#i was convinced I had Soy Sauce at home

[horsechestnut]

If you ever want to have the grossest fried rice of your life a good place to start is by not realizing there’s a difference between Sesame Oil and Sesame Seed Oil. I then recommend following that up by mixing up the Soy Sauce and Worcester Sauce bottles... 

[gallusrostromegalus]

So, I am begging you here, pls tell me that Ikkaku and Yumichika are still bffs on this AU. I need the violent miss- and yet perfectly matched bastards to still be forever ride-and-die with each other.

Also, all the dropped tidbits relating to Yumichika are gold and I am hoarding them like a squirrel hoards his nuts for winter.

They are actually, for real, legally married.

Ikkaku was 500% ready to fight the entire Gotei-13 when he took the 628-year old marriage certificate he and Yumichika had gotten in 72 North to the Seireitei Records Office to be honored.

Instead, the sole hiccup in the process was the young lady behind the counter asking him to spell Yumichika's surname for her as this document seems to have been... stained, at some point.

"-That's not... Blood, is it?" She asks, concerned.

"Uh. It's actually. Um. Soy Sauce." Ikkaku mumbles.

It would have been less embarrassing if it had been blood.

Turns out, Gay marriage- and indeed, divorce, or changing your name, or gender, or becoming the third, fourth or seventeenth parent/legal guardian to a kid is a nonissue in soul society, because someone complained *once* and Yamamoto declared that, one, he didn't care, and two, the rest of the military commanders were hired off death row, and *this* is what you're complaining about? Fuck off.

But here are some Yumichika Fun Facts:

Everyone in the 11th division has really, really good personal hygiene and well-cared for hands, feet and nails because Yumichika's mother was a doctor at a rural hospital and put the fear of dysentery, cholera, pneumonia, tetanus, sepsis, trench rot and necrosis into him even more than fear of the gods, and he very much continued this sanitary evangelism.

Yumichika's other mother was a drag queen at the brothel that adjoined the hospital and taught him all about hair, makeup, poisons, manners, alley fights, how to play the shamisen, how to make a knife out of anything, flower arrangement and how to curse the hell out of a motherfucker of it comes to that.

Kubo was wrong Yumichika looks out for all his sisters not just his cis-ters.

Kenpachi was friends with Yumichika before either of the ever knew Ikkaku. He met Yumichika shortly after adopting Yachiru when Yumichika saved him from drowning in the river that ran through his home village.

Kenpachi asked Yumichika what he could do in gratitude for saving his life, and Yumichika, seeing his sword, asked if Kenpachi could "give him a real fight, for once"

They had a jolly little scrap that left Yumichika in the hospital for three months, an almost insatiable lust for battle, and a permanent bald scar on the edge of his eyebrow, which is where he glues the decorative feathers he wears.

It also got him (lovingly) told to move out and make his way in the world.

Yumichika met Ikkaku some years after that, when the theater/brothel he was working at hired Ikkaku on as an Emcee and a comedy act in his own right.

Ikkaku loves making people laugh and is damn good at it.

Yumichika was already considering making a move on him when a heckler pulled a sword on Yumichika during his act and Ikkaku beat the shit out of him with a chair without a second thought, and Yumichika decided he was going to seduce and marry this bald little maniac then and there.

It still took the better part of six months, because Ikkaku was convinced that Yumichika was "Way out of his league" and "He's just being friendly to a coworker!".

Things finally became clear when, having reached a boiling point of sexual frustration, Yumichika challenged Ikkaku to a duel, beat the hell out of Ikkaku with Kujaku, and screamed his feelings directly into Ikkaku's face.

"Oh." Said Ikkaku. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I'VE BEEN SAYING THINGS AND SHOWING YOU THINGS AND SITTING IN YOUR LAP AND KISSING YOU FOR SIX MONTHS YOU FUCKING MORON."

"...I may be stupid."

"At least you're also cute. C'mere you sexy cueball."

-and they have been blissfully if dramatically wedded since.

It was many years after that that they had moved on to a different brothel as a duo floor show act, when they got to talking to some of the other working girls about their travels and Yumichika tells the story of how he got his eyebrow scar saving a real freak of a guy from drowning after he got stabbed by a river stingray, but then he challenged him to a fight because- well, he was young and cocky and a small fish, but in a tiny pond- and promptly got his ass beat.

"That's wild!" Says Ikkaku. "I also challenged a random freak with a stingray scar on his leg to a fight because I was bored and- all due respect to you and Kujaku, my beloved - but he gave me a thrashing the likes of which I'd never had before or since. He had his daughter with him was the weird part- he was a real big bastard, face like a cliff, but his girl was this adorable little pink thing."

Yumichika sits up, frowning. "-seven feet tall in socks, big vertical scar on the right side of his face?" He asked, gesturing to his own.

Ikkaku put his drink down and pointed at Yumichika "-and bells in his hair! You fought Zaraki Kenpachi too??"

"Yes! What the hell?" Yumichika laughed. "I wonder where he is now..."

"Oh Gods, he had the WORST sense of direction! He's probably managed to walk in and back out of the Soul King's palace on accident!" Ikkaku giggled

"Well, if he's the same seven foot tall sword bastard with the scarred face and pink little girl on his shoulder as the seven foot tall sword bastard with the scarred face and the pink little girl on his shoulder standing out in the street looking lost as hell, you can go ask him." Said their coworker Sachiko, pointing to the giant standing not a dozen feet away.

"Look Ken-chan! It's YuYu and Baldy!" Yachiru giggled.

"Yachiru!" Yumichika gasped, delighted.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!" bellowed Ikkaku.

"YOU AGAIN!" Zaraki bellowed, ecstatic. " BEEN A FEW YEARS, LET'S SEE HOW MUCH YOU LEARNED!!"

Ten minutes of incredible violence, twelve minutes of evading the police and twenty-one minutes of getting lost on the way back to the brothel, a bloodied but still standing Yumichika was explaining to the Madame that the giant bastard carrying the unconscious half of her prized floor show duo behind him was, in fact, an old friend of theirs whom she should absolutely hire as a bouncer, you can see how effective he is!

Madame Tsubaki, who recognizes incredible spiritual power and fighting potential when she sees it, and who is still very petty about the divorce from her husband the Shinigami Captain-General, allows herself to be persuaded.

[mirthlxss]

Hello my dear, I was so sad when this blog went a little AWOL due to the gross anons, miss mam you can't leave me hanging like that... seeing you slowly coming back made me SOY excited, I hope you find the time/strength to get back to Off To the Races... In the mean time, could I please request some general Price content? I love how you depict him, do you have any general headcanons for the big guy > :£

Sincerely, your Tumblr stalker... Haha, just joking!

You’re lucky I have a few of these knocking about, here are some random Captain Price headcanons. I’mma be zesty in saying they align with the John we know in Off to the Races. 

Captain Price understands and appreciates the humble goodness of simplistic food. The man will stand in the safe house kitchen and harp on about how a well-timed egg with lashings of pepper and salt is practically gourmet when done to perfection. As much as this is true, he is also the sauce king. How can the two exist simultaneously? When it's his own cooking: hearty, jejune in a very English stew type of way. But at base? God, he hates the canteen food, only the right balance between various sauces can smother the tin taste of inadequately drained brine tuna. Has an extensive collection of bbq and hot sauces. Won’t share them. 

Thought that if he hadn’t gone into the army that he would’ve become a carpenter of some degree, appreciates the intricacies of woodwork and likes to let his fingers draw over the ridges of a well-carved decor. Would love to take a few classes in his spare time though he’s never committed to it, always finding one excuse or another. That doesn’t stop him from buying certain wooden trinkets, favouring darker wood, he has an ornate hand-carved box to keep his cigars. Often gazes thoughtfully upon it as he smokes in the office. 

His father had cancer when he was quite young, he felt extremely guilty leaving for the army at sixteen but he knew he’d be more use put to work than he’d be causing trouble around the town. John had a lot of pent-up emotion and no positive place to put it, aggravated at life and the lot he was given. It stressed his parents to no end, mostly his mother. Between his sisters, father and himself, she was strung out and tearing at the seams. Sometimes he questions whether he did it for himself or his family, he often concludes it was for both. He was given leave in his early twenties to go say his goodbyes at the hospice, doesn’t think he’s ever really recovered from that moment. It seems like every death he’s experienced after that felt innately personal, he carries each one and hasn’t figured out how to put any of them down to rest fully in his mind. 

Loves his mother dearly, more than his sister though he’d never admit that. Sends her postcards when he can, doesn’t talk much to his siblings but remembers to buy them somewhat last-minute gifts at Christmas, mostly pre-wrapped toiletry sets he’s grabbed a the pharmacy whilst he’s stopped along the motorway home. Doesn’t go to family gatherings as much as he should, with each bit of war that stains his consciousness he feels more and more detached from his former self, like a ghost in the room with his family as he watches them with their children and wrinkles slowly forming from smiling over the years. 

Soap has tried, and failed miserably, to set John up with blind dates. He outright refuses, or somehow, already knows who he’d be going with and then refuses. Somehow always finds some overthought, finicky excuse, convinced he is destined to be a little lonely. He’s had partners before and has dated around but as the years pass by he’s given less and less thought to actually pursuing anyone, more time given to ruminating on the life he could’ve had. One somewhat like his siblings, smile lines, Christmas and cheeky children. 

Is hilarious at team 141’s karaoke nights when they all get too drunk and stumble back to the shared common room. Gaz bought a second-hand karaoke machine from a charity shop and they’ve had endless fun with it. Price likes Nickleback, won’t hear anything else about it. Is surprisingly good at singing How you remind me, has the rasp for it. Also surprised the boys with his rendition of Poker Face, particularly in response to catching Soap training to it. Won’t admit that he sang it, claims they were all drunk and delirious, which is completely true but that doesn’t explain the video.  

Thank you for the support, I am slowly coming round to another chapter, just gathering the mental agility needed to volt over the potential of new anons ;)

[littleragondin]

Love in the Big City - A bite of rockfish, taste the universe

I am still enjoying this book a lot. I have some notes/comments about it I guess - not very organized but they have to go somewhere so here goes!

.｡.:*☆*:.｡.

It was there already in the first part, but somehow, I keep getting hit in the face by the way Young seems to dislike himself. There is little sympathy or compassion for his younger self when he tells us about this part of his life, in the way he keeps berating himself for making the “mistake” of falling for his hyung. in how he tells us “I had a mirror at home, I knew all too well that I wasn’t worth a whole cup of coffee”.

See, I don’t know much about going out and partying, about sex, or being in love, but I know about being lonely and I know about hating yourself, and that part of Young’s life has been the most relatable part for me so far (it's the point where the first person narration is getting to me the most tbh). I’m not the first one to say it, but when you don’t like yourself it’s so hard to accept that anyone could see anything worth loving in you. Young’s first instinct when his hyung gives him a compliment is to wonder about all the way this could, actually, be an insult or a lie (“What the hell is he saying, this guy, that I’m faggy? That I sound gay? Or is he just saying stuff for the hell of it? Am I being paranoid?”). Often, you tend to project yourself onto them, convinced that if you think about yourself like that, so do other people of course, even if they don’t. Especially if they don’t, it sometimes feels like, as if it was easier to accept that you’re being played than that you’re being loved. It’s unfair to everyone. There is an edge of awareness in Young’s voice, too, regarding the way he considers himself, but this is only the first of many steps toward, well. Not hating yourself so bad anymore, and I hope by the end of the book he gets to take a few more.

It’s also true of his hyung, who is so weighed down by his internalized homophobia and the general paranoia that comes from his past (@doyou000me has an excellent summary of the historical context of the story, which gives a better understanding of the character) that he, too, seems unable to properly invest himself in the relationship.

On top of that, they are always out of step with each other, it seems. Where Young keeps to himself and listen, Hyung opens himself and talks and talks and talks. Young is reluctant to share but Hyung never seems that intent to learn more about him either. Hyung will say romantic things to Young (“It’s like we’re the last two persons on Earth.”) that Young will dismiss (“Oh hyung, enough with that.”), but will barely accept to walk by Young’s side when Young wants to hold his hand, and run away when Young wants to introduce him to his mother. In this like in their respective views of the world, they never manage to match.

And yet, somehow, they still find something in each other, something that makes them cling to each other. Something that is enough to starve off some of the loneliness.

“[…] he was simply so lonely it was either talk to me or talk to the walls. I knew the temperature and the smell of such loneliness all too well. Because back then I was exactly the same kind of person.”

.｡.:*☆*:.｡.

There were a few quotes I really liked in this part that I just want to highlight here.

"I tasted something on his lips that I had never tasted before. The fishy, chewy taste of rockfish. Maybe the taste of the universe." because I am always, at heart, a huge romantic

"It gave me joy that food I had made with my own hands would become part of his body." I am not immune to the love that goes into cooking for someone.

"I think that's why I was so terrible to you. I was scared. I wanted to keep you in my tiny soy-sauce dish of a world forever."

And then what ended up being probably my favorite, closing the part and the last mirroring of Young's relationship to his mother and to his hyung.

"I used to feel that I'd been given the whole world when I held you."

"I used to feel like I'd been given the whole world when I held him. Like I was holding the whole universe."

I hope the end of this part is a first step for the narrator toward grieving those painful relationships properly and, maybe, healing from it. Even if I suspect it would only be the start of a long journey.

[ashketchumseleventhbirthday]

Burst Dumplings

Summary: Arven and Juliana are cooking at his new home. She is not very proficient at the kitchen.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words: 1300

Notes: Hawkish grandmothers gauging whether you’re a good match or not... War flashbacks coming on to me...

The smell of soy sauce, garlic and chilli spread in the air as Arven stirred the sauce with chopsticks and grabbed a spoon to taste it. It is the first time in many years that the space blooms to life, as he and his girlfriend had spend better part of the day cleaning the house and moving his stuff into it.

Director Clavell had arranged for all the research material, machines and notes of his parents’ moved into the Academy, as well as fixing any leakages or structural damages that may be entailed in its abandonment. While his guardian had helped a great deal, it still has spent almost five years completely shut, collecting dust and deteriorating, needing a good scrubbing to become liveable again.

For their first meal at his new home at the lighthouse, he picked a dumpling recipe he learnt from a gym trainer at Cascarrafa City that showed a lot of promise. He had tried it at the restaurant, but the filling was a bit of a novelty for him, as he had never made it himself. More importantly, it seemed so easy that, as long as one follows the steps correctly, there is no chance for it to go wrong.

As he searched for where they put his sesame oil on the kitchen island, his eyes landed on Juliana standing beside him and chewing on a nail whilst she stared at the bamboo steamer. He could not remember the last time he had seen someone who did not know how to cook so concerned about making dumplings.

Then again, his partner was not just anyone. She always exceeds expectations, even in being the worst cook ever.

“Juli?” He calls.

“Yeah?” She replied absentmindedly.

“Are you trying to cook the dumplings faster with the power of your mind or do you have laser eyes?”

Juliana looked back at him in confusion. The ingenuity in her eyes almost made him feel guilty for teasing her about it. Almost.

“What do you mean?” She asks.

He chuckles. “Why are you staring at the steamer?”

“Because you said it can’t be overcooked.”

“It’s not going to overcook. You set the timer, remember?” He picked up the Pidgey-shaped kitchen timer and lifted it to her ear. “It’s still ticking. There’s still eight minutes on them before they’re good.”

The girl smiled sheepishly. “Heh-heh. I forgot about that. Sorry.”

Arven, then, returned to his station, adding the sesame oil and stirring the sauce some more.

“Love?” She calls, suddenly, after a couple of minutes in silence.

He raises his eyes to her again. “Yes?”

“Do you think the dumplings will taste good?”

“Of course, they will.” He assured her.

She does not seem too convinced, though. “And you’re not saying it just to make me feel better, right?”

He put the small bowl down on the counter and turned to his partner. “Why are you fussing about dumplings?”

"I don’t know…” She shrugged her shoulders. “I think it reminded me of cooking with my grandmother. You’re a kinder teacher, of course, and you never said I’d be a lousy wife for not knowing how to cook.”

Ah. There are shuddering tales about Señora Franco, if what Arven heard from his mother-in-law, from Nemona’s parents and even Director Clavell, who seemed to have met the imperious woman in the social circles at Mesagoza City, were anything to go by. Though, they all concur with the notion that she has never touched a hot pan in her long, long life.

The blond stepped closer to his partner and took her hand in his. “Your grandmother had a different concept of what a good wife is. While she wanted you to be the perfect housewife, you became the best life partner I could ever wish for and it has nothing to do with any skills you have.”

She looked at him expectantly. "Really?”

He nodded. “I want you to cook with me because this is something we can do together to have fun. Regardless of how the dishes turn out, I want you here.”

She rose on her toes to kiss him softly. "Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He replied with a smile. “Besides, no one makes popcorn and ramen like you.”

The girl pursed her lips. “Please, I just dump stuff in a hot casserole pan.”

“Lots of recipes are just dumping stuff in a hot casserole pan. We can host thousands of dinners with a bunch of ‘dumped everything we found on the fridge’ dishes.”

Juliana chuckled softly.

“Can you promise me you won’t beat yourself over this?” He asks, earnestly.

“Okay…”

The couple was about to share another kiss when the kitchen timer rang.

“It’s ready!” She beamed.

He lets her go as he moves to the kitchen isle. “Let’s take a look.”

As they opened the lid of the steamer, she frowned pronouncedly at the mess that the thing had become.

“My dumplings…” She bemoaned, feeling as if she could cry.

“It happens, Juli.” He said, picking up the dumplings that burst with tongs.

She harumphed. “Then why only the ones I did burst? Yours look perfect.”

“I know. Don’t they look great?” He marvelled at his handiwork. “I think I should post these on the internet.”

He fished his phone from his back pocket, arranged the dumplings in the steamer and snapped a few pictures.

“Are you done yet?” She frowned, folding her arms.

“Hold on, I’m looking for a good filter.”

“Arven!”

“Oh, sorry…” He placed his phone back in his pocket and looked back the burst dumplings. “Maybe there was too much filling and when we put it in the steamer, the heat made them burst.”

Juliana slumped on a stool by the kitchen island and pouted as she reached for a bottle of wine. Arven sits down next to her, holding on to the bamboo steamer, as he tries to console her.

“That’s it. No more cooking for me.” She declared.

“But why? The dumplings won’t taste bad because they burst.”

He closed one of the burst dumplings with the chopsticks, dipped into the sauce bowl he prepared and laid by the counter, lifting it to his mouth as he was done.

“So good!” He said after a few bites. "The sauce needs more chilli though.”

“You’re lying,” she scowled.

“I’m telling you. They’re great. The burst dumplings just means that you were extra generous with the filling.”  He took another of burst dumplings with a chopstick and fed her. “Here, try it.”

Juliana hummed in approval as the chicken and vegetables blended with the sauce. She had to give it to herself, the recipe Arven got for her to follow was pretty good.

“Okay, I admit. This is great. Do you still have teriyaki sauce?” She asked, cleaning the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“I told you.” He grinned as he opened the fridge to search for the teriyaki sauce and placed it on the island. “If we keep cooking together, you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

“Are you sure you don’t want another sous-chef?”

“Absolutely not. What’s a good and handsome chef to do without his beautiful and moody sous-chef? And who’s going to make popcorn while we wait for the main course to be ready? Besides…” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You know sous chef means under the chef, right? There’s one person I want under me.”

