot through his left arm. It was likely dislocated from ramming it into the door at an odd angle. Staggering to his feet, Aaron saw himself in the mirror. Dark circles rimmed his bloodshot eyes. A cruel smile slowly curled the lips of his reflection. Andrew. Swinging a punch at him with his good hand, the mirror shattered. Shards of glass embedded themselves into his fist. Blood ran in rivers down his arms. 

His surroundings distorted, exchanging the soft glow of yellow bulbs for the harsh glow of fluorescents. The blood was gone along with the mirror shards. In their place was a motley of scars. None of them seemed too severe. The acrid smell of smoke clung to the air and mixed with the alcohol and vomit, making Aaron’s stomach roil. The sound of someone retching caught Aaron’s attention. Whirling around, Aaron felt his heart stutter. Matt lay twitching on the floor in a pool of his own spew.

“That’s what you looked like,” Andrew said from beside Aaron. “Pathetic.” The word echoed through Aaron’s head. 

“Aaron?” Nicky said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Aaron jerked away from him as though he’d been burned. Nicky’s face crumpled. Aaron’s gaze darted around the room.Taking stock of his surroundings helped ground him. Overstuffed chairs lined one of the walls. Three sofas boxed off the corner they were sat in. Orange fox prints decorated the white walls, a name, number, and photograph at the center of each. Aaron was back at the Foxhole Court. 

“I told you not to touch him.” Andrew’s voice froze the blood in Aaron’s veins. Stalking forward from the corner he’d been standing in, he moved to stand in front of Aaron. Cold brown eyes identical to Aaron’s own now held his gaze. Aaron wanted to look away but, as always, there was something about his brother’s eyes that never failed to command his attention. 

“How’s he going to play if he’s medicated?” Kevin asked. Aaron felt his heart sink. After spending two years with him, Aaron should have known better than to expect Kevin to care about anything other than Exy but he couldn’t help it. Just as he’d begun to think that the last few months had meant something, Kevin squashed the tiny bud of hope that had blossomed in Aaron’s heart.  

“How are you going to play if I break your other arm?” Andrew snarled. Aaron watched the color drain from Kevin’s face. A part of him wanted to smirk in Kevin’s face. It served the asshole right. All Kevin ever thought about was Exy. Exy and himself. Half of the things the foxes had been through could have been avoided had it not been for Kevin. They wouldn’t have suffered the graffiti attacks nor would they have been constantly dogged by the media. They sure as shit wouldn’t have had Neil and the mafia to contend with had Kevin not been such a selfish asshole, insisting on dragging that good-for-nothing junkie out of the middle of bumfuck Arizona. 

A larger part of Aaron wanted to cradle Kevin in his arms and protect him from Andrew’s wrath. Had Kevin not run, Aaron would never have had the chance to feel the press of Kevin’s vodka drenched lips on his. He definitely wouldn’t have had the chance to hear the soft keening moans that fell from Kevin’s lips when Aaron fucked into him. Worst of all, there would be no soft smiles or lazy kisses before Kevin drifted off to sleep.  

“Andrew,” Neil’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. Well, not really. Neil’s voice was always gentle when he spoke to Andrew. Gentle and tender and full of love. Aaron couldn’t help but notice the way his brother’s brow softened and his shoulders drooped. Fuck you, Neil Josten. 

The door down the hall slammed shut. The sound of Coach Wymack’s footsteps echoed in the silence. Taking a moment to glance around the assemblage, Wymack read the room and decided it was best not to say anything. Instead, he held out a plastic bag. Aaron’s hand shook as he accepted it. A paper bag resided within the first. Extracting it, Aaron read the label. He’d seen the label a thousand times before but, up until today, it had always borne his brother’s name. 

Pills rattled ominously inside. Sweat slicked Aaron’s palms. Upending the second bag, the sight of the orange bottle jarred Aaron to his core. Andrew took the bottle from Aaron’s lap and squatted in front of him. 

“Two pills in the morning after breakfast,” he said. 

“And two again at 4,” Aaron finished. Andrew pried Aaron’s hand open before unscrewing the cap. Tipping two pills into Aaron’s palm, Andrew lay a hand on the back of his neck. Aaron knew his brother struggled to express his emotions but this was one gesture Aaron had learnt to recognize. It was a gesture of comfort meant to offer support. Staring into his brother’s eyes, Aaron forced himself to bring the pills to his lips. He swallowed them dry, painfully aware of every inch of their passage down his throat. 

Anyone watching knew that Aaron’s descent into madness was swift. Aaron himself didn’t know that, though. To him, time seemed to slow. Staring down at his hands, Aaron flexed his fingers. Were those his fingers? Maybe. Maybe not. Aaron opened his mouth and felt the skin around it stretch. Laughter bubbled out of him at the odd sensation. 

“Aaron?” Nicky asked. Aaron turned his gaze to his cousin and a smile split his face. Once again, the odd sensation of his skin drawing taut left him in a fit of giggles.

“It hurts,” Aaron said. 

“What hurts?” Kevin demanded. 

“Looking at your face,” Aaron replied. Had the words passed anyone else’s lips, Kevin’s anger might have flared to life. Instead, any remaining signs of life seemed to drain from him. Now it really did hurt.

Nicky had always told Aaron that if you looked at something over and over again, you would eventually get it. Perhaps it was because seeing the reward would motivate a person to work towards their goal, but no matter how much Aaron looked at Kevin nor how hard he worked, Aaron knew Kevin would never truly be his. Why he kept tormenting himself by staring at him, Aaron didn’t know. Maybe he was just as self-destructive as Andrew. 

Sadness welled up in Aaron’s chest. A bone deep yearning had settled into him long ago but he suddenly felt the full intensity of- 

“Stickball!” Aaron cried as Neil wheeled the racquet cart out. Rocketing out of his seat, Aaron caught his brother’s arm and yanked it hard. “Andy, come play stickball with me!” 

“Play what?” Kevin squawked.

“Who?” Andrew choked at the same time. 

“Stickball, Andy,” Neil said. A smile curled the edges of his lips. Kevin opened his mouth to say something but Aaron didn’t stick around to hear. Instead, he followed after Neil chanting ‘Stick! Ball! Stick! Ball!’, dragging Andrew along behind him. 

So that gives you a general idea of Aaron’s madness.

Unlike Andrew, Aaron doesn’t really fight his meds. Where Andrew was terrified of not being able to properly watch out for his family, Aaron finds himself freed from all his anxieties. As such, he’s quite content with drifting through his life. I’ve always hc’d the twins as ADHD but are undiagnosed so it’s just a more intense version of how he normally is.

In the last two years, Aaron’s managed to make quite a few friends so they do their best to support him. Since he can’t focus very well and is no longer burdened by his anxieties, I feel like he also kinda relaxes around them??? Like he’s not as awkward. Very easy, breezy, joking around all the time. They really enjoy how much he’s opened up but they care a lot about him and are scared because they don’t know how to help him with class. What ends up happening is Katelyn is an absolute sweetheart. She convinces all of their friends to sit at the front of the room to record the lectures and upload them to a drive along with any extra notes that’ll help Aaron.

All the Foxes have to go to tutoring but Aaron’s tutor gave up the second he started his meds. After getting special permission from Wymack, they cut that time out and changed up the practice schedules a bit so Aaron could get out early and head back to Fox Tower. Once he’s made it through withdrawal, Katelyn will sit him down and help him work through his assignments. She’s a godsend. 

Aaron is usually off his meds on weekends. He usually goes out to Columbia with the Monsters. He still dances with Nicky and has his fair share of fun. They go to the mall pretty often bc there’s a carousel with spinning tea cups. The twins have spent an entire afternoon riding the spinning tea cups, competing to see who hurls first. Aaron almost always wins. Andrew will take him out late Saturday nights and speed down closed sections of highways or do donuts in parking lots because they're both dumbasses with death wishes. 

One weekend a month, Aaron remains at Fox Tower with Katelyn for spa day where they wax poetic about their respective crushes. Kate’s got a bit of a thing for a boy on the lacrosse team. Aaron screams bc he hates the guy. One time, at a party, the dude was talking to Kevin, shit talking both Kayleigh and Exy, completely unaware of exactly who he was talking to. Kevin ended up with a blackeye but the lacrosse kid couldn’t play for nearly two months. 

Speaking of Kevin, he’s only thing that ever seems to hold any of Aaron’s attention. He’s just so… pretty. If Exy is Neil’s shiny object, then Kevin is Aaron’s. Since Aaron makes even less of an effort to pay attention than Andrew did, there's times when he straight up can’t play. It infuriates Kevin to the point where Aaron gets pulled off the court. At first he doesn’t mind because it means that he can sit back and watch Kevin without any fear of getting caught. However, ever since he got put on his meds, Kevin hasn’t touched him. Not even in a non-sexual way. Before, there were casual touches: a hand on the small of Aaron’s back, shoulders pressed together as they squished into a booth, ankles hooked beneath the table. Now? There’s nothing. Kevin leaves a conspicuous space between himself and Aaron and it’s the only thing Aaron can feel anymore. 

So he starts paying attention on the court. Whenever they have a scrimmage, Aaron makes sure that he’s marking Kevin. Everytime Kevin crashes into him, Aaron’s consciousness slams back into his body. The heat of Kevin’s skin on his, their limbs tangled together, their ragged breaths intermingling, their helmets the only thing keeping their mouths from colliding together. Those little encounters are the only times when Aaron finally feels like himself. Those little encounters only last a few seconds and leave Aaron craving more, more, more. 

Aaron noticed that medicated Andrew was always brushing up against Neil but he’d never really thought much of it. Now he understood. Andrew had craved Neil just as Aaron craved Kevin. 

Speaking of Neil, he and Aaron get along well? I feel like Aaron is just as much of a smart mouth as Neil so the two of them just go around roasting the shit out of everyone. The drugs don’t change Aaron’s opinion of Neil but he begins to understand why Andrew broke their deal. Realizing that Neil didn’t steal his brother from him, Aaron starts to see the appeal in him. He’s stupid and funny and actually kind of pretty. Not as pretty as Kevin but pretty nonetheless. On weekends in Columbia, Aaron begins to notice all the things Neil does for his brother. Neil wakes up early in the morning to make breakfast and spends hours in the kitchen baking. He always picks up an extra pint of ice cream at the store and takes photos of stray cats to send Andrew. One time, Aaron couldn’t sleep and went to the kitchen for some water. His heart almost stopped when he heard Andrew’s rumbling laughter. Sneaking a peek around the corner, his heart really did stutter. Neil was standing on Andrew’s feet as he waltzed around the kitchen to the soft strains of music flowing from the radio. After aaron’s heart restarted, he hurried away because OH MY GOD ANDREW WAS LAUGHING AND DANCING AND HOLDING NEIL SO TENDERLY AND OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD

Okay so maybe Neil did sic the mafia on them but he also makes Andrew happy so that evens it out right? It’s v slow but Aaron is very slowly learning to accept Neil.

Slipping back to his room, Aaron placed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart racing a mile a minute. Off his meds, Aaron found it hard to stem the surge of jealousy threatening to overwhelm him. He was glad Andrew had found someone who loved him the way he deserved to be but didn’t Aaron deserve love too? 

A soft knock sounded behind him. Aaron nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound. Oh, fuck. What it was Andrew? What if he’d seen him? With shaking hands, Aaron opened the door. For the second time that night, Aaron’s heart stopped. 

Vodka stained lips crashed against his. Aaron’s mouth opened on impact and he felt the warm slide of Kevin’s tongue on his. A moan tore from Kevin, reverberating down Aaron’s thought. It was a shot right to his core. Suddenly, Aaron’s clothes felt too tight, his body too warm. Grabbing the collar of Kevin’s shirt, Aaron hauled him into the room. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Aaron panted as he tore himself away from Kevin.

“Missed you,” Kevin slurred as he leaned back in. Aaron shoved him away, sending Kevin crashing into the wall. The look of anguish that washed over Kevin’s features threatened to tear Aaron’s heart out of his chest. 

“You haven’t come near me in months,” Aaron hissed. “Why now?” Kevin opened his mouth but nothing came out. He tried two more times before dropping his gaze. 

“Because I got scared.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Kevin retreated into his shoulders. “No one’s ever made me feel like this before. All day, all night, you’re all I ever think about.”

“You don’t think about me on the court,” Aaron sneered.

“And you don’t watch me from the sidelines.” Aaron felt the blood rush to his face. It had been years since Aaron had prayed but now he begged God to bend the shadows of his room to hide the burning of his ears. “Exy was all I’ve ever had. Back then, I played to stay alive but now… now I play because I know you can’t take your eyes off me when I do.” Kevin reached out slowly, giving Aaron time to move away. Relief flooded his face when Aaron didn’t flinch. As Kevin’s hand cupped his face, Aaron leaned into the touch. Pulling their bodies flush against one another, Kevin bent down enough to rest his forehead against Aaron’s. “I don’t want Exy to be the only thing I love anymore.”

“Then pick something,” Aaron whispered. He could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage as though it was trying to escape. He knew what was coming but nothing prepared him for actually hearing it.  

“ I pick you,” Kevin replied. Their lips collided once more and Aaron let Kevin steer them to the bed. Collapsing onto it in a tangle of limbs, Aaron felt like himself for the first time in months.  

[agirlunderarock]

How I accidentally wrote 20 page paper on Boromir for one of my Final Ever University Papers PART 2

So this took me 5ever because I had to go through my actual paper again to find the sources and the citations I had, and then throw out the academic fluffer I had to speak with. But anyway just be prepared for a long ass read because we gotta touch on nearly every source I argued with in this post before getting to the good stuff. If you haven’t read Part 1 well here it is

Okay Okay where was I?

I said that academics were wrong with how they were judging Boromir right? Is that where I left off? Well thats where I’m starting

So before I go further I need to explain that the main premise for my paper is an argument to characterize Boromir with loyalty and fear, instead of power hungry and whatever the hell used, and then throw out this good vs. evil binary that’s often used to describe the lord of the rings- because lets be real, it looks like that on the surface but everyone has their ups and downs at least once or twice, and if not within the Lord of the Rings, it comes from books that are set in previous ages. 

ANYWAY

Keep the fear and loyalty things in mind alright?

Fear sounds like an odd choice for a character I’m supposed to be defending right? I know.

We’ll get to that just bear with me. 

So in order to say that academics were wrong, I first had to look at where they were coming from and try to see what textual evidence they had. Because if you’ve done academic research, you know how important textual evidence is. 

So while finding literally nothing that focused specifically on Boromir, I found  J.R.R. Tolkien Encyclopedia : Scholarship and Critical Assessment by Michael D. C. Drout, which I still have questions about but hey it was a good starting point. You would think that a whole Encyclopedia dedicated to Tolkien would have more than a handful of entries dedicated to Boromir. I mean mentioning him in Gondorian politics or relations with Rohan or even Boromir I instead of just Boromir II but heres the thing, IN THE WHOLE IN ENCYCLOPEDIA HE WAS ONLY MENTIONED 8 TIMES.

THE NAME BOROMIR (which in this document only refers to Boromir II) ONLY APPEARS IN EIGHT ENTRIES.

You know what those entries are? 

‘double of,’ - okay what the fuck does that mean?

 I honestly don’t remember what it means I think it had to do with character foils, you know like how Neville is a foil for Harry in Harry Potter? If I remember correctly, it identified the common foils, Gandalf v. Saruman, Frodo v. Gollum and Aragorn v. Boromir. I could be totally wrong about this, its been exactly a year and I didn’t focus on this entry.

 ‘Faramir and,’- yes we know Boromir is Faramir’s older brother. What else ya got?

 ‘herosim of,’- Ah yes sounds promising

And you think it would shed some positive light on our boy right? RIGHT? Heres what the entry said per the quote in paper “It is in fact Boromir’s desire for the victory of Minas Tirith and his own glory there in that motivates his own grasp for the ring: the heroic motivations of fame, reward, and revenge (in this case on Sauron)” ( Drout 270 ).  

LIKE EXCUSE ME WHAT THE FUCK- sorry wait, let me show you how I rephrased that for academic purposes:  This description does not actually describe Boromir as being heroic, but later explains why these descriptions of heroism are actually evil compared to characters like Aragorn, Frodo, Gimli and the rest of the Fellowship.

 ‘penance of,’- Yet another character who achieves redemption through death. Great. I hate it. Shut up. Kill this trope.

 and finally,  ‘tyranny of.’- yes because Boromir was obviously a tyrant, but I say again SHOW ME TEXTUAL EVIDENCE

AND I’M TALKING ONLY ABOUT THE BOOKS HERE REMEMBER ALL OF THIS IS INFORMATION ON THE BOOKS. like there were entries on things from the movies, and even fanfiction, but THESE ENTRIES WERE BUILT ON RESOURCES THAT BUILT ARGUMENTS ABOUT THE BOOKS

I’m getting off track here

SO 

ANYWAYS

At the end of each of those entries were list of sources that the author used to create those entries. So guess what that meant- Ya girl was hand delivered sources to search for and hopefully they had some specific pages references for me to look up within the actual book series. At least you would think thats what I found, but NOOOOOOOOO, what I actually found is that EVERY SINGLE REFERENCED SOURCE CHARACTERIZED BOROMIR ONLY BY HIS ATTEMPT TO TAKE THE RING FROM FRODO.

Thats like living your whole life and having people who say they know you intimately (not in the romantic sense in the knows you to your core sense) BUT the only thing they really know about you is that one time in pre-school you tried to draw a rocket on the wall but actually it looked like a penis thats the only thing anyone will remember you for. I didn’t do this by the way, nor know anyone who did this but some kid somewhere probably did

But you know me at this point I had to check the sources and see what they were saying. So I took up Patrick Grant’s  “Tolkien: Archetype and Word,” where he talks mostly about Frodo. I know its a stretch BUT he talks about loyalty specifically Sam’s loyalty to Frodo, and remember we want to establish that Boromir is incredibly loyal, so we have to see what he’s actually up against according to the critics

“…Sam Gamgee, whose part is least publicly acclaimed of all, but who in the sense in which we are now using the word, is especially heroic. His unfailing devotion to Frodo is exemplary, and here again Sam is a key link in bring the meaning of the book to the reader, the everyman who admires great deeds but wonders what his own part might be in important events which seem well enough wrought without him” ( 180 ).  

Okay that seems fair from how Tolkien himself has talked about Sam right. And you’re probably like okay, but what the fuck does that have to do with Boromir? Literally just further down the page  he says:

“…. The fellowship breaks only when the bond of obedience is broken, as it is by Boromir, whose pride and lust for personal power are evidence of false heroism” (180).

LUST FOR PERSONAL POWER???? PRIDE?????

SHOW ME THE PAGES SIR

GIVE THEM TO ME

I know you’re probably thinking, ‘but wait he’s actually kinda right-”

WRONG

Its anxiety, I’m telling you

I counted 

its fear and anxiety

but again I’m getting a head of myself. Basically Grant just took a shat on Boromir to make Sam look good.

EXCUSE ME SIR SAM IS A GODDAMN MASTERPIECE ON HIS OWN THANKS. DON’T TRASH BOROMIR TO COMPLIMENT SAM. Also be wary of people who do this in general, if they put someone else down instead of just out right complimenting you take it as a warning

Oh and did I mention that because Grant says Boromir is technically being selfish, another critics analysis makes Boromir Evil, because acts done out of selfish pursuits are seen as evil and a “perversion of human will.” But you know, thats just how it be sometimes when you’re putting literature in conversation with one another.

Just know I pick on Grant a lot, mostly because he says shit like this:  “…the most blinding love derives directly from such obedience,” (180). when it comes to Sam, and then takes a shit on Boromir. Like we’re going to come back to the obedience thing in a little bit, but just know that Merry, Pippin, Faramir, Eowyn, Even Sam at one point, and I mean I guess by some extension movie!Arwen take a big ‘ol shit on the idea that the only way to be heroic is to be OBEDIENT.

I get it, its another Catholic thing. I’m Catholic, I know what its getting at. But consider- no

Basically I boil this shit down to one thing

Sam Only Owes Loyalty To Frodo.

Literally his main concern throughout the book is Frodo and then the Shire and what that encompasses. So yeah its easy to be loyal and obedient to someone who shares all the same ideas and values as you and has a pretty similar lived experience right??? ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY And before anyone says Sam was loyal to the fellowship, Sam would literally cut a bitch for Frodo. He woulda fought Aragorn in the Prancing Pony if he thought he had to. He gave a second thought to Merry and Pippin when they left the Fellowship, but it wasn’t a “we should go back for them all or wait for them” It was “i’m gonna support mr. Frodo, even if Idon’t much like the gollum creature he decided to drag around but fair i guess cuz none of us know the fucking way into Mordor.” 

So I made a chart to demonstrate why comparing Boromir and Sam is a big no no, and what kinda things Boromir was working with the whole time he was part of the fellowship.

Did I forget to mention that this was supposed to be a visual research paper?

So Sam and Frodo had a lot of the same Fears and values.

Our Boy Boromir over here has to deal with being a political/military figure, meet the demands of his father, he’s gotta try to be a good brother, he’s gotta learn to get along with the fellowship, and then each of those new or old loyalties has different responsibility and expectations he’s supposed to meet. And because I had to include Aristotelian ideas as part of the class, to quote myself: Despite the Aristotelian concept that it is impossible to be a virtuous friend to many, Boromir’s actions throughout The Fellowship of the Ring show him attempting to do this ( Aristotle 9 ). Like thats literally why he ends up a member of the Fellowship, he’s a little unsure of this plan, but hey its the best one he’s heard and if everyone thinks its going to work then by golly he’ll see it done. But again Aristotle (just in your head pronounce it like chipotle for me please) wants to try to establish a structure that I think is stoopid, he’s got a thing that says  “it is a more terrible thing to defraud a comrade than a fellow-citizen, more terrible not to help a brother than a stranger, and more terrible to wound a father than any one else” (15). 

