#im already worn thin by this job

[i-am-simply-here]

My boss is mad at me bc I'm refusing to become a notary 😩 I knew he'd take at as me saying a simply didn't want to no matter my reasoning but its frustrating that he won't listen when I say its honestly a waste of my already little amount of energy

[la-petite-lapin]

Keeping Secrets | John Price x female!reader

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John Price x afab!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Content Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, mentions of injury, cannon typical violence, swearing, age gap (reader is in her twenties, John is in his forties), suggestive content, oral (F receiving), PIV (protected (stay safe, kids)), brief mention of Price JRs, no use of Y/N

The Captain and the Sergeant start keeping secrets from the rest of the taskforce

It wasn't like it was in the movies or the books. There were no longing glances across crowded rooms; no deep, personal conversations late at night. There was no warning.

The first indication that anything had changed between the two of you was in a dimly lit safehouse. A job had gone wrong - horribly, irreparably wrong - and Soap had been medevac-ed out to the nearest army hospital. The rest of you would have to wait until morning; would have to make it through the night when a countless number of enemy operatives could still be hunting you, then hike to the nearest evac point before sunrise.

Ghost was pacing the worn wooden floors, and you were sure he'd wear through them at some point. You knew better than to make a joke about it - knew better than most the deep bond that he and Johnny shared. To mock it would be to die a brutal death by Ghost's hand in the night.

Gaz was coping with it in the best way he knew how: checking in with everyone, yourself - as the newest member of the taskforce - included, mother-hening his way around the three-room cabin in the middle of rural woodlands.

It wasn't until he'd finally convinced Ghost to sit down and take a breath, that Captain Price finally approached you. Heavily, he lowered himself down to sit beside you on the shabby old sofa, not saying a word at first as you stared ahead at nothing.

Johnny had been standing right next to you when it all went to shit. Him diving in front of you like a lunatic was probably the only reason that you were there with them. The shot to his shoulder would have been a direct headshot on you.

It was hard not to feel bitter or dazed about that.

"It's not your fault, Sarge," John said, his voice markedly softer than usual. He typically made it a point to avoid babying you in any way - knew that you hated being treated differently to the boys - but you could make an exception for him just the once. "Soap chose to block that bullet. Saved your life an' all. Cheer up, yeah? He's alright and you'll see 'im soon enough."

You turned to face him, offering him a small, weak shadow of a smile. "I know. It just sucks."

John frowned, seeing through the thin veil of fake cheeriness. Quieter, he added, "It's alright to be shaken by this, too. First near-death is always scary. It stays with you in a way the ones after don't." There was a pause - a long, tentative pause - as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his parted knees, dark eyes finding yours and holding them. "If- if you don't want to be alone tonight, you don't have to be."

Laid out in the open like that, the offer seemed so damn tempting.

Your mind raced through all of the shit that could go down if you took him up on it - if you were found out. You could be removed from the taskforce, stripped of the sergeant rank that you'd fought so hard to attain. John could be reprimanded for sleeping with an officer under his orders. But, if no one knew... what was the harm?

With a soft, sweet smile - a genuine one this time - you tilted your head, leaning slightly into his space on the sofa. "Yeah. I think I'd like some company, Captain."

Hours later, after Ghost had fallen asleep on the floor of the living room and Gaz had been assigned first watch, Price led you into the smaller second room of the safehouse - the bedroom - under the guise of checking your wounds. In reality, the minor scrapes to your arm and leg had already been dressed, not requiring any further attention. If anything, the cut to Gaz's forearm was of a higher severity.

John grinned as he shut the door with a soft thud, sliding the flimsy, rusted deadbolt across to lock it. You were thankful for the added security; the increased reassurance that the boys wouldn't be able to just wander in and catch you in the act.

The bedroom was poorer lit than the main room, making it harder to see. The moon illuminated the outline of the Captain's broad, muscular frame as he removed his beanie and tactical vest before turning his attention to his belt. You took a seat on the edge of the bed, thighs clenching in an attempt to relieve some of the aching tension in your core.

He took his time stripping down to his white t-shirt and boxer briefs, the material straining with the impressive tent in the front. "Like what you see?" he grumbled cockily, noticing your attention.

You let out something akin to a whine. He looked so good - so unbelievably good after the day from Hell you'd just had. There was also something else that made it undeniably more thrilling; the risk of getting found out. The taboo of it all.

You couldn't deny that you'd found Price attractive before that deployment. You'd spent every day for the past two years around him; living, eating, and working alongside him and the boys. It had also been a fact of life that he had a following - a constant, ever-present gaggle of new, female recruits cornering him in the hallways and vying for his attention. But he never took any of them to bed as far as you knew, preferring to spend his nights in the barracks alone.

At first, you'd thought that he had a wife or a partner off-base, but a conversation on your last stakeout together led you to the truth; he just wasn't interested in the barrack bunnies. He wasn't interested in sleeping with someone just for the sake of it - just because they wanted to get a piece of taskforce 141's infamous Captain.

"I think I might need to see some more to decide," you purr teasingly, lifting a hand to beckon him closer to the bed.

He stepped forward slowly, hands rising to rest on his tapered hips. He was built like a bear; broad, thick, and covered in a fine layer of downy body hair.

You licked your lips, eyes tracking every single minute movement.

"I think I need to see something from your first, princess," John teased. "It's only fair."

Eyes never leaving his, you made quick work of stripping out of your own tac vest and pants, chucking them over the edge of the mattress and into a heap on the floor. You even went one step further; shucking off your t-shirt. With a small smirk, you leaned back, clad only in your flimsy underwear and sports bra.

John's eyes were practically bulging out of his head.

"Like what you see, Captain?" you purred, words a light-hearted mockery of his own self-assured crowing.

"If I'd have known," John grumbled as he took another slow, measured step towards the bed, "that this is what you looked like under all that gear, Sergeant, we'd have done this a long time ago."

A grin formed on your lips, ego expanding ten sizes as John prowled across to close the rest of the distance. His irises were all but swallowed up by his pupils, blown with lust.

Shuffling back on the mattress, you eased back as John came to a stop, kneeling between your parted legs. With a lover's gentle reverence, he pressed a kiss to each of your knees in turn before turning his attention to the scrap of damp cotton protecting your modesty.

"May I?" he asked softly, fingers hovering over the waistband at the side, thumb smoothing a path along the ridge of your hipbone.

Breathily, you gave your consent. "Yes. Please, John-"

With practiced ease, he lifted your hips up and off of the bed, guiding your underwear down your bare legs then chucking them to join the rest of the clothes littering the floor. His hands skimmed back up, callouses feather-light against the skin of your calves before rising to knead your plush thighs. He seemed to be mapping out your body; ghosting over the sensitive parts repeatedly, lingering where he'd deduced you liked to be touched.

The man was a fast learner. An eager one too, for sure.

When he'd finished pawing at the soft skin there, he pushed your thighs apart, holding them down to the mattress and exposing the moisture glistening at their apex. Licking his lips, he bowed his head slightly, lowering his body down to the bed.

"John?" you asked, confused as to where he was going and why he still had his briefs on. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, princess?" he mumbled against your inner thigh, dark eyes lifting to meet yours. "Didn't think to bring any rubbers with me, and I don't fancy having any little Prices running around any time soon." A spark of mischief glittered within his gaze as he nuzzled his bristly moustache against a particularly sensitive spot. Your shiver seemed to only embolden him further. "Which means tonight's all about you."

You arched your back off of the bed, trying to push his face closer to where you desperately needed it. "Can you hurry up then?" you whined, getting impatient.

John chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

And, with that, he bowed his head and made good on his promise.

"John!" you yelled, thighs burning with the strain as you bounced up and down on his cock. "John- fuck!"

A whole three months had passed since the first night you'd spent together in the safehouse. The morning after, you'd fully expected him to put an immediate stop to it the moment you were all rescued. Instead, he'd held your hand in the Heli - tucked between both of your bodies, hidden from sight - and promised that you'd talk about what this is later.

Nights since had been split between your room in the barracks and his. Mornings, too, upon occasion. Every spare moment the two of you got alone was accompanied by the feeling of his large, warm hands on you. By his constant, protective presence in your life.

It was a miracle that no one had noticed the new pull between the two of you. How you seemed to orbit one another.

And then there was the sex. The constant fucking.

"Keep it down, princess," he grumbled, breathless and sweating, beneath you. He didn't look too bothered though - too blissed out to properly care or consider the consequences of someone overhearing.

Clinging to some semblance of intelligent thought, you bit down on your wrist in an attempt to muffle the sounds leaving your mouth, drawn out by the captain and his fat cock. It was quickly becoming one of your favourite parts of him, second only to his beautiful, expressive laugh. It was no secret to you that he was well-endowed. Well-endowed and skilled at utilising it.

"Stop that," he grumbled gruffly, raising a hand to gently remove your wrist from between your teeth. He quickly replaced it with his own hand, guiding the soft part of his palm between his thumb and index finger into your mouth. Anything to prevent you from accidentally injuring yourself. "Keep riding, love. I'm getting close."

A part of your brain purred at that. Love.

It was a pet name that he used sparingly. Perhaps because he saw the flash of panic in your eyes almost every previous time he'd used it.

But now...

You tipped yourself back, hands finding purchase on his tensed, thick thighs to deepen the angle. Freeing his hand from your clenched jaw, you whimpered, "I'm... John, I'm so close."

"Me too, sweetheart," he mumbled, speeding up the pace of his thrusts. He punctuated the sentence with a snap of his hips. "Me too."

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he tugged you down into his chest and rolled, rising up onto his knees as he set you on your back. Pressing a trail of soft, tender kisses to your face and neck, he picked up the pace; drilling deliciously deep.

You whined, squeezing your legs around his waist and clawing at his back with your fingernails.

With a low growl, John lost it. Turning frantic as he barrelled towards his rapidly approaching end, he pushed you towards your own orgasm - practically bullying it out of you.

You came with a sharp scream, turning your head in a fraught attempt to smother the sound in the pillow. It smelled of Price - rugged, masculine aftershave and a hint of tobacco smoke.

He himself came moments later, gasping as his release swept over him. Covering your body like the world's best weighted blanket, he slumped down on top of you.

Still buried deep inside the paradise at the apex of your thighs, he pressed a sloppy, lazy kiss to the side of your neck, running his nose along your throat. It was one of the best part of sex with Price; the cuddling that came after.

Giving a small jolt of his hips, he grumbled something into your salty skin.

"Hm?"

John lifted his face slightly, breath tickling the underside of your jaw. "I said, I wish I was ten years younger. Then I could go again and again without a half-hour break between each round."

You giggled. John's age was something that you didn't mind. You knew that the age gap between you probably would have put some people off, but - if anything - he made you feel safe and respected. Though that could be the fact that he was a highly-decorated war vet, and a complete Golden Retriever of a man.

Pressing a kiss to his temple, you whispered, "I wouldn't have it any other way, John."