His lips dotted down to her neck, with her pushing him away.

“That’s a terrible pun, Arven.” She giggled in response.

“I still made you laugh.” He bragged, kissing her once more. “Now, let’s eat before you make me hungry for more than just food.”

With that, Arven took a seat across from Juliana and they continued to dig into their meal.

*_*_*_*_*

9th Gen Masterlist

[the-whispers-of-death]

Poor Bear

Stone you can't just leave your husband :c

Also here's the recipe for the sauce I dipped my chicken tenders in

Sriracha

Honey

Soy sauce

Paprika

Adjust ingredients to taste because measurements are for losers (you have to measure with your heart)

Stone you could atleast send a letter to the guy

-🔮

Ooh, you're so kind, giving me the ingredients to the sauce you made.

Stone does not in fact send a letter to Bear. It's been six years (why'd he stay away for that long, only God knows), he's convinced he just hadn't gotten the divorce papers from Bear. In his mind, surely Bear moved onto someone who is more emotionally available. (Bear did not.)

The worst part is that Stone is living in the house that they both moved into when they got married. Bear left a letter in the house (because Stone had left him via going on deployment) saying that he could keep living in the house since he knows Stone's paranoia would only worsen if he had to move into a different house and that Bear would be waiting for the phone call from the landline to come home when Stone was ready.

I'm naming this Stone Runaway!Stone, because it's fitting to me. He's not really a Stone variant (at least in my head), I'm just using Runaway!Stone to differentiate between normal Stone.

[lifewithoutmeds]

February 16, 2023

well well well.

things were just going too well, weren’t they. and i was getting just too comfortable.

what’s happened since last week?

let’s see. lorena .... lorena did this and that. lorena lorena lorena. lorena shaped my week, my days, my activities, how i felt about myself, and i felt about my life in general.

tuesday after the airport run, lorena came back and we went to BJ’s to stake out hot waitress. however her shift was ending and we just caught a glimpse but lorena was able to confirm what i feared, which is that i may have been mask fished, and my beloved was not the beauty i may have thought. oh well. 

wendesday must’ve gone into work. the days are a blur. thursday? work? from home? sure? friday? i dunno. saturday morning i had brunch with amy lee at my favorite local diner foxy’s, and had my usual eggs benedict with hash browns, which i ate completely and enjoyed thoroughly. amy was less enthusiastic about her meal, but packed a lot of it to go, thinking she might be able to reconstitute it later into something more palatable. we had an enjoyable chat/catch up, and resolved to do this more often, possibly even as a monthly regular event.

she then took me home due to the unseasonably cold temperature, and i got home to see lorena waking up on the sofa. she proceeded to convince me to start watching The Last of Us while she power cleaned for a couple hours and washed the many many dishes. afterward we went to los feliz flea where we looked at stuff, she bought some lingerie for v day, and we said hi to vicky at her camera stand. we then went home and we made a really delicious meal of ride, roasted asparagus, and chicken thighs marinated in garlic and a sauce of chili, honey, soy sauce, and rice wine vinegar. i marveled at how good it was. i’m glad i didn’t stop myself from the profuse compliments, because little did i know, that would be my last meal with her.

lo wasn’t feeling so hot so right before she left to work, she took an at home covid test and tested positive, and hence had to call out sick. she decided to go quarantine in Rancho since her aunt had a vacant guesthouse, and took off for the next few days (or so i thought LOL).

we kept in touch, and i learned later that she would not go to Rancho, but rather, to a hotel as she was “too tired”, and afterward, would be “convinced” to go to her gf’s instead, to “isolate” there, despite then being directly in close contact with another human. she “isolated” sun-tuesday, and on valentine’s night decided to move to her aunt’s, so as not to “continue to?” expose her gf as her gf had planned to have friends over later in the week.

so we texted intermittently, from tuesday-wednesday, and she was going back and forth on whether to go home to visit laika since work had indicated that she need not come back the following weekend, and by the end of the day she had resolved to go on thursday or friday. however, on wednesday while i was at work, she “confessed” to having watched/completed the White Lotus season 2 by herself in boredom, though we had been watching it together up until that point. i was a bit hurt, because that was kind of one of “our” things. we watched it together. we reacted together. we waited for each other. and suddenly she was done waiting, and just watched it on her own. i felt left out, and got a bit quiet during the texts, but she didn’t seem to care/mind/catch on, and so we left it at that.

this morning she texted to see how i was doing and i texted to see what her plans were for visiting her home when she dropped the bombshell: not only would she not be visiting home despite having the weekend off of work, and despite having just tested negative for the covid, she would be staying in rancho for the rest of the month, and don’t worry, i could keep the rest of the rent she’d prepaid, and oh, thanks for everything.

i was floored. i had started walking for my noon lunch walk, and was glad i did, because i needed to stay in motion. i teared up a little, maybe from allergies, maybe from emotion, but i teared up for a few blocks and didn’t ask too many follow up questions as i generally would, because that would mean i was invested, emotionally, and i needed to stop being, because she had already decided to take a quick detour out of my very real, very physical, tangible life.

her rationale was that she really enjoyed having her own space and that her aunt was “bribing” her to stay. i didn’t want to counter with a higher “bribe,” so left it at that. later she indicated she would be coming by to pick up her things and leave me the key. as it would happen, fate would dictate that grace and vicky would be coming to the condo later that afternoon, so i asked her to come before 5 so as not to create an awkward run in.

she came around 2:50, packed her things, and was done within 15 minutes. a few hangars, two shelves, two books on the bookcase, and some toiletries. i had prepacked her a bag of her bacon box, cheetos, 2 new packs of altoids, toilet paper, crest whitening toothpaste, penne pasta, her annual fishing license, work-related papers, and an extra tube of her favorite neutrogena water-based sunblock. i had to take a quick call around 3 as she took her bags to her car, and right after 3 i handed her last bag, she said thank you for everything, and she asked if i wanted to talk and i said no, but i could feel the tears sprouting from my eyes. she said something like, she needed a moment to compose herself, and that her least favorite thing was to cry in front of someone, and after a second, i took another swig of my whiskey, and we did a light goodbye hug and she said something like, we’ll hang out right?. if you want to? and i think i nodded. and she left. and i saw her walk out, and i saw her put the bag in her car, and i saw her car drive away. and i saw her little icon move away on google maps and she was gone.

i cried. i cried while she was here, though i tried to hide it, and i wept bitterly when she was gone. i drank whiskey. i texted people. i cried for help. i received some, some strained sympathy, some strained empathy.

i know i’m taking it personally when i shouldn’t. i know this will be better for me in the long run. i know that i had an unhealthy attachment that went longer than it should have, and fortuitously, ended sooner than it was anticipated to. i know i was playing at normal for a not-normal situationship that was probably not good for me.

but i know i’ll miss her, despite it all. and i’ll miss ... just everything. the guitar jam sessions, the attempts at stardom via youtube. i don’t have a ton of faith that we’ll have much of anything now, and i don’t know why. and i know that if it was always that tenuous to begin with, that fragile, that i should just be relieved that it’s gone now and not without its grasp on me. but i will miss her, bitterly, tenderly. why, in her goodbye, would she question a continued friendship? why, if it was a consideration, was it concluded, that i would be left aside.

i watched her location for some time, dodging in and out and through atwater village, to/around a wine shop, to a restaurant, and then finally out and back to reyna’s. i wonder a bit what she’ll say to reyna. if she’ll express sadness. or relief. or whatever. i don’t know .... she seemed to understand/predict that somehow cutting off her stay here was also cutting me off, and yet she went through with it. she was okay with it. she decided to do it. for whatever the reason. i was left on the cutting board. and she’s with reyna, who’s comforting her if needed. and who do i have. vicky, who’ll be coming by soon with her dogs, having just ended things with her much younger bf last night. grace, who low key doesn’t care about me most the time.

so.

she’s with her gf.

once again. i am crying. alone. the other party cares not. wants not. i weep over someone who weeps not, and enjoys the comfort of those who love her.

once again. i am in an unreciprocated situationship. once again, i am giving my best to one who casually shrugs it off, and leaves it discarded.

fool me once, shame on you. fool me for the nth time, shame on me. shame. shame.

[dustofthedailylife]

Perfect Setup

→ Masterlist

Summary: Ayato finds out about your secret crush on Thoma, but will he just let it slide like that?

Characters: Thoma x Kamisato! Reader (gn!) | Side characters: Ayato, Ayaka

Warnings: Fluff! Mild (affectionate) swearing, Ayato is a menace

A/N: Soooo, this idea randomly popped in my head again when I saw a meme on twitter where Ayato teased Ayaka (link) and I got overly excited about it so I decided to write something for it. I hope you will like it, I would appreciate reblogs and likes if you did. Let me know what you think <3

"Oh my god, really?!", you exclaimed in surprise, as you shoved another piece of sushi in your mouth, looking at Thoma in awe. He had been telling all sorts of stories about Mondstadt over dinner and you never tired of hearing about his home country.

"Yeah, it's true, the champion of the festival gets to choose a maiden who at the grand finale of the festival throws the harpastum and whoever catches it, is blessed with a year of happiness and good fortune. I loved Ludi Harpastum as a kid. I should take you to see it one day, too. Now that the Sakoku Decree is lifted we finally could!", he explained and donned a proud smile.

"I'd love to!", you said, feeling butterflies flutter in your stomach from the mere thought of traveling somewhere together with Thoma, or just traveling somewhere with him altogether now that it was possible for you to leave Inazuma again. 

You side-eyed your brother who had been intently listening into the conversation between you and Thoma the entire time, observing if he would object to the idea of you leaving Inazuma with Thoma for a trip. Ayato was the head of the Yashiro Commission's Kamisato clan but first and foremost your brother and he cared a lot for you and Ayaka, so if you wanted to leave, even if it was with someone he trusted like Thoma, you'd probably have to convince him first. But more importantly, despite growing up with him, you could never really tell what was going on in that head of his but you could usually tell by the look on his face when he was scheming something and when you looked over at him and saw that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes hidden behind a polite smile, you just knew he was up to no good again. 

"Thoma! Would you go grab more soy sauce for us? I've just run out.", Ayato said with that same smile on his face, but you knew this was just a facade.

"Of course, my lord. I'll be right back.", Thoma nodded and hastily headed to the kitchen.

Once he was out of hearing distance from the table in the garden you were all seated at, Ayato turned to you, a mischievous grin forming on his face. You expected him to interrogate you about the fact that you couldn't just leave Inazuma for some random festival in Mondstadt but being the brother that he was, he always had some kind of ace up his sleeve and there was nothing that could've ever prepared you for what he was really about to say.

"I can't help but notice you've developed quite the crush on our favorite retainer, isn't it so?", he remarked with a smirk.

The way he just casually figured out and confronted you about your most private and intimate thoughts caused you to choke on your food and violently cough up a storm.

"I will take that as a yes."

"Waka, don't be such a tease.", Ayaka scolded him with a disapproving expression on her face, patting your back as you tried to get the rice grain you inhaled out of your airways.

"I'm not teasing, Ayaka, merely observing and plainly stating the facts as they are. Don't you think so as well?" 

Ayaka threw you a sympathetic glance that let you know she was sorry about Ayato's boldness but ultimately agreed with what he had said.

When Thoma arrived back with the soy sauce, his gaze fell on your form, still violently coughing from choking on your food and gasping for air.

"Archons, are you alright?", he worried and hurried to your side.

"Would you mind getting a glass of water really quick?", Ayato answered in your stead.

"Of course!"

Thoma stormed off right away and you knew Ayato had only sent him away again because there was something else he wanted to add to the matter. You looked at him with annoyance, through blurry eyes with furrowed brows.

"Why don't you ask him out?"

His words made you inhale sharply again, causing the rice grain to tickle your throat and making you cough violently once more.

"Ayato! It’s not our place to get involved, don’t you think?", Ayaka stepped in and before Ayato could add another word, Thoma was already back with a glass of water. You thanked him, emptying it in two big gulps, loudly setting it back down on the table, throwing a death-glare over to your brother who seemed a little too amused about the whole situation. You were sure the final word was not yet spoken on this matter, it was basically written all over his face. Scheming little shit, you thought to yourself.

A couple of weeks later you were surprised that Ayato had left you alone about you crush on Thoma so far, which was really unlike him you at least expected him to tease you further about it - alas he had a lot to do with the planning of the Irodori festival so that was probably why. You'd sure get a never ending supply of teases whenever the opportunity would arise in the future. You knew your brother and he surely wouldn't just let it slip like that.

“I’ll leave these letters here for you on your desk”, Thoma pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Thank you, Thoma!”

“Mhm, I–I’ll see you tomorrow at the festival then, I-I guess?”, he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand awkwardly before leaving your office again. What had he been so nervous about all of a sudden?

You shrugged it off and began to open the letters on your desk. The first few were about public affairs, invitations to meetings or dinners with some businessmen from all over Inazuma that you flicked through boredly before putting them aside on a pile to answer later.

“What is this?”, you quietly mumbled to yourself as you saw a letter in a fancy envelope sticking out at the bottom of the pile.

It looked quite different from the others you usually received and your first name was written on it in tidy handwriting and the paper smelled faintly like flowers. You took out the letter inside, unfolded it and were greeted with the same tidy handwriting that had been on the envelope already.

“My dear,

I hope you will accept this invitation to visit the Irodori festival together with me - by that I mean, not just as a friend or the retainer of your clan. Should you accept my invitation, meet me under the maple tree next to the statue of the seven outside of Ritou. I hope to see you there.

With love,

Thoma”

Your heart began to beat faster with every word you read and you could feel blood rush to your cheeks. Did Thoma genuinely just ask you out on a date? It certainly explained why he had been so nervous when he had brought you these letters just now.

A big smile crept up on your face as you read over it again, soaking up every word. Of course you would be there! You had been waiting for this moment for so long, especially considering you’ve had this little crush on Thoma for the longest time already and now he had finally asked you out. You hugged the letter to your chest with a sigh - you absolutely couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

On the evening of the next day you arrived in Ritou together with a few of your guards who had escorted you here. Ayato and Ayaka had already gone a few hours earlier without you, due to having to take care of preparations and making sure everything went according to plan. Usually you’d have joined them but this year you could luckily stay behind and take care of replying to some correspondence that urgently needed to be dealt with before the festival - and it had also given you more time to mentally prepare for your date with Thoma. 

The festival was already in full swing when you arrived, people were chatting, enjoying the food and the paper lanterns wrapped the scenery in a cozy yellow light. You excused yourself from your guards and went to find the maple tree Thoma had mentioned in his letter.

Outside of all the hustle and bustle of the plaza you found the exact spot. Thoma was already standing under the tree and at that moment your heart threatened to jump out of your chest the second you spotted him. The moon perfectly framed his figure and he looked so ethereal you were petrified, unable to take your gaze off him. As soon as he noticed you he shyly lifted one hand to greet you before coming over to you, taking one of your hands in his, placing a soft kiss on the knuckles of your hand.

“Hi”, he whispered with a soft smile, brushing over your hand softly with his thumb. “You look beautiful.”

“I can say the same.”, you replied, feeling yourself melt like snow in the sun under his loving gaze.

After a brief moment of silence he took out a small satchel out of his pocket. Fiddling around with it nervously, you could see that his hands were shaking a little and his cheeks were tinted in a light rose hue and you couldn’t help but think how cute it was that he was so nervous because of you.

“I got something for you earlier, when I saw it it immediately reminded me of you. I hope you will like it.”

He took out a bracelet and slipped it over your wrist with trembling hands. The rhinestone on it had the same color as your eyes and glistened beautifully under the dim moonlight and at that moment your emotions completely overwhelmed you. A swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach, making every nerve in your body tingle and you almost felt lightheaded.

"It's beautiful!", you exclaimed, smiling widely. You brushed over the bracelet with your finger before looking back up to Thoma who returned the smile with an almost starlike glow in his eyes.

"I wanted t–", Thoma began to speak, shying away from your gaze before both of you were interrupted by some screaming children that were running towards the plaza out of the building nearby.

"The fireworks! The fireworks are about to go off. Hurry! Hurry!!!", they screamed.

"What did you want to say?", you chuckled following the children with your eyes before shifting your attention back to Thoma.

He smiled, still holding your hands, slightly shaking his head as he intertwined your fingers.

"Do you want to go see the fireworks as well?"

"Hm, yes – I'd love to."

You made your way over to the plaza and decided to sit down together on the wall near the waypoint overlooking the harbor. You had the perfect view on where the fireworks were about to go off. 

Looking around you saw Ayaka and Ayato standing not too far away from you and Thoma as well just as a loud bang drew your attention back to the main event. The first fireworks exploded into a million colorful stars in front of you and created all sorts of shapes and forms. You looked at Thoma, seeing the reflection of the magical lights in his eyes and you felt your heart skip a beat right then and there. The shine in his eyes, his beautiful smile and the small dimples that formed whenever he laughed looked even more intoxicating in this atmosphere. You had loved all that about him from the very beginning. Overwhelmed with joy you squeezed his hand a bit tighter and leaned your head on his shoulder, making him turn to you with that same smile you loved so much.

"Thank you for asking me to go to the festival with you. I've always dreamt of this, you know."

"Thoma, that's so–, wait a minute?", you paused, lifting your head off his shoulder in confusion about what he had just said. Why did he thank you for inviting him here? He wrote a letter asking you out - or did he?

He looked at you in confusion with furrowed eyebrows.

"Is something the matter? Did I say something wrong?"

"No – nothing, it's nothing, Thoma. I'm still just a bit overwhelmed, is all. I'm glad you're here with me tonight."

You smiled and squeezed his hand a little tighter again. As soon as he shifted his focus back to the fireworks you looked over your shoulder back to where your siblings were standing. More precisely, you were scanning Ayato’s face in suspicion and even though he did make it seem like he wasn't looking at you, you could see him peeking at you both from the corner of his eye, smirking slyly, winking and giving you a thumbs up.

Unbelievable! He set you up! You should've known that he wouldn't forget your talk over dinner from weeks ago. 

You sneaky little shit!

Although, looking back at Thoma, you had to admit, you probably couldn't be mad at your brother for long.

TAGLIST

@irethepotato @euphierosyne @x-zho @stygianoir

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife

Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[smoochkooks]

—christmas cream(pie) ; (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: established relationship, smut, fluff

⟶ word count: 3.6k

⟶ summary:  a day before christmas dinner with your boyfriend's parents, you discover another alternative way to use the chocolate cream you’re making. jungkook is more than willing to indulge in your little fantasy.

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, food play, finger-sucking, spit kink, dirty talk, oral (f) receiving, slight choking but nothing too extreme, unprotected sex, creampie, jungkook being the sweetest boyfriend on the earth and your emotional support, tooth-rooting domestic fluff:(

a/n: hi!! this is my little christmas present for you. hope you enjoy what my brain came up with yesterday<3 ps. i also dont know what kind of fic title this is.

Christmas secure a top spot on your own self-made list of holidays. You enjoy practically every aspect of it. The food, decorating your house, songs, movies, the whole magical aura of warmth and love – you name it.

But this year though, you're fiddled with anxiety because it's the first time you're going to celebrate with your boyfriend Jungkook and his parents.  