So remember those loyalties in the little blue squiggles up in the picture, we already know that Denethor, and Faramir bump heads a little, and then the soldiers serving with Boromir probably have their own ideas about how Gondor should be defended, and then he goes to the Council of Elrong and they’re saying something completely different from what he’s heard- theres a lot of threads pulling the Captain in different directions. He’s got a lot hats to wear and demands to fulfill and living under the shadow of Mordor with all of those responsibilities is bound to give anyone anxiety. 

But don’t just take my word for it

The movie actually reinforces this. I know the book says Boromir was “...pierced with many black feathered arrows” But the movie specifically makes it 3

Now I’m sure Mr. Peter Jackson didn’t intend for what I’m about to say, but I think its a pretty cool notion to think about. Because you can summarize Boromir’s conflicting loyalties into “family’ ‘country’ and “Fellowship’. Like his father would have him bring the ring to Gondor, his role as a military/political figure for Gondor means he should be doing whatever he has to in order to protect his country, and the Fellowship is like nah man we destroy this thing and everything else will fall into place, and Boromir is left having to decide whih of these things to act upon. Family, Country, and the Fellowship are the competing signs that make up is character arc, and his grapple with these three things is ultimately what leads to his death.

Now if your thinking family and country should be lumped together- theres a reason for it, just trust me, bare with me please

But basically what I’m trying to get at is given all these factors, you can’t compare a character like Boromir with all these responsibilities hanging off him to be comparable to Sam whose only responsibility is Frodo. 

But you know who does share all these same demands

Faramir

Like take a look at their character arcs- if you can the text on this next pic is super teeny

If thats too small for you don’t worry about it because we’re gonna get into why Faramir is a better foil for Boromir, and how this should affect the way we as the reader come to understand his character. So fun stuff in the next part! Sorry for dragging this out, but just like my original paper, this turned out to be WAY longer than I expected. 

[roseyturtles]

Good Morning Lads

I just thought of a possible plot to Deltarune’s full story and broke my own heart.

The demo? Monday. You go to the dark world every day until Friday. Every day you take a new companion from the classroom with you; Tuesday it will probably be Noelle, Wednesday it might be Jockington or Berdly or that cat on her phone whose name I can’t remember off the top of my head, and so on and so forth. Every time you bring in a new party member the Dark World will have changed drastically and will present you with a series of challenges that ultimately have symbolic relevance to your lightener party member’s life. For example, if Noelle joins your team, it’s likely the Queen will arrive to fight at the end of it all, which addresses the fact that Noelle has a lot of trouble with her mother. Unlike the King, however, the Queen will likely be more reasonable, and it will probably be something Noelle says that finally dissuades her of her crusade. Then, yadda yadda yadda, everyone cheers and breaks open champagne bottles, the day is saved once again, you seal up the fountain, you go home.

Of course, all the while, you’re gathering little bits and pieces about Dark World lore. Why are the kings so alright with being locked away? Why does the dark world change so much? What exactly were the darkeners supposed to do for the lighteners? Is there a reason the dark world presents itself only to those desperately in need of a turn around in their life? You can explore as far as being right next to the answers, but not quite having them. In all your investigation you find out that there’s someone pulling the strings behind it all. Someone who exists between worlds...

But Kris doesn’t care. And a word about Kris---they and Ralsei are the only constants in The Dark World. Of course, we all know exactly why that is: Kris is having problems without Asriel around, lashing out in strange and frightening ways. Ralsei is a temporary substitute for Asriel. He doesn’t come close to the real thing: No, never; but he’s the best Kris can have for a companion. Each time Kris goes to the dark world Ralsei helps them become more and more independent in their life without Asriel.

In all this complicated mess there’s only one thing that remains simple: Your daily playdates with a little skeleton called Papyrus. He’s younger than Kris in this game, young enough to be in Toriel’s class (Though he’s probably just a year away from graduating into Alphys’s class.) Every day you go over to Sans and Papyrus’s house and you play superheroes or racecars or spaceman with him, and all the while you talk about your favorite foods, your favorite games, your family...your memories. And you get just the barest impression that maybe, just maybe, these skeletons aren’t as happy as they’re letting on.

Finally Friday rolls around, the big pompous grand finale. You guide the final classmate through the dark world, they work out whatever personal issues they’re going through, the day is saved, the fountain is sealed, the world is safe forever and ever. Even Ralsei says something to the effect of “We’re okay now. The time of heroes is coming to an end. I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time together, but...I think you’re ready to go on without me, Kris.” And it’s all one big emotionally satisfying moment, because you know the inhabitants of the dark world are safe. If you were playing as Frisk or Chara, they would be fine with this ending. They saved the world, they can go home happy...but then, you’re not, are you? You’re playing as Kris. The one who knows exactly what it feels like to be pulled by puppet strings. Yes, the inhabitants of the dark world are safe. But they are not yet free.

So comes Saturday. Picture this for a moment with me: Kris wakes up far, far too early. 5am, perhaps. It’s storming outside. The orange leaves on the trees are nearly fallen off to give way to black bark. The town is silent. Empty. ...abandoned. Kris makes their way to the school without any input from the player, and with three strong hits, they break the locked doors wide open. You regain control of Kris for a moment, and you can go to each of the classrooms one last time for some extra dialogue, but ultimately you know what must be done. With no hesitation, Kris goes into the Janitor’s closet, and, as if practiced, jumps down.

The dark world, too, is far too empty and quiet. The areas you went through on each day now seem to have...melted together? A horrible amalgamation, a corruption of what was once pure and good, as if the entire place is screaming “You should not be here.” Finally you reach the castle, the final sanctity of sanity, and at the top floor you face your foe...

...

Papyrus?

No. No, this can’t be right.

Even Kris is taken back by the little boy’s presence. When he turns around, he looks tense, and not a little bit scared. Instantly you’re in a fight with him. The most difficult fight you’ve had so far. He’s silent all throughout. Kris ACTs over and over again, trying to get him to explain why he’s here, what he’s doing, is he the puppet master?! ...after several rounds he finally says something.

“...THIS IS ALL JUST A GAME. THAT’S ALL IT’S EVER BEEN. YOU KNOW THIS.”

“MY DAD...HE KNOWS THIS BETTER THAN ANYONE. HE’S THE ONE WHO MAKES ALL THESE GAMES AFTER ALL.”

“DON’T YOU SEE? IF I DON’T KEEP PLAYING ALONG, HE’LL RESET EVERYTHING.”

“HE’LL CRUMBLE UP THIS WORLD LIKE PAPER AND THROW IT IN THE TRASH, AND THEN HE’LL JUST DRAW A NEW ONE. LIKE THIS ONE DIDN’T EVEN EXIST.”

“...AND WE’LL BE ALL ALONE AGAIN. ALL ALONE WITHOUT YOU, KRIS.”

“AND THAT’S NOT ALL---KRIS, HE’LL GO AFTER YOUR FAMILY TOO!”

“HE’LL GO AFTER YOUR DAD AND YOUR MOM, A-AND...AND ASRIEL, TOO. HE’LL DO SOMETHING TERRIBLE TO ASRIEL IN THE NEW WORLD.”

“SO JUST GO!!!”

“LEAVE!!!”

“...”

“PLEASE, KRIS...YOU’RE THE FIRST PERSON WHO’S EVER LISTENED TO ME.”

“YOU’RE THE FIRST PERSON WHO’S EVER PLAYED WITH ME.”

“I DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOU...”

“PLEASE...I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE AGAIN...”

His attacks get weaker and weaker as he starts to break down, until finally he collapses. Kris, without any input from the player, goes up to Papyrus and hugs him. They stay like that for a little while, then the little skeleton pulls away and wipes his face. Kris and Papyrus both agree to stand up to the people controlling them, together. So this time, instead of sealing the dark fountain, you actually step inside of it.

From there you’re transported to a completely black room. You have to wander around for a little while before you find a computer---just an ordinary computer, at first, but when you interact with it---

The world turns off.

The world turns back on.

Dr. W.D. Gaster stands in front of you instead.

Of course from here you have a battle, and I’m sure Gaster does a lot of infodumping on why exactly he resets world after world and all that, and Papyrus stands up to him and says why this isn’t right, but even if I knew the Good Doctor’s motives, I wouldn’t want to spoil them, nor do I really have the energy to even really do so right now. All I know is, during the fight, your control over Kris gets weaker and weaker as they start to take their body back. Your choices from there are to try and keep controlling Kris, or to take a step back and let them have their freedom. Either way, Kris eventually wins out. Naturally, depending on how hard you fought, what Kris says to you afterwards changes, but after all is said and done, both you and Gaster are pulled away from the strings. Kris then releases you, the SOUL, to go off into the wild blue yonder...

The final cutscene shows how each of your companions are changing their world in little ways. Things aren’t perfect, not by a long shot, but nothing is ever completely perfect. Susie is shown in some nicer clothes, eating a ham sandwich with Noelle by her side. Noelle and Rudolph are shown talking to Noelle’s mother. (I’m not sure who the other companions will be but whatever they are and their issues are we’ll yadda yadda them.) Papyrus is shown playing superheroes with other kids his age while Sans watches on the stairs. Kris gets the most screentime, of course. They’re sharing a pie with Toriel when there’s a knock on the door---it’s Asgore. Toriel reluctantly lets him in. Asgore apologizes for harassing her before and thanks her for letting him visit. She sighs and says something to the effect of “Yes, well. We both love Kris. One visit on their behalf is not so bad I suppose. But I do expect you to stop sending flowers.” They share pie a little longer, and there’s another knock on the door. “I wonder who that could be...? Kris, do you mind answering it?”

A few beats as Kris goes to answer the door. When it opens...Asriel stands there.

“Hey, mom. Hey, dad. Hey, Kris. Am I too late for pie?”

Roll credits.

[justsomebucky]

The Truth Is (Part 6)

Summary: Canon(ish). Captain America calls on reader to help his best friend uncover a major scandal. If reader succeeds, the former Winter Soldier might finally be vindicated. Failure is not an option when the truth is at stake.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,897

Warnings: language, timeline manipulation, i’m winging it, guns, gun violence, espionage-y stuff, mentions of death, mentions of murder

A/N: This is part 6 for Mee’s canon writing challenge. It’s been four months, but I had zero motivation. Catch up in the masterlist. Also, this gif is an awesome coincidence since Tony’s back.

Bucky knew you were gone.  

It wasn’t because of the silence; no, that was thanks to the fact that the man on the floor at his feet was lying motionless in a pool of his own blood. That was thanks to the fact that Kozlov’s men had emptied the hotel of workers and other guests in order to ambush the both of you without any witnesses. In fact, they were probably still running around looking for him.

He knew you were gone, and he knew it was his fault.

Dammit, it had been a good day, a productive day…The two of you had managed to get the witness on her way to safety, something that had seemed impossible at first.

The two of you worked well together. It was the first time he’d connected with anyone new in decades…and then…

The first guy had appeared out of nowhere and struck him in his head, giving him one of the worst fucking headaches of his life. After he’d kept the guy away from you, and thank god he had stayed conscious for that, he used his metal arm to give the guy a permanent headache of his own. It was sloppy, it was brutal, but it did the trick.

He’d been so preoccupied, seeing red and wanting to end the man who’d tried to harm you that he’d sent you into the direction of more danger.

You hadn’t screamed, hadn’t cried out for him or for anyone. You probably never even had the chance.

All Bucky had heard was the thump of your body hitting the carpeted floor, followed by some shuffling. Two voices were yelling in Russian, one of which was female and sounded almost familiar, but that had to have been his jumbled brain playing tricks on him.

If only he’d talked you out of coming on this trip at all…what good did it to for anyone to get close to him? You’d been so goddamn confident, so sure that the two of you could take on Secretary Ross, Kozlov, hell, even the entire Russian branch of Hydra.

What good had it done you to try to help him?

You weren’t dead, of that he was sure. If you had been killed, he’d have felt it somehow. He had really good instincts after all the fucking years in the Army and as the Soldier. No, you were alive and in trouble with all the odds stacked against you.

His fists closed tightly as he stepped around the body to grab the dead man’s gun. All the tech Shuri had loaned you had been stolen, and most of the contents of his suitcase and yours were scattered throughout the room in pieces.

It wasn’t an unusual sight, not the destroyed room nor the dead body.

Bucky was used to the death and killing. He was used to the sudden disappearances of comrades. What he could never get used to, though he’d been through it before with Steve, with so many people, was the feeling of emptiness he got when he let someone down.

A flash of your face on the first day he met you danced across his memory. You had smiled at him, smiled so brightly that he thought maybe you had powers like Wanda and had read his brain in that moment. He wondered if you’d heard his thoughts, the ones where he called you beautiful and reminded himself three times not to stutter when he said hello. But no, you were just that wonderful.

You were just a genuinely bright spot in a cold universe.

Bucky let out a breath and his shoulders sagged just a little.

He thought he could protect you.

He thought that as long as he was there, you were safe.

He was wrong, and now you were gone, your brightness at risk to be snuffed out forever.

With one last glance around the trashed room, he tucked the gun in his waistband and stalked out into the hall, where he was met with more of Kozlov’s men.

He had been too distracted to react quickly, but Bucky got a few good hits in before someone stabbed him in the chest, the neck, close to his spine…all sedatives, enough to bring down an elephant. They knew how much to use because they’d done this before...they’d probably done this to him before.

His last thought, the last thing to cross his mind right before they drugged him up enough to make him defenseless, was your beautiful face and your radiant smile.  

------

The second you opened your eyes, you knew you were in trouble.

Everything hurt, a telltale sign of being sedated and dragged to – you glanced around, blinking in the dim light – wherever you were.

You were lying still on an old, shabby cot in the corner of a small room with a threadbare blanket thrown haphazardly across your legs. Toward the door was a desk with a single lamp, and at that desk sat the last person you expected to see.

This wasn’t right. One piece of the plan had already gone wrong without you even realizing.

“What are you doing here?” you rasped, trying to fight your oncoming headache to sit up on the cot. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

Lina sat at the desk rolling a cigarette, stopping only long enough to eye you over her shoulder. “I grabbed you from the hotel so that they wouldn’t kill you. This is my own secret safe house.”

That didn’t answer your question at all.

“Why were you back at the hotel?”

“I saw the Russians at the train station, Y/N, and I’m good at my job. I knew something was going on, so I took a roundabout way back to your hotel. When I got there, it was swarming with Russians. I pretended to be on their team to get in. I’m sorry I drugged you, but I had to make it look convincing.”

Your feet slid to the floor as you finally sat upright, your hands steadying you for the moment. “Where’s Bucky?”

She turned back to her cigarette, licking the paper closed and lighting it before she stood up. Lina pushed her chair in with a metallic screech and moved to lean against the door frame. “They took him.”

“Who’s they?”

“Kozlov’s men. Any other questions? Or would you like me to just fill you in on my plan?”

Your head was already throbbing so hard your left eye was twitching. “By all means, continue.”

Lina took another puff, blowing the smoke out slowly before she set the cigarette down on the edge of the desk, ash falling to the floor below.

“My mother is still on her way to Brussels to meet your friends. I know they need her…you need her…so you won’t hurt her like the Russians or your Secretary Ross would.”

That made you sit up a little taller. Why would Lina be questioning all of that again? You and Bucky had spent an entire day trying to reassure her the plan was the best way, that Oksana’s information could save hundreds if not thousands of lives across the globe.

Why would she be questioning it again?

Lina took your silence as acceptance to continue. “We will find your soldier, I assure you. He is far too important to be left in the hands of those imbeciles.”

You were about to ask another question when your phone went off in your pocket. Tony’s name was on the screen and you pressed answer immediately, safe or not. Let them find you. Let them see you at your lowest and find out what you’re capable of.

“Tony?” You kept your eyes locked on Lina’s as you greeted your former boss.

“Y/N, thank god you’re all right. Steve’s here with me, we got word from Wanda that only Oksana made it to Brussels. Is the Winter Snowman with you?”

“No, Tony.”

“Put it on speaker,” Lina hissed, motioning to your phone.

You did as she asked, and Tony’s voice filled the room.

“No? That’s strange. Who was that talking just now then?”

“Lina,” you supplied. “Oksana’s daughter, the one we told you about? She came back and she grabbed me from the hotel before Kozlov’s men could but they got Bucky and most of our tech.”

Tony sighed audibly on the other end of the line. “Good thing I’m a billionaire. I swear, you act like all of that is just pennies to replace, Y/N, and –“

“Why are you calling,” you interrupted, not wanting your headache to get worse. “Any news?”

“Yeah, listen Y/N, Ross is in Vilnius with Evgeni Kozlov and they’re meeting tonight. One of my satellites picked up some heavy movement near Kozlov’s downtown office…armed guards, big trucks, the whole nine yards.”

Your chest tightened. All that security for two men having a secret meeting? No way would Ross draw attention to himself like that unless he absolutely needed the extra guns. “Bucky’s there, isn’t he?”

“Seems that way.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, running your free hand down your face.

“That’s not all. Some of the lines FRIDAY tapped indicated that there was a third party arriving, a potential buyer or something. I didn’t get any other details but this could be the big deal, the guy that’s orchestrated this entire operation. It just got a hundred times more dangerous.”

“I know that, Tony.”

“You need backup.”

“I have Lina. Bucky’s been taken. I can’t tell local authorities or even American authorities because then this entire operation is for nothing, Tony. What do you suggest?”

“Y/N, you don’t have to go it alone,” Steve’s soft voice sounded over the line. “You said it yourself, you aren’t a spy or a soldier. This is way too risky. Let us help you.”

“If the Avengers show up, our cover’s blown,” Lina commented, walking closer to stand in front of you. “We could use some behind-the-scenes help, though. How about you just work the other end?”

“Other end?” Steve asked. You were wondering the same thing.

“She means the systems,” Tony explained. “Breaking and entering, infiltrating their security cameras, controlling the uncontrollable, you know, a typical Saturday night.”

Lina’s lips curved into a strange smile. “Exactly. You stay in our ears, be our eyes, and when we give the signal, you do your best on the tech side.”

“Including unlocking Bucky from whatever prison they locked him in,” you added, giving the phone a light squeeze. If anyone could manage that, it would be Tony.

“Got it. Connect your earpiece and let’s get going.”

“Uh, Tony? They took all my tech, remember?”

“Not all of it.” Lina held up the two earpieces you and Bucky had given her and her mother at the train station.

You took one, grateful for some last-minute help on this mission. “Never mind that, we’re wired and ready. Let’s get this shitshow on the road.”

At this rate, if you made it out of this alive and managed to get Bucky’s name cleared it would be a miracle.

There was no way you’d give up now, though.

She handed you a spare gun, and you checked the safety before tucking it into your waistband.

“Are you ready?” Lina asked, one eyebrow arched as she grabbed what was left of her cigarette.

You gave a sharp nod. “Bucky’s waiting.”

-----

no tags

Part 7

Masterlist

[chezidency]

masks.

Victis Folles stood at the edge of the cave and watched the rain.

It wasn’t a proper downpour – just heavy enough to make the cave seem like a good idea. The rain fell over the gathered boughs of the Shroud, pooling together in thin streams that rolled off the bent branches in a series of little cascades.

He found the sight peaceful. He could use peaceful, after the last few days. They’d been eventful in the same way that a battlefield had been exciting.

Still, he’d made a friend, for the time being. She seemed nice enough – then again, anyone who didn’t immediately take out a weapon seemed nice enough, comparatively speaking.

This friend – one To’zi Dzoli – was seated near an impromptu campfire constructed near the back of the little hovel. She was sitting with both hands on one raised knee, the fingers interlaced, as she stared into the fire.

It had been some time since she’d traveled with anyone. It was equal parts thrilling and tiring. Victis was endlessly pleasant and polite, except when he was teasing her, which ought to make her angrier than it did. He’d also, on multiple occasions, proven himself to be – as far as she understood the concept – a gentleman; he made no untoward comments nor any attempts at untoward acts.

As far as she could tell, he was simply a friendly man whose life she happened to save. That’s all that seemed necessary for him to offer to accompany her on her travels through the shroud, to ensure her life was safe.

Two rolled, thick clothes had been laid out, one on either side of the fire. To’zi tapped her mask as she inspected the one nearest her. It was noticeably thicker and in better condition than the bedroll Victis was using; what was strange was that he had provided them both. Why hadn’t he taken the more comfortable one for himself?

She supposed it didn’t matter. She’d sleep well tonight; the sound of rain always lulled her into dozy slumber.

Victis came back into the cave, ducking to avoid the low-hanging entrance to the little hovel.

“Doing alright?” he asked, seating himself near the other bedroll. He started fishing around in his pack.

“Yes,” she murmured, glancing up at him through the mask.

He produced two packets, wrapped up in thin wax paper with a bit of red string. He handed one of them to To’zi and unwrapped the other, revealing it to be strips of salted, dried fish.

“Not the finest rations in Eorzea, but they’ll keep you full,” he said, almost sheepishly.

They ate in silence, To’zi lifting up her mask to bite, then dropping it again before she began to chew.

“So,” Victis began, and she tensed, a bite halfway to her mouth. Here it is, she thought, here’s where he proves himself to have a motive after all. Here’s –

“Why do you wear the mask?” he continued, tapping at his cheek with one finger.

She blinked, behind the aforementioned mask.

“Sorry if it’s personal, I just – I’ve never seen a mask like it before, really,” he said.

“O-oh,” To’zi stammered. If one were in tune with the inner chords of the soul, somewhere nearby To’zi right now one would hear the squealing of skidding noises as she tried to change conversational tracks. “Well, it’s…it’s a symbol of my people, really.”

“Your…people?”

“Yes, a tribe of other Xaela,” To’zi said. She didn’t talk about them much. Oh, she thought about them; she thought about them all the time, and whether or not she was doing them proud, being the last of them. She thought about them often, and sometimes, though she’d never admit it out loud, the thoughts felt like weights. “The Dzoli, they were called.”

