#i quite like the idea of a double sided quilt but i know it will be hard to get the quilting right

[pernapernaperna]

This is the vibe for the quilt

[fountainpenguin]

"It's like a dagger hanging over my head... Every day is just the same; I always have to hang my head in shame..." (x)

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New Criminal Experience chapter today!

Chapter 4 - “Marked”

Read on AO3

Start from Chapter 1

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Impulse is in a fight. Mumbo didn't get to watch. After all, Skizz teleported him out of there before long. But while hiding in Skizz's spawn room, Mumbo realizes that a few very important "somethings" got left behind.

Skizz, however, seems oddly reluctant to poof back to look for them. Between that and the whole "Skizz is a wanted man" thing, it would seem these two have a lot to talk about…

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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Marked

Three seconds later…

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Is this what it feels like to be… carried? To be held not like a package, but like a precious thing? Mumbo curls in on himself, shivering, and reaches for the sleeves of his robes. They aren't there. And his fingers aren't there because they don't exist. Or they do… but not in solid form. It's the idea of fingers, and the idea of Mumbo, and he's hurtling through a river like an arrow shot through stars. He has nothing to hold, and nothing to hold with… so he wraps himself around Skizzleman in his nonexistent way, and Skizz - who doesn't exist - pulls him closer with one arm.

They explode like bursting TNT. Blots of shadow and bright purple sparkles rain around them. Mumbo flops on a bed with a grunt. Is it a bed? He touches it, dragging his fingertips across the quilt. When he blinks, pink lanterns glow back at him. He's huddled in his own robes and silky black bedsheets. One arm clenches his stomach. His fingers curl through it, pinching skin.

Where am I?

It's… familiar, in a way he can't describe. There is something very comfortable about the walls pressing in all around. This room feels like a perfect cube. Is it perfect? Mumbo sits up, nice and slow, bracing himself with his palms. He breathes… He breathes through the pounding in his head.

"It's my spawn room," Skizz says behind him. Mumbo turns his head. Skizz stands in the far corner of the room, fingering the collar of his blue jumper. Mumbo almost makes eye contact, then remembers to drop his gaze. Skizz grimaces in reply. Long fingers pinch the hem of that sleeve. Mumbo watches that instead, just because he doesn't know what else to do with his eyes.

"We're… in the ender-spawn temple?"

"Yeah. You'll be safe here, buddy… No one can get in unless I bring them. Although I wouldn't recommend stepping through the door. I'm, uh… pretty sure that got griefed."

Mumbo's fingers curl tighter in the sheets. Skizz is staring at him with those big ol' eyes. He can feel them tracing up his back, but he can't just look… Or he shouldn't look, anyway. He cringes inward, breathing hard.

Deep breathes. Really, really deep breaths.

"This… this is your room? Isn't that, uhh… kinda…?"

Skizz's fingers fidget in the corner of Mumbo's eye. He takes a breath of his own. "Don't be like that…"

"Right. Yes. Just… a thing. That regular… buddies… do. Yeah. This is, um…." Oh dear…

He breathes again and takes a more careful look around. The room is lit by a single lantern of purple endflame. It's pretty… Much more contained in its little frosted glass than the bare soul sconces back in Little Sun. The glow is so low, Mumbo stares directly at it for several seconds before tearing his eyes away. He doesn't even need to blink to clear any spots from his vision.

This room is 5 blocks across and 5 blocks wide, just like his own spawn room back home. Taller, though, with a higher ceiling. That's only to be expected (body stereotypes and all). It's been cleared out of everything. Bare shelves. Empty trash bin. No clutter on the side table. Double-U stands in the corner, neck bent. Buzz nuzzles against her face with her soft little head.

"… It's quite nice in here, actually. What a lovely little place."

He's not been living here… He's making appearances. Where's all his supplies?

Skizz says nothing. Mumbo looks down at the bed he's kneeling on. The covers are mostly on the floor, like someone kicked them off in a hurry. He slides off the bed, right beside a pair of slipper. This is familiar. It's familiar in a way his beating hearts can stand, straining at his insides they may be.

Oh my goodness, I'm in another man's spawn room. Mumbo's eyelids twitch up. He leans forward, grabbing his hood, and drags it down over his face.

"Mumbles?" Quick little footsteps cross the room. Skizz's arms must be folded, because Mumbo can hear the lurching way he moves- the way his arms aren't swinging, jumper pressed tight like he's holding back a wound. "Talk to me, buddy. Are you hurt? If anybody hurt you, Impulse and I can mess 'em up."

"… N-not that this isn't charming, but can we go somewhere else?"

"Somewhere else?"

Mumbo closes his eyes. He listens to noises outside the spawn room. It sounds like people are moving through the hall, mostly zinging back and forth as they poof away. No one's yelling, though. The glow of the default lights will indicate the room is occupied, but there's nothing to be done about that.

"… Um. Well, this is awkward. Did you not see my wanted poster? I'm a marked man, dude."

"Yes, but… Skizz, this is really very…"

"Hey." Skizz lowers himself, reaching for Mumbo's face. Mumbo flinches back, knuckles tight around his hood. He keeps his face away, keeps his eyes down, and tries not to look at him. Even when his eyes are glowing and it's very, very tempting to look at him right now. "Look, it's… I know it's not super-duper-pooper-scooper, but I'm still your bodyguard. I'm not- I'm not gonna, like, disintegrate you."

"Skizz, that's not- That's not the part that worries me, dude…"

Skizz pauses, breathing against Mumbo's hair. "That doesn't worry you?"

"I mean, yeah! I mean, I'm glad you led with that, but…" I wasn't afraid you'd rip me apart to bulk up your form. You didn't give me that impression. Mumbo's fingers tremble anyway. He removes his satchel. This moves his elbows, forcing Skizz to back off just a hair without being real offensive. "Dude, this is your spawn room. You… You have full control of every pixel in here. I don't think it's a good idea…"

Skizz does not touch him. His hands float in empty space and Mumbo can pick up on the hot glow of his eyes even through his crunched-up eyelids. "I'm sorry… But it's the only place we can be safe. I know it's… Like, yeah, there's some really messed up stuff that could happen in here… but I'm not gonna dooo that. You're safe with me, Mumbo. I promise."

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

[darkfearsandkittyears]

Y'all, it's Whumptober! I'm super excited!

Okay, uh...funny story [and super embarrassing for me] I am a highly unorganized person, I have a calendar in my room, but it's so much easier to check the date on the huge calendar in the kitchen! So, I calculated the days till October in August, and promptly forgot to write prompts and outlines, [even though I pants most of my works].

Fast forward to today, when I see my mom writing down the October events. I was like, oh, she's just reminding herself for next month.

Then I realized.

I literally forgot that September comes right before October.

I literally thought that I had another month to plan ideas.

One of you come whack me on the head, I really need it.

Anywho, let's get on with the show!!

"Come on, Damian! Reach for it." Jason dangled Damian's bottle, inches from the baby's hands. Damian whined and stretched his arms out as far as they would go, attempting to snatch his bottle.  Jason smiled at the child. "Scoot forward. Like this." He demonstrated, pulling his body along with his arms.  Damian stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, then cooed a little.  "Yeah, it looks whack. But come on." Jason shrugged and put the bottle down, wagging Damian's little toy dog instead. On what planet did this qualify as a dog? It looked more like a deformed elephant.  The woman at the store had insisted it was a dog….he had to get Damian some more toys. All the parenting books said that babies needed good toys for development. "Come on buddy, get your..animal." Jason called. Damian laid his head on the quilt and sucked his thumb. Jason snapped a quick picture as the little boy nodded off, tuckered out by 'tummy time'. "Come on Dames, don't fall asleep just yet." Jason said, grunting as he got to his feet. The wound he'd sustained wasn't helping any, and the painkillers weren't working right, thanks to the pit.  Oh well.  "Come on kid, you can't fall asleep on your stomach." Jason rolled the sleepy baby over on his back. Big blue eyes batted up at him, laced with sleep.  Looked like Bruce, a little.  House of Wayne.  Once upon a time, Jason had wanted to use the kid as leverage...but this was a baby, and his brother. He'd realized that, but realized it a little late. Damian deserved to grow up, shielded from batdad's nonsense and in a world without Joker.  Godamn it, Talia was right.  Having a 'family' around him had cleared his head. And screwed up his plans. Majorly. But he wouldn't trade it for anything.  Besides, he'd nearly had Joker's brains splattered against the wall yesterday, right in front of Bruce's face.  He'd make them watch, make them all watch when he pulled the trigger on Joker. For himself. For Barbara.  For Damian. Maybe then, when Joker was dead, he'd present Damian to Bruce. Let Bruce wage war against the House of al Ghul while he and Damian ran for the hills. Then they'd double back and destroy both families. He couldn't kill Bruce, not until Damian was older. Jason was no Willis Todd, he was far from willing to force his brother into a life with no father. Picking sides would be Damian's choice, when he got older. But for now, it was Damian, Jason and Talia against the Joker and Batdad.  Not a hard fight.  Especially when Jason had the upper hand.  "We're gonna be just fine." Jason smiled down at the sleeping baby. "We're already winning." Damian's eyelashes fluttered, and he let out a tiny snore. Jason picked him up and transferred him to his playpen, then wandered out of the living room and into the bedroom that he'd converted into a gym.  A rumble of thunder burst through the room, and Jason paused, hoping it wouldn't wake Damian up. That was pretty loud, for thunder. The ground seemed to shake with the sound.  The pull up bar he'd installed yesterday clattered to the ground, and he flinched lightly as an image of a crowbar flashed before his eyes. It felt as if something had hit him in the back, but he chalked it up to imagination. He was probably imagining the fog around him too.  Some things Joker gave him, he could never get rid of.  But Damian began to cry, loud, hysterical wails that sent fear up Jason's spine. Another rumble broke through the air as Jason sprinted out of the room. A sickening crack ricocheted through the house, and Jason unwillingly moved to the left as something brushed his right shoulder.  A support beam.  "Damian!" Jason had never moved so fast, weaving past and through the falling drywall and wood. He was only feet away from the playpen when Damian's wails choked to a stop, as if someone had turned them off. Through the fog and falling objects, he reached into the playpen and curled around the child, shielding him with his body as he tried to find an exit.  Damian's body was limp in Jason's arms, not a cry or a coo. Jason risked a

glance at the child's closed eyes and pale, dust covered face. He shoved the blanket up to cover Damian's nose and rushed blindly into the direction of the doors. Behind him, a beam fell and what was left of the house shuddered.  An eerie feeling washed over Jason, settling right in the pit of his stomach. Everything went quiet, but Jason tensed, alert.  A hot burst of air slammed into his back, and he knew he'd been right to keep alert. Jason grunted as he was thrown into what was left of a wall, which crumbled, pinning his legs down. His mind fogged like a static TV, and he could feel warm air.  Fire.  Then realization hit.  Damian was no longer in his arms.  "Damian. Damian!" His throat was raw, coated in drywall dust and dirt. But he yelled on, hoping, needing to hear anything from the rubble.  But there wasn't a sound.  Jason pulled his leg from under the rubble and plowed through it to the best of his abilities, climbing over and under and around piles of garbage that had once been a house. There was an odd feeling in his leg, the only other thought that wasn't an urgent repeat of, "Find Damian!". But he quickly suppressed the feeling, because through the fog and dust and smoke, a tiny hand protruded from under a beam. Jason attempted to lift it, but couldn't. Damian was trapped under an air pocket, but any wrong movement would send it all crashing atop him.  A lever.  Jason searched desperately for a board or pole to use as a lever, but saw nothing. But then his eyes scanned over his own leg, and he had to look back at it.  His foot was quite literally facing the wrong way. The odd feeling vanished and became a sharp pain that nearly took his breath away.  Focus, Jason. The League had trained him as a sniper, and he was good at it. He excelled, even.  But all snipers knew how to do one thing. Hyperfixate. And that skill, with the help of adrenaline, might just save both his and Damian's lives.  Jason looked around the room once again, eyeing the position of the beam that Damian was under. If he could manage to get across the rubble, he could crawl into the air pocket and rescue Damian. Jason pulled his body up and over rubble, ignoring the extreme pain that was now burning through his body. At some point, that white agony would get the best of him, but for now, adrenaline was masking most of it.  "Damian!" Jason called again, nearly falling over a piece of wall. His broken leg slammed into a sheet of metal, which dislodged. The beam began sliding, and Jason screamed, unwillingly. He felt his legs propelling him towards where his brother lay, and he pulled Damian into his arms and cringed as the beam fell down around them.  "Damian...Dames." Jason panted as the dust settled, smoothing the dirt off his brother's pale face. The baby was too pale. He had to get him out of here. The falling rubble was controlling the fire, but smoke inhalation would kill them. And Damian had been unconscious for far too long, but there wasn't a single scratch on the child to evidence any injuries. Jason growled in frustration. "Damn it!" His entire body hurt, his leg most of all. Adrenaline was wearing off...the pain was mixing with the green light of the pit, and together they nearly blinded him.  Rage, and pain. Great combination.  He looked around for a way out. It was like a grave. Tight, and hard to breathe.  No Jason.  No.  His breath caught, and he knew he'd just screwed up. There wasn't enough air in his lungs, and he could breathe it in quickly enough. He clutched Damian to his chest and tried to get in a breath, to no avail.  Whimpers punctuated his breath, and the rational part of him could have laughed at himself.  But he couldn't. Whimpers turned to screams, and nothing made sense anymore. He screamed the only name he knew would come for him. "Bruce! Bruce, please!" He could hear his own screams dying out, feel himself losing a grip on consciousness. "Dad! Dad...Bruce…" His voice rasped into a whisper, and he gritted his teeth. "Batman! Dad! I need you! Please...please dad!"  Not a soul

stirred.  "That's right. He's not coming for you." Joker whispered sadistically.  Jason shook his head desperately, tears mixed with blood running down his face. "Shut up, you stupid clown! Please! Bruce. Bruce! Please!"  Like a miracle on Christmas eve, a ray of light shone into their prison, and a familiar shadow fell across Jason, along with another pound of dust. Damian wailed, and Jason shielded himself and the child against the dust, then spiraled into an exhausted darkness.  Four hours later, he pulled himself out of the pit of unconsciousness. "Dami?" Jason slurred, exhausted.  "He's fine, Jay. With Alfred."  That voice.  Jason made an attempt to bolt upright, only to find that he was secured to the bed.  "You have two broken legs, five ribs, son." Bruce muttered, undoing the restraints.  They must have given him some hefty painkillers, since he could feel nothing. "Call me son again-" Jason snarled, his voice cracked and dry. "How am I your son, if you had the nerve to let him live?! I gave you the choice last night, Bruce. Save me, or save him. You threw a batarang at my throat instead."  "Jason-" Bruce looked wounded, his jaw working with words he didn't know how to say.  "No! You don't get to "Jason" me. Not after what you did. You don't deserve to have your son."  "Jason."  Jason looked up at Bruce. "What?"  "I put a batarang in your throat?"  Disbelief surged through Jason. "You didn't know? All those years of aiming those damn things, and you didn't know?" Bruce's face was as stone cold as ever. "No." Jason had probably imagined the look of sorrow on his father's face. It wasn't like Jason meant anything to him anymore. "It only nicked me, lucky for you. Doesn't even matter, I'm alive. Surprising, isn't it? You wanted me dead and him alive. What, you got a crush on him?" He looked away, unwilling to meet Bruce's eyes.  "I hate him, Jason. I just can't kill him."  "You screwed me over Bruce. All this," Jason gestured to himself, "Is your fault."  "You have a son, Jason." Bruce said softly.  "He's not my son. He's my brother." Jason replied, tone dark. "He's your son."  There was a dead silence that almost resonated. Jason chanced a look at Bruce.  For once in his life, the man looked truly stunned.  Did he break him? "Bruce…?"  "Talia's child?" Bruce whispered.  "Yes." A sudden whim forced him to add, "And you can't have him. You're not going to get him killed too." "I wasn't going to make him a Robin."  "Cut the bullcrap, Bruce!" Jason screamed, startling both himself and Bruce. "Yeah, maybe I almost got us both killed, but I've never put a gun or a batarang in his hand and told him to throw it!"  Bruce hesitated before speaking. "It wasn't your fault. The city was destroying a building, and the explosion shook the foundation of other buildings. I couldn't get to you two as quickly as I should have. I'm sorry, Jaybird." Bruce sighed. Sorry. Sorry doesn't cut it, Bruce, Jason wanted to say. "Whatever, Bruce.", was all that came from his throat. "Not the first time you've forgotten me, anyways."  "If I had known-"  Rage surged through Jason. "Save it! Why the hell is he still alive? That's my only question. Why. Isn't. He. Dead? Don't kill him. Fine. But let me kill him. Look at Barbara! Isn't what he did to me enough?! When will it be enough, Bruce? When he murders Damian?" Hands gripped Jason's shoulders, and he stopped his tirade. "Son…" Bruce began, then stopped. Jason could feel his face crumple, not a word slipping past his dry lips. "I can't kill him, Jason. I can't let myself go off that edge. "You failed me, Bruce. When will it be enough?"  Bruce didn't answer. Jason swallowed against the knot in his throat and spoke roughly. "I just want him dead. All I ever wanted was to make you proud...then you left me with him. That, the abandonment, it doesn't even hurt anymore, but I wanted you to kill him. For me." Jason's face twisted into a scowl that thankfully repressed the tears. "Make him die." He spat. "I can't, Jason. I'm sorry Jason. It's meaningless, but I'm

so sorry." Bruce looked physically pained.  He's acting, Jason told himself. "If you're sorry, don't let him hurt anyone else."  "I can't promise that."  "I know you can't. But I can!" Jason yelled, finally. But instead of his rage getting the best of him, it all just evaporated. He felt nauseated, as if someone had punched him in the gut. But all he vomited up were words, words that he shouldn't say. "All I ever wanted was to make you proud...then you left me with him. I don't care about that...but didn't you care about me?"  Bruce's expression darkened to something that Jason had never seen before. "I put the Joker in a body cast for a year. That permanent limp he has is evidence of it. I couldn't bring myself to murder him, because in his dead eyes, all I saw was myself in him. And it was all too peaceful. He tortured you for months. I'll torture him for the rest of his life." Bruce said the words like a vow, determination lacing his tone. Jason stared straight ahead in shock. Silence settled over the room.  "You-when was Joker dead?" Jason finally asked, almost dreading the answer.  "Dick killed him when he found out what happened. I couldn't let him live with the remorse, so I revived him." "Dick….killed him." Jason repeatedly slowly, almost dumbly. He wanted to feel anger that Bruce had brought the damn clown to life, but he couldn't.  "He always had a temper." Bruce said lamely.  Oh great, both of them were shutting down their emotions and verbalization. "Didn't think he'd go that far." "I did. He loves you, Jason."  "Don't talk to me about Grayson. He managed to do what I've been trying to do." Jason managed a rough laugh. "Isn't it funny, Bruce?" Bruce only stared at him, a near pitiful expression on his face.  It wasn't until Bruce hugged him that Jason realized that there were hot tears streaking down his cheeks. Slowly, Jason hugged back, blinking back the stinging wetness of his eyes.  This, all this 'emotional seminar with the Batman' was a total mistake. So Jason let go of Bruce and pushed him a little to regain personal space.  Bruce unsurprisingly was fine with taking back his boundaries. "You're doing alright, Jaylad. You took in a son that wasn't yours and you're raising him."  "I took him in for all the wrong reasons." Jason bit his tongue. "And what are your reasons now?"  "Touchè."  Parents...and adoptive older brothers make mistakes with kids. They fail them and screw them up. But Jason's mistakes with Damian could be fixed.  Jason couldn't. Not until the clown died. "You can always make the present better than the future." Bruce said.  Dammit, old man. "Whatever." Valid points.  Very valid points. "Who else trained you in manipulation?"  Bruce just looked confused. Either this was more manipulation, or Bruce being bipolar by the days.  Whichever one, Jason would try his luck. It was a mistake, destined for disaster.  But he just couldn't help himself.

[buggerup-busters]

Buggeruptober Day 10 - Sleep

"...but that doesn't make any... maybe if I take the depth of the ocean there... and the distance from the Chilean coastline... but then... ugh, c'mon..."

The words float around Ben's head, sharpening into focus moment by moment as his mind drags itself from the depths of sleep. His eyes crack open, slowly widening as he comes back to himself, and it takes him a breath or two to place himself in his blurry surroundings. For a second he thinks he's back in the council office, but that's not right, that burned down months ago, and it's not the museum, the window's in the wrong place and then he shifts his head to the side and sat there, lit by a single candle on the nightstand, scribbling intently into her little notebook is Eliza. Even half-asleep with no glasses on in the dark, a warm tide of she's so beautiful washes over Ben, and he smiles with a happy, sleepy sigh.

"...and surely the fourth Witch will provide balance, just like Percy said, meaning--oh!" Eliza stops her writing, looking down at him with a half-guilty smile. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"What time is it?" Ben asks, stifling a yawn with the back of his free hand.

"The bells for half two went not too long ago."

"Have you been awake all this time?"

Eliza shrugs, just a little, as not to disturb either of them pressed close together in her not-quite-a-double bed. "I got in bed about midnight--I didn't wake you up, did I?--but I just couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about everything your cousin told us, and I just had so many ideas and theories--I can't wait for the next Fourth Anchor meeting, this is all going to blow their minds!--so I figured if I wasn't getting any sleep anyway I might as well start noting some of them down." She raps her pen on the notebook propped up against her knees, which have her patchwork quilt drawn up close over them. "But I'm having trouble coming up with anything cohesive..."

Fumbling for his glasses on the night stand, Ben eventually manages to get them on and half-raises his head from the pillow, hair still stuck to his cheek, to blearily scan the page of messy notes presented. Her handwriting's shocking. "Did you write this with your left hand?"

Eliza grins. "Well, I don't know what else I was supposed to do, seeing as you commandeered my right." She wriggles her fingers and Ben belatedly realises his other hand somewhere in the warmth under the duvet is linked with hers. "I think you were still asleep, but you grabbed hold as soon as I lay down next to you." Still holding on, she leans over and with her free hand lightly brushes the back of one knuckle under his chin with a mocking smile. "It's cute when you're clingy."

Ben blushes, but finds he doesn't particularly mind. "Well, it's reassuring to know even asleep I have the proper manners to show the appropriate affection." He squeezes her hand and it's hard to tell in the dark but he thinks (he hopes) she blushes a little as she smiles too. "Now come on now and settle down. If your theories aren't coming together it's because you're tired."

"Having to sleep is so unfair..." Despite her grumbling to herself, Eliza places the notebook and pen away and blows out the candle.

The room is plunged into darkness, the faint smell of candle smoke drifting over them, and Ben takes off his glasses again, settling down into the soft warmth. Next to him, he can feel, rather than see, Eliza doing the same.

"Fine, I'll try go to sleep again," she mutters, already sounding sleepier. "But I'm doing it like this--" Rolling over, she softly kisses Ben's forehead and snakes one arm under his neck, using the other to gently turn him onto his side so she can press in close to his back and slip her other arm around his chest, her fingers finding his to tangle together again.

Smiling to himself, Ben snuggles backwards so until they fit together snug and perfect, her breath warm on his nape. "You say that like I mind."

Eliza huffs a small laugh, the air ghosting over his skin, and Ben decides right then she can wake him up at two AM every night of his life if he gets to fall asleep exactly like this afterwards.

"...though if Thea Pryce really was communicating with some sort of entity... I wonder if..."

Well, almost exactly like this.

"Eliza," Ben says. "You are talking almost directly into my ear. Either you can fall asleep muttering to yourself about the fourth anchor, or you can fall asleep holding me, but you absolutely cannot do both."

Eliza giggles sleepily. "Making me choose between my two favourite things? That's cruel." She presses a kiss directly onto the sensitive spot just where his ear meets his jaw, giggling again as he shivers. "Goodnight, Ben."

He squeezes her arm closer to his chest. "Goodnight, Eliza."

He falls asleep smiling.

[glenncoco4]

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Well, we’ve finally reached the big reveal. Ch. 13

"Aw, thanks, babe." She's having too much fun with this. Leaning down, she connects their lips one more time, twice for good measure.

Julia grabs her best friend's arm, a bright smile crossing her face. "Bertie, it's happening?!"

"Oh, I think it's already happened." She gives the pair a knowing glance, something telling her that this development isn't so new.

The agent pulls back from her fiancé’s lips, a thrill running through her body when she’s met with a smirk, yeah, they’re both enjoying this way too much. Soon the smirks turn into laughter, her forehead finding his chest as they enjoy this moment of stupefaction that their know it all mothers are consumed by. 

“Why are you laughing?” Roberta quizzically looks at the couple whose still laid out in the snow and back to her best friend whose dream filled gaze is no help to her at all. 

Standing up from her straddled position on her partner’s waist, Kensi steps back, reaching for his hand, becoming an anchor for him to get up out of the deep snow. ��We know what you two have been doing for the past 20 years.”

Julia nervously bites her lip, her eyes now looking at anything but the accusatory eyes of her daughter and pseudo son. “Whatever do you mean?”

Shaking his head, the younger blonde wraps his arm around his best friend, pulling her into his side. “Fess up or we’re eloping.”

Julia shakes her head, doing a double take as Marty’s words wash over her. “You’re-“

A hopefulness fills the older blonde’s being as she looks to Julia, both trying to not get ahead of themselves. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Pulling off her glove, Kensi reveals her left hand, a certain finger not bare as it was the last time the older women saw it. “We’re engaged.”

“So soon?” Julia elbows her best friend, telling her to stop with the dumb questions. They don’t need to plant any questioning doubt in the kids’ heads and have to start this whole process over again. 

He places a kiss to the top of her head, the chill of the air around them is no match for the scent of lavender that envelopes his nostrils. “We’ve been best friends for over 20 years and dating for 3 months.”

Tilting her head back, the brunette’s mismatched orbs find those cerulean blues that she loves so much. All the emotions swirling in their eyes, conveying everything they feel and love for the other. “We don’t need anymore lost time.”

“I’ve got to tell your father!” The smile that’s plastered to the older brunette’s face is comparable to an excited golden retriever. 

“Oh, about that.” Marty stops his pseudo mother and now soon to be mother-in-law from taking off in a full on sprint to the cabin.

She turns back around, a look of confusion set in her features. Great, Bertie, you already made them change their minds. “What?”

The detective grimaces knowing his fiancée’s not gonna appreciate him keeping something from her. “He may already know.”

Kensi’s hand finds her fiancé’s bicep, swating his arm in surprise that he would keep something like this from her. She’s not really surprised though that her motormouth partner couldn’t keep their news from her dad. “Marty!”

“I didn’t tell him, he just figured it out.” He shrugs, trying to look as innocent as possible.