You've been dating for two lovely years, living in a shared apartment for almost six months but somehow you've never spent any major holiday together. Until now, it actually felt like a step bigger than moving in. Choosing to be with your families and celebrate separately was never an issue for both of you.

And foolishly, you thought this year would be no like the other, that you'll kiss your sweet boyfriend goodbye before Christmas Eve and reunite after the whole shenanigans would end. But to your surprise, Jungkook had different plans for you.  

“Y-your parents did what?”  

“They invited us for a Christmas dinner.” he repeated calmy, completely unfazed by the pure shock marring your features.

He was sprawled on the couch, hair messy and falling onto his forehead because he had been avoiding barbershops lately (it wasn’t like you minded it–if anything, it made him look even sexier). He was wearing your favorite pair of sweats that had a soy sauce stain on the left knee and a simple black t-shirt, yet for you he looked like an angel sent from the above and devil reincarnated at the same time. So deliciously domestic and soft it almost made you wanna jump him right here and there, if it wasn't for the more nagging matters that you had yet to discuss with him.  

“But,” you stuttered, brain too consumed by nerves to help you formulate coherent sentences. “I was visiting your parents in Busan over summer.”  

“Yeah, but it's been a while and they really want to see you again,” he said, raising from his spot. He came up to you, his tall, lean body towering over your form. The moment you saw his sparkly doe eyes boring holes into yours, you knew you were approximately twenty seconds from giving in. “Pretty please.” he tried again, palms cupping your flushed cheeks until you had no choice but to agree.  

“Okay.”  

Jungkook grinned in response and leaned to press a chaste kiss onto your lips. “Love you, baby.” He tasted like spicy noodles and soda but you ignored it, mustering a small smile.  

“Love you too.” you said, always meaning those three little words because truly, you could never resist Jeon Jungkook and his charms. He had you wrapped around his finger more than you'd ever admit and you'd simply do anything to make him happy, even if that meant stressing over a Christmas dinner with his parents.  

“They really like you, ___. You have nothing to worry about.” Jungkook murmured upon kissing your nose, and then forehead. “My mom is already so excited to see you. She said she would make an apple pie because you once mentioned you liked it.”

You leaned into his touch, slightly less angry you had been surprised with a revelation like that but at the same time still apprehensive and filled with nerves. “You aren't making this easier, you know?” you asked.  

Jungkook sent you an apologetic smile. “You're amazing, baby. You don't need to convince my parents again that you're the right person for me,” he said, hands finding purchase on your waist and pulling you closer to him. “All you have to do is smile and compliment my mom's cooking skills. And maybe ask dad about fishing. You know he's been crazy about it lately.”

Easier said than done, you thought to yourself. Jungkook was a natural when it came to bewitching people. Your parents adored him because he knew all the right words to make them fall for his charms. He didn’t have to try hard or pretend to be someone else in order to be accepted as their daughter’s partner.  

You, on the other hand, were on a different side of the spectrum. No matter how many times Jungkook reassured you of your worth, you still had a lot of insecurities to deal with. That was just who you were as a person. Maybe it was why you clicked so well together. You needed someone to be your second Sun.

“You got his.” With a final kiss onto the crown of your head, Jungkook left you standing in the middle of the living room, and all you could think about was a fricking apple pie and finding new ways to impress your boyfriend's parents. 

Hence way you're currently in the kitchen, blender in your right hand as you mix the ingredients for the most extra chocolate cake you've ever made, determination written all over your features like you’re competing in the final Bake Off episode.

And why is that? Because your brain couldn't let you sleep peacefully at night if you didn't decide to bake your own cake for Jungkook's mother. It started innocently, slowly getting information out of your boyfriend about his parents' favorite food. Of course, you had to be clever about it, so he wouldn't suspect anything too early into the game. That's why after asking a round of rather specific questions you lured him into a blowjob because you know he usually loses his goddman mind after a good dick sucking.  

Content with your plan, you're now a day before the Christmas dinner, Jungkook's mother's beloved cake almost ready to be put into the oven.

“Babe, I'm home!” you hear Jungkook calling from the corridor. You sent him to do some (un)necessary grocery shopping so you could have a time for yourself to prepare the cake without him looking over your shoulder and analyzing your every move. You really hate when people do that because you’re more likely to screw something when you’re being watched.

“Let me taste it then,” he says, grabby hands reaching for the bowl but you quickly swat them away.  

“I'm here!” you shout back, unplugging the blender once you're satisfied with your chocolate cream.  

“What is the smell?” Jungkook asks, entering the kitchen. “Oh,” he quips, placing grocery bags on the floor. “You made this?”  

“Mhmm,” you hum, dipping a finger into the bowl and then putting it into your mouth. It tastes good, not too sweet but at the same time it still has a strong chocolate flavor. Perfect.

“Wash your hands first.”  

“Wait,” You can almost hear the gears shifting in his brain. His grip on your waist tightens as you desperately try to stifle the laugh babbling in your throat. “This is my mom's favorite cake.” 

Jungkook dramatically salutes you, even though you see him smirking under his breath. Once his hands are all clean and dry, you feel his arms encircling your body from the back. “Is this for me?” he murmurs, obviously referring to the cake.

“Nope. It's for tomorrow's Christmas dinner.” 

That’s why you break into a smile, pulling him for a quick peck. “You can taste my cream now.” you say.  

“Great observation.”

“And you said you were making it for the Christmas dinner,” Jungkook continues, “Which means you did this purposely.” he finishes, twirling your body so you're now facing him.  

“You said she would make me an apple pie so I thought I could reciprocate the kindness and do the same,” An innocent smile tugs at your lips. “Besides, the more food the better.” 

Jungkook snorts. “So here's why you were asking me all those weird questions lately.”

Your eyes widen. “You paid attention to that?”

“Babe, I might be a simple man who enjoys seeing his girlfriend sucking his dick but it doesn't mean I don't listen to you,” he says, sounding slightly offended but you know that deep down he's amused by the whole situation. “You didn't have to do that, you know?”  

You let out a long sigh. “I know but... I just felt so weird. Your parents are so happy to see us, they are doing all those preparations and I couldn't stop thinking about doing something to impress them in return,” you murmur. “So they wouldn't think it preparing a whole celebratory dinner for their son and his girlfriend was actually pointless.” you add in a smaller voice, dropping your head down.   

“Baby,” Jungkook coos, fingers grasping your chin so you could look him in the eye again. “You're an amazing person. My parents know that too. You don't have to prove them your worth. Ever.”  

His words make you relax visibly. You don’t know what you would do if you didn’t have Jungkook by your side. He’s just being himself, showing you his extremely caring side as he usually does when you feel down but somehow you’re more thankful for this now.

You dip your index finger into the cream. Then, making sure his eyes are trained on your face, you bring your finger up and envelop with your lips, purposely sucking on it obscenely. “Mmm,” you nothing but moan. “It’s really good.”

“That sounded awfully sexual.”  

“No, it did not! You're just perverted.” 

“But you love me anyway, don't you?” 

You snort at his stupid remark. Suddenly, a not-so-innocent idea pops in your mind and you wonder who’s actually the one with more inappropriate thoughts running through their head. Jungkook might enjoy teasing you on daily basis, but a girl can have her fun too, right?  

Jungkook's eyes darken seeing your little stunt you’ve decided to pull today. He bites the inside of his cheek, before saying,”’I know what game you’re playing.”  

“I’m not doing anything.” you respond, feigning innocence. Before you can dive for more cream, Jungkook grabs your wrist and stops you.  

Bingo.  

When he takes his two fingers and plunges them into the cream, you know exactly what’s coming next, the adrenaline and excitement pumping through your veins. He brings his fingers up towards your face and you have to fight an urge to stay still, waiting for his instructions like the good girl you obviously are. “Open up, baby.”  

You oblige immediately, mouth falling open and tongue out. He pushes his fingers inside, sweet, chocolate cream filling your taste buds. “Suck.” he says simply, eyes fixated on your lips. You do it without a second thought, swirling your tongue around his digits and making sure to lick every last drop of the substance.  

When he decides he can't take it anymore, he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and before you can even blink, he crashes his lips onto yours; fast, messy and unforgiving, thrusting his tongue inside to play with yours. His motives are clear: you aren’t leaving the kitchen without getting properly fucked.  

“So sweet,” he murmurs against your lips, the hand around your waist pulling you flush against him. “My cute girlfriend thought she could tease me and get away with it.”  

He bites onto your lower lip as to prove his point and you whimper. “It’s not like that,” you manage to say, grinding yourself against the evident bulge in his pants. “I didn’t expect to get away with it.”  

Jungkook's hands travel to the backs of your thighs and he lifts you up effortlessly, placing you on the counter. You’re sure there are traces of flour still on it but you couldn’t care less right now, not when a pair of hands roughly nudges your legs apart so he could stand in between them.

“So you did it purposely,” Jungkook leaves your mouth in favor of tracing kisses down your neck. Careful not to marry your skin with hickeys because you would beat the shit out of him if he did bruise your neck a day before the dinner with his parents. “Naughty girl.” He punctuates his statement with a bite to your earlobe, his next words being whispered directly into your ear. “What should I do with you, then?”  

You whimper, your thighs pressing together just hearing the tone of his voice. You lace your fingers through the locks at the back of his hair and place a kiss against his lips. “Fuck me?” you ask in a saccharine-sweet tone.  

He chuckles in response, fingers grasping your t-shirt and pulling it off you, revealing your bare chest to his hungry eyes. He wastes no time and latches his mouth onto a nipple but as soon as his tongue meets your hardened bud, he retreats. Confused, you watch as he reaches for the bowl once again and dips his fingers into the cream. He then smears it all over your nipples, a proud smirk caught on his lips when he leans back to admire his art work.  

“Kook,” you mewl, too pathetically for your liking and you know how much it’ll stroke his ego. “Please, touch me.” you plea, one of your hands reaching to pull him closer to you.

“Yeah?” His chuckle is almost sinister. “Look at you, all dirty and begging me so nicely. Not that smart with your mouth now, are you?”  

All you manage is a nod and meek “Please,” that quickly morphs into a drawn out moan when he finally dips his head to suck your nipple into his hot mouth. You never could have guessed that the idea of food play would be so arousing to you but here you are, pussy clenching around nothing when your sweet boyfriend licks chocolate cream off your boobs.

When he’s done and satisfied with the result, he grabs your sweatpants and pulls them down along with your underwear in one go, your bare ass meeting with the cold marble of your kitchen counter. Jungkook wastes no time and spreads your legs apart, not giving you a second to shy away from his burning gaze before he dives in to lick a stripe up your slit.  

You cry out in pleasure when his tongue finds your clit and gives it a sharp suck, his hands grabbing your ankles and bending your knees so he could have a full access to your glistening core. You’re absolutely drenched, dripping down your thighs and making a mess on Jungkook's face but he doesn’t mind it a bit, eating you out like a champ you know he is.  

“So wet,” he rasps against your cunt. “Messy girl.”

To make matters worse (or better) he takes his sweet time and lets a glob of his spit mix with your arousal because Jungkook, much like you, enjoys giving a head more than anything in the world and makes it his priority to see you lose it on his tongue. You’re positive you will come like this if he keeps continuing abusing your clit just right. He knows your pussy like the back of his hand. Knows what makes you keen, how to make you eyes roll to the back of your head. It fuels his ego to see you like this; helpless and utterly devoted to the pleasure and you don’t even mind when he brags about it later. How could you if you benefit so much from it?  

Suddenly, he grunts into your cunt and your brows furrow because it’s not the sound you’re used to hearing during sex. You look down to check what’s wrong but he’s already up and in level with your eyes, a sheepish smile adoring his features.  

“Neck cramp,” he explains, his palm massaging the back of his neck. “Eating pussy is easier on the bed.” You can’t help but giggle, replacing his hand with yours and providing him a temporary relief. “I’m sorry. Were you close?” he asks. 

There he is. Your sweet, caring boyfriend who never forgets to ask for consent before railing you into the mattress and always putting your pleasure before his own.  

“Mhmm,” you hum, grasping his t-shirt and lifting it off his body. It should be considered a sin to look like this, you think to yourself. “But I want to come on your cock instead.”  

Jungkook grins, quickly pulling down his pants and underwear. His cock slaps against his stomach, pride swelling in your chest because you know you can make him this hard without your touch. “How do you want it?” he asks, guaranteeing himself a moment of relief when he gives his cock a few pumps, spreading precum all over his length.

“Like that,” you answer, gesturing at your current position on the counter. “Wanna see you.”  

“Anything for my pretty girl.”  

If you weren't already red, you would have blushed at his cute words. The sentiment doesn’t last long though, your face twisting in ecstasy when he lines himself up with your entrance and starts pushing inside, the stretch deliciously burning. “Oh my god, Kook,” you whimper, hand clutching onto his biceps for support. “So big. You feel so good.” He groans, slithering himself deeper. His forehead rests onto yours, few ragged breaths before you murmur, “You can move.”

He sets a punishing pace from the beginning, fucking you hard and fast; wet, slapping noises filling the kitchen. You’re a blubbering mess, moaning incoherently as he splits your pussy open, thrust after thrust. “Yeah, fucking take it,” Jungkook rasps, grabbing your hips even harder, no doubt leaving there marks. “Cream my cock like a good girl.”  

You mewl in response, your eyes focusing on his parted lips. “J-jungkook,” you stutter, head completely deprived of rational thoughts. “Spit in my mouth.” It’s almost a breathless plea on your tongue.  

He curses, his right hand squeezing your cheeks. “Open.” You do it right away, nearly moaning when he purses his lips and spits, eyes almost bulging out of his head when he sees you swallow it greedily. “Dirty fucking girl.” he growls.

“B-but you love it, right?” you whimper, eyes glossy because he's hitting that spot inside your pussy that makes your toes curl. “L-love when I’m like this just for you.”  

“Fuck, yeah I do,” Jungkook says, placing his hand around your throat. He doesn’t apply pressure and simply rests it there, urging you to look directly at him. “I love when my pretty baby becomes a dirty slut for me.” He punctuates his words with a harsh buck of his hips that makes you cry out.

You can't take it anymore. “K-kook,” you whine, grabbing his wrist and urging him to squeeze your throat. “I love you.”  

Despite his hand around your neck and cock abusing your cunt, he breaks into a smile. He leans down to kiss you on your putty lips. You try to keep up with him but there’s no use for that, so you just open your mouth and let him slither his tongue inside. When he pulls away, your lips are wet with saliva. Messy, but you wouldn’t exchange it for anything less. “Love you too, baby.” he groans in a strained voice, dragging his cock fast through your walls.

As if reading your mind, his thumb reaches to rub fast circles on your clit. “’m so close,” you mumble, thighs shaking.

“C'mon, pretty. Wanna see you come around me.” Jungkook murmurs, gone is his dominant aura, it’s now only his gentle voice coaxing you into an earth-shattering orgasm.  

When you come down from your high, you’re swatting his fingers away from your core. Normally you would probably indulge into it more, but oversensitivity seems to be too much to handle for you today. Jungkook thrusts his hips a few more times and follows right after you, groaning your name and spilling himself inside.  

“That was nice.” he comments breathlessly  and you can’t help but chuckle, widing your arms around his neck and pulling him for a well-deserved kiss.  

“I’m too tired to move my legs and somebody needs to finish the cake,” you pout, not an ounce of exaggeration in your statement because that’s utterly true–you’re always too spent after a round of fucking with Jungkook to even go to the bathroom on your own. He gladly carries you there in his arms bridal-style every, single time.

“It's okay, sweetheart. I’ll do it.” he says, making you giggle under your breath triumphantly.  

You might be willing to do everything for you boyfriend but if anything, you’re equal in that department.  

“I’m also pretty sure there’s flour on my ass.”  

Jungkook raises his brow at you. “That I’m not going to clean.”  

“Fine. But next time I'm putting whipped cream on your dick.” you decide.  

When he pulls out of you, his cum spills out of your hole but he's quick to catch the droplets and push them back inside you with his fingers. “You’re a little minx, you know that, right?” he says and then licks his digits clean.  

“You love me anyway.” He grins, leaning to kiss you but he stops mid-way. “What is it?” you ask, raising your brows.

“Since I came inside you, we can call it a creampie, right?”  

Still slightly dazed after sex, you’re not quick enough to realise what he implies before it’s too late. “I mean yes but–oh my god. No, no, no! Stop!”  

“Cream-pie!”  

“I hate you!”  

“And I love you too.”  

After all, you were worrying about the dinner too much, as always.  

Everybody complimented your cake. Jungkook's mother was delighted. His father talked about fishing for almost an hour.

But your sweet boyfriend's smirking face as he ate the cake was telling you were in for a long night of sinning in your bed as soon as you went back home.  

And he obviously didn’t disappoint.  

[sun-flower-children]

BakuSquad’s Boy Part 1

A/N: Based on a fic that doesn’t exist anymore :( I’ll be adding my own head canons from what i remember of the og fic. This whole thing is in a headcanon format :)))

Kirishima was sitting down when he noticed their new transfer student walking into the cafeteria looking lost. Without thinking twice he quickly caught the attention of the male and motioned him to come over.

“Is it okay if I join you?” you asked, recognizing the spiky haired student as your classmate.

“Of course, let me introduce you to everybody!”

The redhead introduced all the guys sitting at the table. The talkative blonde with the lightning bolt in his hair was Kaminari . The smiling black haired boy with oddly shaped elbows was Sero and the angry-faced pale blonde with red eyes was Bakugo. While the rest smiled at you he merely sneered and ignored you.

“Don’t let him bother you too much, he's a grouch!” Kirishima said smiling.

The entire lunch period was spent talking to the Bakusquad and explaining how you transferred from the hero school in your home country and enrolled at UA. Laughing with them and bonding over memes and hero training.

It didn’t take long for you to become part of the friend group.

Y’all are a chaotic group of motherfuckers

The group chat is mess; Bakugo is trying to help people w homework, Zero is constantly sharing tick tocks and at 2 am Denki will spam it with memes ( which pisses Bakugo off bc it wakes him up when he forgets to mute his notifications)

Y’all will study together, which surprisingly, can be super productive sometimes.

It honestly didn’t take very long for you guys to become inseparable. They have you back and you have theirs. Training and working out together is a plus because sometimes y’all are too busy to actually fully hangout.

Kirishima will compliment you in a “manly” way and will totally be your hype man. Will be ecstatic when you give back the same energy. One time Bakugo joined you guys for his morning workout and his jaw almost fell to the ground when he saw you take your shirt off.  He couldn’t help but stare like holy shit you were ripped. Training with Kiri really did pay off. Bakugo smirked to himself when he noticed his red haired friend was also checking you out when you didn’t notice. 

Going to the mall with Sero and Denki is a whole ass ride. Y’all will go to so many stores and either waste all your money or just fuck around. Hot Topic is definitely a favorite of theirs. They don’t care if it’s not your vibe because they will want to deck you out in the fitting rooms to see what you look like. Once they pushed the curtain before you were done changing your shirt and both pairs of eyes went straight to your body, making you blush.

After being friends for so long the Bakusquad could read each other's emotions and all recognized that they had crushes on you. They talked about it and concluded that this would by no means would get between their friendship but would amicably flirt with you.