There was a beat of silence as the two of you soaked up the moment; the feeling of just holding one another on the sweat-soaking sheets, oblivious to the world outside of the little bubble you'd created for yourselves. With a chaste kiss to your shoulder, John gave another tentative roll of his hips, drawing another whiny groan from you.

"You sure know how to make an old man feel loved, princess."

Before you could reply - to bring up to the l-word that you'd both been skirting around for weeks now - your phone chimed. The alert tone was one you'd reserved for the other members of the taskforce only.

Why would they be messaging on a Sunday night?

A wave of panic cresting inside of you, you eased John's softening cock out of you, wincing at the sudden emptiness. Your phone was on the desk, all the way over on the other side of the room. It seemed so impossibly far as you scrambled for it.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" John asked, suddenly fully alert and hurrying to tug his boxer briefs back on.

Wordlessly, you read the message you'd just been sent. Your face blanched to an unhealthy pallor as you handed him the phone. A single message notification waited on the screen, glaring with accusation.

GHOST: We heard everything, you two. Think you owe us an explanation at the very least. Rec room in ten minutes.

John looked up from the phone screen, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a lopsided, sheepish smile. "Well, I guess that's what we get for keeping secrets, princess."

a/n: hello, hello :) so this was the Price X 141!reader fic that won the poll! I've had so much fun writing this one - not that I don't love Double the Love (my firstborn fic) please feel free to tell me what you want to see next! - happy surprise-post thursday, lapetitelapin :)

[cumulo-stratus]

“For Me?”

Pairing: Spencer reid x Male!Autistic!Reader

Description: Y/n brings spencer an early Christmas gift relating to their shared special interest of the sci-fi fantasy series Dune

Warnings: fluff, possible swearing, spoilers for season 10, spencer being an insecure little cutie-pie

Flufftober day 10: Gift giving

A/N: Sorry it’s kinda short- and i know it’s not Christmas but i read a blurb a while back with a similar prompt/idea and i loved it so im remaking it here! bon journée!

The snow drifted lazily down from grey clouds- but Y/n was anything but grey today. He had decided that on his lunch break, instead of you know- eating lunch, he would go out to find some early christmas gifts for his boyfriend. Since it was his first Christmas after prison, he wanted to make it extra special. And y/n was doing that by giving spencer as much love and affection as he could, without being inappropriate. Y/n had decided he was willing to endure the teasing from Derek and Emily if it meant he got to put a smile on spencers face. On this particular day spencer was eating his soup at his desk, reading a book when he saw you get up from your desk. Now spencer didnt think anything of it, it was lunch time- hes probably just going to the fridge in the shared kitchenette to get his helping of leftover minestrone soup from the other night. But what did catch spencers attention was when instead of making his to the kitchen y/n started pulling on his winter coat and his spencers scarf.  Spencer looked at Y/n- questioning his actions. “where are you going?” spencer couldn’t help but notice the slightly mischievous glint in his lovers eyes when asked the question. Y/n just responded with a simple “Oh nowhere- but I’ll be back before you know it!” And with that Y/n was gone- already walking through the big glass doors of the BAU after giving spencer a chaste kiss to the lips and sauntering out the door, leaving spencer clueless as he watched his boyfriends back stray farther and farther across the room.

Y/n walked into the bookstore, shaking the snowflakes out his hair and stomping the snow off the bottoms of his beat converse, as a little bell dinged quietly behind him. The sole worker of the quiet shop looked up from the register, throwing y/n a small smile before looking back down at their book. The man made his way to the back of the store first- as thats were the sci-fi books were. As he walked through the worn page scented aisles he ran his fingers across the spines of each book he passed. The uneven surfaces and textures creating a relaxing sensory experience- which Y/n needed especially after how many people had been in the office today.  When did he finally reach the far end of the store- Y/n realized he didn’t know what he was looking for- but he decided that he would know it if he saw it. And boy did he find the right thing. Both spencer and Y/n had just a little bit of an obsession with the sci-fi fantasy series Dune by Issac Asimov. They had read it together- watched the newer movies- and discussed it at length. And now Y/n had found the best gift ever for his boyfriend spencer. It was a first edition set of all 3 books- And one of them- was signed! Spencer was going to freak! Y/n was freaking! Y/ns hands flapped in front of him and he bounced from foot to foot in excitement. 

It took him almost no time at all to bring the set to the front and have the books wrapped in paper- he decided to even pay a couple extra dollars to have them put a ribbon on it. His train of thought was that spencer deserved only the best- obviously.

After walking out of the store- the small ding signaling both the beginning and the end of his time in the quiet shop rang out. The cold air hit y/n causing a shiver down his spine as his feet crunched in the thin layer of snow that coated the DC sidewalks. Y/n stood on the side walk for a moment, admiring the snowy environment- but the weight of the bag at his side reminded him of the job at hand. Y/n began walking again- making his way towards the bus stop. The man glanced down at the watch on his wrist (a Christmas gift from Spencer from previous years), he had 20 minutes to get back to Quantico.  It would take him ten minutes on the bus and 5 minutes to get through security and climb the many floors to the BAU, leaving five minutes to give Spencer his pre-Christmas gift. 

The bus lurched to a stop 1 street away from the FBI headquarters, and Y/n grabbed the paper bag at his side and skipped off the bus into the chilly December air, excited to give spencer his present. 

The big glass doors of the BAU swung open and caught spencers attention from all the way across the room- mainly because of the speed at which Y/n was bounding across the room at. He practically skipped across the bullpen, nearly crashing into spencer as he came to a halt. 

“woah Y/n- slow down!” despite his scolding words the rest of his demeanor betrayed him- he had a big smile and was trying not to laugh as he spoke. He pushed y/n back up into a standing position after catching him, blocking his boyfriend from crashing face-first into his desk. 

“i would’ve been fine dont worry about it-“ spencer juste sighs in resignation at his boyfriends antics. He then noticed the unusually excited look on Y/ns face and became almost immediately worried. This was Y/n after all. Said man noticed spencers worry and only became more excited before saying “look! i have a gift for you!” Y/n presented the small paper wrapped gift to spencer and his eyes widened, confused. 

“what is that?” y/n chuckled at his boyfriends cluelessness- despite being together for years spencer still never quite understood Y/ns caring actions.  

“It’s for you- it’s a gift!

“for me?”

“yes for you silly goose! go- open it!! your gonna freak.”

spencer looked at his partner slightly concerned at how excited he was- but still took the brown rectangle from his outstretched hands. The thick brown paper teared despite spencers best efforts. In Y/ns opinion it was an extremely slow way to open the present- and his intent and excited gaze urged his boyfriend on. spencer chuckled and sped up slightly- and when he finally pulled the worn book from the wrapping paper- his eyes widened. 

“y/n! is this what i think it is?”

y/n just smiled giddily and childlike at spencers equal excitement. Y/n gestured for him to open it and when he noticed the signature his eyes widened even farther. 

“Oh. My. God. Y/n? where did you find this?! its first edition and signed?! oh my goodness darling i love you so much!!” 

he pulled y/n in for a tight hug and spun him around before begging y/n to read it with him. Eventually hotch called everyone to the round table for a new case so unfortunately the couple had to pause their excited conversation about the series (much to the relief of derek and emily, whose desks were right near theirs), and make their way towards the round table room. But spencer snuck one more kiss in on his lovers lips before he bounded ahead to excitedly chat with emily about his lunchtime adventures. And as y/ns conversation faded into the background spencer quietly mumbled to him self;

“for me..”

With a gentle smile directed at the back of his boyfriend.

The End 

[nuvomica]

an old fic im sharin with someone. ignore it

As Bella rests in her hospital bed, peaceful but so sickly, her father, Chief of Police Charlie Swan, can only wait. He has a job he needs to do, or at least have a good sleep to do well, but he can’t bring himself to leave. He sits in the corridor with the bright, unflinching white of the hospital lighting stinging his eyes.

Or, maybe his eyes are still dry, still red, from when he’d finished crying some hours ago. Short, sharp, painful as he looked down at his little girl clinging to life, the harsh, irregular beeps of the monitor at her side announcing her fight to live.

Stable, but only just. How can someone be only just stable? Charlie can’t leave, because what if that stability vanishes?

He doesn’t realise someone has come to stand in front of him until a solid, strong hand touches his shoulder, making him jump. His shoes squeak as they slide over the linoleum and he slips in the uncomfortable plastic of the chair, whole body flinching as he battles the surge of fight-or-flight.

“Apologies,” the cool voice of Carlisle Cullen soothes immediately, the hand retracting just as fast. “I’ve been calling your name. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No,” Charlie says quickly, then clears his throat, well-aware of how sandpapery he sounds. Feels. Especially in comparison to the crisp, alert doctor looking down at him with a patient smile. “No, I’m– I was, uh.”

“Lost in thought?” Carlisle offers. He’s watching, still gentle, still placating. Kind, in his own, cool way.

“Sure.” Charlie sits up straighter, blinking in a futile attempt to make himself feel more awake and grounded. He scruffs a hand over the back of his head, roughly massaging away the ache from leaning against the wall too long. How long has it been? He makes the effort not to wince, making eye contact with the doctor long enough to give a polite, thankful nod. He can’t make it last too long. It’s difficult with this man, and he’s not sure why.

Something about how calm he always is. 

Not a soft kind of calm, like comes naturally to the rainy, washed-out Forks, but sterile as the hospital he works in. Stone makes his face, his eyes, and he is unyielding. There are no stress-wrinkles or undereye bags on his face, and his job has to be about as stressful as Charlie’s.

And Charlie only has a few people in his life he loves enough to worry about. He couldn’t imagine having such a large family to care for on top of everything else. Worrying about Bella is enough to–

“As I was saying, Sheriff, I don’t think I’ve seen you eat once throughout the duration of your wait. I understand the desire to be near Bella as she rests, but you’ll be of more help to her if you take care of yourself.”

It’s not supposed to be manipulative, Charlie thinks, but he still feels a twinge of unease at the words. Right. Be of more help to her, because he’s been damn useless at that so far, apparently.

“Right, sure, cafeteria.” He stands up, nodding his head and readjusting his clothes, tugging at the belt loops as he straightens himself out. Not everyone can be perfect all the time, Doctor, he doesn’t say. 

“Ah, well, the cafeteria staff aren’t there at this time of the morning. Only emergency staff and nurses are on.”

Charlie feels sheepish. Of course. “Oh. Well, I’m sure I have something at home.” Like bread. Milk. It’ll be fine. He doesn’t want to leave, but he feels like a child, chided and cared for by the young doctor.

“Nonsense, Captain Swan. Charlie.” The first name sounds so nice on Carlisle’s tongue, like the plain name and plain man it belongs to are a comfortable thing, something more. It makes an already strung-out Charlie feel winded, suddenly. Tired, worn thin. “The reason I’m here is because I’ve finished my shift. I’m fine to drive, and I’m not sure it would be professionally responsible of me to let you drive yourself.”

“Nah, I’ve worked later shifts, I’ll be just fine.” Charlie refuses to be more of an inconvenience.