••••

They feel the two pair of eyes on them constantly. Really they should’ve expected this from the beginning, every once and awhile the pair will share a kiss just to see the two older women’s reactions. At first it was kinda hilarious because whenever Marty’s lips met Kensi’s one or both of their mothers would be right there, squealing in excitement. Now, it’s kinda getting annoying. Not the kissing each other part, no, that will definitely never get old, but their mothers watching their every move…yeah, that’s not fun. 

It’s pretty much expected as they step out of their room on Christmas morning that both Julia and Roberta are right there to greet them in excitement. The thing that catches them off guard though is when presents are being opened and the two have giddy smiles on their faces as they thrust a box towards the partners. 

“Open ours next!” Roberta states as her eyes widen in anticipation. 

“Who’s it for?” Marty asks, brow furrowed in question.

“Both of you!” Julia exclaims enthusiastically bouncing up and down where she sits on the couch, jostling her husband in the process. 

Kensi’s brow furrows as she shares a look with her fiancé. A little bit of dread filling her being, scared to what the box could possible contain. Her mind going into overdrive thinking about a photoshopped picture of what their future child will look like or something worse like a scrapbook of their entire future planned out. “Both?”

“Just open it.” Umberto finally makes himself known, thankful that after today he won’t have to hear about this secret gift for the rest of his life. 

Slowly they each take a side, freeing the lid from the box, revealing a patterned quilt of some sort. “A blanket?”

“It’s a baby making blanket.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Unperturbed by her pseudo daughter’s look of confused shock, Roberta feels the need to further explain. “We read that if you were to create a quilt and shove it full of the couple’s baby clothes then it would bring you good luck when trying to conceive.”

“But you two didn’t even know we were together until a few days ago.” The detective states.

A knowing smile crosses Donald’s face. “Oh, we knew it was going to happen eventually.”

“How were you so sure?” The agent looks to her father but can feel the rest of the adults’ knowing eyes on her. 

“Lets see, there was Marty’s prom-“ The former marine states.

“And then Kensi’s.” Roberta’s fiancé finishes. 

Marty shakes his head in confusion at the swarthy man’s interjection. “Umberto, you weren’t even there.”

“Ah, but I saw the pictures, papi.” A grin curls at the corner off his lips as he leans back against the chair. 

Julia nods in agreement when she remembers a key piece of information that no one’s talked about since the day it happened. “Then there was the fact that Marty got drunk and cried in your father’s arms when you and Jack got engaged.”

The young blonde feels his body run cold. Not because of his supposed confession but the actions that might have followed. He’s not surprised that he showed up to talk to the man he’s always seen as a father, its just the not remembering part that has him confused. “I-I did?”

“Yeah, you were pretty wasted that night, son.” The marine interjects. 

“Huh, so that’s why I woke up in your old room that morning.”

“Yep. I was about to head to bed when I heard sobbing from the room. Opened the door and there you were…wearing one of her dresses, clutching a picture of you two and crying.” 

“Wait, what?!”

Donald bites back a laugh as the blush rises to Marty’s cheeks. “I’m just messing with you. No, you showed up at the front door and we talked, you told me that you always thought that you’d be the one proposing to her. I was trying to take you to your old room when you stumbled into Kensi’s and face-planted on the bed.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Roberta exclaims. “One night when I was on Kensi duty after asshat left and she may have gotten into the wine…anyway, about 2 bottles later while we were watching Titanic for the 100th time, she said she felt like she was Rose and Marty was Jack, they were destined to be together but life had other plans.”

Kensi’s jaw drops in shock as she turns to her fiancé and then back to her soon to be mother-in-law. “I-I said that?”

“Yeah, and then you passed out, started doing that snort snore that always brings a smile to his face.”

Shaking her head in denial, she couldn’t’ve possible told anyone. “No, I-I never-“

“Believe me, I was just as shocked as you are now. I mean I had always hoped you two would quit beating around the damn bush.“

Marty’s eyes find his fiancée’s as they share a look of confusion and awe. His lips find hers as the new realizations wash over them. Everything makes sense now. Why after her engagement to Jack their parents started pushing them more, making these tiny decisions that would leave the pair alone…saying these little things that would stay in the back of their minds. “I love you.”

“I love you.” She places another kiss to his lips before he pulls them back against the couch, proudly throwing the blanket over their bodies. 

The former marine huffs a laugh, shaking his head. He honestly doesn’t know how these kids were so blind considering everything they’ve been through over the years. “You two really had no idea, did you.”

••••

It took a little over a week, but the childhood best friends are finally left alone on their own accord as their parents head out to the village for a New Year’s Eve party. To say he’s been dreaming about this for forever would be a bit of an understatement. There’s just something just so special about this place and what it means to them, frankly every time they make love is special, but this cabin during their favorite time of year…its the fantasy of all fantasies for him. 

Now here they are, sitting in front of the roaring fire with a pile of marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers at their disposal. More so Kensi’s than his. He’s content just watching her, watching her devour her favorite camping treat as the snow falls outside and she sends him a chocolatey grin. He is one lucky bastard.  

His eyes follow her as she takes a final bite of her most recent s’more. There’s more chocolate on her fingers than there is on her lips, which makes it an easy decision for him as he grabs hold of her hand, his eyes fixated on her finger as he brings it towards his lips.

Her breath catches as he looks up from under his eyelashes and envelops her coated finger with his mouth. If she weren’t already sitting down, she’d be laid out on the floor as her legs turn to jelly. The moan that escapes her lips is one that often leaves her when her best friend’s involved. 

He can’t take it much longer before his lips are on hers, and he’s leaning forward, bringing them both to the ground as a moan escapes his lip. “Mmm. You have no idea how longs I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

“Sophomore year of high school.”

“Okay, so maybe you do know.” His lips continue their ministrations against the base of her neck, earning him a glorious moan. 

“Marty?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Stop talking.”

He pulls back from his onslaught of kisses, his eyes finding hers. “If I had a dollar-“

Shaking her head, the brunette leans up and nips playfully at his bottom lip. “What did I just say?”

“Oooh, is Mistress Kensi getting angry? She gonna spank me?”

“Alright, maybe I’ll just go finish myself in a warm bath.” She goes to push him off of her but he begins to envelope her entire body with his. 

“No! No! No! Shutting up! Shutting up!”

“That’s what I thought.” Her fingers thread through his golden locks as their eyes darken with an intensity that neither of them has ever known. “Now make love to me dammit.”

A little while later as they lay sated, wrapped up in their baby making blanket in front of the fire, she hums in contentment. “I still can’t get over it.” 

“I know, I’m pretty fantastic.”

She playfully nips at his ear earning her a moan. “I’m talking about how everyone but us knew that we were crazy about each other.”

He turns his head, their lips but a breath apart. “Oh, we knew. It just took a little liquid courage for our subconscious minds to realize it. And then obviously running into each other after being apart without contact in months for the first time in our lives gave us the little push we needed. Not to mention our over baring mothers continuously planting these little seeds in our head probably helped too.”

“I’m glad we finally came to our senses.”

“I’d be offended if you weren’t.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t go skinny dipping with me in the hot tub.” She places a quick kiss to his lips before hopping up and walking towards the back deck.

His eyes go wide in excitement as he follows her lead and chases after her. “Oooh, we can make our own bubbles.”

The agent abruptly stops at his words, spinning around with a look of disgust. “Ew.”

He winces, shaking his head. Way to ruing the moment, Marty. “Yeah, I heard it.”

[bymoonchild]

Sugarplum Elegy (M)

Pairing | Jungkook x Reader Genre | Fluff, smut, angst / College!AU, FWB!AU, Soundcloud singer!AU, Idiots to Lovers!AU Warnings | Explicit language, hopeless and helpless pining, constipated feelings, lots of smut, rimming, cum-eating, spitting, blowjob, fingering, classroom sex, Jungkook is emotionally constipated but wbk  Summary | You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while.

Or, Jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.

Word count | 17.9k

There’s no greater testament to love than love itself – the sheer vulnerability of being bound to someone emotionally and physically, and the aching process that bleeds into infinity. To love in every sense of the word is to offer your entire heart and place it on someone's bare hands, despite knowing that they might crush it in front of your very eyes.

Maybe love is like a dandelion, pretty during the summer mornings, but upon a huge gust of wind, its petals will be blown away, leaving its heart barren, abandoned. Given your past relationships, forming a fresh new ache and vulnerability for yet another person frightens the fuck out of you.

So when you wake up to a Jeon Jungkook beside you, lulled by the quiet sound of his breathing, your heart fizzles in your chest. It’s a no-strings-attached agreement that you two have decided on at the beginning of the year, but it’s still a feeling you can’t quite get accustomed to, especially when the first thing you see in the morning is his peaceful sleeping face, unless he’s spooning you, in which his warm breath will tickle the back of your nape. It’s weird because it feels nice, feels so right.

It's been six months since you two started the whole fuckbuddy agreement, yet you still can't get used to how warm Jungkook is, always so warm, as if the sun has chiselled its way into every single pore of your body, softening and melting your sharp edges. While his body still sends zaps down your spine, your mind registers that you’ve grown to adore the heat of his body when your cold feet always find themselves tangled together with his under the sheets.

He’s not much of a morning person, but sometimes, you’d wake up to him staring at you, caressing every detail of your face with his eyes, sunlight glittering golden in them, and smiling like a fool (an adorable one at that) at your groggy and sleepy self, as though your crusty morning face turns him on because it often leads to the continuation of the previous night’s copulation before scrambling to class.

You know no bounds nor depth with Jeon Jungkook. If anything, you’ve concluded that you’ve never met a person quite like him before, like the cosmos has moved for this concurrence to be possible.

Each new day brings a discovery about your fuckbuddy which keeps you on your toes, but nothing can ever beat the dorky Jungkook who becomes a freak in the sheets as he pounds mercilessly into you or pulls your hair as he buries himself deep inside the hilt of your throat. Nothing beats the feeling of having his warm body pressed up against yours as he whispers sweet nothings that caress and fan against your skin like invisible marks that will always be there, burning from deep within.

You hear Jungkook humming softly from behind you, comfortably settled on your bed while you’re hacking away at your laptop, rushing to finish your paper. You normally can’t work with noise or with another person in the room, but his humming falls quite pleasantly on your ears.

“Bub, you almost done?”

You turn around and spot Jungkook in only a pair of sweatpants, flaunting the ripples of his toned chest and abdomen. You have no idea why he even bothers wearing pants when you both know that he’s going to take off them later.

“Getting a little impatient, Pingu?”

A little pout plays on his lips, “No, it’s just that… You’ve been at it for hours and I’m kind of sleepy.”

“O-Oh, have you been you waiting for me? Why don’t you get ready first?”

“Actually, I thought we could, you know, just sleep tonight,” he smiles sheepishly, the curve of his cheek squished from where he is lying down on his pillow.

“You mean like…?”

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

You don’t reply, merely shrugging your shoulders, but the bags under your eyes are an easy giveaway.

“Then hurry finish your work and get your ass here. My arms are kind of lonely here and it’s cold.”

You can’t deny that Jungkook looks so gorgeous, so tempting, waiting for you with that familiar tender gleam in his eyes as he pats down at the empty spot beside him.

“You’re cold? But you’re literally my personal heater,” you laugh, tinges of amusement dancing in your orbs, as you relent, slipping under the sheets beside him.

Chuckling softly, he leans in and ensures that there’s as little space between your bodies as possible from head to toe, until the tip of his nose is brushing against yours. He playfully throws a leg over yours, pressing the strong cleave of his chest up against you and his body heat immediately engulfs you, sated and warm.

You feel like there’s a fire in you, made of soft, satin embers.

You smile, looking up at Jungkook’s pretty visage. Your night lamp casts a dim shadow on his face that insinuates his long, feather-like eyelashes, brushing the bone of his structured cheeks. He holds back smiling like the fool he is, busy drinking in the sight of you and the closeness of you, but that roseate flush that blooms over his face betrays his heart’s desire, spreading across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. Pretty.

If stars could take human form, they’d look a lot like Jungkook.

“Want to hear a bed pun that Jin-hyung bombed on us today?”

You hum in response.

“Never mind,” he shrugs, his eyes starting to crinkle up at the corners “It’s kind of sheety.”

“I fucking hate you!” You let out a whole-hearted laugh, doubling over to shove a pillow at Jungkook’s chest, “Don’t know why I put up with your dumb ass.”

“You love my dick!”

And Jungkook is one hundred per cent correct.

He likes to sleep naked, which is something you don’t have a problem with. At least he has the decency to throw on a pair of briefs, but it doesn’t particularly help cover with his morning woods.

You’re about to leave for class, but something uncontrollable and searing stabs at your belly when your eyes land on his taut, golden stomach, the faint line of hair trailing south towards the Calvin Klein imprint and the noticeable boner pressing against it.

As the soft light filters in through your curtains, casting shadows on the gentle slopes of Jungkook's face, a tempting idea pops into your mind and you drop your bag onto the floor, crawling right back into bed.

Jungkook is a guy who adores surprises and you’re someone who likes catering to his interests, though what you adore most is catching him totally off-guard and watching him writhe helplessly under you, for all the times you woke up to him in between your thighs. You find joy in taking care of him as your mouth takes the reigns, slobbery and messy with saliva dribbling down your chin.

Pushing the quilt away off the bed, your eyes take their time to map his body, before your fingers start to trace down the line of hair leading towards his clothed cock. You lean forward to press a kiss to the muscular ridges of his taut abdomen, and then down his happy trail, before slowly mouthing over his bulge and lastly, to his toned, honeyed thighs.

Fuck, you love his thighs – in fact, you've spent too many nights thinking about riding them and keening out loud when he makes your fantasies come true.

His cock springs free when you tug his briefs down and its stiffness almost hits you in the face. He's as rigid as always, tip angry and glossy with arousal and veins prominent in his shaft and you take a few seconds to admire the veins that artistically run up his length like rivers along a woodland. You love his dick, nobody has stroke game like Jungkook and you’ve never been more exhilarated when condoms were thrown out of the picture after you two agreed to be exclusive.

When you wrap your hand around his dick, the soft skin feels like velvet, enticing you to press an open-mouthed kiss to the tip. Body still weighted from sleep, Jungkook's breath involuntarily hitches when you settle in a slow rhythm, hand wrapping around the base of his dick, moving it in tandem with the bobbing of your head.

Slowly, he begins to stir awake at your ministrations, hand bringing up to rub his eyes unconsciously. When he manages to peel his eyes apart and looks down at you through the tops of his eyes, with his dick in your mouth, he groans loudly.

“Morning, Pingu.”

Coyly, you duck your head, running your tongue along the side of Jungkook’s shaft, keeping a firm grip around the base. When you return to the tip, you suckle hard with your lips, lapping over the slit feverishly. You relish the weight of his warm dick in your mouth and it’s when Jungkook starts to pant heavily with eyes rolled all the way back, his muscles straining as he rolls his hips upwards for more that you know you’ve succeeded.

“Fuck,” he knots his fingers through the dark tufts of your hair in pleasure, “I’d kill to wake up to this every day.”

“Well, today’s your lucky day.”

Leaning backwards, you pull Jungkook’s legs up higher and spread open them. You give his ass a little slap before further spreading his asscheeks and he jumps in shock when you spit obscenely into his ass.

Right after you got into the agreement, you two discussed each other’s kinks. You’ve always thought rimming was hot and Jungkook was eager to experiment with you, saying that it’s literally every guy’s dream come true to have his ass eaten out.

Your first lick is a broad strip from his perineum to his entrance, stopping there to suckle lightly at his rim. The contact sends trembles to course throughout Jungkook’s body and he gasps out shamelessly, closing his thighs instinctively and trapping your head between them. When your tongue laps at his tight, little tunnel, pressing little kisses to his rim, he arches his back out of his reaction, eyes clouded with lust.

You can’t help but tighten your fingers around his ass, kneading it greedily as drool and spit drip from the corner of your lips. At this, his mouth falls open in soundless moans, soft whimpers drawn from the back of his throat, muscles rippling beneath his skin.

Jungkook tastes better than you remember, though the only thing you can focus on is how helpless he is writhing underneath you and the protrusion of his arm veins as he clutches the sheets firmly from the interminable sensation.

You see his hand reach out for his dick that's throbbing between his thighs, aching for any kind of friction. The darkness in his eyes is enough to send a punch of heat straight into the pit of your gut.

"Touch yourself and you can say goodbye to coming,” you slap his hand away.

He throws his head in frustration, eyes shut and lips red and parted, "But–"

"Let me help you."

A growl is ready at the back of his throat when you lightly scrape your teeth on his rim, spit dripping down your chin, trailing past his balls and down to your bedsheet. Laundry Senpai would be out for a field day.

While your tongue continues to lick at his rim, back to his balls and then to the very tip of his dick, your right hand finds itself wrapped around the thick girth of his dick, finally giving it some attention. You begin to milk him, stroking him again and again and helping him to chase his orgasm. Perched on either side of your face, Jungkook feels his legs grow weak as you continue to jerk him off, revelling in each wanton sigh and moan that slips from your lips.

Out of pleasure or lack of control, you don’t oppose when his hips start to rut against your face as he chases his high. Instead, you slacken your jaw and lap at his puckered hole faster, prodding at his entrance with the tip of your tongue, knowing that he isn’t going to last much longer.

When Jungkook finally comes, you lap at his cock thirstily, taking in every drop of cum. He looks so fucked out, chest heaving up and down as globs of white cover your lips and chin, but you continue to lick the cum, swirling around his head. You gaze up at Jungkook and sees that lower lip is slightly swollen from where he’d been biting down on it, slightly red, and you desperately yearn to feel the soft and warm skin beneath the pad of your finger.

He pats your hair with a dreamy smile and your heart stutters at the way his eyes crinkle so prettily no matter how gently he’s smiling.

Your room is suspended in a beautiful haze, the morning air sitting like a blanket around you two, alongside the sounds of your breathing.

“Cute,” you whisper, pressing little kisses along the length of his dick.

Heat ruptures across Jungkook’s face, a visible flush radiating on his rounded, apple cheeks, and works its way to the bridge of his nose.

“You did not just call my dick cute,” he raggedly inhales.

“Shit, I gotta run – have class in like,” you ignore his complaint, checking your watch, “Fuck, 20 minutes.”

“Hey, take it back! My dick is not cute,” he puffs, folding his arms.

“Dude, I legit just woke you up with a blowjob and this is the thanks I get.”

“Just kidding…” He smiles sheepishly, taking your hand into his, “So I’ll see you tonight? We’re having dinner at the new Italian place, right?”

“Of course, can’t wait to watch you have an overdose of cheese.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes playfully, but the glint in his eyes screams that he can’t wait.

“Anyways, you better get up – you’re going to be late for your 11am.”

“I’m skipping,” his lips curl up into a smirk and even in his sleepy state, he still knows how to be a brat, “Gotta help Yoongi-hyung with something.”

"You're up to something no good, huh?”

With a sparkle in his eye, he smiles, "That I am."

You chuckle and press your hand against Jungkook’s cheek, fingers brushing against the scar on his cheekbone, intending to pinch his cheek, but he beats you to it and quickly turns his face into the curve of your palm. He then presses a kiss to it, painting his smile against the wrinkles of your skin and your heart ricochets in your chest.

“I—See you, Pingu.”

Another sleepy bunny smile adorns the stretch of his lips, “See you later.”

You don’t realise that you’ve been carrying a smile on your face ever since you left your apartment until your friend Jiyoon breaks you out of your trance by telling you that you look like a clown. Waking up to Jungkook by your side is such a domestic concept and honestly, that should intimidate you. Instead, all you feel is a blooming of butterflies in your stomach.

There are several traits and abilities of Jungkook’s that he prides himself on. He’s intelligent in a lot of ways and in some ways not. He’s socially aware and knows when to be quiet or loud. Yet, he has always assumed an air of detachment and aloofness, making people and sometimes even himself believe that he has an extra layer of skin, invisible and almost impenetrable.

He is, nevertheless, just a little shier with his words and doesn’t open up easily. Even when he does, he still walks on seashells around his closest of friends. He can’t help it – it’s just his nature and who he is. However, people who know him should know that he’s all bark and no bite. He’s much softer than he looks – and his heart is fragile and afraid.

Admittedly, he is a hopeless romantic at heart although the pursuit of pure, unconditional love is found dead in a ditch and he will rather die than admit that he still believes that he’ll hear bells when he crosses path with his soulmate.

Now with you in the picture, he really doesn’t know anymore. It’s unclear how this arrangement started, it’s a nebulous concurrence of fate… alongside the need to fulfil sexual desires with no strings attached.

You two met at a school event through Yoongi, your friend who’s a music production major and also the campus radio DJ, and while the three of you hung out a couple of times, you’ve never really established a friendship with him.

It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment where it all started – how you fell into each other like this, how you grew to become addicted to the crash of his body against yours, fitting into the little crooks of each other’s life. It worked so well the first time that the second time was kind of a given and soon, both of you came to some sort of unspoken agreement that the next time you come into contact would result in both tangled in bed.

So there isn’t such an exact moment when things unavoidably shifted in your life and trying to find the exact moment that unchained everything would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. It’s just that you can’t quite remember sex feeling so good with anyone else.

Still, you wouldn’t count on him being entirely transparent with you.

He’s still an enigma, never quite settling, and consequently, neither could your so-called agreement. The line has blurred far too much for comprehension. But it’s simply the beautiful contradictions that make Jungkook so Jungkook, someone you may never quite understand, but desperately want to, from somewhere deep in your bones. All you know is that your heart somehow lurches whenever he’s near, that his gaze still makes you shy especially when you’re under him at his mercy, and that re-watching (yet) another Marvel film with him on your bed brings comfort to your heart.

It’s not fair how Jungkook can make you feel like you’re six feet under what you assume must be somewhere between lust and adoration, when he says the dumbest of things like, “96% of guys masturbate.”

“Then what about the other 4%?”

He deadpans with a casual shrug of his shoulders, “The other 4% don’t have hands.”

You throw a pillow at his smug face, but even if he says the dumbest things, you like to listen to the timbre of his voice, how it rolls over the vowels like honey smothering biscuits. You should hate the way he makes you bare your neck so easily, makes you quiver and tremble at the slightest touch, yet your stomach still coils no matter how hard you try to push away the hummingbird heart residing in your chest.

“I don’t know why I even tolerate you.”

“Thanks, love you too.”

Questionable words like these have been thrown around casually, the harrowing weight often settling uneasily in both of your stomachs. Too many unspoken words fill the air and they’ve been lingering in the air for some time now. While it’s undeniable that you two share something, where feelings are mutually understood without having to say much, life isn’t a bed of roses and things will happen when the universe wants them to.

“Noted with thanks.”

Staying over wasn’t initially part of the deal in fear of jeopardising the friendly arrangement, but as time goes by, when sex becomes a daily thing and Jungkook starts coming over more often and later in the night, breaching the fuck buddy etiquette starts to matter less.

The dick appointments are always at your place because he proclaims that he loves your bed and it’s ten folds comfier than his. You can’t seem to fathom why because you find his bed equally comfortable to sleep on and it probably smells much nicer than yours, mixed with the brew of his musky scent and peach shampoo.

Now, almost half of the things in your apartment belong to him including his favourite fabric softener, just because he can. He makes sure that he’s over every Friday at least to do laundry and has even persuaded you to entrust all laundry duties. Friends with benefits etiquette? Not in this household.

You smile at the toothbrush holder, before picking out yours, which has its place next to Jungkook’s red one. It’s just moments like these where you know that he’s undoubtedly carved himself a rightful space in your life like there was a space reserved just for him. Becoming a constant beyond the late-night dick appointments and one of your best friends, someone you text and exchange dank memes with on a daily basis. Someone you trust.

You adapt to him quickly, and he accepts you unconditionally. In an odd way, it’s like he’s always meant to be by your side. It’s like the cosmos knew. And slowly, it’s as if he’s never gone and the mutual fear of overstaying your welcome or the fear of letting yourself get too comfortable with each other has dissipated. Now, it gets harder not to think about how his cologne tends to rub off on you even hours after sex and it gets harder to ignore the mixture of scents that lingers in your room.

Stepping out of the shower, you hum quietly to yourself and see Jungkook engrossed in playing a game on his phone. When you continue to hum, Jungkook drops his phone and stares at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“W-What are you singing?”

You chuckle, “Whoa, was I that bad?”

His face is a chiaroscuro, the right side illuminated from the lamplight, the left in soft shadow. But there’s something indescribable about his expression that you can’t seem to decipher as he stares at you guardedly.  

“N-No! I’m just ¬– what song is that?”

“It’s Euphoria,” you dismiss him casually, “By GCF. He’s a new Soundcloud singer whom I just discovered the other day. Heard of him before?”

“E-Er, no?”

“What’s with your reaction?”

“N-Nothing! I-It’s a nice song I guess.”

You beam, “Yeah, I think he just started his singing career, but I really like his voice. Makes me feel all soft inside.”

“Soft, huh?” A teasing smirk inches its way onto the edges of Jungkook’s lips, “I thought you only like listening to rap music.”

“Geez, can’t I have a diverse taste in music?”

“No.”

“Bitch,” you roll your eyes in faux annoyance, “Remind me to send you some of his music.”

“I-It’s fine… I can just search it up myself.”

You grab your phone, ready to unlock it, “No wait, let me just play his song—”

Whatever you’re about to say is lost when Jungkook reaches for you and cuts you off with a kiss. Heat sinks low in your belly when he catches your lower lip and tugs at it roughly. He rests his hands onto the tapers of your waist, before going south to cup over the curve of your ass, causing you to drop your phone on the bed. A deep spike of pleasure pulses in his abdomen when your eyes widen, a soft sound passing through your lips that only he has the privilege of hearing.

That night, the sex is a little different.

Jungkook roams languid kisses everywhere – your lips, jaw, the column down your throat, clavicles and down the valley of your breasts and you let him trace love notes all over your skin.

It’s a feeling that you two are used to. The sound of his pants being unzipped as he unravels you, your tongue feeling heavy with his. The crescent marks of your nails on Jungkook’s back as he thrusts into you with unbridled ardour, never losing eye contact with you. The breathy praises on your skin till it’s almost scalding, like pure propulsions of energy looping into stellar spaces, burnished suns flaring radiant.

Jungkook coaxes sounds out of your mouth like he’s tugging at your heartstrings, drawing out symphonies and melodies trapped beneath your tongue, until the room echoes with a mixture of curses and moans, until there’s nothing but Jungkook and only him on your mind.

You don’t fall asleep immediately that night.

While Jungkook’s face is tucked into his pillow, lips slightly parted, and breaths calm and soft against your sheets, you comb your fingers through his hair, liking how his locks feel soft like rose petals between your fingers.

When dawn arrives and slowly paints the world a pale rose and the noise of the city is muted outside, you bury your face into the dips of his shoulder blades as your mind continues to swirl, absorbing Jungkook and everything about him. How he smells like the smell of clean linen and peach, a light musk that sits heavy and familiar, how you can’t shake the phantom smell of Jungkook’s cologne on your skin.

