#i was tired of this sitting in my drafts and i feel like the abrupt ending to their interactions shows this but alas

[princeofhags]

i just finished reading about iraestra so wand of twilight for her as well!

Wand of Twilight. Iraestra conjures a spirit from the land of the dead to speak to them.

FANTASY PROMPTS | @foxboyclit

Smoke floods the altar in fragrant plumes, the familiar taste of myrrh coating the back of Iraestra's throat uncomfortably. Her steps, purposefully measured and slow, sound monstrous in the cavernous wings of the ceremonial chamber. The peace is further broken by the occasional murmur of an invocation or rustling cloth. There has been no order given for silence, but the trepidation hanging heavy in the air as the incense enforces the command. They all wait in the lurch of a breathless hush, an animal instinct to a known threat. Still, so that the hunter is not enthralled by your fleeing. Anticipation before the blow.

Does their visitor scent the fear he instills in the air, like a hound? Does the chorus of thrumming hearts beckon to him like the call of war drums? Bodies, so many bodies for him to open and bleed.

Itaestra does not doubt that he often relishes it. Bhaalspawn are such curious, depraved half-beasts.

Prince of the Blood. A self-given title, perhaps, but she has heard the reverence Bhaal's faithful pour at his feet like wine libations. Their honored guest is heir to a butcher's legacy. She thinks him little more than a glorified killer draped in the dressings of grandeur.

Iraestra does not cower or draw back from him, but there is still an instinctual unease at the thought of a Bhaalspawn being familiar with her. The Dread Lord’s wicked heirs do not know friends, only warm bodies to bite with steel. The world to them is already dead, merely waiting to be torn asunder to show its truest color: the crimson of fresh spilt blood.

A hedonistic dogma. She holds her tongue due to the respect granted to Bhaal by her own unholy master.

She observes the preparations for the ritual with only half an eye, attention commanded by the ophidian silhouette haunting the edge of the room. What a disquieting picture he paints. His height causes him to loom terribly, heads and shoulders above the flock of mortal meat. He need not even draw his weapon to kill half the room should he wish it. Each finger is tipped with a talon that catches the candlelight with each of his clenching hand. When he had spoken, his teeth had stood out vividly against the stone-black gleam of his scales. The dried gore on his scales embrace him as intimately as any lover.

The wicked length of a barbed tail flickers in what may be a sign of agitation in his people, or merely a quirk of the extra limb. His attention is riveted on the altar. She half expects it to catch aflame.

She attempts not to concern herself with his growing impatience. Any fool can cast a spell to converse with the departed; a Myrkulite only does so at the behest of another and the blessings of the Bone Lord. She will not disregard the tenants of her faith even for this Prince.

"You're eager," she observes. The dragonborn has not left the corpse's side since it was brought to her. Curious. He must be thoroughly invested in the secrets it would spill. "It was good that you preserved the jaw. A wasted trip had you not," she stops by the head, only the breadth of a few steps between her and the Prince.

At that, he finally regards her. Even in his initial instructions he had been short with her. "What of a tongue?

"Is this a theoretical or practical query?" Short of the patience to wait for an answer, Iraestra snaps at one of the attendants. "Bone Talker, check the mouth."

Questing fingers find only half of the appendage still intact. If removed before death, exsanguination is as likely a cause as any.

"It will do," she decides. "I am ready to begin." Her attendants step back as one.

The body has been prepared as best they can given its mangled state. This man, who can be no older than twenty, bares the marks of a slow death. The skull, partially caved, rests unevenly on the cloth. He does not even look peaceful now, as the victims of violence rarely do.

She steps forward, hands rising from her sides. Iraestra readies herself to speak the ancient words.

"Alone," the Prince's clipped voice rings out clearly. Not a request. Demand.

Iraestra hisses her frustration. Better vexation, than dread. She knows the vestments of anger well, slips into them like a second skin. Her mouth twists, her shoulders draw tight. Her hands are half-formed claws in the air. She hears the pound of her own heart in her ears.

What is so important that it cannot be witnessed by the others? What is to be done with her, who will attend to the questioning herself?

"Mistress?" Every cowled head in the room turns to look at her. They hear the call for her death as vividly as she. One of the fools is brave enough to step towards her, as if they could truly do anything to intervene. She admires them for their stupidity.

The Prince watches her, well aware of what he asks for. Trust or faith or maybe both. Clearly, he is looking for a reaction. Will she falter, will she balk? Could he make a bouquet of the stench of her unease? He regards her with a snake's stare, eyes cold licks of fire. He does not blink.

If he thinks he can subdue her so easily, then he is sorely mistaken. She is drow. She is Oblodra. Her own mother's hands were the first to ever try to take her life. He will find no easy marks here today. Let him slake his thirsts elsewhere. There are other, weaker creatures for him to gorge himself on.

"Leave us," Iraestra does not take her eyes from the Prince. She does not speak or move again until the door clicks shut behind the last attendant. How awfully similar it sounds to the closing stone of a tomb.

She rounds on him, irritation clear. "Why did you ask for me?"

The Prince is the first to look away, back to her hands and then the body. Iraestra does not feel like she has won anything of merit. It is impossible to tell if he is pleased. "The Banite confides in you. I thought to do the same."

He does not give a name, nor does she ask for it. She wonders at what the Prince knows of her talks with the other Chosen.

"And what if his confidence is misplaced?" A theoretical. Her loyalty is not often brought into question. It is rare that she pledges it at all.

"Then I will kill you," the Prince simply states.

She laughs. That intention is only the natural conclusion of the dance. There is no greater aim for those of his depraved bent. "So you say. Did you not plan to do so already?"

His head tilts in a particularly reptilian gesture. His glittering eyes have found the pulse in her throat, her bare wrists. She cares not for his study. It feels too much like a physical caress, high beneath dress and robe. One hunger is not too different from another, and she supposes they may be frighteningly the same for him. Both indulgences of the flesh, in the end. "Do not tempt me. Your blood would spill sweetly on this floor."

Iraestra sneers. "Cast your fetid gaze elsewhere, brute. You will not find easy prey in me."

He chuckles darkly. "Of that I am sure. I would savor the challenge as much as anything else."

"I was under the impression that there were more pressing matters at hand, given your early insistence on haste."

"Time can always be afforded for pleasure, sorceress. Consider the feel of silk on the skin. The burst of fruit between teeth and the rush of the juice down your chin, the clench of a lover tight around you as they sob your name. That final, shuddering breath that flutters out of the throat at death. Do you not feel the drum of the heart in your own chest? Do you not wish to dance to it? If you are so indifferent to it, I could show you how to listen to it once more. To feel it." How reverently he speaks, as if he is at the shrine of his own father-god. His lids have nearly closed in rapture.

There's smoke in the dragonborn's mouth and anticipation in his words, thick enough to choke on. He whispers with the tongue of a snake, words dripping from the depravities he utters.

As mad as his sister, the shape-changer, Iraestra decides with disdain. The seed of Bhaal is truly cursed with madness, complete and true. It was preferable when he was barely acknowledging her presence despite demanding it in the first place.

"You have nothing that I desire." Were she younger, still a fool turned by a pretty face, she may have once allowed herself to be seduced by the offer. She ignores the answering hook of arousal low in her gut, focusing once more on the misshapen head on the pillow. Reminds herself of whose hands exactly have crushed it. There is much to do before she is ready for the grave. "Now, if you will allow me to get on with this, we may be each rid of the other before long."

“A pity that you deny yourself,” but he nods. “Perform your rites. Regretfully, I cannot linger for long.” 

Iraestra does not regret that. She is exhausted and enthralled by him in equal measure. Let this be the first and last time she suffers his company. 

She begins her prayer to the dead. 

[yeahspider]

showtime 🕸️

VE’s note - concert skz brainrot . also sorry for the abrupt ending this was sitting in my drafts for a few days and i wanted it out ! not proofread . nsfw .

minho could never let you have it easy. he made you work, beg, and cry for every orgasm he gave you. and usually you never had much trouble with any of the challenges he threw your way, except for this one.

minho had just finished a concert with his group in melbourne. this leg of the tour you were so excited because it was finally approved for you to accompany minho as his plus one. although the countless stages, new countries every night, and endless airports had turned your sex life down a few notches you were still satisfied just being with him. tonight however there was a different energy in the air when you and him finally made it back to the hotel room. fresh out the shower with the towel hanging low on his waist. you needed him now and badly. but minho was just so tired and worn out, you couldn’t possibly ask him to do anything tonight when he had another show tomorrow.

“kitten what’s going on in that head of yours”

nothing . nothing but thoughts of him . you don’t even respond . just making subtle eye contact hoping that he can somehow hear your thoughts .

“ahh i know what’s wrong . you need me don’t you ? it’s been awhile since i’ve had you . come show me how good you are .”

you didn’t waste another second . with minho on his back you take the chance and slot his thigh between your legs .

“cmon kitty give me a show”

you started worked your clothed cunt back and forth on his thigh . feeling his muscles flex below you had soft whimpers coming out your mouth . it just felt too good . he’s felt too good . while you made yourself shiver on his thigh minho pulled out his cock and started stroking . every moan that left your mouth had his hips jumping off the bed .

“love seeing you get so worked up on top of me .”

“always such a good slut for me”

“god you’re going to be the death of me”

his words on encouraged you to go faster , to move harder. your own body struggling to keep up with the pace you were setting. and with minho moaning below you , it wasn’t long til you felt your orgasm building up inside you . you reached down to slide a finger up his chest and flicked his nipple and he came with a groan . the guttural sound that left him had your head spinning . thank yous leaving his mouth like a prayer . he grabbed your hips and started helping you move back and forth on his thigh.

“cum whenever you want kitten you’ve earned it . cmon little one cum for me”

his breathless permission and his bruising grip on your hips had you coming undone with a scream on your lips. your body gave out from all the exertion as you lay chest to chest with minho , just breathing together .

“you did so well. don’t be afraid to use me when you’re in need little one” he hummed. you just nodded with the energy you could muster up.

[superstitionangel]

ngl i kinda hate my English teacher

NOW DONT GET ME WRONG!!! i love english. ive been writing stories since before i could define what fiction was. i love reading, too, most of my time that isnt taken up by my social media addiction is spent reading.

which is why im so upset about this

i am 100% sure my english teacher put my writing through an ai tool to find what was wrong with it. why do i say this? oh, i dont know, probably because after i read her comment on my Google doc i put it through the grammerly ai assistant and asked what i could improve on - which, usually, would have affirmed to me that those parts of my story actually needed work.

if my story wasn't a single page long, and everything she (and the grammerly ai) had suggested i added either was obviously unnecessary details that would have torn readers away from the story, or something I'd literally. Already done.

"describe the fire crackling more! like its dancing!" why? this is a horror story set in a graveyard and your reading the first 5 minutes of the story. we have 4 more hours for the characters to suffer through. the fire was a small detail - all it did was added a cozier atmosphere to the beginning of the story so the change later was more abrupt, like i want it to be.

"describe the forest!" this is a horror story based in a graveyard... i added one sentence about gathering wood in the woods along the fences to highlight how isolated and difficult to escape the graveyard is, which matters later. the color of the wood and the wind shaking the leaves doesn't matter. the characters can't see it, and this part of the story is very focused on one specific part; the characters setting up for a cozy night reading ghost stories around a campfire together.

"develop the relationships between the characters more!" in the first page? the first 300 words? ive already given many hints to their relationships with eachother, such as the main character and another character being clearly familiar enough with eachother for the other character to poke fun at his choice in ghost stories. two of the characters are sitting directly next to eachother, and everything they've done so far has been with eachother. not to mention... it's the first page.

the first page! I'm not going to be adding unnecessary details to the first page! i am not going to overload the readers with information like that because, honestly, this part barely matters! it's later that the scenery is important, it's later when the relationships shine, its later when the horror and isolation develops. not the first, muthafuckin, PAGE!

sorry I'm just so annoyed. so many of the things she said I needed to add were in the story, if she'd just... read it. literally all she has to do to see some of the things she's complaining about it read the words I've written out for her and REMEMBER that not only is this the first draft ever, but also, ive been sick and unable to work or write, and....... ITS 300 WORDS SO FAR!

auuuugh. please no advice because im, like, so not up for advice or criticism right now. it'd be more obvious how silly this situation is if I shared the writing, but it's just so short it feels like a waste of time to share it. i'll share it when it's closer to done if anyone wants, im just.. so tired of teachers zapping my creativity by constantly commenting on my work, when it's so obviously clear that I'm still working on it and it needs time to flourish.

[marswasnothere]

Pretty in Pink : an unfinished draft that’s been left sitting in my docs for way too long

All the lead up to smut without anything happening, very abrupt ending, Bojan in the Pink Tavastia Collar tm, and the start of some good ole fashioned puppy bojan without getting to the good stuff

“Woo, home time!”

“I’m sooo tired du– hey, shuffle up– thanks, okay, cool… auhhhh… yeah, home time.”

“Vou, big yawn. You go sleep?”

“When we’re back at your flat, yeah.”

“Aww.”

“…what?”

“You miss out on surprise, Bojči.”

“…what do you mean?”

“Here. Look.”

“…”

“…”

“Is that one of the coll–”

“Shhh. Mikke front seat.”

“Okay, okay… just. Hhh– what the fuck.”

“You look cute in. I want to see my puppy again.”

“… holy shit.”

“You do not like?”

“No– no, I lov– it’s good, I love it. I’m wide awake now.”

“Phew, okei.”

“…I jus– h-how’d you get it?”

“Stole from Matti. Will return. Don’t stain it.”

“Jeeesus, Jere…”

— — — — —

The moment after Jere waves the car away, shuts the door, and kicks off his shoes, Bojan has him pinned against the wall. His eyes dart between Jere’s soft yet chapped lips and his icy eyes, staring right back with innocence, as if he hasn't basically been teasing Bojan the entire car ride.

When Jere showed him the collar, that little strip of pink dotted with black spikes sitting in his hand, Bojan’s mind raced back a few hours. He knew he was going to join Jere on stage for Cha Cha Cha for both shows, and half joked, half suggested that he wear the dancer’s bright pink costumes. Matti took that suggestion in stride and passed him his outfit to try it on, maybe recording something while they’re at it. Bojan could only slip the collar on and pull it tight around his neck before he decided that was enough, and sat patiently for Matti to pass him the costume from behind his phone instead.

Just a short, fun video. That was all.

Until Jere walked in and called Bojan “my pretty puppy.”

All he could do was sit as Jere tousled his hair and baby-talked to him in Finnish, pretending like it was absolutely not turning him on in the slightest. Bojan decided to test his luck when Jere gave him a command to speak, and he barked.

Now why, in all things holy on this very Earth, did his spine tingle with arousal all the way from his non-existent dog ears to his dick?

He tried to laugh the feeling off, and thankfully Jere joined him. Bojan prayed that his jeans weren’t tented when he passed the costume back to Matti, and hesitated when he reached up to unclip the collar.

“Here, I got.”

Jere’s fingertips brushed his neck. Bojan’s breath hitched. The tightness of the collar around his neck was gone, and for some reason, Bojan missed it.

“There we go, puppy.”

He could blame any pink on his cheeks from drinking. Easy.

What wasn’t easy was trying to stay calm when getting on all fours, letting Jere ride him with his hand so dangerously close to his neck, accidentally revealing his O-face to hundreds of people twice in one night, and then having to sit next to him in a silent car ride, knowing he’s going to get his brains fucked out and be barking like a dog for Jere–

He …huh. Okay then.

“You still sleepy?”

Bojan, back in the moment, lets out a weak chuckle.

“No. Nope. You kept me awake. Hand on my thigh and all that.” He tugs Jere’s puffer jacket off his shoulders. “I always fall asleep in cars, plus it’s, like, one in the morning. It’s crazy how a little bit of your attention makes me stay up.”

Jere smiles as he watches him talk. He slides the jacket off and hangs it up, then returns his hands to cup Bojan’s cheeks. They’re warm, flushed from cold air and close proximity.

“We celebrate now. To Bojan here in Finland,” in between giving a quick kiss to his lips, he whispers, “here with me.”

Bojan lets his eyes drift shut as they sink into a longer kiss. His hands trail up underneath Jere’s shirt, pulling him closer as he parts their lips with his tongue. Jere nudges forwards and their teeth clack together, but all Bojan feels is his adorable smile pressed into his lips that he’s going to feel imprinted on them, long after he returns to Slovenia.

He wants to revel in the warmth of Jere’s mouth, taste the slick wetness of their tongues together for the rest of his life. Bojan keeps his hands on Jere’s hips, gently squeezing his love handles.

“And to successful concert,” Jere adds, though it sounds a little more like “suck-ess-fool” to the Slovene's ears.

“Mmm, yeah.” Keeping his eyes shut, Bojan trails kisses up from Jere's lips to his cheek, then nibbles at his earlobe. In turn, Jere lets out sweet sighs of pleasure, his head resting on Bojan’s shoulder.

“I’m so glad we’re alone now,” he whispers into Jere’s ear.

“I get to see puppy all for myself,” Jere responds, breath hot against his neck

Bojan stills.

There’s that stupid little tingle again. It happened in the car, it happened in Tavastia, it happened in Liverpool when Jere called him his dog in that steak restaurant, and, fuck, it’s happened so many more times when Bojan fantasised about Jere all alone in his bedroom.

“Bojči? You ok–”

“Do you still have the collar?”

Bojan refuses to give him a chance to worry if anything is wrong.

It takes a second for Jere to verify the situation, and he grins, reaching over to his jacket. He dips his hand into the pocket and backs up against the wall, separating their embrace, much to Bojan’s dismay. It’s momentary sadness, as when he pulls the collar out, that little irresistible strip of pink fabric, Bojan swears he might collapse from how weak his knees become.

Jere dangles the collar from pinched fingertips, practically eye-fucking Bojan right where he’s standing.

“You want to wear again?"

“Obviously,” Bojan whispers, conscious of the heat in his cheeks and how embarrassing he must look.

Jere flashes a smile. When his fingertips brush against his neck, Bojan feels like he’s going to explode. There's no delicate way to put it. Jere knows his weakness and Bojan knows he’s going to use it to his advantage. The collar is soft against his skin, wrapping around his neck just like Jere’s hands from the past times they experimented together — explored each other's bodies, as one might say.

The ends of the collar click together, and an overwhelming heat rushes through Bojan’s body. He can’t help but shudder when Jere cradles the back of his head. Something about being locked in, being his puppy, being owned.

Bojan never considered himself to be a kinky guy, but he might have a few things to discuss with Jere in the morning after, including a trip to whatever weird Finnish sex shop they can find.

“How it feel?”

“…weird,” Bojan answers. Jere’s smile drops so he finishes his response. “Good weird. It’s good, just different, and I– I like it. Yeah… I like it. What do you think?”

Bojan puffs his chest out with his question, making Jere giggle behind his hand.

“You make very cute puppy, Bojan,” he says, “but I like you better on floor, where dog belong, yes?”

Jesus fucking Christ, if he doesn’t fuck me right here, right now, this trip was all for nothing.

His face gives away his thoughts. Jere laughs again, his hand moving up to stroke Bojan’s hair. Bojan relaxes at his touch. He glances to the side when Jere gently holds his greying strands in between his soft fingers, wishing he wouldn’t have a constant reminder of his stress poking out from his hairline.

“Am I going fast? Too much for you?” Jere asks.

“No– no, keep going, I like it when you talk and… talk about what you want me to do.”

Jere hums.

Bojan stares at his lips, plush, soft, a little chapped from the cold. He has no doubt Jere’s staring at his own too.

“On floor. Like on stage, you crawl. You crawl for me, like walking dog. You can do, yes?”

It practically rips the oxygen out of Bojan’s lungs with how easy and casually he can say that. Their eyes meet, Bojan staring at him, with parted lips and upturned eyebrows. He nods, awkwardly lowering himself while he holds onto Jere’s arms for balance.

“There you go,” Jere coos as his knees hit the floor.

He doesn’t seem to care about how hard Bojan holds onto his forearms, or how his ankles click, or how he groans at the aches radiating through his post-gig body. Every little thing that Bojan thinks about seems to fly right past his mind. How can Jere not see how embarrassing he looks? How pathetic, and desperate, and awkward, and–

“Good boy, Bojan. Good puppy.”

“Woof.”

Bojan barks.

He feels that goddamned tingle up his spine again.

AAAAAAND THATS ALL I GOT UP TO :DDD

[meowzfordayz]

Hi T 🤗 I hope you're doing exceptionally well today. I'd like to participate in your Milestone 5.0 KNY drabble event pls. 🥺 👉🏽👈🏽 I think you already know which character I'm choosing 😏

Let's make it sfw, and can it be number 7 on your prompts list pls? Tysm and have a fantastic rest of your day. 😁😇✨️🫶🏽

MILESTONE 5.0

Hii !! ☺️ I'm doing alright — lazy Sunday after outdoor rock climbing for most of Saturday. 🧗🏻‍♀️☀️

... sooo your drabble turned into a one shot. 😅 I actually used my unfinished + unpublished draft of "wildflower" (from my OG MILESTONE 5.0 event) for its beginning, and it evolved from there. 🤪

ANYWHO- Ty for participating !! I hope your weekend was restful, and that your upcoming week goes smoothly. 💙

I said meet me downtown at the dive bar, you’re the only one that makes me feel alive. — Kill My Time

CW: mild sexual content

Giyuu stands, eyes darting—the entrance to your favorite bar a few long strides away—tying and untying his hair. Literally why? strands sticking damply to his neck Could you just, I don’t know, cooperate?! checking his watch 10:28pm Two more minutes to get this shit right retying his hair I guess sixth time’s the charm? as it finally settles gracefully down his back. Well. He hopes it’s graceful, willing himself to not look at his reflection as he passes the bar’s floor to ceiling windows, his pristine, white sneakers contrasting starkly with the grey muddle of pavement. I don’t have time to try again. 

Inhale.

Rolling up and down the sleeves of his aegean hoodie, cotton feeling tighter than usual.

Exhale.

Smoothing the pockets of his slim heather joggers, wishing he’d worn nicer pants.

He knows to pull, not push, the heavy wooden door—he’s made that mistake one too many times—pausing awkwardly at the hostess booth. A cursory glance at the sea of dimly lit tables tells him you haven’t arrived yet, your typical spot unclaimed and unassuming, which means you’re probably-

“On time as always,” an amused voice climbs onto his shoulder, light and assured, goosebumps raising on his forearms.

He grunts. Turns. Does his best to swallow the abrupt coughing fit threatening to overcome him; to stop his eyes from widening in pleasant surprise; to restrain himself from wrapping his arms around you in a too comfortable embrace.

You look, “You hate when I’m late,” beautiful.

Your lips curve gently—Hi—familiar gesture loosening the anxious knot coiling in his gut.

“Because it’s rude,” you snort, “Time is money.”

Time is priceless he inwardly corrects you, mesmerized by how coolly your stare grazes his lungs: by how you look so different, yet still so you. The shade and tangle of your hair, the depth of your eyes, how your skin crinkles and glows. You seem like the you he remembers. You also seem like an entirely new you. Older, wiser, tired; haunting, brilliant, stern. His hands shove self consciously into his pockets, fixated on how effortless and well dressed you are, anxious knot recoiling. If there’s anyone who knows how costly time can be—It’s me—Giyuu realizes.