“As a friend, then. I’d feel terrible as your friend if I left you to drive alone, hungry and tired, after the events of tonight.”

Charlie takes a moment, foggy brain turning things over in his mind. The offer, the situation. Himself, Carlisle. Friendship.

“You’re so frustrating,” he says, not quite thinking as the exasperated, half-fond words slip out. It’s something he’d say to Billy or Harry, almost. Almost.

“I’m sorry?” There’s no offence in Carlisle’s tone, just polite surprise.

Charlie’s words catch up with him, slamming him into embarrassment. Now he has to explain himself. He never liked doing that.

“Just, I know being a doc isn’t the easiest thing in the world, but you’re always– I don’t know.” Charlie pauses, trying to find the right words. He rubs his hand over his mouth, his chin, as though hiding himself will get him out of the situation he’s created by not just taking the offer and doing as he was told. Damn. He can’t just say that it’s annoying how perfect Cullen is, can he? Even he has more tact than that. “Calm, I guess. All the time, no matter what happens.”

Carlisle gives a nod, then, and a gentle, “Ah.” It’s an acknowledgement of understanding and familiarity, which makes sense, because he’s probably been told that plenty.

“I know people in your profession see a lot of shit. So do I, you know?” They’re not in totally different leagues, just levels, where Carlisle sits in the high choir while Charlie scruffs around in the mud and dirt, both of them helping people, both of them with blood on their hands. Yet the two of them are so incredibly different.

“I know.” Carlisle has tilted his head, frowning in a way that shows thought rather than irritation, and Charlie nods, encouraging himself.

“You just never seem… tired. Worn down, like everyone else gets, and I know that even if you’re a perfect guy, it’s a lot. It’s a lot.”

Carlisle looks at him then, and it's a curious look from under his lashes, eyebrows raised. Not surprised, not quite intrigued, but something softly settled between. A single strand of blond hair has come loose, curling gently over his forehead, and it’s so definitely out of place that Charlie can’t help but stare at it.

“A lot of practice,” Carlisle says after a moment of still silence. “Restraint. Using any built up frustration, energy, in other places so it doesn’t wear me down. Useful places.” It’s a thoughtful answer that Charlie wasn’t ready for and he can’t help but stare. “Where the consequences are minimal, but each movement important. The intent doesn’t matter, but the understanding offered does. It’s a sort of rest that works incredibly deep.”

To Charlie’s exhausted mind, it makes no damn sense. Intrigues him, though. Maybe. Maybe another time. For now, he grunts and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, ducking his head and ignoring the dull ache behind his eyes at the sudden light strain on his neck muscles.

“Where d’you wanna stop to eat?” Not many places were open this time, Charlie realised. Even the fast food places didn’t get enough business to justify 24/7 access in Forks.

“I have already eaten, but we can decide as we drive, if you like?”

“Sounds good.” It really did, except for one very important thing. “Bella. Who’s, uh. Caring for her.” He almost hadn’t felt the way his worries had settled beneath Carlisle’s calm, but he noticed the weight easing off his mind a little now.

“The nurses here are exceptionally kind and attentive. I can promise you she won’t come to any harm; she will be comfortable, and she will recover quickly. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

Charlie believed Carlisle’s words save for the last few. How could he, when Bella was just a girl, his little girl, and she looked so small in that hospital bed? Maybe that was his curse as a father. To always see her as his baby.

He hummed, frowning at the itch in his eyes returning, and rocked on his heels. “Good. Good, okay.”

Carlisle slowly offered his arm out, as though Charlie might need the help walking out. Charlie shook his head quickly, then gave a short breath of laughter. He wasn’t that old, that emotional, just yet.

“If she’s not here to boss me around, fast food’ll do just fine.” One last look at the doors, as though he could see through to where Bella was unconscious, and Charlie turned to head out, patting Carlisle’s offered arm as he did.

He could trust in Carlisle’s treatment and his word. A trust he felt deepened after that night, as professional courtesy became a friendly acquaintance. Charlie’s frequent thoughts of Carlisle and his perfection stayed the same as they had been before.

BREAK BREAK BREAK BREAK BREAK

“You’re welcome to stay, if you’d like. We have a spare bed. Or, I can take you home.”

Charlie looked up from his plate, the last of his greasy, hastily put together burger leaving sauce smears on the perfect blue-and-white ceramic. He’d missed the stuff, the comforting sugarfatsalt that scratched an itch in his brain, and it did help settle him, he had to admit. Feeling less jittery, he found talking to Carlisle much easier now he had food in his stomach. Maybe he was tired, too, enough that 

..........

To cullen home.

Charlie think back, convo. Relax? how.

Charlie, quiet. Tries to imagine. “Sports?” Hm, baseball, apparently. He could see it. Is that what he meant? Or arts and crafts. He tries to picture carlisle doing scrapbooking, makin ghim go Hrnm. from upstairs, he hears a clatter. Jumpy man.

“Just edward,” carlisle assures. “He’s reading some sort of comedy, i believe.”

Charlie cant imagine it, but the less time spent thinking abt edward the better.

Jump. Book whatever. friend dies. Charlie struggling to keep it together, and he needs to. As the sheriff. As a father. Alcohol.

He is found by edward, who goes to get carlisle. It happens fast. Time must be weird bc of drink. Has to keep charlie awake, gives iv. S… smelling him? Apologises, when iv pricks he seems to bend down, smells. Sits up, and tells charlie it’s not high enough percentage to need oxygen or stomach pump. Charlie is like aight. I wanna sleep. No–

Charlie: do you. Do you fuckn ever lose your composure? How do you do it.

Carlisle: sometimes. In the right scenario. The right place.

Post-canon

Nonsexual bondage. Tie charlie up, and just sit with him. By his side. Carlisle is reading. The cool touch of his hand is nice. Charlie is sore, but says nothing. Winces when he goes to sit up, and carisle asks. Then gets… angry? No. something else. “I asked you to tell me if you got uncomfortable. Or in pain. You look in pain.” charlie shrugs. “Nah, im jus’ old.” “Charlie.”

[limenysnocket]

A Little More Than a Hug

Negan x Reader

Summary: (Y/N) has quite rough day at work and comes home to find a very unexpected friend on her couch, with a suggestive look and an open bottle of liquor.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, foul language, unsafe sex, rough sex, fingering, teasing, praise kink. 18+ ;)

Request: @kukka-roo

Author's note: THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR ALMOST A YEAR. IM DONE.

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It's been a long, hard fought day, but you made it. Your feet ache, your head hurts, and your work clothes just aren't cutting it anymore. You looked pretty at the beginning of the day, dressed up in a neat, black skirt the hugged the line of your hips and a flattering blouse, but now you were at least decent. The feeling had worn itself out.

The first thing you did when you got home was jam your keys in the front door to unlock it, only to find it was already unlocked. At first you freaked the fuck out. Did you leave the house like this, or was someone inside stealing all of your possessions or waiting to kill you? You didn't know.

You kicked off your heels next, wanting to actually be able to run if someone decided to charge at you, the moment you stepped into your abode. The lights were on inside, just in the kitchen, and you could see the warm glow of a lamp in your living room. You didn't have much on you. Your work regulations didn't allow anything as dangerous or above a knife. So, you had pepper spray tucked in your swollen pocket book. You crept through the house, trying not to be like one of those idiots you see in horror movies.

You check the kitchen first. Nothing bad been stolen, that you could see. All of your fancy china was still tucked away neatly and every small cast iron skillet hung from it's rightful place. You considered taking one. You thought against it, and slowly walked to the living room, just a doorway away. With your dominant hand extended with the pepper spray in your grip, you launched yourself into the living room, and surprise, surprise.

You found your perp.

Negan was sitting on your couch with his legs spread eagle and his leather jacket draped over the arm of his seat. One of his hands was resting way to high up his thigh and considerably too close to his crotch, while his other arm was swaying lazily behind the couch. He was holding something, you suspected. He was stone faced at first, but the moment you came in, up rose that shit-eating grin.

"What the fuck?" you spoke before he even had a chance.

Negan just shrugged, and drew a thin lick over the front of his teeth. "Heard you had a rough day. I did too, but had nothing else to drink in my house."

"Since when do you ever run out of drinks?" you snort at him, tucking your tiny bottle of pepper spray away.

He just shrugged at you again, that smirk still all over him. He lifted up his hand from behind the couch and displayed a bottle of bourbon he must have snagged from one of your cabinets. "I thought about opening one of those fancy bottles of wine you have, but that wouldn't have been polite, would it?"

You hated him sometimes. "Is a drink all you needed?" You asked, setting your pocket book down where you would remember it.

"Sure," he chided, pursing his thin lips outwards.

It had been awhile since you'd seen him. He was always so busy working five days out of the week. You assumed he was working an actual job, and not the corner. He'd pull it off, either way, you bet.

His hair had grown out, as well as his beard just by a little. The white patches were a little more prominent than you remembered, and he seemed a little more bolder, even though he had always been quite bold. A jackass, really. The fact that he remembered where you stashed your emergency key surprised you. When was the last time he used that thing? When was the last time you used it?

"Next time you want to rummage through my cabinets," you walked over to him and grabbed the bottle of bourbon right from his hands, before continuing, "fucking ask me next time."

"Rude. I was expecting a warm hug and a thank you," he scoffed.

You tilted your head back and took a hearty swig from the bottle. It burned on its way down your throat, but you didn't care. Maybe if you drank enough, you'd forget he was ever here, and this night never happened.

Negan didn't even try to stop you as you walked away to your office with the bottle in your hand. He just sat there for a little while, thinking with a smirk on his face.

You weren't in the mood. You were so stressed out about everything, you felt like you didn't have time to stress out, which made you stress out even more. You start searching through bookshelves, eventually losing your train of thought and forgetting why you looked through them in the first place. You didn't think there was an actual reason, other than to keep busy, keep moving, and don't stop moving unless you pass out or die. That's just how work was from time to time.

You got to sit down at your desk, a mountain of books stacked high over various different topics. Maybe one might put your brain to sleep, you thought. One of these had to be boring enough to keep on a dusty shelf you never touched.

You grabbed the first one on the pile and start flipping through. How To Take Apart and Reassemble Your Truck...

Too technically challenging.

Cat Whisperer...

Too... weird.

Pride and Prejudice...

Too dramatic, fo fucks sake. You'd rather march your way back to work and quit your job than read about mildly attractive men with sideburns.

You decidedly buried your face into your hands instead. Palm reading, maybe, instead.

Negan heard your distress and had come to the rescue. He leaned against the doorway, tucking his hands into his pockets and propping his foot up.

"Maybe you should drink more liquid courage," he mused. You knew he was smirking, just by the sound of his voice. You fucking hated that smirk of his. "I heard it makes headaches go away pretty quick."

You sat up, smacking your palms down on your desk and looking up at him, so tired. "Yeah, but it doubles the pain in the morning."

"Ibuprofen does the same thing, yet we still take it. What's the difference? Do you get hammered off of Ibuprofen?" Negan cocked a brow. He was staring at you through his eyelashes, head tilted down just a smidgen much. It was to hide the hungry look in his eyes.