They organized a sleepover not too long after. But it was basically them all fighting each other about who’s room they would be staying in. Ended up going to Bakugo’s room because it was the closest for most of them. When you got there you were so caught up with the movie that you didn't realize they were low-key fighting each other for a spot next to you/ touching you in general. It was when y’all were going to sleep when you realized you left your sheets and what not in your room. Bakugo without missing a beat said you could sleep with him which then prompted Denki to tell you that “Bakugo’s feet smell like shit you don't wanna sleep with him” for Kiri to go “ Hey that isn’t manly, you should sleep w me Y/N.”. While the three of them were battling it out you and Sero were just sitting crouched in the corner. “I mean Y/N I could always get sheets and stuff from my rooms ‘cause it's not that far from here.” only for Bakugo to throw a pillow straight in his face yelling “Shut it Soy-Sauce face!!” Yeah they felt really bad in the morning when you ended up sleeping on the floor with nothing covering you.

Sero will want to smoke with you. The first time he smoked with you, you ended up having a panic attack and he felt responsible for making you panic and so anxious. He tries to smoke by himself for the meanwhile until you convince him to let you try again. It goes much better this time. Y’all start vibing to his latin playlist and he tries to teach you but y’all just end up stumbling over each other and constantly laughing. When dancing becomes physically exhausted and watches tick tocks and videos on his phone. Which ends up with y’all crying over the video where the racoon tries to wash his cotton candy but it dissolves. At some point the tears become too much and you both reach for each other which ends up with y'all sobbing and cuddling each other. Y’all fell asleep like this :)

The whole squad smokes at one point or another. Kirishima does it whenever he’s just in the mood to hangout and he uber chills. Bakugo does it to relieve stress and just enjoy life a bit. Denki smokes the 2nd most in the group just whenever he needs to kill time or he wants to vibe.

There will be times when y'all will smoke together and just fuck shit up. Like, one night after exam y’all are smoking but shit starts getting wild. Like y'all are hopping off the walls and dancing around to random music. Denki will find a roach that's stuck on its back and trying to get back off its legs but y’all are dancing all around it thinking it's like break dancing. “ AYYYY FUCK IT UP” Bakugo would yell “GET INTO IT” Sero would then yell. One of y’all took a video and accidentally posted it on Snapchat so the next day Mina would ask like wth happened last night bc y’alls tik toks and snapchats were wack af. Sero would probably speak on behalf of the group and say “ We were just really hyper.

When they all become hyper aware of their feelings not only for you but like low-key for each other they all change a lil bit. Like:

Denki stops flirting with people outside of the Baku Squad. He’s more touchy with y’all. Holding onto arms, arms over shoulders, hands on waists, holding hands, sitting in y’alls laps (this is a big one)

Kirishima has more energy when he’s with you guys. Like he could be running lower on battery than normal but one of y'all just comes up to him and he lights up like a light bulb.

Bakugo stops ruining desks and promptly yelling at people. He’s toned down and becomes a bit more chilled out. Mostly when he's with you guys. He is still a grumpy gremlin when he is with people who aren’t the Baku Squad.

Sero actually hides it pretty well and no one notices and changes that are indicative of a crush. Probably a bit more confident in himself

Kirishima and Denki acting like they haven't seen each other in sages when it really has only been like five minutes.

“ OMG BRO IT'S BEEN FOREVER”

“OMG DENKI MY MAN I MISSED YOU SM!”

“ BRO C’MERE AND PLANT A PHAT ONE ON ME!”

“HELL YA MY DUDE, THIS IS GONNA BE MANLY.”

And then proceed to aggressively walk toward each other, slap each others asses and plant a kiss on each other's cheeks before erupting into a huge fit of laughter. While people around them are just like ‘wtf is going on’

Touching becomes a thing.

Y’all will actively find each other when y'all want a hug or cuddles or smth. Forehead and cheek kisses are a thing. Bakugo takes much longer to warm up to everyone starting really with you and Kirishima. most comfortable holding y’alls hands loosely and rubbing your knuckles. Denki probably does this the most. He lives for physical affection, just give this poor boy his much needed cuddles and kithes.

Despite y’all high-key crushing for each other you all still are absolutely focused on your career paths as heros. Bakugo helping teach english and you trying to help ( if you know english well enough to teach )

“Ok idiots for the last time what word do we use to describe Sarah?”

“I mean she took these poor dudes apples and all of these are positive adjectives...i think.”

“Yeah Sarah’s kind of a bitch.”

“SHUT IT YOU TOO AND ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!”

“I mean Bakubro they aren’t wrong...”

“NOT YOU TOO KIRI!”

You guys work so well during team vs fights bc of how well you all know each other.

It’s an absolute mess but y’all love eachother <3

I will be making a part 2 ( + 3 i think ) so hang around for more :)

MASTERLIST

[yandere-sins]

Poison for Miya Osamu please!

Our good boy! Thanks for requesting ^-^

Poison - “How dumb did you think I was? Of course I knew of your little prank.”

»»———————— ♡ ————————««    

As expected, Osamu was overjoyed when you offered to make dinner for him.

It was one of the rare nights that Atsumu wasn’t around to bother the two of you, and ever since Osamu had instructed you on making basic dishes that didn’t need dangerous tools, you had regained some freedom when it came to food. Much to your delight as well as his.

It was never a big thing that you cooked - or rather prepared - for him, and Osamu was always by your side, watching over your shoulder. In the relationship you two had, there would always be a certain degree of mistrust, but at least it wasn’t as overbearing as when you were with his brother. And eating your onigiri or sandwiches made Osamu as happy as if you had just kissed him, which gave you a lot of plus points with him. It was nice to see him relax after a long day at work too, and it always worked in your favor to please your captors.

Not least because it gave you back your hope. Hope to make a change in your life.

It had been far too long since you started to surrender to what they were saying and doing, just so you wouldn’t get hurt. Regaining the tiny bite of freedom to prepare your own food had made you realize the dependence you had on them for everything. It was their schedule you suited your day to, you justified going to the bathroom to them, and you asked for them to bring home things you wanted to eat. In a way, it was infantilizing, and in another, dehumanizing.

As Osamu was now, you’d never think you could have a chance against him. Even if you managed to trick him, you didn’t want to imagine the lengths he could go to that you hadn’t seen before. The worst you had seen so far probably wasn’t the worst he could be. If the twins were together, you thought your chances to be below zero, but now that it was only Osamu, you hatched a plan. Only, he had to become weaker than he was in his current state.

It had been weeks in the planning, ever since the first few times he let you prepare food for the two of you. Building up trust as you chatted away normally with him while forming rice balls and other cold delicacies, you used a few bad days to push your two kidnappers over the edge enough to sedate you. No one said it would be easy, but it was excruciating not to get caught storing away the sleeping pills they used on you. More than once you were ready to give up and return to pleasing them for your own sake, but you persevered in the end, all for this moment.

“Can you set the table?” you asked him, innocently enough. Even if Osamu had stuck to your side like glue at first, he was now more willing than ever to play pretend with you, especially if you asked him sweetly. Just as if you two had a normal relationship and were fond of each other, that’s what Osamu preferred to believe. Nodding, he set aside his glass of water, brushing his lips to your head before reaching over you for the plates, arranging them at the counter with his back turned. Immediately, you reached into your pocket to retrieve the capsules, opening and spreading them over the white rice balls you had prepared. 

Just as quickly did you wash the leftover casing of the medicine down the drain, pretending to wash your hands before picking up the bowl of rice and bringing it to the countertop on which you usually had dinner at. Osamu had watched you again after setting the table, so you gave him a smile before taking a seat, waiting for him to follow. Everything so far had been going exceptionally well, but you composed yourself to not give away the excitement you felt.

You snatched the one spoon you two usually used together to scoop up some of the rice, trickling soy sauce onto it and holding it up to him. Osamu’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as you offered to feed him, and you calmly, with a big grin, said, “Aah!” to animate him to eat. Seeing his ears grow red in response as he hesitated to take the bite gave you the confirmation that you needed that your plan was working.

Finally, Osamu took the bait you offered. When you quickly scooped up a second spoon to give to him for good measures, he didn’t even raise a brow anymore before eating it. Yes, the boys may be your captors, but they weren’t perfect, and you had been their weakness all along. It didn’t need the second spoon for the medication to hit, but you were convinced that it was better safe than sorry.

It didn’t take long for it to take effect either, and you thanked Atsumu only this once for needing very effective travel medicine. Osamu took a big sip of his water right after the second spoon, and by the way he grew weary and nervous at the same time you knew something felt off to him. “Are you okay?” you asked, feigning worry as you scooped up a third spoon to give to him. “Yeah, just got a bit dizzy there.”

One more can’t hurt, you decided as you gave him a sympathetic smile, knowing he couldn’t resist your kindness, eating out of your hand again. He was barely able to swallow the rice, holding his hand over his mouth, and you saw in his eyes how torn he was between wanting to keep eating with you but also wondering if the food was spoiled.

“I don’t feel so good,” he finally admitted, and you furrowed your brows worriedly. “Do you want to lay down?” you were quick to suggest, and Osamu nodded slowly, not unhappy as you offered to help him back into your room. Seating him down on the bed, you fluffed up the pillow, feeling nothing less than pride that ran through your body as your plan worked out so perfectly. 

“Could ya bring me the water?” Osamu asked as he laid down, and you simply smiled as you complied, returning to the kitchen to fetch his glass.

Patience, you told yourself. Nothing good would come from rushing it now.

However, when you returned, Osamu seemed already out of it, chest slowly rising and falling. His eyes had yet to fully close, and out of your own experience, you knew that it was only a matter of minutes now before he’d fall asleep. You set down the glass, pretending to still be worried as you placed your palm on his head, feeling for temperature. “Are you okay?” you mumbled quietly, and he still reacted with a grumble. He was too awake for your taste. Once he was fully gone, you’d be safe to find the keys for the locks and get everything you needed. But as he was now, you’d still have to wait for a little bit longer.

“I’ll get you a blanket.” Standing up, you turned to leave when a sudden grip around your wrist held you back. Surprised, you snapped back around only for Osamu’s hand to tighten more and more until it was hurting you while he reeled you in.

“You usually need about 5 minutes before it takes effect, don’t ya remember that, [Name]? I do because I always have to hold you down until then.”

His voice was back to normal, no slurred words or grunts and nods this time. Osamu sat up calmly, pulling you closer until you had to kneel down on the mattress to comply with his strength. “W-What are you talking about?” you questioned, feigning ignorance while you were pulled over Osamu and onto the spot next to him on the bed.

“What I’m saying is, we still have another minute or so until the drug ya gave me will put me to sleep. What should we do until then?”

Next thing you knew, Osamu was on top of you, holding you down by your hands and sitting down on your legs to restrain you. “Drug? What drug? I didn’t give you any such thing!” you nervously defended yourself, twisting your wrists in his grip. This should have been way easier, and Osamu should have failed to keep up his strength. Was it his build? Or because you put it into food? Did the medicine affect him so differently than you were used to?

“Come on, [Name], how dumb did you think I was? Of course I knew of your little prank. Didn’t you notice me watching as ya put the damn stuff on the rice?”

Your heart sank as you listened to his words. You thought you were quick and stealthy as you prepared the food, so how could he notice? “Also, I know you hadn’t taken the pills for a while. As I said, you always stop struggling after five minutes, asleep after eight, but your times had been messed up the last few occasions we had to give them to you. I have to know it, I am the one taking care of you, don’t ya know that yet?”

Biting your lip, you felt yourself panic inside. This was bad, pretty bad. Until the sleeping pills really started to work, Osamu was in charge, and he didn’t seem pleased either. When he suddenly let go of your right hand, you quickly clawed into his arm that was still pinning you down by your left, hoping that with combined strength, he’d let go. You completely missed him reaching into his own pocket and bringing his hand to his lips, only noticing the white capsule sticking out from his mouth when he reached around your chin and made you face him again.

But before you could react and slap the pill out of his mouth, Osamu had brought his lips down to your yours, breaking through them even though you struggled to keep your mouth shut. His tongue playing over yours didn’t stop you from rejecting the pill he transferred to you. Osamu didn’t linger for too long - even when he was mad, never overstaying his welcome - but before you could spit it out, he clasped his hand over your mouth. Finally letting go of both hands your hands, you used them to try and pull his hand off you, but before long, he had sealed your nose off as well, giving you no other chance than to swallow if you wanted back your air.

Even though you wanted to pretend to swallow it, Osamu didn’t retract the moment he saw you gulp for the first time, waiting it out until he deemed it most likely that you indeed swallowed. Unfortunately, with enough saliva, it slipped past your tongue and down your throat easily, tears shooting up your eyes as you realized that you couldn’t have stopped it. Only then, Osamu let go, and you snapped for air, frustrated cries escaping you.

“Why did you do that!” you complained, and Osamu didn’t flinch away as you pounded your fists against his chest in anger. “Why did you even swallow the food if you knew I put something in it?!”

For a while, Osamu kept quiet, letting you live out your tantrum before you finally gave up on your anger. Catching your hands as they fell to the sides, he kissed them both gently while you felt more and more drowsy by the second. Only now you realized what he gave you, the feeling very similar to whenever the twins had drugged you before. “Why did you eat it?” you mumbled, the sobs slowly but surely dying out with the rising sleepiness you felt.

“Because I love you,” Osamu said nonchalantly. Suddenly, his whole body seemed to collapse, and you could be glad your arms blocked him from falling square onto you. Up to the last point, he had still made sure you wouldn’t be bothered more by him, as you were able to push him off you, the sleeping pills’ effect almost making it seem like he was dead as he laid beside you.

It had been the perfect plan; you just didn’t think that Osamu was that attentive. There was still a lot you had to learn about the twins, but there would most likely be something new to experience the moment you woke up again and having to face an angry Osamu. But maybe one day. Maybe you could do it another day.

But you had your doubts that it would get any easier from here on out.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Take My Hand (Part Three)

Summary: feelings are hurt, mistakes are made, and someone wakes up in the wrong bed (one of three four ??? parts) 

Pairings: Rafael Barba x Reader, Sonny Carisi x Reader

Word Count: 6,992

Song:  It wasn't right / The way it all went down / Looks like you know that now (closure by taylor swift) 

Warnings: T, spoilers for 19x13 (the undiscovered country) and use of some dialogue from that episode, infant death, some swearing, drinking, drunken behavior, so much angst, 

A/N: thank you for @bucky-of-the-opera​ and @laneygthememequeen​ for letting me bounce ideas off and being such amazing beta readers. and thank you to @qvid-pro-qvo​ for the support and enthusiasm as i muddled my way through these scenes. And thank you to all of you for reading :) 

“Another,” you slam your glass on the table, “please.” 

“Are you sure you want another?” the bartender raised an eyebrow at you, the glasses lined around you. 

“I asked for another,” you hiss, your voice raising and falling, the sound making the ache in your head sharp, a knife dragging across your forehead from temple to temple. 

The drink lands in front of you, "I'm cutting you off," you click your teeth together, your fingers pressed the cool glass, the only thing grounding you, "hey, hey," she snaps her fingers, "did you drive here?" 

You scoff, "Who drives in New York?" The remark doesn't come off as biting as you want, words slurring. 

The bartender taps on your phone, lying on the counter amongst the glasses, "call someone to pick you up. We're closing. Don't go home by yourself." 

You sip at your drink, your throat numb to any burn alcohol could provide you — the thrill gone, only left the bitter depressant you needed to relieve the pain. But there was no amount that could relieve this pain because one word brought it back — Rafael. 

A wound that had scabbed over so times could still bleed, and this pain came with no adrenaline to numb it. But nothing could numb this pain — the one searing in your hollow chest, your heart long forlorn the moment you stepped from that office — no, it was earlier. Was it the moment you chose to love him? No, maybe it was the moment you kissed him, sunk into those eyes made for sinking, and you stood at the helm, unwavering. Because, after all, it was your heart to sink. 

You loved him — you loved him even when he was completely unloveable in his behavior — your adoration for toleration. You loved him even when you didn't want to — when you knew he didn't deserve it, when you deserved more. You loved him, but you didn't know why. 

And you wished you never did. 

The bartender snaps her fingers again, "Hey, please call someone because I don't want you leaving here alone." 

But you missed him, you scrolled through your contacts, finding his name so easily — his contact picture was of him in the office, sitting beside you on his couch with a mouthful of dumplings, irritated by something Buchanan had said. The next picture on your camera roll if you remembered was him lunging for your phone, and the third was of him kissing you, the taste of soy sauce on his lips. 

Was the last time you kissed him the last time? Would it be the last time you touched him? The last time you slept beside him? 

Your finger hovered over the call button — it would be easy to call him, to talk to him, to love him. But, your thumb slides right, going back to your contacts, just because it was easy didn't mean it was right. 

Tears slid down your face, as you downed the rest of your drink. 

But you needed to call someone — someone you trusted. 

Sonny did not expect to spend his Thursday night (or was it Friday morning?)  like this — not at Forlini’s, not out at 3 AM, and certainly not picking you up. 

You weren't exactly clear about much on the phone — between the slurring and the mumbling he was only able to make out the address and "can you pick me up?"

He hurried down the street, sidestepping several burly men, who jeered at him as he passed by, his nerves shot at this point. He had seen at least eight of the men he's passed in lockup, and here you were in the thick of it. 

What were you thinking? 

He finds the place with ease, stepping into it, finding the bartender wiping up a table by the front. Irritated, she jerks her head towards the bar, "over there, the last drink hit hard, so you might have some trouble getting home, buddy." 

His brow wrinkles, "What do you—" 

"Sonny!" your voice is high, throwing up your hands in a to-do, as you stumble off the stool, while Sonny barely moves in time to catch you. 

“Whoa, whoa, are you okay, counselor?” you pout, sighing loudly, as you gently take his hands off of you, instead intertwining your fingers with his. 

“I told you to call me by my name, Sonny,” he clears his throat, feeling his ears burn as you tugged him closer, peering up at him with a wide grin, “or should I start calling you Detective Carisi?” your voice low and teasing, he leans away. 

Okay, he bites his lip, stepping away from you. 

What had he gotten himself into? 

After several minutes of bargaining, bartering, and bribes, he was able to convince you to leave the bar, much to his (and the bartender’s) relief. But then again, the problems kept coming. He pulls you outside, and you’re shivering, your suit jacket clearly not enough. He pulls off his sweatshirt, handing it to you, you open your mouth to protest, but when another strong wind blows through, and you pull it over your shoulders. 

He glances away, but his eyes wander back to you — his ears burning at the sight of you in his clothes. 

No, no, this was not the time, he chided himself. 

“Come on, let’s get you home, sweetheart,” and you pull away from him. 

“I can’t go home,” he crosses his arms, struggling to keep his temper even at 2 in the morning, his patience worn away to nothingness in that bar. 

“Sweetheart,” you shake your head — now you were just being stubborn, “the bar is closed, you have to go home.” 

“No, I can’t go home,” and he sees the tears in your eyes, streaking down your face, and you’re shaking your head, arms crossed, “I can’t, Sonny. Please.” 

And his irritation turns to fear — he’s seen this before, too many times, far too many times, a sinking feeling in his gut, “What happened?” 

“Sonny—” your voice breaks, it was a blurred line between anger and fear — and he didn’t know what he felt right now — but he knew he was going to lose his mind if you didn’t tell him what was going on right now. 

“Did someone do something to you?” you shake your head, “did they touch you—” 

“No, Sonny, no,” you wipe your tears away, sniffing, “I just broke up with the guy I was seeing. The one I told you about. It wasn’t working,” you gave a watery chuckle, “it never worked to begin with.” 