“You know we can just seat ourselves,” you remark, already walking toward an empty high table—your empty high table—nestled beneath a sepia toned wall scone.

He wonders if you call ahead to make sure it’s available before you arrive; wonders if you know he’d call ahead for you; if you know about the fragments of his heart ingrained in the wooden finish; if you ever admire them, let alone notice them, glinting under the shadow of your oblivion.

Following your lead, he sits tentative and tense, unable to meet the curiosity in your gaze, warm and guarded across from him.

“So what happened?” you tease slowly, fingertips drumming faintly, tabletop sticky with the residue of earlier encounters, “You missed me?”

Some things never change his eyelashes flicker heavily Straightforward entranced by the delicate rhythm of your knuckles Painfully so.

“You’re lucky I felt like going out tonight,” you muse, sharpening, “I was about to brush my teeth,” holding his breath as you drawl, “But how could I ignore you sliding into my DMs?”

“I didn’t know how else to reach you,” he offers weakly.

“I didn’t want to be reached,” by you.

He blinks, treading carefully, “Then why did you reply?”

“Because I felt like going out, but all my friends,” my partner, “Were busy.”

All my friends. Your retort stings, the feeling that you’re hiding something vital not escaping his notice either. Another reminder of time: of time he’d squandered before he could fully comprehend the degree to which you’d etched yourself into his lungs — every breath a placeholder for the lingering heat of your mouth upon his.

“I fucked up.”

You scowl, “You’re pathetic.”

“And you’re here,” he snaps, lips thin with regret.

You flinch, wispy sliver of brightness fading from your stare. He knows you, from the touch of your palm to the twitch in your jaw; the weight of your hatred as you flit in, out, and in. His life. Your revolving door. Constant. As see through as it is unbearable.

“I’ll go,” you hiss, barstool scraping angrily as you move suddenly, “This was a waste of my time.”

He isn’t clueless. He can read between your lines—You are a waste of my time—ringing clear and bitter, inhibition surrendered when it dawns on him: If I let them slip away, then not even fate itself will be able to tie us together anymore.

“You’re the only one that makes me feel alive.”

The velvet drag of your tongue behind his ear, how you’d hold him after loving him, kisses dappled feathery soft from his closed eyelids to the tendons of his wrists. Sometimes, the sheets tangled twice. Occasionally, thrice. And rarely, he got to watch the sun rise upon the angles of your face, sleep claiming the remaining threads of your attention.

“And how about me?” you scoff, “Who makes me feel alive?”

Once upon a time, Giyuu would’ve said I do, so certain of the way you’d cup his cheeks, his nose scrunched while your laughter caressed his flushed expression. Once upon a time, he would’ve said You? Why, you’re everything to me. And that would’ve been enough. Once upon a time, too much time ago, he didn’t just know you — he’d known how to nurture you. How to love you.

“Somebody else,” he guesses quietly.

“Somebody else,” you repeat firmly, tossing him a pitying glance before walking toward the exit, words uttered too low for him to hear, “But I wish it had been you.”

—

It barely registers as Giyuu looks away, the cold press of finality, engraved into his soul by your conquest — the snipping of red thread.

[singledadjack]

In Heat

Warnings: Smut, swearing, unprotected sex,

I’m sorry but this has been in my drafts for a while and I haven’t been in the mood to write smut for so long so the ending is abrupt and just overall bad writing. I’m really sorry about that, I will eventually edit it though.

“You did it on purpose didn’t you? Of course you did. Dressed like a whore so daddy would fuck you?”

“Yes, just needed you so bad. God, you look so handsome today. Couldn’t help it,” she whimpered shamelessly. Tugging on his suit jacket.

“Don’t mark me I have an interview tomorrow,” Jack ordered.

She whined in frustration at his words. Biting down harshly on his neck.

“Hey! I said no marks didn’t I?” He growled. Grabbing her by the jaw. He was not fucking around tonight.

“Sorry, sorry. Need you really bad. Can we go home?” m

***

“Just stick it in!” Y/n whined.

“Baby, you gotta gimme a break. I’m fucked out just, wait a bit,” Jack pleaded.

“Just one more round, then I’ll let you have a break, old man,” she teased.

“You said that last time you nymph!” Jack laughed, patting her bum softly.

“Well I was lying, but I promise you can rest after this one,” she swore, holding out her pinky finger.

Jack locked their pinkies together and pulled her off of his chest. He pulled her up to straddle his face.

“Sit,” he commanded.

“Can you eat me from behind instead?” God she was feral.

They moved so Jack was standing at the foot of the bed and he lifted her hips up to his mouth. He shook his head side to side against her flushed mound. It was swollen from being used and the arousal she felt.

“Getting close already mamas?” Jack moaned.

“Oh! Fuck Jack please it’s so good don’t stop!” She screamed.

“Mmm,” Jack pondered, pulling his mouth off of her. “I don’t believe that’s my name, is it?”

“Fuck! Sorry it’s daddy. Please daddy put

your mouth back on me! It felt so good!” Y/n begged.

“That’s better. You’re lucky I’m taking pity on you and making you cum again. So don’t fuck around with me,” he growled.

“‘m sorry. Oh fuck!” She let out one last screech of a moan and she was cumming against his tongue. He let her fall into her stomach, shaking from the orgasm.

“You hungry bae?”

“Mhm, can we postmates Mediterranean?”

“Yeah, go have a shower. I’ll order and then come join you,” he smiled.

Jack helped Y/n lift off of the bed, chuckling as she waddled towards the bathroom.

***

“Go on, you asked for it so do it," Jack moaned.

When she sunk down onto his throbbing cock, she was done for.

"You're pathetic," he taunted. "Not only can you not pleasure yourself, but you can't even make me feel good," he scoffed.

"I- I can! Please! Jus- I can!" She grunted.

She shifted so her hands were on his chest for balance, lifting her hips up and slamming them back down. Jack did his best to look unbothered. Hands resting behind his head as he let out a yawn. He loved making her work for it, loved teasing her, degrading her. The main reason he loved it was because she clenched and fluttered around him at every word that left his mouth. He couldn’t hold his composure for too long though, she knew his body like the back of her hand and she was pressing all the right buttons. She gave up using her shaking thighs to carry her weight, instead grinding down onto his cock.

She kept her movements steady and strong. Eventually, neither her nor Jack could take it anymore. Jack let out rope after rope of his warm cum into her cunt, and she let her juices gush out as she felt euphoria rush through her body.

“Ok baby? Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

“No, wanna nap first,” Y/n whined.

“We’ll be so quick, then we can nap. Are you alright?”

“Yes ‘m fine, tired.”

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

this is for @winterpower98 ‘s Mentor Swap AU. It’s been sitting in my drafts forever since i was planning on writing more, but just gonna call it and post it and if I ever write more I’ll make another post ksdmfoawef 

Set directly after the whole betrayal fiasco 

3,663 words 

He woke up, throat dry, a quiet exhaustion still clinging to him despite the fact that the sun above had moved, telling him that he’d slept most of the day.

Half his face was pressed into Xioation’s soft fur, smelling of dust and rock, probably from getting punched through a bunch of mountains. His chest rose and fell with every breath, and Wukong could hear the slow beat of his heart with the way his ear was pressed against him.

He listened to the sound of the slow, steady sound for a while, a way of reassuring himself that Monkey King was still there, and that neither of them were crushed under a mountain.

His throat closed up at the thought of rocks shaking around him, threatening to swallow him up and bury him in suffocating darkness, and he turned his head fully into his mentor’s chest, hiding his face, trying to focus on the soft feeling of the fur. Rocks weren’t soft, he reminded himself, rocks didn’t move up and down as they breathed, rocks weren’t warm and alive.

His movement drew some monkey’s over to them, one carefully crawling onto his back and settling between his shoulder blades to start picking through his hair, cooing worriedly, apparently picking up on his distress. He assumed the monkey’s of the mountain had mostly left them alone since Wukong hadn’t been woken up for nearly the entirety of the day, either that or he just slept right through their chattering, which, given how tired he was feeling, wasn’t too far-fetched, but now that he was awake they started to come over and flop over him.

Usually he would laugh, let them hang off his arms, race them up tree’s or chase them around in a game of tag they loved to start and he was much too competitive to refuse, but right now… right now he didn’t really feel like moving all that much.

He curled up tighter against Xioatian and breathed.

The monkey’s were a good distraction, their cooing and prying, poking fingers kept him from spiraling into his own head, and after a little while, he felt steady enough to remove his face from the soft fur.

They were on the couch, Wukong on top of Xioatian, who was still fast asleep, breathing slowly, eyes shut. His arms were around him, holding him to his chest in an embrace and Wukong could feel his tail wrapped tightly around his waist, unconsciously clinging to him.

A monkey was perched on his mentor’s head, and they tilted their head at him, then patted Xioatian on the nose, and Wukong couldn’t help the way his mouth quirked up into a small smile.  

Xioatian inhaled, eyes snapping open, tensing as he woke up, the tail around his waist and arms around him tightening before his eyes focused on him and then he relaxed, the abrupt tension draining out of him.

“Hey, bud,” he said, blinking away sleep, glancing around the room as if checking for any threats.

“Hi, grandpa,” Wukong croaked back, his voice hoarse. The teasing tone he normally used wasn’t really there, but he couldn’t bring himself to really use it right then. 

Xioatian’s smile was brief, and faded slowly as he studied him.  

“How you feeling?”

Wukong opened his mouth to respond, to grin, and brush it off, to stand up and reassure him he was fine, and do what he always did, but… the words lodged in his throat and his smile wouldn’t come. He closed his mouth after a moment, then gave him a wobbly smile. His heart was still lodged in his throat so he couldn’t really respond.

He swallowed once, then twice and tried again.

“I’m sorry.”

Xiaotian’s face fell.

He hadn’t meant to say that, but now he had and all those choking, ugly feelings from last night and that morning were coming back. Tears bit his eyes and he pried his hand out from under Xioatian to scrub at his eyes furiously, pushing himself off his chest and into a sitting position. The monkey’s on his back screeched as they tumbled off; he hadn’t meant to do that either. He really kept messing things up, didn’t he?

“Wukong…” Xioatian said, sounding helpless.

No matter how hard he scrubbed at his eyes, the tears just kept coming, spilling out over his cheeks and dropping onto Xioatian’s chest, dampening his fur.

“This is all my fault,” he choked out.

A monkey chittered at him, patting his cheek sadly and Wukong’s shoulders started to shake.

He refused to make a sound, the tears were enough of an embarassment, he didn’t need pathetic whimpering noises making it worse.

Xioatian made a cooing sound, not unlike his monkey’s, sitting up, and pulled him back against his chest in a hug.

Wukong let him, like the coward he was, willingly hiding in the safety of his fur again, hiding from the world and letting himself cry because there were only monkey’s around to see, because this was the only safety he was ever going to get, and who was to say how long it was going to last.

“None of this is your fault, kid.” Xioatian said, hand cupping the back of his head, fingers threading through his short hair.

“I’m stupid,” Wukong grit out, his voice muffled by fur.

“No,” Xioatian said sharply. “You’re not stupid.”

Wukong ignored him, pushing ahead.

“I actually thought…” he gripped Xioatian’s shirt tighter, and forced the words out, choked and unwilling, an admission of weakness, but he wanted it out.

“I actually thought he cared about me.”

Xioatian held him tighter, and Wukong let himself cry for the second time that day.

Through the offer of shelter, and all the late nights and the stupid jacket around his waist, the apartment above the shop and the snacks dropped onto his head, the loud banter and yelling that made him grin... he’d actually let himself think someone might care about him without wanting anything, that someone would care about just him.

One would think that he would’ve run out of tears by now. His throat ached horribly and swallowing grew increasingly difficult.

Crying sucked.

This sucked.

Everything sucked.

Wukong let himself hide, let himself feel flayed open and vulnerable and clung to the hope that Xioatian needed a successor enough to put up with it; at least he’d never been underhanded about why he was so nice to him, he’d known from the beginning it was because he wanted a successor, not because he liked him as a person, Wukong just happened to be the one who could lift the staff.

He was stupid to think someone would actually want him around without wanting anything from him, stupid thinking some loud, snarky street urchin was enough all on his own.

He glared until his face hurt, scowling because he hated being sad, and anger was always better, but it was so hard not to hurt.

Whatever.

He pushed himself away from Xioatian, wiping at his eyes furiously, and got to his feet. He didn’t see the way his mentor reached after him, worry on his face.

“I’m gonna go check on Bagel,” he said without looking at him.

In reality he had no intention of checking in with Bajie. He just needed… to get out of here. Have a moment alone to think. Yeah, he needed to think.

He headed for the door, picking up the staff from where Wukong had propped it up against the wall on his way.

There was an alley he used to take shelter in before he’d started living above the shop, he could hide out there until he felt… until he decided what to do.

“Wukong,” Xioatian called after him.

He halted, and turned his head to look over his shoulder.

“You’re sleeping here.” It was said firmly, with no room for disagreement, the silent: I expect you to come back, hanging in the air. I know what you’re thinking and I’m not going to let you hide in an alleyway. So much for that plan.

Wukong clenched his teeth, that hot competitive pride rearing up in his throat, ready to bite and fight, but it faded just as quick, and he didn’t have it in him to argue. He just nodded once, then briskly left the house, vaulting upwards and through the massive hole in the cavern above them.

//

Wukong didn’t come back to the shop, or even back to the city. His apartment above the shop remained empty for the next two weeks, and Red Son saw no sign of him.

Even so, he continued to check, almost every day to see if he’d returned. On the fifteenth day he opened the door to find the room stripped bare of Wukong’s things, with no sign there was ever anything there in the first place.

Red Son’s hands shook, and he hated himself in that moment, more than anything.

He would see demon fights in the distance on occasion, a small shape hurtling at them, but too far away to really see if it was him.

Though he knew it was, it was always Wukong who was fighting the demons now thanks to…

Red Son swallowed and turned away from the window.

Wujing, Sandy and Bai Long continued to come into the shop, continued to sit where they would always sit, continued to go about and speak to him completely ignorant of what he’d done. When they asked him if he’d seen Wukong at all, he could only shake his head, and force out the words: “No. No, I haven’t.”

Not a lie, not exactly the truth either. What they were really asking was if he knew what had happened, if he knew where he was…

And Red Son was too much of a coward to answer that.

They exchanged concerned looks, but didn’t press any further, descending into quiet conversation and debate.

None of them had seen him since…

Since Red Son had…

He swallowed unsteadily.

It was like he’d vanished.

He could see the kids getting increasingly worried. Bai Long spent a lot of time just sitting at the table closest to the front, waiting for him to walk through the door, but he never did; Bajie got angry midway through the second week of his absence, spitting curses and raging about how selfish it was for him to disappear on them; Wujing didn’t rant like he did, but he didn’t argue either.

Red Son couldn’t bring himself to tell them it was his fault.

Mei tried to talk to him several times but he dodged her attempts at conversation and refused to answer her questions even when she confronted him. She left the shop in a huff, swearing at him and his bull stubbornness, like she was one to talk.

She knew something had happened, and judging from the way she kept glancing at him, she knew he had something to do with it. But after he shut her down for the fifth time she relented and stopped asking.

“Whatever,” she growled. “Junior can take care of himself. I’m sure he’s fine.”

She grabbed the items she’d always left laying around the shop, loose screws, some tools, a charm or two, and glared at him.

“Text me when you stop being an idiot.”

And she was gone too.

After the kids had left the shop, Bajie and Wujing fuming and Bai Long dejected at another day without a sign of their older brother, Red Son stood, alone in his shop at the sink in the back, stiff and unmoving for a while, then in a fit of rage he hurled the dish that he’d been drying into the wall.

It shattered, and he spent a long time standing there, breathing until he finally forced himself to move and clean it up.

The next morning the jacket that he’d given his kid when he’d first started to grow comfortable and actually stick around was laid on Wukong’s empty bed.

Red Son held it tightly in his hands, shaking, because he knew what it meant.

He knelt there on the floor, the jacket bundled up in his arms, and hugged against his chest, unable or perhaps simply not caring enough to bother stopping himself from hunching over it and sobbed.

//

When the next demon attacked… Bajie ran.

Not away, like he usually would, not to hide behind someone or something or dive to take cover, no… this time he ran towards the attack, as fast as his feet could carry him.

He wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t an idiot either. These attacks were dangerous, and he didn’t have the skill or strength or loud bravado to handle it like…

Like some people.

He could see the tiny shape as it battled something ten times its size and he ran towards it. He dodged a falling piece of debris that almost crushed him, heart pounding in his chest at every close call.

He reached the edge of the destruction just as the demon was giving some speech about revenge before vanishing.

Wukong stood in the middle of the crater, his back to him, and Bajie couldn’t stop the relief he felt at the sight of him.

Alive then. Good. That meant he could yell at him.

He hurried forward, and slid down the side of the small crater, barely keeping his balance on the way down, then stumbled forward, switching to a stomp when he finally got his feet under him.

“Hey!” he yelled before his brother could leap away.

Wukong started, spinning around to look at him, a look of surprise flickering across his face.

“Bagel?”

“Shut up!” Bajie snapped at him, marching up to him and grabbing the front of his shirt to pull him down to his level. “Where have you been?”

Wukong blinked, then scowled, prying his hand off his shirt and pushing it away. Bajie let him. “None of your business.”

“You can’t just disappear on us!” he shouted at him. “We didn’t know what happened to you, you jerk!”

“I don’t need to tell you everything,” Wukong scoffed. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a tried look in his eyes that Bajie hadn’t seen since…

He actually looked at him, and stilled.

“Where’s your jacket?”

Wukong clamped his mouth shut, then said through clenched teeth: “None of your business.”

“Where is your jacket, Wukong?” Bajie yelled at him.

“I got rid of it,” he snarled back.

Got rid of it.

Got rid of the jacket, the jacket he wouldn’t even let Bajie touch, the one he wore around his waist no matter the weather, the on he’d draped over Bai Long’s shoulders when he’d been shivering and threatened death upon him if he so much as made a tear, the jacket that had been a treasured gift for as long as Bajie had known him.

And he just… got rid of it?

Something was very wrong.

“What do you mean you got rid of it?” Bajie demanded volume raising even more.

“I mean I got rid of it!” Wukong snapped.

“Why?” he asked, aghast, his worry and concern coming out all wrong and just making him sound angrier.

“Because I didn’t want it anymore!” Wukong shouted at him. “Just drop it, Bajie!”

“Does this have something to do with why you haven’t been back to the shop in weeks?”

“I said drop it!”

“No! Where have you been?!”

“Why won’t you listen to me!?”

“Because you’re being an idiot! Do you know how worried we all are?! Big brother, Red is--”

“Shut UP!” Wukong screamed at him. “WE’RE NOT REAL BROTHERS.”

Bajie’s mouth snapped shut.

Wukong stood there, breathing heavily, gripping his staff, anger and something else burning in his eyes.

He clearly wasn’t in his right mind. Wukong was always loud about things, and vulnerability was no different, the more afraid he felt the louder he got. Something had happened to make him disappear on them, something bad, but... Even knowing that… It still hurt, because he knew that. He knew their little makeshift family wasn’t real, but... even though he was one of the only ones in the group who actually had parents still around, with the group was the only place that had ever really felt like home.

Wukong was the one that had collected them all, grabbed them by the back of the shirt off the streets or off a lonely bench in the middle of nowhere and dragged them back to the shop and made them part of a family.

So yeah. It hurt to hear it out loud.

But it probably hurt the most that he had said it.

Wukong glowered at him for a moment, and then, without a word, he turned away.

The hurt reared in his throat, twisting and biting sharply until it shifted into hot, burning anger that scorched and clawed it’s way out.

Bajie tackled him.

Wukong yelped as they tumbled to the ground, the staff thudding heavily to the side a foot away. “What the h--”

“You don’t get to walk away from me!” He yelled at him as they rolled across the ground, fighting, Wukong to escape and Bajie to pin him down. He was not letting him run away from them again.

“I’ll walk away from whoever I want!” Wukong yelled back.

Bajie punched him in the face.

It didn’t hurt him, Wukong just looked more offended than anything, and then outraged, but Bajie also knew he could throw him halfway across the city if he really wanted to and he hadn’t even really tried to shove him off yet, so he wasn’t going anywhere.

“We’re worried about you, you massive idiot!” he hollered at him, trying to punch him again. “We haven’t seen or heard from you in three weeks! No texts, no calls--!”

Wukong caught every attempted blow, jamming his sharp elbows into his stomach and in his face, which hurt. “You don’t need to worry about me!”

“Yes I do! You’re my big brother, whether you like it or not, you stupid--!”

He was suddenly on his back, the wind knocked out of him and Wukong sitting on top of him.

“Yes!” he yelled down at him. “I am your big brother! And little brother’s aren’t supposed to worry about their big brothers!” His voice cracked and tore horribly, choking and halting near the end. His arms started to tremble from where they were holding him down and…

Bajie blinked.

Crying.

Wukong was crying.

Bajie could almost hear the drip drop as they fell from his big brother's face and onto his shirt, dampening the fabric.

“You’re not supposed to worry about me,” Wukong choked out, hunching over, and suddenly looking just as small as he really was.

He released Bajie’s wrists in favour of sitting back and gripping his own arms in an almost-hug, fingers digging into the exposed skin.

Bajie pushed himself up so he was sitting on the broken concrete, body aching from tumbling across the hard concrete and pulled him into a hug.

He didn’t resist, or make up any blunder about how dumb hugs were and how he’d never needed them, or even try to push him away, he just leaned into him, not hugging back, but not protesting either.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hiding his face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up,” Bajie told him, because he was being confusing, because he was apologizing and Wukong never did that, and he was so stupidly worried about him. “Just… don’t run off again.” His hands tightened in his shirt, part of him afraid he might tear away and run away again, and there would be nothing he could do to stop him.

Wukong nodded into his shoulder, surprising him.

“And please tell me what’s going on.”

He shook his head this time.

“Wukong…” Bajie said, grip tightening again, because Wukong always brushed things off with bravado and loud confidence, and always walked away.

“My fault,” he muttered, making Bajie still. “I was dumb. It doesn’t matter. Nothing to fix.”

Wukong who never admitted to being wrong in the entire time he had known him, who referred to himself as the best constantly saying those things?

“But--”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he curled up a little tighter against him. “Please.”

Please.

Bajie swallowed, worried, so incredibly worried, but nodded. “Okay. Okay fine. Just… promise me you won’t run off again. And you’ll come back so the others know you’re okay.”

Wukong nodded. “I will, I promise. Just... not at the shop.”

With a sick feeling in his stomach Bajie was beginning to sense a theme.

He pushed aside the feeling for the time being and just nodded. “Yeah, wherever you want, just so long as you show up.”

They stayed like that for a moment more before Wukong was pulling away, wiping away stray tears forcefully enough that Bajie was surprised he didn’t scratch his skin with the rough fabric of his hand wraps. He stood up and then extended a hand to help Bajie to his feet.

“If you tell anyone about this--” Wukong started once he was on his feet, the threat in his voice, and his glare was kinda ruined by the way his eyes were still red.

“Relax, boss,” Bajie snorted, folding his arms. “I’m not gonna brag about being pinned to the ground by a twig.”