"Look, I don't know why you're here, out of all times you could have come. What did you do? Memorize my entire schedule? Did you know I was going to get home this late and just show up at the perfect fucking time?" You wanted to rip your hair out.

All Negan did was shrug. "I actually showed up too early, and made you some dinner. It's in the fridge, by the way," he hummed, leaving you blank faced. "Oh, and I said hello to Mrs. Knoffle across the street while I watered the flowers out front." He sucked on his teeth once, twice, then decided to slowly looked up. "Those pretty little plants missed you... looked like they hadn't had a drink of water in days."

You could feel your heart thrumming in your chest, hard and fast. It played an unsteady beat against your quaking ribcage.

"And you know who else missed you?" Negan started to slowly stand up fully, but his hands never left his pockets. "I did."

You hated the way his face looked so soft and caring in that moment. It couldn't be true. If a man like him could care, he wouldn't have walked out on you so suddenly before...

"I don't have time for this," you mutter quietly and look away to start going through books again. You never hear him walk away. You only hear him get closer, and come up behind you. All from the sound of the heels of his boots clicking on the ground.

His warm, rough hands grabbed onto your shoulders and started to tenderly massage the tension out of them. You close your eyes, and the book you had open to the first page. His cologne wafted through the frigid air, and his patterns of movement left goosebumps running down your arms.

Negan's leather jacket softly squealed as he leaned down. His breath brushed past your ear and waved a loose lock of hair.

"You should know I didn't just come here for drinks," he murmured, and his massaging didn't stop. "I came here because I missed the wet feeling of your pussy... I wanna fuck all that stress away for you, doll."

The air you breathe is no longer as bitter and cold as you were to him. It started to get hot. Sweltering hot. Your breathing got deeper and heavier, which was easy to notice while you fought off moans as his thumbs dug deeper into a particular knot between your shoulder blades.

"Asshole," you whimper out, and your nails dig into the mahogany desktop.

"I'm considering that to be an invitation," Negan purred with a deep, brown chuckle. One hand left your shoulder and slipped down, way down, and to your front. He slipped your skirt steadily up your thighs and the moment his fingertips brushed lightly against the crotch of your panties, you shot up out of your desk. He latched onto you so fast, you couldn't move. His hand was still up your skirt.

"What makes you think this is okay?" you sneer, and you jerk in his hold.

"Oh, honey," Negan tsked in your ear, pressing his palm flat against your soaking folds. "I know you good and well... and if you didn't want this too, you'd be fighting like hell right now."

You shuddered, lips twitching just the slightest bit with your hands balled into fists. "Maybe I'm just tired tonight..." you say it through clenched teeth, and of course, he doesn't believe you.

"Come off the attitude, (Y/N). You say the same shit every single time, but I know for sure that pussy of yours is never too tired to take in my rocketship of a cock and go for a ride," Negan nipped at the back of your ear, and you froze up. He took advantage of this and bent you right over the desk like you were a stick in need of breaking.

He pushed your chest to be flat against the cold surface and raised your hips nice and high. "You're so fucking pretty..." he spoke darkly. He could get your panties to soak off of the brawn in his voice alone. You could feel your skirt hiking up the back of your thighs, being pushed and scrunched up on your waist.

"You're always like this," you whimper, "such a fucking dick..."

Like that, his hand cracked down on your ass, making a bright red handprint. "Oh yeah, baby, insult me harder. Gets me real fucking hard." You had to listen to the sarcasm dripping from his tongue. You wouldn't mind that inside of you right about now.

Negan started to slowly drag your underwear down your legs, and he took his sweet time with it. He stopped them right above your calves, not bothering to take them fully off. You were surprised he actually slid them down instead of just pushing them to the side.

Your body tensed upwards when his fingers came into contact again. They slid into your folds and ran all along your clit and sopping hole. He was humming a sweet tune, all the way, probably not even paying attention to what his hands were doing. He was admiring the intense glow of your skin.

You whined for him. You knew that's what he wss waiting to hear, just to stick something inside of you. What you got was a fat finger. That was enough for the time being.

Your hips rocked back, and your jaw dropped.

"So fuckin' needy..." Negan clicked his tongue, and smacked your ass again, on the opposite cheek. Only then, did he start pumping away, in and out, endlessly having you gallop towards an orgasm on a single fucking finger. "Love it when you sing for me, princess..."

You sang your heart out, moan after moan, and you got louder for him once he added a second finger. Nothing that came out of you was fake and meant to pleasure his ears. It was all genuine, because of all the time he has spent with you. Every hour he spent hunched over you or sitting next to you at a dinner table in a crowded restaurant, playing with you, and finding those special spots. It all paid off here and now.

The peak was so close and near, your stomach was wrenching around his two digits. He was down on his knees, watching the lovely little show, and especially loving how your legs split further and further apart every seconds because you couldn't handle the impending orgasm.

He let you have it, instead of just keeping you there and making you lose it over and over again, like he's done before. You were seeing white, and he was seeing the beautiful live portrait of your dripping cunt, captured perfectly in the frame of your legs. He was feeling generous tonight. Only for a moment. His mischief came right back to him, after he took the time to lick his fingers clean of every last drop you had spilled on him. The fact that you were making a small puddle on the floor beneath you fueled his fire.

His breath circled all over your back and your neck, making the hairs raise, despite your best efforts. Your legs had already begun to shake at just the sound of his belt dropping to the floor, as well as his jacket. The front of his legs pressed to the backs of yours, once he raised your hips high up again, and you had to stand on your toes just so you could just barely scrape your ass against his dick.

After a time of grinding, moaning, and compliments, he took it out. It was hefty and sure as shit was hard. It smacked against your back, as soon as he lifted it out and let go. The loud smack it made, had you jumping, like a domino effect, making him laugh from behind you.

Your fingers were curled around the end of the table, gripping so desperately. You couldn't take much more of this.

Negan whistled, lifting his boulder dick off of your back and sliding the tip between your cheeks, all the way down to your sensitive folds. He started to slowly thrust through them, collecting wetness on his shaft to lube himself up.

Seconds turned into forever, while he kept doing this, and rubbed his tip along your clit from time to time. Just to hear you say his name again. Little did you know, all of these little sounds would ring in his head later, when he beat himself off to the thought of you.

You began to beg, aching to feel him inside, and the more you begged, the more you melted him down. A low growl vibrated through him and unto you. You forgot his voice could get that low. It turned you on.

A split second later, and without warning, he's shoving the entirety of his length inside of you. No hesitation. No patience. Nothing slowed. All in at once, because he knew you'd cry... and that's exactly what you did. A wail of need followed his actions, even as he started to cock his hips back and forth. He could feel you splitting open over and over again, with every precise and timed thrust, and a piece of his confidence went with each one. You were always talking about his damn ego. Now was the time for him to show off what his ego might help him with.

He grabbed at your shirt and shoved that up higher, just so he could feel the naked skin of your back and grab on for dear life while he worked his way through you. Just like a jackhammer.

One of his hands started to claw at your desk, while the other tried to keep you in place, but that was a struggle. You kept bouncing back and hitting the desk every time his hips collided with your ass. It would draw a moan of pain and pleasure. A fluid mixture that drove you insane. His name rang and ruled your office, constantly. Your neighbors would have heard you by now. Even Mrs. Knoffle from across the street.

The puddle at your feet grew and grew as Negan kept going, sending you on a rollercoaster of emotions. It was addicting as a cigarette. After those first few tastes, you couldn't stop. Not for a moment.

Moans turned into cries and cries to wailing, to fidgeting, to twitching, and to cumming so hard over his cock, you were sure you wouldn't be sitting right for a very long time.

"This pretty little pussy is fucking soaked for me every single time," he panted a laugh behind you, making you grit your teeth. "I know you miss me, baby~. You wouldn't be soaking the floor otherwise."

You've made quite the mess, just with him, but it was a mess you just couldn't help. He was always there at the right place, at just the right time, like he was a hound. He probably talked to some of your friends too, just to know when to step in.

What a big fucking dick.

You were lost in the feeling of it all, not even caring for how sporadic your breathing had become, but just the constant bliss of him tearing you apart. Piece by piece. Limb by limb. You reached another climax, your third, and after a few thrusts time, he finally reached his.

He yanked himself out, right on time, and there was a new sound in the room. A disgusting, filthy sound that made your ears stop ringing. Negan groaned your name nice and loud, while his cum splattered against your ass in long, thick ropes. His warm hands were pressed against you, preventing you from moving the entire time he got over his high.

"I hate you sometimes," you murmured, just above the loud panting. "And clean up your god damn mess..."

"You fuckin' love me," Negan cooed, snickering behind you. "And I consider this a work of art, more than anything else..."

[barzzal]

between halls and thin walls → part four

summary: friends who fool around almost never works. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: idiots, that’s all <3

↳ genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+

↳ length: series; part one, part two, part three, part four (6.7k), part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: my favorite part by mac miller, addicted by jorja smith, someone to spend time with by los retros

note: finally got myself to update this fic oml zzz quick psa tho, this will now be a six-part series! hope that’s okay and yenno as always, would love to hear what you think about this (validate me in the tags pls im lonely) happy reading babes! <3

“Yo, grandma. Haven’t you had too much tea to drink?” his voice echoes in the room as soon as he walks into it. You carefully set the cup down on the dining table and looked at him exasperatedly. 

“Haven’t you had too much care to give?” you snark back, earning yourself a disappointed look from him. 

“Really, y/n? That’s the best you’ve got?” he shakes his head at your appalling retort.  What a shame.

You were good at pissing him off to be fair. You just weren’t in the mood to throw teases back and forth especially now that you’re feeling particularly vulnerable.

The week has been far too dreadful for you and you know that you’re willing to grovel your way into the weekend to finally have the time to slack off, not worry about taking a bath, and just go crazy with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

However, just like always, Mathew seems to never run out of ways to get on your nerves. 

He carelessly puts his stuff on the table, causing a fairly loud thud on the surface. 

You let out a deep breath, massaging your temple. 

“Somebody’s cranky.” he grins. Not necessarily the kind you’d want to see from him. 

You try to ignore him for a few minutes but you can’t help noticing how his build easily took over much of the space you’ve already been occupying. You irkingly look up at him, closing the book you were reading. You meet Mat’s eyes who just innocently looked back into yours. Waiting. Possibly plotting on yet another sophisticated way to toy with you.

“You’re a child.” you roll your eyes and return to your reading. He says nothing and instead rests his chin atop his enclasped hands, continuing to bother you with his ridiculously beguiling eyes. He presses his lips together before sighing dramatically. 

“What?” you snap, finally shutting your book down as you look at him. 

“I wanna go out.” he looks up at you in an effort to make his huge physique smaller than it really was. 

“Then go out. You’re a big boy.” you breathe. 

“You just said that I’m a child.” he coos, mimicking a five-year-old’s voice. 

“Stop that.” you glare at him. Mat props himself back and laughs, “Come on. I’m bored.” 