He says your name, his anger simmering, “I’m—” 

You wave him off, before sighing, “I just can’t deal with him right now. And if I go home,” your voice shakes, “he might show up there and I can’t do that. I can’t.” 

Sonny feels his heart thump against his chest, reaching for your hand, squeezing it, “Then we won’t.” 

He takes you to his place, it doesn’t take long to get to — it takes longer to get you out of the cab, fully asleep on his shoulder by the time they arrive. His arm around you, supporting you, he takes you inside, “You take the bed, okay? I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you mumble, leaning against him as he unlocks the door, hating how he liked the way you felt against him, and he sighs. No, it feels like he does. You were his friend first — anything he felt was irrelevant. He shut the door behind him. 

Until it wasn’t. But it wouldn’t be relevant — not tonight. 

“Come on,” he helps you to his bedroom, having you sit at the edge of the bed, kneeling as he takes your shoes off for you. He looks up to find you staring at him, eyes glassy, “What’s wrong?” 

“You really care about me, don’t you, Sonny?” and he tilts his head. 

“Of course I do,” he frowns, “what do you—” 

And you kiss him. It’s brief, but in his mind, it feels like forever — your lips were as soft as he thought they would be. He tastes the alcohol on your tongue, but that’s nothing compared to you. 

He had never wanted to feel this way. 

When did he first feel it? 

When you had comforted him about Coles? No, maybe when you asked him to join you for a drink after shadowing? Or maybe it was the moment he saw you in your office, when you told him to call you by your name — when you called him by his. 

He pulls away, and you sit, breath hot against his, whispering so quietly he barely hears it even in the silence, “I wish he cared about me the way you did.” 

And he supposed it didn’t matter — helping you lay down — because it didn’t mean anything anyway. 

Your first memory is regret, followed by pain — in that order — a sharp pain in your head stirs you into consciousness and into terror because, not only were you surely going to die, but in a stranger’s home. A knife would have been kinder than a hangover — when was the last time you had one? Have you ever had one before? 

Your stomach lurched — you didn’t need to think about that right now. 

You pushed yourself up, mind swimming and muscles screaming, your eyes surely bench pressing a thousand pounds to stay open, what the fuck happened— 

The picture on the bedside table came into focus — was that— 

It was Sonny with his niece, both their smiling faces staring back at you — almost mocking the situation you had gotten yourself into. 

What had you done last night? 

You groan softly, as the memories come back to you, as your hand clutches at your forehead, slowly sliding down, — the fight, the bar, the drinking, calling Sonny to get you and— your fingers brush your lips— 

Fuck. 

You kissed him — you had kissed Sonny. Flashes of it came back — you rocking forward to kiss him, his lips soft against yours, pulling away from you. Tears burned your eyes — congrats, you had somehow managed to blow up your life in so many ways in one night. 

You were the worst — the worst. 

Was this rock bottom? You didn’t know you could fall so far — to the point where you didn’t recognize yourself — drinking to forget, hurting the people who cared, and throwing it away for someone who didn’t even care. 

No more, you wiped your tears away, reaching for your purse, pulling a pen and notepad from your bag, this needed to end. 

You deserved more. 

You always did. 

You walk into your apartment, stepping inside to the sound of someone walking around, and you tense, your phone clenched in your hand, glancing around — and then you hear his voice. 

Breathless, he steps out from the kitchen, and he whispers your name in the silence of the morning. His arms around you in a moment, your arms at your sides“I’ve been calling all morning — I came here and you weren’t here, I thought something had—” he breaks off, seemingly able to breath again, but you couldn’t — you never could with him. 

“What are you doing here?” you whisper, breaking away from him, taking several steps back. 

“What do you mean? I called you — i couldn’t find you—” 

“You don’t need to find me — it’s over,” your voice broke, crossing your arms, “leave.” 

And his eyes are drawn to your sweatshirt, hanging low on your body, and his eyes narrow, “Were you with someone else?” You blink, realizing you still had Sonny’s sweatshirt on from last night, “were you cheating on—” 

“Cheating?” you bark out a laugh, raising your eyebrows, “cheating on who? On what? We’re nothing to each other, Rafael. It was true last night, and it’s true today.” 

“This isn’t nothing — we aren’t nothing,” he shakes his head, “what do you want? Do you want a relationship? Tell me, I’ll do it.” 

“I want you to leave,” you swallow thickly, “It’s over, Raf, we can’t do this anymore.”

“I’m telling you I’ll do anything—” he whispers your name in the silence of your heart breaking, he steps forward and you step away — the gap between you a chasm, a lake made of your own tears, “I love you.” 

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks, “No, no—” 

“I do,” he pleads, “I do, mi amor.” 

“You love me until you don’t,” you meet his gaze, emerald eyes shiny with tears, “I can’t do that anymore — I need more, I deserve more.” 

He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, “This is it?” 

“It is,” he steps forward, and you don’t step away this time, his warm cupping your cheek for the last time, your tears rolling over the knuckles of his fingers. 

“Can I kiss you goodbye?” he asks — and you squeeze your eyes shut, nodding. His breath is warm against your lips, his touch comforting and familiar. Your lips meet — he feels like home, his arms around your waist, splayed and lingering as if they never wanted to leave — and you didn’t want them to. Your lips part and meet over and over, until you think he’s stolen the very breath from your lungs. Your fingers fisted in his shirt, and you don’t know if you want to push him away or pull him closer. 

You pull away — and it takes everything in you, a sob stuck in your throat — your foreheads brushing, and his hands reach for you as you pull away, but you brush past him, “Please go,” your back to him, you don’t watch him leave, instead hearing his footsteps against the floor, the door creaking open, and a pause. 

“I’m sorry, mi amor.” 

And the door clicks shut, and you sink to the floor, your back to the bottom of your couch, as you cry silently. 

You were too. 

Sonny wakes up to the sound of a door closing. 

He curses under his breath, throwing off his blanket haphazardly. He nearly trips over himself trying to leave his apartment. But his stumbling was not fast enough to catch you — already long disappeared down the stairs of his apartment. He walks back to his room, finding his bed made with wrinkled sheets — the same ones you had kissed him on — a note in your place: 

Sonny, 

I’m so sorry. I was in a bad place, I wasn’t myself, but it’s no excuse for how I treated you — making you pick me up, take care of me, and kissing you — and everything in between. It was a mistake. I can’t change what I already did, but I’m sorry for everything — and I won’t burden you again like that — ever. 

‘It was a mistake.’

Sonny stares at the note — finger brushing against the wet splotch on the paper. And he couldn’t help but think there was another door that closed last night — and he wondered if there would ever be another chance. 

There was a sharp knock at Rafael’s door, and Jack McCoy stuck his head in, “Counselor, do you have a minute?” Rafael barely looks up from his work — his late start and no sleep did him no favors, he was already buried in work and you were in motions hearings all morning on top of it. 

Not that he wanted to see you anyway — not after this morning. 

All night he had waited for you — he called, he texted, he left voicemails — he did everything but send you a fax. You always teased him that his propensity for sending a fax made his age show — and he always replied to that with a kiss and a grin with a promise to show you that with age came experience. 

And now he would never kiss you again. 

He looked for you too — he spent hours pacing his apartment until he couldn’t take it anymore — and he started to look. He checked with your friends, he looked in at the office, and he finally checked on your place. You had given him a key before — for emergencies — but usually it was for late nights he would crawl in beside you, his arms curled around your middle. And you would lean into his touch, a sigh on your lips, even as you slept. 

And now he would never sleep next to you again. 

“Rafael?” McCoy asked, and Rafael snapped from his stupor, rubbing his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night,” he leaned back away from his work, clearing his throat, “what was it that you needed from me, Jack?” 

“I just wanted to inform you that your A.D.A. has resigned with a week’s notice,” and he blinked, his heart slowly caving in upon itself, “I allowed as such since I figured with the case flow, we should be fine for a week with a man down, but if you need any help, please let me know and I”ll have another A.D.A. assist you.” 

He nods, dumbstruck, as Jack turns to go, “Wait, Jack,” he looks back, “was there a reason given?” 

He offers a sad and knowing smile, “Needed a change, new opportunities — a need to grow,” he slips his hands into his pockets, “everyone does, son.” 

“Of course, thank you.” and there he knew —  he knew that you had outgrew him. 

And it was his fault. 

It doesn’t take long for the news to spread across SVU — and you’re careful to drop by on a day that Sonny won’t be there, shame still lingering in your chest about that night. You knew that you should face him — you knew you should talk to him, but you knew that it would only make things harder. And you didn’t want to do that to him. 

But mostly you didn’t want to do it to yourself. 

“We’re going to miss you around here, counselor,” Liv squeezes your shoulder, offering you a warm smile. 

“Won’t be the same without you — who else is going to get that stick out of Barba’s ass?” Fin asks, and you chuckle, but his name carves another fresh wound into your skin, lingering just as his touch did, “but seriously, you ever need anything—” 

“I’ll take you up on that, Fin,” 

“Seriously, anything you need,” Amanda smiles, and you nod, biting your lip. 

“Could you actually do something for me?” you hold up a bag, “can you give this to Sonny? He lent it to me the other night at the office.” 

Amanda frowns, “Don’t you want to tell him goodbye yourself?” 

“I will, but I just want to make sure he gets this back first, before I forget,” you lie — and you hope she can’t see through it, see through you, but it feels like everyone can — skin rubbed raw from the last week, red and exposed and fragile, “please?” 

“Of course,” she takes it without another word, but you can still feel her watching you as you leave the precinct for the last time, hands in your pockets. 

It’s a large change — new job, new place, and new borough. And it takes some time. 

You find another job relatively easily — the alumni network at your alma mater and your experience as a prosecutor makes it simple for you to step into place at a boutique defense firm in the Bronx. It’s as natural as a transition as you can hope for. 

Your colleagues are kind, guiding, helpful — and your work is different, but familiar — a different view of the same picture with a distinct goal of making the government uphold its burden and to hold the phrase, “innocent until proven guilty” with conviction — and hopefully without a conviction for your clients. 

When the news broke, it didn’t take long for you to hear the whispers and it didn’t take long for the whispers to become an outcry.

“Did you hear about the Manhattan A.D.A. on trial?” a first year associate asked another, and you freeze, your head snapping over, blood running cold. 