“You take that back,” Wukong demanded, punching his arm, but he was smiling. The punch was barely a tap and was all for show with none of the purpose behind it, just like a lot of the things his big brother did.

“Twiggy,” Bajie said, sticking his tongue out at him as he started walking.

“Bagel,” Wukong shot back, snatching up the staff as they passed by it, shrinking it down and storing it in his ear.

“Monkey wannabe.”

Wukong gave an offended gasp.

“Next time you tackle me from behind I’ll yeet you across the city.”

“Sure, boss.”

They both knew he wouldn’t.

[ptersparkers]

her brother’s girlfriend

summary: sarah cameron happens to be in love with her brother’s girlfriend.

warnings: none, i think? and typos, probably. 

notes: someone requested this and i was like.....ok yes this is a very interesting concept! i’m also really glad you guys want more sarah content because i love her. also in my head the pogues are 17-18 because i cANNOT deal with 15 year olds being as ripped as rudy and chase bye

i’m aware sarah’s mom being this nice is not canon but it is in my universe ok

add yourself to my taglist! 

Sarah Cameron was laying on her stomach with her phone in her hand when she heard your laugh from the hallway outside of her room. She spent the morning trying to combat the heat of the North Carolina sun and found a spot in her room situated in front of her window on the second floor that provided a draft of wind. She let her eyes close for a brief second, enjoying the spot with her arm propped up against the cold side of the newly turned pillow. 

She heard your voice from outside of her door in the long hallway. Your laugh had echoed through her mind and she snapped her eyes open, her head looking at the white door that was the only barrier between you and her. She could hear her brother’s voice accompanied by an equally loud laugh and Sarah couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the thought of her brother being the one to make you laugh. 

There was a knock on your door that pulled Sarah out of her thoughts. 

“Come in,” she said awkwardly, quickly turning her phone on to look busy. You opened the door and she looked at you and saw tan lines and a bathing suit that made her mouth water. 

“Hi,” you said softly, smiling at her. You had one hand on her doorknob and had stepped in only far enough to peek inside her bedroom. “Do you have that shirt I gave you last week?” Sarah snapped out of her thoughts

“Oh, yeah! I washed it last night, hope you don’t mind. I know you said it didn’t matter but Kie pushed me into the river,” Sarah said, fetching the black shirt that had been fitting perfectly folded on her nightstand. She handed it to you and you tilted your head, keeping that grin on your face. 

“You’re an angel,” you said dramatically. “Well I hope Kiara pushing you into the river was worth it.” 

Sarah laughed shyly. “We were just messing around and she pushed me a little too hard. I think someone has a video of it.”

“You’ll have to send it to me,” you said. There was a brief pause when you heard Rafe calling your name. “Anyway, I’ll probably be swinging by later tonight for dinner. Your mom invited me this morning and she said something about salmon?”

“She’s excited about cooking the salmon she got off of the mainland,” Sarah explained. She leaned on the wall next to you and crossed her arms lazily across her chest. “I think she bought a little too much but I’m happy that you’re coming over.”

“Babe?” Sarah heard Rafe call from out of her bedroom. You had turned around and nodded towards him. 

“I’ll see you later,” Sarah said, her lips forming a thin line. You winked and bade her a goodbye and Sarah closed her door, sighing in frustration. 

Her infatuation with you started when you had come home from college last summer. It was your first year gone and she hadn’t paid much attention to you from various parties on Figure Eight and around the island until she had seen you in her living room, sitting on the living room couch on the seat closest to the front door. You had stood up and offered your hand for her to shake, introducing yourself as Rafe’s girlfriend. It was odd that she had never heard of you before nor had she ever seen you, but her thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt when Rafe had sauntered downstairs and pressed a kiss to your lips. 

It turns out you were a Kook but had never bothered to attend events thrown by the rich families until you had dated Rafe. She began to see you more often and had taken up a liking to striking up a conversation with you whenever Rafe wasn’t by your side. You had the best sense of humor and fashion sense, she decided. You didn’t give a shit about your status on some small island that you’d eventually leave and Sarah decided she’d be the same way. She accredits your personality rubbing off on her for being more open to becoming friends with Kiara again, and subsequently, the Pogues. 

When she asked you about your opinions on The Cut and everyone who lived there, all you did was shrug. At this time, she had been dating Topper for a few months and her opinions were clouded by his constant degrading comments about the people who lived on The Cut and she felt as if she couldn’t express a differing opinion without hearing the end of it. 

“I don’t care about titles,” you said, taking a sip of the drink you were fostering. “People are people and they never asked to be born with or without something they can’t control.” 

“But you’re a Kook,” Sarah retorted.

“I guess,” you said. “But I never bothered to come to these things before dating Rafe.” 

That much, Sarah knew, was true. She also had you to thank when it came to Rafe’s relationship with her friends; you had chewed him out in front of John B. and JJ when he had made a degrading comment about the Pogue lifestyle and didn’t care that you were speaking your mind to your boyfriend. All Sarah could remember was Rafe’s dumbfounded face and his silent nod, looking between the Pogues and you before walking away as you had raised your eyebrow, challenging him to change your mind. 

Sarah could also remember JJ’s slow clap when you had followed Rafe out of The Cut and John B’s starry eyes. It was no secret that both boys had grown a small infatuation with a Kook Princess who had a mouth on her and used it for good. Ever since that afternoon, Rafe hadn’t dared say anything to the Pogues when he was on The Cut. 

That was the first time Sarah had felt a strange feeling in the bottom of her stomach. It was realizing that you didn’t just control Rafe, but you were able to get through to him and make him listen to your voice. 

And Sarah swore that she’d grow to have a spine like you did.

When the sky grew dark, Sarah heard your car park in front of her house and saw dressed in a linen blouse with a few buttons popped open, black slacks, and comfortable oxfords. You looked more mature than the Kooks on the island and her heart was racing, beating against her chest. Before Sarah walked downstairs, she had slipped on a pair of white sneakers and buttoned her plaid tapered pants, looking in the mirror as she put on a second coat of lip gloss. 

As she walked out the door, she groaned in frustration and closed it, looking at herself with dissatisfaction. The baby yellow shirt she wore didn’t make her happy with her outfit and she wanted to change it in hopes of impressing you with her fashion sense. Sarah pulled out a large white button down and settled for that, mimicking your outfit but popping open two buttons and tucking it into her pants. 

“Ward couldn’t be here tonight,” her mother said when Sarah made her downstairs. “He says hello.”

“That’s okay,” you said with a smile. “I know I’ll see him some time soon.” You saw Sarah standing her mother and motioned for her to come closer to which she followed. Sarah fixed her hair anxiously and stood beside the older woman, waving at you.

“Hey,” you said coolly. “Long time no see.” She could hear you teasing her in your voice. 

“I’ve been bored since you left,” she said, scrunching her nose. 

“Why don’t you two hang out for a bit? Rafe called me earlier and said he’d be a little late because he has a flat tire.”

“I hope he’s okay,” Sarah said sympathetically. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” her mother said, waving her off. “Anyway, I’m going to go back to the kitchen and finish preparing dinner. Why don’t you two go up to Sarah’s room and hang out for a bit? I’ll call you down when the food’s ready.”

You nodded and said your thanks and Sarah led you to her room, trying to keep the blush on her cheeks from surfacing. Her room was much tidier now; she had taken the liberty to clean it up after you left when she realized she had a pile of dirty clothing in the corner of her room and some books sprawled out across her floor. They were all in their place now. Sarah made sure to fix her bed just in case you were in her room again and she thanked herself for not being lazy earlier.

“Your room’s so cute,” you said, looking at the pictures on her wall and nightstand. “It’s so...you.”

“Thanks,” she said, sitting awkwardly on the edge of her bed, not knowing what to do other than stare at you while you looked around her room. “I try to make this space feel like home as much as possible.”

“That’s how I feel,” you said. “I have a dorm back in college and I brought some stuff that reminded me of the island. I didn’t want to feel like I was sleeping in a stranger’s bed.”

“I thought your parents wanted you to stay in an apartment,” Sarah said, turning her head. 

You laughed. “Nah, I wanted the college experience. My roommate was a girl named Alex. Cool chick. She moved from South Korea halfway through high school and decided to stay in America for college.” 

“College sounds much better than this.”

“It is,” you said without a beat. “I like the independence and the freedom to study what I want to study. The college parties are great but I think it’s a little too much for me.”

“You don’t go?”

You shook your head. “Not really. I’m more of a wine and dine type of girl.” 

“Sometimes I feel like I only go to parties because all of my friends are,” Sarah confessed. You stopped sifting through her clothing and looked at her. 

“You don’t have that many opportunities here,” you said. “I mean, I never really went to parties anyway but I realized that when I left for college. Do what you want, Sarah. Sit at home and eat some popcorn or go out and get drunk. As long as it makes you happy.” 

Sarah sat there, dumbfounded as you resumed looking at her closet. She hadn’t thought about how her voice was suppressed by Topper, her parents, Rafe, and the other Pogues. Sarah felt as if she had tried so hard being two different people when she was with the Pogues or the Kooks and, if she was admitting it, Sarah was getting tired of pleasing two different groups of people.

“You have cute clothes,” you said, pulling out a blouse to look at. “I’d raid your closet if you let me.”

“You can,” Sarah said too quickly. “Borrow clothes, I mean.” 

“I mean, it’s only fair if I let you borrow my clothes.” 

Sarah laughed. “Oh! I forgot, Kie texted me the video of when I fell into the river.”

You put the hanger back in her closet and sat next to Sarah while she looked for her message chain with Kiara. She turned up her volume and played the video. While you were watching at the small screen, Sarah couldn’t help but be hyper aware about your thigh pressed against hers and your hair tickling the side of her face. Sarah had cursed herself silently, remembering that she hadn’t done much to her hair other than wash and dry it. 

“That was hilarious,” you said with a laugh. “But yeah, maybe it was a good thing that you washed my shirt.” 

“I don’t know what to do with my hair,” Sarah said abruptly, suddenly a little self conscious about her appearance. “I always wear it down or in a ponytail.” 

You stood up and Sarah’s eyes followed you. You walked to her makeup desk with a large mirror and sifted through her products, taking a few items and bringing it to her bed. 

“I like this spray,” you said, praying the liquid onto her roots. “It’s good for beach waves and to contain frizz. You just need a little bit.” If Sarah was being honest, she enjoyed your fingers playing and tugging on her hair. “You could just, um,” you said, not knowing how to explain it. You ran your fingers through her hair just enough to push it all to the back and so that the front of her hair was voluminous and elegant. You grabbed her yellow hand held mirror and gave it to her.

“I look like you,” Sarah said with a small smile. 

“I also like to put my hair half up and half down or in a bun with a few strands framing my face. But it’s all about decorating your hair with clips if you’re lazy.”

“I’m always lazy.” 

You looked at Sarah with a smile and she swore that moment had lasted for a lifetime. It wasn’t until her mother knocked on your door and opened it that pulled her out of her thoughts and brought her back to reality. 

“Food’s ready! Sarah, you look gorgeous,” she said, taking note of her hair that had changed since the last time she saw her mother. 

“Thanks, mom,” she said sheepishly. “Give us a second to clean up and we’ll be downstairs.”

Sarah moved hastily and tried not to trip over her own two feet when she put the hair products back in their place. She could feel you watching her and chose not to meet your gaze when she walked past you to head downstairs. 

Her dining room was split into two - the room with a large table that was always decorated minimally and a smaller table meant for intimate moments, like this one. There were four plates set on the table and you sat in front of her mother. Sarah had to consciously make the choice to sit next to her mom, forgetting that Rafe was coming over until she saw the fourth plate. 

“This looks great, Mrs. Cameron,” you said as she began to serve you a piece of the salmon. “It smells fantastic.”

“I know your mother loves to cook and I’ve gotten a few tips over the years. I have her to thank, really.” 

As the conversation between you and her mother continued, Sarah couldn’t help but think how you were the perfect girl to bring home. Her mother loved you and begged for Rafe to bring you over more often when you were home from college. Her father thought you were a model girlfriend, though Sarah was sure you played the tamer version of yourself around him. You were everything she could’ve asked for and she couldn’t help but feel happy at the thought of you staying in her life for the long run. 

“I’m home,” Sarah heard Rafe say as he approached the table. She watched as you turned around and smiled while Rafe leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek. She shifted in her seat awkwardly and felt a burst of jealousy within her. Sarah tried not to think about you for the rest of the dinner but that was hard to do whenever she saw Rafe kiss the back of your hand. 

It was going to be a long night. 

***

“Yo, Cameron,” JJ yelled as Sarah turned around. She was in the midst of grabbing a water bottle when she heard the blond call her name. “How’s Y/N doing?”

“Fine,” she called back, walking back to the group. “She’s going back to school next week so she’s spending time with Rafe before going back.”

“Haven’t seen her in a while,” JJ replied. “Actually since summer when she talked Rafe’s ear off.” Sarah smiled at the memory. 

“They spent the weekend together and they’re coming back this afternoon, I think.”

“Spending the weekend together, huh?” JJ asked suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. Sarah gagged internally, trying not to think about you and Rafe intimately. Instead, Sarah made a disgusted expression to which JJ laughed. 

“Are we talking about Y/N?” John B. asked when he climbed onto the boat. 

“She’s going back to school next week,” Sarah explained once again. 

“Dang, wish we could hang out again but I guess I wouldn’t want to be caught with high schoolers if I’m in college.” 

Sarah knew John B. didn’t mean anything bad by his comment, but she felt insecure. Did you hang out with her because you were Rafe’s little sister? Did you pity her for hanging out with the Pogues, who were around Sarah’s age? 

“Where are Pope and Kie?” Sarah asked. 

“Bringing food from her house,” John B. explained. “They’ll be here in twenty.” 

“God, I’m starving.” 

“Isn’t that Y/N?” JJ asked, pointing afar. Sarah turned and took off her sunglasses and put in on her head, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to identify you. But it didn’t take that much effort. She’d recognize you anywhere. Sarah pulled her phone from her back pocket and texted you to come say hello, hoping you’d hear her silent plea. The trio watched as you checked your phone and stopped abruptly, changing your direction and walking towards the boat. 

“I can’t believe she’s actually coming here,” JJ said, laughing to himself. He sat with his hands behind his head. 

“You act like she’s some celebrity,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. 

“She kinda is. No one bats and eye when she walks The Cut or Figure Eight,” JJ said, shrugging. “Plus, John B. gets flustered whenever she’s around and that never happens.” 

Sarah didn’t have time to process what JJ had said because you approached the docked boat, standing on the wooden floor. Sarah looked at you - you wore an orange bikini that highlighted your tan nicely and carried a towel. She did a double take behind her sunglasses, looking at your extremely short shorts and gulped when you looked at her. 

“Mind if I join?”

“N-Not at all,” she said, stepping aside for you to climb in. 

Sarah could see John B’s cheeks turn a shade of pink when you winked at both boys who were sitting next to one another. JJ sat up straighter and John B. stood up, offering you a bottle of water or some sunscreen that he had remembered to bring. She watched as you turned around to place your towel on the boat and as the two teenage boys watched as your shorts rode up your thighs, leaving their mouthes slightly ajar. She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath. 

“Sarah, come sit next to me,” you said, pulling her out of her daydreams. The towel was big enough for two people to sit on and she tried not to stutter and trip over herself. “So tell me, boys, what have you been up to since the last time I saw you?”

“Oh, you know,” said JJ, “just messing around and trying not to fight your boyfriend.”

“He hasn’t been bothering us,” John B. cut in, shoving JJ. 

“Good,” you said, leaning back on your elbows. 

“I guess nothing’s been that exciting around here,” said John B. “Just trying to pass time before summer comes.” 

“I can’t wait to relax again,” you said, sighing. “Midterms kicked my ass and spring break is almost over, so it’s back to stressing out again.” 

“Look at you, college girl,” JJ teased. 

If there was one thing Sarah loved about you, it was your ability to read people past first impressions. JJ had always been an interesting case for you because you could tell he was a rambunctious soul that cared deeply for his friends and used humor as a coping mechanism. You didn’t know what that was, nor did you try to pry, but there was always an unspoken support you had for JJ. You had confided in Sarah once in the previous year about if JJ was okay and had asked her all these questions that, if she didn’t know any better, would make her assume you had a thing for him. But you were just aware of people, especially the ones who put other people first. 

“You’d do well in college,” you said, looking at JJ. 

“I have no brain cells,” he said, laughing at his own joke. 

You shrugged. “I just think you’re introspective and have a lot to say. JJ didn’t say anything. Sarah could tell he was flustered and couldn’t come up with a coherent response, but you didn’t pay any mind and started a new conversation. 

Sarah thought you were so effortlessly cool. You had a “go with the flow” personality but knew when it was time to be mature. You were everything she wanted to be - never caring about what others said about you and doing whatever you wanted if it made you happy. You invested in your future and Sarah wanted to do the same. 

“Sarah?” you asked, nudging her side. 

“Huh?” she said, looking at you. 

You chuckled. “I asked if you wanted to come back to your house with me. I’m meeting Rafe later on tonight and I could give you a ride back home.” 

“Oh,” Sarah said, clearing her voice. “No, that’s okay. I’m gonna be hanging out with John B. and JJ until later tonight.”

“Suit yourself,” you said as you stood up. “Mind bringing the towel on your way back?” 

Sarah shook your head. “Not at all.” 

“Thanks,” you said as you put your sunglasses back on. “See you later, boys!” You waved goodbye and the trio watched you walk away until you disappeared among a small crowd. 

“Sarah,” John B. said softly. Her attention turned to the tan boy who stood with a soft expression on his face. 

“What?” she asked. 

“You like her,” JJ said with a smirk from where he sat. 

“N-No I don’t,” Sarah said. “She’s dating my brother.”

“You can still like who he’s dating.” Sarah was quiet. 

“We don’t love you any less,” John B. said. Quite frankly, Sarah hadn’t given any thought to her sexuality or what to label it. She just knew she liked you. 

“But seriously,” JJ said, pushing himself up from his spot. “Y/N or not, you know we love you, right?” 

Sarah felt like a weight was taken off of her shoulders. There was the fear of people knowing she liked her brother’s girlfriend, but also the fear that people knew she had romantic feelings towards girls. She hadn’t thought about how her friends would take to that other than knowing that you were a little older than the rest of them. 

“Yeah,” Sarah said softly, a tear slipping from her eye. John B. didn’t miss a beat and pulled her into his chest where she left a few tears splash her already rosy cheeks. 

***

It was the night before you were leaving to go back to school after spring break and you had stopped by her house to spend a few hours with her family and say goodbye before going back to your house. Sarah was the only person in the house when you knocked on the door, but you were happy to stick around for a little while.

“It’ll be weird when you go home,” Sarah admitted. “It’s quiet when you’re gone.” 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you said, mocking her pout. “It’s only two months. Plus, you can always FaceTime me.”

“I know,” she said, taking step towards you. “It’s just not the same.”

“I think you’re too mature to still be on this island,” you said. “You’ve got this itch for real life and the Outer Banks isn’t giving you any of that.” 

“It’s like you took the words right out of my mouth.” 

“You’re like me,” you said, sighing. “There’s a lot of things out there for you but you just have to take the first step.” 

Sarah was quiet. All she could do was stare at you, perfectly imperfect. You had opted to forego makeup and wore moisturizer and perfume that Sarah could recognize easily. Your wore distressed jeans, white sneakers, and a random shirt you had found that wasn’t in the laundry and left your hair flow behind you without real thought about how you looked. It was nice to see someone who lived on Figure Eight that didn’t care about how they appeared to other people living on this side of the island. 

“What are you thinking?” you asked. Sarah realized she hadn’t said anything. 

“Nothing,” she said quickly. 

“Your pretty head was somewhere else for a minute,” you teased. You walked forward and ran your hands through her hair before resting them on her neck. Sarah gulped, debating on whether or not she should keep her feelings to herself or not. 

“You mean a lot to me,” she began. “You, uh, you make Rafe really happy and that makes me really happy.” It took a moment, but you smiled softly at the blonde in front of you. Sarah relished in the feeling of your thumbs stroking her cheeks and waited for you to reply. 

“You’re special, Sarah Cameron. You’ll be just fine.” 

You leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek but it was dangerously close to the corner of her mouth. Sarah closed her eyes when you let your lips linger for a brief moment before pulling yourself away and waving goodbye, heading outside. 

Sarah Cameron had looked at the space you had occupied and watched the ghost you left behind disappear into her memory. She didn’t know much, but she knew you believed in her. And that was enough. 

***

i thrive off of feedback and commentary so pls feed my ego 

***

taglist: 

@princessdolan​ @ashyramblings-ficrecs​ @fanficscuziranout​ @caswinchester2000​ @jellyfishbeansontoast​ @karleeluv​ @briannarto @pogue-h​ @hyluas @angelic-ashleyaileen @mfmaddyperez. 

^ tumblr isn’t letting me @ certain urls and that makes me #frustrated.

[jmnjmnjmn]

Celebrity crush | part 2 | JK x Reader x RM mini series

Pairing: Namjoon x Celebrity!Reader x Jungkook

Key words: christmas, celebrity crush, singer, idol.

Warnings: drinking, swearing, jealousy, slight panic attack

Word count: around 9,000

Writing this was something... There will be a part 3, there simply has to be... Please let me know if you would like me to write to endings - one for each ship. It is a lot of work, but I am battling with myself about doing it anyway hehe. 

For a better read play yourselves those songs:

When I Fell In Love: this song is a loose translation of When I Fall In Love by Primary

Not Bothered: heavily inspired by It’s Okay If You Forget Me by Astrid S, but I imagine it sounding more positive and upbeat like Thank U, Next by Ariana Grande

Private lounge song: Spoil My Night by Post Malone

Inspo board

Masterlist

Namjoon exhaled deeply as the song blasting through his earbuds came to an abrupt end. He locked his phone and wrapped the cable around it before throwing it into the depths of his black backpack beneath his feet. He was in a car with Hoseok, driving home from a recording session.

“What is it?” He asked, glancing towards him. Namjoon looked at him cluelessly as the sound of his friend’s voice brought him back to earth.

“Huh?”

“You sighed so deeply.” He explained. “Something happened?” Namjoon smiled lightly and shook his head.

“No, it’s just- (Y/N) released a new song.” They both chuckled at the effect this girl had on him. “But- I mean- it’s a very dramatic one.” Namjoon added quickly as if he was justifying himself. “It talks very bluntly about ending a long term relationship and being more than okay with it.” Hoseok nodded with a suggestive grin. “It actually made me a little sad, but also… It got me thinking that…” Namjoon gave himself a couple of extra seconds before telling him what really was on his mind the whole time he was listening to (Y/N)’s new song. “She’s probably single right now.”

“Gosh, this is just too funny.” Hoseok shook his head, stopping at a red light. “You should ask Jungkook to give you her number.” Namjoon felt his cheeks going red almost instantly at the thought.

“No…” He murmured looking down at his lap. “Should I?”

“Yes!” Hoseok exclaimed. “It’s right there. Try or you’ll regret it.”