You open your book again just as you reply in a tone that Mat’s getting used to hearing. “Boredom doesn’t give you the right to pester me, Barzal.” 

And as an exchange, he speaks in the same tone rather mockingly, “And so is that attitude, Y/L/N.” 

“Come on, y/n. Let’s go out.” he now pleads, looking up at you with what seems to be his worst impression of a ‘puppy eye’.

“Fine.” you finally concede and you see Mat’s beaming smile instantly. 

“Where’d you want to go?” you ask as you take your reading glasses off.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, obviously teasing. 

On the edge of being irritated, you say, “Are you kidding me?”

“Grandma.” he mumbles before saying, “Do you have anything you want to do? And please don’t say book hunt.”

You suppress a smile and maintain your composure. “I’m craving for pancakes right now but I also wanna drink. Go to a bar or something.”

He nods in agreement. Already stitching his game plan.

“We can do both.”  he bobs his all too fine brows.

He didn’t have a hard time getting you on board with his spontaneity. You actually haven’t gone out in a while and the thought of a possible night out doesn’t seem to be so bad of an idea.

You’ve been with Mat to parties and while the two of you don’t mingle as much as the other guys did, he does know his way around the club. The dance floor, however, he tries. He really does.

For about an hour Mathew waited patiently in the living room as he scrolled endlessly on instagram liking a few photos and laughing at posts the fans tag him occasionally. His eyes were peeled away from the screen when he heard the door to your room click. His irises trail onto your body even if he didn’t plan to originally. 

Mathew, albeit dressed simply in his black turtleneck sweater and a beige overcoat exudes just about the right ‘swag’ (as per how he puts it) to stop you in your stupor. Although what you didn’t know was how you weren’t any different in his eyes. You were dressed quite nicely in a black lace bodysuit with a pair of blackpants accentuated by the black boots you usually wear on a night out. Your coat was slung on your forearm whilst you held your clutch purse in your hand so you could close the door with the other. 

“What?” you blink just as you look down to eye yourself. Feeling a tad self-conscious under his gaze.

Mat immediately breaks it off. He clears his throat, pretending to wipe off the non-existent dust on the accent table. 

“What?” he mirrors with an arched brow.

You shrug off his demeanor, snatching your keys from the accent table before putting it in your purse. 

“Have you called a lyft already?” he nods, absentmindedly scratching his temple. 

“You ready? You look— decent.” He says, trying to act casual and distant when he gives you the compliment.

Not noticing the unfamiliar look his eyes had, you return the compliment and say,  “And so do you. Good job for not looking like you came straight out of an H&M catalogue.” you wink at him with a grin. A thing which was then reciprocated by a deadpan look on his end. 

Before he could even come up with yet another clever way to come at you, you start walking towards the door, looking at him once as you motion the way by curling your finger.

“Haul ass, buddy.”

𖥸

10:15 PM 

Mat decided to bring you to the usual place he goes to when he wants to be alone and just enjoy a couple of beers while he chats with River, the bartender he eventually befriends after years spent drinking in solitude. 

The bar had a rustic feel filled with wine barrels in the corner of the room. The seats were leather (mind you, it wasn’t the kind that gets easily worn out through time) and everything looked new to you regardless of all the vintage stuff displayed articulately on the brick wall. A turntable was set on the table stacked with vinyl records, most of which were from the 70s to 80s underneath.

It was obvious that it wasn’t the kind people would know about. Aside from it being located at such a secluded street leading to the suburbs, it wasn’t the type of bar kids would want to hang out in. It only had a few customers and most of them wore suits and came with company. No one really gave a hoot when you walked in with Mathew, aka, the face of the New York Islanders. Which is basically the reason why Mat kept coming back to the place. He felt comfortable and at peace. Almost in retrospect to being at home hanging with his father. 

“I can’t believe this place exists.” you say, mouthing your thanks to River as he hands you both of your drinks. The man that’s definitely aged like fine wine smiles, nodding his head over to Mat who was doing the same before he headed back to mix another set of drinks. 

“Me neither.” he grins, reminiscing about the time he’s found the small pub by accident. 

“This place looks expensive though.” you whisper, making Mathew laugh. 

“Well, it kinda is.” he sheepishly chuckles. “River’s filthy rich.”

“Is he really?” your mouth falls and you look back over the build of the old man. The way his salt and pepper hair was neatly slicked back makes quite a compelling case for what Mat had just said. 

Mat eventually explains who he was. Apparently, he was just another bored fancy man who happened to love making people drop dead and drunk with his over the top mixes. His dark deep set brown eyes are quite of a crowd favourite too. Case in point, the group of ladies seated from across you and Mathew.

“Hey.” you absentmindedly call on Mat who had just sipped on his drink. “I know what we should do.”

“All right.” he puts the glass down, “Lay it on me.”

“Let’s fix you up with one of the girls over there.” you suggest, leaning towards his body so you could get a better view upfront. Mat does not move and instead follows your finger subtly pointing at the other end of the room.

“What’s with the sudden fixation of getting me bagged tonight, huh?” he smirks, shaking his head at the idea of having to go home with some random girl. You give him a side eye as you move away from him. 

“Fixation is an overstatement. We’ll be here long enough for us to get sick of each other.” you explicitly told him. 

Mat eyes you intently. Searching if there was even the slightest doubt in your eyes. 

Long enough to get sick of each other. 

He clears his throat instead and looks across the room. “Which one?”

A gleeful cheer erupts from you just before you look over the girls in question. “What’s your type?” you ask him, not sparing a glance.

Mat looks down on you underneath the bar lights accentuating your features. Your eyes had a certain glint in them that Mat still can’t get a grasp on. Something that was just enough to spark something inside him. He didn’t want to overthink it nonetheless. It must have been just the lights. 

Once Mat sensed that you were about to look at him he immediately turned his gaze forward, squinting his eyes a little pretending to check out the women you’ve been eyeing for the last minute. 

“I don’t really have a type.” he shrugs, casually taking the fragile glass to his mouth. 

You dismiss what he said at once, “Do I look like a child to you? Just answer it.”

Mat shakes his head, “I told you. I don’t have one. If we vibe then we vibe. Simple as that.” 

You did not believe him but you decide to drop it off. Instead, you look back and return to your new found mission. Across the bar, seated were three girls busy talking to each other. 

“Got it.” you tell Mat, nodding your head towards the clueless girl sitting right across from where Mathew was. “The one in the center.” you add. “The one wearing a white bodycon.”

“She’s pretty.” he nods, validating your taste as his potential wingman. “Nice smile.”

Your hand met a firm slap on the table as you went on cheering for him. “Well? Go then!” you give him a nudge, taking it back quickly when you feel a slight hesitation on his part, “Don’t tell me you need me to introduce you?”

He takes the remainder of his glass and shaked off the kick it had in his throat. “You just sit and watch, babe.”

You do as you’re told and lean towards the bar, your elbow carrying all your weight whilst you sip on your half-full martini. 

Mathew’s stance and the way he carries himself immediately caused the girls to notice him coming. Of course, you weren’t really surprised. You watch him approach her,– reading along the words leaving his mouth. There was an exchange of proper ‘hello’s’ as Mat introduced himself to the girls. He reaches out his hand and the curly noirette in the center gives him a firm shake. 

Mat’s eyes momentarily locked with yours just as you see their hands linger in the air— tangled long enough for him to make a quick segway. He winks your way as he sees you grin from your seat, shaking your head just after you felt the need to take a deep breath. A thing you assumed to be because of the drink. So, while Mat leads the girl to one of the empty booths and sits across from her, you call on River and ask for another drink. 

Mathew must have lost track of time by the second drink he shared with Zoe. He learns that she’s from upstate and was just on the island to visit her friends. She’s still working on her major at NYU; coincidentally in the same field as Lianna so that was one of the things they’ve talked about first hand. She wasn’t really into sports so Mat steered clear of his job because he didn’t want to bore her. 

“So…” Zoe smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. “What’s the deal with you and the girl you’re with?” 

By the time she asked about you, only then did Mat remember who he was originally with. 

“Oh! She’s—” he looks over to where you’re seated only to find you laughing— no giggling with a man that was obviously a few years older than you. He’s wearing a neat black suit and a button down shirt with a couple of its first buttons opened. Zoe sees him frown, evidently losing his train of thought. 

She calls him with her sweet voice, “Mat?” 

“Yeah?” he absentmindedly answers, not wanting to take his eyes off of your hand that was now gently pushing the man’s arm whilst the two of you continue to burst into laughter. 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

What’s so funny? 

Finally, Mat hears Zoe’s distant voice that eventually took him back to his seat.

“Oh. Y-Yeah.” he apologetically smiles. “Sorry. What were you saying again?” 

She hesitates to ask about you after taking a quick glance your way upon seeing the way Mathew looked at you. Nevertheless, she decides to go for it.

“Aren’t you two together? I don’t want to come off strong here or anything. It’s just that I don’t want to get in between something if there ever is.” 

Mat looks at you one more time and as if you’ve felt his eyes all along you turn your way and meet his gaze. You shoot him a quiet smile, eyeing the guy sitting beside you, mouthing what he assumes to be an exaggerated “So hot!” on your end. He reciprocates your smile and gives you an approving nod.

Once you looked away, that’s the only time Mat finally answered the woman waiting patiently for his attention. 

“What?” Mat shakes his head wildly, blowing out air off his lips defensively. “No no no. We’re just friends. She’s my roommate actually.” he shrugs you off his mind and instead tries to put his entire focus on her. 

The remaining hours were spent with you and Mat getting along with your respective potential hook-ups. Not that it wasn’t the endgame either of you were hoping for at the back of your minds. 

He’s got to admit that Zoe was the kind of girl he’d be interested in. Another fact he’s kept a mental tab not to mention to you because he knows you’ll just get cocky. 

She was sweet and obviously eloquent. He knows she’s way smarter than he’ll ever be. But out of all those qualities, she was just as passionate at her craft as someone he likes to think he knows well enough. And that alone made a small smile creep on his lips. 

Nonetheless, despite all the aforementioned, Mathew found himself a bit more reserved than he usually is whenever he gets to meet and talk to his potential ‘lady friends’ as how you’ve put it countless times. He just wasn’t his exact self.  And he was beginning to question it. 

There were no fancy hockey plays thrown subtly into the conversation. Neither mentions of golfing nor over the top league events.  No butchered french pet names swiftly tucked in his sentences. And no endless questions that would eventually lead to something along the lines of ‘Do you want to get out of here?’

Well, not until Zoe’s friends got up their seats and she told him herself. 

“Hey. The girls and I are meeting up with some friends in Brooklyn. D’ya wanna come?” 

Mat’s eyes trail down to her hand now gently caressing his. He raises both his brows thinking of a possible ‘out’ because he wasn’t sure if it was a smart thing to leave you alone with a stranger. 

He hums, “Sure.” 

Zoe shows him a delighted smile before eventually sliding out of the booth to walk towards the bar she and her friends were formally seated. 