Victis was not, by most standards, a spectacularly observant man, unless it was during a fight. The fact that he spotted the past tense, she discovered, surprised her.

“Were?” he asked, quietly.

“Were, yes,” she murmured. “As far as I know.”

He watched her for a little while, idly chewing a new bite of fish. The mood had grown considerably heavier, and all Victis knew to do with anything heavy was lift.

“Have you got another one?” he asked, finally.

“What?”

“Another mask, I mean.”

“Oh, er…” She reached into her own pack and found another mask. It was slightly different; the markings were the same but a blue jewel glittered on the forehead.

“Can I see it?” he asked, reaching out a hand as he sat up.

“I—”

“I’m not going to harm it, I promise,” he said, drawing a little “x” over his chest with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

“You will hope to die if you break it,” she muttered, handing it over to him.

“I’d best not break it, then,” he said. There was a bit of string attached to the mask, and if he was careful…

To’zi stared at him.

“Does it make you feel less lonely?” asked Victis, from behind the mask.

She continued staring. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Victis began to wonder if he’d done the wrong thing.

“It does…help,” she said, finally. “I…yes, I think it does.”

It did, really. Seeing someone else in the mask, even if it wasn’t a Dzoli, made her feel less odd for wearing it, and by her reckoning that counted close enough to “less alone.”

She could see his cheeks curl behind the mask; he must’ve been grinning. She was surprised to discover she was grinning too; in fact, a little laugh bubbled up from her chest, and glittered in the air between them, proverbially speaking.

“Good,” he said. “I’d best get used to wearing it, then.”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Five Dates

Author: @kpopfanfictrash , as part of the Bound series with @underthejoon 

Creative Content Contributor: @m00nk1ld FOR THIS PERFECT, BEAUTIFUL MOODBOARD.

Rating: 18 + (explicit sex, dirty talk)

Word Count: 17,578

Summary:   “Ten dates,” he nods, smile tugging at his lips. “Ten dates, to decide if you want this – want me – or want me to go. Ten dates to get to know me. Ten dates,” he says, oddly soft, “to fall in love with me.”

Which then becomes five. (Arranged Marriage!AU)

Looking up from your desk, you note your office seems empty.

The thought is, in itself, a silly one. Usually you simply brush it aside but for some reason, the notion keeps on presenting itself to you today. You were chatting in Sarah’s office earlier, visiting the cubicle she has on the fifth floor and couldn’t help but notice all the things stuck up on her walls; scribbled drawings made by her children, faded letters from co-workers. Tiny objects, small things to remember – there were things though, which is entirely different from your space.

Your office is bare. When you moved into this new building, it was your assistant Kyle, who bought everything. He peppered your walls as requested, laid them out precisely according to your instructions and guidelines. You wanted modern concepts, abstract ideas – murals which required thinking, when co-workers sat down in your office. It is not your personal taste, you note, looking around with dismay. You’re a bigger fan of the impressionists, in love with the romantics. Entirely opposite of your office – but then, everything about your life is carefully cultivated for work.

Sitting in your fancy, high-backed chair, you stare at the cityscape and wonder what will come next. You wonder – not for the first time this week, nor even today – what in the hell you’re doing. An arranged marriage is a good idea, at least it is on paper. Most of the men and women in your family have one, with your own parents being the shining paradigm and example.

“We didn’t love one another – not at first,” your mother loves to say, sliding her arm around the waist of your father. “No, definitely not love. It was during our first crisis though, when he came through for me. He supported and cared, and over time became my very best friend.”

You remember all the times that she’s said this, staring at the papers sprawled on top of your desk. Your mother and father are currently celebrating thirty-one years of happily wedded bliss. Your older sister just got engaged to her own prince charming, which leaves you the odd woman out – the odd, high-powered, executive woman. The woman who usually ends up intimidating men that she meets. A woman who, honestly, can’t seem to find another way of getting married.

Staring down at your desk, you shuffle the papers. Or, resumes, as you like to call them. Emailed by your parents, printed out by Kyle; all of them embossed on high-quality paper, detailing the hopes each one has for their lives and their wives. Each paper holds a man your parents have recommended. Whichever one is the most qualified, you’ve decided to marry. Just the thought makes you grimace. Qualified and recommended. You should like an interviewer, not a woman selecting her future husband.

Leaning back in your seat, you close your eyes. Lacing your fingertips tight across your stomach, the sound of a knock at the door is near-startling. “Come in,” you call out, not bothering to open your eyes. Likely, it is just Kyle, a man who has seen you in worse times than this.

The door opens and shuts, closing with a thud. When no one speaks, you frown. Kyle always is the one to greet you first. For him just to stand there is unusual, making you crack open an eye.

The person is not Kyle.

You realize this quickly, jerking upright for your feet to awkwardly fall to the floor. The man standing before you is unfamiliar – you should be scared by this fact; or at the very least, alarmed. “Hello,” you nod, shutting your laptop. “Nice to meet you.”

The man looks at the door, then to you. “Hello.”

Without moving, you survey his body. The man is good looking. Tall, broad-shouldered with a youthful complexion – though, perhaps this has more to do with his expression than age. The man appears perplexed, staring at you wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. You aren’t quite sure if he’s shocked or surprised.

Some would say there is not a difference, but you know these people are foolish. Surprise, is when you step into a room and discover a party. Shock, is when you step into a room and find there’s a snake.

Your lips curve upwards. “I wasn’t aware I had another meeting today,” you say, pushing yourself to stand.

“I wasn’t aware we would be meeting in your office,” the man shrugs, walking forward. “But then, nothing about this is usual – is it?”

Your brows shoot up. It has been a while, since someone dared to address to you like that. A long time, since someone even implied you were in the wrong, or that anything you care to do is odd. Truthfully, it feels kind of nice. You hate ass-kissing.

“Well.” Sitting back down, you stare at the man standing before you.  “That depends – what are you here to discuss?”

“Jungkook,” he supplies, taking a seat and slowly crossing his legs. “I’m here to discuss our engagement.”

It’s unfortunate that you’ve just had a sip of your coffee, since half of the drink comes right back up through your nose. “I’m so sorry,” you cough, waving aside his concern. “Our what, now?”

“Our engagement,” Jungkook reaffirms, smiling. “Did you see the resume my assistant scanned over?”

At this, you nearly laugh. Hearing Jungkook describe it as a resume is all too familiar. Now, you do look at him and see that he does look familiar. Leafing through the twenty or so papers laid out on your desk – you find him. Jeon Jungkook, his name written in bold black and white. His profile is arranged like a resume, and briefly, you wonder if he repurposed one for the other. His ‘about me’ blurb explains how he created a sports fantasy game in college. The game then went viral, became a worldwide phenomenon and led Jungkook to sell it, reaping in millions of dollars in profit. He’s currently retired, though he occasionally hires himself out for consultation on a variety of gaming projects.

Watching you read, Jungkook drapes one arm snugly across the back of his chair. “Did you find what you’re looking for?” he asks, struggling to suppress a smile.

You nod, continuing to read – and then freeze, spotting tiny, red letters at the bottom of the page. “Carlisle?” you repeat, leaning closer. “You’re from Carlisle?”

Jungkook nods. “I take that to mean you don’t remember me.”

As you squint, though, as you look – a picture begins to form in your mind. “I,” you pause, tilting your head. “Kookie?”

Jungkook’s expression falters. “Great. Yes, let’s bring that back.”

Noticeably brightening, you sit up in your chair. “It is! Kookie, the kid who followed me around on the playground. Wow,” you laugh, clapping your hands. “I haven’t seen you since – what? You were ten years old?”

“Eleven,” Jungkook corrects, somewhat stiff.

“Right,” you exhale, shaking your head. “Which means I was what, fifteen?”

“Fourteen.” Jungkook meets your gaze. “Anything else you want to discuss about childhood?”

His directness is startling, especially given the fact that all you remember is what you just said. Kookie, the scrawny kid who hung helplessly on each word you said. You remember him hiding behind slides and swings, watching until you inevitably called him out on it – although, you also remember being oddly protective of the kid. He was just so angelic, with those big doe-eyes and teeth. You recall in the end, you ending up fighting off most of his bullies. Protecting him was a pastime, your Kookie – it makes your stomach drop, to realize he’s not so little anymore.

“I think,” you muse, laying your palms flat on the table. “I have just one question. Which is – why?” When Jungkook hesitates, you frown. “You’re good looking, successful, clearly able to hold a normal conversation. Why do you want to have an arranged marriage – and why to me?”

Jungkook considers this for a moment, never looking away. You try and hold his gaze, try to remain steady, but it’s been months. Months, of your parents sending you candidates. Months, of meeting each man and ushering them, one by one out the door. At the start, you were hopeful. At the start, you scheduled each meeting as a date. You had dinner with one, grabbed coffee with another, went out for drinks with a third. Over time, you found yourself becoming disappointed and gradually, the meetings became shorter and less personal.

It didn’t matter what you asked them, not really. The only question of importance to you was why. For most, it was all about the money. You, yourself are fairly successful. Your family is rather well-off, as well. Being part of your life is enticing, especially for the good-looking opportunists of the world. The trophy husbands, as you call them.

Then, there were some whose motives were more sinister. Ones just as smart, just as conniving as you – these men wanted to take your money, rather than simply use it. There were the men you steered clear of. With each potential candidate you declined, each faltering week that passed – you found yourself less and less hopeful. All you want is a partner, someone like what your parents have. Someone to rely on, to depend on; a man who’s an equal, not a chore. Without meaning to, your meetings turned from dates to appointments. Eventually, they become fifteen minute intervals on your calendar; a revolving door of men who walked into your life – and back out again.

Perhaps, this is why Jungkook is intriguing. He is clearly intelligent and he has money of his own. If Jungkook is not here for fame or fortune, why at all?

Jungkook places his hands on your desk. “You know me as the boy who followed you around on the playground,” he allows, lifting a brow. “I know you as the girl I once said would be my wife.”

When he says this, you freeze. Staring back at him, you find the words stuck in your mouth. “You – what?”

Jungkook nods. “When I was eleven, I was very sure I wanted to marry you.”

It’s somewhat of a struggle to remain calm. So, Jungkook is a stalker. A very cute, well-mannered stalker. “Uh,” you cough, unsure what to do. “You’re here to fulfill a childhood dream, then?”

“Ah.” Jungkook looks up, eyes gleaming. “You misunderstand.”

“I don’t think so,” you respond, equally sharp.

He adjusts a cuff. “Look, I don’t know you – not anymore. I’m not eleven, I’m not overly romantic about falling in love. It’s just,” Jungkook hesitates, looking out at the city. “I don’t know what I want,” he admits. “I’ve been in shitty relationships ever since I was a teenager. Relationships where they changed me, where I changed them. I found myself chasing love after love, all of whom inevitably crashed and burned.”

“Tragic,” you quip, attempting to stifle a yawn. “Not to mention, dramatic.”

Jungkook’s lip quirks. “I can be. I’m over-passionate, I throw my whole self into things – this is how I became successful at such a young age. Honestly, I never saw myself entering an arranged marriage. This has always been something my parents wanted, but not me. Lately, though,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve realized I don’t know what I want. And,” he admits, quieter, “I’d like some stability – for once in my life.”

You stare at him. It is odd; Jungkook’s reasons are far from your own – not even close. You do believe him though, which is more than can be said of the others. At least he comes across as direct.

Slowly, you uncross your arms. “I don’t like it, when people idolize me,” you warn him. “I don’t care about you having a crush on me before, or about us having known each other once. If anything,” you admit with a shrug, “that turns me off.”

“Off?” Jungkook asks, followed by a grin. “Does that mean you were turned on, at some point?”

This is so startling, you blush – actually blush, which is alarming.  “I – no,” you stammer, but Jungkook already looks pleased.

“Interesting,” he states, his tone thoughtful.

You stare back, unaccustomed to this feeling. This intense nervousness, a vague excitement coupled with – well, frankly, annoyance. Jungkook annoys you, with his overconfident stance. The way he stares at you is bothersome, as though he is seeing right through you. Even if he is, even if he can, it’s only common decency to pretend.

Rather than respond to him with this, you lean back in your chair. “I’ll be honest,” you return, since he seems to respond to that kind of thing. “This is usually when I tell people to leave.”

An odd look crosses Jungkook’s features – as though he has pictured this moment many times over, and not once did he think you would say no. This makes you smile.

“What was it,” he asks, dimple appearing in his forehead. “Should I not have told you about my crush on you? Listen, I just can’t… lie, like that. I wouldn’t want our marriage to start off on the wrong foot.”

“Our marriage?” With a groan, you lower your head to your hands. “You really need to stop that.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, a perfect angel. “Speaking in affirmatives?” When you look up, his grin widens, all confidence returned. “I should stop citing the inevitable?”

“You don’t even know me,” you protest, though you can’t help but laugh. It is just all so ridiculous. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’d like to, though.”

This statement gives you pause and for the very first time, you consider him seriously.

Jungkook looks back at you, also solemn. “You said,” he pauses. “This is the time when you usually tell people to leave. I can’t help but notice you haven’t asked me.”

“No,” you muse, blinking. “I haven’t.”

Jungkook exhales. “Ten dates,” he announces.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“Ten dates,” he nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “Ten dates to decide if you want this – want me – or you want me to go. Ten dates to get to know me. Ten dates,” he repeats, oddly soft, “to fall in love with me.”

“I,” you stop, unsure what to think. What Jungkook is proposing is a gigantic leap of faith. “You keep saying for me to decide. What about you?” you respond, curious. “Isn’t this just as big a decision for you?”

“Ah, yes,” Jungkook nods. “True. Fine, ten dates for both of us. The ring of that isn’t as nice, though. Also – I know myself,” he admits, smile lazy. “I only need five dates to decide.”

“Five?” You can’t keep from smiling – everything about this guy is just so intense, so blazingly earnest. “That’s all?”

He grins, uncrossing his legs. “Intimidated by that?”

Your eyes narrow. “Not at all, it’s just – you’re right. Come to think of it, five is a much better number. Less pain, less time to decide we don’t like one another.”

Jungkook shrugs, as though unconcerned. “Fine with me,” he agrees, standing up from your chair. “So,” he announces, holding out his hand. “Do we have an agreement?”

With a nod, you push yourself to stand as well. “Five dates,” you agree. “Five dates, to revisit the idea of marriage.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, the noise overly loud. This is not unusual, you tell yourself; people make these kinds of decisions every day. You, yourself have made tougher decisions before. This, though – you can’t help but feel a line has been drawn. A thrill travels your spine; excitement, coupled with furious, all-encompassing fear.

This fear is somewhat lessened, when Jungkook takes your hand. “Agreed,” he smiles, his gaze lingering on yours. “I’ll get your number from your assistant; I won’t take up any more of your time.”

You stare when he leaves, your entire body jittery and on edge. You find yourself unsure what happened, unsure why you’re so excited.

Jungkook pauses at the door to glance over his shoulder. “I’ve never done something like this before,” he confesses, gaze bright. “And, in answer to your earlier question – I’m honestly not sure why I agreed to do this. It’s wholly out of character for me. But then,” he hesitates, offering a shrug. “I’m not scared.”

He then leaves, shutting the door with him.

Jungkook: You ready to fall in love with me? [2:46 PM]

Y/N: Stop that. Or I’ll become suddenly ill and I don’t want that to happen – I bought a really pretty dress for tonight. [3:13 PM]

Jungkook: A dress, hm? Tell me about this dress. [3:25 PM]

Y/N: No. Bad, Jungkook. [3:46 PM]

Jungkook: … or good Jungkook? [4:01 PM]

Y/N: Anyways. Where are we going to dinner? [4:15 PM]

Jungkook: A restaurant. You do love specifics, don’t you? [4:28 PM]

Y/N: I got where I am today by being a major control freak [4:37 PM]

Jungkook: Hm. This will be interesting. [4:45 PM]

Y/N: Oh? And why’s that. [4:48 PM]

Jungkook: Same. [4:50 pm]

Jungkook: See you at dinner, babe ;) [4:50 PM]

Sitting back at your desk, you realize you’re smiling – a response which you hastily, almost guiltily, wipe from your face. Glancing at your office, you shrink back in your chair. This is odd. Normally, you would not be so interested so soon. Joking with Jungkook is easy, though, laughing with him is easy; your conversation is never forced, rarely awkward.  Perhaps this is just the advantage of the situation: there is no added pressure to like one another. If you don’t want to continue seeing each other after five dates – you won’t. You’ll each go your separate ways and never speak to each other again. Your parents will continue to send you resumes and you will continue to search for your husband.

The thought makes your stomach drop and, when you consider the opposite, your fingers freeze on the keys. The other choice is you could marry Jungkook. This could be it; you could be at the end of the road. Yes, you’ll be his wife. Yes, you’ll get married. The thought makes you oddly light-headed with fear.

On the desk, your phone starts to buzz and you ignore it. For some reason, you have only ever given thought to the search. Mostly, you consider the act of finding someone to marry and, somewhat selfishly, you never really considered how you’ll fit into someone’s life.

Lowering your head to the keyboard, you wonder how your parents went through with this. It is such a crippling decision, deciding to spend your life with a stranger. Objectively, you know that your husband won’t always be a stranger. Over time, he will become your best friend. He will be your partner, the one you know better than anyone. It’s just that – right now, he’s a stranger. Which means the future is so hard to envision.

You know that you’re good at conceptualizing, but not like this. Not when you have no experience, no expertise to draw upon and not when the numbers and figures make no sense. Not with matters of the heart – this is something you’ve always been poor at.

Your phone buzzes angrily again and this time, you look. Jungkook has sent you the address of the restaurant, along with a time – 8:00 PM. Your gaze snaps up to look at the clock. It’s nearly 5:00 now, which makes you groan out loud. Typically, you wouldn’t leave your office before 7:00 PM. It’s just habit – your day is usually full of meetings until five, sometimes until six. You need the extra hours at the end of the day get work done. You need them to answer unread emails and ponder the future of the company.

Gritting your teeth, you hastily unplug your laptop. If you want to look presentable, you need to leave now. In order to shower, do your hair and wipe off the day’s worth of stress and makeup – it’s already going to be a tight squeeze.

Kyle’s brows arch, when you hurry through the door. “You’re going home,” he gasps, mock-clapping. “Amazing! I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Shaking your head, you tug on your pea coat over your clothes. “I do leave eventually, Kyle. Just, you know – when I’m done working for the day.”

“Which is never,” he supplies with a grin. “Glad to hear Jungkook is taking you someplace nice though,” he sighs. In the reflection of his window, you can see Kyle has the restaurant’s menu pulled up on his screen.

“Kyle,” you groan, near laughing – then pause. “Wait – since when are you on a first name basis with Jungkook?”

“Since he sent me recommendations for my fantasy football league,” Kyle mumbles, scrolling through a website. “Ah, you have to try the caviar tart. Reviews say it’s exquisite.”

Wrinkling your nose, you open your phone. If you’re being entirely truthful, you hate caviar, but if that’s what Jungkook wants to eat, you owe it to him to be open. “Anyways,” you exhale, turning away towards the elevators. “You should go home soon, Kyle. The boss has officially left the building.”

Kyle waves you away, not even bothering to respond and you ride the elevator alone to the lobby. That’s something no one tells you about being the boss. It can be lonely. It can be alienating, being the ultimate figure of authority. You exist in a professional capacity as a decision maker, which means you exist, in essence, to be feared. Maybe this is a part of why you agreed to an arranged marriage in the first place. You like to have things outlined, you like your life to be compartmentalized. Since you didn’t see a way to make things work the natural way – here you are.

The next few hours are both the slowest and the fastest of your life. A blur of makeup, steam and various tricks to better your appearance. You slide your body into a skin-tight dress, zip it all the way up and survey yourself in the mirror. You look good, or at least – you think you do. There comes a point when, after so many failed attempts at dating, it can be hard to know what’s right and wrong about yourself.

If the problem were entirely one-sided, your disastrous second date ratio wouldn’t exist. No, it would be arrogant to assume the problem is not you, at least not entirely. Not everyone is compatible, not every two people fall in love – but still, it seems odd for you to crash and burn so often.

This, though, you push aside. This, you shove deep into a corner with the rest of your insecurity. Tonight is not about that. Tonight is about getting to know Jungkook. Who is – already here, you realize walking into the restaurant.

He currently stands at the bar, staring down at his phone. The screen lights up his features, making him appear older than he is. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, wrinkling his suit – this is something an older male wouldn’t do. Or, perhaps Jungkook does know and just doesn’t care. As you close the distance between you, he looks up and blinks, nearly dropping his phone.

“Wow,” he breathes, gaze trailing your body. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”

You’ve received many compliments in your lifetime, heard many kind words. It is all just part of the game; part of the give and take, before the inevitable take. This, though – you’re certain no one has ever complimented you like this before. Jungkook speaks with such sincerity, with no hint of agenda in his eyes.

“Hi,” you return, offering a smile. “You look nice, as well.”

This, frankly, is an understatement. Jungkook looks devastating in a fitted, navy suit. His dark hair falls into his gaze, jawline cut and defined. You glance quickly over his body, not wanting to linger when he smiles.

“Just nice?” Jungkook teases.

“Very nice,” you allow, meeting his gaze.

With a shrug, Jungkook holds out his arm. “I’ll take that. Let’s go.”

Jungkook seems known here, you realize, walking towards the host. You don’t know if this is because he comes here often, or because of his name. This can often be difficult to separate, in places like this. Restaurant owners Google their patrons – sometimes to avoid offense or insult, but sometimes it is to sell them out to the paparazzi outside. The odds are fifty-fifty, really.