“What happened?”

~~~

“Jack McCoy,” 

“Jack, what the hell is going on?” you hissed in your office, shutters shut and door closed, “I just heard that—” 

“That Rafael Barba is on trial for murder? You heard right,” a hint of a sigh in the back of his throat, “I had no choice — my hands were tied.” You knew he didn’t — your anger receding, the office can’t be seen giving him any favor. He needed to be treated like anyone else — but he wasn’t just anyone else, was he? 

Not to you.

Your mouth was dry, “What happened?” 

Jack explained — everything — the parents, the baby, the hospital. Two parents caught between an impossible decision about their child now deemed to be braindead, and a mother who wanted nothing more than her child to be at rest. But she wasn’t the one who did it. Rafael did, against the father’s wishes. And now he was going to trial for murder. 

Even as Jack explained, your words kept echoing in your ears — “you’re too busy saving the rest of the world.” 

“Does he have representation yet?” your mind raced with images of him in jail, the ostracization, the media outrage, the shame — fuck. 

What the hell were you thinking, Rafael? 

“Not to my knowledge, but you can’t—” 

“I know I can’t,” you scoff, “but I know someone who can and will,” you scrolled through your contacts, finding the one you were looking for, “Is he okay?” you asked softly. 

“As well as he can be,” you could almost see Jack frowning, “I don’t wish to see anything happen to him, but no one is above the law, you know that.” 

“I know, but I also know him—” and despite everything — the pain, the heartbreak, the anger — you knew he didn’t deserve this, “and I know I can’t let him go to jail.” 

“I know,” he warns, sighing, “I want the same result as you, counselor, just tread lightly.” 

“I will,” a shay sigh escapes your chest, and you swallow the lump in your throat, trying not to let your voice break, “will he be okay?”

He gives a bitter chuckle, “After this many years of doing this, you would think I could predict what a jury will do — but I don’t know. Juries surprise you and that cuts both ways. And I hope this time it cuts the way we want it to.” 

“Thank you Jack, for everything,” 

You can almost see him smile, “Of course, anytime.” 

And now there was one more phone call you needed to make — the phone only rang twice before he picked up, “Regretting your wrong choice in workplace already? Only after, what, a few weeks? I think that’s a new record in job changes, counselor.” 

You snort. Randy Dworkin never changed, did he? “I told you, Randy — your firm is too much of a boys’ club for my taste.” 

“But I know you play rough, and this is more a roughhouse than a boys’ club — you’d dominate them all in a moment, and we’d be nothing but your humble servants.” 

“And here I thought you saved the theatrics for the courtroom,” you hear him give a small gasp. 

“You wound me, counselor. And another thing, if you’re not calling to tell me you’ve changed your mind, then you must be calling for a favor. And as one of your old mentors, let me remind you of an old adage — you catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” you shake your head. 

“It’s not exactly a favor,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “Let me start over — I need you to represent a former colleague of mine.” 

“And this is not a favor, how?” 

“Because this is a case you’re going to definitely want your name on.” 

“If you don’t want to represent me, that’s fine,” Rafael was beginning to regret taking this meeting — even with half the defense attorneys in the city ducking his calls, maybe he would be better off defending himself pro se-- 

“I don't wanna represent you, I have to represent you. Cases like this wet my whistle, so to speak,”  Dworkin explained, sighing, as Rafael raised an eyebrow, “So, what did the little bastard do to you?”

--And he was becoming more sure with every passing second. 

“This was a mistake,” but Dworkin waves him back down.

“Okay, okay,” Dworkin backs off, looking all too pleased with himself, “I’ll skip the self-defense angle,” and Rafael found himself reluctantly sitting back down. Randy Dworkin may be smarmy, he may be endlessly irritating, but he was good at his job, better than good — as much as Rafael hated to admit it —  and he needed help. 

“I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Dworkin,” 

“Randy,” he corrects, “And my point is this whole thing is a sick joke. You killed something that nine out of ten doctors would say wasn't alive.” 

“And what about the tenth doctor?” and that was the thought that haunted Rafael the most — he knew the smallest chance may be enough to convince a jury — it was enough to convince him he was guilty. No one was above the law, including him, guilty in his own eyes — in the eyes of the same god his mother had raised him to believe in. 

And yet here he sat. 

“Look, you wanna prove a point, and I wanna prove a point. It's what my nana would call the perfect shidduch,” Rafael raises an eyebrow, growing more weary of this conversation with every second. 

“What point do you wanna prove?”

“That the government's power has grown too damn much. That the bigger the government gets, the smaller it leaves the individual. That once the government takes away our right to die, it takes away our right to live,” he looks self-satisfied, leaning back in his seat, “How am I doing so far? 

Rafael’s jaw is set, “Well, for defending a murderer, not bad,” and Dworkin raises an eyebrow, shushing him dramatically. 

“Let’s keep that self-sacrificial guilt locked up, okay? Save it for your religious leader of choice,” Dworkin leans in closer, “I know you put in calls for defense attorneys — I know you don’t want to go to jail, and I know other people don’t want to see you take the fall for this.” 

“Other people?” he raises an eyebrow, and Dworkin seems to bite his tongue in the moment, a flicker of interest crossing his face, “did someone refer this case to you?”

“It’s not exactly a low profile nobody case, Barba — the story is splashed across half the tabloids and all over the news—” 

“But you just—”

“Let’s focus on getting you off first,” Dworkin tilts his head, “or did you forget that you’re on trial for murder?” 

Rafael wrinkles his brow, the question still nagging at the back of his head — a question mark at the end of a paragraph that lingered like an unspoken taboo he couldn’t place — but, Dworkin was right — right now, he couldn’t waste time. 

Time that he really didn’t have. 

“You didn’t tell me when I took this case that I was getting in between some doomed office relationship you conveniently failed to disclose before,” you didn’t realize this lunch Randy had invited you to involve an ambush — but you should have — it was Randy Dworkin. 

“I didn’t see how that was pertinent,” you shrug, picking at your food, “and it wasn’t a relationship.” 

“Puh-tat-o, puh-tat-toe — it’s still a cow if it moos, no?” he snorts, shaking his head, “it’s only pertinent when I almost let it slip that you were the one that referred the case to my attention.” 

That gets your attention, head snapping up, “And you?” 

“Masterfully avoided the question — I have excellent evasion skills — the fact that I never had a career in the C.I.A. should be criminal,” he looks up from his food, a shit eating grin on his lips, “It wasn’t hard — he has a lot more on his mind right now.” 

“I can only imagine,” you murmur, your brow wrinkled as you stabbed a fry with your fork, appetite woefully gone. 

“Your face will freeze like that,” and you scoff. 

“And yet I’ll still look better than you,” he laughs at that. 

“I always told you that you should have come and worked for me out of law school, instead of going to the D.A.’s office,” he wipes his lips with his napkin, “maybe you wouldn’t have fallen for this schmuck—” 

You raise an eyebrow, “He’s not—” 

“Still supportive? Even after the way he treated you—” and you gape at him, “you know that rumors get around — the community is small and people talk as much as they listen — it’s an incesteous cesspool of heathens,” and he gestures to you and him, “look no further.” 

“Speak for yourself,” you grumble, cheeks burning, “I’m sorry what rumors?” 

“You don’t need to know, kid,” he shakes his head, “my question is more focused on the present — why do you still care?” 

“Because he doesn’t deserve to go down for this—” 

“And he probably wouldn’t either way, but why do you care?” 

“I don’t know, okay?” you snap, “I wish I did, but I don’t. But despite everything that happened — I don’t want to see him suffer. I don’t want him to go to jail,” your voice cracks ever so slightly, and Randy frowns at you, expression unreadable, “Call me an idiot, but I care — I can’t help it.” 

“Most times that’s an asset, counselor,” he leans forward, elbow on the table, “as long as you don’t let anyone take advantage of it — not again.” 

“I won’t,” you say softly, as the waiter comes over to hand over the check, helping to pack up the rest of your food to go,  “I never thanked you for taking the case.” 

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” he smiles, handing over the server book, “you’re picking up the check.” 

“On the sole count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, we find the defendant, Rafael Barba — not guilty.” the foreman announces, and relief floods Rafael, all the same time that guilt does — the two emotions irrevocably tied — lifting him up and dragging him down — a balloon and an anchor. 

Dworkin claps him on the shoulder, “Congratulations, counselor, and you’re welcome. My bill is the mail.” 

“Thank you, Randy,” he shakes his hand, “really, I—” 

“Spare me the speech, okay? I appreciate it, but I was doing my job, just like you did yours,” he offers him a smile, “and besides there’s someone else you should really be thanking.” 

He frowns, “Who?” 

Your name leaves his lips, and Rafael blinks, “How the case got referred to me? That’s how,” he hadn’t heard your name in months, and yet the hurt of you leaving still felt fresh — a knife twisted in his gut, even as the flesh around it healed and scarred, the metal still stung the same as the day you left. 

Or rather, the day he made you leave. 

It was his fault — he knew that now. And maybe that was the point — to drive you away, to push you so far that there was no coming back. Self-destructive — self sacrificial just as Dworkin had called him — except he had sacrificed you instead of him. It should have been him — his fears, his worries, his walls — offered at the alter of your unconditional love. 

But he didn’t. He didn’t and he regretted it — but was regret enough? 

“Why are you telling me this?” and Dworkin shrugs, grabbing his briefcase with a sigh. When his gaze meets his again, it’s sharp as a jagged rock. 

“I don’t know honestly,” he licks his lips, “I still think you’re a schmuck, but I know certain other people don’t think so,” he sticks a hand in his pocket, “and if you do get another chance, don’t screw it up. Otherwise, there won’t be a defense attorney in town who will help you next time you screw up.” 

He leaves Rafael standing, dumbstruck. 

And what was he to do now — with his future open and empty, what was left and who did he want to share it with? 

And there was only one answer to that question. 

There was knocking at your door — incessant and irritating that forced you out of bed at 11:00 PM — the one night of week you were able to get to bed early. And part of you only hoped it was a murderer to put you out of your misery — but you knew even the murderers weren’t so polite as to knock. But then again, you could be surprised. 

But it wasn’t a murderer — at least in the eyes of a New York jury. 

It was someone much worse. 

And then it occurred to you — how did he know where you even lived— and then you groan, swearing silently under your breath. 

Fuck you, Randy. 

You lean back, head leaning back, staring at the ceiling, were you ready for this? Would you ever be ready for this? 

You unlock the door, opening it, “What are you doing here?” 

“Please, I know I don’t deserve it— I don’t deserve anything from you, but please let me talk,” his voice is soft, and fuck, it hits you in so many ways — his voice, his face, him — it’s overwhelming enough to hear him, but to see him here. It’s too much and not enough all the same — to see him and not touch him. 

But he placed this ravine between you, carved it with the shards of your heart, filled it with your tears, and it was his job to scale.

And it wasn’t your job to make it easy. 

“You don’t deserve it,” you wanted him to slip on the slippery crags of rock, you wanted him to cut his hands on the sharp edges of your bitterness, “so why should I listen?” 

“Because I love you—” and you scoff, “I know I don’t have any right to say that, but please, let me just talk,” and you know he’s not going anywhere, and despite yourself — despite not wanting to give him the chance he had for months and for years — you wanted to know, you wanted him to explain. You grit your teeth, stepping aside, shutting the door behind him, arms crossed. 

“You have two minutes,” 

He clears his throat, “First, thank you for sending Dworkin my way, I don’t think I would have gotten off—” 

“I didn’t let you in to be thanked,” you cut him off, “what do you have to say, Rafael?” 

He wavers for a moment, “I love you, mi amor, and I know I don’t get to say that or call you that, but I do, I really do,” his voice breaks, “I know I don’t deserve you — I think I knew that from the start, and maybe that’s why I didn’t treat you right. It’s not an excuse—” 

“And yet it sounds like one—” 

“I was wrong — I took you for granted, and I will spend the rest of my life making that up to you if you give me the chance,” Rafael steps forward, dropping to one knee and your breath catches in your throat. 

No. No. He wasn’t— 

“I love you, mi amor — from our first kiss I was lost in you already — so much so that it scared me — afraid if I lost you, I would lose myself too. I know we both put away criminals for a living, but I was never scared of dying — I was scared of losing you.” he shakes his head, “But it doesn’t scare me anymore. It doesn’t scare me because losing you was the worst thing to ever happen to me. And I don’t want to ever lose you again.” 

He pulls a ring from his pocket. 

Time slows as you stare at it — wondering if you blink that it would disappear from between his fingers. It still somehow glinted in the low light of your dimmers — as shiny as his eyes were as he gazed up at you. 

You had dreamed of this moment — far too many times — a time where Rafael would come around, finally see you for who you were, find the worth in you like the way you saw it in him. A sweeping moment where he would be down on one knee, asking for your hand, and it would be simple and perfect — but nothing is ever perfect. And nothing is ever simple. 

You cover your mouth, “Wh—” 

“Marry me,” he says, whispering your name with the reverence you had always wished he would, “I got the ring from my mom — she already gave us her blessing — she said I was an idiot for letting you in the first place.” he offers a weak smile. 

“Raf—” 

“Just let me finish, before you make a decision,” he licks his lips, eyes glassy, insistent in his words, as if he was hanging his life on each one, “Come away with me — we can start over, away from politics and baggage — find a place somewhere outside the city. You always said you wanted to open your own practice someday, have a family. We can do that, you and me together,” he builds this perfect life from scratch — and you see it — you saw it before: a house in the suburbs, a picket fence, and a family — you and Rafael, your hands intertwined, together, “We’ll make a home, I’ll find a job without crazy hours, we’ll go on dates, I’ll help you open your own practice. We’ll be together, like before—” 

“But we aren’t together, Rafael— we haven’t been for months,” 

“I know, I know—” 

“No, you don’t,” you step back away from him, scrubbing your hand down your face, “this isn’t a movie, you can’t break my heart and come back months later telling me you made a mistake.” 

“Mi amor—” 

“No, no ‘mi amor’ — not when you played with my feelings for years, not when you said no at every turn, not when you dropped my heart like it was glass and crushed it beneath the heel of your shoes,” you spit back, “I called Dworkin because I didn’t want you to go to jail — nothing more, nothing less.” 

You hear his heart breaking, “I love you—” 

“I don’t,” you don’t let him see the tears falling from your eyes, “I can’t do this again. I can’t uproot my life for someone who could change their mind tomorrow. You had your chance. You lost it.” 

“Don’t say that,” 

“I did,” you wipe away your tears, you’ve cried enough for him, “it’s over. I don’t know what else will make it clearer to you.” 

“Look at me, please, look—” and you whirl on him, and you see him on his knees still — “Tell me you don’t love me — say that you don’t. And I’ll leave.” 

“I don’t love you anymore, Rafael,” and you wished that your words were truer than they were — that those words didn’t hurt as much to say as they were to hear. But they did and they were. You wanted to hate him, you hated to have no inch of remorse, but feelings were always two fold — and with anger came passion, with sadness came joy, and with hate came love. And the lines blurred until they were no more. And as much as you wanted to hate him — you knew you didn’t. 

But you had to say that you did. 

Because you couldn’t do this again for him to change his mind again — your heart couldn’t take that. You didn’t deserve to take that. 

And there was nothing left to be said. 

He slowly rises from his knees, tucking the ring into his pocket, along with the broken pieces of his heart. 

You should let him leave without another word, you should let him leave without having to look at your face, you should let him leave — but a part of you doesn’t want to let go, a part of you doesn’t want to believe this will be the last time you see his face or hear his voice. 

But still you ask, “Are you leaving New York?”

He nods, “I am — I can’t stay here.” 

“Where are you going?” A part of you wonders if he’ll just ignore you, rush out of the door — let you wonder about his plans, wonder about him — but you know you’ll do that anyway. 

You find him softly smiling, unable to quite meet your gaze, and he steps towards you, slowly, allowing you the time and space to step away — but you don’t, you can’t — not when this may be the last time you can touch him — but it was your choice to have this be the last time. 

“I don’t know,” he replies, leaning forward slowly to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering only a moment, his fingers brushing your cheek, “but you don’t need to worry about that. Goodbye… mi amor.” 

“Goodbye, Rafael,” you whisper, unable to watch him leave — not again.

[hawks-supremacy]

Shibuya Honey Toast

a/n: finally updating, i ended up writing more then i thought i was going to. i just kept typing, it's not much longer than usual but i try to keep the written chapters a little short.

warnings: none

words: 1.9k

Masterlist

You turned off your phone and quickly got dressed, it was fifteen minutes before you had to meet the guys and it was a ten minute drive and even longer walk so you were hoping you could convince Shinsuke to give you a ride there so you wouldn’t be late. You made your way downstairs to where your grandma was in the kitchen cooking something. “Hey grandma, is it okay if I go out with some friends today?”

She stopped her actions of kneading dough to turn around, “Sure Boo, where are you going?” she asked as you walked around her to pick some of the fruit next to her off of the counter. “We were going to go to that new ramen place that opened up, I also need a ride. Do you know where Shin is?” She pushed the fruit and the cutting board towards you and motioned for you to start cutting the fruit, “Gran I told you I have to meet with my friends I don’t have time to help you today.”

She waved her hand dismissing your statement and motioned to the fruit, “Shinsuke is in the shower sweetheart. He just got back from being in the field he wanted to get the dirt off. You have time to kill, help a poor old lady out.” You rolled your eyes sending a text to the group chat that you were going to be late and had to help your grandma before you could leave. “You aren’t some helpless old lady, I’m pretty sure I saw you doing chin-ups in the garden the other day. What are we making anyway?”

She turned around and continued to knead the dough on the counter, “I decided to make Shibuya Honey Toast. That used to be our guys’ favorite so I thought I’d make you guys some.” You nodded and continued to chop up the strawberries in front of you. “You know it’s been a while maybe five years since I last helped you make this, but from what I remember of other people making this, they don’t usually make their own bread for this.”

She tutted at you as she shook her head, “You know my policy Boo, if it’s not made by hand it’s not made from the heart.” You both laughed and fell into silence while you finished doing your current tasks. About five minutes later Shin came downstairs asking how everything was going. “Well I just put the bread in the oven to bake and Boo here just got done cutting up all the ingredients we need after the bread is done baking. They need a ride into town to meet with some of their friends, do you think you could do that please?” He nodded and walked over to the fridge grabbing a bottle of water when someone knocked on the front door, “I’ll get it.” Shin said, running to the door. A few minutes later he came back into the room with three six foot rowdy teenage boys, two of which were too busy arguing.

“Osamu, Asumu, Suna? What are you guys doing here? You’re supposed to be eating ramen by now, not at my grandma’s house.” You laughed as you walked over to greet them, hugging Atsumu and Osamu, and giving Suna a crisp high-five. You ushered them over to the kitchen table asking if they wanted anything to drink. Atsumu was the one to answer your question as you got their drinks from the fridge, “We were on our way to the place when you texted so we turned around and came here instead.”

You nodded and turned your head to glance at your grandma who was leaning against the counter with a smirk and her arms crossed, “So which one of the twins is it Boo?” You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Neither of them Gran.” You said at the same time as Kita said “Give her a break Gran.”

Atsumu raised his hand signaling that he had a question, “Y/n, why did she call ya Boo?” You groaned again, was it embarrassing Y/n day? “When they were a kid they were obsessed with trying to scare people so they would hide around corners all the time and yell “Boo!” all day. It was just the cutest thing. Not to mention that their first word was Boo.” After explaining the reasoning behind the nickname all three boys turned to look at you, “You guys want food? I think I’ll make us lunch since we ended up not going out to lunch. Why don’t you guys go watch Tv in the living room or something, what do you want?” You got up walking to the counter to start taking out ingredients. “Why don’t ya make Onigiri? And ya know what? ‘Samu can help ya with it, it is his specialty after all.”

You agreed and began to cook the rice, everyone except for Osamu went to the kitchen. On her way out your Grandma stopped by you and whispered, “So it’s the grey haired twin huh?” and went to the living room after winking at you. You turned to Osamu who was rolling up his sleeves to help you cook and walked over to the fridge, “Do you want to fill them with anything? We could do tuna mayo, umeboshi, I think we might have chicken. We could also do multiple so we have a variety and they could choose.” You looked up from glancing in the fridge and saw Osamu giving you the tiniest of smirks. “I’m rambling aren’t I?” You asked and he nodded, “Oops. So what do you want to do?”

He shrugged, “Let’s just do all three, ‘Tsumu is a pig and will eat anything we put in front of him.” You raised your eyebrow in an accusing manor, “Are you sure it’s Atsumu that’s the pig? I haven’t known you for long, but I’ve seen you eat.” He rolled his eyes and began to mince the chicken you handed to him while you got out the umeboshi and the ingredients needed for the tuna mayo. “Can you hand me the soy sauce, mirin, sugar and sake?” Osamu asked after he was done cooking the chicken. You brought over the needed ingredients and peered over his shoulder as he added all of them into a pan.

“What are you doing?” He asked looking over at you and nudging you with the arm he was using to stir the chicken with. “You look ridiculous standing on your toes like that.” You shrugged falling back onto the flat of your feet, “Sorry not everyone can be over six feet tall. I’m done making the tuna mayo so right now I’m just waiting on you. So I was watching you cook.” He gave a soft chuckle before telling you that that was a weird thing to do. “I don’t think it’s weird. I like watching people do what they’re passionate about. You see them get in this sort of zone where they don’t think about anything but that thing. I loved watching Toru play volleyball because it was his whole life, I can tell it’s the same thing with Atsumu and with you it’s cooking.” During your little speech you sat yourself on top of the counter.

Taking the chicken off the stove and setting it on the counter Osamu leaned into you, “So when do I get to watch you do something you’re passionate about?” You were about to respond when you heard a cough from the kitchen entrance and he quickly moved away from you and you slid off the counter. “Now Y/n what have I said about sitting on the counter?” Your grandma said walking in to take the fully cooked bread out of the oven to finish making her shibuya honey toast. “You told me not to.” You mumbled as she said “I told you not to. So what was that I walked in on.” You stopped forming the onigiri that was currently in your hands, “Gran can we not talk about it, please?” She waved you off with a “Yeah sure, just saying you guys would make a cute couple.” You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.