“I gotta use the restroom first. Please excuse me.” she gives him a nod before going back to chatting with her friends. 

You, on the other hand, see Mat leave the table aiming for an archway you presume to be where the loo was. 

“Hey,” you call the man whose name you’ve already forgotten. Your pause was long enough for him to acknowledge the chances that you actually did forget who he was. Obviously.

“Chris.” The man in his early 30s answers with a submitting grin. 

You shyly laugh, squeezing his forearm as you try to apologize for forgetting. 

“Would you mind if I use the restroom?” you politely ask. 

“No, not at all.” he replies and immediately stands to help you get on your feet. Gentleman. 

Once you are in front of the men’s room, you anxiously wait for your wingman. You hug your purse close to your chest. Not a whole minute after, the door finally opens and you meet Mat’s irises with quite a gleeful look. 

A look he wasn’t a fan of for he knew what’s about to come next. 

“Are you taking off?” you eagerly ask, almost hopping on your feet. 

Mat eyes you from head to toe, looking for signs that would stink from a drunk y/n. When he sees none, that’s when he decides to say that he was. 

“Mkay good. I’ll be on my way too. Chris is taking me to New Jersey.” you tell him, briefly looking through the archway to see if there were people listening.

Once you know you’re clear, you lean towards Mat, your lips dangerously close to the sensitive skin of his ear. Mat feels your heated breath sending a familiar tingle up his spine. “I’ll get to ride a yacht tonight.” you bite your lower lip and giddily smile as if you were a cheeky 16 year-old usually depicted in a coming of age movie. 

“Who’s Chris?” Mat, in spite of taking rounds observing you all night, finds the need to ask. “And why are you coming with him to NJ?” he further questions. 

“Uh– okay, dad.” you step back for a second. You let out a scoff, checking if he was being serious about it. “I thought we’re supposed to go get laid tonight? Weren’t you about to take off with that girl yourself?” 

Mat averts your gaze and starts to scratch the corner of his brow. “Well yeah. It’s just that— he looks sketchy.” he pauses, “plus… isn’t he a little too old for you?” 

You roll your eyes as you’ve already expected to hear the words from him. 

“He’s 31. He’s not that old.” you say rather defensively so you turn the ball back on his court. “And what if he was?  Didn’t you ask one of the moms out??”

Mat’s eyes widens and you try to bite back a laugh. He whispers with a biting tone, trying to save himself. “She didn’t look like one! I’m gonna kill Beau I swear to god.”

“Come on Barz. Don’t be such a killjoy. Text me if you need anything, okay? Wrap things up while you’re at it.” you say at once. Mat doesn’t get the chance to talk you out of such a stupid idea because before he even could, you’ve already planted a kiss on his cheek and started walking away. 

Mat waited for the sound of the heavy doors of the bar, signaling that you and your friend have gone, before stepping back to where Zoe was. She waves him near the coat closet. 

“Hi.” Mat greets her friends before eventually turning his attention on the unsuspecting lass. She meets her with a smile (just like what she’s been doing all night). The same smile, however, drops the second Mat opens his mouth. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” 

Zoe nods and willfully abides, letting Mat take her gently by the arm. 

“What’s up?” she innocently asks. 

“Something came up.” he says a little too fast than what he’d originally intended. He was going to let her down either way might as well get it over with and rip up the asshole band-aid. 

“Oh.” she says in a tone Mat knew that she completely understood. 

“No worries.” she looks at him with a knowing look in her eyes. “I’ll see you around then.” 

He gives her a kind smile and nods. “Take care.” 

Mathew walks towards the bar, catching River’s teasing grin whilst he cleans up after the bottles left on the center of the counter. 

“What?” Mat reacts defensively, taking a seat in front of the lone bartender. River faintly shakes his head to leave just enough curiosity in Mathew’s mind. 

“You’re such a tool, old man.” the kid says aiming for the cold beer River has put away for himself. River did not mind because he’s grown fond of the star player for the past years he’s spent going on late night drinks at his bar. Years that even justifies a proper amount of time for him to know the in’s and out’s of one Mathew Barzal. 

“I haven’t said a thing.” he shrugs amidst the already wide grin on his face. 

There’s wisdom in his eyes that Mathew has always admired. He wasn’t the guy who’d want to talk about what’s going on inside his head but with how River’s pub seems to be just the right place, he eventually concedes and takes a shot to pick on the old man’s brain.

“Come on, spill it out. I know you’re going to anyway.” Mat gives in, running his thumb on the moist label of the bottle. 

River wipes his hands before resting it atop the counter. “Well, it’s just that– I ain’t used to seeing you turn down ladies like that too often. And you’re definitely not one to stick around watching me clean up.”

Mat stays silent for a moment, as if to gather the exact reason as to why he chose to stay. He still has a long way to go before figuring that one out. He wasn’t exactly as sharp as he was on the ice.

“I don’t know, man.” he chuckles tirelessly, “I guess I wasn’t in the mood. That’s all.”

“You?” River shots a brow and dismisses him, shaking his head. When Mat doesn’t answer, he carefully picks on his choice of words and lays it down carefully for him. After all, Mathew should have known that River was old enough to not know what’s going on.

“Though I gotta be honest with you, hijo. Never imagined you’d bring someone here.” he starts. 

What must have been a shot in the dark for the old man was just enough to tear Mathew’s eyes away from staring at the water beads on the bottle.

“What?”

“The girl, Barz.” he says, banging on the head of the bottle to knock the cap off. “She a friend?” 

“What? Y/N?” Mat quirks his brows trailing off where River was exactly headed, “What about her?— Oh, her? Yeah, no. She’s just a friend.”

“She pretty.” he speaks in a sound accent, not wanting to let Mat know he’s growing to like catching the young lad off guard. Mathew nods casually despite the continuous blabbering. “She’s y/n. But yeah— I guess, she is pretty.” 

“Then what are you doing being just friends with a pretty girl?” River inquires, taking a sip of his beer. When he sees him trying to register what he’d just said he then adds, “Why not be with her? Date her?”

“Psh. What? Date y/n? That’s crazy.” Mat shakes his head furiously, “You’re crazy.” 

“What’s so crazy about that?” River takes offense, laughing at the child’s naivete. 

“I can’t date her. I mean— I won’t date her.” he takes the bottle to his mouth, taking a large gulp before continuing, “We’re in this weird relationship thing. A setup, actually, and it’s— it’s crazier than dating her. I swear, you of all people won’t get it.” 

“What makes you think I can’t?” he smirks, “I’ve had my fair share of crazy.” River points out despite the hesitation in Mat’s eyes. “I got all night, kid.” he adds, letting him have the floor to himself. 

“You really want in on this?” he second guesses, not wanting to bore the man with his personal life.

River leans against the brass counter just below the lit rack of vintage scotch displayed on the bar. He then gestures him to give a piece of his mind and Mat finally submits to his offer.

“We’ve been in a few… prior engagements,” he starts trying to find the appropriate word. “Well, sort of.”

River hums, not necessarily getting on the same page as him so he decides to be upfront about it.

“We’ve… slept together.” he confesses.

“So you used to date her?” the old man asks. 

“No.” he answers, “I told you we’re just friends.” 

With furrowed brows, River takes a minute. And once Mat hears an all too familiar “Oh.” he sees him break a chuckle, shaking his head at the thought of what Mat had just told him. “You kids have way too much fun these days.”

Mathew shrugs, “Hey, I warned you. Told you you wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay, make me understand something here. You two sleep together, fool around, do all that shit.” he says, “and you swear you’re not in a relationship?”

“Nope.” Mat answers with pride, popping out the word with a hard ‘p’.

“Huh.” River clicks his tongue, “How long have you two been… engaged?” 

He rolls his eyes when River uses his word, “About two months.” he answers shortly.

“Is she seeing anyone since you two started this thing? You know, casual dates, the ones I presume she’s been getting before you got her into this mess?” he asks him in a tone that only fathers would ever dare to use.

Mat thinks for a moment, trying to recall the last time he’s seen a guy pick you up for dinner besides the old man you’ve successfully bagged for the night. He firmly shakes his head no and simply says, “At least not in my recollection.”

River willfully nods, walking Mat right into the trap. “Well have you been seeing anyone lately?” he asks again, this time slipping a hint of assertion. He hears a crystal clear ‘no’ from the forward and that’s when he broke a goading grin. 

“And you’re telling me you two aren’t together?” he asks yet again, getting on Mat's nerves as he continues to flood him with biting queries, building up the final point he was about to break on Mathew.

“Rivs, for the hundredth time, no. We are not.” he clarifies. 

Mat watches River pour himself a glass of scotch, still wearing a smug grin. “Imma give you a piece of advice, yeah?” he smiles rather teasingly and doesn’t wait for Mat to rebut, “I’m a happily married man so I don’t know a single squat about dating nowadays, but if you’re telling me that you kids aren’t sleeping with anyone else but yourselves? Looks like a damn relationship to me.”

With his brows all quirked in confusion (and denial in the very least), Mathew gathers all his might just so he could refute whatever madness River was trying to inflict on him and screw him up in the head. But before he could even open his mouth, the sound of the heavy doors was all it took to tear up both River’s and Mat’s attention.

“Hi.” you say the moment you were welcomed by unsuspecting men talking by the bar. River acknowledges you by raising his drink, his gaze landing on Mat the moment yours did. 

“Hi.” Mathew mirrors you in an attempt to drown his already racing heart. A smile impending to break loose at any moment but he manages to suppress it. Instead of dealing with his adrenaline, he gestures for you to take a seat beside him. 

“Where’s the sugar daddy?” he laughs the moment you drag yourself from across the room, mocking every word he said. 

“His wife called when I got into his car.” you cringe.

“Oof. Lovely.” Mat makes the distinct expression on his face just before the two of you share a laugh.

“He’s not very smooth with adultery. He needs more practice.” you casually state sarcastically, clicking your tongue. 

As you find the narrative funny, you take a sip on Mathew’s beer. “How are you not drunk? You’ve been drinking way too much the entire night.”

“Well. I’ve got some things to think about—” he cuts himself off upon seeing your mouth ajar, “And no, you’re not allowed to ask because none of it concerns you.” 

“I wasn’t going to.” you dismiss him, excusing yourself to River which he gladly took as his cue to leave.

When he disappeared into the kitchen, you turned your gaze on your friend wearing another one of your mischievous grins, “Hey, wanna get pancakes?” 

“Y/N, it’s almost 3 AM.” Mat sighs, the tiring night starting to creep up to him. 

“So?” you question, swatting his hand away when you catch him checking on his watch. 

“Come on. Stop drinking that.” you insist and take the bottle from his hand before putting it over to the side. 

The two of you said your goodbyes to the lone bartender who was just starting to clean up again. River gives the two of you a nod of acknowledgement before landing a knowing look on Mathew. One that he’s thankful enough not to be discerned by you. 

As you walk alongside Mathew, he unconsciously places a hand on the small of your back— feeling it graze on the fabric of your coat as if to guide you towards the door in an almost romantic type of way. Perhaps, a way someone would behave if they were actually in a relationship. 