Jungkook follows you when led to the table, his hand warm and low on your back. Upon reaching your seat, he pulls out your chair and waits until you sit before following suit. Your waiter arrives just as fast, drink orders are taken and the water is set before you. From over the top of the bread basket, sipping quickly on your water – things fall silent.

Not the good kind of silence. This is not quiet introspection, nor taut awareness. No, this is the awful, brutal lack of things to say. Clearing your throat, you stare at your water glass. It is cut from the highest caliber of crystal and, if you’re being entirely honest, you hate it. You hate this place, with its dim lighting, stuffy atmosphere and overwhelming sense of anxiety and panic.

You would much rather be at home, or in a bright, dive-y restaurant. Anywhere but here and across the table, Jungkook sighs.

You look up, startled by the sound. Eyes widening, you seem him loosen his tie. “What you are you doing,” you hiss, leaning in. “People will see.”

With an arch of his brow, Jungkook looks to where your waiter has disappeared. “Let them. You know,” he muses, lowering his voice. “We haven’t actually ordered yet, Y/N.”

Glancing down at your menu, you shrug. “I – okay. I can be ready to order, if you want to call the waiter back.”

Chuckling, he grabs the top of your menu. “No, that’s not what I meant. What I meant,” Jungkook states, placing your menu off to the side. “Is that we haven’t actually ordered. We can leave, if you want.”

For a moment, you just stare at him. “Go?” you ask, thoroughly bewildered. “Where would we go, though? And why?”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth lifts. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says quietly, “but you don’t seem all that comfortable here.”

This is surprising. “I actually dine in places like this a lot.”

“Exactly,” Jungkook nods. “Which is why, I think we should get pizza.”

“Pizza,” you repeat, stunned.

He nods. “What, you’ve never had it? Ah, Y/N,” he groans, pushing his hands through his hair. “It’s so good. Like, there’s cheese – any kind!  And toppings – all you can eat! Plus the crust is bread, and –”

Interrupting him, you smack Jungkook on the arm. “I know what pizza is, you ass,” you quip, as he grins.

“Oh, good.” Pushing his chair backwards, Jungkook makes a big show of standing. “Then, let’s go. I’ll tell the host on the way out. I really hate places like this. I only made the reservation because your assistant suggested it.”

Automatically, you stand as well. “But,” you hesitate, gaze darting to the other tables, still eating. You know that technically, Jungkook is correct. Technically, you are doing nothing wrong if you left. You haven’t ordered yet, barely glanced at the menu.

If you’re unhappy here, you should go.

This thought is oddly liberating, and you find yourself wondering why you continually force yourself to stay in miserable situations. When you look up from the table, you see Jungkook’s hand outstretched before you. “Alright,” you announce, slipping your fingers into his. “Let’s go.”

“Excellent! Oh,” Jungkook grimaces, glancing over his shoulder. “Shit, I forgot I ordered the wine. Sir,” he waves an arm, overly obnoxious. “GOOD SIR!”

Covering your mouth, you attempt to control your laughter. “Jungkook,” you hiss, giggling, but this only makes him wave harder.

“SIR – I ah, thank you,” he smiles, when the waiter walks over. “Could we take this bottle of wine to go?”

The waiter blinks, looking between the two of you. “Could you have this wine – to go?”

Nodding, Jungkook settles his lips in a frown. “My date is feeling poorly and we must leave – but I did want to drink the bottle later.”

Somehow, he manages to keep a straight face while talking. Jungkook is careful not to look at you – since you are decidedly not as composed as he is – and eventually, the waiter just nods. “Alright,” he agrees. “We’ll wrap that up for you right away, sir.”

Jungkook nods, pulling you closer. He taps his foot while the wine is wrapped and you continue to stifle your laugh with your hand. Turning the noise into a cough when the bag is returned, you wince apologetically at the waiter.

“Thank you,” Jungkook nods, patting you on the back. “As you can see, she’s deathly ill. Of a cough, it appears. My card is on file at the front,” he informs the man, nodding. “Have a delightful evening!”

Yanking you along, Jungkook wraps your hand in his to tug you quick out the door. The second you’re outside, cool air whipping your face, you whirl around to face him. “What was that?” you gasp, hair blown all around. You push it aside, wanting to see him; wanting to see his shy smile, the way Jungkook shuffles from foot to foot.

“You seemed unhappy,” he explains, then shrugs. “Life is too short.”

This response makes you arch a brow. It is so close to what you thought in there, it’s uncanny. When you leave, though, you find yourself wishing you’d brought a warmer coat. You dressed to exit a taxi and enter a restaurant, not saunter through the late night of the city.

Noticing your shiver, Jungkook moves even closer. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, watching for rejection as he does. It’s as though he waits for you to push him away – but you do not. Instead, your breath catches at the touch of his warmth. Your gaze flicks to his, wondering what Jungkook is thinking and find him already looking at you.

“You mentioned pizza?” you venture, and he nods.

“Around the corner.” Jungkook keeps his arm tight while walking. Pulling you closer, he manages to keep you warm. “I used to go to this place back in college. They have amazing pizza, plus it’s super low-key. It, uh, there’s a bowling alley in the back.”

At this, you smile. “Bowling?”

Jungkook nods, serious. “Yet another thing I’m really, really good at.”

“You want to bowl,” you repeat. “Despite the fact that you are wearing a suit, and I’m in a dress.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Admittedly, you might be at a disadvantage.”

“You think?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Alright, fine. I’ll give you a handicap. What’ll it be? Do you want me to bowl left-handed? With an arm tied behind my back?”

“Granny-style,” you deadpan, forcing Jungkook to stop walking.

Having continued your way down the sidewalk, you stop to glance over your shoulder. “Jungkook?” you call, laughing at his expression.

“Come on,” he groans, quickly catching up to your stride. “Challenge me. Make me be impressive. Tie me up, I don’t mind. Just don’t,” he begs, pulling a face, “take away my pride.”

A hiccup escapes you, pushing open the door; the unfortunate consequence of laughing too hard. “I think I’ve found your weakness,” you grin, exhaling with happiness at the warm sight of the room.

“Well.” Jungkook allows the door to fall shut behind you. “I guess you’ll never know until we play, hm?”

Only Jungkook, would walk out of a restaurant he didn’t like.

Only Jungkook, would ask for two plastic cups, order a pepperoni and spinach pizza – complain the entire time about how exceedingly poor your taste in toppings are – and then proceed to kick your ass not once, not twice, but three times in one night. He pours wine whenever anyone scores a point and you both become slightly tipsy in the process.

Jungkook walks you home, that night. Halfway there, he slips his hand into yours. It is alarming, just how comfortable it feels. It makes you disappear quickly into the lobby of your building, uncertain why just the touch of his skin is intoxicating. Flipping on the lights of your bedroom, your body feels strange – as though you’ve drunk seven sodas, with no satisfactory explanation as to why you’re feeling this sugar high.

It was the best first date you have ever been on. Possibly the best date you have ever been on. A fact which is scary, considering this wasn’t technically a date.

Not really.

Jungkook texts you the next day, and then the following. He sends you little things, ideas which make him think of you. On Tuesday, you receive a link to homemade spinach pizza – along with another lament, about your poor taste in toppings. On Wednesday, he sends a wine tasting bar and asks if you want to try it sometime. On Friday, he asks you what you want to do for your second date.

You have to admit, his openness throws you. The guys you used to date didn’t normally ask where you wanted to go; a fact which strikes you as sad. It takes some time to respond but when you do, Jungkook responds to your idea so fast, you laugh out loud.

Y/N: Can we go to a baseball game? [11:10 AM]

Jungkook: really?? [11:12 AM]

Y/N: Yes? Is that bad? [11:15 AM]

Jungkook: No, no. It’s just – can I marry you now? [11:16 AM]

Y/N: Oh, shut up [11:17 AM]

Jungkook: Okay, but yes. Done. Just bought tickets. [11:25 AM]

Y/N: It’s the playoffs, isn’t it? : / I don’t want you to spend a lot of money on me. [11:27 AM]

Jungkook: Oh, you’re right. Dammit, Y/N! I hate it when really hot girls force me to watch my idols play baseball with them in the playoffs. You’re the worst. [11:29 AM]

Y/N: hahaha okay, point taken. I’m excited  [11:31 AM]

Jungkook: Same :) [11:33 AM]

The following afternoon, Jungkook practically beams with excitement when you meet him in your lobby.

“I’ve never been in the bleachers,” he confesses, while you walk toward the trains. “I’ve only ever sat in a box seat, owned by my father’s company. Never on my own,” he grins, his hand wrapping around yours.

You don’t object to the hand-holding. It feels nice, as does his excitement, which makes you excited by default. This is only your second date, your second time in public and all you can think about is the terrible start to the last one. You want to avoid that at all costs, which is why you suggested a baseball game in the first place. You want Jungkook to feel comfortable today, you want him to have fun.

Walking into the stadium, Jungkook’s hand tightens in yours. You like it, how easy being with him is. You like the way he keeps glancing sideways, continually checking to see if you’re also having fun. When you catch him doing this for the third time, you laugh and shove at his shoulder. “Stop that,” you grin and Jungkook grins.

“I can’t help it!” he protests. As you walk past the shop, he points. “Y/N,” he gasps, grabbing twin jerseys from a rack. “I’m buying two, and you’re putting one on. No negotiations.”

With a frown, you glance at your standard, black-on-black combination. It was oddly warm out today, which resulted in you not needing a coat. “What’s wrong with my jeans and sweatshirt?” you ask.

Jungkook smiles. “Absolutely nothing. Put this on, though,” he demands, thrusting out one of the jerseys. “I’m going to pay.”

Grumbling under your breath, you obey. At first, you feel silly, tugging the fabric over your head in a bathroom stall. It makes you feel dumb but when you step outside and see yourself in the mirror, it makes your eyes widen. The jersey is… cute. Turning around, you examine the back. You feel like some girl in a movie montage; a bad one, where the main girl and guy are about to fall deeply in love.

The look is just so couple-y. Which, oddly enough, you find nice because none of your prior boyfriends wanted to do that stuff with you. Smile overtaking your face, you stroll out of the bathroom. Jungkook stands just outside, leaning one shoulder to the wall and chewing on his lower lip – when you exit, he looks up.

Freezing in place, Jungkook stares. “Is it weird,” he ventures, trying hard not to smile, “if I say you look hotter than you did on our first date?”

Blushing at this, you punch him hard in the arm. “You ass. That dress cost a fortune!”

With a shrug, Jungkook removes the baseball cap from his head. He sticks this onto your head, adjusting the brim. “And that is priceless,” he murmurs, the words soft. “Now, this outfit is worth more.”

His face is so close to yours. So close, you can count each individual eyelash. Jungkook’s gaze scans yours, smile light when he pulls reluctantly away.

“Thanks,” you manage to gasp, more than a little thrown.

He takes your hand in his. “Welcome.”

The seats Jungkook bought for you are awful. Absolutely horrible – they’re so high up, you can barely see the players and a pole exists, partially blocking your view. Jungkook is mildly horrified, until you start to laugh. “I don’t even watch baseball,” you say cheerfully, picking over legs to get to your seats. “I wouldn’t even understand what I’m seeing.”

Jungkook stares for a second, disbelief written over his features. “Then why,” he demands, following you into the row, “did you even ask me to go to a baseball game?”

With a shrug, you reach seats 14 and 15. ‘I don’t know,” you admit, turning sideways to face him. Jungkook watches you sit, awkwardly lowering himself into the tiny chair. “I’ve never been to a baseball game before, and I’ve always wanted to go. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Jungkook nods, looking out at the field. “I see. Alright,” he laughs, looking back. “See that guy? He’s the pitcher. He –”

The next thirty minutes are spent with Jungkook describing the game. He painstakingly details every rule and, despite remembering none of it, you’re thoroughly entertained throughout. Jungkook is funny. His humor is dry, expression bright and he often gestures so enthusiastically that he nearly knocks over your drink and you tear up with your laughter. It becomes difficult for you to look away – and this is when you realize.

This feels solid. He feels solid. Whatever this is between you – you have the oddest sensation, it just might be real. As the lights in the stadium brighten, as the sun sinks towards the horizon, Jungkook begins to tell you more about himself. He talks, speaking mostly to entertain – but within his stories are kernels, nuggets of information to grab onto. His father worked when he was younger, he traveled throughout much of his childhood, resulting in Jungkook barely knowing his father’s face growing up.

“I was closest to my mom. Still am,” Jungkook admits. His hand continues holding your own, thumb lightly stroking your palm. “Especially once Dad died. A plane crash,” he answers the question you didn’t dare ask. “On a business trip and this hat,” he explains, looking at the brim you currently wear, “is one of the only things he left me before dying. That’s why I said it’s priceless.”

His gaze moves to your face, then the hat and you squeeze his hand tighter.

“My parents started out as an arranged marriage,” you respond, looking out at the field. All around, people are drinking, celebrating the player who just reached second base – but your only thoughts are of Jungkook. “That’s why I agreed to one in the first place, I think. It worked out so well for them. I saw each of them choose the other one, over and over – and that’s what I want. Choice,” you flush, embarrassed to say it out loud. “I want someone to choose me. I want to choose someone. If they happen to have my parents’ approval,” you laugh, ducking your head against your chest. “Less reasons to argue at Christmas, huh?”

Jungkook’s answering smile is wry. “Yeah. My Mom and Dad were married on their own, but it was traditional on my Dad’s side to have an arranged. It made things tense,” he confesses. “Not with us, but with the rest of them. I used to wonder… Ah,” he breaks off, cheeks reddening. “I shouldn’t say that.”

“Say what?” you ask, curious.

He turns sideways to face you. “I used to wonder why anyone would want that. To me, an arranged marriage meant force. The opposite of choice and choice,” he sighs, “is the one thing I’ve continuously fought for. It is funny,” he admits, lip quirking, “to hear you say that to you, an arranged marriage is freedom – because to me, it has always been the opposite.”

Your body tenses at his honestly. Perhaps it was arrogant of you, but from the way Jungkook entered your life – you assumed that he wanted this. You assumed that he wanted this more than you did. It is embarrassing, to have assumed Jungkook was already decided. This is just as much a decision for him, as it is for you.

Jungkook swallows. “This,” he hesitates, gazing at your hands. The tip of his thumb traces over your skin. “It doesn’t feel forced. I don’t feel trapped. In fact,” he looks up, gaze dark. “This is the freest I’ve felt in a while. I don’t know why.”

You just stare. You can’t think of words, not now that Jungkook has confessed his feelings for you. There exists this ember, this flicker of hope deep inside. Words might collapse your tentative flame, and you desperately need the warmth to be real. You like him this way, his hand holding yours and you don’t want to break the moment by speaking.

“Anyways.” Jungkook looks down at his shoes, swallowing hard. “Want a beer?”

You nod, settling back in your seat. “A beer would be nice,” you admit, grateful for the distraction.

Jungkook leaves and when he returns, he carries two of the most gigantic cups you’ve ever seen. “There was a sale,” he informs, struggling to keep a straight face, placing one in your hands.

You shiver, since the drink is cold – and Jungkook barely hesitates before placing his arm around you. This time you don’t pause, leaning into his side. This time, you press your entire body to his and this time, it is not just a spark that lights you. It is an inferno engulfing your body, swallowing you whole and wherever his hands brush your skin – you’re aflame.

Drinking your beer, the game continues and your inhibitions start to loosen. By the top of the sixth inning, you actually start to understand what’s going on. When you yell out a foul before anyone else does, Jungkook cracks up and starts clapping. “That’s my girl!” he yells, slightly tipsy himself. “I taught her that!”

No one is really paying attention, but he wraps his arms tighter around you. Pressing you close to his chest, he explains, “You need to get warm.”

“I’m not cold,” you point out, still grinning.

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses, then says, “Then please, help me get warm.”

With a laugh, you turn to place your chin on his chest – Jungkook’s expression softens, just looking at you. Slowly, he pushes the brim of his hat back. Your heart races, meeting his gaze. The stadium spins, and you’re not entirely sure if it’s from him or the beer. When he lowers his face, eyelashes brushing your skin and –

Someone dumps their drink down your back.

“AH!” you gasp out, jumping away. Whirling, you lock gazes with a laughing, red-faced man.

“Fuck off,” he snorts, turning to face his friends.

Jungkook tenses, seeing the interaction occur. Gaze hardening, his jaw tight as he stares. “Hey,” he interrupts, voice low. “What in the hell did you just say to her?”

“Jungkook,” you mutter, tugging his hand. “Just let it go.”

The asshole ignores you both, continuing to talk and when you fold Jungkook’s hand in yours – he glances sideways. Whatever he sees in your expression, makes him exhale. “Alright,” Jungkook mutters, letting it go. “Fine.” His gaze turns concerned, at the sight of your beer-soaked shirt. “Maybe we should go though, you look froz –”

“Look, that guy is whipped by his bitch. Must be some cunt.”

Your lips tighten, anger flaring to the surface. “Jungk –” you start, but it’s too late.

“Oh, fuck no,” Jungkook fumes, turning around.

There is barely time for you to react. One second, Jungkook is holding your hand and the next, he’s snapping the douchbag’s head back. He throws a clean, well-delivered punch – straight to the bridge of his nose and the guy yelps, falling backwards. His friends grab him on the way down, yelling at you to get out, before the dude comes to.

Jungkook seems surprised, but agrees. “Let’s go, babe! Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” he yelps, grabbing your hand in his.

He takes off, practically running down the steps of the stadium. You’re right behind him, one hand held tight in his, the other one holding onto his hat. Your hair flies out behind you, barely able to breathe from your laughter. Normally, you wouldn’t condone this sort of violence. Especially not violence done, ‘in the lady’s honor,’ but this, though – you can’t stop grinning. That guy was just such an ass and he looked so surprised when Jungkook clocked him back there.

Bursting free from the stadium, you collapse against the red, brick wall of the building. Jungkook bends over, struggling to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he gasps, squinting upwards. The night is quieter out here, as he pushes himself upwards to stand. “I shouldn’t have done that. God, it’s been so long since I fought anyone. I just –”

He stops, when you lift yourself on tip-toe to press your lips to his cheek.

The kiss is just that, nothing more. Your lips, soft on his skin before you withdraw to stare up at him. Jungkook’s cheek is smooth, warm and smelling of the coconut sunscreen you gave him earlier. His gaze is dark, though, hardening the longer he stares.

You do want to kiss him. You wish to entangle your hands in his hair, shove him to the wall and kiss him, but – you realize you’re drunk. You two are drunk, in public and are currently on the run from the law.

“Take me home?” you say instead, and Jungkook freezes.

He seems to realize everything you just did, based on his expression. “Yes,” he agrees, blinking and nodding. “Absolutely,” he sighs, grabbing your hand in his.

The next morning, you wake up regretful for several confusing, conflicting reasons. You regret pushing Jungkook away. You regret drinking as much as you did. You regret stopping the kiss – though, this thought is interrupted by your phone buzzing on your nightstand.

Jungkook. It appears there was nothing to regret, at all.

The two of you text non-stop that week. You find out the others’ likes, dislikes, fears, desires. As a matter of fact, you two are so busy talking, learning, seeing that you nearly forget everything you might not want to see. You forget about things you might not like, or know, or understand and it’s your friend Anna, who brings this sobering fact to light.

Anna: How goes the whole arranged marriage thing? [6:47 PM]

Anna: Find The One? [6:48 PM]

Rolling your eyes, you grab for your phone. Your work day is almost at an end, you were just wrapping up a final email.

Y/N: It’s great, if you must know. I’ve been seeing this guy… [6:51 PM]

Anna: Oh?? Who? TELL ME [6:52 PM]

Y/N: Omg, you’re so needy lol [6:53 PM]

Y/N: Jeon Jungkook. Do you know him? [6:54 PM]

Anna: hm no [6:54 PM]

Anna: WAIT [6:55 PM]

Anna: IS HE??? [6:55 PM]

Sitting up straight, you arch a brow at your phone. Anna types, backspaces, then types again.

Y/N: Is he what??? [6:57 PM]

Anna: www.google/news/washingtonpost/youngmogu… [6:59 PM]

Hesitantly, you click on the link. You don’t know what you’re about to see, which makes you cautious. Your eyes widen, reading the headline.

YOUNG MOGUL, JEON JUNGKOOK, SPLITS FROM FAMOUS INSTAGRAM GIRLFRIEND, LILY MAYA

Scanning the body of the article, your heart plummets. The man is Jungkook, all right. You see his perfect, handsome profile plastered across several, large photos. You see his strong, stupid hands all over a girl’s waist. There are his perfect lips, sucking the face of a very pretty model. No, more than pretty, she’s gorgeous – it makes you slightly sick to your stomach, staring at her beautiful face.

Of course, Jungkook has dated others before you. Of course, he has had prior relationships – he mentioned as much, the very first day you met. Nothing he has done since indicates he still has feelings for anyone. Still, the title of the article does give you pause – so does the date, which was printed less than a year ago.

Jungkook said it himself, that is is unusual he has agreed to an arranged marriage. It makes you wonder if there exists more than what he’s said. If maybe you’re his rebound, a final attempt to get over Lily. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to block out the image. Now that it exists though, you can’t seem to stop.

It makes you suddenly shaky, horribly rotten. Lily would never feel like this about someone else and, thinking this, you groan. Lowering your face to your hands, you slowly shake your head. Already, you are comparing yourself to her. Already, you are summarizing the differences and finding yourself wanting. Lily is gorgeous, you are just pretty. Lily is thin; you’ve been known to eat an entire family-sized bag of Sun Chips in one sitting. Lily is perfect, poised, put together – and everything that you show to the public is carefully cultivated.

After several minutes of wallowing, you take a deep breath. Forcing yourself to get a grip, you rather determinedly respond to the currently unanswered text in your phone.

Y/N: Your turn. Where and when, is our next date? [7:34 PM]

Jungkook texts back within minutes.