In all honesty, it hurts. You’ve never felt this susceptible to someone’s gaze or touch and it fills you with nothing but with further want for him.  

Friends with benefits aren’t meant to be like this. They aren’t supposed to have such tenderness laced into every touch. But the thing is, you’re well aware that you don’t just treat Jungkook as just a fuckbuddy, not when your body reacts to his touches like this, not when static seems to build beneath your bones every time he smiles at you with stars coruscating in his eyes.  

There are times you’ve thought about how maybe, just maybe he feels something different about you, like the way you feel about him, but you’re probably projecting your own feelings onto him, so you dismiss it without further thought.

You could make a home in the hollow of his hold. But for now, you’d just let the rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest lull you to sleep.

[you] [16:35] hello are you open for business today [16:36] i would like to make a dick appointment

[Big Dick Dude 👅] [16:36] hi yes, welcum [16:36] we have a slot from 8pm all the way till 9am the next morning [16:37] we provide dinner too. any preference?

[you] [16:37] i would like some nuggets with a Dick on the side [16:37] mega upsize for the Dick please  

[Big Dick Dude 👅] [16:37] Large size it is. okie dokies your reservation has been confirmed [16:37] n.e ways, want to hear a joke about my dick? [16:37] nevermind, it’s too long

[you] [16:38] sorry can i cancel my appointment? i don’t remember asking for a lame willy  

Jungkook always delivers and you’re not just talking about nuggets, bubble tea, and his Big Dick on the side. He always delivers, whether it’s his promises or fleeting remarks that you don’t even remember him saying. After months of being physically intimate with him, you learn that Jungkook is everything you thought he would be, and at the same time so much more and it piques your curiosity.

You want to learn more about him, unravel him from inside and out, until you are confidently acquainted with the exact colour of his eyes, the sound of his laughter, and the little antics that just make him so charming and endearingly dorky – everything that makes him Jeon Jungkook.

“Strawberry milk tea for me, 100% sugar because why not, and a green milk tea with pearls, 30% sugar for my lady.”

Static gathers at your fingertips as Jungkook’s fingers brush against yours when he hands you your drink.

You ignore his attempt to flirt, “You remember my order?”

“Of course,” he says a little too quickly and regrets immediately, “I-I mean, it’s a simple order… Pretty sure my one braincell can at least remember it.”

Smiling softly, you pull him into an embrace, while he rests his chin on the top of your head, taking advantage of the extra centimetres in height he has on you.

The light coming from your bed lamp allows the brush of his lashes to be shadowed onto the perfectly sculpted apples of his cheeks. From where you’re standing, you swear you can see a little blush making camp on his cheeks and you’re smacked once again with heavy realisation that your fuckbuddy is unbelievably ethereal.

Not that you aren’t already aware of it, but Jungkook staring at you with such bright adoration in his eyes, the light scar etched on his cheek, which screams to be smooched, and the small mole on the side of his neck that has become your favourite spot to kiss, is really something else.

“Fucking date me already, bro,” you mutter under your breath as you nuzzle your face into his chest.

His warm eyes bore imploringly at you and you tense up almost immediately, feeling hot like there is a fire deep in your bones, washing your senses away. The thought of him agreeing to your casual tease crosses your mind as a fleeting thought, but it dies when Jungkook just brushes it off with a chuckle.  

“Only if you pay me.”

“You fucking wish.”

A reciprocal laugh escapes from Jungkook’s lips, but he thinks his heart has just done a pirouette at the sight of your smile.  

“So how was your day?” He whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear even though it doesn’t fall, just because he just likes touching you, because he wants to be near you all the time, “Hope it was as nice as my ass.”

You scoff, but there’s an amused smile on your face, “I actually don’t know if you’re being truly genuine or sarcastic.”

“Well, it depends on whether you think my ass is nice or not.”

“Hmm… Well, it’s not that nice as Taehyung’s… I’ll give it a 6 or 7.”

“What the fuck?” Jungkook gasps out loud dramatically, “Right in front of my salad? Take that back! You’re not allowed to talk about my friend’s ass in front of me.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Because I… You just can’t! That’s just… the bro code!” He shakes his head furiously and the little pout starts to form on his lips doesn’t escape your notice.

“That literally doesn’t make sense.”

“Bub... Do you really think his ass is better than mine?”

Despite the crude nature of his question, there’s a certain softness laced in his voice. He clutches your palm, his thumb idly gliding up and down the back of your palm so tenderly that it has the tips of your ears warming.

“Jeon Jungkook, are you jealous right now?”

“What? Of course not!”

“Well, I mean Taehyung does have nice fingers too, but I like yours more.”

“O-Oh, okay,” he mutters under his breath, continuing to rub circles into your palm silently.

A laugh leaves your lips as you pad over, “Dumbass. When I say that you have nice fingers, it means that I want them. In me.”

You’re grinning at him and he feels like his heart has grown fists because his sternum feels like it’s being battered.

“Fuck, your mouth is a sin.”

“You love it though,” you whisper sultrily, before placing your hand dangerously near his crotch and then dragging a finger over the length of his cock through his pants.

“Hell yeah I do.”

It’s whispered, barely louder than a breath and it’s more of a confession than Jungkook ever wants to admit.

Leaning in, his breath brushes over your bottom lip as he curls an arm around your neck to pull you closer. He leans forward, nose brushing against yours before he plants a kiss on your lips.

Your lips continue to dance over each other, heart skipping a beat whenever Jungkook sucks on your bottom lip. It’s a soft kiss, but also a hard fall, like plummeting a million miles an hour through time and space to land straight in the middle of heaven, the gates opening to reveal a beautifully blossoming feeling of unparalleled warmth and joy.

Maybe it’s against Jungkook’s better judgement when he presses another chaste kiss to the space between your eyes. Maybe that in itself is a very poor decision, because his feelings suddenly threaten to consume him completely.

Because in the deep tresses of his mind, he thinks he can hear bells ringing.

You can’t breathe, hands fisted in the front of Jungkook’s shirt, dizzy, lightheaded and hot all over. His teeth scrape over your bottom lip, which nearly makes your knees give out, and you barely have time to draw in a ragged breath before he greedily dives into the sensitive part of your neck for more. You tilt your head back, giving him free rein, and grip his bare shoulders so hard that you know it’ll leave red marks on his skin. You strangely like the idea of that.

He begins to nibble the pulse beneath your jaw fervently, eyelashes fluttering against the hinge of your jaw, till he sees a bruise beginning to blossom, his hand sneaking up your skirt. You try to break away from the pursuit of his kisses, but Jungkook is undeterred, planting kisses and nibbles down your jaw and to your breasts, prompting the smouldering lust crackling over your skin to only intensify.

Shuffling to the edge of the bed, his eyes rest on your features as you hover over him. Your fingers reach out to grab at the waistband of his pants and underwear, yanking them so that they pool around his ankles, before taking his dick in your hands.

You’re about to wrap your lips around the head of his cock when Jungkook cuts you off.

“Wait, how do you know that Taehyung’s fingers are nice? Do you stare at them?”

Your actions come to a halt and you let out a loud sigh in annoyance to mask the way your chest fills with so much fondness that it oozes out of every crevice of your body at Jungkook’s confused expression with his big doe eyes.

“Jeon Jungkook, I’m literally about to suck your dick. Does it really matter?”

Something cracks in his demeanour and he snaps after that. You can’t even remember how many times you fuck that night. Right after you suck Jungkook off, he’s hitched you up and pressed you up against the wall and fucked you rough and fast, just the way both of you like it. The second time is slower and less frantic. He’s stripped you of your clothes and thrown you onto the bed and pounded into you, slow and deep, until you’re keening and begging for more.

By the end of the night, you’re sore in so many places, with bruises painted all over your body like an artwork, and Jungkook is knocked out cold next to you, a heavy arm draped across your waist. As you relish in his warmth and weight beside you, the heightened thrum of your pulse continues to be cognisant at the under of your jaw, screaming in the distance.  

Three weeks into discovering GCF’s music, it’s become your life goal to never shut up about him. For someone who is a sworn rap fanatic (which is how you became friends with Yoongi because god, his taste in music is superior and he himself spits fire with no mercy), you’ve strangely become obsessed with GCF’s poignant music and his thematic exploration of love. It’s come to a point where you have every single one of his songs downloaded onto your phone and you visit his Soundcloud page every day without fail to check if he’s uploaded a new track or replied to comments.

There’s just something about his voice that manages to worm its way directly into your chest, where it’s festered into something so captivating that you can’t help but feel a meadowsweet summer warmth clamouring around your heart with giddiness on its heels. His voice has a certain sweetness, a softness that you could sometimes feel in the pit of your belly if you listen to him with your eyes closed.

You’re just a teensy bit butthurt that he hasn’t responded to your comment from last week – your really long and sweet comment about how much you could listen to him sing forever.

It also doesn’t help that Jungkook isn’t supportive of your fangirl antics and he proves it once again with the judgmental look he’s shooting you from your desk, while busying himself with a bowl of cereal at 2am. You’re unsure whether you should be the one judging him but then again, he is Jeon Jungkook after all.

"Why can’t you crush on an idol? You don’t even know how this dude looks like.”

You frown, pressing your lips together, “Stop being a hater. Isn’t that just the beauty of an underground artist?”

Rolling his eyes, Jungkook replies with an air of nonchalance, “Okay, but what if he’s a serial killer? Or a 50-year-old creep?”

“Chill dude, he said somewhere that he’s a college kid. That’s why he takes quite long to put out new releases.”

“He said that?”

“I think I read it somewhere in the comments,” you shrug, stealing another mouthful of Jungkook’s cereal just because you can, “Why?”

He ignores your question and snatches back the spoon in faux irritation, “So what else do you know about him?”

You shrug, staring at him a moment longer, “Nothing much, except for the fact that he’s hopelessly in love with someone because his songs are fucking sad and romantic, but you know what? I absolutely dig that aesthetic.”

Jungkook feels like his soul is being looked into, and for a moment there, he genuinely thinks that you’re tricking him into admitting the truth. It scares him to think that he might have been transparent and vulnerable with his feelings. But even if you suspect anything, if you’ve noticed any sort of hints in the way Jungkook acts or the things he says, you don’t show it.

“He is?” He manages to squeak out, eyes glued on his now empty bowl.

“What’s with you questioning everything about him?”

“Nothing… It’s just… this guy seems dodgy. He doesn’t even sing that well. And what does GCF even stand for? Greatest common factor?”

“Oh my god, shut your nerdy trap!” You gasp, mouth agape, “And who are you to say that? You can’t even sing!”

You hit him with your pillow, but Jungkook, being the all-rounded guy he is, deftly catches it with a tight smile, “Remember that time when you tried singing to Justin Bieber – I swear I thought my mirrors were about to shatter!”

This only prompts an eyeroll from him as he’s brought back to the memory of him purposely screeching at the top of his lungs when you blasted Justin Bieber.

He doesn’t like lying to you, but he hasn’t quite decided on how he wanted to break the news to you. Does he simply just confess to you one day about him GCF all along? That all his songs are about you? That the person he’s hopelessly in love with… is you?

He doesn’t know, but he knows that he’s fine with whatever he has with you now. It’s an easy habit, the way you immediately scooch over to your side of the bed to make room for Jungkook. It’s just as much of a habit the way he immediately throws an arm over your waist, sturdy chest against the small of your back and legs entangled for extra heat The cuddle fest resumes, but when Jungkook presses his nose against the exposed skin at the base of your neck and sighs quietly, you realise that something’s off.

“You okay, Pingu?”

“Mmm fine.”

Your eyes are patient, fond, as you turn over to trail your fingers down his face, over the apple of his cheek and the corner of his mouth, brushing gingerly over his lower lip.

“Want to talk about it?”

Closing his eyes, he sighs, “Nah, it’s okay.”

He could not be content with the joyful contemplation of your eyes and your golden heart. Not even for a second could he let this love dwell upon his senses– because he knows he’s going to let you down at the end of the day.

The apartment falls quiet. Within the moment of silence that falls between you two, you think about how you two have shared so many silences, the quiet and steady presence of unwavering and unconditional support – that you no longer feel the need to fill them up with conversation. So you allow yourself to enjoy his sweet presence, the peachy smell of his shampoo, and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“What are you thinking about, Pingu?”

There’s a beat of a pause that lingers between you, the gleam in the caramel of his eyes sparkling with something akin to lust as he attacks your neck with a violent raspberry to your neck.

“You.”

Your heart leaps at your throat and you feel warmth simmering under your skin, sitting high on your cheeks.

“What about me?” You ask, skimming your fingertip down Jungkook’s chest.

Shivering slightly at the contact, the smallest of smirks inches into the corner of his mouth, “The number of bad things I want to do to you.”

Your lips curl up, resembling his as you whisper breathily into his ear, “Want to know what I’m thinking about?”

“Hmm?”

Your eyes are filled with mirth, a little sinister, mostly playful, inviting him to inch closer and you reach for the crook of his neck, lips coming into contact with his sensitive spot that you’re very familiar with. He moans when he feels the light suck of your teeth and the curve of your evil grin forming against his skin.

“How much I want you to do those bad things to me.”

And Jungkook’s heart stutters in his chest, his head spinning at the propinquity, the intimacy of it all, and the love in his chest blossoming and spreading throughout his body.

Jungkook is well aware of the fact that he is indeed an idiot. Him and feelings? An irreconcilable combination. He’s accepted this. While he’s decent in his grades and talented in many areas, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing with you. His hands have minds of their own whenever you’re near and his mind goes short-circuit. Especially when he sees you with a dude he doesn’t recognise at the study lounge.

Something heavy and uncomfortable settles in the pit of his stomach at the sight. He’s always been mildly aware that you have a life outside of catering to his every whim, but this is the first time he’s been slapped in the face by the fact.

Squinting his eyes, he realises that you’re sharing your earpiece with the unidentified dude and he becomes super vigilant of your little mannerisms – how your face is lit up as you’re laughing and how your shoulders are brushing against the dude’s too much to his liking.

You’re always smiling when you’re with him. He’s not quite sure he’s seen the expression slip from your face, laced in the curve of your mouth and the crinkles of your eyes. It's another little detail, just one from his burgeoning list of things that he finds attractive about you. He wonders if he could be the only reason for your smile. He wants to be, desperately wants to, but he’s not sure if he’s capable of doing so. And he’s angry at himself for not believing that he can do so. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t tie you down, maybe you’d be better off with some other dude.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so selfish.

But he wants to be. When it comes to you, he wants to be selfish. He feels like he’s in a trance, fallen straight into the web you’ve woven around him, and he can’t get out because something in him turns green.

“Pingu!”

You beam at the boy standing awkwardly across the room, totally forgetting to keep your cool when your eyes land on his outfit. You have to stop yourself from drooling at how good he looks in his usual black button-down and dark jeans, the wide planes of his chest and the strong curves of the muscles in his arms.

When he walks over, his cologne wafts through the air and you have to will yourself not to have any dirty thoughts from how well his button-down stretches across his shoulders.

“Hey babe.”

Jungkook’s eyes zero in on your face, vaguely fleeting to the boy’s beside you, and shoots him a quiet seething glare when his eyes land on the proximity of your shoulders. For a split moment, he looks down at your phone and sees that you’re on GCF’s Soundcloud page – listening to his newest single, “Nothing Like Us” and his heart pummels to his stomach, softening a little.

“Boyfriend?” The guy perks up beside you, wariness evident in his tone.

You gently slap him on the shoulder in laughter, “Oh, we’re not together—”

“Yes, we are. Let’s go, bub.”

“Pin—”

Jungkook doesn’t wait up, grabbing your things and shoving them in your bag like you’re in a mad rush. It’s impossible for him to think straight. His mind has become an unrecognisable labyrinth that he has difficulty navigating, sent into a turmoil.

As he pulls you out of the lounge, fingers firmly intertwined with yours, warmth encapsulates your heart and cheeks, like sunlight melting on your skin in molten gold.

“I texted you,” he begins quietly, focusing on the ground and everywhere, except on your face as you desperately search for his eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t see. Was busy doing work with Minhyuk.”

At once, Jungkook’s vision flares red, glinting in the smooth obsidian of his eyes, “Don’t say his name.”

“W-What?”

He doesn’t answer and continues to tug you through the hallway.

“J-Jungkook? Where are we going?”

Realisation hits you when he brings you to an empty classroom – you recognise it as the old classroom that nobody ever uses – and a chill runs down your spine when the sound of the door being locked echoes throughout the room.

He pushes you against the wall, hands perched next to your head and you can't stop staring at his biceps, revelling in the way his arms flex whenever he moves.

“Strip,” he orders sternly, nipping at the lobe of your ear.

“H-Here?”

Jungkook has shared his kinks with you and you’ve never pegged him to be one for classroom sex, though you’ve got to admit that you’re turned on as well at the idea of a desperate, quick fuck in a classroom. Something so raw and visceral about it that sends a hot rush of arousal through you.

“You need to be taught a lesson,” he quirks his brow and smirks, reaching to unbuckle his belt.  

“Pingu—”

His lips purse before a chuckle leaves him, breathy sound meeting a restless tongue, as he runs it over his lips, “Did I stutter?”

The glint in his eye is dangerous like he has a primal need to claim. It makes you feel even more like a prey put on display, all weak in the knees for him when he slowly traces the dips and curves of your face – your eyelashes that’s fluttering with every breath, that tiny mole below your right eye, and your rosy pink lips. His eyes continue to trail down to the marks painted all over your neck and he feels a strum of possessiveness and satisfaction swell in his chest, knowing that he’s the rightful artist of such masterpiece.

He unbuttons your shirt and tugs it over your head, almost ripping it in the process but refrains himself from doing so at the thought of you screaming at him afterwards.

He plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lips and your mouths move in perfect synchronisation, practiced and perfect, but still sloppy with desire, a little too loud, a little too heated. There’s a tangible frantic hunger in the way Jungkook kisses you, a desperate need in how his hands roughly clutch at your waist, like he’s trying to steal the air from your lungs.

“All mine,” he whispers, teeth finding the plump of your bottom lip, a gentle gnaw at the flesh. When he tugs at it, it burns an inferno into your chest, imprinting your so deepest desires to the edge of your mind.

“Oh god,” you sob into Jungkook’s mouth, winding your arms around his neck and pressing closer, kissing you through the ache in your jaw, through the ache between your legs.

He doesn’t hesitate to hitch you up and you wind your legs around his waist, sweeping your tongue across his lips. This is far from romance, miles away, but it feels so romantic when it’s this raw and aggressive, tasting so much like teeth and sweat, lips working in precise vigour.

It’s almost impossible to pull away and when you finally break apart, a strand of saliva connects your mouths together. You watch Jungkook’s swollen lips glisten with your own saliva alongside the flecks of gold in his eyes and the very sight sends an electrifying heat down to your arousal.

There's something about kissing Jungkook, the mere act of having his chest pressed against yours and arms wrapped around you that feels natural and right, like you’ve been doing this for years.

When you slot one of your thighs between Jungkook’s and rock your hips forward, he takes this time to trail soft kisses down the column of your throat. Your breath catches in your throat when Jungkook sucks at the underside of your jaw, where your pulse is at and lets his lips linger, mouth leaving the warmth of an invisible mark that makes you rightfully his, even if just for a second.

He presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, before trailing his lips to the shell of your ear and whispers, “I’m going to ruin you. Going to fuck your brains out till you can only remember my name.”

His words prompt a gasp to escape your lips and he uses this as an opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, coaxing another moan from you when he explores the inside of your mouth with his tongue and you let him, wanting him to explore every nook and cranny of your cavern.

“Going to fuck you silly, babe. Just the way we like it.”

It’s the deep timbre of his voice, almost a growl, that sends electricity to course through your veins, making you feel so fucking alive. It’s the way Jungkook’s shoulders barricade your leaner frame, which makes you feel so weak in comparison and dots your body with goosebumps, remembering the time he shoved you against the janitor closet and left a lovely bruise on your lower back and reminded you of the sheer force of his hips even days after.

“On your knees.”

And you comply wordlessly, sinking onto your knees as your hands find themselves holding onto his thighs for support.

He’s so fucking hot with the radiant flush on his face, hair sweaty and dripping onto his neck, shirt clinging like an extra layer of skin. Jeans tight around his thighs and oh, he’s saliently hard.

He tugs his jeans down impatiently, which land with a thud, and you watch with fascination as his thick, angry cock springs up and slaps onto his abdomen, precum already pearling at the tip.

“Open up, love,” he commands.

Before you can even touch his cock, he bends down to meet your eyes. Patting your head, he puckers his lips and spits, coating your tongue with his saliva in one sharp shot. You gasp at his sudden action but swallow, wanting to taste your wetness mixed in with his. His tongue twists against yours as he buries his fingers in between the silky strands of your hair, tugging it backwards, leaving you whimpering with desire.

“You like that, baby?” Jungkook whispers against your lips.

You can only moan again, unable to form coherent sentences, especially when he breaks away and slaps the head of his dick against your cheek, spreading precum there, and then on your tongue before guiding himself to the cavern of your hot mouth.

He curses underneath his breath when you stick out the flat of your tongue to lick around the slit, before kissing the head softly and smearing your lips with his precum.

Desperation peaks hot in the air around you two. This must be what it feels like to be on fire, so consumed by flames of desire. You peak up at him through your eyelashes and you watch as Jungkook’s eyes flash with something so carnal that it makes you want to take his dick deeper. You feel like you might just combust into ashes.

You wrap your lips around the velvet tip, beginning in a slow rhythm, swiping your tongue out as you savour the bitterness of it and sucking hard. Jungkook’s cock rests heavy on your tongue, throbbing at the wet heat of your mouth. Your hands reach forward to cup his balls, massaging them while you continue to suck around his head, eyes peeking upward every so often.

“Going to fuck your throat now, babe. Open wider for me, okay?”

You hum in response, before pulling away from his dick and return to slide back down again till you feel it hit the back of your throat. Jungkook reaches down and threads his fingers into your hair, right down to the base of your scalp. When he pulls tight, your lashes flutter, a breathy noise that sounds a lot like a moan spilling out of your swollen lips.

Jungkook pulls out slightly and you know what’s about to come. Using your mouth with no regards, he incessantly shoves his cock down your throat, satisfied by the disgusting gurgling sounds coming out of you. Your affirmation reeks of desperation, rolling out in ecstatic waves and ripples.

His mind is growing hazy, the sharpness dulling and the only thing he can think about is how good you feel around him. Fuck, no one chokes and slobbers on cock the way you do.

His hips continue to jerk faster desperately, catching and sliding right into the wet, hot vice of your throat, until his dick is buried warmly and snuggly at the back of your throat and the curved point of your nose is pressed against his pubic hair. In his mind, he thinks your mouth looks so fucking pretty stuffed with his cock.

You gag once again, tears forming at the edge of your tears, and it sparks something in Jungkook’s stomach. He wants to take you into bed, eat you out for hours and makes you orgasm till your vision goes black, till you know nothing but him and only him. But you’re not in your room and in fact in an abandoned classroom and as much as he wants to please you, he knows that the table isn’t the most comfortable. With that, he yanks you off him, which comes with a light ‘pop’ and a thread of drivel stretches from your lower lip to the crown of his shaft. You whimper at the loss of his dick, tears trickling down the high flush on your cheeks, and even then, he still thinks you look the prettiest.

Jungkook can barely get his fingers around himself, stroking once, twice, before he comes in thick spurts across your lips and chin.

Reaching behind, he gets a handful of your ass and easily hoists you up on top of the teacher’s desk. There’s a slap to the junction between your ass and your left thigh, the meaty flesh reddening and as much as it hurts, you love it when he’s rough with you. 

For a second, the world is black and then your shirts are tossed on the floor after much pulling and tugging, your bare chest heaving as you try to retrieve the breath that Jungkook seems to have stolen straight from your lungs.

He’s got you lying flat on the teacher’s desk before him, your skirt and underwear hanging carelessly around one of your ankles. His thumb darts right over your nipple, before he drags his tongue over it, sucking on it lightly and circling around it while he kneads the other with his palm and tweaks the bud between his knuckles. But what really sets you off is when he grinds the solid girth of his cock over your glistening centre teasingly. 

“Please don’t tease...” 

As your thighs engulf around him, he leans forward, letting his nose nuzzle at the apex of your cunt, where the scent of your sex is so strong.

You can’t see the lower of his face or mouth, only his nose and tendrils of hair stuck on his forehead, but you can definitely it as his tongue circles around your clit, trailing a fat stripe up your folds playfully and sucking at your wetness. A string of curses fall from your mouth, pleasure hot and sharp shooting through your veins to feed the tightening coil in your abdomen, and a sense of satisfaction hits him square in the chest when he hears his own name in the mix.

He relishes in the shaky gasp he coaxes out of you again when his teeth scrape lightly against the nub before the pearl a harsh suck. There’s nothing sweet or soft about the way he’s eating you out, but that doesn’t stop you from squeezing your thighs in between his head.

It’s a tidal wave, causing even more wetness to pool between your thighs when you feel a finger teasing at your entrance. He rubs you a few times more before easing the digit in, while his tongue continues to flick at your clit lazily as you throw your head back, hitting the desk lightly in the process but it feels so fucking euphoric. His finger is thick, so fucking long and thick and your tightness gladly invites the chafe of his finger, relishing in the way he makes you feel so full. 

“Fuck yeah, so good,” your fingers find themselves tugging in the tufts of his hair, weaving through his hair to push him closer to where you want him to be. Every stroke of his finger sends your cunt into a hot ocean of fuzziness and when he presses his nose flat against your mound, your hips rise off the table, a rampant fire fusing in your abdomen. Your brain is fogged with nothing but utter desire to have his dick right inside you. He doesn’t let up, inserting another finger, curling them against your wall and proceeding to fuck you raw, fast and rough.

“You’re so needy,” he smirks at how pliant you are, how much you crave for him.

He can feel you tightening against his fingers, your walls clenching unimaginably tight around him with every stroke and he pulls out before you can come. You don’t even have time to protest when he grabs his dick and gives it a few pumps, before lining himself in front of your cunt.

The velvet tip first circles around your clit, the feeling sending bolts of sparks through your abdomen and there’s a deep rumble that falls past Jungkook’s lips when he finally pushes his head into your cunt that makes you immediately clench around his shaft, bringing the inklings of stars behind his eyes.

He restrains himself for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the stretch and burn before you wriggle your hips the slightest bit and he knows it’s okay to continue. And then without warning, Jungkook rocks his hips forward, causing you to gag out loud, as his hips continue to roll up, drowning you in a white-hot heat. You keen shamelessly, loving the thickness and girth buried inside you to the hilt.

“Can’t believe the tightest pussy is mine.”