Osamu looked between you and your smirking grandma and cleared his throat, “I agree with your grandma, I think we’d be a cute couple.” You whipped your head towards Osamu, he shrugged and mouthed ‘what?’. You gave a silent laugh and shook your head finishing the onigiri at the same time Gran finished the shibuya. Setting everything on the table you called to the boys in the living room to come eat lunch.

A few minutes after sitting down to eat Atsumu broke the silence, “What happened, why are we all quiet?” You and Osamu mde eye contact at the question and had a silent conversation before Osamu spoke, “We’re eating ‘Tsumu, some of us don’t like to talk with our mouths full, pig.” Atsumu scoffed in offense, “Excuse me, I’m not the one who eats constantly.” It wasn’t long before they started a full blown argument. Everyone watched for a few minutes before Gran broke it up and told them to sit down and eat or get out. After the argument was done Atsumu and Osamu sat back down, previously ready to jump across the table to attack each other. Everyone sat down and finished eating, making small talk here and there. You went to go do the dishes when your Grandma shooed you away insisting she had it. “Grandma Kita let us help, we made the mess.” Osamu tried to convince her to let you guys do it but if you know anything about your Gran it’s that she’s stubborn. “Hon go have fun, pick fruit in our field or something, and please call me Grandma Yumie, you’ll be family soon enough.” She replied, turning around and starting to clean.

You turned around, hand on your forehead walking out of the kitchen with Osamu following you, “I swear to god I’m actually going to put her in a home. I apologize for her behavior, Hajime has to go through this every time he visits or sees her.” He nodded as you guys exited the house to the back where Shin, Suna, and Atsumu were.

Shin was in the middle of trying to convince Atsumu to do something productive while he was here. While Shin did work in the field earlier this morning there were still a few things that could still be harvested. It didn't take long for him to convince Atsumu seeing as how he practically worshipped the ground Shin walked on, Suna however wasn't really jumping for joy at the idea of doing field work. After a bit of convincing and a lot of bribing and promises of chuupets he finally agreed to help for a few minutes.

The rest of the day was spent picking various fruits and vegetables while laughing and making fun of each other over old stories you told each other. After a few hours everyone had to go back to their respective homes and call it a night.

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[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #3

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T/N: Okay, so, this is one of those chapters where the author makes mistakes in linguistics (but she’s trying, guys, she’s trying!). She writes “prasinon” as “prase” for some reason, and I took the liberty to fix it myself when translating.

Connecting Chrysoprase

Jewelry Etranger sat inconspicuously at Ginza 7-choume. The store owner, Richard, was the possessor of a beauty that you couldn’t think was from this world, but no matter how beautiful he was, once half a year had passed, you would get used to it. And as I got used to him, the questions also surfaced.

“Hey, Richard, don’t you have any favorite foods other than sweets? Do you eat ramen or anything like that?”

Mr. Richard Ranashinha de Vulpian looked at me with scrutinizing blue eyes. Sitting on the red sofa, he had been observing the contents of a large jewel box, holding them up over his head against the morning light shining in from the window.

“I find difficult to figure the aim of the question. Why ramen? I have had meals with you numerous times. I eat anything without likes or dislikes.”

“I know. It’s not like it’s limited to just ramen, but you don’t eat that kind of stuff much, do you?”

Like chives. Or garlic. Or grilled meat dripping with juices.

I knew that this didn’t suit his image. He was a man whose features seemed to have accidentally come out of a dream world. If he told me that he could live off eating department store sweets and pink roses, he could probably have me seriously convinced up to about 70%. That was exactly why I would feel like searching for a gap.

As I was about to ask if he understood this logic, Richard replied curtly with a clay doll-like face, “What ill intentions.”

That was true. I wasn’t some obsessive follower of an idol’s personal life or anything. Richard hit bull’s-eye with the deduction that I “probably ate ramen yesterday”. For some reason, things got awkward. I was in a position where it was better to retreat for a while. Time to change the subject.

“What stone is that? Looks like candy and it’s pretty cute.”

“A type of chalcedony. They are in the same category as crystals. In particular, this one with a milky apple-green color is called chrysoprase.

“Ah~...”

What Richard was pinching with his bare hands - because it was safer to touch it with bare skin rather than wearing gloves, he said, as it wouldn’t cause any damage - was a pale green, round stone. It had low transparency, was cut en cabochon and looked like an old-style candy.

“W-What was it again? The name. Chry...?”

“‘Chrysoprase’,” Richard repeated for me.

How many times had something like this happened? The stone’s name was in a Western language. Basically, all of them were in katakana. My ears did register it, but I couldn’t memorize it in one go at all. Richard was a helpful person, so there were times when he wrote down the names in romaji and explained them to me, but I honestly couldn’t keep up with him. There were countless stones in this world.

“Chryso... aah, no good. It’s hard to memorize.”

“‘Chrysoprase’. It is said to be a stone that helps to harmonize and integrate personalities. Medieval European literature also mentions it as a stone that Alexander the Great loved.”

Alexander the Great. A person I had learned about in high school. Even I knew that name. The fact that a stone adored by a warlord who had long passed away was still loved by people of the current times was thought-provoking. The range of the gemstone world was broad. But, well, leaving that as that.

“How d’you memorize stones’ names? It’s not like you’ve got some test to do like in a history class...”

“Do you think anyone would buy goods from a trader who cannot even say their names?”

“I don’t, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s hard. There’s lots of types and they sound like magic spells. Like ‘Sri Jayawardenepura Kotte’. It wouldn’t be weird if you felt like cheating without a care in the world. You got any trick for memorizing them?”

“My compliments to you for being able to pronounce the official name of Sri Lanka’s capital. But I cannot praise the part about carelessly deceiving people. Once your reputation falls to earth, it does not recover so easily. To begin with, your perception of business in general is too lax for someone enrolled in the Faculty of Economics. I know you have the aspiration, but if you do not pair it to practical abilities and skills, you will be running idle. Shouldn’t you try to improve these skills once again so that you can avoid unnecessary hardships in the future? Instead of obsessing over finding out something unexpected about the shopkeeper from your part-time job.”

The arguments were so spot-on that I was at a loss for words. Even so, still with a slightly exasperated face, Richard continued to speak. Most likely, it was his gentle side’s turn from here on out.

“Still, you are right, I do have a trick. If I were to use the capital as an example, ‘Sri Jayawardenepura Kotte’ had its original name ‘Kotte’ being embellished with the title of ‘President Jayawardene’s Sacred City’. When you know the origin of it, doesn’t this line-up of katakana letters that only appears in magic spells turn into meaningful words?”

“So it had that kind of meaning? I see...”

“Is this time to be impressed? Do the same and discover the relatedness of all kinds of matters in your daily life. If you direct your eyes to the depths of your history without sticking to the surface, I guarantee that your world will broaden much more richly.”

“Then what about the chrysoprase of just now?”

As I took a stab at arousing his enthusiasm, the volubly beautiful shop owner smiled gorgeously. I felt that this guy would stay in a good mood forever just as long as I gave him sweets and let him talk about gems. And I liked Richard’s face the most when he was in his best mood.

“This word is taken from the Greek language. It consists of two separate words, ‘chrysos’ and ‘prasinon’. The meaning of chrysos is ‘gold’. The bright golden that can be seen showing through within the green was associated with gold. Prasinon means...”

What happened? His enunciation suddenly got bad.

When I urged him to continue, Richard looked down at the stone in his hand with a dull look and sighed a little. “The meaning of prasinon... comes close to plants such as chives or green onions.”

“Ooh—!”

As I clapped my hands together with an “all paths lead to ramen”, Richard made a face like he had just woken up from a nightmare. What is it? Please laugh.

“In any case, the mental attitude of trying to master something is commendable. I pray that your efforts will bear fruit.”

“Thanks, thanks. Well, will you eat ramen after all?”

Mr. Richard, the jeweler, looked at me with an awfully sharp gaze. What was that face? His facial expression looked like the usual nuance that he was growing fond of my foolishness had increased to about 30%. Did he intend to poke fun on me?

“Yes, yes, I will.”

“What do you prefer? Like miso or soy sauce?”

“A large helping of green onions and garlic. And even then, it is good to grate raw garlic and put in it.”

“That’s a pretty hardcore taste for someone who works with close-contact service business.”

“Which is why this is not something I can eat whenever. I eat it carefully by myself when I do not have to meet anyone the next day.”

As my eyes widened, the beautiful storekeeper raised his chin arrogantly. Did he want to say that this didn’t suit his image or had it just unfolded anew?

“How was it, did you enjoy the so-called ‘gap’?”

“No, it’s not like that’s the main goal.”

“Hah?”

“I can’t invite anyone for a French cuisine restaurant or a high-class sweets store, but if it’s a ramen shop, there’s lots of them near my university. If you like, why don’t we go eat together next time? They’re mostly shops that seem better to drop by wearing a t-shirt rather than a suit, but I wanna try chatting with you while eating this kind of junky stuff every now and then.”

“For you to discover a new unexpected thing about me, you mean?”

“I just wanna get along with you better.”

For an instant, Richard’s facial expression strained hard. What was up? His face looked like he hadn’t known better and bit a sour pickled plum or something. As I furrowed my brows, his blue eyes narrowed, looking glum, while he closed the jewel box with a click and stood up.

“Ah, show me more. It wasn’t nearly enough—”

“The chrysoprase is said to have the power to put the balance of mind and body in order, as well as make it spring up comfortably. Perhaps because its fresh grass color is a reminder of spring. Isn’t this stone unnecessary for you, since you are always in a festive mood?”

“Why’re you angry?”

“I am not.”

“Shouldn’t you take a better look at the chrysoprase?”

“Thank you for the unnecessary meddling.”

Leaving me with things to say, Richard disappeared into the back room. Was it that bad to invite him to a ramen shop? It wasn’t a good idea to let him stay angry, so I voluntarily prepared two cups of royal milk tea in the kitchenette. Having come out into the reception room, Richard said nothing more than the expected as he drank a tea that had a little more sugar in it than usual.

After the customer of that morning had gone home, Richard showed me the chrysoprase once again. Upon a better look, I understood the meaning of that naming, which I couldn’t think of as anything more than a mystery at first. Didn’t the people of ancient times think that this was a plant born from gold? The uneven surface was smooth and wavy like an organic body. Chrysoprase. Gold and green onions. Even though there were several gems in this world, I would probably never forget the name of this one. If I ever got to eat ramen with Richard someday, I would definitely bring up this stone.

“Do you remember that talk?” I would ask.

[ashleyfanfic]

Jon/Dany #14 “I like the way your hand fits in mine”. You’re writing is amazing and you are a gift to this fandom!!!

I haven’t forgotten you. I promise. Inspired by the song “Hands Down” by Dashboard Confessional. This got smutty but I make no apologies!

*** He walked her along the path back to her place. She couldn’t contain her smile if she tried. She’d been dating Jon Snow for around three months. He’d been a complete gentleman the entire time, much to her chagrin. There had been silly dinners, fancy dinners, even a work function in which she got to see him in a sleek black tux. There were Sunday brunches, Saturday work out sessions, and lazy evenings spent in front of their tellys. And three occasions where they almost slept together but it was ruined by one reason or another.

The first such event had been after the black tie dinner for his law firm winning an award. He’d been adorable when he’d asked her to go. He barely looked at her, but once the words flew out of his mouth, he hadn’t stopped. She was quick to agree and put his worries out of his misery. The night had been filled with boring speeches, a lot of alcohol (open bar, after all), and groping in the back of the cab. But once they’d gone into his apartment, he seemed to sober up and told her that he wouldn’t do this considering the situation. She knew she should have stopped at her third screwdriver. If she had, her hands could have been in his pants. Or better yet, his in hers. Instead, he’d given her a change of clothes and they’d fallen asleep on the sofa together.  The second time had been after one of their telly dates at her place. Things were getting hot and heavy on the sofa. Their shirts had actually been cast across the room. The ringing of her phone hadn’t stopped them as he’d flipped her to her back and was sucking his way down to the open fly of her jeans. But the pounding on her door had certainly ceased their activities. She had put her finger to her lips to tell him to be quiet until a voice called out. “I know you’re on a date, but Doreah just threw me out and I have no where else to go,” Irri cried from the other side of the door. He placed a kiss on her nose before he stood and retrieved their shirts. She’d let Irri inside and kissed Jon goodnight. The third time had been the most frustrating as it had been their own fucking fault. Dany had everything at her place. Condoms, lube, sexy lingerie. But they hadn’t been at her place. They were at Jon’s. She’d gone there after a long day in which her co-worker Ramsay asked if he could smell her chair when she got up (Jon wanted his address so he could kick his ass), she’d spilled soy sauce down her white button down (which was why she was wearing a King’s Landing Dragons t-shirt under her blazer), her heel broke as she’d been walking to her car, and her mother had called to tell her brother was going back into rehab for the eighth time. She’d called Jon on her way home and he’d convinced her to come to his, he already had wine for her. She’d gone and cuddled into his arms and surprisingly only had a glass as she’d paced the room over and over, laying out her shit day for him. She’d even settled on the floor and gave his beautiful dog, Ghost, pets. It had started off as him helping her from the floor, a soft kiss which had morphed into deeper kisses, clothing removed kisses. Stumbling into his bedroom, tripping over each other. The horrifying discovery had been made after they were both naked and sweaty on the bed. His condoms hadn’t been used by him, but by his sister and her boyfriend who had house sat for him. He swore he’d kill her. They got off, for sure, a few times for her due to his persistence to make it up to her, but it wasn’t the same. And now, as they walked back to her place, a stupid stuffed wolf tucked beneath her arm he’d won for her at the fair. He’d told her that even if she ran out, he had an entire sleeve in his pocket, planned to turn their phones off and keep them off once they locked themselves inside her apartment. She dutifully agreed, even handing over her phone to him as they got closer. Once inside, things picked up quickly (and literally) as he lifted her from her feet and walked her back to her bedroom, nearly tripping over her cat, Drogon, who’d hissed at him. They stripped out of their clothes quickly, both feeling as if the universe was keeping them from actually fucking. She had almost uttered the words ‘forget the foreplay’ but Jon’s lips between her thighs stopped any words from protesting. He was so fucking good at that, so attentive, appearing to know just by the flex of her hips where he needed him to touch her.  Once she got off, though, she was down to business. They were pressing their luck, she knew. It would only be a few moments before aliens would surely come and take one of them up into their ship and do experiments on them and ruin everything. She’d reached into her bedside table and grabbed a foil, opened it, pushed him to his back to roll it over him. His hands her squeezing her flesh, his lips letting out frustrated groans, and his eyes were boring holes into her. When she finally climbed atop him and seated him inside, she’d stilled as did he, both of them stopping to look at one another.  And suddenly, she was nervous.  She took a shaky breath as she stared into his fathomless black eyes. His fingers laced with hers and she realized he felt it, too. She started moving, the frantic pace they’d had when they came in was gone. She rolled her hips slow, growing used to the feeling of him inside her. Finally. FINALLY, her body screamed. She found that watching his eyes was too much. The way he looked at her almost hurt it was so intense. She concentrated on her hands on his chest and the feel of his skimming over her skin, squeezing, plucking, pinching. Holding. His knees bent and he was thrusting with her and it was better.  She found herself rolled to her back and groaned as he slipped out of her with the movement, but then was back, filling her again. She notched her knees against his sides and he began taking her harder and faster than she had been. Looking up at him nearly undid her. Dark hair wild from her fingers carding through it, already plump lips kiss stained, but his eyes. What was it Doreah had once said? Love comes in at the eyes. It hit her, then, all at once. Her climaxed rocked through her followed by the heady knowledge that she loved him. She loved him. She loved Jon. A few moments later, he collapsed on top of her, burrowing his face against her throat. She wanted to touch all of him. Remind herself that he was real, this was real, how she felt was real.  He rolled off of her and she stretched out on the bed and watched as he sat on the edge, then stood and walked to her bathroom. She curled on her side and waited for him to come back. She felt the bed sink beside her and his fingers tracing her face. She reached for his hand and held it between hers without opening her eyes. “I like the way your hand fits mine,” he whispered. She opened her eyes to look at him and smiled. The affection she felt in her heart was reflected back in his eyes. “I like the way you fit with me.”  He raised an eyebrow and she laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Not like that, you perv. Well, not only like that. You’re staying the night, aren’t you?” He nodded and settled down beside her. “Staying as long as you’ll have me.” She moved into his arms that he wrapped around her. Forever, she thought. I’ll have you forever.

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #4: like a best friend

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- have to read first

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: You and Taehyung run into his infamous cheating ex, only for him to introduce you as his current girlfriend. As you play along with his narrative, you can’t help but feel insecure and jealous.

Genre: drabble, very fluffy, angst, f2l, bit of fake dating

Warnings: typical emotional constipation from these two, jealous!oc, heartbreakingly boyfriend!taehyung, indirect confession that they’re both unaware of lol

Word count: 5.8k

A/N: Oh look, more jealousy? Are we even surprised at this point?? Requested by my little muffin @taexxxiiaa. Sorry to all the Heatwave fans for this constant torture of unresolved feelings. 

.

Taehyung has a habit of stuffing his face with too much food and consequently eating in pout. As he is doing right now. You watch him merrily wolf down another soy sauce-dipped slice of raw salmon and stack the miniature plate with the rest of his conquests. It’s his sixth plate.

When he’d first shown you the email he received for ‘all you can eat' sushi, your response was a firm “No.” You’re not even a fan of seafood in general, let alone raw fish. But Taehyung was persistent, insisting on what a bargain it is and how it’s sushi season right now. Sushi season, what bullshit. Another “No.” Yet when Taehyung has his eyes set on something, especially when it comes to food, there’s little that can stop him. He knows how to use his assets - batting is lashes, huffing like a baby, nuzzling into your neck - until you finally let out a defeated sigh.

So here you are, plotting how best to sneak in some wasabi into his food. This wimp has a full on breakdown at the slightest taste of spice, you can just envision his face when the wasabi burns up his nostrils and through to his ears.

That will teach him not to drag you out to sushi again.

“Why aren’t you eating your udon?” Taehyung’s eyes are wide and innocent, unsuspecting of your mischievou scheme. “Too hot?”

“Yeah, don’t want to burn my tongue.” You stir your steaming noodles, smiling to yourself.

The two of you had managed to secure a four-person booth due to his non-stop nagging to come early to avoid the queue. The restaurant is now bustling with customers and stressed waiters, the smell of Japanese food infused in the warm air. You’re both sat on one couch, while sat across you is another couple who are just finishing with their lunch. This arrangement is due to the busy demand of the restaurant, squeezing in however many impatient hungry people as they can. Though you didn’t have a problem with sharing a booth with strangers at first, Taehyung’s ravenous gorging of sushi after sushi has made you particularly self conscious.

As soon as the couple leave after paying their bill, you turn to hiss at Taehyung. “Why are you eating like that?”

“Like what?” His words are barely audible with his mouth full. “Are you gonna eat your udon or not? I can help you out if you can’t finish the whole thing.”

Ah, there it is, his infamous line - I can help you out if you can’t finish the whole thing.

Honestly, his appetite is abominable.

“Order your own udon!” You begin eating your noodles to prove that you are hungry, and you will finish the whole thing.

Taehyung tucks his hair behind his ear (you’ve recently noticed that his ears are abnormally big, which you guess explains the massive dick). Just a few days ago, you had managed to convince him to get a perm. The main selling point was: ‘all the bitches will go crazy for it, trust me’. Bitches being you.  And indeed, all the bitches are crazy for it. In the timespan at which you’ve been in this restaurant alone, you’ve caught almost every single girl checking him out, eyes flickering too often towards your booth for it to be coincidental.

When their eyes fell onto you, you would smile at them politely, yet to your surprise, they’d wear a sour expression and ignore your courtesy. You soon realised that they think you’re Taehyung’s girlfriend. Girlfriend! The thought had made you shudder and scoot further away from him.

“Nah, I need to save room for the sushi, baby.” He pats his stomach that remains annoyingly flat despite his feasting. “I need to pee, I’ll be right back. Can you order some more California Rolls and the Dragon Roll please? Oh, actually, and one more Soft Shell Crab Roll and a Tempura Shrimp as well please?”

You glare hard at his back as he scuttles out the booth and hurries to the toilet. Stupid dork. It’s only noon and he has already eaten a whole day’s worth of food. He’s going to end up vomiting his guts out if he keeps at this rate.

Still, you wave the waiter over and place his order for him. The waiter’s kind of cute, he’s got that soft wholesome look, the kind of boy you bring home to your parents. You wonder why he’s avoiding your eye and not slipping you his number. You hope it’s not because he thinks you’re with Taehyung.

A new pair of customers are being ushered to your booth across from you to replace the departed couple; it’s two pleasant looking girls this time, chatting away in blithe. This time, they reciprocate your smile with nods of their own.

Taehyung returns from the bathroom shortly, yet as he approaches your booth, he halts in his step so abruptly that you spin to face him.

“Ryujin?” The shock in his voice is unmistakable. His eyes are locked on one of the girls that’s just arrived opposite you. Static.

“Taehyung?” She gasps, returning the same surprise, pupils widening.

Ryujin? Taehyung’s never mentioned a Ryujin to you before? Who is she?

Taehyung’s face is stoic, completely stripped of its normal cheeriness. Lips pressed in a thin line, jaw screwed firmly shut. Shit… You turn to assess the girl, digging through your memory for a Ryujin, yet failing. Who the hell is she to have Taehyung react in such a way? If she were just a friend, he’d be rushing over to greet her. If she were someone he slept with, he’d subtly acknowledge her but make no big deal out of it.

Instead, he’s clenching his fists, feet planted an arm’s length away from your table.

You clear your throat, snapping him out of his trance. “You know each other?”

Finally, he glances over at you for the first time in what feels like ages. And right away, you see the disorientation in his eyes. Taehyung slowly makes his way back into the booth, sliding in beside you until your legs touch.

“Yeah, she’s my ex girlfriend.”

Oh.

Oh.

That cheating bitch.