“Okay.” He nodded, trying to encourage himself. “I’ll ask Jungkook when we get home-”

“No, ask him right now!” Hoseok cut him off. “You’ll chicken out when we’re home.” He urged him, knowing Namjoon well enough to be sure that that’s exactly what would happen if he didn’t act right away. “Do it.” Namjoon took his phone out of his backpack and weighed it in his hand for a moment before unlocking it. He tapped on the KakaoTalk icon and drafted a long message to his group’s maknae. “Wait, what are you- just ask him! You don’t have to write an essay about why you want it. It’s not like he doesn’t know.” Hoseok laughed as he glanced at Namjoon’s screen where he already managed to type up a three paragraph text.

“Okay, okay.” Namjoon sighed, deleting the entirety of the message and replacing it with a greeting and a simple question. His stomach raised to his throat when he finally pressed the ‘sent’ arrow. As the lights changed from red to green Namjoon’s phone buzzed in his hand. “He sent it.” Hoseok smiled, patting his shoulder.

“You see? Wasn’t that hard.” Namjoon felt his head beginning to hurt as he realised what was supposed to come next.

“But… What do I write to her now?” He asked, totally clueless.

In the meantime Jungkook was sitting on the couch in the BTS dorm trying to put a finger on how he was feeling and why. Namjoon just texted him asking for (Y/N) number and he sent it to him without hesitation, but as he did it he felt something. A bitter fiery feeling inside his chest that he couldn’t describe any other way. Before he could stop himself he already typed and sent another message to his group’s leader.

“Why though?” Namjoon viewed the message instantly and replied within seconds. “I want to congratulate her on the new single” Jungkook cocked his eyebrow, reading the words on the screen.

He quickly typed (Y/N)’s name into YouTube and opened the most recent video. Nodding he carefully eyed the dance choreography and couldn’t help himself reminiscing the time they danced together. He opened KakaoTalk again, but instead of answering Namjoon he scrolled down his chat list stopping at (Y/N)’s and his selfie she still had set up as her profile picture. Involuntarily he smiled to himself as he started typing.

-

“You have been chosen!” Taehyung’s loud cheers echoed down the empty hallways of the BigHit headquarters as he shook on Jungkook’s shoulder.

Seven of the boys were on their way to dance practice when their manager called them into his office for a quick chat. It ended up as more of an announcement than a conversation since all of them were in deep shock after hearing what he had to say.

“I just received a very interesting call.” Their manager started with a mischievous look on his face. “It was from overseas.” He continued with the same tone, wanting to keep them in suspense. “A proposition of collaboration with Jungkook from a very popular artist.” The boys looked at each other with cluelessness in their eyes. “It was (Y/N)’s manager.” He finally stated, not being able to withhold the information for any longer. Jungkook widened his eyes at him. “She’s going to be putting out a Christmas single this year and wants it to be in collaboration with you.” 

“Stop.” Jungkook told his friend off with a smile plastered on his face.

“It’s true you’re the one.” Hoseok chimed in. “She practiced with you, she asked for your number and now she wants you for the Christmas single.” He counted all their joint activities on his fingers.

“Such a popular guy. Jungkook’s in demand.” The group chattered teasingly.

“How do you do this, huh?” Taehyung asked, throwing his arm around Jungkook. His sweet smile quickly turned into a cheeky grin as he ruffled his hair. “You were just your charming self?” Jungkook laughed with the rest of the guys, as he felt his cheeks become hotter, minute by minute.

“I mean we talked. Once or twice.” He said, trying to sound nonchalant. Jimin raised his eyebrows at him.

“Once or twice?” Jungkook’s cheeks were visibly red by now.

“Twice.” He admitted happily. “Once in March and then she messaged me on my birthday, but I told you about that.” Jimin eyed his friends face with extreme interest.

“What did you talk about?” He pressed as they walked into the practice room.

“Well, first I congratulated her on the success of Not Bothered in March and we talked a bit and then she just wished me a happy birthday last week.”

“Gosh, I’m so jealous.” Namjoon whined, bending down to tie his shoes. He was the one that got the boys into (Y/N)’s music - or more accurately forced them to listen to it long enough they began to share his love for it as well. He was happy for Jungkook’s success, but he couldn’t help himself and felt a little bitter. “I mean a single with her is one thing, but birthday wishes..." He shook his head. ”That’s another level of familiarity."

“Your birthday’s in four days. Maybe she’ll message you too.” Seokjin joked, patting him on his shoulder comfortingly at which Namjoon chuckled.

“Doubtful.”

“Jungkook, ask (Y/N) to wish Namjoon a happy birthday.” Hoseok proposed with a laugh. “It would make his life.”

Tired after hours of going over different dance routines Jungkook lied down on the floor of the practice room panting. He brushed his hair back from his face. The hard feeling of the boards under his back got him thinking about the time he was teaching (Y/N) Boy With Luv choreography on the very same dance floor.

“Jungkook, your phone is buzzing.” Jimin called walking up to him with his phone in hand. He thanked him, grabbing the device. As his eyes met the bright screen he choked on his own tongue, earning a laugh from his friend. “Are you okay?” He asked, hitting his back with an open palm to help him catch his breath again.

“It’s (Y/N).” He finally croaked out. Jimin widened his eyes and squatted next to him.

“Guys, (Y/N) just messaged Jungkook.” He called out with excitement. “What did she say?” He urged him, looking over his shoulder onto his screen.

“Heard you said yes to my Christmas project.” Jungkook read aloud. “We’ll probably record in November. Can’t wait. Pink heart emoji.” With each word he read the boys made more and more comments regarding how lucky he was, how talented, how cool the whole experience was going to be and how happy they were for him. Even Namjoon, though still a little heart broken over (Y/N)’s choice, patted his shoulder with a sincere smile on his face. After a moment of staring at his telephone screen with disbelief Jungkook looked up to his hyungs from the ground. “What should I write back?”

From that moment on Jungkook and (Y/N) have been talking more frequently. It started quite professionally with her sending over information about the Christmas single and various samples of music and vocals. Within days though their conversations turned into long strings of messages with more of a personal note attached to them. Oftentimes when the members asked him what he was grinning about when staring down at his phone he would answer with a shrug, but after one more press he’d come clean, gloating about how funny or smart (Y/N) and showing them her messages.

“Saw you got nominated for BMA’s” Jungkook waited for the three moving dots to disappear before typing in an answer. Another bubble appeared on the screen and he smiled reading the simple message. “Congrats 💗”

“Thank you!! You too” (Y/N) immediately viewed his text. After less than two seconds another bubble from her came up on the bottom of Jungkook’s screen.

“💗” He smiled looking at the emoji she used with him so often. “We should meet when we’re all there. A little integration before we record next month 🎅” The smile on the boys face grew wider.

“Totally” He typed in quickly and chuckled at the answer she gave him.

“I’ll make sure my people set it up with your people 😉” He shook his head. She sounded so ridiculously famous.

“Can’t wait 😁” He typed back before locking his phone and reaching his hands up to touch his warmed up cheeks.

-

The black SUV slowly made its way down one of Los Angeles’s freeways. It was nearing two o’clock in the morning when it crossed the gates of a private estate in which (Y/N)’s house was located.

“Woah, this is crazy. Like from the movies.” The boys of BTS chattered between each other as they looked out the shaded windows of the car.

There were mansions left and right, long drive ways and high gates protecting whoever lived behind them. The car stopped and the driver rolled down his window. He said something to an intercom outside and the metal gate in front of the hood opened up, slowly revealing an insanely big house with a driveway the size of a whole parking lot, crowded with expensive vehicles. As the boys spilled out of the car a man dressed in all black approached their head staff member who just got out of the front seat. They chatted for a brief moment before he walked up to them rubbing his hands.

“You’re on your own now. We’ll head back to the hotel and pick you up when you call.” He explained with a thin smile. “Her security says she’s been informed of your arrival and that you should just go inside.” The boys looked at each other a little worried. Suddenly everything seemed so real and serious. “Go on. Have fun.” He encouraged them before getting back inside the company car.

“Ah, I’m nervous.” Jungkook sighed as the seven of them walked towards the front door of the house.

“Let’s be cool guys.” Namjoon said more to himself than his members. Inside he was trembling, but he desperately wanted to appear calm and collected in front of his celebrity crush. He took a deep breath before speaking up again. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It’s like an american movie.” Hoseok chuckled when another man dressed in black jeans and a t-shirt of the same colour opened the door for them.

All of their jaws dropped when they entered the house. The walls seemed to go up for an endless amount of space until they reached the ceiling. The hardwood floors were so shiny they wondered whether they should take their shoes off on entering.

“Where do we-” Jimin started, but lost his train of thought somewhere in the middle of the question.

“Let’s just… Follow the music?” Namjoon asked unsure. The rest of the group nodded in agreement, but before they took more than two steps forward a small figure appeared in one of the doorways of the fourier. She smiled brightly as she walked towards them dressed in her signature look, oversized dress and thigh high booties.

“Hi.” (Y/N) dragged the word as she made her way to the group of boys. “It’s so great to see you, you.” She grinned opening her arms out towards Jungkook. Namjoon felt his heart break into pieces as he saw the shine in her eyes when she looked at the youngest of them. “Hi. I’m so happy you’re all here. Hi.” She kept repeating as she greeted the rest of the boys with hugs as well.

“Your home is beautiful.” Namjoon jumped in with a praising tone.

“Thank you.” She said, bringing both her hands to her chest. “I literally got here like fifteen minutes before you guys. The traffic- the whole event- well, it was hectic to say the least.” She stumbled on her words with a chuckle as she led them down a beautifully decorated hallway. “Some people are already here.” She explained gesturing to the open living and dining space where about thirty or forty people were hanging out in small groups. “It’s more of a low key kind of thing. It’s no concert afterparty.” She giggled, referencing the last party they attended together. She finally stopped in an area with a huge kitchen with white cabinetry and marble countertops and turned to face them, a sweet smile on her face. “I hope it’s okay with you.” They all energetically nodded and chimed some words of agreement making (Y/N)’s smile even wider. “Well, make yourselves at home. There’s drink here and the food’s there. I have to go be with my girls right now, but let’s definitely catch up later.” She let her gaze rest on Jungkook for a particularly long while as she was speaking earning a nervous smile from him. After exchanging see-you-later’s she joined a group of girls on the outside terrace grabbing herself a glass of chilled champagne on the way.

For the next hour or so the boys mostly stuck to themselves. They chatted with some dancers, some music producers, some people of whose professions they never heard of before. 

“I’m kind of tired.” Taehyung told Jungkook and Namjoon as the clock hit three o’clock. They went to get drinks from the kitchen as the rest of the boys stayed outside by the pool. “Maybe we should go-” His proposition of leaving was cut off by some person’s loud shout.

“Yes! We wanna hear you sing!” A girl in a branded tracksuit exclaimed as (Y/N) laughed uncontrollably, sitting beside her on the big white couch. “Where’s the remote?” The girl dug up a TV remote from under the coffee table in front of her and turned the device on. After a couple of seconds she connected her phone to it and everyone gathered inside saw her look up ‘karaoke’ on YouTube.

“Oh my god, no.” (Y/N) chuckled covering her face. 

“Come on, (Y/N). You promised you’ll sing.” Her friend begged jokingly until she finally looked up at her.

“Okay.” She sighed. She got up looking around the room at all the familiar faces when her gaze stopped at the boy standing by the kitchen island. “Taehyung, want a repeat of last time?” Suddenly everyone was looking at Taehyung, standing with his friends and a glass of red wine in his hand. He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head. “You pick the song?” (Y/N) proposed with a cheeky smile.

“Okay.” He finally answered and set his glass down on the kitchen counter to go join her in the living area. (Y/N) took out two hand mics from the cupboard under the TV set and handed him one.

“So, what will it be?” She looked at him sweetly.

Taehyung ended up choosing Ariana Grande’s No Tears Left To Cry. Their performance turned out flawless which got everyone pumped up and set the tone for the rest of the night. After the two handed their mics to the next tipsy person wanting to sing their heart out (Y/N) grabbed Taehyung’s wrist and pulled him to the side.

“I really enjoy singing with you.” She looked up at him. “I think we have great musical chemistry.”

“Me too.” He nodded as they walked towards the two guys he earlier left in the kitchen.

“Boys!” (Y/N) called out as she skipped over to them. “I realised I never gave you the tour of the place. You want to go see my studio?” Namjoon quickly swallowed his drink to explain her proposition to Jungkook and Taehyung, but it wasn’t necessary as they immediately agreed and nodded energetically. “Great, follow me.”

She walked them around a house with a drink in her hand telling them about the renovations she had to do in particular rooms. After about five or ten minutes of that they finally got to the studio she earlier mentioned. The space was big, combined of multiple rooms. One a recording booth with plush couches, another a writing room with expensive guitars on the walls, another a fully equipped dance studio and so on.

“And here is where we’ll be recording next month with JK.” She pointed to an empty side of the recording booth. “The equipment is being delivered.” She explained with a chuckle as the three seemed to look a little surprised.

“I can’t wait.” Jungkook smiled at her and she averted her eyes to the floor before continuing with the tour.

“And here is-”

“Your dance studio.” Jungkook interrupted her at which she looked up at him with a smile.

“Yeah.” 

“I recognise it from the photos.” They stood there for a moment just smiling at each other, before Taehyung chimed in.

“Photos?” He asked walking into the middle of the squicky clean dance floor.

“I sent him pictures from here once or twice.” (Y/N) explained and Taehyung hummed in understanding for which Namjoon was deeply thankful, because it masked the heavy sigh that just escaped his lips. “We should dance something.” (Y/N) suddenly proposed with excitement in her voice.

“You and me.” Jungkook exclaimed, matching her tone. The alcohol made the nervous feeling rising up in his chest disappear. “Boy With Luv.” (Y/N) laughed running towards a computer in the corner of the room to turn on the music.

“I hope I remember the moves.” She took positions with Jungkook by her side in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors as the music started to play. They barely got through the first verse when (Y/N) stopped. “I can’t dance in these shoes.” She laughed, taking off her high heeled boots and quickly meeting Jungkook in the next move of the routine.

Taehyung chuckled and clapped his hands, sitting on the ground in front of them, watching the performance when Namjoon leaned on the wall behind them, looking sadly at the scene unfolding before him. After the song ended the three of them started freestyling to (Y/N)’s spring single Not Bothered.

“I don't feel sorry for myself or care if you're holdin’ somebody else. No, I’m not bothered. Ain’t bothered.” Taehyung pulled Namjoon in to join them and even though he wasn’t really feeling it he decided to try and pull himself out of this slump. “I don't feel empty now that you're gone. Doesn’t mean you didn't mean nothing at all, but I won’t get jealous if you’re happy. No, I won’t. I’m not bothered. No, I ain't bothered." Somehow Jungkook knew the entire choreography to the song and joined (Y/N) in singing the lyrics of the song. “From everything to nothing at all. From every day to never at all. But I’m fine. I’m not bothered.” As the speakers went silent the four broke into laughter intermittened with slight panting from the sudden movements.

“What’s the story behind this one?” Namjoon asked as (Y/N) passed them a bottle of Fiji water each from the glass fridge by the wall. The atmosphere seemed to have shifted as soon as he asked the question, but it was too late to take it back. She took a big sip of her drink before answering with her signature sweet smile.

“It’s pretty self explanatory.” She chuckled finally.

“But did it really happen?” He pressed before he could stop himself and she exhaled a weak laugh as she looked him in the eye.

“I wouldn’t be calling out such specific events if they didn’t happen.” She explained as she stretched her arms over her head. Namjoon nodded, knowing that one more question would probably be considered as crossing the line so he decided upon a compliment.

“It’s really good.”

“Thanks. I like it too.” (Y/N) took another sip of her water before nodding to herself. “It’s my own little self love anthem,”

-

“AH!” Namjoon exclaimed, dropping an eggshell into the pan for the third time this morning.

“Jeez, what is it with you?” Yoongi looked up from his phone at him. Namjoon just sighed, leaving his question unanswered.

The truth was he was too ashamed to tell anybody why he was so on edge lately. He dug out the shell from the pan and stirred his eggs furiously as he started thinking about it again, ‘it’ meaning Jungkook and (Y/N). Yesterday morning he left for a three day stay in the States to record his Christmas single with her and it drove Namjoon insane. He imagined them having a blast singing the song and shooting the music video together, laughing about how stupid he is for liking (Y/N) when she’s so obviously into the youngest member. 

“She chose him.” He repeated in his head. “She chose him. Get over it, Joon.” He scraped the burned eggs from the pan onto a clean plate and stomped over to the kitchen table where Yoongi was sitting. “No wonder. He’s a better dancer and singer. He’s closer to her in age, he’s more confident.” He started spiraling into a pit of despair when Yoongi spoke up again.

“You’re taller though.” He said without even looking up at Namjoon from his phone.

“What?” He asked in shock. “Was I- did I say all that out loud?” He stammered in embarrassment. Yoongi just hummed as a response and Namjoon felt his face burning up. That’s it for keeping his jealousy a secret. “Can you not tell Jungkook about this?” Yoongi exhaled loudly, shaking his head.

“Wasn’t going to.”

“Thanks.” Namjoon answered, looking down at his failed attempt of scrambled eggs on the plate before him.

“But you should.” His friend added out of the blue. Namjoon looked at him with his eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“What?”

“It’s obviously eating you up from inside that he’s spending time with (Y/N).” He explained, still scrolling through something on his phone. “You should talk to him about it or stop it altogether." Namjoon put down his fork with a sigh.

“How am I supposed to stop them?” He asked, hoping Yoongi had some brilliant idea ready for him.

“Not them, idiot.” He scolded him. He locked his phone and stuffed it in his jeans pocket as he stood up from the table. “Stop yourself from thinking about it. Make yourself get over it or something.”

“Oh.” Namjoon looked back down from his friend onto his plate. Though the sight of its contents deeply disgusted him he decided upon forcing himself to eat at least a bite or two. The jealousy that started raging in him as soon as Jungkook left for America made him unable to eat so when he finally felt hungry he wanted to stuff himself with something healthy. Hence the eggs.

“Honestly, Namjoon.” Yoongi’s voice was serious, almost as if he was warning him. “You have to do something about it. You’ll regret it if you won’t.”

As his friend closed his bedroom door behind him he left Namjoon all alone in the common space of the BTS dorm. He exhaled loudly, letting his shoulders relax and his arms fall down to his sides. (Y/N) seemed to have taken a sincere liking towards Jungkook and he couldn’t do anything about it. Not now at least. Now it was too late. He stirred his eggs lazily, feeling more hopeless than ever.

“Woah! I love it!” He heard Taehyung and Jimin chatter in the next room. “Send it to the group chat.” One of them exclaimed and within a second Namjoon’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and opened the message in the BTS group chat.

“A little teaser of the Christmas single.” The text beneath a video file forwarded by Jimin read. Namjoon pressed the white triangle in the middle of it and instantly regretted his decision. 

“When did I fall in love with you? When did I start opening up?” Jungkook’s flawless vocals filled his ears as he watched him sing, standing in the middle of (Y/N)’s home studio’s recording booth. “Without hiding, without me knowing when I fell in love. When I fell in love.”

“It’s supposed to be a Christmas single, not a Valentine's one.” He scoffed to himself, knowing that getting over his infatuation with (Y/N) was going to be a harder task than he initially thought.

“She’s going to start posting the official teasers next week, the lyric video will come out on the first and the music video on the fifth of December.” Jungkook babbled with excitement.

The seven of them were having dinner at the BigHit office as they were busy with preparing for their group’s winter comeback. Their youngest member has just yesterday come back from his trip visiting (Y/N) in her Los Angeles home where most of the recording for her Christmas single took place and was now telling his friends about every little detail of the whole experience.

“I can’t wait for the release of the video.” He smiled brightly as the rest of the boys congratulated him once again on getting such a great opportunity. Namjoon just hummed in agreement with them, because he couldn’t trust himself to sound sincere if he decided to speak up as well. “Also she’s going to be in Tokyo in mid December.” Namjoon knew (Y/N) was going to be in Asia next month for the four-week-long promotional tour of her new album, but still his ears perked up at the statement. “And she invited me to join her during the live show to perform When I Fell In Love. Our PD says I should do it.” He felt his spirit getting crushed as Jungkook finished his sentence and the rest of the group erupted in words of surprise and praise directed at the maknae.

Looking up from his plate Namjoon noticed Yoongi giving him a meaningful glare. He quickly averted his gaze as he felt his head getting hot at the memory of the conversation they had not so long ago. Yoongi couldn’t take looking at his friend in that state any longer and decided to take the matter into his own hands.

“Ah, Namjoon’s handling this so well. Isn't he?” He asked nonachalantly. Namjoon looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, you always had such a huge crush on (Y/N) and wanted to work with her so badly.” Hoseok quickly joined in.

“If I were you I would be fuming with jealousy." Yoongi added, playing his part perfectly.

“It must be so hard for you, hyung.” Taehyung jumped in, patting Namjoon on his shoulder to comfort him.

“I’m fine.” He answered half-heartedly. The simple phrase proved to be enough for the five of his friends, but in one of their minds doubts started growing.

Jungkook looked at his group's leader, his friend of so many years, with a puzzled expression. He was so focused on making a good impression on (Y/N), so nervous when they were together that he totally forgot about the fact that it was Namjoon’s idea to go to her concert in the first place. He wondered if he really meant what he just said, if he really was ‘fine’. After all (Y/N) was just his celebrity crush. Everyone has one. He didn’t really know her, at least not like Jungkook did. They talked and connected, it was different with her for him he thought. They spent an awful lot of time together when he came over to shoot and record with her for her Christmas single. The romantic nature of the music video and the lyrics made it even more clear for him that he in fact had feelings for her. It also ensured him that she felt something towards him too.

Jungkook breathed in sharply and took another bite of his meal trying to not overthink the situation. The possibility of both him and Namjoon liking the same girl made him uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to suppress his feelings because of that. He wasn’t a type to give up that easily.

-

(Y/N) sat in her dressing room looking in the mirror, watching herself become more and more perfect by the minute as her beauty team rushed around her, putting in her hair, finishing up her makeup.

“Three minutes.” Someone one the other side of the door called out.

For today's performance she was wearing the same outfit she had on in New York and Toronto, the same one she was going to wear in London and Moscow as well - a floor length, skin tight, white dress with long sleeves and a slit down the side. It was the look from the cover of her newest album, the one she was promoting with the four-week and five-shows-long tour.

“Two minutes.” Her new hair extensions were falling down her shoulders in long, lashcious cascades a couple of shades lighter than her natural colour.

“One.” (Y/N) tilted her head making them catch light and shine in the reflection.

“Show time.” She stood up from her chair  and walked out the door onto the backstage where she had to greet several people she never met before and thank them for coming to her show. In those moments she really wondered why she didn’t become an actress, faking smiles and deep interest in total strangers was practically second nature to her at this point.

After that little show was over she walked down the dimly lit hallway to meet with her friends and dancers hanging out in the private lounge. As she opened the door she noticed one person she wasn’t expecting to see.

“Jungkook?” She asked, eyeing the boy. He was dressed in black from head to toe, his dark hair styled to fall neatly over his forehead. He already met everyone present in the room when visiting her in Los Angeles to record the Christmas single. “How did you get in here?” He reached to the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a lineard with a plastic badge attached to it.

“I have uh- special pass.” (Y/N) smiled, opening her arms as she approached him. Jungkook mirrored her movements and they greeted each other with a hug and kiss on the cheek as they always did. “How are you?” He asked, letting go. (Y/N) looked around her friends' faces with a slight frown.