He wants to close his eyes and lose himself in this in the heat of your bodies, but he doesn’t want to look away. There's a shine on your cheeks and the expression on your face is caught in a euphoric bliss that Jungkook feels electric in his blood, the air between you two charged and alive.

“All mine.”

It’s been months since the two of you started this – this downward spiral into a mess of feelings that could never quite be spoken out loud, but understood nonetheless. But sex is always so good and you two are always so needy, so desperate, like you could never get enough of each other. And after all these months you’re supposed to be used to his thickness, you’re supposed to be used to the way his cock buries way too deep inside you, but you always feel like it’s the first time – your every nerve ending is alive and electric beneath your skin, receptive to each of Jungkook’s touches and sounds.

You can feel every drag of Jungkook’s cock inside you, every curve and line sliding against your walls, hitting that little bundle of nerves inside you that has left you babbling nonsense and drool dripping down your chin.

“Whose cunt is this?” His voice is dangerously gentle, but he’s looking into your eyes with eyes that are hooded and sharp by blazed arousal, the usual comets in them diminished and hidden behind the otherwise darkness of his irises, framed prettily by wispy lashes.

Your teeth sink down on the flesh of your bottom lip, red and bloodied in your attempt to somehow distract you from the overbearing stretch his cock tugs at your walls.

“Y-Yours!”

“Whose?” A low groan rumbles from deep in his throat, the sound bordering on animalistic, which sends tremors of desire to thrum through your veins.

He knows how to pry everything from you. How to get you to scream, shake from pleasure, how to get you to claw at his back like an animal and you love that about him.

“Yours, Jungkook. All yours.”

Finally, desire ricochets through his abdomen and the last tendrils of his noisy thoughts drift away, leaving him floating, the only sensation he knows at that moment is pleasure and the feeling of being inside you. He’s so out of breath when you rake angry red lines down his back in return, but he doesn’t mind. 

He wants all the scratches and bruises from you. He wants it all and he wants it hard.

Propping himself on his forearms so they frame your face, he brings up his foot to rest on the table leverage and pushes two fingers into your mouth. 

“Suck my fingers, yeah? You’re doing so good for me, bub. So good.”

You don’t protest, almost submissive under him, eyes obsidian and clouded with lust, sucking his fingers and revelling in the weight and fit of them in your mouth

At the crude sight of you, Jungkook pulls out of your cunt almost all the way, before slamming back into you with sickening precision, finally able to fulfil the primal, animalistic need and urge to act on his feelings and give you the best fuck you’d ever have. A choked moan is drawn from both of you as his length drags against your walls, hitting a spot deep inside you that has your back arching off the table, keening shamelessly as wet squelches and constant snapping of your skins resound the room.

He continues to pound harder into you, driving you into a delirious, babbling mess. Perhaps it’s the angle, but the way his hips snap into you, ploughing into that same sensitive spot over and over and over again, has you clutching desperately at his nape for stability.

You look so good like this. So soft beneath him. So close to him with your pretty tits snug against his chest that it feels like your heartbeats are in sync, falling into an echo of one beat together.

The desk whines under the weight and motion, but he continues pounding into you, bodies rocking to meet each other. Each rock of his hips sends you closer over the edge, the tip of his girth hitting just the cushion of your cervix, bodies rocking to meet each other.

His head dips, capturing your nipple and suckling gently before he nips at it, taking it between his teeth and pulling gently. The moan that tears from your throat is more than desperate and needy as he continues to grab onto your breast for support. 

Having been your sexual partner for months, he knows when it’s getting too much for you. He can tell by the way your eyes quiver and start to roll back and his fingers instinctively intertwine with yours as a way to help you relax as he rocks you through your orgasm, toned thighs and balls hitting against the backs of yours.

“Fuck, give it to me Jungkook. Please!”

A fizzle akin to a firecracker trails down to your legs and you fall back onto your elbow, your other hand firmly interlocked with Jungkook’s as he hike your leg over his shoulder and fucks you with the same vigour, feeling the weight of his cock inside you and his balls, heavy and full slapping against you. You keen at the new angle, feeling so full of him, and when you come, your entire body shakes and Jungkook holds you through it all, whispering love notes into your hair, against the shell of your ear, thumb tracing circles on your hip, soothing and reassuring.

He soon follows, spilling spurts of his warm cum inside you, harder than he ever has, your warmth a comfortable stroke to the ridges of his dick. For a few seconds, all he sees is the murky red of the inside of his eyelids. You’re still pulsing around him, clamping his dick with your warm walls, breath like staccato in your throat while he sucks at your neck, both instinctually trying to stake a claim for the best fuck ever.

The silence between you two is refreshing as you take a moment to catch your breaths.

Jungkook watches as your chest heaves with each breath, looking properly wrecked with a glazed look in your eyes. When he pulls out of you from oversensitivity, his eyes are fixated on his cum that’s dribbling out of you and he registers that nothing could be more enticing and beautiful than seeing your rosy pink pussy swollen and painted with his seed. He wants to come inside you all day. It boggles his mind, how close and intimate he yearns to be with you, how he has surrendered his heart to you on a silver platter.

He raises a hand to your neck, fingers brushing lightly on the florid bruises, his touch soft and longing.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers in a saccharine tone, corners of his pretty lips curving upwards into a grin, “All for me.”

You blush fervently at the sudden change in demeanour, still reeling from all the feelings coursing through you. Jungkook’s back to being the soft, doe-eye bean that you adore.

“And you’re like a dog. So fluffy.”

You squeeze his cheeks until his lips pout out like a fish.

Shoving your hand away, he scrunches up his nose and breaks into a blinding smile, the warmth spreading down to his toes, “Can’t believe you’re calling me a dog after I just had my dick in you. Way to ruin the mood.”

“Can’t believe you dragged me into a classroom because you got jealous.”

The flush on Jungkook’s face only darkens and he’s forced into quiet submission, shaking his head and muttering a quiet fuck you, but he doesn’t deny it.

“Wear this, your shirt looks ruined.”

Jungkook hands his sweater over and you take it gratefully, pulling it on, and for a moment, you let himself take a deep breath, the spell-binding musk of his cologne making you feel warm and safe. You find yourself slipping again into that safe, content state that you always feel whenever you’re with him. And just like this, you’re back to falling into Jungkook and the galaxies collapsed into the coracles of his eyes.

“So, when are you planning on telling her?”

Jungkook hates how straightforward Yoongi is sometimes with no patience for bullshit.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, shoulders drooping low.

“Kid, you know you can’t hide this from her forever. It would be easier if she wasn’t a fan, but she’s obsessed with you and your other alias.”

“I didn’t think she was going to find me… All I wanted was to post my music somewhere. I didn’t think this far.”

“Kook, she’s in love with GCF, your songs, your lyrics – I think she deserves to know.”

Jungkook shakes his head profusely, “It’s not that easy, hyung. When she finds out that all the songs are about her, I’m fucked.”

“Why do you assume that?”

“I just… When she finds out that I’m hopelessly in love with her, she’s going to hate me and whatever we have is going to be ruined.”

Yoongi shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling, praying to god for strength to pull through. He doesn’t know how to deal with his idiot friend and his equally idiot of a crush. It’s pretty common knowledge that Jungkook has a crush on you – if his intense aflame yearning for you could even be labelled as a crush – so big that he has dedicated his entire underground singing career to you in secret. But it’s also common knowledge that Jungkook is dumb – living in his own little bubble with his deteriorating one braincell.

“You think too lowly of yourself, kid.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, distracted by the notification that flashes on his phone.

[you] [14:56] listen to this!!! i love his cover

His heart falls. He is confused. He is beyond confused – he is conflicted, stupefied, disoriented and madly disturbed and even that is an understatement. He feels like he’s falling like a feeble autumn leaf from the gust of wind into a bottomless pit.

Drowning in a whirlpool of emotions he doesn’t even know he had the capability of feeling.

A smothered voice at the back of his mind starts to question your relationship. You two have shared so many words, so many late nights spent talking to each other even when you’re too tired to keep your eyes open, so many afternoons spent laughing over one braincell moments and food and so many instances unravelling each other physically and emotionally.  

He truly questions himself – whether the weightless impossibility that he feels around you could be love. He’s never been in love, like really what is love? What’s the difference between liking and loving someone? Each emotion feels so vivid, from the calm to the happy to the quiet.

He’s not sure if he loves you, or he’s in love with you, but sometimes he thinks that he could be, when he feels the lingering sweetness of your heart on his tongue, tastes the heavy redness of want beneath your teeth, and yearns for the softness of your body when he’s in class.

You’re a faraway planet and Jungkook wishes to settle his arms into their orbit around you.

Still, he wouldn’t risk something so delicately special for a thought that comes and goes fleetingly, in stolen pockets of time when the sky shifts from muted geranium to deep violet.

Even if it is love he has for you, even if this love could be made for movie screens, Jungkook knows that it’ll leave both parties broken. He knows that you deserve better, more than a guy who secretly writes songs about you because he doesn’t have the courage to love you loudly and wholly, like the bells ringing in his ears whenever his eyes land on you.

It doesn’t take a lot for you to realise that Jungkook has resided back into his shell. He’s been avoiding you for the last week and you kind of hate it when he gets like this, closed-off and hard to reach.

The thing about your relationship with Jungkook is that it’s a big nebula. While the two of you fuck around on a daily basis with supposedly no strings attached, Jungkook has also become one of your best friends.

As mischievous as he is charming, endearingly shy and heartbreakingly sweet, he’s just really nice to be with and it makes you falter, knowing how unconditionally Jungkook cares for you and vice versa. When you need someone to talk to, you often find yourself calling him, in which he’ll have no qualms about coming over, even at three in the morning.

This time, you fight the urge to call Jungkook again. The heavy want to hear his sweet, calming voice before you fall asleep is strictly romance territory, and you’re definitely not together with him, but you want to tell him about your day. The new movies you’ve watched, the songs that you’ve discovered, GCF’s new track that reminds you of him. You’ve been sending song recommendations to Jungkook. You want to share all the music you love with him, because they all remind you of him, because all the songs are about love, because they are all about how you feel for him.

But after much radio silence, you’re beginning to wonder if he even gives a shit about you. Deep down, you know that he does – he’s always been treating you a little differently, like you’re someone he holds dear to his heart. At least, when you’re together, just the two of you like this, he makes you feel as if you’re someone special and dear to him. And when another track of GCF plays in the background, you wonder: how nice would it be, if the lyrics reflect how Jungkook feels about you. Maybe this is how galaxies come into a pleasant, mutual collision.

[Big Dick Dude 👅] [2:34] you asleep?

You stare blankly at your phone, your instinct to pick it up and answer him immediately battles with the pettier side of yourself wanting to ignore him. The thought crosses your mind for only a second or two before you dismiss it.

[you] [2:35] nope

[Big Dick Dude 👅] [2:35] can i come over?

[you] [2:36] okie [2:36] i’ll leave the door unlocked for you

As the night transitions into a lighter grey and warmth sinks deep into their skin, Jungkook thinks that you look prettiest like this, sprawled across the mussed up sheets of your bed with the soft moonlight that makes the lilacs around your neck and chest gleam in gold.

“You’re staring,” you accuse, but your eyes crinkle up at the corners.

There’s a momentary hesitation flicker in Jungkook’s eyes and you part your mouth, ready to tease him even further, but your heart gets caught in your throat when he replies.

“How could I not?” He presses you closer to him, making sure there’s as little space between your bodies as he can possibly manage, “I could look at you all day.”

Everything feels a little hazier, a little gentler, a little warmer all at once and it’s not just due to the heat simmering under your skin, tinging your cheeks a translucent pink. It’s also due to the stars in Jungkook’s eyes that come to live, smiling at you with their pristine pearly teeth.

He’s always tender after sex – all soft touches and tender words. It’s always a fight between warm and soft and hot and hard when it comes to Jungkook. And it’s exactly this clashing dichotomy that makes you so attracted to him and the low voice coming from those lips that glisten with a pretty, rosy swell.

“Bub,” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

He rests his hand in the dip of your side, fingertips gliding along the grooves of your ribs and raising goosebumps on your skin, as if his small touches are signals that he wants you within his reach, scared that you’ll leave.

“Yeah?”

His tone slips into something softer, “Can you… Can you smile for me?”

“What?”

You turn to look at him with a questioning look, but you’re greeted by the undeniable loneliness that overwhelms the monsoon of his obsidian eyes.

“Smile for me, bub.”

Your eyes narrow at his weird request, but eventually relent anyways, breaking into a soft smile as you run your fingers through his locks out of habit.

Jungkook feels his heart soar to an enchanting level of complete and utter rapture at the sight, feeling as light as he does heavy.

Upon his conflicted expression, the tilt of your lips fades into something more serious, “You okay?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just been a little off these few days. I kinda miss the old Pingu.”

“Sorry… I’m just stressed.”

“About?”

There’s a heavy silence in the moments following your question, hanging between you two.

Jungkook wants to tell you. That he’s currently putting up a full album with the help of Yoongi. He wants to tell you everything, confess to you that all his songs are about you, and he knew he was fucked when you found out about GCF because he never thought that his songs would reach you.

“About school stuff… Nothing important.”

Lies.

You could sense that he’s been wanting to tell you something for the longest time and you’re about to pursue it further, but upon seeing the hard rock expression on his face, you know better than to probe. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

“Okay,” you whisper back, so quietly it would have vanished in the wind and the distant noise of the city, “You have all my support, you know that right?”

Jungkook feels his skin tingle, especially when you slot your head into the crook of his neck, lips resting lightly against his pulse.

“I—” He opens his mouth, “Yeah I know.”

There’s a sheen in your eyes before the air leaves your body in a rush. You lift your hand to brush your fingers against Jungkook’s lips, before shuffling forward to plant a kiss on the corner of his right eye. You linger, breathing like a fresh spring against his face, and then pull back.

As your hands find the courage to explore the soft material of his shirt, you run your fingers over the buttons, curling into him and delicately ghosting over his skin that you yearn to kiss with your lips, lick with your tongue, mark with your teeth and bruise with your nails.

He strokes up and down your side rhythmically, but doesn’t seem to have any motive behind the touch, so you let him despite the goosebumps forming on your skin and the zap of electricity that runs down your spine.

You stay like this for a long while. It feels right, somehow, like this is the universe's plan for you two. Soon, you fall asleep to the rise and fall of his chest, to his steady breaths, to his fingers intertwined with yours. And you know that when you wake up, Jungkook will be here right beside you, like always.

“You two are so domesticated, you know that right?”

You purse your lips at Jiyoon, eyebrows slightly furrowed, “What are you talking about?”

“You act like a couple,” she says matter-of-factly and continues at your dumbfounded expression, “Have you seen the way you two act around each other? You might think you’re just fuckbuddies, but dude… anyone can see that you two are fucking whipped for each other.”

You’re not oblivious. You know for one that you’re someone who will go all in on someone, give your 100 fucking per cent and have your heart dangling out on your sleeve just for the taking. You know what it means when your heart jackhammers whenever Jungkook smiles at you with the warmth of a summer day curved in it and when you get a little weak in the knees from his touch. You know what it means when your room smells a little different – when your mind only registers Jungkook’s smell and nobody else’s.

And you know what it means when Jungkook is the only who can affect you like this and he’s the only person who’s ever affected you like this.

The little instances of watching Netflix with Jungkook and doing homework together before fucking till the wee hours of the night – and just simply being together – have stuck with you as kind of romantic and domestic. He’d drop by your apartment at random times of the day, sometimes even before you’re back, already rummaging through your fridge, and you’d just shake your head at his barbarian behaviour and order takeout. These are few and far in between, but they’ve given you a glimpse of what things could be like.

With Jiyoon’s words settling heavily at the back of your mind, a tangle of what ifs and what could bes, you call Jungkook over that night and ask him to fuck you like he means it. You don’t miss the number of times he hesitates to ask what’s wrong, but he doesn’t upon seeing your distressed face.

Your relationship with him, without actually having any resemblance of a relationship, is really starting to worry you. You don’t know what Jungkook’s thinking – you’ve never really known what thoughts rush through the waterfall in his mind, but he’s always doing these pseudo-romantic gestures that probably don’t mean anything and it’s scaring you. The way your body reacts to even the slightest touch from him is absolutely terrifying.

The way your body wants and it continues to want – it yearns to be intimately connected with him. Because your mind knows that nothing can ever top the feeling of him being inside you, especially when he eases two of fingers inside of you, sinking all the way down to the knuckles.

A shiver traverses your figure when he pulls out slightly, only to piston his fingers into you again mercilessly at your g-spot. But before he can sink you onto his dick, your stomach growls, as if announcing to the entire world that it has been waiting forever for this exact moment.

“Bub, you hungry?” He bites softly at your earlobe, chuckling lightly.  

“N-No—”

He stares at you with the celestials in his eyes and you know that he’s not simply asking for the sake of doing so, “What do you want to eat? I think we still have ramen left.”

Your heart skips at how he refers to the two of you as we. Technically, he’s not wrong, considering how he’s been getting the groceries for your apartment that don’t just include cereal and milk.

His breath is coming out in warm swathes of air against your collarbones and you glance down to see his eyes, the slow blinks of his heavy lids, each breath laboured and potent with lust. Beyond that, you see utter fondness in each of his little starry friends.  

“You’re seriously asking me what I want to eat when you have your fingers in my vagina? Jeon Jungkook, you are one rare breed.”

He scoffs, planting a kiss on your forehead, and when he pushes himself off the bed, you know that he’s abandoning whatever intention he has of getting off to make a run for the kitchen, “I’m just me.”

And right at this exact moment, you’re utterly defenceless to the slaughter that your heart endures.

“Yeah,” you mumble, gazing at the back of his adorable, round head, your words lingering in the heavy air, “You’re you.”

It’s been ages since you went over to Jungkook’s apartment and you thought it’d be nice to drop him a surprise visit since he hasn’t been coming over. He’s always kept an extra key under his rug (hashtag just Jungkook things) and you’ve conveniently let yourself in, knowing that he’s probably at home because he has Wednesdays off.

Upon entering his apartment, you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice wafting through the walls. You feel like you know the voice by heart. That voice… GCF?

Strange. While you’re an avid fan of the underground Soundcloud singer, you don’t recognise the song and you wonder if he has a new release that you don’t know about. You make a mental reminder to check out his Soundcloud page afterwards.  

“Pingu?” You call out, saunter towards his room that’s left slightly ajar. Easing the door open, you pop your head in and the sight hits you with a pang, drowning your heart in your chest.

“Jungkook…?”

At the sudden voice, the boy twists his head around almost immediately and shock crosses his face, his mouth dropping open slightly when he sees you standing at the door. He didn’t hear you calling for him and he sure didn’t expect you to show up at his apartment.

You stare blankly at his studio – equipment neatly spread across on his desk with a mic stand lowered to his face. You can vaguely make out the different equipment, having frequented Yoongi’s studio. Your eyes slowly shift to the rest of his room – his album covers pasted on his walls come into view and your chest tightens with a disconsolate, stifling feeling. His room looks so foreign as compared to the last time you were over.

How long has he been hiding this from you?

"You—you are…"

The sight of Jungkook’s face of shock (or is it guilt?) punches you straight in the gut. It's like the world's come down to the two of you again, just the two of you, at this moment.

“Bub…” He mumbles, finally finding his voice even though it's hard, especially with you staring at him straight in the face.

Suddenly, he’s hyper-aware of the deafening thud of his heartbeat, how his lungs seem to rattle behind his ribs and the unnerving churning in his stomach.

"That explains everything. Oh my god,” you gasp, “Oh my fucking god."

"I—"

You blink a couple of times, looking down at the floor before you slowly lift your eyes back to Jungkook’s again. You hold each other’s gaze for a few quiet seconds and he watches, almost in slow motion, how your lips part to his impending doom, hurt evident in your tone.

"You mean all this while, the Soundcloud singer that I’ve been gushing to you about was… you all along?"

He breaks his gaze from your face and mutters under his breath, “You weren’t supposed to find out.”

“Were you…” you mumble, voice tight, "Were you even planning to tell me at all?"

“Bub…”

"Yes or no?"

He casts his eyes to the ground, chin dropping to his chest, and remains silent.

The quiet plagues the room with heavy stagnancy, swallowing your bodies whole and caging them with its wings. Jungkook shuffles his feet in his seat, thinking about what he got himself into and sighs deeply.

"You wanted to continue to lie to me?"

“You weren’t supposed to find out,” he says, the words sounding sugar crystalised and rough in his throat, like the honey that trickled into his lungs from recording earlier has all hardened.

“So you wanted to, huh?” You close your jaw, the familiar stiff creaking adjusted to a sharp snap and you shut your eyes.

Jungkook’s chest rises with a shaky exhale, “I wasn’t ready to tell you.”

“All this time when I was talking about GCF and recommending his songs to you, I was actually talking about you? And you just let me?”

“It’s not like that, I—”

“Jungkook,” you exhale, a tremor laced in your words, “You know… You never want me to know anything about you. I tried so hard to get you to open up and I thought that maybe you’ve finally let me in. Maybe because I’m special to you. But I was wrong this whole time. You don’t trust me. You never did.”

There’s a crack in Jungkook’s armour. Something flickers across his features that look a lot like hurt and he begins to frown, brows pulling taut at the centre, “Maybe you pushed me too much! Why do I need to tell you everything? We’re not even together for fuck’s sake.”

Every syllable from Jungkook’s mouth sends a wave of searing coldness down your spine and echoes throughout the apartment. He closes his mouth instantly, regretting his brash words, and even more at the vacant expression on your face.

For moments and moments, the world seems to hang on a thin gossamer thread, suspended in static.

“Right,” you mutter dejectedly with a shattered expression, mouth parted and chest expanded with a breath that you haven’t let go of, “You’re right. We’re not.”

“I—”

“This was a mistake. Right from the very beginning. Don’t know why I tried. I should have known…”

The words ring in Jungkook’s ears before it's even properly out of your mouth.

“Known what?”

You shoot a glare at him and you hope that he can see the newfound contempt that you have for him blazing in your eyes. Your throat suddenly starts to ache, a ghost of tears already running down the breadth of your oesophagus, setting your entire body on fire.

“That you wouldn’t let me in. That you wouldn’t want my heart if I handed it to you on a silver platter. That I’m fucking stupid for thinking that you’ll actually like me back.”

“Wha—”

You don’t hear him out, turning on your heels. Maybe this is why he doesn’t like you coming over. Maybe that’s why he’s been avoiding you.

When you go to sleep alone that night, every single limb of yours feels heavy with exhaustion, aching with agony. Jungkook’s scent lingers stronger in your pillows and sheets, your mind only registering his scent and nobody else’s, and suddenly your bed feels a little too big, a little too empty.

"I’m not going to say I told you so, but I fucking told you so.”

Yoongi comes stomping into Jungkook’s room in a blaze of anger and indignation, lips pulled back in a snarl and eyes narrowed into slits.

Jungkook flinches at his tone, but looks up from his laptop like nothing's wrong. Nothing’s wrong, besides the headache pulsing between his temples and the fact that he has fucked things up with you beyond repair.

"She called me yesterday. Started crying on the phone.”

“She cried?” Jungkook winces, heart plummeting to the lowest pit of his stomach.  

“Yeah.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles under his breath, not knowing what else to say.

"You know, to be very honest, you guys make it seem like the world is ending."

"What—"

"It’s not that deep, you know? You write songs for her, she loves listening to them. You’re both in love with each other.”

"We’re not—"

"Don't give me that shit," Yoongi snaps, "You can keep denying, Kook. But I can tell from the way you look at her. The way you act when she’s around. It’s my first time seeing you like this… You’ve never acted like this with anyone.”

Jungkook inhales deeply, holds it, then exhales through his nose. Around him, everything is silent and still.

"And I think you very much know why you hid it from her in the first place.”

"I don’t.”

"You do."

Yoongi’s frown deepens, creasing the smooth skin between his eyebrows, "You’re scared that she’ll get disappointed knowing that you’re GCF all along. The guy who writes beautiful, romantic lyrics, the guy who sings his heart out. You’re scared that you’re not what she hoped you to be.”

Jungkook remains silent.

“But you know what’s ironic here? She’s in love with you. And she’ll love you even more when she realises that you’ve been writing songs about her. All for her.”

Loss comes entangled in love; insisting its way into little spaces in between skin and bone, and once inside, it seals the door and never leaves. It builds a home.

You should have known.

Stringless sex is easy until someone catches feelings – and what’s supposed to be casual and simple turns into something messy. You should have known that you were fucked from the get-go. The two of you have been warm bodies, seeking each other out after long nights and hard weeks, skin to skin, nothing but terrifying and intense, but so, so wonderful.

You should have known that someone like Jeon Jungkook would come whirling into your life, thrashing and maddening like the storm he is, would come sweeping you entirely off your feet, in his own little endearing Jungkook ways.

Endearing. Everything he does is endearing. Weirdly endearing, but still so, so endearing.

He’s the boy who eats cereal at 2am just because he’s hungry, the same dork who barges into your apartment at random times of the day to sleep on your bed and help you with your laundry, the boy who often drops his rice grains on his clothes and doesn’t hesitate to pick them up before shoving them back into his mouth. The boy who snacks on canned tuna directly from the can.

You shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve fallen for him. He’s always been there, ready to take your heart and it makes it so easy – too easy. Falling in love with him and having your heart torn apart by him is nothing like you’ve ever experienced, but it is so easy, like the first snowflake during winter, so light, so at peace, like destiny.  

Your heart soars through the clouds as you let the feeling complete you. It’s as if every inch of your body has been set aflame, but you strangely feel safe, letting yourself drown with his heart that pumps liquid gold through his veins.

Now the memories come flooding through your apartment floors like a movie scene. You think about his small mannerisms, the way he always listens to you, even when he doesn’t give two shits about the topic or looks disinterested, but he’s always listening quietly, and how he always seems to take care of the people around him in his own quiet ways. He cares and loves so fiercely and deeper than you could have ever imagined.

Getting used to Jungkook not being in your life proves to be way harder than it seems. You find yourself with tons of dead, empty hours that feel way too long and insufferable. It’s not the sex you miss, it’s more of the mere presence of him, his smile, the feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. It’s the way his chest would rise and fall peacefully beside you, the way he’d share his favourite songs and movies with you, something you’d only convinced him to start doing recently, and the way he would banter with you over the dumbest of things and then make it up to you later on.

No matter how much you tell yourself that you’re upset at him, it doesn’t stop you from getting your hopes up every time your phone buzzes, only to be disappointed when it’s everyone but the boy you yearn to see. If only you could get some closure, but you can’t even bring yourself to initiate a conversation because there’s really nothing to say. It’s impossible to ask for an explanation, because you two were never anything. There was no us, regardless of whatever your heart has fooled you into believing.