If it weren’t for the firm hand placed quickly on your thigh as if he’d known you’d react in such manner, you would have leapt up and started screaming at her. The anger is rushing to your head all at once. You’re struggling not to chuck the stack of plates at her face.

So this is the girl who had broken Taehyung’s heart. This is the girl who gave Taehyung trust issues. But also, this is the girl who lead to you and Taehyung meeting. In every way you look at it, she is the reason why you’re in each other’s lives in the first place. So you guess you owe her a thank you after you throw a drink at her.

Taehyung doesn’t speak much about her, or at all. It’s been years since their relationship anyway, and since all his ties to her have been cut, it makes perfect sense that he’s forgotten about her. Even at the beginning, he was adamant about not thinking about her, he said it had hurt too much to even say her name. And so you were always careful about not bringing the topic up in conversation; it was none of your business anyway, it wasn’t relevant to his life anymore. There were occasional jokes here and there, but only ever made by him, and even still, you could sense the underlying hurt.

“Taehyung, it’s been so long…” Her attention was utterly transfixed on Taehyung. You might as well have been a cardboard cutout for all that matters, she wouldn’t have noticed anyway. But it must be bewildering to run into your ex who you cheated on like this. Anyone would be thrown off.

What are the chances that, not only did you come to the same all-you-can-eat-sushi place, but have also been sat on the same booth? Just your luck.

Your eyes wander back to Taehyung, fearing for his current state of mind. Your roommate is an emotional guy, as much as he likes to mask it in ridiculous humour. It would not surprise you if he just stands up and leave right now, even with his food on its way. Yet his features are calm, unbothered, his initial surprise melting away to neutrality.

“Hm… Yeah.” He doesn’t ask how she fares as she’d expected, you can see the disappointed drop in her face at his apathetic souciance. Then he turns to you. “Did you order the stuff?”

Unsure of how to interpret his sudden maturity, you just nod slowly. Quiet Taehyung is scary…

Disregarding her friend’s apparent discomfort, Ryujin presses on. “It must have been, what, more than two years now? How are you?”

Why can’t this bitch take a hint? Just shut the fuck up and order your fucking sushi. Leave him alone.

But Taehyung remains unmoved. While you are the one quietly fuming in the corner. Sensing your aggravation, he brushes his thumb on your thigh soothingly. When you lock eyes again, you’re stunned to find him completely at ease, the corner of his mouth even perking up to reassure you that he’s fine.

“I’m doing well actually.” Ryujin frowns again at his short answer. You think she’s going to give up now, but then she continues.

“You look good.” You tense. Oh don’t she dare... “I’m not doing too bad myself, I-”

Just then, the waiter cuts off the monologue she was headed towards as he brings over the plates of food you’d ordered for Taehyung. His eyes immediately flash in excitement, resuming his usual childish manner as he peels his hand from your leg and snatches his chopsticks.

“Can I get anything for you two ladies?” The waiter asks Ryujin and her companion, whose face appears flushed from the awkwardness of this situation. Ryujin, evidently annoyed by the interruption, proceeds to order.

While her attention is diverted, you quickly take this opportunity to mouth to Taehyung, “you okay?”

Striking you with an honest smile as he swallows his sushi, he nods. “Yeah, don’t worry, completely fine. Eat your udon, or it’ll get cold.” His voice is hushed, and you don’t know why you get startled when he leans closer to whisper to you.

Not entirely convinced, it’s your turn to pat his leg, almost subconsciously, as if to make sure that this really is Taehyung, your Taehyung. How is he this calm right now? Well, he’s always been a silent sulker when he’s mad, but… He doesn’t even seem one bit troubled by the sudden appearance of his ex. Not even that eyebrow twitch he gets when he’s annoyed. And in the meantime, you’re silently plotting how to magically get wasabi in this bitch’s eye.

When the waiter leaves, Ryujin turns back to Taehyung once again, scanning his ethereal features and beautifully curled long hair. No doubt regretting her shitty decision of infidelity when they were together. Finally, her eyes flicker over to you, for the first time since Taehyung’s arrival. “So who’s thi-”

“Y/N, my girlfriend.”

You choke so hard on the fat noodle you are slurping that some of the savoury broth goes up your nose. Wheezing and spluttering for air like a cat choking on a hairball, you feel all your blood rush to your reddening face, both from the lack of air and the embarrassment. Taehyung’s careless whacks between your shoulder blades isn’t helping at all. Only after downing the whole cup of green tea does your coughing finally subside.

“You okay, babe?” Taehyung realises his smacks on your back are too harsh to be boyfriend-like, so he eases it into gentle rubs. But the concern in his large brown irises are genuine nonetheless.

You glare at him. Long, hard. Before nodding and flashing him a sickly-sweet smile. Oh boy, is he going to get kicked in the ass later for putting you up to this. He seems to see the dangerous flare of your nostrils, a warning sign that he has really, most fucking definitely, made the wrong move. He gulps and smiles back nervously.

Girlfriend? Girlfriend?!

What the fuck is he playing at right now? Why did he have to lie to her like that? Is he trying to make her jealous? Or just act like he’s moved on just fine without her? You clamp your mouth shut to prevent any angry words from tumbling out. There’s nothing to do but to play along right now - there’s an enemy to face.

“Oh right, girlfriend…” Ryujin says so softly that you almost feel bad for her before remembering that this is her own doing. “I guess that must be why you haven’t replied to my text asking you to meet up then… Right?”

At that, your entire body goes rigid.

She- Does that mean- Wh-

You look over at Taehyung, mouth hanging open in utter disbelief. Ryujin has been texting Taehyung. And he hasn’t mentioned a word about it to you. Although it really shouldn’t affect you so much, it feels like a stab of betrayal.

His lips are pursed again, as he gazes up at her reluctantly. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Then his arm circles around your back and pulls you into him, fingers gripping your waist in a display of possession. At the unforeseen momentum, and still in your state of shock, your frame falls feebly into his chest. Your heart leaps to your throat. You don’t understand why but… your cheeks feel hot.

His arm, around you. His hand, holding your side. His neck, pressed on your forehead.

You’re hyper aware of everywhere he is touching you. Why, all of a sudden?

“Oh okay, um, I really wish you all the best…” Ryujin mumbles, no longer looking at you and Taehyung anymore, not sounding one bit like she means what she’s saying. Her friend beside her has resorted to scrolling through her phone at this point, cringing from this awkward exchange.

“Thanks, Ryujin. I’m really happy - never been happier in my life, in fact.” The vibration of Taehyung’s Adam’s apple reverberates into you as he tugs you even closer, arm fastened around your middle. You struggle for room, bending your neck to peer up at him from your squished position.

He’s grinning radiantly at you, and at your wide-eyed confused expression, he can’t help but lean down to press his lush warm lips onto your forehead.

You blink.

Truly, you think your brain has stopped functioning. What is going on?

He’s definitely doing this to make Ryujin jealous. That is the only plausible explanation. It makes your chest clench in bitterness. Why does he still care what she thinks? This is completely unnecessary. Does he still care about her?

And why didn’t he tell you that she was texting him?

What has she been telling him?

All this doubt, this uncertainty, manifests into a suffocating lump in your throat. You have always been completely open and honest with each other about every aspect of your lives - family, friends, work, grades, relationships, sex. Not that he owes it to you to tell you everything, but you’d just thought that it was how things worked between you. What else is he hiding from you?

But at the same time, your focus can’t stray from the way he is holding you, and the confidence in his tone. How certain and sincere he sounded. And how he pecked you so casually in public, in front of everyone. Your stomach feels funny.

As you resume your eating, you stay quiet, thinking. On the other hand, Taehyung is quiet due to fact that he has no room to speak in between engulfing California Roll after California Roll. Happily humming under his breath as he chews. The waiter returns with a tray of food Ryujin and her friend had ordered. “Here you go, would you like some green tea?”

“Oo, can you fill mine up too please.” You hastily pass him your empty ceramic cup.

“Of course. Be careful, the tea is very ho-” Just as he warns you while he refills your cup, he over-tips the pot and sends scalding tea all over your hand.

“Ow!” Quickly drawing back your boiled hand out of instinct, you yelp out in pain. Fumbling over his sorry, I’m so so sorry’s, the waiter bows his deeply apologetically, scurrying to clean up the steaming spilled liquid in a panic.

“Mate, watch out!” Taehyung sits up immediately, scrambling to wipe your soaked hand with tissues. The glare he throws the waiter could cut through glass. “Are you okay?” The concern clouding his eyes when he faces you floods your veins with a security.

“Yeah… Don’t worry, it’s just a burn.” You watch him examine your hand intently as if it’s some ancient priceless artefact that could shatter from a poke; you’ve noticed lately that he tends to do this when you’re injured. With his fringe frizzed over his forehead, lips puckered in concentration as he caress over your pink tender skin, you are helpless and unmoving. Staring at him.

“Are you sure? It’s getting kind of red…” He refuses to let your hand go. Your fingers scorch under his touch and it’s not from the tea.

“Yeah, baby, I’m fine.” Taehyung’s head whips up instantly at the way you address him. Confused for a good second, before realising that it is to play along with the fake girlfriend narrative.

Right…

Reluctantly, he lets you pull your hand out of his clutch, and only when you pick up your chopsticks to prove to him that it’s only a minor injury does he resign in his coddling and return to his food. As you glance up, you notice Ryujin’s blazing glower at your direction. You quickly look away.

In the presence of his cheating ex-girlfriend, you two no longer feel at ease to banter away as normal. You aren’t even at the liberation to have a regular conversation without her listening in on everything. So the meal passes rather wordlessly.

However, the silence births a different kind of interaction between you and Taehyung. You can’t tell if it’s just for show, or due to his innate affectionate nature, but he suddenly feels the need to display his love for skinship. Under the table, his hand once again strays to the land of your thighs, gently stroking. When you shoot him a warning glare, lest he gets any vulgar ideas, you find that he possesses no lustful intent at all. Just pure fondness for you.

Something inside you softens. You’re starting to think that he isn’t acting out of spite against Ryujin, but rather simply enjoying your company as usual.

But you know what? Screw that bitch. Not once, to your knowledge, did she apologise to Taehyung when she’s had two years to own up to her mistakes. Not until now, of all times. She deserves to get riled up.

“Taehyung-ie, can I have a bite of your shrimp?” You smile at your pretend-boyfriend sweetly. He gives you a perplexed look that says: But I thought you hate shrimp? before he clocks on with your intention.

“Of course, baby.” And without fail, just like a scene straight from a drama, he picks up the tempura shrimp and feeds it to you, eyes crescent in mirth as you open up and take a mouthful like a hungry little child. You feel a crumb flake away onto your chin, yet before you can wipe it away, Taehyung reaches it first. Chuckling, he sweeps the small speck into your mouth. But not without the slightest, most fleeting, brush of his thumb against your tongue.

The action feels… intimate. Like weirdly intimate, even for you and Taehyung’s dynamic.

Why does your breath keep hitching?

Perhaps after a second too long, you conjure a giggle in response, attentive of Ryujin’s gawk in your periphery. “Thanks, love.” The syrup in your voice is sickly sweet. God, even you want to barf.

“You’re too adorable, honey buns.” Taehyung cups your face in one hand, fingers digging into your squishy cheeks as he shakes you. Your smile drops. Adorable? Honey buns? HoNEy bUnS? Kim Taehyung is so dead.

But before you could kick him in the shin under the table, he leans in and plants his lips on yours. Soft, supple.

Oh.

Just as you think it’s only meant to be a peck, he deepens the kiss, his plump pink mouth gliding over yours smoothly. Anyone who sees would know that you’re accustomed to such action with each other from the natural comfortable manner of your kiss. Anyone could tell that you’re used to each other’s lips.

You pull away abruptly when you become conscious of many’s attention on you. With your face so near his, all you can see is how his lips draw into a smirk.

It’s unusual for you two to kiss outside of a sexual context. Because why would you? Friends don’t kiss each other unless they’re: A) dating, or B) banging. And especially in the past few weeks, you’ve been progressively kissing each other less, even during sex. Almost as if you’ve both realised how intimate it is, and all the romantic connotations that come with it.

Yet here he is, kissing you so openly in public.

Yeah, it’s just for show for his ex. But it’s still…

You don’t know.

.

After Taehyung had finally eaten to his heart’s content, the two of you had gone to study in the library. Ryujin wore a sour face in the entire duration of the meal, and you would hear low grunts of irritation from her direction. You practically felt her venomous glare on the back of your head as you were leaving the restaurant. Acting has never been your strong suit, but even you’ll admit that the two of you are putting on an Oscar-worthy performance.

You’ve been quiet, you know. It’s because of that bitter taste in the back of your throat that you still can’t get rid of at the thought that Taehyung might still care about Ryujin. Why else would he lie to her and say that you’re his girlfriend if not to get a reaction out of her?

But more so, why does it bother you so much? You wish you don’t care this much for this stupid sushi-demolisher who doesn’t deserve your time and efforts. He’s probably thinking about his next meal again while you’re here lamenting over your weird feelings.

So you keep your mouth shut throughout your study session, brewing in your acrid thoughts.

Taehyung watches you nibble at the end of your pen. How is he supposed to focus on his coursework when you’ve got that pouty expression? And since when did you not take every chance you get to take the piss out of him? He wonders what’s going on in your head.

Seeing Ryujin had been a shock, a blast from the past. It hadn’t bothered him too much to be honest, he simply doesn’t care about her anymore. A few days ago, she had sent him a message out of the blue. Out of politeness, he’d responded but kept his replies brief; it was difficult to decipher her intention at first, but it soon revealed itself. Apparently, her and Jimin went on to date for a while - good on them, Taehyung truly could not give fewer shits anymore. But their relationship deteriorated due to their incompatibility, which was predictable knowing them both. It was when she started showing interest in Taehyung, apologising and kissing his ass about how good he was to her that he decided to stop answering.

The thought of getting back with her gave him shivers.

Your reaction to Ryujin back there wasn’t unexpected at all, of course you weren’t going to react mildly to his ex. Taehyung is lucky you didn’t ‘accidentally’ spill soy sauce onto her, or start yelling at her about faithfulness and morality. Your wrath towards her actually kind of warms his heart…

You aren’t one to talk about your feelings openly, but your actions definitely speak volumes about how much you care about him.

Taehyung smiles to himself.

There is so much loyalty between the two of you, complete trust and devotion. At the end of the day, no matter what goes on between you when you’re horny fuckers, you’re best friends above all else. Fighters for each other.

Your journey back home was also rather mute, consisting of him prodding you with jokes and teases, and you putting on a half-hearted smile. Maybe you’re annoyed at him for putting you on the spot and leaving you with no choice but to cooperate as his pretend girlfriend. All this relationship-y commitment-y crap repels the shit out of you. Basically the bane of your existence.

He probably shouldn’t have kissed and coddled you that much in front of Ryujin. You detest PDA like it’s some scandalous taboo, despite being the freakiest girl he knows in the sheets. But hey, you guys had to make it convincing and believable...

Yup, the more Taehyung thinks about it, the more he’s sure you’re annoyed (or even scared off) about the fake dating thing.

“You’re quiet for someone who just met her supposed archnemesis. I thought you’d be going on and on about what a bitch she is.” He glances at your sullen side profile for the hundredth time during your commute home.

“I don’t know, not it a great mood I guess? Probably just tired.” You mumble, searching for your keys in your coat pocket. The weather is getting cold these days; Taehyung knows your fingers are very prone to freezing, especially with your refusal of wearing gloves because ‘they’re ugly’ nor would you keep your hands in your pockets because ‘it’s a safety hazard incase you trip over’.

He gets a strangely overwhelming urge to hold your hands every time he sees you wiggling your fingers to warm them up. Hmm.

Wordlessly, you enter the house with him trailing behind you. He watches your moody steps from behind as you remove your shoes and head inside. Why can’t you just tell him what you’re thinking?

With a great sigh, Taehyung slumps onto the couch, focus still on you hanging your coat on the rack and tossing your keys into the holder on the shelf. “Hey.”

You turn, regarding his wide manspread with piqued interest. “What?”

“Come here, baby, sit on my lap.” He pats the top of his thighs in beckoning. Sometimes it’s like trying to get a stray cat to come to him.

Your eyes widen at his request. But very reluctantly, you stroll towards him until you’re standing between his extended legs. “Why are you calling me baby, we’re not pretending to be dating anymore.”

Taehyung stiffens as he senses the acrimony in your tone. So this is about the girlfriend thing? It’s a risky move but he sits up and pulls you in by the back of your thighs until you have no choice but to succumb to falling onto his hips. Lips still in a tight line, your limbs come around him to hold yourself upright. In order to prevent you from escaping, Taehyung encloses his arms around your waist, trapping you in his embrace. He tries not to think about how your crotch is directly on his right now.

“Why you sad?” He looks up at you, your eyes unreadable as always. Heat from your exhale fans his forehead.

“I don’t know. Nan molla.” You shrug and do that face scrunch thing you do whenever you’re unsure that he loves. It makes you look so cute.

“Hey…” Taehyung nudges your cheek with his nose in an attempt to get you to look at him. You have a habit of avoiding eye contact, and he knows it’s stems from the intimacy issue. “What’s up, honey buns?”

“Honey buns again? Seriously?” You jerk away from him like he insulted your mother or something.

“Well, since I can’t call you baby, honey buns it is.” His chest vibrates with his deep rumbling laughter, pleased with himself to see the slightest hint of a smile finally beginning to appear on you.

“Oh my god, Taehyung. Fine, just stick with baby, I swear…” You thump him on the back, yet your stone cold exterior now being invaded by a spark of humour.

“Good. Now tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

You’re quiet for a good few seconds, contemplating. Your legs around his torso tense, you bite your lip hesitantly. Come on, just talk to me, he wishes.

“Do you still… care about her?” Voice so soft that even he struggles to hear you this close.

“What? Ryujin?” Oh, so this is about her. Taehyung knew you hated her, but never thought that you would feel… insecure? Jealous, even? “Of course not. I don’t give a single fuck about her.” At his answer, you let out the breath you’ve been holding. A breath of relief? “But you clearly seem to care too much about her.”

“I- I do not!” In a tone of disbelief, you scorn. “I just- She’s not the one I care about.”

Fuck, you’re being too cute right now.

Taehyung pecks at your chin, unable to contain his affection anymore. You continue, “Plus, why didn’t you tell me she was talking to you again? Friends tell each other this sort of thing. I always tell you everything…”

The worry on your face is truly so endearing, he feels his chest constrict.

“I didn’t mention it because that’s how little I care. She is honestly so insignificant to me right now, I could not even be bothered to waste my breath bringing it up. Yes, she meant a lot to me for a period of my life. But. That was a long time ago. I’ve moved on, no thanks to you, remember?” Your eyes gradually dare loiter up his face. “You silly sausage.”

“But-” You’re pouting again. You need to stop pouting or he won’t be able to control himself, dammit. “Why did you lie and say I’m your girlfriend then, if you weren’t doing it to make her jealous.”

Taehyung blinks. Well… Um, about that... He didn’t want to have to explain it to you but...

“It just slipped out.”

Your turn to blink vacantly. Taehyung feels blood tinting his cheeks under your gaze. Even he doesn’t know why he said it back then. It just kind of… rolled off his tongue. Should he be worried? Yeah, he should definitely be worried.

When you still fail to say anything, he hurriedly asks, “Are you mad?”

“N-No. Why would I be mad?” The way your arm slides down his neck to brush pass his chest leaves his skin tingling. He pulls your legs closer around him, hand unintentionally trailing to your rear.

“I don’t know, you just hate that kind of lovey-dovey stuff. Just figured that you’d be annoyed that I forced you to act like my girlfriend.”

“Well, I was a bit annoyed… It’s not just me, you hate that kind of lovey-dovey stuff too!” Well, not exactly accurate, but Taehyung decides not to correct you. “But did you see her face?” Your tone begins to lighten. Remembering the acerbity tainting Ryujin’s features brings you amusement.

“She looked like she was going to murder someone.” You both laugh.

“She was thirsting over you like a hound, Jesus Christ. It’s because of your perm, trust me.” Grinning, you twirl his curly fringe around your fingers. You seem to do that quite often since he got the new hairstyle.

“Wow, you really like my perm that much?” He fishes, failing to control his forming smirk. You like to give him shit about his ego, yet no one strokes it more than you do.

“No comment.” You can’t contain your radiant smile either. Taehyung makes a mental note to keep the perm.

Seeing your mood lifted makes Taehyung feel much better, safer. His arms run up your back, and he feels you shudder under his touch. You fit into his embrace so well; it’s difficult to not hug you close to him every chance he gets nowadays. There’s a dull ache in the back of his neck from craning up to look at you for too long, but he doesn’t mind it. Your fingers fall from his hair, tracing his jaw frivolously, mindlessly. It leaves an unwarranted tremble within him.

“Look, there’s absolutely nothing for you to mull about in that overthinking head of yours. I don’t even remember Ryujin’s last name if I’m being honest with you. She lost me the moment she broke my heart, and I’ll never even remotely consider getting back with her. Ever. I promise.

“So don’t act all jealous and sulky just ‘cause you misunderstood. You’re my best girl. You’ll always be my best, favourite and only girl, understand? I, Kim Taehyung, belong to you, Y/N Y/L/N. Period.” The smile of satisfaction tells him everything. You’re not as hard to please as you appear to be. “I’m yours, happy?”

“Happy.” Fuck, Taehyung’s heart is going to explode from the joyous beam growing at your lips.

“Good, because she means nothing to me at all. But you, Ms. Needy-But-I-Won’t-Admit-It? You mean everything to me. Everything.” He bounces you on his lap for emphasis, eliciting another buoyant giggle from you.

Then you do something that you don’t normally do.

You kiss him - passionately and ardently. Fingers surfing the waves of his hair, you readjust your straddling position on top of him to minimise the distance. Taehyung feels all reason in his head incrementally ebbing away. You shouldn’t be kissing, you really shouldn’t. It’s not normal to make out with your best friend. But fuck the rules. Taehyung doesn’t want to stop kissing you right now, his silly adorable honey buns.

“Just admit it. You love me.” He taunts between breaths. You freeze at Taehyung’s words. Completely freeze on his lap, hand dangling from his face, as if you’ve been shot. “Like a best friend.” You deflate, evident relief at the joke.

Taehyung has to restrain from laughing out loud. God, you’re such an easy target. The second anything one step further from platonism is suggested, you act like you’re going to pack your bags and run for the hills. But here you are, kissing him and acting all possessive. He enjoys the irony.

“Yeah I love you. Like a best friend.” You flick the tip of his nose in reprimand for his teasing.

“Good because I love you too. Like a best friend.” He holds you tight against him, proceeding to blow raspberries in your neck.

Maybe even more, he wonders.

.

27/11/19

© Copyright 2019

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