“Honestly, I’m a little nervous tonight.” She confessed, biting her lip and instantly scolding herself in her mind for it. She was wearing matte lipstick and didn’t want to go through another makeup touchup before the concert.

“Why? It’s going to be great. What is it? You’ll be fine.” They all spoke silmunaniously and she just chuckled, looking down to her feet.

She couldn’t tell them, or at least not all of them. Some of the people surrounding her right now - her closest friends, her dancers - knew why she felt the way she felt today, but some would be shocked if she revealed the whole story to them since she successfully kept it secret for so long. As she lifted her head back up she put on another one of those fake smiles and reassured everyone it must be just regular stage-fright, but in reality she was just profoundly sad.

Today was her ex-boyfriend’s birthday and although in just two months it would be a year since their break up she couldn’t stop herself and went to stalk his Instagram and Twitter profiles earlier in the day to see how he’s been celebrating. The fact that he wasn’t much of a public person and used his social media accounts mostly for liking others' posts made it so much harder for (Y/N) not to blow up when she noticed the black and white picture on his timeline.

“Spending my day with my boo 💑 ilysm” She shook her head at the memory of the simple caption underneath a picture of two people kissing in some restaurant’s booth. She hated herself for letting it influence her so strongly. She felt angry. She felt sad. She felt jealous, not necessarily of him, not really. At this point she was jealous of everyone who had a partner, everyone who could post pictures of them online without millions of hate comments appearing within seconds of posting it or without it hindering their public image, everyone who had the ability to call out ‘honey, I’m home’ when entering their house without lying.

(Y/N) sighed deeply trying to relieve some of the tension still pent up in her body despite being on stage for the past forty minutes. Having the setlist memorised she knew what song came next. The lights went dark for a moment before all the screens behind her back depicted falling snowflakes and snippets of the music video for When I Fell In Love. The audience cheered in excitement as (Y/N) took her position in the middle of the stage under the blinding spotlight and started singing the first verse.

“You and I. Did someone stop the time? ‘Cause it feels like I’m a child and you’re the presents underneath, underneath the Christmas tree.” Jungkook stood backstage, gripping his microphone tightly afraid it might slip through his sweaty fingers. He tapped his foot on the floor waiting for a sign from the sound guy to walk out on stage and join (Y/N) in the chorus. “Don’t know when, but at some point everything changed for me with you and I don’t know when looking at each other became this little habit of ours.” He felt a pat on his shoulder signaling it’s Jungkook’s queue. He breathed out and brought the microphone to his lips as he walked out on stage.

“When did I fall in love with you? When did I start opening up?” (Y/N) outstretched her hand towards him and he took it. “Without hiding, without me knowing when I fell in love. When I fell in love.” The two of them sang, still mirroring the scene from the music video streaming on the big screens behind them where they played two people realising they were in love on Christmas day.

A couple of songs later (Y/N) walked off stage for a sip of water before the encore. Her beauty team gathered around her tweaking individual hairs and straightening up her dress. The crowd outside roared as the first notes of Not Bothered played, the last number of the night.

“Fighting, (Y/N)!” She turned around, searching for the source of the encouraging words. After a couple of seconds of looking around she noticed Jungkook standing with a couple of people whose faces she didn’t recognise. He had both of his hands up with his thumbs and index fingers crossed, making two tiny hearts. (Y/N) smiled weakly at the sight and nodded his way. She was feeling everything but ready to perform this particular song, but still walked out in a confident strut, surrounded by her dancers.

“I’m sorry I need a moment. (Y/N) breathed out as she walked to her dressing room, her beauty team and assistant right behind her. “Alone.” She added and closed the door behind herself. She leaned on it and slid down to the ground with a muffled sob. After singing that song she felt far from Not Bothered. She hugged her legs to her chest, digging her nails into the soft material of her dress, trying to calm her breath down, but she couldn’t. She raised herself up and paced back and forth around the small room, covering her trembling lips with the palm of her hand. After some time she stopped, looking at herself in the mirror. “Stop it, stop it.” She whispered, shooting an angry glare at the reflection. She wiped her cheeks with her hands and breathed in shakily, walking to the door to let her team in. “I’ll be fine.” She stated at the sight of their worried faces. “I just need a makeup touch up.” 

-

“It’s official.” The sweet voice echoed through Namjoon’s ears. He looked up from his laptop in search of its source which he immediately noticed. “I’ll see ya’ll at Coachella.” Jungkook smiled fondly, looking down at his phone. “It’s official. I’ll see ya’ll at Coachella.” The voice said once again. The maknae tapped his phone’s screen twice, undoubtedly liking a video (Y/N) just posted on one of her social media accounts.

Before he could give it another thought Namjoon was already typing (Y/N)’s name into his computer’s search engine. He glanced over a couple of articles and pressed on the link taking him to her official site. 

“Delight World Tour” He read a title written in a thick font of the colour of baby pink. Mindlessly he scrolled down already scanning his screen in search of his city’s name. “Seoul, South Korea - 16th of June - Seoul Olympic Stadium.”

*click*

Namjoon’s head snapped back towards Jungkook. He stood by the living room window with his arm outstretched in front of him to take a selfie. He quickly brought the phone back down and started typing.

“Hyung, how do you say- how do you change the word ‘delight’ into a verb in English?” He asked looking up at him. Namjoon froze in place, wondering why Jungkook was asking about that particular word. He didn’t have to wonder for long. “I want to message (Y/N) about Coachella. You know she’s like a headliner or something? So far I wrote: How delightful. Is that okay? I wanted to do like a little word play with her album’s name since-” Namjoon slapped his laptop shut.

“Delightful is not a verb. It’s an adjective.” He cut him off. “And yes, it’s fine.” He added standing up from the couch and storming away to his room.

He threw his computer on the bed and shut the door behind himself with a loud thud. Right as he did that he sighed and quickly opened the door back up. Walking back to the living room he noticed confused Jungkook standing where he left him, looking down at his phone.

“I’m sorry.” Namjoon mumbled, scratching his forehead. This, though definitely late, was a perfect time to come clean to Jungkook and tell him how he really felt about whatever it was that was between him and (Y/N), but he opted for an excuse instead. “I’m just tired.” Jungkook muttered some words of understanding, but Namjoon couldn’t really hear much sincerity in them. All he could think about was his jealousy. “Are you going to be seeing (Y/N) when she comes to Seoul?” He asked, trying to sound as casual as he could.

“Ah, she 's coming? When?” Namjoon had to use all his willpower not to roll his eyes at the boy.

“Yeah, in June. For the Delight tour.” Jungkook opened his eyes wider in realisation. He quickly unlocked his phone and started typing again.

“I guess I could ask her about it while I’m at it.” He said with his eyes glued to the tiny screen before him.

“While you’re at it…” Namjoon muttered under his breath and Jungkook hummed in question. “Don’t you think it’s a little too early for that?” He asked, hoping to plant a seed of uncertainty in his friend's mind.

“No, the sooner the better.” He chimed and looked at his group’s leader with a smile. “She says we should totally meet up.” Namjoon’s plan not only didn’t work, it totally backfired on him. He nodded and went back to his room, quietly locking the door this time.

-

The boys sat in one of those monthly meetings where their manager went over the whole schedule set for them for the next four weeks. Halfway through the hour-long sit down they were already feeling a little bit overwhelmed by the amount of appearances and live shows they have to do only the following week. 

“And going into the second week of June, on sixteenth Jungkook’s attending Delight-” Namjoon involuntarily slapped both his hands on his thighs in sudden shock. “Namjoon?” The manager asked.

“Yeah- no- sorry, I- could- is- is Jungkook going alone?” He finally stuttered out. As he received an affirmative answer he opened his mouth again. “I- could- could I go as well?” He asked, feeling the blood rush to his face. The manager stalled for a moment before he finally let out a simple ‘yes’.

“JK and RM.” Jungkook chimed, raising his hand in a high five motion towards his friend as if they just landed a good deal together.

On the day of the concert both Namjoon and Jungkook woke up with big smiles on their faces. They both hummed to themselves while washing their teeth, their feet felt light walking on the ground and went through their day feeling somewhere close to invincible. It was almost funny. Especially, because the reason behind their positive attitude was also the same and that was (Y/N).

“You think she’ll have time for us before the show?” Namjoon asked, checking the time on his phone for the millionth time since they got in the company car.

“Ah, for sure. Last time we hung out in the private lounge for almost an hour with the dancers.” He answered nonchalantly. Namjoon looked out the window of the car at the long line of fans in front of the venue. He unconsciously sighed which didn’t go unnoticed by his friend sitting beside him in the backseat. “Just be cool.” Jungkook stated, glancing his way.

The youngest member of BTS walked the backstage like it was his own concert. He greeted people that worked the show, some dancers and some staff, he grabbed himself a bottle of water from a stand in the corridor. Namjoon just walked behind him, hoping his nervousness will magically evaporate once he sees (Y/N).

“JK!” Someone called as they passed by a half open double door. Jungkook stopped in his tracks and peaked his head inside the room.

“Hey!” He exclaimed and walked inside.

Namjoon took a breath before entering the room, unsure what he’ll be met with inside. When he crossed the doorway he noticed Jungkook side-hugging some guy in a baby pink sweatsuit with the name ‘Johnny’ embroidered over his heart.

“This is my friend from my group, RM.” Namjoon stepped forward ready to give the guy a hand shake, but he went in for the hug and kiss combo.

While his hyung was dealing with Johnny, (Y/N)’s close friend and one of her main dancers, Jungkook greeted other staff already gathered in the private lounge. He didn’t have time to introduce him to them though, because the star of the night, one and only (Y/N), showed up right after them.

“Hey!” She called out, dragging the last letter of the word.

She was dressed in the same outfit the rest of the dance crew was wearing, only she had her own name embroidered on the front of the baby pink sweatshirt. Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders in light waves that reached over her waist.

“The tag goes with your outfit.” She joked flicking the baby pink ‘VIP’ tag Jungkook had pinned to his shirt. He chuckled and she opened her arms to properly greet him with a hug, that in Namjoon’s mind lasted a tad bit too long. As they finally let go of each other (Y/N) turned to Namjoon with a smile just as sweet and sincere as the one she granted Jungkook with. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Namjoon answered smoothly, mentally high-fiving himself for coming up with that.

“Are you performing in this?” Jungkook asked, pulling on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, making Namjoon wonder if they ever partook in any more skinship than the hugs (Y/N) gave him.

“No.” (Y/N) chuckled, waving him off. They seemed to be so comfortable with each other, so innocent and cute.

“This is just for the backstage, silly.” Johnny explained and reached for (Y/N)’s pant leg. “It’s tear-off. Look.” He pulled on the material undoing a couple of the top buttons and almost giving both Jungkook and Namjoon heartattacks as a bit of (Y/N)’s upper thigh was revealed.

“Johnny!” She scolded him, slapping his hand away and pinning the pant leg closed again. “I’ve got like twenty minutes to spare before I have to go get changed into my real outfit-” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and shot Johnny a serious glare. “-and the same goes for the dance crew.” Johnny just chuckled.

The four made their way to the couches located in the center of the lounge and sat down for some conversation and chilling before the big show.

“How’s Korea treating you?” Namjoon asked as they made themselves comfortable on opposite couches.

“Honestly, it’s been lovely so far.” Johnny answered with a dreamy look in his eyes.

“I agree. Both this time and last time...  It was great.” (Y/N) added. “I wish we had more time to explore though.” Johnny hummed in agreement. “Like, for example last year the only time I spent not working and properly taking in the city was when I went out with you guys.”

“Ah, we should do that again then.” (Y/N) giggled sweetly at his blunt proposition.

-

“(Y/N), 5 minutes.” Her assistant said popping inside the lounge quickly.

“Already? Damn.” She answered in confusion. “Time passes fast in good company.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Johnny answered her, even though she was looking towards Jungkook and Namjoon who sat on a couch opposite from the one they were sitting on.

“Go get ready, Johnny.” She shut him down with a smile as the four of them chuckled at his comment. “Cheer for me.” (Y/N) said sweetly to the two boys as she stood up.

“Of course!” “Fighting!” They said silmutaniously, bringing a wider smile to her face.

-

“What time is it?” Jungkook asked. With his feet up on the table and a bowl of some candy by his side he looked like he was just hanging out in his own living room when in fact he was a ‘VIP’ guest on the backstage of (Y/N)’s Seoul live show. “What time is it?” He repeated his question as Namjoon was too engulfed in watching (Y/N) perform one of her sexier songs on the big screen in front of them to hear him the first time.

“It’s-” Namjoon looked at his phone screen.”A little after eleven.”

“Before I walk off this stage I would like to take a moment and thank some people.” (Y/N)’s voice echoed from the stage and through the speakers in the lounge. She had both her hands on her chest right now in a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you to all of you that came out tonight. This show is for you and you only.”The gathered crowd started whistling and cheering loudly. “Thank you to all the dancers and the musicians that are on this stage tonight. This concert would be nothing without you.” She gestured around the stage behind her. “And one more to all of the people working their asses off behind this stage. A round of applause for them. Thank you guys. Thank you so much.” She started clapping together with her fans. “Thank you, all of you.” She turned to the audience again. “I love you so much. I love you. Thank you.” The audience was shouting and applauding loudly as (Y/N) raised the mic back up to her lips. “This song is for all the girls and boys who just got out of relationships and need some good lovin’. Come on!” She exclaimed right before the first notes of Not Bothered started playing.

-

Tonight (Y/N) was looking to get drunk, in a respectable kind of way a famous person can get drunk and not lose their reputation. She walked into the club reserved for her concert afterparty somewhere in downtown Seoul in an intimidating formation - with her dance crew besties to both her sides. Her white sneakers shined in the UV lights of the venue contrasting perfectly with the black branded sweatshirt dress she was wearing.

“Six bottles of champagne, please.” She said to the waiter as they walked to the private lounge reserved just for them. It was a spacious room with a black leather couch shaped like the letter ‘U’ and a heavy marble table in the middle. Above the back of the couch hung a big TV screen and across was a venetian mirror, making it so her and her friends could watch the dancing crowd while remaining invisible.

As the night progressed (Y/N)’s friends, dancers, staff, ‘VIP’ guests came and went from the private room while she stayed seated at the bottom of the ‘U’ shaped couch downing drink by drink.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” She murmured more to herself than anybody else as she stood up and walked out the soundproof door. “Sorry.” She mumbled, squeezing through the corridor full of people to make her way to one of the club’s the bathrooms.

“(Y/N).” She heard her name being called by a familiar voice. Looking over her shoulder she noticed Jungkook and Namjoon standing awkwardly with drinks in their hands. Right as she looked into the first boy’s eyes an idea popped into her head.

“Hey, come with me.” She said, walking up to them. “You won’t be needing this.” She took the plastic cups out of their hands and set them on the nearby table. “Come on.” She grabbed Jungkook’s hand. “Don’t get lost.” She warned them and Jungkook grabbed Namjoon’s wrist as (Y/N) pulled him through the swarm of people.

In this weird snake-like formation they got to the top floor of the club where they could let go of each other and walk normally.

“This way.” She said chuckling and almost skipping as she led the two clueless boys to her private lounge. “Welcome to my little kingdom.” She said pushing the heavy door open and revealing a practically empty lounge. “Let’s drink together.” She plopped down on the couch. “Come on.” She encouraged the two as they shyly walked inside and took seats next to her.

It didn’t take much longer for (Y/N) to convince Namjoon and Jungkook to get pissed drunk with her. They started with ordering three half liter bottles of different flavoured soju, then came the bulgogi with tons of side dishes. After that they drank a whole bottle of pink champagne and ordered another serving of japchae, jajangmyeon and pepperoni pizza.

“I want to sing.” (Y/N) suddenly stated, her mouth full of delicious korean food she never ate before.

She stood up from the table and started meddling with the TV on the wall. After a couple of seconds of wrestling she had the remote in her hand. She sat on the counter of the table, her legs resting on the seat of the couch, eyes glued to the bright screen. She opened the YouTube app and typed in the title of one of her current favourite songs. As the music started playing slipped her sneakers off, still sitting on the table, body moving to the smooth beat.

“I don't have much to say, I'll be out front.” Jungkook pointed his arms towards (Y/N) and she stood up from the couch. “Won't you come spoil my night?” He joined in, standing up from his seat. “Feelings come into play-” She started walking towards the empty end of the ‘U’ shaped couch. “-and I'm thinkin' this happens every time.” She jumped down, joining the maknae in a purposeless dance, not caring that her white socks will turn black from the dirty dark carpeting by the end of the song.

They sang, danced, jumped around, twirled under each other’s arms, ran out of breath and laughed throughout the rest of the song. Tired from the sudden performance Jungkook fell back down on the couch, resting his head on the high headboard. (Y/N) slapped his shoulder so he moved to make space for her to sit next to him, Namjoon sitting across from them. 

Jungkook took notice of how close she was right at that moment. Their thighs touched, her shoulder brushed against his as she leaned over the table to get her drink. He looked down at the bare skin of her legs, then his gaze travelled up over the black crewneck to her neck and finally her lips.

“Is that lip gloss?” His lips moved before he could stop himself.

(Y/N) turned her face towards him, her long hair extensions slipped over her shoulder.

“What?” As she looked at him with utter confusion he thanked all gods as he realised he spoke in Korean.

“We should order some more pork!” He exclaimed, still in Korean and looked at Namjoon for translation.

“Uh- he wants to eat pork.” The older boy said eying his junior with suspicion. Did his ears fool him or did he just hear Jungkook ask (Y/N) about her lip gloss?

“Isn’t this pork?” She asked, gesturing with her drink to one of the dishes on the table.

“Ah, yes.” Jungkook chuckled nervously and ran his hand through his hair. “Silly me.” He grabbed his chopsticks and took a big bite of the remaining bulgogi.

Jungkook excused himself to the bathroom with a promise of bringing up at least one bottle of soju on his way back. Feeling his stomach turn from overeating and blurting out stupid comments he walked out onto the corridor and down the stairs to the bar.

Namjoon looked at (Y/N) from across the table. She rested her head in her hands, her eyelids fluttered open and closed slowly as if she was trying not to fall asleep. She looked stunning to him.

“(Y/N)...” He muttered, not entirely sure where this sentence would take him.

“RM.” She whispered back, batting her eyelashes and finally opening her eyes up to look straight at him. “What?” She leaned her head to one side.

“Go out with me.” He simply asked.

It wasn’t that alcohol gave him enough courage to actually say those words it was more that it made him care little enough to try and risk the possibility of getting rejected by his ultimate celebrity crush.

“Like on a date?” She asked unsure of what he meant.

Realising he had to explain himself to her suddenly brought him back to reality. What was he thinking? Asking her out? Asking her out?!

“No, like for dinner. T-to hang out.” He babbled scratching his head.

“Oh.” (Y/N) leaned back onto the headboard behind her. “Okay, sure.” The sweetness of her voice gave Namjoon enough of a nudge to look up at her again. “But I only have time in the late evening, like really late, ‘cause we’re doing some- I have a photoshoot for- and a- ah, whatever.” The amount of alcohol she consumed made it hard for her to form a proper sentence without going off topic. “I have work all day. I can see you in the evening.” Namjoon nodded with a faint smile making its way to his lips. “I’ll text you.” His agreeing answer was drowned by Jungkook’s loud exclamation as he stumbled back through the door.

“Look what I got!” He called with a laugh, raising up two bottles of cherry flavoured soju.

[2dmenenthusiast]

Let’s be sad together (Peter Parker x Depressed Reader)

A/N PLEASE READ!!: heeey so before we get into this, this story is told in the first person, which I know some people don’t like but I felt it was best for this particular fic because there is some self-hate in here and I didn’t want the reader to feel targetted and make them feel like shit? I hope that made sense. keep in mind this fic deals with themes of DEPRESSION, something I myself struggle with. So if you’re not comfortable with this, please don’t read. I’ve read plenty of x depressed! reader fics, and most of what I read doesn’t do the feelings justice or it romanticises depression. It’s usually like “oh youre depressed? Well i love you and boom youre fixed!” Yeah I hate shit like that lol. But I am certainly not trying to romanticise depression or mental illness by writing this. I wanted to make a fic people like me can relate to, the thoughts and feelings, etc. It was honestly super difficult, I wrote the first draft and completely scrapped it cuz I hated it. I really tried my best here, guys, and I hope you like it. And always remember that you’re not alone and things do eventually get better. It just takes time and a little help. Once again I tried to keep the reader as nuetral as possible so everyone can read! (I fucking suck at titles btw)

Plot: Peter notices something’s been wrong with you lately, and you prepare yourself for the inevitable break-up once he confronts you about it.

Words: 2,562

Warnings: Themes of depression and anxiety, self hate, angst

Loving Peter Parker was absolutely suffocating.

Sometimes I couldn’t decide if dating him was the worst or best decision I ever made, but I knew one thing for sure. He had me wrapped around his finger, and there was no leaving him even if I tried. Not that I wanted to. Peter is… well, he’s perfect. Sure, he’s dorky and can ramble about technical stuff that I can’t even begin to understand for hours on end, but if anything, those things only added to the list of reasons why he’s perfect. Oh, and he’s Spiderman. My boyfriend is Spiderman. In other words, nights were spent worrying about whether he’d make it home safely or not, and some were spent patching him up when he came knocking on my window after a particularly bad fight. He made me happy. Happier than I had ever been probably. So… why did I still feel this way?

At first, a part of me thought that being with Peter would… fix things, I guess. That maybe if I was in a relationship, it would cause all the rushing thoughts inside my head to go away. And at first, it did help. There were more nights that I could sleep peacefully, and there wasn’t a constant feeling of anxiousness sitting in my stomach. But of course, that relief never lasted long. I knew it wouldn’t, but a part of me hoped it would.

Overthinking had always been an issue. Every situation had a “what if,” and this was no different. Thoughts of Peter leaving me began to occupy my mind almost every second of every day, and now, rather than feeling relaxed in his presence, I felt a constant feeling of anxiety. Like my heart was stuck in my throat and I couldn’t breathe, an invisible weight crushing my chest. Sometimes I’d get so overwhelmed with my feelings that I’d have to leave the room and calm myself down so that I wouldn’t cry. And other days I’d completely close myself off from everyone, laying in my bed all day and feeling so upset and worthless.

This wasn’t Peter’s fault. No, he treated me like fucking royalty. This was due to my own dumb self and my own dumb emotions and my dumb fucking ways of overthinking shit I shouldn’t even be thinking about. But it’s always been like this, and no amount of listening to sad songs and telling myself everything was going to be okay was going to change that. I wasn’t immune to feeling insecure either. Especially when Peter hung out with his other friends, but I immediately told myself not to think about that stuff. I didn’t want to be that partner that gets jealous of their partner’s friends when I’m not getting every second of their attention. No, thinking that way felt toxic, and that was the last thing I wanted to be.

But sometimes, I couldn’t help those thoughts from sinking in. There were so many people out there. So many people that were funnier and better looking than me… So why did Peter settle for me? Why would he want to date someone with so much fucking baggage? Someone who could barely get out of bed in the morning while already wishing for the day to be over? Someone who thought so fucking little of themselves as a human being? There were times where I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror, because those were the days I really hated myself. Sometimes I feel like he fell out of love with me a long time ago and now he won’t leave me because he feels bad, which only made me feel worse for keeping him in a relationship he probably didn’t even want to be in. 