Mat notices your body tense but he doesn’t move an inch. Instead, his hand travels to the curve of your waist just as he leads you through the brass doors.

Once you’re out on the streets, he lets go.

𖥸

After almost half an hour of fighting over which diner is better to eat and get sober at, you and Mat decide to just try the new diner three blocks from your apartment. Being that it was an ungodly hour, the diner was good as closed when you got in. There were a few people inside and besides the student studying alone in the corner booth, the people lounging in the vacant seats were mostly just staff. Too bad they had to work the grave shift.

Mathew, who was rather preoccupied digging in his breakfast platter, gets interrupted when you call his attention. 

“So tell me,” you ask as you take a forkful of syrupy pancake into your mouth. Finally satisfying your cravings. You put the food modestly in the insides of your cheeks when you ask him a question, “What are you like on dates?” 

Mat disgustingly looks at you. You easily get what such a look meant and you immediately roll your eyes. You let your hand fall in mid-air amidst still holding a fork in it to prove a point. “I’m not trying to ask you out, dumbass. Don’t be so delusional.”

He puts his silverware down and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Why the sudden interest?” 

“Just curious.” you simply say.

He hums, thinking about how he pulls off a first date. He then clears his throat as he takes you down that road. “First, I’m not bringing her to a 24/7 Diner.” you nearly gag. “She deserves a formal one just in case there won’t be a second date.” he explains. 

You sit there, nodding your head every now and then as he further goes on the details of how he’s like on a date. “Of course, I’d put my best foot forward all the time. Talk about her stuff more than mine and make sure she has a good time.” 

“Have you ever had a bad first date?” you curiously ask. To which he only answers with a stubborn look on his face, the one only Mat Barzal could pull off. “What? me? I don’t do bad first dates.”

“Oh, fuck off.” you flick his forehead as you laugh. The sound of his laughter echoing in your ears, drowning all the existing noise inside the lone diner.

But as the laughter dies down, Mat catches your eyes as soon as it falls on his. And just like that, there it was again, the exact same glint it had back in the bar. This time, illuminated by the pink shaded light lining up the wall accents of the diner. 

When he realizes that he’s been staring for too long, he settles on turning the tables on you. 

“How about you?” he props in his seat, “What are you like on dates?”

“You know, apart from the fact that you’re obviously into old men.” he snickers and you throw a curly fry on his forehead.

“Excuse me, I don’t.” you say sticking up for yourself.

Mat takes the curly fry that has fallen on his plate and proceeds to eat it. “Sure you do.” 

You roll your eyes, finding it hard to suppress the fact that you might actually do. “There’s a reason why women like old men, chico.”

He leans back and answers with a level headed and quite teasing reply, “And why’s that?”

“Because they’re men.” you look at him with a jerky grin as you continue, “And men, especially of River’s kind, definitely knows how to eat his french fry.”

Mat’s mouth falls wide in disbelief, appalled that you’ve actually found a way to pick up a stone and throw it straight to his face just to rub more salt on the fact that you had to teach a 23-year-old grown man how to eat cunt.

 “You’re an ass.” he says, rolling his eyes. You let out a laugh and shake your head. You were proud of yourself, sure; but showing just that is far too much for a boy’s already hurting ego. Who would have known humbling this man was such a task. 

“I’m playing! You know how to now.” you tell him, “Thanks to me, of course.”

He scoffs and takes a bite off his pancakes, “Cocky.”

“But you still haven’t answered my question.” he reminds you whilst he wipes off his lips with a napkin. 

“There’s not much to tell. You know I’m not high maintenance.” you tell him, ignoring the fact that you haven’t been on an actual date for so long you’re almost sure you’ve forgotten how to be in one. 

“I know it’s cheesy and corny but I do think it’s still in the littlest things, you know?” you sigh. Trying to remember the last relationship (date even) you had wherein those little things, the ones that are merely the bare minimum, were actually given to you. 

“You know, it’s not much, really. Maybe just a good talk without having to watch him watch me talk all night when he’s really thinking about how I’d look naked, you know what I mean?” you laugh it off, “I know, it’s stupid.”

The arrogant man sitting before you was silent for once, profusely wanting to wash the pool of melancholy he sees in your eyes. There must have been a shit ton of guys who overlooked how great of a woman you actually are just because they couldn’t stop thinking with the head in between their legs even just for a second. 

Mathew knows. And he hates that he’s been ‘that’ guy at some point. Probably until now considering him thinking with his balls on was the very thing that got the two of you here in the first place.

You take a deep breath, smiling. “Anyway, that’s better than almost getting with a married man. Right?”

“Right.” Mat laughs, his gray eyes bright under all the lights as he plays with his silverware,— devoid of how much he looked like as if he was utterly and undeniably in awe of not just the energy of the woman sitting in front of him alone nor the fact that she was by far the most unbelievable woman he’s known, but most importantly, he’s yet to realize how much in deep he’s beginning to be for the woman she actually were. 

Just as she is. 

𖥸

You left the diner a good hour before the sunrise and what must have been a quick five minute drive if you had only taken a cab, became a twenty minute foot race between you and Mathew.

You knew that walking was a bad idea but somehow, Mat’s charm and persuasive antics had a better hold than you thought you had on your very capable cognition. 

As you drag your feet into the confines of the elevator in your complex, you hear Mathew chuckling behind you with a firm hand securely placed on your waist supporting your balance. 

“You know— and not just ‘cause I’m an athlete, can I just say that you’re in a very bad shape?” he says almost a whisper in your ear, his voice low and deep.

You roll your eyes, leaning on the steel cold mirror once he pulls away, “You do it in heels then tell me who’s in a bad shape.” 

“Fair point.” he chuckles yet again, shying away. He presses the number for your floor before resting across from you. As Mat watches you catch your breath, he jokes in the hopes of breaking the ice between the two of you. 

“So…” he clicks his tongue, playful eyes looking at you, “Wanna tap?”

Disgusted to your very core, you let out a scoff just as you shake your head. “You’re fucking sick.” you laugh upon meeting his dumb grinning face. Seconds into laughter, Mat’s silence kills off the humor. The two of you exchange glances, the smiles on your faces receding into quietude. 

Mathew didn’t want to end the night letting you in the apartment not knowing what he’s been feeling the moment you’ve let him drag you out for an impromptu night out. And stupid as it was, the only thing he could think of was to slide his foot across the enclosed space embracing the two of you, nudging on your boot. You on the one hand were rather puzzled as to what caused such language. You send him a mental query by arching a brow. He lets his head fall back on the cold metal surrounding the elevator finally deciding to speak his truth.

 “I’m glad we get to hang out now. You know, just like friends do.” he genuinely says. 

“Me too.” you say, smiling. “I really had fun tonight. Thank you.”

As you meet his eyes, you see a glimmer of softness in his gaze. 

“Good thing I got bored, eh?” he says with a smirk. 

“Good thing I came back for you.” you reply.

A quiet smile parts from his lips.

“Yeah. I’m glad you did.”

It was a few seconds when you and Barzy parted from your respective walls to meet the sliding doors as it opened on your designated floor. You were pulling him closer by the tie of his coat whilst his hand was instinctively placed on your hips letting him press his body on you. Your faces were inches from each other’s, evident of not wanting to prolong the totally unplanned foreplay that’s about to go down in a communal lift. 

But just like every film you’ve watched your whole life, the inevitable cliché befalls the two of you when the next words that filled the enclosed walls you’re currently caged in came from the man who has yet to miss a morning jog. 

“What the hell is going on here?”

[chikraizyj]

Late Halloween

So, I had this idea for days and I could not finished it for Halloween so here it is! Better late than never. Kallura Modern AU enjoying Halloween. This is hella long, maybe boring but well, is something. It has been difficult for me to write again, so sorry if it has errors (English errors as well). Im trying to find my way back. And Kallura needs some love.

This is supposed to be fluffy. Hope you like it!

"This is stupid."

"Oh, Keith, c'mon."

"No."

Allura rolled her eyes and shook her head. Already knowing how to deal with him when he got like this. With a sigh, she turned to the bathroom mirror and took the lipstick in her hands. "Is there a problem with the costume you chose?"

"I didn't choose it," Keith snarled from the other side of the room. "You forced me to use it."

"No," she replied carefully, perfecting the color of her lips, her delicate stroke could only be given thanks to the experience with the lipstick while driving. "I wanted you to be a Jedi, but you wanted to wear a mask. And the Jedi don't wear a mask."

The silence was enough response.

Allura did a little pop with her lips and took a step back. Her hair was loose, somehow, with delicate held buns in place in the sides of her head. A bang escaped from her so intact hair and she gently accommodated it. The dress was inspired in the Summer Meadow Dress of Padme Amidala, and Romelle did a wonderful job fixing the costume. The beautiful golden-color piece was made of natural materials and accented with pink hand-sewn roses on the dress itself, its embroidered tulle shawl, and the rose-accented headband worn with it. Her natural and light makeup was ready and her closed sandals were comfortable enough to walk all night.

Steps warned that someone was approaching, the weight of the boots echoing against the wooden floor. The reflection of the mirror revealed a Keith with a childish pout, dressed in full black, on black plastic armor with small details of other colors as bottons, he also wore a long cape of the color of the outfit and held the mask in his hand. Without a doubt, he could not deny that the costume fit him, too well. Even if he would have looked better in Anakin's costume as Jedi. It was a shame that the mask imprisoned his rebellious hair waves.

"You are undoubtedly the sexiest Darth Vader I have ever seen" purred Allura, turning to better observe her boyfriend with a sweet smile on her face.

Keith wrinkled his nose and moved this leg. Her eyesight goes down to his lower limbs, something she likes to appreciate very much. Her eyes open wide when she noticed that the black pants seemed to try with all the universal force to keep Keith's beefy thighs on them.

It's not that his thighs were giant, no. But they weren't two toothpicks either. Although Keith was always thin, once they reached high school he began exercising with his brother Shiro... which as a result made all the girls in school, and even some boys, focus their attention on him. Anyway, she couldn't complain... thanks to that unwanted attention she revealed what she felt. Story long short, here they were, best friends since elementary and now celebrating their fourth anniversary in a few days.

"The pants are tight, Allura."

"Really?" replied, back to reality. Her tone a little too much amused to hint the laughter she was containing. Her eyes drifted down there, where a notable bulge was indicating in fact, the pants were really tight. "I think it is tight enough."

Keith could not help but roll his eyes at the sight of Allura biting her lips at him, knowing exactly what she was looking at, and what exactly she was thinking. "Of course you do."

Allura's smile widened. A wild glow dancing in her eyes. "Oh, please turn around."

Keith crossed his arms. "No."

"Keith."

Keith’s mouth split in a grin of wicked delight. He wanted to make her wait, only to appreciate the pout of her lips… She knew he loved it, to provoke her... He once told her she looked sexy while being bossy.