Jungkook: Actually, I do have an idea in mind. [7:35 PM]

Jungkook: Y/N [4:27 AM]

Jungkook: Y/N, wake up [4:29 AM]

Jungkook: Are you awake? [4:31 AM]

Jungkook: GET UP, THIS IS DATE NUMBER THREE [4:32 AM]

You wake on Saturday morning not to your alarm – which is set for nine – but by the incessant buzzing of your cell phone. Text after text, followed by a sharp ringing which nearly makes you throw your phone to the wall.

“Hullo,” you groan, fumbling to get the device to your ear. “Who’s this.”

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!”

“I,” you pause, cracking open one eye long enough to squint at your clock. “What the fuck, Jeon. It’s 4:30 AM.”

“Yes,” he hums, as though he is currently talking to a very small child. “I know it’s early, silly. But it’s my turn to pick the date, and this is what I want to do.”

“Die?”

“Very funny. No, I’m not dying until February 30th, 2098.”

“…I hate you.”

“Nope, you don’t. Now, get that cute butt of yours downstairs.”

Hanging up, you sincerely consider going back to sleep – but can’t help but wonder what Jungkook wants. After several moments of debate, you groan, throwing back your covers and rolling out of bed. “Fuck me,” you groan, shuffling into the bathroom. “I hate everything.”

You barely bother getting ready; it’s only the irritating memory of Lily Maya which convinces you to put in any sort of effort. A quick wash of your face, a small brush of makeup before you twist your hair high in a knot on your head. You tug on a crewneck and jeans, throw on a pea coat to jog out the door. It slams shut behind you and you fervently hope it woke people up.

You’re grumpy the entire way to the lobby. Grumpy, pushing open the door to the parking lot – but when you see Jungkook, you find it suddenly hard to stay mad. He’s wearing a ski cap, black coat and looks absolutely amazing. It’s unfair, that guys do so little and look so good. His face breaks out in a smile when he sees you – which forces your stomach to flip somersaults.

“Hey,” he grins, when you come to a stop right before him.

You glare back. “This had better be good, Jeon.”

“O-oh,” he chuckles, grasping your hand. “My last name – that’s how I knowyou’re mad. Come on,” he tugs, pulling you close behind. “We don’t want to miss it.”

“Miss what,” you grumble, trailing in his footsteps.

Jungkook just shakes his head, miming a zipping action of his lips.

His car is – black. You’re honestly not sure of the make or model; you’re far too tired to care. The seats are soft, though and you turn dutifully to face him, curling up on the passenger’s side. “Jungkook?” you mumble, until he looks your way.

“Yes, pumpkin?”

You make a face. “Please, no.”

“Peanut?” he grins.

“Gag me.”

“Maybe another time. Angel?”

“No way.”

“Princess?”

You remain quiet, picking at your nails and Jungkook grins triumphantly. “I knew it,” he smirks, leaning his head to the seat. “I knew you would like being spoiled. You always did, even as a kid.”

“Did not,” you gasp, outraged. “You little brat, take that back!”

Jungkook merely chuckles, merging onto the highway. “Maybe I was a brat, but so were you. The perfect princess,” he teases, “never giving me the time of day.”

“You’ve been holding this in for a while, haven’t you?”

He grins. “Maybe I have. So, what?”

“I was fourteen,” you groan, drawing both your legs onto the seat of his car. “You were eleven. Maybe the difference isn’t much now, but in child years – I would’ve been a predator.”

Jungkook snorts. “A sexy predator.”

“Oh my fucking god, Jeon!”

“Kidding, kidding,” Jungkook laughs, wincing when you punch him. “Careful princess, I bruise.”

You roll your eyes, glancing out the window. You’re finally coherent enough to see where you’re going. Outside of the car, the city sprawls by. You’re already past the skyline, heading straight into the country. “Where are we going?” you ask, sitting up straighter.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, just grips the wheel tighter, “It’s a secret.” When you glare, he gestures loosely towards the back of the car. “There’s coffee,” he says and when you make a pathetic, little noise, he starts to laugh.

“Why didn’t you say so,” you gasp, reaching happily over the console.

Jungkook stares, shaking his head in disbelief. “This entire time,” he groans, almost to himself. “I could have fixed your deplorable anger with coffee. Noted.”

You nod sleepily, stirring creamer and sugar into the cup. “That’s all it takes, really.”

Jungkook chuckles, lapsing into silence while he continues to drive. His music plays in the background, soft and soothing – almost enough to make you fall back asleep. In fact, you’re just starting to drift off when his hand touches your leg.

“Y/N,” he whispers, even though you’re the only two in the car. “Wake up.”

When you open your eyes, you might be the only two people in the world. He’s parked on top of a hill, one you don’t know the name of. There’s forest and hills spread in either direction, only a few sleepy town lights below. On the edge of the horizon, the sky is just turning light, a dull shade of grey instead of black, with tendrils of blue shot through the edge.

You look over, surprised to find him looking back.  “The sunrise?” you ask. “You brought me to look at the sunrise?”

Uncertainty enters Jungkook’s gaze. “Yes.”

You look past, out at the horizon. “I’ve never watched the sunrise before.”

“Then let me show you,” Jungkook says, and opens his door.

You follow, unbuckling your seatbelt and taking your coffee with. The grass is crunchy, wet with frost and brushing the tips of your boots. Jungkook hops onto the hood, lying quickly down on his back. He props himself up on the windshield and gestures you to join. “Come on, princess.”

Grimacing, you follow. Clamoring onto the hood with decidedly less grace than he did, you watch your breath fog in the morning air. By now, it’s not a question of if you’ll touch him, but when. Jungkook’s arm wraps tightly around your waist, this time – he pulls you snug against his side.

“Sorry it’s so cold,” he breathes, and you shake your head.

“Not so much, anymore.”

He smiles, saying nothing. Staring at the horizon, you watch the sky subtly streak gold. It is strange, watching time pass. Looking at the sky, watching the sun slip above the horizon – you stare first at this, then at him. Jungkook’s profile is light, burnt against the darkness of the sky and it’s honestly hard to look away now that you’re here.

“The funny thing about evolution,” you clear your throat, and Jungkook looks over.

“Were we talking about evolution?”

You shake your head – then nod. “Yes and no,” you hesitate.

He chuckles, looks up. “Go on.”

“The funny thing is,” you exhale, staring at the peach-lined sky. “So many people say, ‘you can’t see it.’”

Jungkook doesn’t move from his place on the hood. “The concept can be difficult to grasp, yes.”

“You can’t see it, so it’s not real,” you whisper, eyes darting to his. “A silly thought, and based on a wrong assumption.”

“That you can’t see evolution?”

You nod, stomach lifting. “Exactly. Sometimes,” you raise a hand, tracing the shape of the sun. “Time itself is visible. The Galapagos are always linked to Darwinism, always talked of in the same breath as evolution – but so few people know why.”

Jungkook smiles, still not looking your way. “Why, then?” he asks, words soft on his lips.

“The islands were isolated,” you explain. “They were so removed from society, it ensured their evolution was seen. There was a year the weather lent itself to a certain kind of seed. Birds with beaks able to crack that type of seed survived. The next year, a different kind of seed flourished. A bird with a different evolutionary advantage emerged – and a different kind of bird survived. This went on, but in such short increments of time you physically saw the birds change, saw them adapt to their environment.

Jungkook leans back further, splaying himself on the hood. “This sunrise is the birds,” he finishes, nearly inaudible. “Mostly, you look at the sun and see it fixed. The light static, the motion immobile. It changes, sure – but you never notice. Sunrise,” he breathes, watching the curve of the light. “The change is visible.”

“Exactly.”

You lie down beside him, a mere heartbeat away.

“Y/N?”

Looking sideways, your heart contains a queer sort of ache. “Yes?”

He stares at you, stretching out a finger. Jungkook brushes your jaw, trails over nothing and something in his expression changes – almost wistful, in the golden hour. “Nothing,” he whispers, then looks up at the sky.

You shiver, and follow suit.

The next week is odd.

Not for the usual reasons – a change in weather, in workload or location. No, it’s a change in yourself. Your very world has shifted. Inch by inch, text by text, you find your thoughts no longer occurring in the singular. It is no longer do I want to do this, but do we. That realization is terrifying.

It might be silly to text Jungkook less because of this, but you do. It is only that you’ve always valued your independence. Well, that isn’t entirely true. You valued your independence, since college. Largely this was due to one relationship, a singular man who stripped you bare and removed everything you thought you were.

Your goals disappeared, to become goals which fit his. You tried to fit in with his ambition, his friends, his work, his morals and, though you did not realize it at the time, it was toxic. It wasn’t even clear to you what was happening, not until after the break-up left you devastated. Hindsight is 20/20, after all.

Even after all that, you continued to seek him out. For the eight months following you two were fuck buddies, for the eight months following you two slept together, as he tried his best to ‘find himself.’ You were essentially still boyfriend and girlfriend – just now, your ex was free to sleep around. There was no commitment on his end, no dedication, no compromise or promise. He took all he wanted from you, and you received nothing in return.

It took longer than you care to admit, to catch on. To see him for what he truly was, to recognize the toxicity he brought. Perhaps it’s why you’ve been single ever since. Perhaps this is why you tend to see sex as a necessity. A physical need, one to pursue and discard like other vices. There are only moments, small moments, where you miss the feeling of love.

These moments aren’t often. It has only been since Jungkook, that you’ve begun to feel like you’re missing out on something. Not that you miss that asshole ex of yours – what you miss is something deeper, something more. You didn’t think you’d find this with Jungkook, though – a thought which terrifies you.

For some reason, you thought an arranged marriage would solve everything. You thought that by choosing someone to marry, it would be less painful than falling in love. Of course, you should have known better; you should have seen the love shining clear in your mother’s eyes. The devotion, in your father’s. Having someone in your life by any means is painful, just as much as pleasurable.

Swallowing with difficulty, you stare down at your desk. You stare at your hands, splayed on the wood and attempt to forget the feel of his hand in yours. It’s become common these past three dates, to hold hands with him. Holding hands used to seem childish, but now it is something to anchor you. Just his touch, his hands wrapped around yours, makes you feel more solid.

Maybe this is what you’ve been missing all this time – a connection. Sex fulfills physical need, and there’s no shortage of guys looking to fuck in this world. Friends are social interaction. It’s the intersection, though. The moment of someone understanding the whole you, inside and out. A connection which is singularly unique to love.  

Exhaling deeply, you spread your fingers further. You didn’t think it would be like this. An arranged marriage was supposed to be something to control. A way of looking at love, at life in the same way you look at work. With logic, and the mutual benefit of both parties in mind. Marriage is a joining of assets, decision-making and liability. On paper, it is. Perhaps not in life.

Jungkook does not exist on paper.

His is alive, brilliant and wonderfully complex. You never know what he’ll do next, never know what he’ll say and you like that. You find yourself thinking of things to explain, to share and to show him. Not because he is something on paper, but because he is him. Because he is Jungkook. Because you might possibly – tentatively, futuristically – be able to love him.

The thought is wholly unsettling, entirely unprecedented and oddly exciting.

Lifting your phone, you send him a text.

Y/N: I have an idea for our fourth date. [8:13 PM]

Jungkook: Oh? What did you have in mind, princess? [8:20 PM]

Y/N: Ugh. Meet me at Clark and Gregor. 3:30 PM, Saturday. Dress warm :)  [8:25 PM]

Five minutes before you told Jungkook to arrive, you’re sitting on the park bench, staring at your breath while it fogs into the air. Last night brought about sudden cold snap, which is something you’d been counting on. Today will be more fun if it’s cold. You have only been waiting a minute before Jungkook skids into view, harried and out of breath.

“Hi,” he gasps, readjusting his hat. “I’m so sorry – my train was late, but I’m here!”

With a laugh, you stand up. “I’m early, you’re not late.”

Chest deflating, Jungkookg catches his breath. “Oh. In that case,” he shrugs, turning to leave – until you grab his arm.

“Come on,” you grin, tugging his coat. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Jungkook whines, though he follows you obediently. “You could be leading me off a cliff, for all I know.”

“Yes, because there are so many cliffs sprinkled throughout the city.”

“You never know,” Jungkook grunts, grinning when you move even closer. “Y/N,” he chides, just noticing. “You’re not wearing any gloves.”

His mittened hands wrap around yours, keeping you warm when you look down. “Oh,’” you flush, digging through your pocket with your other hand. “I have them! Just forgot to put them on.”

Jungkook lets go long enough to remedy the mistake – then grabs your hand again and, smiling, you fall into step beside him as you walk. His hip occasionally bumps into yours, body warm in the space you don’t occupy. You let it happen, allow your thoughts to wander where they shouldn’t. It is becoming possible to picture it, to think of marriage. The idea of his hand holding yours, imagining nights just like this one – it is possible to picture the concept of forever. This is terrifying.

But maybe you want that.

Glancing at his face, you almost lose yourself in his features. He’s beautiful, truly he is. The panes of his features, the curve of his cheekbone, the steep drop to his nose. Jungkook once mentioned he thought his nose was too big – this was on your first date, if you recall. You were bowling, his strong hands on your waist while he showed you how to throw the ball with a curve. He mentioned his father also had a large nose, that the trait was inherited from him – and that Jungkook hated it, while growing up.

You wanted to contradict him then, to tell him no – Jungkook’s nose was perfect, just like the rest of him. Each feature of his is thoroughly and uniquely Jungkook. This means he is attractive, yes, but it’s more than just that. Beauty fades, and so will his. This isn’t about how pretty he is, nor about how attracted you are to him.

This is about finding him beautiful, inside and out. Both his flaws and his merits. This is about wanting him even when you’re upset, when you’re sick, when you’re strange and angry and savage. Staring at his profile, the crazy notion enters your brain that maybe you want that with him.

Jungkook glances your way. “Really?” he asks, arching a brow. “What are we doing? Why did I need to dress warm – are you going to lock me out in the cold, because I’m a wimp, I –”

Rolling your eyes, you point ahead. Jungkook’s gaze follows, fixating on the silver length of ice and his eyes widen. “Cool,” he grins. “I’ve ice skated since I was young. I’ll help you, Y/N, when you inevitably fall.”

Groaning out loud, you move to push past. “We’ll see about that, Jeon. Come on.”

It turns out to be a giant blow to your ego, when Jungkook ends up being right. You are horrible at ice skating. You can roller blade and for some reason, you thought the two would interchange. Wrong. The two are similar, but one doesn’t seem to help the other. The ice is slippery, you stop in a different way and the wobbly metal is much thinner than wheels beneath your feet.

Jungkook skates before you now, zig-zagging backwards. “C’mon, Y/N,” he teases, holding your hands. “You can go faster. There’s an elderly gentleman about to pass us. I – oh, wait. He just did,” Jungkook beams, waving an arm. “Hello, sir! Have a good evening!”

You swat him and stumble, nearly taking him down with you. Jungkook grunts, grabbing tight to your waist and holding you steady. He starts to laugh like that, chest shaking against yours.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, also laughing.

Since your realization, it has been harder and harder to act like you don’t care. That’s how you usually are in relationships, because typically you’re the invincible one, the inexhaustible one. It is difficult, to pretend that you’re solid. To pretend like you’re steady, strong and tough. What you really want to say – what you’ll never admit to wanting, at least not now – is to tell Jungkook how you really feel. He should know that he makes you feel weaker, makes you feel vulnerable.

It has been a long time, since anyone made you feel that way. With a smile, Jungkook pulls himself back to make scissor motions with his feet. He practically dances over the ice, eyes mischievous and you nearly trip in an attempt to keep up.

“Jungkook,” you laugh, stumbling again. “Stop! Kookie!”

Jungkook looks so offended at this, you start to laugh. “After all this time,” he mutters, pulling you closer. Sometime during the past hour, the sun has sunk low on the horizon. It is colder out now, making your gloves entirely necessary. Jungkook’s scarf flutters against your cheek when he whispers, “You still don’t see me as a man, do you?”

“I,” you hesitate, staring deep into his eyes. “I think of you as a man.”

The only reason you hesitate, is because of the truth. Your feelings for him are much different now – you not only see him as a man, you see him as your man. Jungkook doesn’t know this though, and so his brow puckers.

“Oh?” he asks, unsatisfied. Moving nearer, Jungkook’s lips brush your ear. “Fine. If I’m such a child, beat me to the edge. Ready?” He pulls back, and you stare at him in alarm. “Set,” Jungkook warns.

“Kookie,” you stammer – and it turns out, this is the wrong thing to say.

“Go!” Jungkook yells, letting go. He skates hard, in the opposite direction.

Yelping, your legs skid out from under you, until – both arms fly out to steady your speed. The entire world slows, and suddenly you’re skating. Well, kind of. You’re going so slow, the grandpa has lapped you again – but hey, at least you’re still moving. A laugh escapes your chest, pushing out with one foot. Wobbling violently, you catch yourself and continue – then look up for Jungkook, and find him on the edge of the rink.

Jungkook stands awkwardly, easily identifiable in his long, black peacoat. His arms rest on the railing, his expression inscrutable. From here, he looks tenseand you wonder why until you recognize his compansion. Lily, Lily Maya. You freeze where you are – no pun intended – at the sight of his ex-girlfriend, Instagram model extraordinaire, at the rink.

She looks adorable, in a sky-blue cap and mittens. Never mind the fact that the coat is much too thin for tonight’s weather – she looks wonderful. The tip of her nose is red, her lips are chapped but Jungkook, true to his nature, doesn’t seem to notice. He chats evenly, tugging his cap even lower before facing away.

It’s hard to see his expression from here, which makes your stomach twist with discomfort. As you take a step forward, intending to leave – you remember belatedly, the fact you can’t skate. This is a fleeting thought, since it happens simultaneously with your feet slipping out from under you. You fall, flailing wildly in the moment before your knees hit the ground. The fall is nothing graceful, just the cold smack of skin against ice – you suck in a gasp, sliding several feet to a stop.

Chest heaving, your palms wet from the water, you slowly manage to push yourself up on the side. Rather than move, you sit down on the ice – lower lip trembling, when you realize the blood. The scrape on your knee is shallow, but it already trickles a thin, steady line down your leg. Swearing softly, you bite down on your lip – this is just so like you, so predictably ugly.

Jungkook is probably still talking to Lily, which means you need to reach the edge of the ice by yourself. Placing one hand awkwardly to the ground, you attempt to stand. You only manage halfway, before strong arms wrap themselves around you.

“Y/N,” Jungkook gasps, yanking you upright. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he pleads. Shaking his head, he turns red in the face. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should have –”

“Thank you,” you interrupt, chest suddenly buoyant.

Jungkook shuts up, shocked into silence. Instead, he stares and couples whiz past around you – colorful swirls against the ice. You feel happier where you are though, with Jungkook’s hands on your waist and blood on your jeans.

“Hold on to me,” Jungkook instructs. His words are confusing until he turns, sliding your hands around his midsection to tow you back across the rink.

At the exit Jungkook helps you off, grabbing your elbow until you step down on the ground. “At last,” you sigh, collapsing on the closest bench. “Sweet, non-slippery freedom.”

Jungkook’s lips quirk as he kneels. At first he is smiling – and then he catches sight of your leg. “Y/N,” he groans, both hands sliding to your calf. “You cut through your jeans and are bleeding,” he tuts, sitting back on his heels. “Do you think anyone here has a band-aid?” Jungkook mumbles, squinting out at the park.

It seems like a bad sitcom, when his ex-girlfriend steps out of the bathroom. Seeing her face, your expression drops – as Jungkook’s visibly brightens, waving an arm. “Lily!” he calls out, loud as ever. “Lily! Could you come here for a sec?”

Lily turns at the sound of his voice, freezing when she sees who he’s with. Her entire face pinches, wildly uncomfortable but she finally walks over. When Lily reaches you, she shoves both hands into her pockets and smiles weakly.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Do you still carry band-aids in your purse?” Jungkook inquires.

This entire time, he has been crouched on the ground but now, he stands. When he does this, you see that he and Lily are closer in height than the two of you are. Her eyes are level with his nose, the perfect height for kissing.

Lily glances at you, then at Jungkook. “I do,” she agrees, opening her bag. “Do you need one?”

“I,” Jungkook pauses, seeming to realize how weird this all is. “Yeah,” he coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “My girlfriend skinned her knee. My fault, really,” he manages to smile. “I got kind of competitive.”

Lily arches a perfectly-made brow. “You don’t say.” She smiles, some inside joke between the two which makes jealousy claw at the walls of your stomach.

It’s unbearable, to sit here like this. Unbearable, to watch the two of them laugh, to have Lily so close to him – to have her as your hero; the savior of Jungkook’s bumbling, awkward date. You wonder if he is now regretting things. Wonder if he’s unsure why he left Lily in the first place – or worse, why she left him. Now your head is spinning uncomfortably, wondering why they even broke up at all.

Maybe you’re just his rebound. Maybe Jungkook was hurt and he wanted something, anything that was different from her. Rather uncomfortably, you remember why you don’t let yourself date the first place. All those reasons you had for wanting an arranged marriage – and here you sit, dealing with each and every one of them.

Lily hands Jungkook a band-aid, closing her purse when Jungkook nods his appreciation. “Thank you,” he extends, smiling again. “Good luck with the new shoot.”

Lily nods, glancing curiously in your direction. “Thanks. Have fun on your… date,” she allows, as though she has trouble believing the words.

Flushing, you fumble under the weight of her gaze.

“We will,” Jungkook smiles, reaching out for your hand.

You stare at this for a moment; at Jungkook’s red, woolen mitten. You aren’t sure why, but the sight makes your throat tight and lips parched. As your hand slides into his, grasping onto solidarity – the corners of your eyes start to burn against the cold. Lily just shrugs, turning away but it’s the first time anyone has ever made you feel large, when you told yourself you were small. Jungkook did it so easily, he fixed things in one, simple gesture – and when he bends back to the ground, pulling out the band-aid, you lean forward to face him.