I couldn’t say anything to Peter about this. How could I? He would just try to fix everything and I didn’t need fixing. I just wanted him there to reassure me that he loved me as much as I loved him. That he wouldn’t leave me because of how mentally fucked I was. Even if he did tell me those things, I don’t know if I’d even believe him. My mind probably wouldn’t even let me. I imagined if I did try to tell him everything I was feeling, I probably wouldn’t be able to explain it in a way that he could understand. I was just so tired. Tired of waiting for the inevitable moment when Peter would break up with me, and I’d be left with an expected broken heart. I’ve even been preparing for the day it happens so that it doesn’t kill me when it hurts, just like I do with every situation. Rather than give my hopes up and be disappointed, I just assume the worst from the get-go. 

I don’t know how it hasn’t happened yet. How he hasn’t noticed the way I just shut down when the day gets hard. How I constantly look like I’m just in my own head, either when all of us are hanging out or when it’s just me and him. I want him to know. I want to tell him all the shit that’s running through my mind, but a part of me is terrified that I’ll just scare him away. So I just pretend it’s fine. Like I’m not ready to bust and rip open at the seams.

Today was another one of those days where I just felt like locking myself in my room and never coming out. However, the usual excuse of “I just don’t feel good,” didn’t work on Peter this time. He knew that there was something wrong. I could see it in the way he looked at me. I thought I had gotten away with it at first, laying in my bed and mindlessly scrolling on my phone, not even present in my head, just kind of there. But I knew I was screwed when I heard a knock on my window and opened my curtains just to see Peter sitting on the fire escape. I didn’t say anything as I opened the window, just watching as he stumbled into my room while pulling on the sleeves of my hoodie, something I often did when I felt that familiar anxiousness creeping in.

He made sure to shut the window after he was inside, and I immediately shrunk under his gaze when he turned to me, feeling too ashamed to meet his eyes.

“Hey, um…” 

He hesitated, and I watched the way he rubbed his palms against his jeans, almost as if he was feeling nervous. I could imagine how he was feeling, though. I was nervous too.

“I know this is kinda abrupt, um… but I just wanted to stop by and you know, make sure you’re feeling okay and all that. I was worried, so…”

Worried? He was worried about me? I blinked a few times, trying to rack my brain for a quick lie I could tell him, but that wasn’t what came out when I spoke.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, I just… I guess I’ve just been feeling kinda low today.”

I immediately wanted to swallow the words that left my mouth, not believing that I actually willingly let him know that I wasn’t really feeling okay.

“Oh?” He took a step forward, which immediately made me want to take a step back. “How come? Was today just not a good day?”

Peter was so unbelievably sweet and considerate, I almost wanted to cry right then and there. He always treated me so well… but he deserved someone better. Someone that wasn’t me.

“I-I guess? I don’t know, it’s just kinda hard to explain,” I muttered, reaching a hand up to rub the back of my neck that felt strangely warm.

“Do you wanna talk about it? I have plenty of time. I actually left the group to come see you, so I don’t mind listening.”

My eyes slightly widened as my gaze quickly met his, looking at him as if he was crazy. Hell, he just might’ve been if he stopped hanging out with his friends just to see me.

“You… Why would you do that?” I asked softly, my voice almost a whisper as I tried to keep it from trembling.

His brows furrowed and he tilted his head slightly, looking at me almost incredulously as he stepped closer.

“Do I need a reason? I wanted to see you.”

He said it so confidently, as if he was so positive that he rather be spending his time with me than his buddies. It kind of made me feel a bit guilty. He could be spending his time with his friends and having fun, but instead, he was here, and I was trying not to break down in front of him.

“But your friends… wouldn’t you rather hang out with them?” I asked, arms crossing over my chest as if I was protecting myself from something.

Peter just smiled. “I could chill with them any time I want. Why would I skip out on an opportunity to see my baby, hm?”

My hand quickly shot up to cover my mouth, and I could feel tears starting to push through.

“He wouldn’t say that if he knew,” I thought, and it immediately became harder to contain the tears when he closed the short distance between us and placed his hands on my shoulders, his expression clearly one of concern.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

I shook my head, sniffling as I reached up and wiped at my teary eyes.

“I’m fine, I just-”

You’re not. You’re really not fine, y/n. This is not fine.

My walls were quickly crumbling down as a tear slipped down my cheek, which caused more to follow, and I let out a choked sob as Peter placed a hand on the back of my head and gently pulled me into his chest, his other hand running over my back. He didn’t say anything, just let me cry to my heart’s content as I gripped onto the front of his shirt for dear life.

“I… I’m not okay, Peter. Nothing’s okay,” I mumbled into his chest, and he gently pushed me back as he carefully held my face in his hands, thumbs wiping at my tear stained cheeks.

“What’s not okay, y/n? C’mon, talk to me.”

“Everything!” I yelled, and I could tell he was surprised by my sudden outburst as I pulled myself away from his embrace.

“Everything is not okay, Peter. Fuck, I just…” I brought my arm up over my eyes as my bottom lip quivered, my eyes burning as more tears fell. “Everything’s just so hard and I’m so tired. And I’m making everything so complicated for myself, it’s not even anyone’s fault that I’m feeling like this. It’s mine.” I sniffled and wiped at my eyes again, but it did nothing to stop the endless tears that had spent too much time being held in. “A-And I don’t know what to do, Peter. I really don’t. I’m so fucking tired of hurting and I just want the thoughts and feelings to stop. Fuck sometimes I just wish I felt nothing!”

I looked up at Peter when he didn’t say anything, and found that he was just looking at me. There wasn’t any judgement or disgust in his eyes. At least, not from what I could tell. He looked… worried. Maybe even a little sad. Was he upset over what I said? Is he bummed out that he found out what I’m actually like? I let out a sigh and wiped my nose against my sleeve, suddenly finding my feet very interesting as I looked down. The silence was fucking deafening, and in that moment, I wanted to throw myself off the fire escape and into traffic below.

“How long have you felt like this?” Peter suddenly asked, his voice quiet as if he was trying to not startle me.

I hesitantly looked up at him, pulling at my sleeves again as I shrugged my shoulders.

“If you’re talking about all the depressing shit, ever since my early teens, I guess. But um… I’ve been having other thoughts recently. Ever since we got together, actually.”

I winced as soon as the words left my mouth. Would I regret this? Most definitely. Did Peter need to know? No, but he deserved to.

Peter frowned. “Really? Like… what kind of thoughts?”

I sighed and ran a hand down my face.

“Fuck, Peter, I just… You’re Peter Parker. You’re Spiderman! And I’m just-”

“Amazing, beautiful, the best partner I could ever ask for. Should I go on?” he asked with a small smirk, and I let out an amused huff as I placed a hand against his chest and lightly pushed him.

“I’m serious, Peter. I’m just… I’m fucked up, okay? Nothing about me is normal, hell the thoughts I have certainly aren’t. And I doubt you wanna be with someone who has so much shit going on with them-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Peter interrupted, waving his hands in front of my face. “Who said anything about me not wanting to be with you?”

I scoffed. “I mean, it’s a no brainer, Peter. You saw me just now. I mean, sometimes I break down over the dumbest shit-”

“It’s not dumb if it makes you upset,” he said, his tone a bit harsh.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever really validated my feelings like that before.

“I-”

“No, y/n. Why would you think any of this would be a problem for me? I mean… No, nevermind, I understand why you would think that. You can’t help it right? But listen to me.” He placed his hands on my arms, making sure I was focusing on him. “No matter how messed up you think you are… you’ll always be my favorite person, y/n. You don’t have to hide how you feel, you don’t need to be scared. If you’re having a bad day, tell me, and we can have a bad day together. We can lay in bed all day and munch on food that will probably take years off of our life, we can do anything you want. Just tell me, okay? If something ever happened to you… shit, y/n.”

He then pulled me into a bone crushing hug, holding onto me as if I’d disappear if he let me go.

“That’s my worst nightmare. I could handle being kicked out of the avengers or any other terrible stuff. But losing you? Just thinking about it breaks my heart, baby.”

I felt the tears rising once again as I took in what he said, not used to hearing someone say these things to me. Leave it to Peter Parker to make me feel completely vulnerable and open, something I usually hated. I immediately relaxed in his embrace, letting out a soft cry as my arms wrapped around his waist and I buried my face in his neck.

“I love you, Peter,” I muttered softly, my heart skipping when I felt Peter’s lips against my temple, smiling against my skin.

“I love you too, y/n. Please don’t ever forget that.”

Maybe opening up a bit wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

[devnicolee]

Overworked

Quarantine Writing Challenge

A/N: This is my submission for @chaneajoyyy and @shaekingshitup’s writing challenege. This is my first time participating in one of thesse so very excited! Enjoy! Edited to now include the photo - it has been a long week indeed :) 

Warnings: Some slight angst

Word Count: 2.4K  

Pairing: Black reader x M’Baku

Your head fell forward as you dozed off behind your desk. While this was certainly out of character for you, exhaustion was the unfortunate side effect of working into the early morning hours night after night. You knew you were pushing your body to its limit as you tired to operate on less than 4 hours of sleep each day for the last week. 

Between drafting a new proposal for a partnership initiative for T’Challa, planning tonight’s party and tackling the mountain of tribal work pilling up on your desk, your plate was overwhelmingly full. You were not shocked to find the role of chieftess difficult and demanding, you expected it. But after an entire life spent perfectly organized and on top of everything, you had never felt like this before. There were simply not enough hours in the day to field all the requests for new programs and technology from the lowlanders and requests from tribal members, keep up with your engineering projects, plan your calendar of events, and be a dutiful wife. You weren’t sure which project caused this, which one was officially too much. But you quickly went from expertly juggling all your responsibilities with grace to fumbling and wildly racing between them like a mad woman.

"Y/N… Y/N!!" 

You almost jumped clean out of your own skin as someone’s shouts penetrated your cluttered thoughts. You jumped out of your seat, eyes wide and alert, to find no one other than your husband leaning against the office door frame with an amused smile on his face.

"Oh, my love. I didn’t hear you knock. I am sorry," you laughed, your hand clutching your heart as you tried to calm down from the sudden scare. You closed your eyes for a second, a small bout of dizziness overcoming you from the abrupt movement. 

"I can tell… it’s alright. It is a Saturday, what on Earth are you doing here? I hope you are not stressing yourself out over this party?" he warned as he walked into the office. You stood up to get a glass of water from a table in the office, allowing him to steal your seat behind the desk. You both knew it wouldn’t bother you much, your preferred seat was his lap anyway. Your mind was so clearly preoccupied as M’Baku eyed you suspiciously, so preoccupied that you didn’t even notice the slight tremble in the glass in your hand. But he certainly did. The moment you were in arms length again, he quickly grabbed your curvy hips to pull you into his lap. 

M'Baku was no secret to exhaustion, the long tiring days that came with leadership. He certainly appreciated his chieftess’s willingness to take the majority of work with the lowlanders off his plate, allowing him to focus on tribal matters. And it seemed to be working out masterfully until the last week or two. He realized as he looked at you, properly for the first time in days, that the little things he had noticed recently were now significant things… concerning things. Exhaustion was a prominent fixture on your face, marked with stress and dark bags makeup couldn’t fully hide. "I told you it is a busy time, we do not need a celebration on top of everything else."

"Nonsense. It is your 5th anniversary as chief, M’Baku. We can’t not celebrate your dedication to our people. A celebration you deserve, by the way," you quickly waved his concerns off as you held his face in your hands. Your fingers played with the coarse hair of his beard as you looked at him. "You just hate attention… don’t make this about me."

"This is about you. There is no time for a party right now, you. Between all these random requests from the King, preparing for winter... you do not have time. You know you can say no, right?"

"All of those are part of my duties as chieftess M’Baku." Your body leaned away from him a bit, growing agitated at his sudden interrogation.

"No, don’t try to remind me of your duties like I do not know them. You do me no service when you overload your plate to ease mine. I spoke to your assistant yesterday after you missed dinner for the third night in a row. You have taken on far too much. You cannot personally oversee every project in the lab, every program with the Golden City, and keep up with the everyday tasks of chieftess. You can’t do it all little one and no one is asking you to."

"I am not trying to do everything. I am just trying to be a good chieftess. I don’t want to embarrass you," your voice trailed off at the end as you ran your hands gingerly through the soft fur on his collar. You found a stray, loose string, which you tugged at slightly. You ignored how your vision went in and out, black spots obscuring the small brown strand. "Remind me to re-sew this tomorrow... I don’t want it to tear off."

M’Baku shook his head, frustrated at your deflection. He didn’t understand how you couldn’t see the toll all this was taking on you. His heart ached, as it always did, when you expressed doubt in your abilities as chieftess. He hated the way your eyes avoided his and your gaze fell down to your own lap in embarrassment. His rough hands gripped your grin lightly, lifting your head back to his eye level. His thumb grazed your cheek as he forced you to look at him.

"You could never embarrass me Y/N. You can worry me and you are. Not sleeping or eating... you are distracted, stressed. You just aren’t yourself. You are stretching yourself too thin."

"No, I am not." you responded defiantly. "I know when I am overwhelmed. This is nothing. I wish you would stop worrying. Besides, your party is tonight. It is too late to cancel it."

An intense staring match ensued, neither side willing to back down just yet. M'Baku rolled his eyes before nodding, conceding because even he had to admit this was a losing battle. And you had a point, it was indeed too late to cancel. 

You kissed him on the nose, a silent thank you before he got up to let you finish your day of work before the party. 

****

You sat quietly at your vanity, applying the finishing touch to your makeup as quickly as you could. You cursed yourself for losing track of time earlier, leaving you with only mere minutes to throw on your custom dress and run downstairs to oversee final details. The moment you stood up, you were forced back into your seat as a wave of dizziness settled over you. You leaned your head into your hand, trying to avoid disturbing your hard work, praying that it would pass before M'Baku came out of the bathroom. 

You silently demanded your body pull it together, you just needed to get through a few more hours. A few more hours, you chanted under your breath as you forced yourself back onto your feet. It was only marginally more successful than the first time but you were determined to press forward. Your heart couldn’t take messing up this night for M’Baku. 

"Are you alright, Ikumkani?" M'Baku said suspiciously as he followed behind you into the bathroom to grab his clothes for the party.

"Of course, my king," you answered softly, forcing your voice to maintain its usual timber. But even you knew it was a tall order to get him to ignore the noticeable shake in your words. You slid your white robe off your shoulders, allowing it to fall in a heap at your feet, and stepped into your dress. Pulling the detailed bodice up your frame felt like an Olympic task. Your body was beginning to protest, loudly and defiantly telling you a few more hours would simply not do.  

Your arm held the strapless gown up against your chest as you looked behind you at your husband, "Can you zip me up, my love?" you asked. 

"I would rather tear it off of you. This dress is a vision, as you will be in it." M'Baku showered you with praise as his hands took time to room your body before finding the delicate zipper at the back of the dress. You only partially heard him, offering minimal “hmms” as thanks, too afraid to talk as nausea churned in your stomach. 

"I am done, little one," M'Baku said. You felt his presence move from behind you, his voice seemed so far away as if you were talking through a tunnel. You didn’t move though. You leaned into the wooden case holding your jewelry as if your life depended on it, suspecting that your legs could no longer hold your weight.  

You took a deep breath, deciding to make a break for it, "What di-" you started to say before everything went black. 

****

When you woke up, you were on the floor in M'Baku's arms. You couldn’t comprehend his words, they were flying by rapidly and unable to penetrate the cloud in your brain. But his panic was evident and reached your ears clearly.

"Y/N!" 

You looked around wildly, your brain sluggish and slow as it tried to catch up with the reality around you. Instinctively, you tried to sit up but the grip M’Baku had on your arms kept you flush against his chest.

"It’s ok. You fainted, you just need to relax. It is ok, I got you, my love." 

You nodded softly and allowed your head to lull back at his sweet whispers. Confusion was the paramount feeling at the moment, that and exhaustion. But you had M’Baku, you were in his arms, you were safe and that meant there was little to worry about. You both laid there for a few moments before you felt well enough to squeeze his hand, signaling that you were ready to move. He clearly didn’t trust your judgement so he swooped you up bridal style and carried you into the bathroom. He sat you gently on the edge of the tub. His eyes intently scanned your body, still in your designer gown, his hands rubbing up and down your body, to look for injuries. His face scrunched up in worry, concerned that he had not caught you soon enough. 

"I-I am fine, M'Baku. No pain, just exhausted," you whispered back to him, trying to settle the clear anxiety coursing through him. You could tell by the way his eyes darted across your frame frantically and his rapid movements that you scared him, truly scared him. And now, you felt the burden of that, wanted to do anything within your current physical limitations to make him feel at ease again.

"How long?" M'Baku asked, his hands finally settled on your thighs. His question required no other context or words, you knew he wanted to know how long you had been feeling like this, how long you had been ignoring it and you knew he would not be pleased with the answer. But lying was not an option, it never was with the two of you. 

"The last few days," you answered truthfully, avoiding his eyes. "You were right, I am overwhelmed... I thought I could c-catch up but it was too much and it kept growing and g-growing. I j-just didn't want to admit I failed you." 

M'Baku scoffed, "You can't fail me, you. I will tell you this every day until you believe it. B-but you can't do this ever again. Y/N, I am serious. You can never scare me like that again. The way you looked... I th-... please, you can't just take care of me or the tribe. You have to make yourself a priority too. Promise me." 

You leaned forward, which took great energy on your part, and kissed him on the lips. It was soft, gentle, conveyed more in an apology than your words would. "I promise. I’m sorry." 

That seemed to suffice, he offered you a smile that pushed some of the guilt out of your heart. He stood up and held you for a moment, unzipping your dress so it fell off you. "You are going to take a bath, and then go to bed." He turned on the hot water in their tub, filling it with water and your favorite vanilla bubble bath. 

"B-but the par-" 

The look on his face immediately silenced you. "The party is no longer your concern. We are not going.” 

“It is your party, we have to go,” you insisted, guilt rushing through you at ruining his night. “What if I just go for a litt-”

“Y/N,” he growled, his tone highlighting his frustration at his stubborn wife. “You should be glad I am not calling every healer in this tribe. You will stay here and you will rest. That is final.” 

His face softened slightly at the small nod you gave, you understood you couldn’t fight him on this one. But he also understood how guilty you felt for crashing on his special day, how badly you wanted tonight to be perfect for him. 

“Fine, I will go and show my face for an hour once you are in bed. It will be amazing and everyone will love it. But you will stay here, all I want for my celebration is for you to finally rest, Y/N." 

You nodded, and slid down into the bath, the warm water felt heavenly against your tired body. M’Baku watched you closely, clearly concerned that you may faint in the tub. You looked, to him, as weary and tired as he imagined you felt. That made him feel secure in his decision to make this call. The duties and pressures of the tribe could wait, you needed to just be you for a while. He only left your once, for a few moments as it was nearing time for him to go downstairs, to get dressed. He came back in his slacks and dress shirt with a cup of your favorite chamomile tea in hand.

He helped you out of the bath slowly. If you weren’t already, his gentleness and care would have usually made you weak in the knees. He left you to finish getting dressed but after putting on your panties, you decided you had little energy for other clothes. You slid your robe on and tied a towel around your wet twists, and slid on your reading glasses. 

You lazily walked out of the bathroom, sipping your perfectly-made tea, to find M’Baku putting on his suit jacket. 

"You look perfect. Happy anniversary, M'Baku." 

He pulled you in close for a deep, passionate kiss before he steered you toward the California-King size bed and helped you in. "Thank you. Get some rest, usana. I will be back in an hour." 

He watched you for a minute or two, as you sunk into the bed and your eyes drifted shut. "I love you," he whispered, but all he heard in return were the soft, gentle snores of the very-exhausted love of his life.

He chuckled lightly, kissing you on the forehead this time and removing your glasses before heading toward the door. As he left, he decided an hour was really going to be 30 minutes. He had a wife to tend to.

****

@muse-of-mbaku @dawva @destinio1 @jellybean531 @afrolatinpami

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

āmentĭa || Thomas Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “Can I request #16 with a jealous tommy, angsty pretty please?”

Summary: n.16 from prompt list: “Another’s hands on her skin” Warnings: swearing, anxiety, angst, a bit of smut, jealous desperate Tommy making my soul ache

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

Paragraphs written in italics are flashbacks.⤟ IMPORTANT

Sentences between bold quotation marks (❝  ❞ ) are Tommy’s thoughts.⤟ IMPORTANT

I wanted to thank you darlings for all the love you’ve been sending me, you truly make me happy, I’m so grateful to share my works with you ♡

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

āmentĭa [amentiă], amentiae  feminine noun I declension

1. compulsion, disturbance, raving, hysteria 2. malaise, vexation, affliction, regret, 3. viciousness, anger, furor, choler, 4. impetum, violence, heat, rush, impulse 5. separation, rupture, abandon 6. paroxysm, yearning, eagerness 7. infatuation, frantic desire, amorous fervour

Heavy rain incessantly hit the windows sideways, giving life to a perpetual recurrence of dull sounds relentlessly haunting Tommy’s eardrums, yet he remained laying on his cold bed, motionless, with his glacial stare disturbingly fixed on the ivory ceiling. His bare chest kept raising and lowering in toil, labored breath coming out of his slightly parted lips in agonizing sighs, goosebumps slimily crawling on his more than ever pale skin, due to the extremely low temperature in his room; still, he didn’t seem to care.  Two deafening chimes abruptly ripped apart the bleak air, midnight struck with no mercy, inexorably, raiding into his black lungs, plundering all of the oxygen he had left. The day had eventually come, the day in which he would’ve lost you, forever. Thomas brusquely stopped breathing as his raw flesh seemed to lacerate, it felt like the Devil’s acuminate claws had pierced his ribcage, penetrating through his bones, carving to reach his cardiac muscle, ruthelessly stabbing it, brutally slicing into his stomach. For a full, interminable minute, blind panic took over his paralyzed body, having him pant and whine, making him look like a dying animal in pure agony, while his empty gaze never left the spot right before his dilated pupils. Tom had met you three years before, by the time war had just come to an end: it’d been only a few months since Harry had hired you to help him handle the pub, and when the Shelbys finally entered the Garrison again, after four long years, you clearly didn’t have a clue of what was going on.