Yet, your heart knows one thing: you’ve fallen in love with Jungkook in the quietest and gentlest of ways, almost as gently as the way he strokes your palm with his thumb, as gently as the way he looks at you, so impossibly fond it makes hope flourish in your veins.

And when your phone buzzes that night, you realise that your heart has always been right.

[googie ☁️🍞] [23:48] hey bub i know you probably don’t want to talk to me [23:48] but i’m having my first public performance as GCF this sat and i hope you can come [23:50] i missed you. a lot. you have no idea [23:51] i’m sorry for everything [23:53] really sorry

It takes every ounce of courage in you to leave your apartment that day for the campus music festival. Acts from the various school clubs and student artists are invited to perform, but the highlight of the evening would be the official debut performance of GCF. You’ve even heard that there would be media present to report on it.

You wonder how Jungkook is feeling. He’s probably dying inside, never one for crowds and unwanted attention and you wonder what made him decide to reveal himself. Could it be because of you?

When it’s finally time for GCF’s appearance, Jungkook’s blood fizzles with the sheer energy exuding from every corner of the pit. He glances at the crowd and finds himself dying a little more inside at the sheer amount of people gawking at him, anticipating him, including you, who’s stood rooted to the ground amidst the roaring sea of people.

He finds himself doing a double-take, heart caught in his throat like he’s not quite sure what’s in front of him is real, because there you are, looking as pretty as ever, staring right at him, your eyes slowly widening when you realise that he’s staring right back at you.

When he locks eyes with you, fizzy warmth fills you like a flooded street, a devastating kind that crashes right through you and throws you off-guard. He manages a smile, but his lips have a nervous, crooked curve to them and you watch him tug at the hem of his shirt anxiously.

There’s a love song written for you coursing somewhere through Jungkook’s blood and he breaks into a passionate belt when you offer him a soft smile.

His heart sinks once again. He probably should not be thinking about kissing the pretty curve of your lips when he’s supposed to sing and he fears that he’ll forget his lyrics because you’re here. Right in front of him, waiting for him to spill his heart out.

You’re here.

And that’s all that matters.

You realise that you’ve been holding yourself together by a thin thread and it snaps the moment Jungkook sings to you, for you. He always has this funny way of making you feel so special, looking at you like you’re the only person to exist, even now, when you’re surrounded by an entire crowd. As you listen intently to the lyrics, painful vines start to curl around your throat and thorns prickle over your skin. 

He continues to sing, the air around you two like running pages, his voice capturing you in a daze. He has reigned in the flitter-flutter heartbeats, blowtorched the butterflies in his stomach until there’s nothing but ash left in his chest and it kind of hurts, but right now, he’s going to sing, because this is how he is going to love you loudly and wholly, like the bells ringing in his chest.

The sky is painted with a violet flush hovering above the moon and the streets are quiet and aglow, pools of orange-yellow light being emitted from the lamp posts, distant sounds of the distant city echoing in the air. Everything around you is suspended in radiant city fog, soft in its vibrancy.

Not a word is exchanged between you two, with only the moonlight above your heads as the comfortable silence engulfs you in ellipses.

“Sing for me, Pingu.”

Jungkook’s gaze skims over your features in silent contemplation, “Bub…”

“Please?”

He doesn’t respond and you fear that he’s going to turn down your request, but then he starts singing softly and your heart gnaws at how pretty his voice in the darkness is.

Soft and crystalline, his voice hangs in the moonlight and drifts away with the stars, each word a drop of light, some of them whispered and some flawlessly held. His voice is huskier than you’d remember and its timbre sends shivers raking down your spine. You cannot emphasise how much better this is than listening to his songs on your earpiece.  

When he finishes singing, you ask, “Were you nervous just now?”

He chuckles, as if to ease the tension, “I was actually more nervous about you not showing up.”

“Pingu, of course I came,” you smile softly to yourself, “I wouldn’t miss your performance for anything and you did great – like you always do. I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles back at you as gently as the pretty pink sky of a fading summertime day.

“Did you know that I started singing because of you?”

You freeze.

“W-What?”

“It’s quite obvious that all my songs are about you, silly.”

“I—”

“They’re everything that I feel towards you, but couldn’t tell you.”

Your eyes flicker across his visage – he’s biting his lips anxiously and your heart gnaws.  

“D-Did you know?” He slowly begins again, careful with his words, “That I like you?”

“No,” you admit, biting your bottom lip, “but I hoped.”

Jungkook’s eyes become soft crescents on his face and wordlessly inches forward to close the breath of space between you two, cupping your face in his hands like you’re the most delicate flower he’s ever touched. He doesn’t look away from your eyes searching your gaze silently and you watch as the moonlight catches on the flecks of gold in melted brown.

If you went stargazing with him, it’d be pointless because you would spend the entire night staring at the little stars in his eyes and becoming acquainted with each of his starry friends.

“I knew though.”

The whisper is warm and enticing as the words are exhaled onto your lips, leaving trails of electricity to tingle on your skin in the rise of gooseflesh.

“Huh?”

“I knew that I was going to love you.”

At his words, the press of skin to skin is nearly overwhelming. Under the moonlight, the hint of a blush glows effervescently on his cheeks.

“And too much. Far too much,” he adds, the curve of his lips soft.

Heat sits high on your cheeks as his words linger in your ears. It takes awhile for you to fully register his words, though petals are already wildly blossoming between your ribs. He makes you feel like you’ve got an entire universe in you just waiting to happen.

“Y-You love me?”

He nods.

“Listen,” he takes your hand into his, his voice soft, “I don’t know how to define myself without you anymore. You’ve been such a big part of my life and you’re the only person who has such an effect on me. I miss you like crazy when you’re not around and I knew something was up when I kept on wanting to see your face, wanting to see you smile for me and that’s when I knew it wasn’t just sex anymore. It was hardly just sex between us, even from the very start.”

The words come out in a messy tumble, and if you aren’t focusing on his voice, you probably wouldn’t have understood them. Still, the unexpected confession sends you into a mild state of delirium, mind racing a mile a minute.

“But you… You deserve to be loved loudly. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid, who isn’t always fucking up.”

“Pingu,” you begin, enjoying how his nickname rolls pleasantly off your tongue, “I’ve always wanted you from the start. And then things got really messy even though we aren’t together and even now, I’m still scared that I’ll ruin whatever we have.”

The sound of crickets echoes around you two, mixed with the faint rustling of leaves and the melody of a chilly autumn night. Muted in the back of your throat, softly lulling in the back of your mind, loudly screaming from the heart shapes in his eyes, you see love.

“But if you must know, my feelings for you are beyond this universe.”

You take Jungkook’s hand in yours, tracing the lifelines of his palm, the deep crease that represents his mind, the curve of his heart, and the delicate vines that he carries with him.

“You love loudly, Pingu. You love me in every sense of the word in the gentlest and loudest of ways.”

And when he puts his hand on top of yours, it feels like your galaxies have collided and become yoked as one, his starry friends now orbiting your once solitary sun.  

“So…” He starts, rubbing his palm against the nape of his neck, “I was thinking…”

“Wow.”

He lets out a huge puff and attacks you with a fit of tickles, laughter shared in low pre-dawn voices.

“Oh my god, Pingu! Sorry, let me live!”

“You’re so annoying, but so adorable.”

“I could say the same about you.”

So I was thinking…” He repeats, his voice dropping to a soft dulcet whisper, “Hypothetically.”

You hum in response, relishing how Jungkook’s breath tickles warmly on the slope of your nose.

“Maybe we could go out…”

“Like right now? It’s almost midnight.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb,” he laughs again, a deep, throaty sound that you can feel under your skin and presses his body even closer to you. His laugh echoes throughout the night and into the city and echoes in your mid.

“As in we could go out for real,” he says slowly, “As boyfriend and girlfriend.”

A dusting of pink blooms on the peaks of his cheeks, crossing the bridge of his nose and spreading over his cheekbones. It snakes furiously down his neck and he searches anxiously for your eyes, catching the light from the lamppost and they illuminate like filaments of copper, while his heart hammers against his chest.

“And maybe you would say yes.”

“Yeah?”

“And I could, you know,” he finds his fingers instinctively winding themselves in your soft strands, smoothing it down rhythmically, “Love you the way you deserve to be loved. Loudly and wholly.”

Your entire body shivers. Grabbing his hand, you smile, “And maybe… I can’t wait for you to do that.”

“Yeah?”

Under the moonlight, Jungkook’s wearing a sun of a smile on his face and there’s a lovely light that reaches his honey eyes whenever his lips stretch and his dimple deepens. Ethereal.

“Yeah.”

At the first brush of his lips, an inferno ignites. Heat blazes through your veins, rendering you molten as you sink into his kiss.

Kissing Jungkook is a lot like coming home. His kisses are as soft as sighs and giggly secrets whispered in the middle of the night; happy, private, comfortable, familiar. In a way, you feel like you’ve been doing this all whole life. And then Jungkook moves closer and traces his tongue over your bottom lip, warm and heavy. Hums spill past your lips each time your tongues brush and you feel a restless fire raging beneath your skin, a meadowsweet summer warmth blossoming in your chest as he swallows every hitch of your breath.

In and of itself, there’s no greater testament to love than love itself. For one, you love how Jungkook seems to always know what your heart wants even when you don’t say anything. You love how gentle his heartbeat is and how it’s become the sound of your universe. You love how he has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped and it loves fiercely and loudly and gently. You love how he’ll always be just there, in every sense and meaning of the word. You love how hearts will be broken and tears will be spilt, but even then, it’ll still be worth it. And you love how fully love wakes between the two of you and perhaps, it is entwined in him that you find absolution.

ta-dah!!!! this is yet another mammoth istg i want to try writing short fics but I Simply Can’t. sorry if the wait was rly long ;; i just want to say that i fucking love jungkook and writing this made me feel so soft for him once again. jungoo is the goodest boi who cares and loves so gently and loudly in his own dorky, endearing ways and i hope you feel the same while reading this! !!

i love the ending,, still waiting for the day i can use the last line for somebody that’s not jungkook because life be like that i just want someone to hold my hand lmao

i probably will disappear again bc i’m going to be taking up a (legit) leadership position in school and i can foresee myself being fking tired,,, but i have plans to start on a hobi postbreakup & volleyball au fic... i won’t promise when it’ll be out because i am horrible at deadlines

once again, thank you so much for reading this and if you enjoyed it, please please hit that like or reblog button or/and hmu in my inbox/dms! ♡ 

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Hey, everyone! I’ve been saying for a bit I want to get some fics from prompts I’ve written onto AO3 but...it’s so hard...ok it’s not hard, Executive Dysfunction is just kicking my butt. I’m going to post some of them to Tumblr today. If you want to help these babies get on AO3, they need: titles, tags, you pestering me in the comments. If you don’t think they’re good enough for AO3 - fair enough, just hit the little heart if they make you smile!

Prompt: Aziraphale reading to Crowley

(Requested by @zadusk and @lyricwritesprose)

“Sorry, can’t help you,” the innkeeper said, “just rented out our last room.”

“What?” Crowley crossed his arms, huffing through his nose. This was Bethlehem all over again. “This town is in the middle of nowhere, it has three inns, how can they all be sold out?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” The innkeeper shut the ledger. “Everyone’s headed down to London, and we’re on the way. Now. I can offer you a hot meal, and for, let’s say, half the price of a room you can sleep in the stables. The hay loft is clean, apart from the mice—”

“Stablesss!” Crowley hissed, slapping his hand on the counter. “Do I look like someone who sleeps in stables?”

The innkeeper didn’t appear remotely impressed. “You look like someone who is going to be sleeping in a hedge. Looks like a storm tonight. Good evening.” And he spun away, calling out to the cook in the back room.

“Oi!” Crowley shouted. “Get back here, you—!”

“Crowley! Whatever are you doing here?” The familiar voice was half delighted, half scolding. Aziraphale appeared beside him, same white suit as the last time they’d met, top hat tucked under his arm. “I thought I made it clear we shouldn’t see each other so often. Since I opened the shop, it’s been—”

“Yes, I know.” Crowley waved a hand and turned away. “I’m not here for you, Angel, I have actual business in York.”

“Really?” Despite his words, Aziraphale trailed behind him. “How interesting. I’m just returning from York – oh, no, you don’t think they’ve sent you to undo all my work again, do you?”

Crowley snorted. “No bet.” He dropped his voice into a low whisper. “This is why we need to meet up more often. Look at all this time we’re wasting! And now I have to march through the bloody night in the rain because there’s no place to sleep—”

“Oh! Well, I wouldn’t dream of it. You can share my room.”

“Ngk?!” Crowley’s brain crashed into his skull with all the speed and grace of a train wreck. “Mf. Yk. No I can’t – Aziraphale!”

“Oh, my word – obviously, I’m not planning – that!” His voice dropped even lower and he tugged on Crowley’s elbow. “Don’t be crude, dear fellow. I have a room with a bed that I’m not intending to use. You can have it. I just need a chair to sit in while I read.”

“Jgk.” Crowley turned away, taking a deep breath through his nose. It made sense. He could sleep. Aziraphale could read. No getting soaked, or lost in the dark, or needing to fight off highwaymen or anything of the sort. “Fffine. We can. Er. Do that.”

“Jolly good.” He could practically hear the angel straightening his waistcoat. “Now that’s settled. I’ve already had my supper and was about to head up. Unless you’re hungry—”

“No, no, now is fine.” He still couldn’t quite meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Lead the way.”

The room, it turned out, was nearly as advertised.

A double-sized bed with a straw-tick and a quilt. A little stand with a pitcher of water and bowl for washing up. Windows that could be tightly shuttered to block out some of the city noise.

The only thing missing, really, was the chair.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s fingers tapped on his book and he glanced around, as if a seat might be hiding in the corner. “Well, er…”

“It’s fine. I can leave.” Crowley turned on his heel and reached for the latch.

“Absolutely not! I won’t hear of it. You get settled and I’ll – ah – I’ll miracle in a chair.” He peered around the narrow room. “Somewhere.”

“Look, I can—”

“No. Miracle yourself a nightgown or whatever it is you need.”

“I—”

“Hush!”

Resigning himself, Crowley waved his clothes into something more comfortable for sleeping and crawled under the blanket. It was…slightly better than sleeping in the stables, he supposed. The straw was lumpy and the sheet covering it coarse, but the pillow was well-stuffed with goose-down, a luxury he could get used to. He shifted onto his back, trying to find a comfortable angle.

Instead, he found Aziraphale, standing beside the bed, staring blankly at the wall. “There…well…it would appear there isn’t room for a chair,” he confessed. “Not one that will fit my, er…my current corporation comfortably, that is.”

Crowley looked at the ceiling. He could sleep up there, but it would mean abandoning the pillow. Or. Or.

“Look, Angel,” he said as casually as he could. You can, um, you can sit on the bed. I’m not going to be offended or anything. It’s fine.”

“No, I couldn’t – couldn’t possibly—”

“Aziraphale. It’s really fine.”

The quilt tugged, folded back, and with a rustle of straw Aziraphale settled into the mattress. He sat straight, stiff, and so close to the edge he might topple off.

Even so, he was alarmingly close.

“You, um. You need the candle?”

“No, my own light will be sufficient, thank you.”

“Yeah. Obviously.” Crowley tossed his glasses onto the little table and waved a finger at the candle, which immediately snuffed out, leaving the room dark except for the soft glow of Aziraphale, gently illuminating his book.

Crowley closed his eyes and prepared to fall asleep.

He turned onto one side. No good, too close to the edge.

He turned the other way, or started to, freezing when he felt how close the angel’s warmth was.

Then he lay on his back again. The whole room fell very, very still.

“Bless it, Aziraphale, will you relax?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I can practically hear your muscles creaking. How am I supposed to all asleep with all that – that tension barely six inches away!”

“I don’t know what you might be referring to. I am – am perfectly relaxed here, reading my book and you – you interrupt with these – these pointless accusations.”

Crowley gave up and turned on his side, facing Aziraphale, giving him as hard a stare as he could manage. “Your book is upside down, Angel.”

“Is it?” He swallowed. “I mean, of course it is. I am training myself to read upside-down text, a highly useful skill, which I’m sure—”

Crowley shut his eyes. “This was a terrible idea.” He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Look, Aziraphale, neither of us is actually comfortable with this. So I’m just going to head out. If I leave now, I might make it to the next town before the rain starts, and maybe they’ll have a room. You can have this one and—”

“Crowley,” he said, voice much softer than expected. “My dear fellow. I won’t be able to relax knowing you’re out there. I know you won’t be in – in any real danger but…I would rather know that you’re safe.”

He stared ahead, sitting perfectly still in the way that only beings who aren’t really alive can – no breath, no heartbeat, no tiny motions.

Then, slowly, Crowley pulled his legs back under the quilt and lay on his back.

“What’s this book about, anyway?” he asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

“It’ll help. Trust me. What is it – poetry? Ancient epics about glorious wars? Not Hamlet again, I hope, that play is a gloomy mess of—”

“No, nothing of the sort. It’s…well, it’s a sort of love story.”

That didn’t sound too bad. “Sort of?”

“Well, yes, it’s more a – a study of the manners and traditions of courtship. Our heroine is the second of five sisters, and there’s a great deal riding on finding them suitable husbands, but her choices are, well…not especially appealing.”

“Does she tell them to go jump in a lake?”

“Not in so many words,” Aziraphale said disapprovingly. “But yes, she has so far turned down two proposals quite bitingly. Although I think she was a bit hasty in her judgement of one of the young men.”

“I like it.” Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, and found the angel had relaxed, and moved just a little closer. “What’s it called, anyway?”

“Pride and Prejudice.” His fingers tapped against it. “Just released last year. I must try and find the author’s other work when I finish.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me how it ends.”

“Oh, are you…interested?”

“Hmm,” Crowley settled his head a little further into the pillow. “I do like a good drawing room drama. Perhaps I should pick out a few dresses and spend a year or two back in those circles.”

“As I recall, you were always deceitful and wicked and caused many a scandal.”

“I should hope so. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Aziraphale smiled down at him, and it made Crowley feel light-headed in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. “Then I imagine you’ll be brilliant at it.” He suddenly turned away, looking at the shuttered window. “Oh! Do you hear that? The rain has started.” The first drops were tapping against the shutters fitfully.

“Good thing I didn’t go out.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale looked at the book again. “Er, would you like me to…to read it to you? Just the first part, until you fall asleep.”

“I…” Crowley cleared his throat. “Yeah. I mean, your voice puts me to sleep half the time anyway, so…”

“Oh, yes, absolutely wonderful. Let me just get the first volume.” He hopped out of bed and hurried over to his jacket, rummaging in the pocket to pull out another hardcover book. When he returned to the bed, it was with almost no self-consciousness, wriggling comfortably against his pillow only a few inches away from Crowley.

“Now, let’s see…yes, here. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife…’”

It was strange, seeing the angel from this angle, round face slightly lit by his own glow, little smile curving up his lips as the words bubbled out excitedly. His voice rose and fell as he read, trying to paint a picture of Longbourne and Netherfield and the lives of the Bennet sisters. Crowley could get used to it, the look, the sound, the soft familiarity of it all. Not that he was likely to have an opportunity.

He didn’t close his eyes. Not yet.

--

“‘But I can assure you,’ she added,” Aziraphale was quite enjoying the voice he had chosen for Mrs. Bennet, raising it now in slightly erratic excitement. “‘that Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing.’” He shifted again, raising his arm to better articulate the dialogue. “‘So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with!’” He dropped his voice into a vicious hiss. “‘I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set downs. I quite detest the man.’”

He glanced to his left, grinning, hoping to see Crowley’s reaction to his bit of acting, but the demon had at some point fallen asleep. He lay half on his back, still facing Aziraphale, shock of red hair across the white pillow. His mouth hung slightly open and something emerged that was almost a snore, but rather too small to really qualify. It was drowned out by the wind and rain outside, rattling the shutters. Now and then, in the distance, thunder rumbled.

“Well. I suppose…yes, you sleep now.” Aziraphale turned to put the book down, thinking to find the second volume and pick up where he’d left off.

“Nf.” Crowley turned onto his side, one arm flinging out towards Aziraphale’s waist. “D’n stp,” he mumbled. “Jus’ gettn gud.”

“Er, are you…awake?” The arm tightened slightly, and Crowley pulled closer, pressing himself against Aziraphale’s side. “Crowley, er, dear…you’re…”

“M’fine.” He sighed, not seeming aware of the world at all. “S’nice.”

For a long moment, Aziraphale stared at the demon who had – had invaded his space. Had settled against him in a most – most awkward and undignified way.

Well. There was really only one thing to do.

Aziraphale slid a little lower against the pillow, until he’d surrounded Crowley in the crook of his arm. “Is that better, dear?”

“St’ry.” But he settled into that space between Aziraphale’s side and his arm with a content sigh, arm now draped across the angel’s chest.

Oh, dear. This is not going to be easy to explain when he wakes up. But that wouldn’t be for several hours, at least, and right now, there was a very small smile on Crowley’s lips.

“Well. Chapter four. ‘When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him…’”

--

Thanks for reading! Pride and Prejudice was initially published in three volumes, in 1813, attributed simply to “The Author of Sense and Sensibility.” I have no idea what was going on in York in 1814 - I mostly needed someplace they could walk to but would take several days - so feel free to attribute whatever historical events you can think of to these dummies! 

[alyssaallyrion]

How much of that did you hear? (Iruka x Kakashi)

Rating: T

Summary: In which Kakashi eavesdrops on a conversation and learns something he wasn't supposed to.

A/N: 

- Written for KakaIru Month ( hosted by @kakairu-fest ) Day 17 Prompts: Drunk Confessions.

- - Drunk confessions prompt combined with Bewitchedbysparkles's request for "KakaIru, with "How much of that did you hear?""

ao3 link

The soft click of the window latch brings a satisfied smile to Kakashi’s face - finally. Sliding the window open, Kakashi glances around before slipping into the darkness of Iruka’s apartment. Quickly now, before he gets back. 

It all started a few weeks ago, when Kakashi, a little too deep into his cups after a particularly difficult mission, decided to ask Guy for romantic advice, which, in hindsight, perhaps, was not his smartest decision.

“Guy,” Kakashi remembered saying, “If you were…interested in someone, how would you let them know?”

Guy looked up from his sake, suddenly serious, “Why, Kakashi? Has someone finally caught your eye?”

Yes,  he thought.

“I’m just asking,” Kakashi said nonchalantly, resting his chin on his palm.

“I’d simply tell them of my heart’s most sincere affections,” Guy smiled at Kakashi, “There’s nothing to fear when the power of youth is on your side.”

Kakashi sighed – if he could “simply talk” to Iruka, he’d never be in this position in the first place. But Kakashi had never been good with feelings – or with words when it came to talking about those feelings. As far as Kakashi was concerned, facing multiple S-rank criminals was less terrifying than the way his heart threatened to burst out of his chest any time Iruka smiled at him.

No, this won’t do.

Kakashi’s own list of ideas was running rather thin. It seemed Iruka hadn’t figured out that turning in terrible mission reports and sitting in a tree outside his classroom window reading Icha Icha were Kakashi’s ways of showing interest. Let’s see if Guy has any other thoughts.

“And if you couldn’t tell them, how would you make your feelings known?”

Guy was quiet for a moment, pondering, then a bright smile returned to his face, “I would get them a heartfelt gift – something I know they’d love - which would reveal the depth of my affections.”

A gift? That Kakashi could do.

Kakashi smiled – with Iruka’s birthday coming up next month, this was the perfect time. There was only one problem – he had no idea what kind of gift Iruka would want to receive.  That left Kakashi with a few choices, most obvious of which – at least to him – was to sneak into Iruka’s apartment and look around in hopes of finding clues to what Iruka liked.

Now, standing inside Iruka’s dark apartment, Kakashi glances around, studying his surroundings. The first thing Kakashi notices is just how cozy the space is – it’s clear Iruka put in a lot of effort into making his apartment a true home. There’s a scent of cinnamon in the air, warm and rich, matching quilts rest atop couch and armchairs in the living room, and the many potted plants standing upon the windowsills are clearly cared for very well. Unlike any plant that had the misfortune of finding itself in Kakashi’s own apartment. 

Kakashi notes the few paintings on the walls – all clearly drawn by a child, likely Naruto, and lovingly framed by Iruka. A tall bookshelf next to the couch catches Kakashi’s attention, and he walks over to it. The middle shelf is empty, save for two photographs - in the first one, a ten-year-old Iruka is standing between his parents, smiling brightly at the camera, and, in the second one, an already adult Iruka is standing with Naruto, whose happy smile rivals his own. Kakashi’s heart clenches as he feels familiar guilt uncoil in his chest.

Naruto was the son of his sensei, and Kakashi knows that he should have been taking care of him all those years, yet he cannot bring himself to get close to the boy – instead, he watches from a distance.

But with Iruka in his life, Naruto should be alright. 

Consumed by his thoughts, Kakashi doesn’t hear the voices outside the apartment door until it’s too late. The key turns in the lock, and Kakashi has only a split second to make a decision. Quickly, he returns the picture to the shelf, then glances around and darts to a door, which, as it turns out, leads to a tiny closet.

There isn’t enough space to stand comfortably between cleaning supplies and storage boxes, but Kakashi is hardly in any position to complain. He tries to stay as still as possible, conceals his chakra signature, and listens.  

The apartment door finally opens.

“Oh, new plants?” he hears Anko’s voice, “Good addition – I must say, they make the room look quite cozy.”

“Thank you,” Iruka replies, then adds, “Please, make yourself at home – I’ll go to the kitchen and get us something to drink. What would you like?”

“Something strong,” Anko chuckles, and Kakashi hears her plop down on the couch.

By their voices, Kakashi can tell that both Iruka and Anko are very drunk – which is to be expected, since Kakashi picked this particular night to break into Iruka’s apartment specifically because he knew that Iruka, Kotetsu, Izumo, Anko, Genma, and Raido were headed to the “Broken Kunai” to celebrate Kotetsu and Izumo’s engagement.

The sound of steps followed by glass clanking against wood notifies Kakashi that Iruka has returned.

“Oh,” Anko says excitedly, “That’s some good stuff. Though I’m a little surprised – never pegged you for the type to drink something like this.”

“Double shifts at the Mission Desk three days in a row would do that to a person,” Iruka laughs, and Kakashi hears the sound of liquid being poured into cups.

“I can only imagine,” Anko replies.

Silence falls upon them for a moment. Kakashi shifts uncomfortably, trying to make as little noise as possible – his legs already start to feel stiff from leaning over the boxes at his feet – and hopes that Anko and Iruka’s late-night drinking session will be over soon.

“So,” Anko starts slowly, “About that thing I asked you at the bar…”

“Do you have to bring it up again?” Iruka sighs.

“Oh, come on, Iruka,” Anko says, “Don’t be like this. I always tell you everything.”

“You don’t have to always tell me everything,” Iruka chuckles, not unkindly.