“Why did you break up,” you ask, inches away.

Jungkook blinks, surprised by your proximity. His right knee is wet, from kneeling down in the snow but he doesn’t complain. “I – you know we dated,” he asks, more breath than question. Then, he frowns. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” you say quietly, tracing over his face.

Jungkook hesitates. “She broke my heart,” he admits, tugging off one mitten. He quietly, slowly undoes the band-aid. “I thought I was in love with her, thought the excitement of being together meant we were in love.”

“Excitement?” you ask.

Softly, Jungkook blows on your cut. You wince at the sting, but then he withdraws to look at you. “She liked drama,” he explains, placing the bandage on over the wound. Soothing the sides, Jungkook makes sure the fit is tight. “She liked the feeling of falling, of pushing people away – all so they could come back to her and tell her they needed her. It was tiring.”

“Oh,” you allow, the word small. “I see.”

Jungkook doesn’t move, even though your knee is already bandaged. “Eventually, I stopped playing her games. I stopped chasing her when she ran, stopped hurting myself for her pleasure. I took her off the pedestal I had her on, and she grew bored. We broke up,” he continues, “when I walked in on her fucking my former best friend. She wanted a reaction.”

“Oh,” you repeat, heart squeezed tight. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, acknowledgment. “The funny part was,” Jungkook exhales, looking down at the snow. “I wasn’t devastated by it. Sure, I was angry; sure, I was sickened and sad and hurt. But at the bottom – I was relieved,” he admits, cracking. “I think I knew we didn’t belong together. You don’t hurt the people you love,” he says quietly. “Not like that.”

“I get it.”

Jungkook looks up. “You do?”

“Well, I don’t get that,” you admit, backtracking and Jungkook cracks a smile. “I’ve never been through that. I understand that kind of relationship, though. Relationships where you’re expected to lower yourself, in order to make the other one feel strong. I,” you swallow. “Love isn’t like that. It can’t be.”

“I hope it’s not,” Jungkook says to you softly.

You’re still touching. His fingers still rest upon your knee, warm against your skin – and somehow, you shiver. The air is cold, the night dark, but none of that matters. It is just Jungkook – his eyes, his smile, that fringe of his hair – it’s Jungkook, who makes you want to move closer. His hand rises from your leg to your waist, hesitating only briefly before his hands cup your face. Jungkook stares at you, a silent question – before he lowers his head to yours.

Your lips part, when you kiss.

His mouth is gentle, as though asking a question. As though waiting for affirmation, before his hand slides into your hair. “Y/N,” Jungkook groans, kissing you harder. You tilt your head up, his tongue dragging across your lower lip to request entrance.

You grant him this, just as greedy in your motions. Meeting the heat of his mouth with your own, your hands find his arms while his body presses between you. When Jungkook stops, forcing himself still – you open your eyes, and exhale. He’s already looking at you, staring and the world is tilting, breaking, breathing. You feel like the scenery has shifted, or been swallowed – because nothing, nothing could ever be the same.

“What I feel,” Jungkook ventures, hoarse. “Is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

You stare at him, nodding because you cannot be trusted with words. If you speak, if you even think about speaking, it might break the spell.  You might say something stupid. You might ask him to kiss you again, might ask him to stay overnight. You might forget the fifth date entirely, and ask him to marry you right now – which is crazy.

After a long moment of silence, Jungkook stands. “Let me bring you home,” he asks quietly, and you nod in agreement.

Taking your hand, he leads you to the rental booth. Jungkook doesn’t speak still, but no longer is it uncomfortable silence. This is the good kind; his hand in yours, his body next to yours – there’s no need for words, in silence like this.

When you reach your apartment, Jungkook kisses you again. You’re pressed rough to the wall, tongues exploring while his hands slide firm to your waist. Your legs are shaking by the time he pulls back; it terrifies you, the sheer intensity of your feelings. When you open your mouth to explain all this, he looks down at the ground.

“I’ll see you later,” Jungkook responds, as though convincing himself. He steels his back quickly, nodding to himself before turning –  as he walks away, you notice his rather stiff walking.

When you understand the meaning of this, your eyes widen – warmth pooling quickly between your thighs at the sight. You aren’t sure why he left. Perhaps it was for the exact same reason you didn’t ask him to stay. Five dates, you promised. Five dates, for you both to decide and somehow, inviting Jungkook in seems like a declaration. You imagine sex wouldn’t just be sex – no, it would be giving yourself entirely. Just the thought makes you clench your thighs tighter. The idea of Jungkook in your bed, lips parted and holding onto your hips while he –

Your motions are hurried, rushing inside. You fidget the entire staircase up, taking several attempts to shove your key into the door. Once you’re inside, throwing your coat onto the chair, you collapse down on your bed. Staring up at the ceiling, tight with frustration,you arch your hips quickly into the palm of your hand. It doesn’t take long to get yourself off; the hard and fast motion of your hand leaves you aching for more. You want to feel him between your thighs; want him pressed against your chest; want to know his hands, his lips, his body on yours.

Afterwards, you feel unsatisfied. Needy, to the point where you almost text, almost call – but manage to stop yourself in time.

Five dates, you promised.

The next week passes slowly. Partly due to work and partly because of Jungkook. He doesn’t text much, which makes you worry. You replay the events of Saturday over and over again in your mind. Dissecting every word, every look, all the possible implications – but his sudden dry spell makes no sense, not in that context.

Y/N: On the train this morning, someone licked my neck. MY NECK, JUNGKOOK. It was horrifying – what’s stronger than soap, to wash myself with? [9:06 AM]

Jungkook: bleach [9:16 AM]

Jungkook: Don’t wash yourself with bleach. [9:18 AM]

Y/N: Lol noted. How was your morning? Didn’t you have a big presentation? [10:02 AM]

Jungkook: Sorry, was in a meeting. Yep, it went well! [11:31 AM]

Y/N: That’s good : ) [11:45 am]

Y/N: What are you thinking you want to do this weekend? [11:47 AM]

Y/N: Hey, good morning! [10:02 AM]

Jungkook: Morning : ) [10:31 AM]

Y/N: So, about that fifth date. [10:42 AM]

Jungkook: How is your leg healing? Did it bleed more, after Saturday? [11:03 AM]

Y/N: No, it stopped later that night. Everything is good! [11:22 AM]

Y/N: It’s your turn to pick the place though Jeon, don’t make me choose for you lol [11:23 AM]

Jungkook: Ha. Fine, what about the Christmas tree lighting on Saturday? [11:45 AM]

Y/N: You’re on. [12:00 PM]

Jungkook: It’s a date. [12:14 PM]

Jungkook: Hey, Y/N. I am so, so sorry –  I have to cancel Saturday. The guy I sold my company to needs to discuss something, I’m flying out to Seattle tomorrow night and staying the weekend. Rain check? [6:12 PM]

Y/N: I – uh. Okay. For when? [6:17 PM]

Jungkook: For when I get back? [6:21 PM]

Y/N: Which is…? [6:25 PM]

Jungkook: Next Thursday. What about next weekend, Friday night? We can go see the already lit Christmas tree. [6:32 PM]

Y/N: Haha okay, sure [6:41 PM]

Y/N: How’s the trip going? [2:08 PM]

Y/N: Jungkook? [9:46 AM]

Jungkook: Sorry! Awful service here. Listen, I need to go to a work dinner Saturday night now. This new client, Taehyung, wants help developing their product. Can we reschedule? [11:11 AM]

Y/N: Seriously? [12:02 PM]

Y/N: Fine. Reschedule for when? [12:04 PM]

Jungkook: Saturday [12:10 PM]

Y/N: Okay [12:12 it

Y/N: Hey, what time are we meeting tonight? [3:56 PM]

Jungkook: Oh, fuck. The guy from last night really wants to meet again to discuss specs. I’m sorry, Y/N – can we reschedule once more?? [4:12 PM]

Y/N: Fine. [4:13 PM]

Staring down at your phone, you’re silently fuming. It sits, silent and useless while you glance at your clock. It’s past 4:00 PM. Past 4:00 PM, and you’re uncertain if Jungkook would have remembered to cancel, had you not thought to ask. You reread the words, cold and blank as a small shred of doubt enters your stomach.

After that fourth date, you were certain. You were so certain of Jungkook, so excited at the prospect of being with him. You thought Jungkook felt the same, from the way that he kissed you – those things that he said – you truly thought that meant something.

He wouldn’t reschedule though, if he liked you. He wouldn’t avoid you, wouldn’t push back your dates. Maybe the kiss left something to be desired. That’s the only logical conclusion, because the kiss was the most important moment of the fourth date. The thought is devastating, but there it is. You keep replaying the moment, replaying the night. You watch it over and over in your mind and wonder if you should have done more. Perhaps you should have explained how you were feeling, but you were trying to give him his space. Jungkook wanted five dates to decide, so five dates you gave.

It’s around 10:00 PM that you stand in your kitchen, downing a second glass of wine and continuing to stare at the phone in your hand.

Jungkook never texted back and as you stare at the screen – your entire body churns with emotion. He said five. Five dates and like hell, is Jungkook going to give you four. Your thoughts are splintered with anger as jerkily, you tip the rest of your drink back.

This emotion only grows, building into a storm as you stand, slamming your glass to the counter. Turning around, you shove random items into a bag – barely considering what you’re doing, before you leave your apartment. It’s late out, the night sky is dark overhead as the snow whirls past while you rush to the train.

Lowering yourself down in a seat, you have a sudden moment of realization. You are currently upset, angry and slightly drunk on wine. Perhaps this isn’t the best decision, and you consider just calling. But then you remember the story Jungkook retold, the one about his ex who fucked his best friend.

Cold, hard fear enters the pit of your stomach. You should have seen this earlier, should have read between the lines. Jungkook has met someone. He’s dating someone else, or rekindled things with Lily and he doesn’t know how to explain. He probably wants to let you down easy, and so is trying to push you away.

Though tears prick the backs of your eyes, you grit your teeth because you can’t wipe them away. Your hands are shoved deep in your pockets, having forgotten to grab gloves before exiting your apartment. Jungkook would have scolded you for this, but you don’t care what Jungkook thinks anymore

Jungkook’s apartment building is tall, built of glass and steel. It’s much different from your brick condo, and you stand outside for a full minute before venturing through the doors.

“I’m here to see Jeon Jungkook,” you announce, stepping up to the desk.

The man nods, looking down at his computer. “Apartment number?”

You pause, hastily scrolling through your phone for the resume. The one sent to you by your parents – there, at the top, reads number 3708. You repeat this back to the doorman, who nods and buzzes you up. “Go on,” he instructs.

The elevator ride to the top is long. Long, nerve-wracking and – slightly sobering, while your wine buzz wears off. You stare at the doors, wondering if this is still a good idea. You debate for a moment about riding back down, but then – ding – the doors are already open. Heart pounding, you step out in the hall.

His apartment is close – a black number 3708 on the door and you stare, managing to gather your strength and to knock. The sound is shaky, barely audible, so you knock again – this time louder as you wince, because maybe that time was too loud. You’re about to knock for a third time, when the door flies open.

“Hey, I – Y/N?” Jungkook freezes, wallet in his hand.

Your mouth drops open. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt – and glancing beyond, your anger only grows. “What the hell?” you gape, spotting a half-drained glass of whiskey and cable TV. “Did you even have a dinner?”

Jungkook makes a noise, not a very coherent one. His face is pale, when you push your way past. As the door falls shut, you struggle to regain control before turning around. “So?” you demand, crossing your arms. “Why did you lie to me?”

Jungkook continues to stare, as though unable to place two and two together.

“Well?” you ask, lifting your brows. “Say something!”

Jungkook shakes his head, coming to life. “I didn’t lie,” he remedies, half-pushing his hand through his hair. “I did go to dinner, things just ended quickly.”

“Fine,” you allow, taking a breath. The silence is deafening, and you’re unsure what to say next – but then you decide fuck it, there’s already no recovery. “Why didn’t you call me,” you whisper, “after your dinner?”

Jungkook’s expression changes. “I – did you want me to call?” he asks, slightly dubious. “That sounds… it sounds like a booty call, to me.”

Quickly, your cheeks flush. “Well, no. I don’t want you to do that,” you respond  – although maybe you do. “You cancelled on me,” you blurt, hating how needy you sound. “Three times in a row – how am I supposed to just brush that aside?”

Jungkook winces. “Three times that I had explanations for. Look, I’m sorry Y/N – things just came up.”

“Right,” you scoff, heel tapping rapidly against the floor. “So, what – you just kiss me, drop me at my apartment and dodge me, until I get the hint? Am I not pretty enough?” As you ask this, your heart hammers against your ribcage. “Am I not funny enough, successful enough? Did Lily remind you what you once had; did it make you want her back?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen with surprise. Lifting both hands, he takes a step closer. “No,” he affirms, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You – you think I don’t like you?” Jungkook seems confused by the question.

“What else should I think,” you whisper, pushing the words out. “When you’ve barely talked to me, since our last date?”

Jungkook closes his eyes. “Ah. That. Do you want to know,” he starts, then stops. “Do you want to know, why I haven’t seen you since that night?”

This is a difficult question to hypothesize, since he just shot down every answer you had.

“It’s because I want you,” Jungkook explains, voice scraped raw with emotion. He opens his eyes. “It is because I want you so badly, its torture to be around you and know you don’t want me. It’s torture to kiss you, to hold you like that, and have you say nothing. I know, I know,” he groans, noticing your expression. “I know you wouldn’t kiss me if you didn’t want to. It’s just that I don’t think you want me in the same way that I do,” Jungkook responds, gaze earnest.

You stare at him for a moment, allow this to sink in. “What… in what way do you want me?”

“Every way,” Jungkook whispers. “I want you in every way possible, each way imaginable. I want to change with you, grow with you, until I no longer can. I want absolutely everything,” he insists, moving closer. “I want to be next to you always, and it’s absolutely killing me that you don’t feel the same.”

“But,” you inhale, shaken by his outburst. “If that’s true – hear me out, Jeon! – if that’s true, then why the hell dodge me like that?”

Jungkook bites down on his lip. “Okay, I’ll admit – it wasn’t a very good plan.”

“What wasn’t a very good plan?” you hiss, exasperated.

“I kept canceling,” Jungkook winces, “because I didn’t want our fifth date to happen.”

Falling silent, you struggle to comprehend. “I – what? Why?”

“Because I didn’t want this to end,” he explains.

You’re silent for only moment – before you explode. “Are you crazy?” you yell, striding towards him over his floor. “You didn’t want this to end, so you pushed me away?”

“I know.” Jungkook bobs his head, swallowing weakly. “Look, I know. It was stupid – I realize this but,” he stares at you, pained by the words, “I couldn’t help myself. When I kissed you, when I walked you home – you said nothing! I thought you were waiting to turn me down. I thought you would tell me no, which is why I didn’t press to come in. I wanted to make the perfect fifth date to convince you,” he exhales. “I just hadn’t thought of a plan yet. I wanted to prove that I’m more than the boy you once knew – I wanted to prove that I’m worthy of being wanted by someone like you.”

“Jungkook,” you hesitate. You find you are not sure what to say, your hands falling limp to your sides. “I already know who you are.”

“No,” he exhales, reaching out for your hands. “I know you hold my hand, when you want. I know you kissed me back – but it can’t be the same,” he insists. “I don’t know if I ever said this to you before.” Jungkook hesitates, before barreling on, “but I hate the idea of fate. I hate destiny, hate all of it.”

“Oh?”

Jungkook nods. “My sister used to cut out my horoscope and I’d throw it in the trash. I said I’d make my own destiny, because I couldn’t stomach the idea of someone else being in charge.”

A smile tugs at your lips – his words are just so familiar. “No?”

Jungkook sighs. “I hate destiny, but I don’t know how else to explain you.”

This is not what you expected. When he moves, hands sliding over your arms – a flutter enters your stomach. Not just a flutter; a storm, a tempest, a wildfire racing through your veins.  You rather like the feeling.

Jungkook exhales, hands moving into your hair. Your chests nearly touch while he examines the stands in his grip. “I feel like you’re meant to be here,” he murmurs. “In the beginning, you were the one who taught me to stand up for myself. Now, you’re the one pulling me back together. I have to say that frankly, I don’t know what I bring to this relationship. I don’t what I bring to you, but I’ll try. I’ll be funny, if that’s what you want. I’ll be supportive, if that’s what you need. I’ll leave you the fuck alone, if you prefer that. Just,” he exhales, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Let me try.”

For a long moment, you cannot find the words. For a long moment, his words make no sense. They mix with your emotions, mirror your fear and tenacity and – it is hard to breathe.

“Do you know why I was silent?” you finally ask, staring up at him. When Jungkook shakes his head, you continue. “It’s because I was scared.” Lower lip trembling, Jungkook brushes yours with his finger. “I was scared because of how whole – how complete, you make me feel. When I’m with you, I feel like myself – which makes no sense, because I should feel most like myself when I’m alone. But no, you bring out these parts in me I didn’t even know existed. You bring out sides which shouldn’t be there in the first place, and yet here they are. I don’t believe in miracles, Jeon Jungkook,” you say softly. “But I believe in you.”

He inhales, soft. “Do you expect me to just – accept that?”

“Yes,” you smile, looking back at him. “You have to, I said so.”

Jungkook’s lips part. “So,” he muses, wrapping the strand tighter around his finger. “Do you need that fifth date still – or?”

“Or,” you tease, lifting up on your toes.

On second thought, your height really is better for kissing.

He nudges your lips apart with his own. Drawing you into him, his large hands secure your face to his. “Or,” Jungkook exhales, forehead bending to yours. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you agree, no longer a hesitation.

“Ah,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for your thighs. His hands dig into your ass to deposit you on top of the counter. He moves quickly, pushing your coat from your shoulders and tossing it to the floor. “I don’t think a word has ever made me that happy,” Jungkook moans, burying his face in your neck.

You gasp when he sucks, forming a mark you are sure will bruise. “Jungkook,” you gasp, scolding – but forget your own words, when he looks up. His gaze is dark, hair falling into his eyes as he leans both hands to the counter.

“Yes?” he asks, brow arched.

“Forget it,” your hands slide to his waist. “Please, just kiss me.”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be asked twice. His mouth descends, hot and bruising while your bodies twist roughly together. Your legs wrap around him, tight as his arms move from your torso into your hair. He kisses you hungrily, pulling your body closer; needing more, needing now, needing all of you at once.

His hands slide forward to undo the buttons on your blouse. This is shoved aside, dropped to the ground along with your bra. When you are sitting there, naked from the waist up, Jungkook stares. He exhales, hips grinding into your core when he bends to taste. His tongue flicks casually, leisurely over your breast. As he draws the nipple into his mouth, he teases you slowly while you groan his name.

“I want,” Jungkook murmurs, kissing up your neck, “to lay you out on my bed and have my way with you. Spread your legs, princess,” he whispers, nodding in approval when you obey. “Good. I’ve thought about this so often, these past weeks. I was so fucking hard after you kissed me,” he groans, hand sliding down the front of your jeans, “I jerked myself off twice at home. Imagining my hand was your pussy, your mouth,” he murmurs, biting down on your lip.

You groan, bucking your hips forward. “Jungkook,” you whine, struggling to press closer.

He nods, not wasting time as he lifts you from the counter. He walks the two of you backwards, continuing to kiss while he shoves open the door with his foot. Jungkook walks you into his bedroom, decorated in cool tones of navy and grey. He moves fast, dropping you down on his bed to take a step closer. Tugging the shirt from his body, you slide out of your jeans while he watches. These you drop on the floor, wearing only your panties when you lean back on his bed. Jungkook’s fingers slide to the waistband of his sweatpants, and you push yourself upwards.

“Hang on,” you grin, stilling his hands. “I want to do that.”

Jungkook stops, chest rising and falling while you reach for his sweats. Wrapping your fingers around his cock you find him already hard, hissing through teeth as you touch him. The sensitive tip is pressed tight to the material – you exhale, running a thumb over his member.  

Lowering yourself to your knees, you yank his pants down until his dick springs up. The crude slapping noise makes you wet, panties damp while you press your thighs tighter. “Tell me what you like,” you instruct, licking a slow strip up his cock. “Tell me what gets you off, and maybe I’ll do it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen when you place his tip in your mouth. When you start to suck, pulling him closer – he groans.

“Ah, fuck,” he stutters, while you play with your tongue. “I like fucking from behind, with you bent over a table. I like seeing you helpless, spread out for me and – ah, god – I like to hear your moans, half-buried in the wood.”

“Mm,” you muse, sliding off him with a pop. “What else?”

You move a hand down your body. Pushing one finger beneath your panties, you trace over your clit because just teasing him is unbearable; you need something to help – only his words are turning you on. The soft grunts and groans from Jungkooks lips are torturous, as is the slow sound of his cock leaving your mouth.

Jungkook’s eyes start to shut, eyelids fluttering. “I like to fuck, hard. So hard your face is buried in the mattress, your ass is red from spanking – and I like to cum all over the marks,” he breathes, and when you look up – his jaw is clenched. He’s having difficulty holding himself together, so you deep-throat him.

Jungkook makes a strangled noise before continuing, “I like when you moan my name. When you’re so turned on, so needy for my cock that you can’t do anything else.”

At this, you slide off. “Get on the bed,” you demand, watching him smirk. “I want you to fuck me – you can come where you want.”

At this, Jungkook’s smile disappears. He jerks himself slowly, spreading your saliva while he walks to the bed. He yanks open the drawer to his end table, giving you an excellent view of his ass bending to grab for a condom. While he rolls this onto himself, you sit down on his bed. Scooting back until you rest against his pillows, you spread your legs and wait for him to join. “Jungkook,” you whine, watching him move. “Please.”

He inhales, pressing one knee to the mattress. “How wet are you?” he breathes, moving closer. Jungkook’s gaze is dark, uncontrolled. “Show me.”