Your boss had tensely hurried to instruct you on what your job was for that night, apparently, it only consisted in following those three men in their private room, favoring their every wish, always with a smile and kindness. You remembered looking around the tavern, deeply confused, since the whole clientele had suddenly fallen deadly silent: every man in there was gazing at the ground and taking off his hat out of respect, causing you to be even more disorientated by that odd situation. “Just keep your head down, y/n, those guys are dangerous, I mean it. They take whatever they want, whenever they want, whether people like it or not” Harry’s words kept echoing into your mind, Tommy’s crystal eyes immediately piercing your soul when you quickly reached for their privè. There was some sort of  unsettling stravation sailing through his granitic irises, while he shamelessly stared at you, barely blinking his eyelids, and a cheeky grin peered out on his angular face. Breath unexpetedly shattered into your throat, your forearms rippled with evident goosebumps, as you truly began to see what that previous alarming reccomendation was about. Your heart grievously skipped a beat because of that abrupt scene mercilessly flashing before your tired eyes. A huge amount of air was forcefully shoved down your pharynx in a miserable effort to put to rest any of your conflicting emotions, yet you didn’t seem able to abort your detrimental thoughts; once more, your restless glare fell on the wooden pendulum clock pinned to the wall in front of your queen size bed. “Oh my God, what happened?” Thomas watched your hexyl hand shake before your open mouth, an expression of pure horror mixed with shock virulently took over your soft features at the sight of bleeding abhorrent wounds mutilating his marble skin. “Let me in” That order dropped from his busted lips, but it sounded like nothing more than a feeble prayer, as he painfully cought up blood on your doormat. His stomach unusually clenched when he sensed your tiny arms carefully wrap around his torsum for the very first time, in order to support his weight, thus his head innately tilted in your direction, making your noses rub one another by accident, while his icy-blue eyes carved deep into yours. “You’re a fucking angel” He whispered at the end of his rope, already being in a state of partial unconsciousness, therefore it took only a few more instants for him to effectively faint in your warm embrace. That brief memory led Tommy to hastily lift his back, a crippling feeling of anxiety, along with deep overwhelming fear, came unbidden, having him struggle to inhale as much oxygen as possible, while he crawled towards the edge of the mattress, then sitting and propping both his elbows right above his knees; his left hand convulsely run through his face, like that simple gesture could’ve helped him get rid of those loathsome sensations devouring his guts from the inside. Bells rang again, another hour went by, time continued to unrelentingly slip between his fingers. “Just be rational for once!” Tommy ferociously shouted in your face, thick veins appallingly throbbing in his neck, blood traces invading his white orbs; as usual, he was plainly too despotic and hardheaded to let anyone around him make their own decisions. “I don’t see what the problem is, Thomas. You’ll find another bloody bartender, for God’s sake!” Soon afterwards your reply brusted out in another yell and your hands started franticly moving into the air, as you were strenuosly fighting for your sacrosanct right to finally leave Birmingham and move to Paris to begin a whole new life, putting all of that shit behind you.  Yet, before your brain could process what was actually happening, you felt your back hardly clash with the cold brick wall, Tom’s mighty figure trapped yours forthwith, one of his fists vehemently grabbing a consistent strand of your hair, so to make your mouths collide in an unexpected tempestuous movement. “That’s my fucking problem” An atrocious knot cluttered up your gullet, forcing you to scarcely gasp for a fresh breath again, your velvet fingertips unwittingly went to brush your slightly wet lips, due to a lonely tear which had just tumbled from your full lashes. You could almost sense his touch on your fervent skin.

Faltering, you dragged yourself on your feet and your shoulders shriveled, for a cool draft brutally hit your quivering body; with heavy steps, you reached for your wedding dress armonically rested on a copper mannequin. Ivory tulle coursed amidst your fingers, while your blurred vision remained anxiously fixed on that wonderful piece of haut couture at the fathal stroke of the third hour of the morning. “You belong to me” That husky grunt lingered the soft skin of your naked chest, instantly followed by Tommy’s luscious kisses, his callous palms utterly enveloping your curves as your live flesh superbly engulfed every inch of his length and his hips kept diving into yours, miraculously giving life to an exquisite blend. He was revelling in the sight of your erotic beauty, he couldn’t just avert his thirsty glacial irises from your winsome shape now twitching with raw pleasure.

Those ruthless sequences of images irretrievably haunted his dark pupils, unfolding into his head over and over again. Thomas squeezed his eyelids nearly in physical pain, allowing himself to drown in his bittersweet memories: he was still perfectly able to feel your edges fill his hands, your voluptuous voice reawaken his numb ears, your mild thighs fondling his sharp pelvic bones. “Fuck!” All of a sudden, his hoarse tone clamorously reverberated in the room, brutally tearing apart the previous stillness, while Tommy berserkly stood up and, affected by a pernicious choler, he savagely ravaged every single thing in his path, until the floor was completely covered in shards and his breathing showed clear symptoms of hyperventilation. Everything was shot in pieces because of him, because of his pathetic selfishness and his shameless arrogance; you had loved him from your skin to your bones, never leaving his side, offering him a safe harbour from his private hell, stoking that cataclysmic fire, only to let it consume yourself with each passing day. He’d always been aware of that, in truth, he’d always felt the same about you, still, he had treated you like nothing more than one of his whores; afterall, it was just a matter of priority, and business was his one and only priority, obviously. So, when you had eventually presented him with a definitive choice, demanding to know  what your strange affair truly meant to him, he had almost laughed in your face, deliberately making it clear that, whatever that thing was, it would’ve never become something more.

The thought that in the end you might have really left him didn’t even remotely cross his mind, not once; nevertheless, barely a year later, you were about to marry another man, and it was too late for him to fix all of his uncountable mistakes. ❝  There will be another’s hands on her skin, Tommy. He’s gonna hold her, he’s gonna take your place, and it was your fault, you wreck everything you touch ❞ That voice inside his brain continued to scream that obnoxious truth with no mercy, steadily driving him to madness, violently gouging dire tears from his hollow eyes. Intoxicating fury festered his already rotten blood, pushing him to throw several raging punches at the door, excruciating shrieks kept escaping his maw, until two deep dents ploughed it and his bleeding knuckles broke under the abnormal strain of his animalistic blows.  Thomas surrendered to his agonizing sorrow, soon he let his empty corpse fall against the damaged wooden surface, his fractured fists henceforth laying along either side of his bust, while his growling voice didn’t seem to find peace, as it was still spilling from his lips into deafening cries alternated to beastly snarls and sporadic curses. Sure, Tommy Shelby had learnt far too soon what pain and darkness were, he had experienced death, loss, abandon, even the gory war itself, but never before that wretched day he had felt his soul disintegrate into his aching ribcage in such a diabolical, cruel, inhuman way.

tag list:  @spidey-pal, @shadow-of-wonder, @shelby1baby, @peachlle, @livvtheangel, @myjbphase, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest, @vxxn128, @keithseabrook27, @spaghettirogers, @writingstudent​

[sheliesshattered]

Whouffaldi fic sketch, ~770 words. First draft, minimal editing, etc. Clara POV, set between Deep Breath and Into The Dalek. I may expand this into a full AU at some later date, but for today it was just a writing exercise to get me back into canon!Clara’s point of view, and hopefully help with my other in-progress Whouffaldi fics. 

Even though it’s just a sketch, I would love to hear your thoughts on this! ❤️

--

Galaxies Beneath Your Skin

It takes her hours to get home from Glasgow, after the Doctor goes to get them coffee and doesn’t return. Hours of weary train travel, alone and heartsick, thankful that she always travels with a bank card stashed inside her mobile case, for just such an emergency. And then what feels like hours to make excuses to her Dad and Gran — and Linda, though by that point, Clara is so far beyond caring what Linda thought, she is nearly able to ignore her presence in the room — about how and why she’d up and disappeared on them in the middle of Christmas dinner.

So by the time she is once again alone in her flat, Clara is tired down to her bones in a way she can’t remember ever being before. Not even after spending a week on a Russian submarine, or saving Artie and Angie from Cybermen, or jumping into the Doctor’s timestream was she this exhausted, this numb to everything she’d been through since waking up on Christmas morning. She strips off her festive outfit, letting each piece of clothing drop to the floor in a line that stretches out behind her as she makes her way towards her bathroom and the siren call of her familiar shower, and doesn’t let herself think about any of the day’s strange, heartbreaking, life-altering events.

It isn’t until she’s working shampoo into her hair that she sees it. She takes it for a smudge, at first. Dirt, perhaps. She had been through a literal war zone in that outfit after all, not to mention the dual insults of clinging to the outside of the TARDIS in the Vortex and the train ride from Glasgow, and her brief stint in Victorian London in between. 

It’s a dark line over her left breast, curving down towards her ribs. She swipes at it with a soapy hand, but it doesn’t budge. Exhausted and annoyed and — if she’s honest with herself — on the brink of tears, Clara rinses the shampoo from her hair, rubs at her watery eyes, and turns her attention to the stubborn stain on her skin. When even a flannel and more soap leave it unchanged, she peers at it closer, only then realising that it isn’t dirt or soot or a bit of exploded Dalek, after all.

Rather, it’s a line of perfectly formed little circles, etched into her skin with what looks like fine blank ink, each circle containing smaller circles and dots and lines, overlapping each other to form one flowing, complex geometric design. It starts near her sternum, curving up over the top of her breast and down the other side, ending on her ribs, the whole thing creating a gentle half-circle shape, as though it is only a part of a larger pattern.

She couldn’t say how she knows, but she knows. The moment her eyes focus on it fully, she knows exactly what it says. It’s written in a language all but gone from the universe, though there is enough Circular Gallifreyan scattered around the TARDIS for Clara to be utterly certain that that is what it is, pressed into her flesh. 

Maybe it’s latent knowledge from her echo life lived on Gallifrey, or the recovered memory of that day she and the Doctor journeyed into the centre of the TARDIS and she stumbled across the book in his library about the Time War, or something seared into her mind when she jumped into his timestream. Or maybe it’s none of those things, maybe it’s something else entirely, maybe the knowledge was planted in her mind just as magically as the words had been planted under her skin.

However she came by the knowledge, Clara knows without needing to be told that it is the Doctor’s true name, written in his native tongue, that now sits curled over her heart.

And at that knowledge, she promptly bursts into tears.

--

It’s three weeks before she sees his face again. His new face, old before its time, unfamiliar except for the intelligence shining out of his eyes. But she would know him anywhere. He could have regenerated again since their abrupt and unplanned parting in Glasgow, and she still would have recognised him, known him by his eyes and by the way her heart somersaults under the place where his name has been mysteriously scorched onto her body.

Do you know? she wants to ask him. Do you know that when you disappeared, you left a piece of yourself under my skin?

Instead what comes out is, “Where the hell have you been?”

--

[mishinsisa]

A traveler's learning - A princess' wish

(AlMei fic)

Summary.- Alphonse Elric decides to start his own life and materialize his projects: traveling east and study alkahestry. He takes two friends in order to help them recover their original forms and, along the way, gets to know the seventeenth princess of Xing better. During Alphonse's learning process and while Mei takes on projects in support of her clan, they get to understand each other and their bond strengthens.

*This is the first thing I write about FMA since I got into the fandom recently. English is not my first language and I hadn't written any fiction in English, so please, if you see any mistakes, do not hesitate to let me know so I can correct them.*

First chapter length: 3,825 words

Total length: 13,780 words

Genre: Friendship / Family / Romance (at the very end)

Links to AO3 and Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist

1

 Determination

 He had to reconsider his plans of departing soon to the East on the advice of his family and acquaintances: his brother and surrogate grandmother were worried about him exposing to such a strenuous journey through the desert. The chances of survival and successful completion for healthy people were already low, let alone for a boy whose body had suffered years of starvation and consequently severe health issues. The princess, his friend, despite showing excitement for his intended visit to her country and a willingness to work with him, stated that he would have to study the language beforehand, at least to a basic level. A vast majority of Xingese did not speak Amestrian at all, and traditional teachers were not patient nor gentle with foreigners.

 There was no chance to see friends off. Due to the critical condition their bodies were in, all the brothers got was a brief and restricted visit by the far eastern group. An interchange of addresses—attempting to ignore the fact that they might not see nor contact each other again—, words of gratitude and encouragement, and that was it. The Elrics and the people who fought that day would spend a while under close medical care.

 Alphonse’s process was, by far, the longest and most difficult of all. He learned when the Armstrongs, the Colonel, the Lieutenant, the chimeras, and everybody involved was discharged. Even his father, who, once healthy, showed intentions to stay with his sons. However, Hohenheim understood, from Edward’s attitude, that his continuous presence with them would not be wise nor comfortable.

 It was Edward the one who never left Alphonse’s side. Even when he himself was severely injured, he insisted on being with his younger brother to make sure of his progress. It was not only his guilt of the failed transmutation and bringing his young body to that pitiful state, but also the uncertainty of his survival given that severe emaciation.

 Bedridden, stuck to a liquid diet, barely able to turn over and subject to multiple injections a day, not only the youngest Elric was restrained in a body he and his brother had been searching for years. He was also prey to baffling nightmares, hallucinations, abrupt losses of consciousness, and difficulty in remembering things that happened during the journeys with his brother. During these lapses, Edward would sit on the edge of the bed and hold his hand in an attempt to make Alphonse feel safe and supported. Even being such a reckless youngster, the older brother knew when to cheer the younger one, and when it was best to stay quiet and hold him.

 It was the memory of those endless months of convalescence that made Edward worry about his brother’s decision to go to the east as soon as possible. He understood his urge to travel and live as many experiences as he could, since the former state alchemist had already decided to study in the West. However, communications between Amestris and the East were still limited, and the connection projects were still drafts. Führer Grumman and the Crown Prince, on behalf of the Emperor of Xing due to his frail state, had just opened a trade route through Aerugo and the south sea. It was the beginning of a promise to a profitable exchange between Amestris and the eastern country.

Determined to prepare himself for his journey, Alphonse took into account Mei’s words and chose to start learning Xingese. In East City, the closest urban area to his hometown, he found little linguistic and instructional material that could help him. He didn’t feel like going all the way to Central, so he had some books delivered to the Rockbell house by some renowned bookstores.

 Once the brothers felt ready, Alphonse would be the first one to depart. Deep down, he trusted his absence would give his older brother the space and courage to acknowledge his feelings and talk about them with the girl they grew up with.

 ~

 ―You sure you don’t wanna wait for an eastern railway line to be ready? I’ve heard it’s in the Führer’s agenda.―Pinako told him with a concerned tone.

 Alphonse smiled reassuringly.

 ―We don’t know if that will start tomorrow, next month or next year. What if they start building it in ten years? I’m not going to wait that long.

 ―You just make sure to call home whenever you get the chance, okay?―his brother said, smiling―There’s got to be a phone in each station. So let us know about all of your layovers, huh?

 ―Ed, he’s going to spend too much money on phone calls.―Winry talked back and then immediately addressed to Alphonse―You just call us once a day so we get to know you’re okay. Don’t forget to write as soon as you get to Xing, understand?

 The first announcement of the train to Aerugo echoed in the station.

 Pinako wished him the best of luck and reminded him that he could get back home whenever he wanted to.

 Winry took a package wrapped in cloth out of a basket and gave it to him.

 ―When you get hungry during the trip…

 The boy gasped out of joy when he noticed the smell of apple pie.

 ―You didn’t have to! Thanks a bunch!

 ―I can’t believe you will cross the sea! I want you to tell me what is it like!

 He smiled at her and nodded.

 Then, his brother came closer to him.

 ―You just take care, okay? Don’t get in trouble.

 ―You’re not coming with me, so most likely I won’t get into bigger trouble than the ones you got me in.

 Edward scoffed.

 They bumped fists. Then, they bumped elbows and patted each other’s shoulder as Alphonse turned around to walk towards the platform.

 The Rockbells and the older brother waved him goodbye when they spotted him in his seat. He waved back at them, smiling. Soon after the train started moving, Winry and Pinako got tired and lowered their arms. Edward, however, not only waved even harder, but ran along the platform so as not to lose sight of Alphonse, until the train outran him and went away.

 ~

 He met with Jerso and Zampano at the South City station. From there, they headed together to the southernmost city of Amestris connected by train and took a tram to the checkpoint. The Amestrian police and soldiers checked their passports and jackets, acting somehow lenient after noticing the Elric surname in the documents. In the Aerugonian side, however, they got thoroughly searched and questioned. Their ID photos were constantly checked to confirm if they were the persons they claimed to be; they even had to take their shoes off and open their luggage. The process, which seemed endless for the young alchemist and former militaries, ended up with the confiscation of personal items such as straight razors, nail clippers, a lighter and a hip flask. Alphonse’s medication was almost confiscated, too, but he showed his prescription and bargained speaking a mixture of Amestrian and very broken Aerugonian.

 The first train they took, in a noisy and narrow station, was full of people with work attires and uniforms; people carrying heavy packaged goods, cases full of documents, lunch boxes. Some of them avoided interaction by reading the newspaper; some others simply slept with the newspaper on their face to block the light. The boy, however tired, kept looking out the window, curious to find out if the countryside in Aerugo would look different from the countryside in which he grew up.

 Hours later in the train, the former militaries couldn’t help but chuckle about Alphonse’s look. He fell asleep with his face leaning next to the window. His jaw was wide open, part of his hair was upright and entangled, and his left leg was extended to the front, almost in the personal space of his companions. Zampano tapped the tip of the boy’s foot with his own foot in a subtle attempt to wake him up when he noticed a middle-aged woman selling snacks, approaching. Not that the food or service were that good at the train, but he and his friend were hungry, and they supposed the young one would need something to eat.

 ―Hey… hey, Al…

 A sharp move of the train made his head bump into the wall and woke him up.

 ―You okay, buddy? You want something?―Zampano asked him in an amused tone.

 Alphonse yawned covering his mouth, unable to talk immediately, while Jerso took some money out of his pocket and bought snacks for the three of them.

 ―I can’t believe it’s already afternoon. Did we pass by any landmarks?―The boy asked.

 ―I woke up an hour ago.―Jerso answered, shrugging and chewing.

 ―I’ve been sleeping and waking up every now and then. Only sheep, cows and plantations out that window. You didn’t miss anything.

 Alphonse smiled. Deep down, he disagreed with Zampano’s answer: he was in a whole new place for him and was willing to see the slightest detail of it, specially since he was just passing through that country and didn’t know if he would be there again.

 At night, the train stopped in what seemed to be a textile town. Given the hour and their tiredness, all they did was look for an inn to have dinner and rest.

 Alphonse went to an old phone, one of the only three that were near the front desk area. He took some coins and dialed long distance.

 ―Rockbell Automail.

 ―Granny, it’s me.

 ―Al, thank goodness. Where are you now?

 The young Elric attempted to ask the name of the town with his limited language skills, but he didn’t understand the answer he got, no matter how many times the clerk repeated.

 ―I… I’m still north of Aerugo. I just had dinner. How’s my brother and Winry?

 ―He’s upstairs, reading.

 ―Hey!―A distant voice and quick steps were heard through the phone.

 ―Here he comes. Hold on.

 ―Yo! How’s everything going?

 ―It’s all right. I’ve been sitting all day long.

 ―You in Aerugo? Is it hot? You’re gonna get all tanned and all. Careful with the ladies.―Edward teased his brother, trying to conceal the fact that he already missed him.

 ―It’s humid, yeah.―The young one smiled―So, when are you going to talk to Winry?

 ―Uh…

 Edward seemed to be about to give an explanation, but he remained silent. Alphonse was not surprised.

 ―Listen, I gotta go now. I need to sleep. We’re taking the next train first thing in the morning. Take care.

 The next morning they woke up a little later than agreed and barely had time to get prepared. They ran to the station and, panting, abruptly stopped behind the platform line. Less than a minute later, the train doors opened. It was still dark, but the next train would depart three hours later, and Alphonse was not willing to delay his itinerary.

 Luckily, there were very few people in that train given the hour and route. The train car they were in was practically empty; it was just the three of them, so the Amestrians were free to be at ease. After a light breakfast and a nap to recover the lost sleep, they played cards. The game finished gradually with the hours of the morning and they ended up chatting and laughing, telling stories and their plans on the East.

 They spent the whole day crossing Aerugo and, as they headed south, Alphonse wrote in a travelogue details of what he saw. Not only did he enjoy rural and natural landscapes, but as the train went through big cities and the capital, he was delighted by the architecture, urban transportation, and the people’s disposition. Aerugonians seemed to be much more open and talkative than Amestrians: most houses decorated with flowering plants and painted in bright colors, unlike in his country.

 After spending the night in a city 400 miles away from the coast and boarding a last train the next morning, the three Amestrians arrived in an important port where they had some time to spare before their ship’s departure. They had a taste of Aerugonian seafood and bought medicine and personal care items, since their razors were taken in the north border and they didn’t want to look unkempt on arrival in Xing.

 Once on board the ship and upon leaving his stuff in the cabin, Alphonse rushed to the top deck and, amazed, walked to the railing and stood there. The wind in his hair and clothes, eyes narrowed by the daylight and mouth wide open, he stared delighted the vastness before him, sky and sea, which he thought of as two realms only separated by the line where the shades of blue diverged.

 During the early afternoon, once in open sea, Zampano and Jerso chatted and enjoyed the sunlight while the boy, feet away from them, looked down the hull and noticed a large school of flying fish, fluttering. Alphonse leaned over the railing to take a better look of them and the deep waters he was navigating. Later on, in the distance, he spotted dolphins. Pelicans and seagulls flew above the ship and, following their path with his eyes, he turned around and looked back at the point from which it sailed, now vanished in the horizon. A tear crossed his cheekbone. That innocence and sense of wonder reminded his travel companions of their own children, moving them.

 ~

 The Xingese harbor where they set foot in land for the first time in days was a bustle of vessels, rickshaws and loud talk that, in addition to their seasickness, left the three Amestrians dazed and indisposed to walk long distances. The midday light worsened their discomfort, and Alphonse had to call to mind his self-taught language lessons and look for a way to get to the train station. Needless to say that three considerably tall, unusual-looking, tired foreigners would be easy prey to cunning drivers.

 They got on the cab that charged them the less among the other options presented to them as a swarm. Still, in front of the station, the driver charged them more than agreed, claiming the routes he had to take in order to get them fast and the weight of three big men and their suitcases. Alphonse’s shortness of vocabulary and Jerso and Zampano’s total ignorance of the language led to an unintelligible quarrel in overlapped Amestrian and Xingese. The altercation drew the attention of bystanders and ended up with the foreigners paying reluctantly the final demanded amount. Jerso was about to spit his chimeric saliva to the driver but was stopped by Alphonse.

 ~

 The route to the capital of Xing took them through places that not only enthralled the already curious alchemist, but also delighted the grown men with him. The stunning look of lightning in the distance in the southern area near the desert, they had never seen that kind of thunderstorms. Numerous rice terraces extending in sequences that seemed infinite; rivers reflecting surrounding peaks covered in green; a thick emerald forest where the silence seemed sacred; hills that seemed painted with watercolors in various shades of yellow, red and green; plantation fields; busy towns. Bluish, gray mountains imposing as they approached the capital city.

 Never in his life had the boy seen so many people concentrated in one place. When Alphonse and his travel companions arrived at the main station they were easily stepped on and bumped into by the passers-by, not without a curious peek. Not every day did they see people with those Amestrians’ physical traits and clothing. Besides, they looked unkempt, since they hadn’t had the chance to shave since their last morning in the Aerugonian ship.

 The place was so big they got easily lost amid the swarm of people and the overwhelming amount of hallways, waiting areas and sigs they didn’t understand. They decided it would be better to go first to the restrooms, which were in an upper floor. The young one remembered reading once in his books that performing personal care activities in public, such as combing or shaving, was seen as very bad taste in Xing, so they went very quickly.

 Once done, walking down the wide stairs along with many other users, Alphonse felt weak due to a drop in his blood pressure. The changes in altitude and the eating habits he had been leading during such a long trip affected his health, and he fainted. People near him stepped aside, most of them continuing on their way. Zampano and Jerso ran to their friend, turning him over to see if he was awake or injured.