“We are friends,” Anko protests, “And that’s what friends do. So, it’s only natural for me to want to know what’s going on in my friend’s romantic life.”

Kakashi leans closer to the door, straining to catch every word.

“You don’t have to ask in front of everyone,” Iruka says after a pause.

“Well, luckily, now it’s just the two of us, and you have no excuse,” Kakashi can almost hear Anko smirk, “So tell me – is there something going on between you and Kakashi? I’ve seen the way he stares at you – and how you smile at him when you think no one’s looking.”

Kakashi’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Nothing’s going on,” Iruka replies, and almost palpable disappointment in his voice sends Kakashi’s heart racing in his chest.

“But you want it to,” Anko nudges him on, “I know you do – the blush on your face doesn’t lie.”

Iruka is silent for a moment. Kakashi holds his breath and feels his heart pound in his head, waiting for Iruka to respond.

“Yes,” he says finally.

It feels as though the room spins around him, and Kakashi has to hold on to the wall to still himself. He can hardly believe his ears - <em>Iruka likes him?</em>

“Aha, I knew it! I knew you liked him!” Anko exclaims victoriously, then adds after a pause, “Although, to be perfectly honest, I don’t know what you see in him.”

Kakashi smirks at Anko’s words – it was a mystery to him too why anyone would want to date her, and, yet, it seemed she never had a shortage of admirers.

“I…I can’t explain it,” Iruka says, “It’s just - he makes me <em>feel</em> things in a way that no one else does. Seeing him smile under his mask and blush makes me so weak – I immediately want to take him out on a nice date and do anything to make him happy…”

Kakashi feels heat rise to his cheeks, and he can barely contain a smile.

“Ah, that’s so sweet,” Anko says teasingly, but Iruka just chuckles.

“But then,” he continues, “Sometimes he just riles me up with that awful attitude – and even worse penmanship when it comes to his reports – and all I want to do is to drag him out of the Mission Room, get on top of him, wrap my hands around his throat and ride him all night long.”

Kakashi’s head spins and, suddenly, it feels unbearably hot in the small closet. Iruka wants to…what? Heat spreads through Kakashi’s body, pooling in his lower stomach, making it hard to think clearly. His mind races, and the world around him suddenly shrinks to just one thought – Iruka, on top of him, doing exactly what he just promised. Kakashi would be lying if he said he’d never imagined himself with Iruka that way – but never before were the images so vivid, and never before did the fantasy feel so real.

“Eww, how filthy,” Anko laughs.

“You’ve told me worse things,” Iruka replies, “Besides, I have a feeling you’ve gotten me drunk precisely to hear something like that.”

“Ah, you wound me,” Anko chuckles, “But you might be on to something. How else could I get the prim and proper Academy sensei to talk about his dirty fantasies involving a certain jonin?”

“You are evil,” Iruka laughs.

“And you love me for it,” Anko replies easily.

Suddenly, Kakashi can hear the window slide open, and someone else enters the apartment. Quiet whispers follow, but he doesn’t try to make out any words – his mind is still preoccupied with conjuring up images of him and Iruka together. His blush deepens, familiar heat courses through his veins, and for a moment, Kakashi’s almost scared that the resounding beat of his heart may betray his hiding spot.

“Well,” Anko says after a moment, “Looks like it’s time for me to head out. Sorry to cut the evening short, but duty calls.”

“We could always continue tomorrow,” Iruka offers lightly, “It’s not like I can drink all this by myself.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Anko replies, and Kakashi can hear her climbing out the window.

With Anko gone, Kakashi realizes that Iruka will likely go to sleep soon. Then he can get out of here and try to find another way to figure out what to give Iruka for his birthday…

Distracted by his thoughts, Kakashi doesn’t even notice that he’s leaning against one of the shelves – until he sends a box standing there crashing to the floor with a loud thud. Before he can figure out what to do, the door to the closet flings open, and he sees Iruka standing in front of him, holding kunai in one hand.

“Kakashi-san,” he breathes out, stunned, “What are you doing here?”

Kakashi knows he needs to say something, anything, but all he can do is stare. Drunk Iruka looks so delightfully disheveled with his tousled hair, his flushed cheeks, and his swollen lips that all Kakashi can think of for the moment is how much he’d like to ravage him right then and there.

The silence stretches as Kakashi desperately scrambles to retain some semblance of rational thinking.

“I…uh…was just passing by,” he offers weakly.

As soon as the words leave his lips, Kakashi wants nothing more than for the ground beneath his feet to open and swallow him whole. <em>That might be the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said.</em> It seems that even in his drunk state, Iruka knows that because a moment later, he bursts out laughing.

“That is the stupidest excuse I’ve ever received,” he manages to utter through his laughter.

Kakashi doesn’t argue.

Once Iruka’s done laughing, his face grows suddenly serious.

“I have to ask – how much of <em>that</em> did you hear?”

“Everything,” Kakashi says, resigned.

His heart drops in his chest – he knows Iruka has every right to be angry with him for eavesdropping on his private conversation. Did he just ruin everything? Iruka will probably never want to see him again after this… When Kakashi finally manages to meet Iruka’s gaze, he’s surprised – there is no anger in his eyes, only amusement.

“Oh my,” Iruka murmurs softly, and then a smile blooms on his lips, “Well, I suppose this makes it easier. So, what do you think – would you like to…”

Before Iruka could finish his sentence – before he could even think, Kakashi’s fingers reach for the zipper of his flak jacket. Kakashi’s face is aflame, and he’s never been more embarrassed and turned on in his life. He knows he shouldn’t – but after aching for Iruka’s touch for so long, he can hardly deny himself.

The confused expression on Iruka’s face makes Kakashi’s hand still.

“Huh?” Iruka says, lifting an eyebrow, “Kakashi-san, who do you take me for? I’m taking you on a date first.”

This man will be the death of him.

[buirbaby]

Thistle & Thorn Prologue

Summary: Nessia MacDougal begins her journey in her secondary school years to attend Hogwarts. Hailing from a respected family in Northern Scotland, she must put aside her trepidation and nerves to begin exploring the witch she's truly meant to become. Rating: General - for everyone!

Masterlist 

Author Notes:  Hello! This is purely a guilty pleasure writing for me in which I insert a Scottish OC. Based in the 80s and loosely around the plotline of Hogwarts Mystery, I hope to embark on a long, but fun journey with my OC through their years at and after Hogwarts. I’m not personally Scottish, so if any of the annunciations sound wrong or if you have better recommendations for certain slang, please let me know in the comments~! I will be posting a schedule to keep myself on track for updates, but will release a few chapters in the beginning at once to get the ball rolling. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Dark shadows ran along the length of the hall, dyeing the once porous taupe stone in an inky mask. Grasping forward like prying fingers, the door creaked open, the illumination of a hearth casting a fiery halo around the arm chair that obscured the flame's light. A figure was sitting, the footsteps nigh on silent if not for the old floor boards that had been resting firmly in place for centuries within the MacDougal estate. The man's head tilted and a laugh rumbled in the back of his throat, a deep noise like thunder on the horizon hinting at the lightning to come.

"I didnae ken ye'd come here. That'll be yer mistake," the familiar depth of a voice cut against the cracking of the wood, less crinkled by age, and marred by the tremulous heat of calm wrath.

"The Dark Lord sends his regards," finally the intruder spoke, raising a wand to poise it toward where the gentleman sat. With a grandiose flourish and a blast of venomous green light, the armchair whirled and the victim did not sit within it.

"I warned ye. Yer cheap tricks dinnae work on me," a broad man stepped from out of a corner where the light of the fire did not touch, his wand raised, and emerald eyes glinting from beneath a heavy furrowed brow. His wordless curse flew through the air, smacking into his foe with the force of a mack truck and rendering them to their knees as the life ebbed out of them. It was no killing curse, but powerful enough in due part to the man's tenacity and skill, sitting upon the mantle a crux of his legacy: his accolades as an Auror. Badges, medals, a picture of the chief shaking hands with the last minister that he had served before going into retirement to care for the family estates. Angus MacDougal was a legend and a man to be feared if you ended up on the opposite side of where his wand tilted.

Scoffing quietly to himself, he kept his wand drawn as he erred closer to the body of the Death Eater. Multiple attempts had been made on his life, despite his derision to remain just council for the war and not a participant. He had already lost too much and still there was more he could lose, thus putting himself in a worse position than he was already in was not amongst his priorities. Yet, Voldemort kept sending pitiful excuses to his home in the highlands, each attempt thwarted, but to what purpose? To probe? To see what the MacDougal defenses were like?

"Bhan?"

Angus stiffened, his wand lowering as he cocked his head toward the door where a young girl stood. Tucked under her arm was a krup plush, stained with the years of her incessant adoration, the white fur yellowed and the eyes loose on the smushed face. Immediately, he stepped in the path of the crumpled form, but it was too late for him to obscure who or what it was, the child's perceptive ivy eyes tracing the being.

"Another one?" Nessia muttered, rubbing a bleary eye. "They're not gaunnae get ye too are they, Bhan?"

Angus steeled himself, bending down to pick the child up into his arms, one of the reasons he'd refused to fight this war. "Nay, not a soul on this Earth that can get the jump on ol' Bhan, ye ken this."

"I thought the same of Ma and Pa," Nessia countered dubiously. "That makes 2 just this moon."

"Yer too smart for yer own good," Angus grumbled, albeit in irritation and part in amusement that the young girl was attentive enough to remember such details. Removing her from the scene entirely, he strolled down the cottage halls, away from his solar and across toward the living quarters. "Now, I tol' ye that yer room is the safest place for ye. I've gone and put spells on it to keep the bad folk outta there. Why'd ye come out?"

Tilting questioning eyes, framed by thick dark lashes, the child heaved a sigh. "The green light, Bhan."

His mouth quirked, not in a smile, but nearly in a grimace. The light of the killing curse, the unnerving glow that had stolen the life force from her parents as she stood in her cradle as a toddler. A few years had passed, but the aging bairn still remembered.

"Master?" Hoggle, the cottage's house elf appeared from around a corner, batty ears slicked back like hair and a rag made of the family's tartan draped around his knobbly form. Angus had given him nicer attire, but Hoggle preferred the tartan for some odd reason.

"Go an fetch Logan. There be another in the solar, if ye ken me meaning," Angus informed the servant, who didn't hide their frown, and nodded solemnly. Certainly, the house elf caught his drift and if Angus didn't take care of the person himself, he had his grandson Logan and Nessia's older sibling handle it as he was more than a decade her senior and having just graduated Hogwarts.

"Aye," Hoggle bowed and trotted off without another word.

He wanted this damn war to be over, for the assault on his kin to cease, but just like many others who wished for it to end-the only end would be when either the Dark Lord was overthrown or he achieved what he wanted. In a few more years, would he even be able to send Nessia to school? Or would he be just as worried as when he'd sent Logan? Even with Dumbledore as headmaster, an old reliable friend to Angus, he knew that the wizard had more to handle than just the governance of the academy.

Opening the door to the child's room, he breathed a small sigh, his eyes skimming the haven that she'd decorated herself. Nessia had always been a perceptive child, enthralled by a few eclectic hobbies, most notably her obsession with plants over people. Various shelves were host to plants both of non-magical and supernatural function. The tall, double decker windows at the back of the room were shaded by a thin sheath of fabric that acted as a meager barrier between the sun that would rise in a handful of hours and bask the room for the better half of the day in warm sunlight, baking the girl's greenhouse of a bedroom.

Angus despised messes and untidiness, but when he glanced around at the dirt on the floor, the opened leather journals and books scattered on the desk, he did not see a mess. Rather, he saw organized chaos reminiscent of his son—her father. To the unknowing eye, this place was not a bedroom and much more like a jungle in northern Scotland. But each item had a home and each trinket carefully placed so that Nessia could find it without even trying. Her bed was hidden beneath a canopy that pooled over in marble queen pothos vines, the white leaves flecked with verdant spots.

It was quite obvious what the girl would spend her time studying the most when she finally went to Hogwarts. Whilst not a combative subject like Defence, Angus thought the peace suited her better and hoped the child never had to lift a wand as he had or as her parents had. Where had that gotten them? Two dead, another with a target on their back. If Nessia could grow up to be a researcher, a herbologist, or a Potioneer—she would be safe.

"Noo, I'm gaunnae hae tae get ye Venomous Tentacula tae keep ya in bed. Hae it guard the door," Angus threatened with no heat in his voice, tucking the girl beneath the fold of a thick sapphire quilt that had belonged to her mother.

Nessia's rose lips cracked a frail smile, still daunted by the blinding light that had brightened the entire manor. "I'll jus' learn how tae handle that one too, Bhan," she reminded him, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. Despite her calm voice, the child's knuckles whitened like snow as she clutched the fabric. "Are ye gaunnae go right away?"

"I can stay. Til ye fall asleep," he promised, smoothing down the dark tumbles of the girl's hair that reminded him of bramble—an absolute mess that he didn't know how to handle. She'd gotten that from her mother and that woman had been the only one with a sliver of an idea of how to control the frazzled mess.

The room quieted, a soft sigh parting the girl's lips and only the wind skimming across the moor could be heard as it billeted the cathedral windows, rattling the frame and cracking against the setting. Angus' eyes trailed over to the shade, the dull moonlight attempting to cut through a thicket of clouds and bask the window just as the sun usually did. However, the light was faint that evening and Angus could only presume that the macabre transgressions of the night had been reflected up in the sky like an ominous painting of the war raging across the wizarding world.

How many more interrupted nights would there be? How many more evenings that Angus had to remain sitting vigil lest they be overtaken by another Death Eater?

[mhdiaries]

Great Scarrier Reef Peri & Pearl Diary

19/04 Peri

It wasn’t my fault! So, I ate some swellfish, so what?! Pearl’s allergic, not me! I don’t get any unfrightly blemishes when I eat it. It’s not like I haven’t sneaked some before when she wasn’t looking, and she was fine! So she gets a spot or 2… every teenaged monster gets them occasionally! I’ll admit, this one was pretty clawful. But how was I supposed to know that would happen? I just wanted a taste… and it was so yummy that one led to another, and another, and before I knew it, chaos had broken out… and so had Pearl.

Pearl 19/04

Ugh, I am sooooo fangry with my hisster! She knows that I am sensitive to swellfish! Just because my head is turned doesn’t mean she can put whatever she wants in hers! We both have to live in this body! She thought I wouldn’t notice, but I’ve never had a breakout quite like this. I got a rash like you wouldn’t believe! It started normally enough, just a bit scaly and itchy. But then I got a pimply thing that grew so huge, I thought we were hatching a third head! Two is plenty, thank you very much! It wasn’t until I started shrieking out that she admitted what she did. I don’t even want to talk to her right now! The worst part about being a hydra with a twin is, if you are frighting, there is nowhere you can go to get away from each other.

20/04 Peri

She hasn’t forgiven me yet. She’s so mad she decided we need to die-vide our room down the middle. I don’t know how this is going to work. I was really hurt by it at first, but now I’m kind of excited about the idea. It’s a good excuse to redecorate, and we could each have our own style and décor. We have to share furniture, but it’s the little touches that will make all the difference. We already pushed the bed and the desk to the middle of the room, against opposite walls, so that we each get half the bed and half the desk. Then we painted a gold line down the middle of everything. We separated the rest of the furniture as fearly as possible. I get the window because I’m more warm-blooded than she is, but that means she gets the door… which is going to be an issue because she says I have to ask her permission if I want to go out to the howlway to use the loo. As if!

Pearl 22/04

The parental heads aren’t very happy with me currently. Parent #3 said I was acting rashly about the whole rash situation, and #4 thinks splitting our room down the middle is tadpoleish. But #2 convinced the rest to let us make our own choices, and said it might be good for us to have some space… even if it was only in our heads. And now that the room’s done, it looks fangtastic. Her side is in shades of blue and periwinkle, and mine is mostly white and off-white; we also scattered gold accents throughout. We purchased double the office supplies, so I can sit on the left side of the desk and she can sit on the right side, and we can do our homework without ever asking each other to pass anything. We made a 2-color quilt, but reversed the colors so her half is white and mine is blue… can’t be too matchy-matchy! And she insisted on attaching a lacy canopy to her side of the bed. She can be such a ghouly ghoul.

Pearl 23/04

I woke up chilled to the skull.. because Peri had stolen the covers. No wonder she is always warmer than me! She was wrapped up in both the blue AND white sides of the quilt, while I was covered in ghostbumps. The rash is finally going away, so I really don’t need to break out into anything else. But even more annoying, every time a breezy wave came through the window, my nose was tickled by her canopy. So cold and sneezing, and possibly catching a cold and more sneezing! This is not working out the way I thought! I was exhausted from lack of sleep at practice, and we couldn’t stop frighting… and it all went horror-ably until Kala started screeching orders at us. Then Peri and I clammed up and danced fluidly together.

23/04 Peri

I’m getting a little tired of Kala always ordering us around! Who un-died and made her boss? She’s a seatacular dancer, I’m not arguing that. But tentacally speaking, she’s not really our leader. We’re a team! But we always just follow her. Why do we do that? It’s especially weird that Pearl does whatever Kala tells her to do, because let’s double-face it, Pearl doesn’t do what anyone tells her to do. I mean, other than our parental heads, and even then sometimes her compliance is fishy. But if Kala says flip, Pearl doesn’t even ask how high… she just does it as high as she can and pulls me along in her wave.

Pearl 25/04

We fanged out with Kala today. It was fun, but she made snaky comments about every fish who floated by. She doesn’t like many monsters in the reef; I feel special that we’re her BFFs. Peri and I got along swimmingly too. My rash is gone and I don’t feel like hissing at her as much as I did. We went ghoulery shopping and picked out a few bootiful necklaces for our parental heads… they really stuck their necks out for us, letting us try this room separation thing without too much fuss, and they had to listen to a lot of bickering. I know I can be headstrong. I’m lucky to have them. And Peri, too.

25/04 Peri

We went to the beastro with Kala, and I chose what I ate very carefully – just a kelp salad and a high-sea latte. I’m not going to make that scarebrained mistake again! It wasn’t fear of me to treat Pearl’s allergy like it was no big deal; it was a monstrous deal to her and she suffered because of my insensitivity. I’ve apologized for making terrorible waves, and she appears to be calming. Feartunate for me, she never stays fangry with me for long – her hiss is always worse than her bite. By the time we got to the maul, she was downdeep pleasant… and even Kala turned scary-sweet. We really had a fintastic time!

Pearl 26/04

We removed the line from the room – it was just water-based paint anyway. And we pushed the bed back so it was far enough away from the window that when Peri steals the covers, I won’t freeze to undeath! Plus, I tore that boothersome canopy down. We agreed to keep the room painted 2 colors, because it’s fun, and moved some of the furniture and accessories around so that it was more mixed than matched. But other than that, everything is back to normal. We can coil and we can fright sometimes, but we are hissters AND beasties, and nothing will ever change that. Like we always say, we may not see eye to eye, but we have each other’s backs!

[feeling--pink]

Second fanfic ever here we go!!

Title: Webby is gay and sad

Fandom: Ducktales (woo-hoo)

Summary: So mayyyyybe Webby had feelings for Lena. And mayyyyyyyybe she was a little bit scared of rejection. Mayyyyybe that’s why she sometimes hid in a closet (ha) wrapped up in a blanket crying. Mayyyyyyyybe she had done this once or twice or five times before when the feelings got too strong and she needed a moment… or hour to calm down and stop being so gay gosh darn it. Mayyyyyybe if she's hidden a little better she wouldn't have to confront these feelings.

Characters: Webby, Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Lena (mentioned a lot)!

Relationships: (pre) Webby x Lena, Webby is the honorary sister to HDL and I said so because its true fight me (please don’t I will lose and cry)

Warnings: Crying (and like a lot of it), I can’t think of anything else but please let me know!

Oh and there’s a part 2 now!!

Cross posted on Ao3 so here’s that link if you prefer it over there! https://archiveofourown.org/works/23918440

~

Everything was fuzzy.

Fuzzy and pink. Had she hit her head? No, Webby was standing up and seemed perfectly normal. Then Lena was there. Normally, Webby would have questioned where she had come from, what they were doing here, where here was, but for some reason, she didn’t panic. Lena seemed fine; she was smiling and talking, so everything was fine, right? Webby thought so, she was just glad to see her best friend happy.

Then Lena was leaning closer, Webby couldn’t think of what was happening, and then-

Webby sat up in her bed, holding her cheek. It had been a dream, just a dream. Lena had kissed her cheek. But it was a dream. It was fine.

It had to have been a dream, Lena would never do something like that in real life, right? Did Webby want her to kiss her on the cheek in real life? No… yes? Maybe. Her face was getting warm, why had she dreamt that? Did she have feelings for Lena? Just.. what?

Needless to say, Webby didn’t get much sleep that night.

-

It had been a month. Well, actually it had been 3 weeks and 6 six days but that was long enough for Webby to figure some things out.

She had started noticing things, after the dream. Lena was just so cool.

Now, of course, Webby had already known that, but not to this extent. Lena always seemed so calm, even when things were less than desirable; she was able to keep a level head. She noticed the way she smiled when someone said something particularly funny or when Webby rambled about something she was excited about. She noticed detail after detail and fell a little farther every time she noticed something.

Webby had it baaaaaddddd.

Now, she thought she wouldn’t be one to hide it, or if she did it wouldn’t be very well. But so far Lena hadn’t seemed to catch on so it was fine. Webby wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t just told her, or anybody else for that matter. Well, at first it was because she needed more information. Whether her feelings were real or just some fleeting crush because of a stupid dream.

The longer she held to this secret, the harder it was to let go.

So mayyyyybe Webby was a little scared of rejection. Mayyyyybe that’s why she sometimes hid in a closet (ha) wrapped up in a blanket crying. Mayyyyyyyybe she had done this once or twice or five times before when the feelings got too strong and she needed a moment… or hour to calm down and stop being so gay gosh darn it.

“Webby?” A voice asked, startling her out of her thoughts.

Webby was in one of the mansion's many closets (double ha). This one was two doors down from her room and held many blankets and quilts for when it got colder. She was up on the second self behind a few other blankets, once again crying her eyes out wrapped in a soft purple blanket with designs of cartoonish flowers on it. She kicked out at the intruder, but that only served to make some of the blankets fall off the shelf.

She found Huey staring back at her pathetic crying form with concern etched all over his face.

This only made more tears fall, she didn’t mean to make him worried, it wasn’t that big a deal! Hot tears fell down her face only serving to make the other boy more concerned. - When Dewey said to go grab another sheet to serve as a backdrop for Dewey Dew-Night, Huey certainly hadn’t expected to find a sobbing Webby hunched up on the shelf.

Older brother instincts™ flooded his system, so he carefully urged the girl off the shelf and gently led her by hand back to the boy’s room. The poor girl was still clutching the blanket he had found her wrapped up in like a lifeline, and the walk didn’t seem to quell any of her tears.

Huey had to keep his anger down, but if he found out a person was the cause of these tears he was going to fight them so bad (It doesn’t matter that he would probably lose, it was for Webby!).

Upon entering Dewey perked up and started to ask for the blanket before he cut himself off upon seeing Webby. Louie, who had previously been scrolling through his phone, glanced over and sat up, scooting over to make room for the disgruntled girl on his bed.

Huey sat her down on the green bunk, sitting on the floor, as not to crowd her. Dewey seemed to have a similar idea and sat next to Huey, fiddling with his hands, clearly wanting to do something to help the girl but not knowing what.

Both his brothers looked to him for clarification on the situation, but he couldn’t answer them as he didn’t know either.

Webby saw the triplets having a conversation with their eyes, probably trying to figure out why she was bawling. She figured she might as well tell them, after all, it had been kinda eating her up inside.

“I guess you want to know what’s going on,” She said while sniveling and wiping the tears away.

All eyes shot back to her, Huey speaking up first, “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, we just want to help.” He explained.

“No, no I’ll tell you.” She said with a watery smile, “It’s, uh... Lena.”

Dewey shot up, “What did she say? Do I have to fight her? I will fight her.” He said with a fierce resolve.

“No!” Webby cries, Huey already having taken action and pulling his brother back down.

“Let her finish.” He states. Whether he was thinking the same thing didn’t matter.

After a second Webby started again, “No, please don’t fight her... I like her.” She says, “Like like her, a lot.” She clarifies with emphasis on the lot.

Louie sighed having to throw his revenge plan out the window, fighting wasn’t really his style so an evil scheme was the best way to protect his family. Too bad, In the 15 seconds he had the plot it was shaping up to be a good one. “Well, are you going to tell her?” He asked.

This only made Webby start to cry again, big hot tears running down her face.

“Nice one, Louie” Dewey muttered his way while Huey took to hovering protectively over the girl again.

Louie puffed up defensively, he really hadn’t meant to make her cry, it was a legitimate question! He huffed and turned back to Webby, that didn’t matter right now.

“I- I can’t.” She sniffled. “She’s one of my only friends, I can’t risk that.”

“Well, why not?” It was Huey and Louie’s turn to glare at their brother, “What I mean is that you’re great Webby, Lena isn’t going to give you up over some feelings, and that’s assuming she doesn’t like you, which I have doubts about.” Dewey rambled out his explanation.

Louie nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah I totally see her liking you. Hey! We can come up with a scheme for you to ask her out.” He suggested.

Webby looked between the three of them with glassy eyes, “You really aren’t just saying that?” She asked.

“Well, yeah,” Huey spoke up for the three of them, “You’re our sister after all, of course, we want to help you out.” Wait… aw phooey.

This brought about yet another round of tears, making Huey tense up, as he didn’t know these were happy tears.

“You really are the best brothers I could have asked for, huh?” She said with a big real smile.

All three triplets to let out a breath none of them had known they’d been holding. They had decided a while ago that Webby was family, though none had yet had the nerve to call her so in front of her.

“Hey if you hadn’t wanted to be related to these bozos it’s okay, I understand.” Louie jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Webby laughed, her first real laugh in at least a few hours. Wiping away excess tears, “Hug?” She asked.

Dewey launched himself at their self proclaimed sister, Huey carefully hugging from the other side, then Louie leaned on the pile of ducklings.

The siblings would figure out a plan later, right now they were fine as is. Thank goodness Webby had such an amazing family.

[kriffingstars]

Spitfire | Lee Scoresby x Reader (1/?)

A/N: Hola my lovelies, this is my first Lee Scoresby x Reader. I know this is all friendship based but I promise I’m going to make the next part more romantic.  I just want to get used to writing again, it been a while. When I first came up with this idea I did have an OC of mine that would have worked brilliantly so come the end of S1 I might rework the story on Wattpad possibly.  This is also set in the HBO/BBC version of HDM. I’m aiming for the next part to be posted on Wednesday :)

To be added to the taglist either click the link in my blog and add yourself or send me an ask <3

Summary: Reader meets a certain aeronaut cowboy for the first time

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1619

That day had been tiring, to say the least. Spending the whole time following Lyra’s lead wasn’t easy and something you weren’t used to. Normally you'd be marching to the beat of your own drum, so this new lifestyle was rather a shock to the system.