You obey, sliding a hand down your body. Spreading your legs, you let him see how you are dripping. Jungkook groans, moving closer and his hand joins yours, thumb circling your clit while his index finger slips inside. You moan, arching into his hand. Feeling already tight, already full and needing more than just his fingers to be satisfied.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

Jungkook withdraws to grab for your hips. He spreads you wider, aligning his cock before he gives you all of himself. Jungkook enters you slowly, inch by inch and when he fills you entirely, you forget everything else. Jungkook is large, hot and each inch of him is pleasurable. When he is fully inside, unable to take any more – you shift your body up. Rocking into him, forcing him deeper – and Jungkook’s hands tighten on your ass.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” he murmurs, pulling away. When he thrusts back inside, the motion is bruising and you whimper. He spreads you further, wrapping your legs around his waist to set a rough, brutal pace. Jungkook watches your chest bounce underneath him, groaning out loud at the sight, “Fuck,” he moans, watching his cock enter your body. The sounds of him fucking you are wet and sinful, over and over while you come together.

Reaching down, he rubs your clit as he fucks – and immediately, your insides tighten around him. It’s almost too much; the angle he has, the pleasure thrumming through you. Jungkook bends, your chests brushing together to whisper, “I want to come inside you.” His teeth catch hold of your earlobe, “I want you to feel me filling you. Want you to know how fucking crazy you make me, how out of my mind I am for you. Do you like being marked,” he murmurs, sucking your neck.

You nod, arching upwards, losing all ability to speak when he fucks you harder.

“Good,” Jungkook affirms, thrusting deeper. “I want you to be mine – I’m already yours. You already fucking own me, and I want to return the favor. Not where anyone can see, of course. Just so I know you’re walking around with my teeth on your body, your pussy still sore from the night before, god,” Jungkook grunts, and you almost come right then and there.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, struggling to hang on. You fight off your orgasm, every limb in your body trembling. “I’m going to come, fuck, I need to come.”

“Hang in there,” he groans, speeding up. Jungkook chases his own release, fucking hard and fast until he groans, pulling back to meet your gaze. “Almost there – I – ah, fuck. Come for me, baby.”

You can’t hold it in any longer. Giving up, you clutch onto him tight. Pulling his body close, forcing his cock deeper while you fall apart. Your entire body is shaking, trembling as Jungkook comes undone as well. True to his word, he fills you up – and when both your breathing slows, hips settled against each other, you seek out his gaze.

Jungkook’s eyes are lidded, expression blissful. He bends to brush his lips with yours, before withdrawing. Pulling the condom off and to the side, he ties this in a knot before tossing in the garbage. Flopping back down, Jungkook pulls you in close. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder blade. “You need to clean up – I know. I just want to hold you like this, for a second.”

Thoroughly amendable to that, you snuggle into his arms. Jungkook smiles, soft and sleepy against the pillow. “When did you decide?” he murmurs, legs tangling to push your shin with the pads of his toes.

You giggle, feeling his cock soft against your stomach. The touch is intimate, gentle in a way you don’t think you’ve felt before. “I don’t know if it was a moment, or a series,” you admit honestly. “The moment I realized, was when we were watching the sunrise.”

“Visible change,” Jungkook whispers, and you nod.

“I want to change with you,” you confess, as he smiles.

“Me too,” he whispers, pulling you closer. “Me too.”

[Bound Series Master List]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2017. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Five Dates!Jungkook + babysitting for Obligated!Namjoon

[yoongi-sugaglider]

Somebody Save ME

This case might just be the death of a young detective. Sleepless nights and stress filled days haunt the young detective Kim Taehyung but he’s determined to find her. Even if it’s the last thing he may do…

Warnings:angst, mentions of torture, mentions of murder, strong language, detective au

Word count:2459

A/n: Woof.Okay...soooo...there are a lot of things to say about this chapter. For one, I wrote half of it in one sitting while my mother in law snored beside me lol. Apparently the rhythm of my typing put her to sleep. For another thing, it was a tough chapter to envision. But now that the picture’s been made clear in my mind....I think you guys are in for a rough ride. You see...I don’t know the ending. I don’t have anything more than vague concepts and random thoughts putting this story together. If it weren’t for @btsstan4life putting up with my random jumble of half thought out messages and such, there probably wouldn’t be a chapter 7 lol. So thank you wifey. Much love~ As always, if you like it, please,please don’t hesitate to drop a like or reblog or even a comment!I appreciate them all as they provide the motivation to keep writing~

<<Part Six---Part Eight>>

Chapter Seven:Sunshine and Amethysts

Taehyung and Namjoon waited impatiently outside of the victim’s home, house keys in hand as the rest of the world passed by unaware.

“Where is this guy?” Tae demanded impatiently, jingling the keys in his hands as his eyes restlessly scanned those who passed by. Each person seemed to stick out as suspicious to him, and when he realised he was glaring daggers at an elderly woman crossing the street with her groceries he sighed and sat down with a huff on the front steps.

“Come on now Tae, he’s only a few minutes late. I’m sure considering the time of day and traffic it’s perfectly justified.” Namjoon leaned down and patted Tae roughly on the shoulder which Tae shrugged off as he rested his elbows on his knees, house keys dangling in his hand.

“You make an appointment as a professional I’d expect you to keep it.” Tae grumbled, more to himself than to Namjoon. His restless scanning of those walking down the sidewalk paused as his eye caught a strange sight that’d just turned the corner onto the street.

A young man, probably not much older than Namjoon, was headed in their direction. He wore a bright red floral print shirt, wide open to show an even brighter yellow shirt beneath. Vibrant red hair pressed beneath a yellow snap back virtually glowed in the early morning sunlight as the man danced down the street to whatever music came from the headphones covering his ears.

He twirled and dipped, lightly hopping from one foot to the other as he made his way towards the house.

“Do you see this guy?” Namjoon asked, plopping down next to Taehyung.

“Yea, wish I could be that happy.”

The two chuckled but the laughter quickly faded away as the walking ray of sunshine that was this brightly colored man began making his way up the walkway before stopping right before the two. His grin shone, filling his high cheekbones to their fullest and causing his eyes to disappear into tiny crescent moons that were rimmed with laugh lines that radiated nothing but joy.

“You two must be Namjoon-ssi and Taehyung-ssi. Bri’s told me a lot about you guys.” He stuck out his hand, first to Namjoon and then to Taehyung, who both shook it though they were still slightly in shock.

“Bri’s talked about us?”Namjoon asked as he stood up, brushing off the seat of his pants before holding a hand out to help Taehyung up as well.

“Well naturally.” The man chuckled, tucking his hands into the pockets of his overly large red parachute pants. “I’m Hoseok. Jung Hoseok. Dancing extraordinaire and part time computer tech expert.” He winked cheekily. “And you're Kim Namjoon, ace detective, top of your class at the academy, met Bri in your third year who is now your wife. And you..”

He turned to Taehyung who gave off a suspicious growl. “You are Kim Taehyung, no relation. Second in your class, strong sense of justice, always willing to help those in need. Also...very suspicious of newcomers.”

Taehyung’s frown deepened as he crossed his arms over his chest before leaning against the closed door behind him. “Well, you know plenty about us apparently. And yet we don’t know damn diddly about you. Don’t know if I like that too much…”

“Ya! It’s not important.” Hoseok waved dismissively, his smile never leaving his lips. “What you do need to know is that I’m good at my job and if there’s something need’s finding I’m the guy to find it for you.”

He waved at the closed door behind Taehyung as Namjoon sighed.

“Alright Tae, let’s just get this over with…” Namjoon nodded to Tae who, after a moment of internal debate, nodded and unlocked the door.

The atmosphere in the former home was foreboding, almost as if the group of men were intruding on an ancient tomb. A thick layer of dust covered everything and the little white flags leftover from the police investigation still stood, a grim reminder that they were entering into a crime scene.

“Did they not have any family to come and take care of the place?” Hoseok asked as he wrinkled his nose at the stale smell.

“No, the father was an only child and both of their parents and extended family were either deceased or weren’t on speaking terms.” Tae glanced around the living room, noticing the family pictures on the mantelpiece over the fireplace and the smiling faces that beamed out from the moments frozen in time.

A twinge of pain flashed in his chest as he recognized his missing crush, her bright smile never changing from the picture of her as a little girl, holding up a soap sud covered puppy in triumph, to the picture of her during what looked to be her high school graduation. She was dressed in a maroon cap and gown and held up her diploma, the same triumphant look on her face.

“You going to be alright?” Namjoon asked in a hushed voice as he patted Taehyung gently on his back.

Tae closed his eyes,nodding as he swallowed past the lump in his throat before leading the other two up the stairs to the second floor. Hoseok began peaking in the rooms as they past, only stopping when Tae closed one of the doors in his face.

“The office is down here.” His voice came out as a growl, causing Hoseok to raise his hands in surrender.

“Sorry man, let curiosity get the best of me. Lead on, lead on.”

Tae shook his head before turning back around to continue on. He paused though, squinting as his eye caught a strange painting hanging on the wall.

“The hell?” He pushed past Namjoon to stand before it. An all black background with violent streaks of different shades of purple. And in the center, taking up most of the canvas was what looked to be an arrow, streaking through the center of a circle.

“Why do I know that symbol?” He asked quietly.

“Hey, are we going to the dad’s office or what?” Hoseok asked, giving Tae and the painting a confused look.

A feeling of cold dread filled Tae, but he shook it off, have to focus on the case, not on this creepy painting.

After ripping the police tape off the office door the three men stepped inside, taking up most of the space in the small room. It wasn’t messy by any means. On the contrary it was well organized. Several shelves lined the walls, all filled with books of different types related to the father’s job. A filing cabinet stood to the left of the window looking out into the back yard and just beneath the window was an office desk that looked as if no one had disturbed it since the family had last lived there.

Hoseok immediately made a bee line for the computer, turning it on and pulling the desk chair out for himself.

“Mmm...now I’m in my element.” He chuckled to himself as he glanced over his shoulder to the two men. “I gotta ask though, how come the cops never searched this bad boy?”

Namjoon shrugged, leaning casually against one of the bookshelves with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m pretty sure they did. But from what the report mentioned they didn’t dig very deep nor did they find anything that could have linked him to the kidnapping or to his and his wife’s murders.”

Tae made his way over to the filing cabinet, pulling out the first drawer and beginning to go through the files.

“Knowing them they checked the bare minimum of his emails and a couple of files on the desktops and then labeled it useless.” Hoseok turned to stare at the screen as the password screen popped up, rubbing his hands together in glee before pulling a usb drive out of his back pocket. “Alright time to get cracking.”

Once inside he went quiet, pulling up the commands input screen and beginning to type at the speed of light. Though his eyes remained focused on the screen his body never stopped moving, whether it was his feet tapping out a rhythm or his shoulders wiggling around to some imagined beat.

“You know what you’re looking for right?” Namjoon asked as he walked over and leaned forward to watch Hoseok’s commands fly across the blue screen.

“You’re looking for a file or folder buried way deep that’s got information related to a Wungshi corporation or something along those lines. I’m running a program that’s going to drag out anything that’s been hidden or encrypted or that the old man didn’t want to be found. If it’s there I guarantee you I can find it.” He flashed Namjoon a dazzling smile that lit up his entire body before turning back to his work.

Tae meanwhile had made his way down to the second drawer, boredom causing him at this point to scan through the file names instead of actually looking into their content.

By the time he’d made it to the fifth and final drawer Hoseok had announce that his program was just about done scanning and was getting ready to extract the relevant files.

A tiny flash of yellow caught Taehyung’s eye, drawing his attention to a small square of paper tucked between the drawer of the filing cabinet and it’s interior wall.

“Hey hyung, help me with this.” Tae said as he pulled the drawer to it’s fullest extent.

Namjoon crouched down, pressing the tabs on the inside of the track as Taehyung pulled on the drawer and the two working in unison effectively removed it from the filing cabinet.

“What are you after?” Namjoon asked as Tae reached his arm deep into the now vacant recess.

“Saw something…” Taehyung grunted. His fingertips brushed against the square of paper and he grabbed it, but just as he was pulling it out something else brushed against his palm. Something long and hard and cold.

“The hell is all this?” Hoseok chimed from the computer. His search program had pulled up several files. All were listed as Wungshi and over half of them contained not written documents, but videos instead. “Hey guys? You uh...might want to see this…”

Namjoon set the filing cabinet drawer to the side and made his way to stand just behind Hoseok, his eyes focused on the screen. Tae meanwhile managed to grab whatever the hidden object was and pull it into the light. He stared up at it as he watched the light from the window shine through it, casting purple prisms along his face and the wall behind him. Some sort of crystal?

“The hell?” He and Namjoon spoke in unison and this pulled his attention to the two men sitting at the computer. “You guys find something as interesting as I did?”

Namjoon motioned him over, his face never leaving the paused video on the screen.

The image was blurred and black and white, as if it’d been taken from security camera footage. 7 hooded figures stood in a line, each wearing a different mask. Hoseok clicked play on the video but the figures never moved. The sound of screams flooded from the speakers, echoing through the room and causing the three men to hastily cover their ears to protect them from the screams of agony. A shadow swelled up from behind the men, colossal in size. It seemed to have wings in the shape of bones or some sort of shards of glass or crystal and horns that curled from the side of what they assumed was it’s head.

The video filled with a vibrant purple light and the screams raised in pitch when just as suddenly as the screams had started, they stopped. And so did the video.

“What in the actual fuck was that?” Namjoon shouted, though the other’s couldn’t hear him as they’d been rendered temporarily deaf by the noise.

“Jeeze, are my ears bleeding?” Hoseok mumbled as he checked his hands, wiping at his left ear before checking his hand once again, thankful to find it free of blood.

“Man, if the rest of those videos are like that I’m good.” Namjoon reached over Hoseok’s shoulder, clicking out of the video and scrolling through the rest.

“Wait, what’s that?” Tae interrupted his scrolling, pointing to a video that showed a man sitting in a chair. He seemed to be in a pitch black room, a single light bulb hung over his head to light him.

Namjoon clicked on the thumbnail and Hoseok enlarged the video, quickly lowering the video’s audio as well just in case. This video seemed to be just of the man reading from a book in his hands so Hoseok felt it safe to raise the volume once more.

“He is vibrance. A radiant being filled with knowledge that will bring harmony to the world. Fear not for His glory will shine upon us and His mercy shall reign over the world.” The man paused and stared down at the book before tilting his head back and letting out a laugh filled with joy, and yet, it was so unsettling in it’s nature that it sent a collective chill down the three men’s backs.

The man in the video stood, coming closer to the camera and giving it a leering and twisted smile.

“Don’t worry y/n. Daddy’s going to make sure everything turns out alright. Whistler shall come. And you will be the guiding force that ushers in his awakening.”

Tae’s eyes widened as the video stopped and Hoseok and Namjoon turned to stare at him.

“That’s…”

“Y/n’s dad...the very dad that we thought was murdered right along with her mother…” Tae took a step back, staring down at the strange purple crystal in his hand.

“Hoseok can you get us a copy of everything you’ve found? We might also need your help getting this all figured out. But this house is freaking me out...I’d rather do this at the office.”

Hoseok nodded at Namjoon’s request, pushing the chair back as he got up and reached around to the back of the computer in order to stick a second usb into the port at the back of the computer monitor.

“Hey wait…” He paused, pulling a chunk of cork board that had been hidden behind the computer out. There was only one thing pinned to it. A yellow sticky note matching the one Tae held in his hand almost exactly. A strange symbol and writing just beneath it but in a language neither of them could recognize.

“Hey...isn’t that the same symbol...in that painting in the hallway?” Hoseok asked, glancing up as Namjoon did to stared at a bewildered Taehyung.

“Yea...exactly the same...And y/n’s mom was the one who painted it…”

[vogel-lynne]

"Maryanne"

"I'm sorry to inform you" said the janitor at the door: "but your chemistry teacher today is absent and you'll have to stay here for the next hour!"

Every student in the classroom applauded cheerfully, but Johnny had no reason to celebrate; he didn't despise chemistry for a TV series he was watching with Liam made the subject more interesting. It was about a professor starting a meth business after finding out to be terminally ill or something like that.

"You can do whatever you want. Just don't disturb each other or talk too loudly. Understood?"

Boys and girls formed then small groups. Some were studying and doing homework for the next days, other were talking trash about whatever came to their minds. Johnny and James remained at their desk and the young Scot checked on his diary what he had to do, but everything was ticked as already done. He wasn't a huge nerd like his German friend Ralf, but he HAD TO plan ahead so as to do everything scheduled in his weekly routine. Plus, his mother Maryanne was a huge motivation: she used to be a brilliant student, but couldn't fulfil her academic dreams. As her son he wanted her to be proud of him, no matter where she was staying.

James underlined accurately whatever he had already done and decided to work on his journal. His hands tracked down diagrams and graphics that showed just his grade of satisfaction halfway the month and his personal achievements. Later he wrote down a list of albums to listen to and films to watch beside which he drew a miniature of the cover art.

Feeling inspired, Johnny grabbed his wallet and searched for the photo of Maryanne he conserved inside it, where she was smiling and wore a long purple dress that made her look wonderful in her simplicity and polite manners.

The he opened his diary on April, the 26th. On November 6th, Liam's birthday, he had already added a Polaroid photo of them holding hands whereas for the majestics birthdays and also for his friends' ones he intended to do the same. On Harvey's birthday, November 25th he had written a long thankful letter he intended to share on instagram. But for Maryanne he desired to do something unique and special.

"Draw a circle and add the lines for the face..."

He recalled Olivier's soft yet irritating voice trying to give him instructions that time he went to Paris. His French friend acted as if anything easy for him had to be easy also for whoever surrounded him.

"And then let's start with the eyes. Think of an almond..."

Liam's eyes were almonds, but neither his ones nor Maryanne's had that shape, sharing instead a softer and rounder one.

And one eye was done!

The other one became a challenge for Johnny's patience. For one moment it seemed that he was portraying Thom Yorke from Radiohead instead of a woman in her late teens.

"What's up?"

James's voice interrupted his fight against the paper. Luckily Liam was equally bad at drawing, as he replied to a fan that suggested him to become also a tattoo artist. Johnny covered the page, afraid to be laughed at like in his old school, but his friend didn't think twice to erase the bad eye and fix the asymmetric jaw line: "I'll adjust this..."

He pronounced these words without any conceit or desire to get something in exchange. He even added some floral details to Maryanne's outfit and a pair of soft wings.

"What can I do for you?" Asked a grateful Johnny, thinking about any gift or flamingos-themed object. The majestics friendship initially had the rule of returning even the most insignificant favours. For example Giancarlo wanted to take his two girlfriends in Paris after letting Olivier stay at his house for a couple of nights when the Japanese boys came.

"Don't worry! There's so much you have done since you came here!" Said his friend: "I made this because I wanted to! I hope also your father will appreciate it!"

"I'm sure he will do!"

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 6

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 6: Therapy 101

10:50 am

Flug tapped energetic fingers against the doorknob of his office, debating whether arriving early would be seen as a sign of preparedness, eagerness or desperation. He had been ready to go for over half an hour and was trying very hard not to rush up. He looked at his digital clock on the desk and counted the individual seconds as they passed. The moment the minute changed to 10:51 he could stand it no more and left his sanctuary in a burst of anticipation.

As he started down the hall, a familiar, unwanted coworker came around the corner.

“Oh, Dr. Slys!” Bautista gave a cheerful smile, “I was just on my way to collect you for the session.”

“Um,” the doctor stopped as he was approached. “I thought you got my email last night.”

“Sure did, about my intern? I think it’s a great idea, giving Lauren the kid to deal with. Thanks for the help.” The larger man flicked a thumb briefly against his nose and sniffed.

“I said it’d be a good idea to ask for her input not, not just dump Mart – your intern on her. That’s still your responsibility.” Flug rocked back on his heels to look up, squinting irritably. “And please refer to her as Dr. Rorschach. She’s our superior.”

“Eh, I’ll call people whatever I want. Don’t worry your paper head about it.” There was a dismissive hand wave in his direction. “Anyway, you ready to go? I’m excited to get this one to crack.”

“I thought you said you read my email.”

“Yeah, I skimmed it, why?”

“Well I,” the psychiatrist wrung his hands up his clipboard, “I did some thinking yesterday and I mentioned this in the email, but I…” God, he hated confrontations in person. “I think it might be better if we, if I was the only one working with Black Hat, at least today.”

His colleague’s smile was waxen. “What do you mean, Doctor?”

“The patient seems a lot more comfortable with me than anyone else already, and you – you let some information slip that I didn’t want him to learn.”

“What, your name? Come now, Flug, that’s not really that important –”

“It is, it is to me, alright?” Flug couldn’t quite keep the biting tone out of his voice. “Look, I’m grateful for your help yesterday, I really am, but I really don’t think this case will need more than one psychiatrist. I’m sorry for interrupting your schedule so much already.”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Bautista peered at him, smile gone now. “But I was under the impression that Patient 513 is incredibly dangerous and needs extra caution. I mean, you wouldn’t shut up about it yesterday. What changed, Flug?”

I don’t trust you to do your job, was the thought that made the doctor’s jaw clench, unseen. But he answered instead with, “I’m worried about the casualty count with so many people. I’m still planning to keep a security guard in the room with me, but if the patient prefers only one psychiatrist – which seems to be the case – I won’t refuse his request unless it becomes unreasonable or dangerous. I hope you understand.”

They stood facing each other, stock still, one face masked and serious and the other slowly turning a shade of violent red.

“I’m taking this up with Lauren,” Bautista threatened, eyes dark. “You think I’m incompetent, Flug? Think I’ll drag your perfect little record down? See how smug you are with a filed complaint against you.”