 —Al! Hey, Al!—Jerso shouted, gently slapping the boy’s face.

 Alphonse’s head had hit the edge of a stair, causing him a laceration on his forehead and a black eye. Zampano held him and softly shook him.

 —He’s passed out, go get help.—He told Jerso.

 —They won’t understand a word, lemme just…

 —Go get help! We don’t know if he still has any condition.

 —I don’t know how to! I better go get water to splash his face and wash that blood.

 Three security guards came running, alerted by one witness of Alphonse’s fall down the stairs. Their first impression was that of an innocent looking youngster waking up disoriented and bleeding, surrounded by two threatening-looking men with untidy stubble, one of then shaking him on the floor and patting his coat, the other one carrying his suitcase. Yelling, one of the guards asked something none of the Amestrians understood. He and the second guard proceeded to detain Jerso and Zampano, while the third guard helped Alphonse stand up and walk.

 ~

 —Sir, are you here against your will?—The sheriff asked slowly and clear so that the young Amestrian could understand.—Were you kidnapped? Kidnap?

 —Again, I was not abducted. I came here because I want.

 His accent was strong, but he talked clear and was confident of his language use in that situation. Alphonse tried to explain time after time that he was in Xing willingly and that those two men were his friends, but none of the officers seemed to believe. The wound on his forehead had been washed and covered and he had been offered an ice pack for his eye. His companions were held in a cell.

 The sheriff opened the boy’s passport. He frowned a little, glanced at the Amestrian, and skimmed the document again. That surname may have been distant news once, but he was not sure.

 —Do you want to go back home? Call anyone?

 —Yes. I want to call the Seventeenth Royal Princess of Xing, Mei.

 The sheriff and the officers in the room looked at each other in incredulity. Some of them grinned and sneered. They talked mockingly among them at fast pace and the sheriff tried to impose order.

 —Sonny, home? You don’t want to go home? Or do you need a lawyer?

 Alphonse felt like the man was treating him like a stupid.

 —Sir, I know my rights. I can resort to the help I need. And the help I choose is Her Highness, Princess Mei.

 Silence in the room, skeptic faces.

 —I met her, the Crown Prince Ling Yao and his bodyguards Lan Fan and the late Fu in Amestris. I’m Alphonse Elric, and I came here to study Alkahestry, science she masters.

 One of the officers talked in a condescending tone and the sheriff mumbled, frustrated. He took the phone and dialed. Once he got an answer, he adopted a formal tone and, among the particulars, he mentioned the name Alphonse Elric, mispronouncing it. Minutes of silence. The conversation seemed to resume briefly, and the man hung up. His countenance seemed uncomfortable and wary. He had a secretary bring the Amestrian a cup of tea and offered him a forced smile. The officers in the room were in expectation. Minutes later, the sheriff called again.

 —I am sorry for keeping you waiting, Mr. Elric.—The man in charge of the situation addressed the young Amestrian after hanging up—I contacted the relevant palace office and they talked to one of the Princess’ assistants. She will be here in about two hours. In the meantime, the nurse will take care of you.

 Alphonse smiled and sighed with relief.

 —What about my friends?

 —That’s for the Princess to decide.

 —They are hungry and tired by now.

 The sheriff acted as if he hadn’t heard that and handed Alphonse his passport back, then called the nurse and asked her to take the young man with her.

 ~

 The distant fuss in the building woke him up from his shallow slumber. The bed was narrow and hard, but he was so tired and unwell that he surrendered to the cherished rest by the nurse’s command. She saw him awake and made a gesture, indicating that he should get out of bed. The door was opened. The nurse bowed down and, with a glance, warned that he ought to do the same.

 He saw her: a shining maiden, ravishing, small in build, taller than the last time they talked, her little panda on her shoulder. Dressed in a light blue cheongsam, her hair tied in two buns with braids, she seemed to personify the morning sky. The princess stared at him, first in disbelief; then, after asking him and the nurse to stop bowing and scrutinizing his face, she recognized him and gasped.

 —Sir Alphonse!—She took four steps forward in a reflex of greeting him like in the old days, but remembered the presence of her palace assistants and the officers and stopped suddenly, bowing slightly—I mean, Mr. Elric! Are you all right?

 —I am! Don’t worry, it was just a fall!

 —I have to apologize for being so late. I was addressing issues when we received your call. After that, I had to get everything prepared for you and your friends. Where are they?

 —Arrested, I’m afraid.

 —Oh! Let’s hurry, then. I’ll explain later, but I wanted to make sure you’re well received and comfortable, specially after this unfortunate misunderstanding.

 An officer released Zampano and Jerso. When they were greeted by Mei, the man forced them to a bow, and escorted them out when she headed to the exit.

  —It feels weird. Such a tiny girl we met in Amestris, now a fancy princess.

 —Yes, man, she’s royal family and all, remember?

 The former militaries mumbled astonished once out of the police station, away from the group. Alphonse joined them then.

 —Don’t be surprised. She’s in her country, she must follow a protocol. All we can do is adapt ourselves.

 —Gentlemen!—The princess called them loudly, waving to draw their attention.

 She invited them to get on the limousine with her. Once their luggage was in place and they got on the back seats, Mei asked the chauffeur to drive to the place where the Amestrians would stay.

[bittykimmy13]

Best Wishes (GT) ~ 1

This is G/t fanfiction of the Netflix movie The Half of It. Watch the movie if you haven't seen it. Enjoy. 

I certainly enjoyed it so much that I immediately needed a G/t version of it :') This will probably be a shorter story, with short chapters. Just something cute and light after the slew of angst the past couple years haha (but yes of course there will be angst, who do you think I am?) Anyway, this takes place in a potential future of the print universe. YEP, a print story where the characters aren't under immediate threat of physical pain/death 24/7 <333

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mid-afternoon sun beat down on the lonely stretch of road. Autumn pedaled her bike on a separate print-sized path beside the tree line, bracing herself whenever human cars roared by. Luckily, those were few and far between at this time of day. Unless humans were headed for the southern exit of the town where their kind of homes were sparse, they didn’t have much reason to be there. Mostly, all that remained at this end was a tight cluster of print neighborhoods and woodland.

It would be easier if she paid for human transportation to and from her summer job, but she told herself every morning that she needed to save money and that it wasn’t her pride holding her back. If she wanted to sustain herself through the next school year, she’d need to tough out the commute on her own.

The rumble of an engine approached in the distance. She tensed, but didn’t stop pedaling. This engine in particular was familiar—one she had been dreading.

Sure enough, as the pick-up truck slowed beside her, the human boys inside shouted at her through the open windows.

“Think you’ll make it home by morning?”

“Aww, why’re you ignoring us, mouse? Think you’re too good?”

“Why don’t you come in here and sit on my lap? I’ll get you where you need to go!”

Autumn kept her eyes trained on the path in front of her. It wasn’t worth snapping back at them. One, they wouldn’t hear her over the sound of that old-world relic of a pick-up. Two, they were all easily over six feet tall. She didn’t even reach mid-calf for them. Let them have their fun from the road, as long as they didn’t get out to stop her on the path and tower over her.

Keep it together. You’ll be free of them again in a couple months.

Their laughter faded as the truck roared ahead, and she could finally breathe again. She swore they took the long way these days just to mess with her. Now that they were gone, her tense anticipation of their approach could be laid to rest until tomorrow. However, her moment of relaxation lasted roughly five minutes.

A rhythmic pounding came from behind her—the footsteps of a jogging human. She clenched her jaw and kept her eyes forward. Why couldn’t some humans get it through their thick skulls that this path wasn’t meant for their exercise? It was meant for prints like her to get home somewhat safely if they didn’t have a ride. Besides, who the hell wanted to be running in this heat? As the footsteps became more pronounced, she groaned and started to swerved her bike off the path to let the human pass her without potential murder.

“Hey!” The human’s steps slowed as his voice boomed after her. “Autumn Yang!”

She braked so hard she nearly fell off her bike. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a human with wavy dark-blond hair coming after her on the path. She blanched in recognition. He’d gone to high school with her, like the other boys in the pick-up. Tucker West. Had they really deployed one of the guys to come after her on foot? Her hand tensed on the phone in her pocket as she wondered if she should call for help.

There was no time. She pedaled hard.

“Wait up!” His pounding footsteps kicked up to a jog again.

It was laughable how easily he caught up. In no time at all, his shadow had fallen over her, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t dare look back, knowing she’d lose her balance if she dared to peer up at his dizzying height. From the brief look she’d gotten, he was somehow taller now since graduation.

“Autumn, hey! I said wait up!”

The shadow darkened, and her bike came to an abrupt stop. The momentum launched her over the handles, making her come to a hard fall on the asphalt. She winced at the scrape on her forearm and sat up, scrambling to face Tucker West.

He was crouched low with one hand braced to the ground, while his other fingers still pinched the back tire of her bike. His dark eyes were wide, and his lips were parted dumbly as he assessed what he had done.

“Wow, I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, giving a laugh of disbelief. “Shit, I didn’t know you were gonna fall like that.”

“You expected me to fall a different way?” She picked herself up and dusted her shorts off. “What’s wrong with you? Besides not knowing how physics work.”

“No, really, I’m sorry. But you weren’t stopping, and I…” He shrugged lamely.

Praying that he couldn’t see how badly she trembled under his shadow, she stormed over to her bike and grabbed the handles. “Give it back, Tucker. Leave me alone. We’re not in fucking high school anymore—I dunno why you and your friends couldn’t mature past your glory days, but leave me out of it.”

He cocked his head. “My friends?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. The assholes who’ve been screeching past me every day since I came home for the summer.”

“You mean Jason and them? They’re not my friends.” He kept his grip on the bike, seemingly unaware that she was trying to wrench it out of his fingers. “Look, I saw you were back in town, and I have a favor to ask. See, there’s this girl—”

“No, I will not help you seduce some girl by pretending to be your quirky print friend to prove you have a softer side. Beat it, or I’ll tell her you stalked me on my way home.”

Cheeks flushing, he shook his head. “That’s not it! Remember how you used to write people’s assignments for them?”

Of course she remembered. How could she not? The money she’d made from that had ensured she could eat comfortably while she was away for her freshman year of college. She stopped pulling on the bike and narrowed her eyes at him. She’d written a few papers for him back then, but that was the long and short of their interaction.

“Somehow, I doubt you need a philosophy analysis written for you in the middle of summer, two years out of high school,” she said.

Despite her flat tone, he looked at her excitedly, like she was a co-conspirator in a scheme she knew nothing about. “Well, you’re right about me needing your help with the girl. I mean, not the seducing her part, but uh… yeah, okay, kinda.”

“Either give me the point, or give me my bike.”

“You’re good at writing, okay? And I need help with that.” He pursed his lips and shrugged.

“Look, I’m not good with words, so I want to write her a letter. I tried already by myself, but it never sounds good, you know?”

She gave the bike another test tug, disappointed to find that his fingers’ grip hadn’t slackened in tandem with that wistful look on his face. She scoffed. “Write a letter? Like on paper? Who does that?”

He pouted. “I thought it would be romantic.”

“I mean, I guess. If she’s into that kind of stuff. Who is she, anyway?”

“Lacey. Lacey Ramirez.”

Autumn let go of the bike and staggered back a few steps, arms limp at her sides.

“You know her, don’t you?” Tucker said. “Didn’t you used to be friends with her?” He paused, taking in her slack-jawed expression and tense stance. “Oh. Do you guys have bad blood? Shit, I figured it would be easier for you to help since you know her.”

She shook her head. “N-no, we don’t have bad blood. But I’m not doing this. I’m not helping you write a stupid love letter to Lacey Ramirez. Just go talk to her. It’s not that hard.”

“You don’t get it! It’s hard. It’s, like, super hard.”

For all his insistence, he finally let go of the bike when Autumn lunged forward and jerked at the handles again. She gave one last look at his knelt form towering over her, feeling a spike of bitterness. Of course it wouldn’t be hard for him to win Lacey over. He was tall, handsome, and built. But most importantly, human. A perfect match for Lacey. She turned around and started walking her bike away.

“I’ll pay you,” he said. She walked a little faster, worried he’d give chase again. She was still within reach of his stupid long arms, but he didn’t make a grab. “However much you need. Set your price.”

Autumn hesitated, and his voice jumped.

“I’m in love with her,” he insisted. “Please. You have to help me. I’m sure you could use the money.”

She glared over her shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

He leaned back a little and planted his hands on his lap, perhaps to make it seem like he wasn’t trying to crowd her. “I dunno. You’re working, aren’t you? That means you need money.”

She did.

Hissing out a sigh, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “One letter.” He started to grin and straighten up in excitement, prompting her to hold up a finger. “One letter! And I name my price after I finish it. I’ll type up a draft and send it so you can write it out. What’s your number?”

“What? No, hey, I want to be there with you while you come up with it. We could help each other, can’t we?”

She rolled her eyes. “Where?”

“Library, tomorrow at noon?”

She frowned, shocked that he was so casually okay with being seen in public with a print. It wasn’t exactly outlandish these days, she just didn’t figure someone like him would be alright with it.

Maybe it was the surprise that made her nod. “Fine. But I work tomorrow, so let’s make it two.”

“So we have a deal!” His hand shot toward her, and she might have fallen on her ass if he hadn’t stopped a few safe inches away. He held his finger and thumb slightly parted—an invitation to a handshake that she would much rather not attend.

But, figuring it would get him out of her hair faster, she stiffly walked closer and placed her hand on his fingertip. She braced for pressure, but he was actually  quite gentle when he pinched her hand and moved it down once. After getting tossed off her bike, she never would have expected that from him.

“See ya tomorrow.” He let go and gave a small wave. His grin was wide and blinding as he stood up.

She couldn’t help but flinch, seeing him at his full height again. He didn’t linger, though. The pound of footsteps resumed, but this time they headed away from her. It wasn’t until he was a good distance away that she, for the second time, could breathe again.

As she mounted her bike and started pedaling, her mind swam in disbelief of what had just happened. Tucker West, former football star and high school has-been, had sought out her help with a handwritten love letter. And for Lacey Ramirez, of all people.

It wouldn’t be hard finding the words—just hard to share them. She hadn’t spoken much to Lacey since sophomore year of high school. It wasn’t that they had a falling out or bad blood. It was just that Autumn had quietly pulled away from that friendship when she came to the terrifying realization that she had fallen in love with Lacey.

[lettalady]

Alphabet Soup - I is for Identical

The document is due in a matter of days and he hasn't responded to your revisions, nor will he acknowledge the pings you've sent him this morning. You know he's at work. You saw him filter in with the rest of the small group working on the project. Everyone has been burning the candle at both ends to meet the deadline. You've started seeing charts in your sleep, crunching numbers as you toss and turn.

Irritation drives you up and out of your chair. You can see  movement from his workstation, legs sprawled out from behind the dividing wall, knees and feet swaying in a lazy motion as he apparently has bum-fuck else to do but lean back in his chair and swivel away the day.

He's not talking through a problem. He's not been pulled another direction by someone else on the floor, his opinion desired for input on their project. You can't hear his distinctive laugh, or a low-level muttering that you've learned to tune out – his go-to-method for working through a problem.

Maybe he needs another pair of eyes? Supervision to help move towards the goal. Maybe another pair of hands... though the temptation right now is to march over and strangle him. You need to know if he can resolve everything you'd noted in your revisions. You need to know if you'll be staying late, again delaying the reward for the completion of the project, or if you can start looking forward to the much-needed rejuvenating massage.

If he would just answer your pings. What good is an internal messenger system if he won't acknowledge the queries.

The fact that you're standing in place wins you a few curious glances from your coworkers. Maybe... if you get a coffee from the breakroom? A little more caffeine in your system probably won't help but it's a distraction. Except your feet carry you away from the breakroom, leading you towards the man that seems content to while away the morning.

Casual Fridays are evil, you've decided. There's no reason for his denim clad legs to be any more problematic than the buttoned-up attire usually required around the office, but here you are in your frayed state imagining a scenario where you get to yank that dark denim off him.

Your mental fantasy screeches to an abrupt halt as you round the barrier to find him stretched out in the rolling chair, still swaying slowly back and forth. His hands are folded over his stomach, fingers laced together, his focus solidly caught on the ceiling tiles above him.

"What the hell, Chris."

The chair squeaks beneath him as he lurches upright, blinking at you standing there with your hands on your hips. You wouldn't have felt even a little bit sorry if his sudden motion had sent the chair sliding out from under him. Ok, maybe a little, but right now you're too tired and hungry and angry and borderline burnt out to care that you'd given him a start. If he'd been working  it wouldn't have been an issue.

His mouth drops open, hinging to start to form a defense of his actions – or rather, inaction – but you're not having it. You flutter your eyes shut before squinting them open again, glaring at him as you shake your head, "No. I don't want to hear it. We're on a deadline here, or have you forgotten?"

A quick glance aside at his desktop shows his screen and the messenger window with your dialogue still sitting unanswered. At least the files are open on the screen, as well. He's just... ignoring it all.

"I know we're all exhausted. I get it. But..." You try to fight the urge to step forward and kick the bottom of his shoe. Anything would be better than the way he's got his legs sprawled out.

As though reading your mind, he rights himself a little more in the chair, drawing his feet back towards the rolling wheels beneath him. Which – would have been fine, appreciated, even – except the action is coupled with a seeming appraisal of your outfit, and how close you're standing, and ends with a damned look of amusement on his part.

Cue tirade, a bunch of words spilling out of your mouth causing a few curious coworkers to pop up from their chairs like meerkats, others leaning around cubicle walls to source the drama going down. It ends with you demanding that he have the decency to at least acknowledge messages and to let you know the project's status before the end of the day – if it isn't too much trouble.

After lunch, with a little food on your stomach to somewhat dilute level of caffeine in your system you realize maybe you were a little harsh on him. He'd gotten in maybe four words? You hadn't even waited around for any sort of explanation, just told him off and then stormed off – the rest of the floor giving you a pretty wide berth regardless of their involvement in the project.

Add to that the business-as-usual updates from him for the rest of the day, not a single word or sidelong look from him about your outburst, and you're about ready to curl up and melt into the scenery as the end of the day approaches. Then comes the chipper notification from him announcing that all the revisions were completed, the entire group receiving a copy of the final revision of the project for everyone to look over, and a few exclamation marks behind well wishes for the weekend now that the project is behind the lot of you.

Ok. You're an ass and need to go apologize to him. Why hadn't he stopped you? Corrected your assumption that he was putting off the final steps of the project? If he was so close to being done all it would have taken was a few words to course correct your --

Oh, right. The few words you refused to let him utter.

It's an agonizing number of steps to bring you back to his cubicle where he's cleaning up in preparation for leaving, tossing the empty coffee cup from a place down the street and shoving a notepad and pencil into his desk drawer. You clear your throat to get his attention, hemming through a soft greeting. "Er. So... I'm sorry about this morning. It was unprofessional and uncalled for and... I feel like a monumental dick. But um, I looked over that final draft and..."

His eyebrows arch up before knitting together. He's likely wondering why you are rambling through what he already knows. Everyone had clicked to view the document and then responded that they were happy with it. Everyone could see the group chat and the acknowledgements. This is some piss-poor excuse of an apology.

"I wish you'd said something. But I guess today is just the day for me to put my foot in my mouth." You shrug, helpless.

He's clearly just as ready for the weekend, keen to get to whatever he's got planned to celebrate the end of the project – he's already changed his shirt and shoes from the company-acceptable bland that is allowed on casual Friday. The plain shirt was already so so problematic – somehow the faded band logo is worse.

You sidestep, already trying to turn to escape his presence as you issue a final apology, "So anyway, yep. I'm sorry."

There's that thing about return trips. When you're venturing to somewhere unknown it seems to take forever. When you're traveling a familiar path, the trip seems to take a blink of an eye. Really you should have bypassed returning to your desk. You should have gathered up all your things, issued the apology, and then ran for the door. Instead you settle into your chair and stare at the computer screen and start to fantasize about somehow sliding into the matrix of the digital world.

"Hey."

His quiet greeting and the soft knock on the frame of the cubicle wall makes you jump out of your daydream. Is he here to return fire, finally? You slowly turn to face him, readying yourself for what you're due.

"We all have days." His smile grows as he emphasizes the final word, his shoulders jumping with a short shrug.

If he didn't have his hands anchored in his pockets he'd be waving them around – an ever-expressive talker. Sometimes it made you want to tie him to the chair during meetings... which is a super  unhelpful thing to be focusing on at the moment. It's the too-tight shirt, the weather-worn logo stretched across his torso, amplifying the muscles he usually has hidden beneath layers. And the dark denim framing the hips you want to straddle. And –

"I'm supposed to be meeting my brother. Celebration of the completion of the project. But..."

You suck in a breath, feeling the heat of your fantasies pooling in places that make you want to squirm in your chair. Role reversal! He's the one standing at the edge of the cubicle and you're the one swaying in the swivel chair.

Wait. Is he asking you out for drinks?

"Are you asking me out for drinks?"

He digs one hand free from his front pockets, rushing to wave away perceived concern, "No pressure."

"No. I mean, yea. Drinks sound good."

"Ok then."

The awkward barrier built from your outburst starts to fade as the pair of you walk towards your destination. You notice that his phone keeps buzzing. He only responds to every third message, but then he did mention that he'd originally had plans with his brother. He holds the door, tapping out another reply as the pair of you arrive at the bar down the street.

"Look if this is delaying plans..."

He shakes his head, glancing up as he pockets his phone again. "No. Hey. We deserve this. Long overdue stress release."

That's true but doesn't do much to alleviate your concerns that you've interrupted established plans. "I'm trying not to dig my 'I owe you' hole any deeper. First round is on me, for the record."

"There's no owing anybody anything." His laugh is catching as he follows along towards the barstools you've set your sights on. "Just drinks. As for who is paying ..."

It's not up for debate, but if he wants to try to make it into a quick draw scenario that's on him. With the project finally behind you – barring any unforeseen issues discovered by higher-ups – you feel yourself start to relax.

For the first time in – weeks? – you don't feel like you're trying to swallow while someone is sitting on your chest. Laughter is helping. Laughter and whatever those little bite things are that he ordered, too.

He's turned sideways, leaning his elbow on the bar-top and flicking pretzel pieces at your hands. This time when his phone buzzes it jumps off the edge of the bar and into his lap, but he doesn't bother responding to the message he reads off the screen. When you make a face at him he shrugs it off, "He's blown me off more times than I can count."

"You could invite him."

"Fuck no." He blinks at his own response and then emits a sheepish laugh, his cheeks coloring slightly. "I mean – I love him but, no. Not really in the mood to share. He can wait."

"Hey, dickface."

You turn, surprised by the unusual greeting, and then falter. You recognize the clothes: the sneakers, the snug dark denim, the plain shirt clinging to a well-defined torso. You blink and look back at the man sitting next to you who is currently rolling his eyes and groaning.

This must be what going crazy feels like.

You blink again, but nope – it's not a trick of the light.

There's two of them. Him. They're twins.

Your only saving grace at the moment is you know which of them you left the office with, and while they're both in just about the same attire, one has a shirt with words on it. Not-Your-Coworker reaches out to pinch his brother's arm, hard. "The guy that gets the free drinks should be the guy that got his ass chewed by the office hottie."

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