As night fell you found yourself alone and wishing no more than to get off the boat, being so cooped up had begun to drive you mad. It seemed like an ungodly amount of time since you'd been able to go off on your own.  Not that minding Lyra was a chore but it was certainly different from your old lifestyle. The pub near the docks seemed like a good place to unwind, over a nice warming glass of whatever half-decent liquor they stocked.

“Are you sure this is a good idea (Y/N)? What will Farder Coram say when he finds out you’ve left?” protested Zachariah as he trotted alongside you, his bushy tail brushing against your dark tan, woollen trousers which left a few strands of bright orange fur behind.

“It’s one drink, and I'm an adult Zach. Not like I'm the only one who can keep an eye on Lyra.”

The walk to the bar took all but five minutes, the chill of the air causing you to shove your hands deep inside the fleece-lined pockets of her coat.  The smell of the oil from the port caused your nose to tingle, which on second thought was probably not the best thing for your health, even if you happened to like the smell.

As you reached the building, the roar of the fires could be seen through the cloudy window, and whilst it wasn't busy, many regular customers lounged at their tables.  Pipes in their mouths and cards in their hand. Once inside the atmosphere seemed almost comforting, no one seemed out of place, one of the many reasons why the North was always somewhat of a destination when travelling.

"A whiskey please, with a shot of water. No ice thank you," you ordered.

Both glasses were placed wordlessly in front of you as you sat rubbing your temples in frustration and worry; thinking back to how disastrous today could have gone. Lyra was becoming more reckless, especially with the alethiometer. Only just that morning had she thought it was a good idea to take it out whilst at least six Magisterium were patrolling past.  If that was anything to go by it wouldn't be long before Lyra had sucked her into trouble which there would be no coming back from.

When Ma had asked you to look out for Lyra it was something you felt you couldn’t say no, not that you would have done. You saw much of yourself in her, but childcare wasn’t really in your nature. Being as wild and unruly as you were most would barely call you an adult, as trouble seemed to just follow you around by the trove. Fortunately, all that good practice of having to get yourself out of said trouble had landed you with a great deal of experience and a way with words that could get you out of nearly anything. Having a small family of your own and the constant travelling meant childcare was something of an alien to you. The only interaction you really had with children was when recounting tales of adventures to them, leaving out all the crimes which had been committed along the way.

Before the Gobblers came anyone who knew you would have described you as a wild spirited, quick-witted spitfire who yearned to travel all over the world, looking for something new to explore and earning money through odd jobs as you went. As far as you went you always did come back to the gyptians, but never for long, until the news of dear Billy Costa had reached you. That naturally lead to a quick return.

“Hot rum, make it a double.”

An American voice broke you from your thoughts as you turned to see the aeronaut who’d taken the seat beside yourself, his dæmon, a rather wonderful hare perched next to him. It was the same man who you'd briefly met that morning, the one looking for the bear, Iorek Byrinson. The bartender silently pouring the drink before moving away again, back to his conversation with one of the regulars.

“I don’t think I introduced myself this morning, Lee Scoresby and this," he gestured to the hare, "is Hester.” Holding his glass forward for you to meet with your own.

“(Y/N) Fletcher, but my friends call me Fletch,” she paused looking to the fox perched at your feet, “and this is my dear friend Zachariah.”

He smiled, "Are we friends?"

"Only if you want to be."

“Now Fletch," he paused, testing out the name on his tongue, "what are you doing in a place like this?” He smirked.

“Having a moment to think,” you smiled back at him. He’d cleaned himself up from that morning, there was no sign of any blood and he looked a lot more relaxed.

The conversation started off as small talk which quickly turned to their favourite destinations when travelling.

"I like the people here, it's like everyone fits in because they don't."

And once again the conversation shifted, you bringing up that morning's shenanigans, and laughing at the reason for the blood.

"If you did that in my bar you'd be swimming with the fishes, and hear the waters quite cold this time of year," laughing as you finished off the rest of the glass, signalling the bartender for another.

“Your daughter seemed like a bit of a spitfire, I can see where she gets it from,” he complimented, after hearing about how you'd managed to land yourself in a cell for the night and talked yourself out of numerous different charges the next morning.

“Hah, he thinks Lyra’s your daughter.” Zach’s head tilted back as he laughed at the thought.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” A grin made its way onto your face as you laughed at the idea of you being a parent. Sure, Lyra was sweet, but you were there to oversee and attempt to steer Lyra away from trouble, which wasn’t exactly working too well.

“No, I’m just keeping an eye on her for the time being,”

“Good job she wasn’t offended Lee,” muttered Hester, as the cowboy cringed at his error.

Hester rolled her eyes as he began his apologies “I really didn’t mean any offence,”

“Mr Score-,”

“Lee,”

Smiling. “Lee, you really think that's the worse thing I've been called.  That's not even an insult.”

Soon enough the conversation flowed again, with Hester jumping down to carry on her conversation with Zach. Time flew by as Lee began to realise that both of them had much in common, and the foundations of a fast friendship were being made. Eventually, the topic of your visit to Trollesund came to light. Arguably the place wasn’t the nicest holiday destination and it wasn’t exactly teeming with adventure and excitement. Maybe a part of you hoped that Lee would accompany you on the journey but the rational side reasoned that as much as you got along with the man you didn’t actually know him too well and more importantly didn’t know whether you could actually trust him.

“So, you’re here on business? I wouldn't bet on you being here for the people,” he asked, bringing up your comment about the people of the North earlier.

“Children are being stolen; the Magisterium won’t do a thing. We’re coming to take them back,” you spoke with a conviction that he hadn't heard you speak with before that.  

Clearly, you were determined. He could tell you were fiercely loyal, and that a fight was the last of your worries. As he listened to your answer you could tell his curiosity peaked, as he leant forward, becoming a lot quieter as he spoke to you in a low voice.

“So that’s why you need Iorek. You’re starting a war.” It wasn’t a question, just the realisation of the plan in which you were trying to put in place, the one Lyra had convinced you of doing.

“Which I intend to win, some of those kids don’t have families to miss them. Least I can do is help them.”

After that, you both settled into silence as Lee mulled over what you were saying. By this time the bar had begun to empty, the lights were beginning to dim. The bartender's voice rippled through the room as the bell for the last call was rung, most did not order another, but simply left their empty glasses atop the side. It was late and you knew you should be getting back.

“I should back before I’m missed,” you sighed, scraping the stool as you stood. Your sudden movement alerting Zach that he should finish up his conversation with Hester. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, see you around.” He replied, gathering his things as well.

The walk back to the boat was relaxing, the cold air bit your cheeks as you meandered through the quiet town, but it was not as bothersome as it once was before. It was quiet, save for the patrolling Magisterium. Before you knew it, you’d carried yourself all the way back her room, pushing open the small door you flopped onto the bed, Zachariah leaping on after and settling in the red quilt.

He sunk his head underneath your hand as you subconsciously reached to scratch behind his ears before he looked back up at to you. 

“You should sleep, you know Lyra’s going to be up early,”.    

Taglist: @bisexuaivalkyrie @gemellath @urticadioica2  @mistoffeleez

[lycorogue]

Perfect Doesn’t Need to be Perfect: Chapter 2

I miss these early chapters. They were easy. They were small. They were still relatively light-hearted. Then chapter 5 happened and I’ve completely lost this project down an angsty rabbit hole. 0.o I’ll try to get that sorted out in the next couple of days.

In the meantime, enjoy one of the short, fluffy chapters.

**Contains Spoilers for Taurus Pixie’s story Twelve Days of Chatmas**

Summary: Chat Noir has run into a long streak of poor luck, all in an attempt to give Ladybug the perfect Christmas gift. Little does he know, his first try was already perfect in Ladybug’s eyes. Now it’s her turn to try to navigate around Chat Noir’s failed attempts in her own pursuit to find something equally fantastic for him. **A Switched-POV Unofficial Companion Story to Twelve Days of Chatmas by @thetauruspixie​**

Rating: General Audience

Chapter Word Count: 1733

Story Total Word Count: 37,973

Status: chapter 2 of 12; complete

**For reals, if you haven’t read Twelve Days of Chatmas yet, read that first so my story doesn’t spoil anything for you. It’s cool. This story will still be here when you get back. ;) **

See below for chapter 2, or find this story over on AO3, on FFN, or on DA. 

CHAPTER 2:

The little pear tree sculpture was worse off than Marinette gave it credit, but it wasn't completely irreparable. She had taken stock of the damage the night before, and made a point of picking up the necessary supplies after school. Now it was time to get to work.

Too much of the foam base was chipped away when the card stock truck was ripped out of it, so she started off with replacing that. Then she carefully bent the trunk back so it was flat. The bad bend left a scarring crease in the base of the trunk, bit it actually looked good. Most trees had some sort of scarring in their bark. Using tracing paper to make a pattern, Marinette cut out two slightly smaller versions of Chat Noir's trunk from more card stock. Doubling up her own tree trunks, she glued them to the back of Chat Noir's to reinforce it. Finally, she made it 3D by adding a support branch of roots off the back. Resting the tree on her desk, it stood perfectly straight on it's own; no foam required.

Confident it was now sturdy enough for the weight of the filled in branches, Marinette got to work on fixing everything else. Using a decorative hole punch, she created a small confetti pile of green almond-shaped leaves out of construction paper. She then laid them out on parchment paper, and sprayed them down with adhesive before taking a deep breath.

“He's lucky I like him.” Through gritted teeth she started shaking the green glitter onto the sticky green leaves. She kept it as close to the project as she could, and she tried to stop once the leaves were properly coated without having too much excess. With any luck, she'd only find glitter for the next week or so.

As the leaves dried she got to work on reinforcing the partridge so its chubby little head wouldn't bend forward from the weight of the wooden beak and note.

The note. Forgetting what she was doing, Marinette gently pushed the clothespin open and released the torn note from the bird's grip. Folded over, the little note was barely larger than a postage stamp. Carefully opening it, Marinette was greeted by tiny but elegant writing; far fancier than she imagined Chat Noir's handwriting to be.

“Wishing the most amazing girl in the world the greatest of Christmases,” Marinette read the note aloud to Tikki. It was signed with a little heart drawn with red ink, and a paw print colored in with green ink. Giggling a little to herself, Marinette tore off two small strips of tape and patched up the tear running through the center of the message. She then tore off one more piece of tape. Flipping through to the next blank page of her diary, she taped the note to the bottom corner. A smile stretched across her face as she rested her palm against Chat Noir's tiny Christmas card.

After taking a beat, she closed up her diary and locked it away in its box. Rolling her shoulders, Marinette got back to work on firming up the partridge and touching up the coloring Chat Noir had done on the bird.

She let all the components dry while she had dinner, but instantly went back to work once she was done. First up was carefully gluing the leaves into place. Her new ones weren't nearly as drenched in glitter, and the shade of glitter was slightly lighter, but the two-toned leaves added a nice dimension to the piece.

She took a homework break while the leaves dried completely, then it was back to work to add on the pears and – she couldn't believe she followed through with it – the heart decorations. She managed to tuck the corners of the pears and hearts between some of the leaves to add more depth to the tree and make the fruit and ornaments look like they were actually nestled inside the tree branches.

As she waited for the tree to dry one last time so she could add the bird back onto its perch, Marinette started up a list; instantly and a bit frustratingly crossing off each item the moment she wrote it down.

She needed to come up with the perfect gift for Chat Noir. He seemed so hurt about his present, and he had put so much pressure on himself to get her the perfect thing that she couldn't fall short in doing the same. He was more precious to her than he realized, and this was her chance to make sure he knew that. She was stumped on what to do though.

Scarves, hats, mittens, shirts, vests, necklaces, earrings, pins; everything Marinette came up with wouldn't work. She was a fashion designer; her default gift for everyone was a piece of clothing or an accessory. None of it was a good idea. Her silly kitty would most likely be too excited about her gifting him something to remember to not wear it as a civilian. Then she could possibly run into him, and see him wearing the gift she made for Chat Noir, and then she'd know his identity, and-

She shook her head to try to get out of the spiral. Even if he was disciplined enough to not wear anything she gifted him while in his civilian form, it wasn't like he could really wear any of it while powered up either. Which meant, either he had to wear it alone in his house and nowhere else, or he'd never use it. That wouldn't work at all.

Blanket? Marinette tapped on the word, circling it a couple of times. That could be the best option for her. People rarely take blankets out of their rooms anyway, so he could use it without her seeing. Plus, it was always comforting to just curl up under a warm and semi-heavy blanket during chilly winter nights. Was it special enough for him, though? Would she have time to make him one? What design should she use for the blanket? Something not too obvious, in case he wanted to use the blanket in communal rooms in his home.

Looking out her window, Marinette knew she needed inspiration. It was time to go to her well.

“Tikki, spots on!”

Less than ten minutes later, Ladybug landed atop an apartment building just four blocks away from the Eiffel Tower. It wasn't the Trocadéro, but unfortunately the park was swarming with tourists this time of year, and she just needed some time to sit and think. It wasn't the same view that usually amazed her no matter how often she saw it, but the Seine still sparkled under the lights of Paris to her left, and the Eiffel Tower still spired before her on the other side of the river.

The sun was sinking below the horizon past the Eiffel Tower, and it cast a purple and deep magenta glow within the overcast sky. Curling up into a ball, Ladybug sat on the roof with her knees pressed against her chest and her chin resting between them. The lights running up the Eiffel Tower turned on in the twilight, and the whole of Paris joined suit. The yellows, blues, oranges, and Christmas reds and greens created a sea of lights below her. It was calming, welcoming, and inspiring.

Warmed by how serene her city looked, Ladybug uncurled. Dangling her legs over the ledge of the roof, she leaned back and admired the Eiffel Tower as it sliced through the cotton candy clouds.

The clouds are kind of blanketing the sky. Could I make something that looks like Paris on a winter's night for Chat Noir? She hummed softly as she pondered how she'd be able to execute something like that. She really fell into the zone as she meditated to the arrhythmic clicking of her swinging feet gently tapping against the side of the building. She could do a gradient fabric, and a quilted stitch so there were pockets of fill to mimic clouds. She could even purposefully avoid a symmetric square quilted look, instead pocketing the fill within a quilt of cloud shapes.

A duet of cooing pulled her attention from her designing. The flapping of wings grew louder, and two pigeons flew straight for her. She flinched and leaned slightly out of the way as they buzzed past her, close enough for her to notice their orange turtle-shell patterned wings and brown-gray bodies. Whatever they were, they weren't regular pigeons. A moment later, she registered that both birds had something gripped within their toes. One was carrying a trio of red roses. Its partner had a handmade card wrinkling slightly in its grip.

Homing pigeons? That didn't quite feel right to Ladybug either, but the duo seemed to be on a mission, so she mentally wished them save travels and hoped they found who they were looking for.

It seemed weird though. Even with Mr. Ramier in Paris, Ladybug didn't recall ever seeing anyone use homing pigeons before. She scanned the rooftops, trying to see who might have released the birds.

Nothing. There was no one on the rooftops nearby. No one on balconies. At first Ladybug was just curious as to who is using the skilled but archaic method of communication, especially with regards to sending what looked like a very romantic Christmas gift. However, after spying not a single soul in the area, it became an intriguing mystery she was itching to uncover.

She wandered her rooftop to try to get a better view, but there were still no clues anywhere. It was like the birds simply appeared. After a couple minutes, Ladybug decided that was a good enough explanation for her. They appeared from nowhere, and vanished to the horizon. They were an enigmatic package carrying a sweet gift for someone. A beautiful mystery of life not meant to be solved.

With a satisfied shrug, Ladybug headed back home, her head filled with fantasies of Adrien sending the pair of birds to her, and the card being a love letter. She giggled at the elation she'd feel if that were true, as well as the insanity of such a thing happening.

Imagine, Adrien Agreste sending Marinette Dupain-Cheng a pair of birds holding a Christmas gift and a declaration of love. A girl could dream.

Thank you for reading. Read Next Chapter

Read from the beginning: Chapter 1

Please let me know if you want me to add you to the tag list.

@discoveringmiraculouswriters

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Tell Me (NSFW)

Chapter 50 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! ~5400 words; read here on AO3 instead.

In which Fenris and Rynne have some religious chit-chat and some sexy times in the Frostback Basin.

*******************

Fenris took a sip of his ale, then set the stein aside and loosely wrapped his arms around his knees. At this hour of night, the treehouse camp was mostly quiet and still; Inquisition sentries spoke softly to each other as they patrolled each level of the sprawling structure, and half of Fenris’s companions had turned in for the night. One level below, Hawke was embroiled in a game of twenty-one with Bull and Varric while Sera variously encouraged and jeered at them, and Fenris could tell who had won each hand by the quality of their laughter as it floated up to the highest level of the treehouse every few minutes. 

He tilted his head back to study the stars. The sky of the Frostback Basin was thick with them, twinkling like fireflies captured in the navy-blue net of night, and it was lovely enough for Fenris to nearly understand why the Avvar revered the sky so much that it warranted its own goddess.

The Lady of the Skies, he mused. But if the Avvar considered their Lady to be a goddess, that meant she was really just a spirit, if she truly existed at all.

Fenris frowned slightly at the thought. It was still odd to think that the Avvar revered spirits as gods and welcomed them so openly, given how feared they were in the rest of Thedas. Aside from in Tevinter and Nevarra, of course, where the necromancers and mortalitasi performed their dubious rituals.

He looked down at his left hand and studied the flickering in the fissures of his palm. It was also odd – and disturbing – to think that spirits in the Fade could track him down by virtue of the mark. To imagine that at this moment on the other side of the Veil, just a mere hairsbreadth of magic away, spirits were hovering near his hand and watching his every move, like ghoulish spectators at some kind of show…

He shifted his shoulders uneasily the thought, then closed his fist and leaned his head back once more to look at the stars. Truth be told, he was feeling quite drained by all this talk of spirits. Talking about spirits, talking to spirits, finding out that the Avvar gods were spirits… it raised so many questions about spirits and gods and… and religion in general. Questions that Fenris hadn’t been forced to think too much about before the Inquisition, back when his understanding of the world was far more clear-cut.

The more I learn, the less I know, he thought ruefully. It was an uncomfortable truth, and one that Fenris was still having trouble coming to terms with, even despite everything that he and Hawke had seen and done in the past few years. And not for the first time, he wished he could be as lighthearted as Hawke when it came to the unknown. 

Her lightheartedness, Fenris thought, was one of the things about Hawke that had always struck him as strange and special. She was hardly the most knowledgeable person in Thedas, but she knew what she didn’t know, and she cheerfully acknowledged her own ignorance. When Hawke found out that she was wrong about something, she owned up to her incorrectness with a laugh. She was always happy to learn new things, incorporating new and seemingly insane information into her worldview as easily as though she was adding a new patch to a quilt.

Hawke certainly wasn’t ruminating about the nature of spirits and godhood, for instance. If anything, she seemed fascinated that the Avvar’s gods were simply spirits, and she was positively tickled by the Avvar’s respectful treatment of Cole. But this religious issue was different for Hawke. She didn’t believe in any gods at all, so questions of gods and mortals and reality and fiction were all purely academic to her. Fenris, on the other hand… 

He ran his fingers through his hair. He still didn’t know where he stood when it came to Andraste and the Maker. Ever since he’d woken up with this damned anchor on his hand, he’d been forced to consider his own religious leanings more deeply than he had since his discussions with Sebastian back in Kirkwall. And some two-odd years later, Fenris still didn’t know where he stood. 

He didn’t think he could be faulted for his confusion. After all, he’d been praised himself as Andraste’s holy herald, seen the Black City with his own two eyes, watched an Old God soul being taken from Kieran’s body, and met with an elven goddess wearing a human witch’s skin. The inconsistencies, the seemingly contradictory stories… of course Fenris didn’t know where he stood.

He sighed and stared blindly up at the sky. A moment later, he heard Hawke’s footsteps padding up the stairs to the platform where their little shared tent was pitched. “Hello, handsome,” she chirped. “Is there room on this platform for one more?” She plopped down beside him and started pulling off her boots. 

He smiled faintly at her. Her breath was scented with ale, but her gaze was bright and alert, and he admired the smile crinkling the corners of her eyes as he replied. “There’s only room on this platform for the winner of your tournament of twenty-one,” he said. 

She laughed and poked his arm. “I see how it is. I’ll fetch Bull to come and keep you company, then. I have it on good authority that he gives excellent cuddles.” She started to push herself to her feet.

Fenris grabbed her arm and pulled her back down with a smirk. “You are aware of why you constantly lose at that game, aren’t you? You always demand another card when you ought to hold. You always go over.”

She grinned and leaned into his side. “If you’re such an expert, why don’t you play with us?”

“Because Varric always fleeces me,” Fenris said dryly.

She laughed. “He does not! You always just lose because you don’t demand another card when you should. You always fall short.”  

He casually lifted his stein to his lips. “An interesting perspective. I’ll consider it.”

She chuckled and settled her head on his shoulder, and they sat in a cozy silence for a moment. 

Then she lifted her head and looked at him. “Seriously though. A royal for your thoughts?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I believe the expression is ‘a copper for your thoughts’.”

“I know,” she said. “But you’re so clever, your thoughts are worth an entire royal.”

He shot her a chiding look, then chuckled at her winsome smile. “Do you never tire of flattering me?”

“Never,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Rynne Hawke, Champion of Flattering Fenris.”

“That title is terrible,” he said. “No one will respect it.”

She grinned at him. “Fine then. What title should I have instead?”

Fenris thought for a moment, then smirked at her. “Rynne Hawke, Champion of Dirty Double-Entendre.”

She let out a throaty laugh. “Oh yes. I love that. I should have Josie order me a gilded plaque for our bedroom door.”

Fenris huffed in amusement, but before he could tease her any further, she reached up tweaked his earlobe. “Come on, Fenris, tell me what’s on your mind. I know you’ve been thinking about something serious up here all on your own.”

He shrugged. “It’s… nothing. It’s not important.”

“If it’s keeping you awake, then it’s not nothing,” she said.

He gazed at her sympathetic face for a moment, then sighed. “I was just thinking about… about gods, I suppose. What they are, and… whether they exist.”

Her eyebrows rose, and he hurried on before she could respond. “We know now that an elven god exists: this Mythal woman that we met. And the Old Gods of Tevinter existed; they were dragons that rose up as archdemons, so their existence is uncontested. The Avvar’s gods are spirits, so they exist. But…” He broke off, feeling rather sheepish about the next thing he was going to say. 

Hawke saved him by saying it instead. “You’re wondering whether the Maker exists, too.”

He nodded. “Or… or something that corresponds to the Maker, I suppose. If Mythal and the Old Gods and the Avvar gods exist in some form, then… perhaps there is something that corresponds to a Maker, as well.”

“Could be,” Hawke said casually. “Maybe he’s just a spirit too.”

Fenris didn’t reply. He’d been circling around this idea himself, but he’d been reluctant to fully voice it for some reason.

When Hawke spoke again, her tone was tentative. “You don’t, er… Do you still think the Maker’s out there?”

He shrugged. “I… don’t know, Hawke. I have never known what to think. You know that.”

“I know,” she said softly. Then she smiled at him. “You know what’s funny? Andrastianism is the most powerful religion in the world, but it’s the only one we haven’t seen any evidence for yet. There’s a terrible sort of irony in that, don’t you think?”

Fenris huffed. “Of course you would find that funny.”

She laughed. “All right, not funny exactly. But I am thrilled that there’s no one who’s going to smite me for thinking such impure thoughts about that huge Andraste statue at the Kirkwall Chantry.” She held her hands out in a suggestive gesture. “You know, the one with the really shapely—”

Fenris tutted and pinched her waist, and she cackled before snuggling against his side once more. He draped his arm around her shoulders. “This really doesn’t bother you at all, does it?” he asked.

She lifted her head slightly. “What, the Maker maybe not really being a Maker after all?”

“Not… not just that,” Fenris said. “All of it. All of the gods. You were wrong too, after all.”

She tilted her head curiously, so Fenris went on. “You thought there was no such thing as any gods at all. But you were wrong. They do exist; they’re just not what everyone thought.”

She nodded an acknowledgement but didn’t speak, and her expression was expectant, like she was waiting for him to say something more. He shrugged and rubbed a hand through his hair. “I… I’m not sure what I am getting at. It just…” He gazed at her. “I envy your ability to take this all in stride.”

She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. “Well, it’s not like it changes anything for me. It’s not like I was shaping my life around religion or gods or anything, right?” She waved her hand dismissively. “Besides, if the gods are all just spirits or souls or whatnot, and Solas always said spirits are just conscious beings of a different type, then… gods are just people. They’re not special, they’re just people.” She grinned at him. “That’s interesting, isn’t it? The so-called gods are just as fallible as the rest of us.”

He raised his eyebrows at her blunt words. “And that comforts you?”

“I think it amuses me more than anything else,” she said.

Fenris frowned thoughtfully. “But… they aren’t like the rest of us. Those who are called gods have an uncommon degree of power, whether it’s literal magic like that Mythal woman or the pull of leadership like Corypheus. They aren’t truly like the rest of us.”

Hawke tilted her head. “Do you think they deserve the title of gods, then?”

“No, it’s not that,” he said. “It just… surprises me, I suppose. To think you are amused that those with such power also wield titles that place them on a higher pedestal. One that allows them to control others.”

Her expression became a bit wary. “That’s not what amuses me. I’m just amused by—”

“ —the irony of the situation,” Fenris finished. “I know.”

They fell quiet for a moment longer, and Fenris listened idly to the shifting leaves and the creak of nighttime insects as Hawke’s body heat seeped into his side. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. 

“You know, I keep thinking…” She trailed off, and Fenris looked at her quizzically.

“What?” he said.

She shot him a slightly apologetic look. “I keep thinking of Solas and what he’d think of all this.”

Fenris wilted slightly. “Ah.”

Hawke squeezed his arm. “Come on, you have to admit it would be sort of funny if he were here. He’d be so thrilled. An entire group of people who love spirits and welcome them and let them teach their mages? He’d be thrilled!”

Fenris didn’t reply, and Hawke blithely went on. “Actually, that reminds me — remember how we found all those inscriptions in the Hinterlands about Tyrdda Bright-Axe and the Lady of the Skies?”

“The Avvar poems?” Fenris said.

“Yes, those,” she said. “I don’t remember the details of those poems, but I do remember they referred to the Lady of the Skies as Tyrdda’s leaf-eared lover.”

Fenris smirked at her. “Of course that’s what you would…” Then he trailed off in his teasing and raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. The Lady of the Skies appearing as a ‘leaf-eared lover’?

He looked at Hawke. “The spirit took the form of an elf.”