Flug’s fingers twitched at his side. “I’d be willing to discuss it with you and Dr. Rorschach, when time permits. I’m sure we can come to a compromise for everyone. But I’ve already requested the changes to the director. I’m sorry, but I have an appointment with a patient and I’m going to be late.”

He had to skirt along the wall to avoid touching his angry colleague, who refused to budge to make space for him. The psychiatrist felt a bitter, biting gaze on him until he turned the corner, and his teeth grinded together at the absurd politics of it all.

This was why he worked better with the inmates. Fewer games.

...

I was not able to sleep more than two hours at a time after my third encounter with my would-be therapist. Of course, that is not to say I had slept particularly well the evening before, either – plans of escape and wariness of a new environment puts a damper on one’s ability to relax, after all. But last night I was up for a very different reason.

Ninety minutes with this human who has so strangely caught my interest.

I must say I could not predict what that would entail. I have been the subject of attempted “psychological analysis” before, but it had been more of a plan by the authorities to draw a confession from me. When I realized this, I had only done the logical thing before making my escape.

Dr. Hyde passed away recently from medical complications, if I’m not mistaken.

But this…I could not detect an ulterior motive from Dr. Flug Slys. It might have been good acting on his part – highly unlikely – or a misjudgment on mine – nearly impossible. It is not something I encounter often among humans, regardless of their social status. Today would be an excellent chance for me to probe at him as he struggled to do the same. I was going to learn about this man, and why he was so fascinating, and how I might use that to my advantage.

It would be a lovely way to pass the time until my inevitable liberation from this depressing place.

When my doctor unlocked my cell door and fumbled pitifully inside with another guard, I was waiting impatiently in the center of the room.

“You’re late,” I hissed in mild irritation. I did not have access to a clock here, not yet, but I felt this truth in my being. The resulting apologetic flinch confirmed my instinct.

“Ah, yeah sorry, I was d-dealing with a…an internal issue. It t-took longer than I thought it would.” Dr. Flug rubbed his arm in sheepish cowering. He appeared distracted and I could not have that.

“Then you would do well to remember where your priorities lie, Flug. Tardiness is unacceptable.”

“Of c-course, of course,” he gave me a long look, and I smirked in return. “So I guess we should g-get started then, um. Are you, would you prefer t-to stand there or would you rather sit down? It’s a long session.”

“I’m aware of how long it is, Flug. Don’t patronize me.” I watched the armed guard carefully. “I don’t feel comfortable setting myself up so vulnerably while that man is present. I will sit when he leaves.”

“Oh sorry, we c-can’t do that. I – we can’t have a repeat of t-two days ago. It’s just a precaution until we can c-confirm our safety, you understand.” My doctor raised and lowered his clipboard several times. “But m-maybe I can have him s-stand by the door while w-we talk, if you’re willing to c-cooperate.”

“I suppose I can’t ask for much more than that,” I conceded begrudgingly. They really were getting smarter. What a shame. “Very well, I will sit over here, on my…mattress, if you will at least step away from your bodyguard for a more private conversation.”

“Sounds, uh, sounds fair.” But Flug waited until I had taken the initiative and placed myself on the raised padding before coming any closer. There was still a light limp to his step that sent a thrill of satisfaction through my wrapped hands.

I crossed my legs and smiled pleasantly. “So Dr. Flug, where is your colleague? I had assumed he would be here. Or is he prone to lateness as well?”

Something tense settled in my doctor’s shoulders. “Dr. Bautista won’t be joining us today, or h-hopefully any day. You, uh, if I can make the observation,” he cocked his head at me, “you didn’t seem to like him very much.”

“You may make that observation, and I will confirm it. Your coworker is a buffoon.” I watched as he tensed further. There was an expression in the reflection of his goggles that I couldn’t yet pinpoint.

“Oh no, he’s an intelligent man, please don’t say that,” Flug held his clipboard to where his mouth might be under that bag. “He just, we just thought it would be easier to have one psychiatrist in this session instead of two.”

“Please. That man’s egotism is plastered over every exaggerated action he makes. I’ve seen it before, and have no interest in tolerating it.”

As I watched, my doctor’s left hand reached up to run along the bottom rim of his bag, and he risked a glance at the present security, who was not interested nor interesting. When he looked back to me, I saw his hesitance become conviction.

“Is there…anything else that concerns you? Is that the only reason you don’t want him to sit in on our sessions?” Calculation. Determination. Motive. He wanted my answers for something, and I couldn’t hazard a guess at what that was.

Intrigued, I responded. “There are many reasons I have no interest in him, Dr. Flug. He has no sense of subtlety, for one, and cannot grasp at the concepts of perception and observation. Not a promising aspect of someone trained to rehabilitate criminals.”

My doctor was furiously writing my reply, possibly word for word by the way his pencil moved. He finished shortly and glanced upwards. “Is that, is that it?”

“No sincerity, either. I wouldn’t trust him with my scheduled mealtimes, much less my personal details.” As he continued scribing every accusation, I studied the way his shoulders remained tense, excited almost. The expression I had seen past his bag was increasing tenfold, and my eyebrows lifted as I recognized it.

It was mirth. He was trying to keep from laughing, trying to keep himself from revealing to me or our guard that he was enjoying this. I took the challenge.

“Would you like to know what else?” I asked innocently. Flug nodded, fast then slow, careful not to appear too eager. I uncrossed my legs. “He has no regard for you, and I assume that extends to his other coworkers as well.” I watched in glee as his hold on his pencil tightened in subconscious agreement. “He does not realize what the risks are in this job, nor what it means for you when he so offhandedly gave me the way to learn your name.”

There was a stop in the sound of granite on paper, and my psychiatrist looked up at me warily. He hadn’t forgotten our exchange yesterday, it seemed. I had not either, and although I still very much wanted to know the origin of his name, I bypassed the question in the air to ask a different one.

“May I ask why you want to know so much about your colleague, Doctor?”

“Oh, um,” Flug danced from one sneakered foot to the other. “We j-just like to document c-complaints from patients a-about…everything. For reference and uh, review.”

So he planned to use my testimony as leverage against his coworker. Without my permission. Unbelievable. In any other situation, I would have been provoked at best and murderous at worst. Even now, I could feel indignation bubbling up in a familiar spill.

“So my words will be shared with others without my consent?” I didn’t stand but drew my shoulders to full form. Irritation oozed along my tongue. “Are you telling me, Flug, that patient confidentiality means so little here?”

The little imp jerked back as if I’d scorched him. “No, n-no I didn’t – that’s not w-what I meant a-at all! I –”

“Perhaps not, but it’s what will happen, you naïve idiot.” I trembled to keep myself on the mattress. Any action that could be perceived as threatening would cut our time short, and I did not yet want that. Still, staying my hand was difficult.

“If y-you d-don’t want your p-preferences r-reviewed, I c-can keep it p-private!” Flug shook like the pathetic waif he was. His knees knocked together, making a sound that set my teeth on edge. I wanted to break them.

“You better see that it does, Flug, or else I will not be so hospitable,” My hands curled, sharp and stuck under their abhorrent restraints. “I will let you know when I want or don’t want something, and I will be very clear about it. Don’t you ever use my words without my permission.”

“I, I won’t,” the human took a moment to try to calm his tremors. “I p-promise I won’t.”

“Good. I’ll know if you’re lying.” I took my own moment, to let the anger drain from a cascade to its more regular hum. It was hard when my doctor couldn’t stop knocking his goddamn knees. “Would you kindly stop shaking, Flug!”

He sat down where he was, in the middle of the room, and the vexing sounds ceased. As my breath slowed and my irritation diminished, I noticed that Flug was forced to tilt his chin up to meet my gaze. I looked down at him and felt…hmm.

“What?” My doctor blinked quizzically and I schooled my expression with practiced ease.

“Nothing, Doctor. Simply grateful you can follow orders so promptly.” How curious. My sense of dominance was fairly common when I had power over a human in any form. Here, I could not deny that I had little hold of Flug beyond basic fear, but his position now brought forth that feeling of control, shallow but present at the base of my hat. I knew very well the influence of posture and placement in displays of dominance, but this felt distinctly different than usual.

Fascinating.

Of course, Flug took that moment to stand back up, destroying the bizarre scene and the thoughts it evoked. I waited impassively as he collected himself and filed away this discovery to consider later, when I was left alone again.

“Alright so,” my psychiatrist gave me a guarded, narrowed stare. I wondered what he might have picked up on. “I think it m-might be best if we move onto a – a different topic.”

I didn’t grace that with a response, and it made him nervous.

“Okay, um, okay. Let’s t-talk about,” Flug tapped at his left heel with his right toe. “Actually, how about you p-pick?”

This was new. I had never been asked to decide the source of discussion in meetings with ‘the right side of the law’. But it was irrelevant. I was finished with this session as soon as I learned my words would be used. It was time to end it.

“Mm,” I considered him. “Is there anything off-limits?”

“No, I, you can talk about a-anything you’d like.” He tapped at his right heel with his left toe. It was symmetrical to his previous action. “It can be trivial, or serious, or w-whatever.”

“Very well,” I shifted in my seat and leaned forward, showing teeth. “Let’s discuss you, Dr. Flug.”

“M-Me?!” My doctor squeaked, tugging at his bag. It was quite amusing. “I don’t think we should –”

“I believe you said I would choose the topic, and I have. If I am to share anything, I must know the little psychiatrist who hasn’t fled yet and seems to have a death wish.” Every word made Flug closer to the image of frightened prey. I took in a breath of the fear.

“Well, ah…” He was tense as a violin bowstring, and I waited for the inevitable, fourth time he would flee from me. “I mean, th-that is, I d-don’t think…” Any second now. It was in his body. He brought his shoulders to the bottom of his headwear. “I think, I…you know w-what? Fine.”

…What?

I blinked, dumbfounded, as he continued. “You’re r-right, I can’t e-expect this to go anywhere without, without t-trust. If we’re – if we s-start here, I guess it’s as g-good a place as any. Just…nothing a-about my name. Or the bag. O-Okay?”

I could not help it, my jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

This was not expected in the slightest. Every encounter with this creature, every mention of his name or personal life, sent him skittering like a spider caught in an open room by a human holding a newspaper. I couldn’t fathom why it was any different now.

“You h-heard me. Um. Ask, ask away, I won’t mind.” Flug’s hands flitted along his bag and clipboard.

It took longer to compose myself than I wanted him to see. My teeth cracked together into perfect symmetry and I stayed very still, looking my doctor up and down for signs of deceit. Once again, I failed to find any.

“Very well, Dr. Flug,” I hissed, frustrated. “Why do you bother toiling in a place like this? Surely someone of your…stature would be better suited in a place not so dangerous to your personal health. Maybe a lab, instead?”

“Nah, research has too many d-deadlines,” he answered fairly quickly, obviously acquainted with the inquiry. “And uh, for your first question, it’s j-just something that’s always felt right. You know? Something th-that kinda just clicks?”

I did know. It was the experience of villainy, in any and every form, that gave me that sense. I didn’t share that with him.

“You cannot expect me to believe it is only out of the goodness of your heart that you’re here, Flug.” I would have propped my elbows on my legs if not for this accursed jacket. Instead I settled with a slight lean to my right, towards my doctor.

“Ah, the m-money isn’t a small f-factor either, I guess,” Flug was relaxing, millimeter by precious millimeter. “But I’m n-not really here for m-much else. Just,” he rubbed at the back of his head, “wanna give others a ch-chance, you know? Who, might not h-have had it until now.”

“Do you think I deserve a chance, Doctor?” It was not as sarcastic as he would interpret it. I actually wanted to know his answer. “Am I someone who did not have that before?”

“Well I don’t know, I d-don’t know your history.” He looked at me, this lovely little enigma of paper and anxiety. “But I am absolutely w-willing to offer what I can. If you’ll have me.”

The choice of words made me chuckle. “If I’ll have you, Doctor? What are you implying? What goes on in these padded rooms, exactly?”

Flug was visibly red through his bag, which I wasn’t aware was possible and took great greedy pleasure out of. “I mean! I mean I didn’t mean! Not – that’s disgusting!”

He hit his clipboard against his face when the embarrassment became too much, babbling apologies and repulsion at the thought of anything at all. Quite the prude he was. My eyes drifted over to the security guard, who leaned against the door in clear apathy. His gaze was on some point far to the left. My doctor was still hiding his shame. Neither party was paying real attention to me.

I risked a shift to the end of the mattress where I sat. The guard did not stir, and Flug was busying himself with goggles practically buried in his notes. I tilted my head, calculating.

“What does ‘offering what you can’ entail exactly, Doctor? Is it merely counsel or does it extend to…physical therapy?” My grin was large.

The little wreck pressed the clipboard hard against what I assumed was his forehead, eyes covered completely. With a subtle glance at the oblivious guard, I stood very, very slowly. It went unnoticed even as I rose to my full height and didn’t move further.

“Really Flug, I’m flattered. For all my charm, I can’t say I get offers like this often.” One slide of a step, silent as death. “But I have a reputation to uphold, even in a promiscuous place as this seems to be.” Another slide. Four more to go, give or take. “What would the other villains say if they heard – can you imagine? Me, the greatest threat to mankind that ever lived, giving in to such basic, immoral, fleshy temptations.”

With every step closer I pitched my voice lower, creating the illusion of maintained distance. I probably did not need the caution. The idiot security was practically turned around, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. Flug’s eyes were closed, mumbling German things like “Bitte stoppen” and “Warum iche?”

I could smell his panic now, clear and strong and constant. Humans had the tastiest reactions. And without the doctor’s realizing it, I was standing over him, almost intoxicated by the rush of it all. I might have been stripped of my powers but stealth would never be an issue, it seems.

How I wished my arms were free in that moment. If I had all my limbs, all of them at my disposal, I could have done anything I desired. But one doesn’t need arms to contain, to restrain. I leaned close, planning to sink a hungry maw into that open vulnerable jugular, when I was forcibly stopped.

It was not because I was spotted that I was compelled to cease my ambush. Quite the contrary – the two were still flustering pathetically over my words. But it was Flug that made me stop, because I sensed something in that instant that forced me to reevaluate my summary of the doctor.

You see, there is an ambience of sorts that surrounds humans. Not so much an aura, as many so-called psychics would claim, but more a collective of their thoughts and actions and mood. It mostly manifests as a sort of darkness, although not one that anyone can see. It is a feeling, like the warning in your gut that tells you in no implicit terms to stay away, to beware. Most humans are not tuned into this frequency, for they scoff at the idea of a sixth sense, of the supernatural, of something they cannot measure or explain away. The few I have met that are in tune usually don’t have the instincts or training to pick up on the more subtle nuances of The Dusk, those people who hide their true selves so well. I myself am a connoisseur of it, like a wine taster at a banquet. Darkness recognizes darkness, so they say.

Being in a place like this, with so many humans and criminals shrouded lovingly in their dark ambiance, can cause a sort of thickness in the air not very different from a fog. Captivating as it is for a being like me, it often results in a jumble of confusion, as it is difficult to distinguish one Dusk from another.

Perhaps that is why I had not noticed the beautiful, sickening sense misting my doctor until this moment.

It was such a revelation that I could not bring myself to attack Flug as I would have otherwise. Instead, I absorbed the heady gloom like a chain smoker does the first pack of the day. It was a delectable taste as well – the quiet, unassuming kind that churns your stomach for reasons you cannot place, an uneasiness that is questioned and brushed off as paranoia even as it lingers. The sneaky ones are the most enjoyable at times.

And my dear doctor was very sneaky indeed.

Having wasted precious seconds, I reluctantly brought myself back to the physical plane and came so close to Flug that my cheek was nearly touching his bag. I whispered in his ear in the same way two days ago when I had assaulted him. But this was not a threat of the same nature, no. This was a sweet, sweet promise prompted by the wonderful feast he had unknowingly offered to me.

“Oh Flug, you should have told me. Your darkness is delicious.”

“Eeee!!” My doctor squeaked high enough to break glass and jumped at least a meter backwards, like one’s startled pet cat. He fell onto his rear and I laughed, loud and harsh and uninhibited, even as the guard finally did his job and corralled the terror-stricken human out the door in one fell swoop.

They left shortly after, but it did not matter. Our session was nearly over anyway, from what I could guess, and what had originally been a plan to settle curiosity from my overseer and formulate an escape became a wonderful, audacious need to taste more, to consume more of that sly little flavor from a little human Slys.

My dark little doctor.

Y’all thought Flug was the thirsty one but Black Hat has just found an oasis in a desert lol

[imaginethewitcher]

Heyyyy... Dettlaff and Iris... discovering that their s/o is crying!! D: Comfort... I cannot build sentences anymore!

Comfort is good. So I hope it’s actually comforting D:

Dettlaff: Youlaid curled up in bed, tears flew over her face. The unwelcome feeling grew andtook over you. Neither did you know why it was there nor how to eliminate it.It was a normal day. You did the daily chores, read some chapters of anenjoyable book and wrote some letters to your friends, yet dreariness creeped towardsyou. There was no reason. Or was there and you just didn’t recognize it?You wiped your tears away and tookthe aforementioned book from the old nightstand. Maybe reading a few pageswould cheer you up. Reading however turned out to be a challenge for your eyesfilled with tears again, blurring the letters. You sighed and shut the book,putting it back to its familiar spot. Nothing appeared to help, so you tried tosleep, but sleeping was difficult with wet eyes and a running nose.Out of sudden you heard a knock onthe door. You didn’t want to get up thus pretending to not be there and pulled yourblanket over your head. You didn’t know from any visit in those late hours.Another knock, this time louder and faster. You grumbled as you reluctantlyseparated from your beloved bed, moving sluggishly to the door, rubbing awaythe tears and roughly cleaning your nose in an attempt to look halfway decent.You opened the door slightly and recognized a well-known figure.“Dettlaff, what are you doing here?I didn’t expect you to turn up. I thought you had a lot of work to do today”,you wondered.“I’m already done”, he said, “And Iwas worried about you. Some of your friends told me you seemed dejected andyour eyes are all puffy. Are you alright? Did someone bother you?”.“No, it’s nothing”, you tried tosound convincing, yet your voice cracked and tears emerged in your eyes.“I don’t mean to bother you, but ifthere is something I can do for you, tell me”, he offered. His eyes lookedrestless around, before pulling a scroll out of his coat, which was tied with ared ribbon.“I made this for you and hoped tocheer you up with this”, he said and handed it to you.You pulled on the ribbon andunrolled the scroll. On the paper you saw different drawings with variousmotives of you. He looked at you in waiting of your reaction.“Thank you. Your drawings are alwaysso beautiful, but you didn’t have to draw something for me. You could havespent your time on your work”, you replied.“I wanted to do it. For you. You arenot a waste of my time, but are important to me. Making a drawing for you isthe least I can do to make you feel slightly better at least, my dearest”.You smiled at him. Dettlaff alwaysseemed to know how to cheer you up. You appreciated his attentive gifts.“I’m already glad to see you. Isometimes feel down for no apparent reason, yet you perpetually make me feelbetter. It’s really stupid actually”, you hugged him, “Thank you”.“I would do everything for, mydearest. Whenever you are sad, I’m there for you. Whatever the reason may be,it’s never stupid. Feelings can be strange or unexplainable from to time, thatdoes not make it stupid”.He returned the embrace and gave youa kiss on your forehead. The sadness vanished, replaced by comfort.

Iris: Thepast days were dull and bleak. The enjoyment you felt when reading, writing or drawingwas not there anymore instead it felt boring or even senseless to consult inthese activities. Even Iris wasn’t able to cheer you up. You never showed heryour sadness, but instead pretended to smile and be joyful as if nothingdisturbed you. Upsetting Iris was something you didn’t want. She always caresfor you and gives her best, you don’t want to see her unhappy because of you.For some time you were happier after her attentiveness, however gloom soon tookover you. You felt egoistic only thinking that way.While you sat there and contemplated,a pair of warm hand covered your eyes.“Who-”, you shrieked out of fright.“It’s me! Your beloved wife”, Irisrevealed, pulling her hands away again and kissed you on the cheek.“You scared me. I thought you werean intruder”.“No, just me”, she looked at youwith her loving eyes and warm smile.She knelt down before you and putyour hands in hers. You put on a smile again as you did so often currently.“You smile, but not like you used to”,she said, “Something is wrong. I heard you crying last night and it makes me worried.You don’t need to tell me, if you don’t want to, but talking about it, mighthelp you”.Her loving eyes became anxious andher warm smile became distressed. You knew how persistent she can be and thatyour half-hearted lies won’t help turning her away. You brushed a loose strandof hair out of her face and noticed how tears ran down your face.“I’m sorry”, you tried to wipingaway the tears, but they continued flowing.“It’s alright”, she said and pulledyou in an embrace, “Breath slowly and evenly”.While she hugged you slowed yourhasty breath down to calm yourself. Her advice helped.“I’m sorry I upset you. It was notmy intention. I didn’t want to cause you trouble”, you confided still in anunsure voice, “You paint, give me flowers, take walks with me and are there forme. You do all these wonderful things for me, yet I feel empty inside. It’s notbecause of you, I can’t even explain to myself why I feel that way”.You took a break to take a breath torecollect yourself. She nodded understandingly.“The things I fancied and liked todo, don’t anymore. I just don’t know what to do against it”.Iris loosened the embrace whileholding onto you and looked you in the eyes.“You don’t need to apologize, Ishould have talk to you sooner. It’s not your fault either. Feelings are weirdsometimes”, she said slowly, “I can’t offer much I’m afraid except forlistening and being there for you, but don’t locket inside you. It’s too muchfor one person to bear. You don’t upset me by telling me, but by not telling me”.You rubbed away the last tears for thestream of tears finally stopped. You felt composed and lighter.“Thank you. That’s more than enough.I feel much better now”, you said and your lips formed a smile, this time anhonest smile.“Not worth mentioning. I’m justhappy to see you happy again”, she replied with her loving eyes and warm smile.