She nodded and poked his arm. “Just like our lovely bald Solas. See, more evidence that we’re right about him! Well, that Dorian was right, really.” 

Fenris frowned. “Hmm. That is interesting.”

“I know, right?” Hawke said brightly. “Imagine Solas being revered as a god. Can you imagine?” She snickered.

“I can, in fact,” Fenris said. “If he was seen as a god, everyone would have to listen to him.”

Hawke sobered somewhat at his acidic tone. “Well, that’s a bit unfair. I actually think he wouldn’t want to be seen as a god.”

Fenris grunted. “He had the arrogance of a god.”

“Hardly,” Hawke retorted. “I mean, yes, he had his little moments of being a know-it-all. But he backed down if we called him on it.”

Fenris shrugged and didn’t reply. Another moment of silence fell between them, but it was a bit awkward this time.

Once again, Hawke broke the silence. “I still think—”

Fenris sighed. “Hawke, please.”

“Look, I just don’t think he’s doing anything nefarious,” she said defensively. “I think it’s entirely possible he just went back home to the Fade.”

Fenris gave her an exasperated look. “Then how do you explain the last words he said to me? ‘No matter what happens’...”

She shrugged and dropped her gaze, just as Fenris knew she would; she’d never been able to come up with a truly convincing explanation for Solas’s ominous parting words to Fenris.

He ruthlessly pressed on. “And he wanted Corypheus’s orb. You can’t deny that. Why would he want that blasted orb?”

“It was old and elven,” she said. “He probably wanted it for the same reasons as Merrill would.”

“You know that doesn’t particularly comfort me,” Fenris said flatly.

She shot him a slightly resentful look, and an odd twist of annoyance and affection pulled at his heart. As much as Hawke’s sunny outlook was enviable, it was times like this that Fenris found her optimism frustrating: even when faced with clear evidence of wrongdoing or poor judgment, she was reluctant to see the worst in her friends. Anders, Merrill, Solas… even Isabela when she’d left Kirkwall for three years. Even Fenris himself, when he’d distanced himself from her for the same amount of time. She refused to see any of them as harmful, simply because she loved them.

She released his arm and stretched her legs out in front of her. “I think Solas just wanted to know more about the orb. Which elven god it belonged to, how it worked…”

“You think he was collecting knowledge,” Fenris said.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Like Merrill was trying to do.”

He ignored her pointed tone. “Knowledge is power,” he said. “Solas said that himself.”

Hawke wilted. “Fenris…”

He pressed on doggedly. “What did he want that power for?”

“Knowledge and power aren’t the same thing,” Hawke insisted. “Learning can just be for fun. Like my magical macaron recipe, for example. Now that I’ve perfected it, I can basically snap my fingers over some sugar and eggs and almonds and have a plate of macarons.” She gave him a knowing look. “You have to admit, that’s pretty fucking fun.”

Fenris tried to scowl at her; really he did. But the image of her standing in Skyhold’s kitchens, snapping her fingers repeatedly and materializing plates of macarons… 

He couldn’t help himself: a little snort of laughter escaped him. He rubbed his mouth to mask it, but it was too late. 

Hawke grinned and pulled his hand away from his mouth. “Ah-ha! A smile. I knew it was hiding there somewhere.” She pinched his chin playfully.

He tutted and dodged away from her hand. “Fasta vass. You will truly be the death of me.”

“That’s a shame,” she said cheerfully. “Because that smile of yours brings me to life.”

He shot her an incredulous look, then laughed more openly. “Now who is the smooth talker?”

She giggled. “I learned from the best. Now come on, let’s get some rest. Big day tomorrow of slogging along the riverbank and killing giant spiders.”

He huffed – she wasn’t wrong about that – then followed her into their little tent. A few minutes later, Fenris was stretched out on their camp bed while Hawke extinguished the little alchemical lamp. 

She slipped under the covers and rubbed his bare foot with hers. “Goodnight,” she whispered.

“Sleep well,” he murmured. He let out a long, relaxed breath and folded his arms behind his head. 

A few minutes later, just as his mind was starting to settle from its usual buzz of thoughts, Hawke spoke into the darkness of the tent. “Fenris?” 

“Mm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He turned his head and gave her an odd look. “Of course,” he said slowly. “Why do you ask?” 

In the dimness of the tent, he could see the shape of her shoulder as she shrugged. “Just checking,” she said. She shuffled closer to him and slid her bare leg over his thigh, then pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. 

He let his eyes drift shut once more. Hawke’s kisses were soft and slow, more a caress of the lips than a true firm kiss, and Fenris followed her lead, parting his lips slightly when she gently kissed his lower lip.

Her lush lower lip brushed between his own. He nipped her lip very lightly, and she gasped. 

It was a soft gasp; a tiny intake of air, but a very telling one, especially when she pressed her groin to his hip at the same time. 

His eyes popped open. He hadn’t realized she was in the mood, given the chaste quality of her kisses. 

He slid his hand beneath her loose linen shirt and over her hip, and to his surprise, she moaned into his lips. 

He pulled away slightly to look at her. “Do you–?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she breathed. She rolled away from him onto her back and pressed her knuckles to her lips. 

He rolled onto his side to face her. “Why are you apologizing? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” she said. “I just…” She let out a breathy little laugh. “You must be tired. I don’t want to… It’s just been a while since we, um, went to bed at the same time.” 

He frowned slightly. It was true that he’d been coming to bed later and rising earlier than Hawke for some time now, but it had just become a part of their routine. This was the first time she was mentioning it.

“Is that a problem?” he said.

“Not a problem,” she said hurriedly. “You’re busy, you have busy – important things to do. It’s… it’s nothing.”

He frowned at her more deeply. Then he pressed his fingers against the apex of her thighs. 

She arched instantly into his hand, and he stopped breathing for a moment. She was already so wet that her smallclothes were damp, even though all they’d done was kiss.

He slid his fingers over the damp fabric of her smalls. “This is not nothing,” he told her.

She moaned softly. “F-fuck…”

“Do you want me?” he whispered. 

“Of course I want you,” she blurted.

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

She let out a shaky breath. “I… I don’t know. It’s been a while, I didn’t want to pressure you.”

He paused in his stroking. Had it really been that long? When had they last had sex? Was it… two weeks ago, perhaps? He wasn’t sure.

He looked at her. “When was the last time?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she breathed. She lifted her hips toward his hand. “Fenris, please…”

He refused to move his fingers. “How long ago, Hawke?”

She released another tremulous breath. “A month, give or take,” she murmured. “Maybe. Something like that.”

He gaped at her in surprise. Had it really been that long? He hadn’t… how had he not realized it had been that long?

He pressed his fingers between her legs again. “Well, we should rectify that.”

She jerked her hips eagerly, but her words belied her body. “You don’t have to,” she gasped. “I don’t want you to–”

He grabbed her hand and pulled it down to the hardening bulge in his leggings. “Do you think I would do this if I didn’t want to?” he whispered. 

She didn’t reply; she was too busy rubbing her palm over his hardness. Her fingers slid along the margins of his cock, and Fenris indulged himself in the sweet pressure of her fingers for a moment before pushing her hand aside. 

She whimpered in protest, but the protest was short-lived; he was crawling over her now and pushing her thighs apart, and before he’d even settled between her legs, she was gasping fitfully and lifting her hips in anticipation. 

He peeled her smallclothes down. A liquid thread of arousal stretched between the fabric and her folds, and for some reason, his heart fluttered painfully at the sight. Seeing Hawke so ready for him, wanting him so badly despite barely a touch… It made his chest ache for some reason. 

Worse yet was the thought of her wanting him like this every night. The thought of Hawke waiting for him to come to bed, then keeping her wants to herself as he collapsed onto their mattress before rising just a few hours later and leaving her alone…

A lump rose to his throat. He swallowed hard, then tossed her smallclothes aside and ran his tongue between her legs. 

She jammed her fist against her mouth and jerked her hips, and Fenris grasped her thighs as he lapped up the sweetness of her musk. He tasted her thoroughly, treating her lower lips as though he was kissing her mouth, and although her sounds were muffled by her fist, the language of her body was more than clear enough. She twisted her hips slowly when he smoothed his tongue lightly over her clit, so he continued to lick her gently, stroking her swollen little bud until her writhing told him that she wanted a firmer touch. 

When she rose to her peak a mere minute later, her fingers scrabbled down over the planes of her belly to scratch her skin, and Fenris reached for her hand. She grabbed his hand, digging her fingernails into his palm as she shuddered with pleasure, and he carefully brought her through her rapture until her fingers loosened in his palm. 

A moment later, she was sliding out from beneath him and pushing him back, plucking at his tunic and his leggings at the same time, and Fenris’s breathing grew harsh as her obvious desperation fed his own desire. With Hawke’s overeager help, he freed himself from his clothes without dislodging her from his lap. She dragged her shirt off and threw it aside, and then she was clutching his shoulders and rocking her wetness over his length. 

He braced one hand on the bedroll and pulled her eagerly against his cock. “Hawke,” he rasped. “Please–”

She lifted her hips and adjusted his cock, then came down hard on his lap. Surprised and pleasured by the hardness of her thrust, he just barely managed to muffle his groan of pleasure by biting the side of her neck. 

“Fuck,” she gasped. She craned her neck to the side to give him better access, all the while digging her fingers into his shoulders as she rolled against his hips in a hard grind, and Fenris breathed hard against her neck, silencing himself against her salty skin as the rapid rise and fall of her hips brought his lust roaring to life. 

A rapturous minute later, she released his right shoulder and slowed down to a stop, and Fenris opened his eyes. “Do you want to switch?” he panted.

“No,” she breathed. She lowered her left hand between her legs. “I want to touch myself while I fuck you.” 

Her blunt words lit a fresh flare of want low in his belly, and he shamelessly watched as she parted the curls between her legs. She pressed the swollen bud of her clit with the flat of her fingers, holding her breath and holding still on his lap as she petted herself, and Fenris’s hungry gaze darted from her hand to her face, his entire body tense as he tried to control his rising impatience. 

A torturous minute later, her face twisted into an expression of utter rapture. She gasped loudly, then burst out a sob. “Fenris–”

He kissed her hard and thrust into her even harder. He could feel her pleasure cries echoing in his mouth, heightening his impatience to a fever pitch. A second later she was riding him hard and fast, and the force of their fucking and the sheer obviousness of her desire was driving him swiftly toward his peak. 

She broke away from his lips and clasped his neck. Without slowing in her zealous rhythm, she pressed her forehead to his. “I love you,” she breathed.

“I know,” he rasped. “I – I know, Hawke. You…” He broke off with a soft moan as she ground herself firmly against his lap.

She stroked his neck her thumbs. “I know you know,” she whispered. “I just…” She kissed him again before speaking in a breathless voice. “It feels like a while since I said it.”

He shot her a brief odd look. She’d just told him she loved him earlier this evening. 

She pressed her lips to his cheekbone and trailed her fingers down his chest, and that’s when he realized what she really meant. This was her way of saying it. This was how and when Hawke showed him that she loved him: by stroking his arms and his chest and showing how much she cherished his every scar and line. By lifting him to peaks he would never have otherwise had, and by kissing his lips and breathing her love against his ear in the throes of their mutual pleasure. 

The love they made together was how Hawke told him she loved him. And it always had been, ever since their first time over ten years ago. 

He slid his palms up her sweat-laced back and brushed his lips to hers. “Fuck me hard,” he whispered. 

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “My pleasure. Literally,” she purred. A moment later, she was rising and falling on his lap in a frenzied rhythm, her gasping breaths ghosting across his ear while he panted against her shoulder, and his climax was climbing, roiling and building between his legs until it finally burst through his limbs in a shock of ecstasy.

Mired in the pulsing of his pleasure, he mindlessly bit her shoulder. She gasped and fucked him even harder until he ran his hands down her back and squeezed her waist. 

She carefully slowed to a stop, then rested her cheek against his temple with a happy sigh. Her arms were still around his neck, and Fenris lazily ran his palm along her tattooed back and inhaled the sandalwood scent of her skin as their sweat started to cool. 

She brushed her lips gently over his ear, then nibbled the tip of his ear with her lips, and he smirked and tilted his head away. “That tickles,” he murmured.

She chuckled and nuzzled his ear again. “But your ear is so tasty.”

He grumbled, and she giggled again before starting to shift off of his lap. “All right. Now that you’ve fucked me so nicely, I think I’m going to fall right asleep–”

He grasped her hips to keep her on his lap. “Rynne,” he said. 

She stopped and met his gaze, and he carefully brushed her damp bangs back from her forehead. “You can tell me when you want me,” he said quietly.

She laughed and idly brushed her fingers along his collarbone. “What a silly thing to say. I always want you.”

“Then you can always tell me,” he said.

She smiled and shrugged. “But I’m always gagging for it and I don’t want to make you feel bad.”

Her gaze was downcast despite her smile. Fenris tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You think it would make me feel bad to be told that my wife desires me?” he said.

“No, no,” she said hastily. “I mean…” She licked her lips nervously, then sighed. “I don’t want to make you feel guilty. We both know you’re busy. We can’t… sex isn’t going to happen as often as it used to,” she said bluntly.  “And that’s fine, it’s just the way it is. But I don’t want you to feel guilty when you’re not in the mood.”

He brushed his thumb along the line of her jaw. “And I don’t want you to feel like you are alone.”

Her gaze dropped again, and she laughed lightly. “Look who you’re talking to. I’m never alone.”

He gazed at her seriously for a moment. She could deflect as much as she wanted, but he knew that he was right about her feeling lonely sometimes, especially since Varric and Dorian had left.

“Tell me when you want me,” he insisted. “I want to hear it. Even if I am tired or preoccupied, tell me anyway.”

She shrugged. She was still smiling, and her eyes were still on her fingers as they trailed across his collarbone. “And then what?”

“Then we will see,” he said. “Maybe we’ll make love. Maybe I can watch you while you pleasure yourself. Maybe nothing will come of it. But if you tell me, then I can tell you in return.”

“Tell me what?” she asked.

“That I love you,” he replied.

Her eyes finally returned to his face, and a smile lit her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” she said. “Can you say it again?”

He tsked and pinched her waist, and she squeaked with laughter and smacked his hand. A moment later, they were curled together under the covers, and Fenris could just make out her cheeky grin in the darkness of the tent. 

She stroked his chin gently with her thumb. “Come on, tell me again,” she murmured.

He huffed. “I love you, Hawke. Even when you’re an idiot.”

She laughed softly and tucked her knee carefully between his legs. “I love you too, you handsome fool,” she whispered. 

Fenris smirked, then kissed her smiling lips. Hawke could smile and joke if she liked, but Fenris knew the fears that lived behind the cheeky curl of her grin. To counter those fears, he would tell her he loved her every day. She would tell him when she wanted him, and he would tell her of his love, and they would walk through the rest of their days knowing neither of them would ever be alone. 

[fallenfurther]

FabFiveFeb - John

I’ve been struggling to get this one done, with other WIPs and fics dragging me away, however the idea finally came to me.  Also managed to get all five prompts in! This was a lovely piece to write. I hope you enjoy it too. 

Prompts: Lightening, “Where?”, soft caress, paper, concrete

******

A piece of paper fluttered in the strong breeze. John watched the old sun-bleached poster as it tried to escape its prison. It was pinned to the concrete floor by an old bicycle, its tyres long deflated and joints rusted. A few steps and he was standing over it. The wind was whipping his hair across his face and he occasionally had to blink the strands from his eyes. He knelt down and rescued the paper. He held it tight, trying not to lose or damage it in the wind, and tried to read the faded words. It took a moment, but he managed to make out the image of a big top tent. An old circus poster. John smiled at the flapping paper, revelling in the way at pulled against him and slapped his skin. Then he let it go. He turned and watched as the wind took it deeper into the abandoned industrial site. It danced through the air, twisting as it hit the ground. The sight filled John with contentment.

"That's littering."

The young familiar female voice startled him. John turned sharply to face the small ginger haired girl. Her hair was tied up in two little buns, one on each side, though a few loose curls fluttered in the wind around her face. The navy-blue dress, speckled with small white stars, barely reached her knees. Her bare feet were placed firmly on the concrete and John couldn't help but wonder if it hurt. What stopped John in his tracks was the way her big green eyes looked up into his with an expression of loving curiosity. Her gaze was thirsty for knowledge and John was compelled to oblige.

"It is." John stated, not quite sure why such an atrocious act didn't feel wrong. He knew he should be ashamed of himself, but he just couldn't be. It had felt so right.

"Why did you do it?" EOS blinked at him. The action was so familiar, yet John couldn't place where from.

"I don't know." John replied. "We have to go."

The urge to leave overcame John and he closed the space between them in seconds. He crouched down before the girl and offered his back.

"Get on."

"Why?" EOS asked. John looked at her over his shoulder.

"Because you have no shoes on. We can't have you walking barefoot out here. You'll hurt your feet."

John watched EOS tilt her head and think. Her little nose scrunched up slightly making the freckles on her cheeks dance. After a blink she smiled. It lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle, and John mirrored it. She stepped forward and placed her arms around John's neck. John slipped his arms under her legs and stood, causing her to jump up his back a little. The giggle that filled his right ear was priceless. He turned into the wind and carried EOS away from the industrial park. The wind tried to slow him down, and EOS had to told on tight, but he slowly made his way down the street. The sky above them slowly darkened. The wind started to die down as the first stars filled the sky. John looked up as he walked, forgetting that he should be watching his feet since he was carrying precious cargo. But the night sky always called to John and it was irresistible. His eyes darted over the small spots, looking for the familiar patterns he knows he'll find there.

"The Southern Cross is out."

"Where!?" EOS exclaimed and John felt her weight shift as she searched the sky for it. He stopped; a grin plastered on his face. Her enthusiasm reminded him of a young Alan, and it brought back happy memories of stargazing with him. John shifted EOS so he could free his arm and pointed up at the constellation.

"It's right there."

"There?" EOS reached up her arm up pointing at the False Cross. John carefully grabbed her arm and guided it over the Southern Cross.

"That star is the top, called Gacrux. That star is the bottom, called Acrux. That is Mimosa and drawing a line across to Imai, makes the cross. The Southern Cross can be used to find South, by following the cross like this, and it points to this star which is always South."

"Wow!"

John turned his head to see the wonder in her face. It felt so right being here with her. She was his. And the sky was theirs. He pointed out a few more constellations until EOS started to fidget. He let her slip off his back and soon she was running around in the grass.

When had they come to grass?

It baffled John. It felt like his mind was messing with him. He shook his head and looked up in time to see EOS do a cartwheel. Her merriment filled his heart and covered up some of his unease, and when she grinned at him, it was all but forgotten.

"Did you see that?"

"Yes, I did. It was brilliant, EOS!" John chuckled. Her face lit up with joy as she ran at him, ploughing into his body and wrapping her arms around him in a hug. John's body rocked as he steadied himself. She gazed up at him with love.

"I'm fast, aren't I?"

"Very."

"I'm faster than lightning!"

John chuckled. "I don't think you're that fast, but you're definitely faster than me!"

EOS's smile became a yawn, and John knew what to do. It was time for bed, it was late after all. He crouched again and pulled her into him. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs behind him.

"Let's get you to bed."

John carried EOS away from the grass towards their home. He took so much comfort from having her near. Her head rested on his shoulder and her warm body took away the cool of the evening air. Soon they were in their room. She slipped from his body and stretched, yawning deeply in the process. Her yawn set him off. He helped her into her nightie, a white dress covered in a silver vector pattern. EOS then handed him his pyjamas. He pulled on the NASA top and grey jogging bottoms. EOS smiled at him and climbed into the double bed. John held up the quilt and she slipped under it. He joined her and they lay face to face.

"Goodnight John."

"Goodnight EOS"

John gazed into the face of EOS through heavy eyelids. She didn't look sleepy at all, though he felt exhausted. Instead her little hand came up and stroked his cheek. The soft caress was all it took to soothe John to sleep.

***

John could still feel the touch of a hand on his face, but it didn't feel the same. This hand was larger and coming from a different angle. He tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt. The hand stoked his cheek and he felt a cold wet thing being placed on his forehead. John groaned.

"It's okay, John. It's just a bad fever." His grandmother's voice came from somewhere near him.

John groaned again and closed his eyes. He focused on the cold feeling on his head. His body ached. Slowly his focus on the cold flannel slipped away as he drifted off to sleep again. He warmed at the idea of seeing EOS again.

[spiritvinex]

marichat may day 4

back again, peoples! i’m a little behind, but, uh, things have been busy, you know? anyways here’s my chapter for day 4: thief

read it on ao3!

@marichatmay​

A cookie Marinette left out on her balcony. It was a nice night, really warm so Marinette had decided to watch the sunset. She had brought snacks and a cozy blanket, but she had forgotten her phone back in the bakery, so she ran down to get it.

What she didn’t know was that there was a sneaky cat roaming around. And the aroma emitting from the sweet treats attracted him straight to her balcony.  

By the time she returned there was no sign of anyone lurking around her balcony. But what used to be five cookies, turned four, and it left a very confused Marinette. The only people that could reach her balcony were her, her parents, and Chat Noir. Though, her parents were working down in the bakery and she didn’t see Chat Noir anywhere. She would have to have a talk with Tikki later. Now it was just time to enjoy the sunset. 

»»——————-««

A few weeks later, another mysterious thing happened again. Marinette was knitting a new scarf for the upcoming winter season. Her mother called her down for dinner, so she took a well deserved break. She left her yarn basket out, not aware that a certain cat would sneak in to visit his princess. And of course he couldn’t help himself, and by the time Marinette returned, there was yarn everywhere. 

And there was one, single ball of yarn that went missing. Specifically, a green one. Marinette became suspicious. Chat Noir did visit her, but usually he would only drop by for a hello or because she invited him. 

It was a very suspicious situation. 

Marinette began to pay more attention to her belongings. Just as the cookie and the yarn disappeared, other things did too. 

Now, Marinette had a lot of blankets, most of them were ones that she made. They were stacked in a pile in her closet. One of her favorites was an old quilt, one of her first creations. One night she was feeling quite nostalgic, but when she went to grab her blanket, she realized that there wasn’t a blanket at all! Tikki was definitely not big enough to pull out a blanket. Her parents always asked if they needed something. Her mind strayed again to Chat Noir. She would have to interrogate him the next time he dropped in. 

She didn’t have to wait long because within two days, there he was, tapping on her window. He smiled when she looked over at him. When she opened her window, he flew in, and landed on her chaise. “Hey, Princess,” he teased, “whatcha up to?”

“Oh, nothing, Chat Noir,” she began to hide the new shirt she was sowing, “I’m just making a new quilt, because my old one seemed to have gone missing.”

Marinette saw him stiffen out of the corner of her eye. That was her first piece of evidence: an uncomfortable Chat Noir. He had no reason to be uncomfortable about the subject of the quilt if he had no part in the crime. 

She sighed. “I was also looking for some of my green yarn, but that has disappeared too! I was so sad.”

It was even more suspicious when Chat Noir started fidgeting with his fingers. “That’s real tragic, Princess.”

“You haven’t seen anyone, right, Chat Noir?” she looked over to him, trying to imitate Manon’s puppy eyes as best she could. “I was devastated that I started losing my things! And it all started with a cookie,” she pouted. 

“Haha, sorry, I have seen thieves lurking around here. If I did, I would’ve gladly gotten rid of them for you,” he didn’t look her in the eye. 

She sighed, maybe a little too dramatically. “Of course. You want to watch some movies?”

He perked up again. He nodded vigorously.

They made their way to her loft bed and snuggled into the warm blankets. Marinette pulled out her computer and began to pull up Disney+. Though, the thing about this was that Marinette was very forgetful when it came to passwords. She was also very clumsy when it came to typing, so she liked to be able to see what she typed, so she had the ‘hide’ feature off. She had no idea that the boy sitting next to her would take advantage of that. 

So, they watched their movies, having a great time together until Chat Noir had to leave, due to the time. They both had school the next day, so with a salute, he bounded back home.

The next day was long and busy. The mountain of homework assigned by her teachers along with the help her parents need in the bakery exhausted Marinette. 

By the end of the day, she was finally free from her work. It was still a reasonable hour, so she didn’t have to go to sleep quite yet. She opened up her computer, eager to rest while she watched a movie, but instead of the first thing on her recently watched being Tangled, it was Aristocats. She couldn’t recall ever watching that. 

Her mind went right to Chat Noir. That mangy cat! Just after her interrogation him about stealing her stuff, he goes and he hijacks her account! She pursed her lips. It was time for some payback. 

Though she had been working all day, she was already at her desk formulating her plan. She smirked, Chat Noir would pay for taking her things. 

Tomorrow was a Friday, and Chat usually made an appearance when the day before the weekend. She would place a stool in the center of the room and place a plate of cookies on top. If she knew anything about Chat Noir, he wouldn’t be able to resist. 

Friday came very fast and the moment Marinette returned from school, she took her plan straight into action. Eager to see it through, by six o’clock she was finished. She managed to make a hiding spot that not even Chat Noir would notice. She had bought new green yarn and formed an inconspicuous trap wire, right in front of the stool. If Chat even tried to approach the cookies, he would immediately fall. 

She smirked. She should get this on video. 

Right before the clock struck eight, Marinette was hiding and her phone was well hidden and recording. Chat Noir swung in, as she left her window open and immediately looked at the cookies in the center of the room. He looked around, most likely checking to see if Marinette was in the room, and then shrugged. 

Marinette watched as he got closer to the wire and just as she planned, he tripped and fell forward, knocking down the stool and the cookies. 

Marinette emerged from her hiding place with, of, course, a Nerf gun. She started to spray his fallen body with water, and laughed triumphantly at his yelp. He scurried to the other side of the room, in an attempt to protect himself, while Marinette doubled over on the floor in laughter. 

“I got you so good, Chat!” she couldn’t help but release her laugh at his horrified expression.

“W-What? Princess?? Why?!” he actually looked betrayed.

That just made Marinette laugh more. “You really think I didn’t know it was you who was taking my stuff? You’re the only one who can access my balcony and get inside my room from the outside! You just didn’t cover your tracks well enough.” She crossed her arms, another win for Marinette.

He pouted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lurked.”

She made her way over to him, “Chat, you know that all you would have to do is ask, and I could probably have given you any of those things.”

Chat rubbed the back of his neck, “Y-Yeah, I dunno, it just made sense at the time to just go for it. And I shouldn’t have logged into your Disney+ account without asking you. If you need it, I can even buy you the yarn I took since… I kinda ruined it.”

She chuckled, “It’s okay, Chat, we’re okay,” she then smacked his arm, “just don’t do it again.”

He smiled and reached for her hand, laying a kiss on it, “Whatever the princess wants,” he looked up sheepishly, “So, uh, can I have a cookie now?”

Her parents really did wonder what all that laughter from Marinette’s room was caused by.