Sometimes it was annoying, when Allura applied that serious tone of mandate. She knew a part of him, perhaps the haughty teenager who still nestled in him, ignited himself before the challenge of her. WHen he behaved like that, it mostly ended with sex. That wild savage make up sex that caused a tingling mess in the soul…. and at the end it was followed by a necessary mature conversation.

Sex with Keith was always like that, or that kind of sex, that calmest, glorious sex. The one that brings the feeling of peace and belonging...

Keith sighs and agrees to turn around. Allura, biting her lips, raises his cloak.

"Well, your booty looks amazing."

"But my front part is suffocating" he groaned softly.

"You mean, your pen..."

"Yes, Allura."

Allura did a little "hmm" at his dry response and her brows knitted in concentration. "Well, I have other pants here and I think if we adjust them, they could fit you."

Before Keith could open his mouth to answer, Allura was already on her way to the suitcase. After some seconds searching between her mess, she found it.

She noticed, of course. Keith was looking at her, he was checking her out. She recognized that cold letal wild look in this eyes. And maybe, just maybe she swung her hips a little more while walking just because of it.

Their eyes connected, and his feral darkness made her want to destroy him, hug him, and kiss him.... The desire in his eyes woke something in her that made her want to stay here and just skip Halloween.

"I don't wanna go, honestly" he murmured, as if reading her mind.

Allura crossed her arms, trying to control her horny thoughts and trembling legs. "But you agreed."

Keith runs one hand over his hair, letting go of a sigh. "I know, I know... but I look pathetic."

Allura steps into him and with her delicate fingers begins to comb his hair, placing those rebellious strands in their places. Keith's eyes dropped to her lips, Keith shuddered. a soft groan slipping from this mouth. Allura swallowed hard. "You don't." Wrapping her arms in his neck, Allura slightly stroked his scalp and Keith's muscles on his back tensed softly, while his head leaned to the side, longing for her touch. "Come Trick or Treat with me, Keith."

Lis brows rose- Little amusement to be found now. "Don't make the puppy eyes. It will not work" he murmured in a heavy breath, the corners of his mouth tensing at the threat of a smile. And Allura knew it was certainly working. So, she bit her lip and gets closer. Keith closed his eyes and breathed into it, stroking his nose with hers gently. His smile faded softly. “It will not work, Allura."

A grin formed in her lips, as she got on her tiptoes and leaned down to kiss the eyelids of his face. His brows frowned slightly but his serene features only warned that he was considering him and absorbing every breath, every gesture of her. “Think about after a long fun night, I will need help to take off this dress."

Keith's hands landed on her waist, holding her right there. His respiration is slightly choppy as his tongue moistens his lips.

"Your words of seduction will not work either."

Allura pushes him against the wall and Keith opens his eyes, alert of the strenght of hers. His eyes reflected what he saw in her: the desire, the intimidation that emanated from her position. She lifted her chin proudly, before a hand slowly ran from his ear to his jaw. " Then I guess I will trick or treat alone."

Keith squeezes his lips and remains silent, his eyes darkened.

Allura did not allow her to notice her emerging but slight sadness, and in a confident voice, she said in a carefree tone. "I guess there will be another Darth Vader." His hands squeezed her against him, one hand moving to her ass, but not squeezing at all. A possessive reaction for sure, but he always tried to hide that part from her. She looked at him innocently, flashing her eyelashes, but did not move. "And that Darth Vader may be alone, or an Anakin in search of his Padme."

Over that Little cure pout of this, she kisses him. A small kiss on the surface of his half-open lips. Short enough to make Keith moan slightly when she moved away.

The satisfaction inside her formed a smile, but she did not even took the benefit to look back at him. Turning around, she took her phone and walked slowly, moving her hips as she did. When she got to the door, she opened it and said in a sweet voice, looking over her shoulder. "Well, see you later."

The only thing she heard from Keith when closing the door was a low curse.

Lance's house was always a small mess. But a warm one, full of joy. It was big, because it supported a family with many members. The children, who were always too many, ran down the stairs in their costumes. She recognized Nadia and Silvio dressed in jedi robes and sabers. Rachel and William's triplets were a mixture between galactic pilots, droids and the girl with those rare buns on her head.

"I thought you wouldn't go down," commented a voice walking from the kitchen. Lance dressed like Han Solo, and Pidge, who followed him with a giant cookie in her hands dressed as the iconic Leia Organa. Luis and Lisa dressed as pilots. "I hope they haven't done naughty things in my room."

Allura and Katie rolled their eyes.

Marcos stepped aside, greeting her, holding hands with his boyfriend Tyle, dressing in the characters of Poe and Finn.

Mrs. Carmen would probably be in the kitchen making typical sweets ready to prepare Christmas decoration once it's November the first.

The cold outside embraced her body, causing chills. The children were already running around the neighborhood and the decorated Halloween houses were all lit in the spirit of the night. The starry sky, so wonderful and deep and so similar to Keith's dark eyes made her feel safe...

"And Keith?" Asked Hunk, once she opens the exit door. He wore a costume of the legendary Obi Wan Kenobi, he even bought a beard to look like. While Shay, who wore the costume of Duchess Sabine, used skirts that highlighted her curves and a shirt open to the chest with long sleeves with extravagant artifacts in her hair.

She was about to respond when some kid shouted from behind.

"Look! Is Darth Vader!"

When she turned around, she found a masked 6 feet tall man, walking down the sidewalk and approaching them. Keith notices how Silvio approaches him and raises a hand. The child reacts and stops, drifting this Little hands to this necee as if Darth Vader was using the Force.

Silvio Took out this saber. Her boyfriend leaned this head to a side, then takes out his saber. And without caution, he strikes. Silvio had time to react but Keith was already striking again. Before the kid could continue, his friends visualized something in the distance and ran, so did Silvio leaving with them.

"I thought you were not coming," Allura said, starting to walk once Keith arrived at her side. The smile of satisfaction on her face did not fade, because despite everything, she love when Keith shared with children. It was very different from when he dealt with adults.

Keith takes off his helmet and looks around. Monitoring.. He always did that. "You know I would come."

"No" she answered, "I really thought you would stay."

Keith let out a low chuckle and rolled his eyes, it were shining at her. “You had me with your puppy eyes, don't act like you don't know."

She felt a warm gloved hand on hers, gripping it tightly. Allura could not stop herself from feeling the butterflies in her stomach. "And here I thought it was the kissing..." her head cocked to a side. "And your bag for the candies?"

Keith loooked at her, and smiled. The wrinkles in his eyes showing his excitement, amusement dancing in them as well. "My treat is right here."

Allura's nose wrinkled and he let out a laugh at her reaction. "That was a horrible pick up line."

He cleared his throat, and Allura could not help but bit her lip... Keith was not a cocky guy, he did not resorted to pick up lines or humor like Lance, yet he sometimes tried and he just looked like a little boy trying something new. "Have you ever been on the dark side?"

Allura's smile faded, leaning her head to a side in confusion. "No..."

Keith's face was hard as a stone, regret already in his features. "Would you like some dark side in you?"

H”er cheeks flushed . That's just worst!"

"I know" he grimaced, walking again, taking her hand and with the other scratching the back of his head. "Is Lance's fault. But now let's get over this so I can take off that beautiful dress from you."

She stopped, her cheeks burning now. "Keith!"

He laughed again, this time a laud one... those laughs they only shared within the four walls of their apartment, that smile that reached his eyes.

And Allura could not help but gaze at him... his beautiful teeth, his pink lips, his pale skin now with a little pink color in his cheeks. His messy hair. His eyes... the way he looked at her, it provoked a storm of emotions inside her.

Like if she was something devastatingly divine...

“Beautiful” he whispered. “So many things I want to do to you..." he purred, his long finger lifting her chin delicately. And then, without warning, his lips crashed against hers in a sweet caresses... of those kisses that warmed the soul. Mint... he always tasted like mint. She breathed on him, unable to contain a slight moan vibrating in her throat. One hand landed on her waist, and he deepened the kiss... responding to her, biting and savoring every bit of her lethally slowly. Another hand, seized her neck, and gently brushed his thumb under her jaw. Before her legs collapse, he pushed back with a grin on his face and a glimmer in his eyes, a promise drawn on them. "Maybe tonight I'll let the dark side get the best of me."

[smoochkooks]

— lost stars, part 1 (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst, (troubled) idol au, childhood friends to lovers

⟶ word count: 20k

⟶ summary: in dead hours of the night he stumbles upon the bars, reaching, searching, trying to feel something, for once forget about consequences and taste the bittersweet freedom. between sips of addiction and faint touches of nameless lovers he finds you again: his own long-lost star on a blackboard sky.

⟶ warnings for part one: explicit sexual content, dom!jungkook, rough sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, degradation, light breath play, unprotected sex, infidelity, mentions of mental health issues, smoking, drinking etc., this is sad im sorry

⟶ music: lost stars, young god, the hills and more here. 

PART TWO (FINALE): HERE!

Jungkook can’t sleep.

Moonlight is gradually slipping through the unveiled curtains that he hasn’t even bothered shutting out for the night, letting the silvery luminescences gleam over the expanses of his room callously. It's the first full moon of the month, an argent king on the cloudless sky preventing many people that particular night from falling asleep.

Jungkook lays on his bed, long body slumped on unmade, messy sheets. Brightness illuminates over his features, making his skin glow in porcelain white. Every edge of him is chiseled. From his thin lips, through the slope of his nose and paleness of his forehead, Jungkook might be a beautiful imitation of a marble sculpture. Although he isn't, heaviness of his limbs and suffocating pressure weighting down on his chest like tons of rocks make him feel like one.

Digital clock on his bedside table reads midnight, four red zeros signaling change of the date. It's so painfully silent in the confines of his room, yet Jungkook doesn't sleep. And it's not because of some scientificly proven theory connecting insomnia to the full moon. He hasn't shifted on his bed since he laid there an hour or so ago. He stares blankly at the ceiling, inhaling the chilly air of March flowing inside through the open window. There is without a doubt too cold to lie uncovered like that, with bare legs and thin t-shirt thrown on, but he doesn't seem to care, not when shivers run down his arms, not when the sudden puff of wind blows the strands of raven hair off from his forehead. He stays like that, hands folded on his stomach, eyes glued to the silver lights on the ceiling, and time ticks.

Jungkook doesn't remember when was the last time he has gotten some good amount of sleep in the night. Perhaps it was a year or two ago, when after particularly hectics days it took him only a few seconds to fall into the peaceful slumber as soon as his cheek met the cool material of his pillow. A lot of has changed since that; it's bitterly oblivious he has changed too. His insomniac tendencies are only a small part of the whole spectrum.  

Jungkook doesn't wish the sleep to come and cure him. He has stopped a long time ago, when he realised it's just pointless. There are times when it gets better, when he doesn't need to nap uncontrollably during the day instead of doing that while it's dark out. Tonight seems like one of those dead end situations. Maybe after a few hours his eyes will tire out enough to flutter shut on their own accord and bring him the awaited couple of hours of mindless numbness, and the sun will raise again, as it always does.

However, that night, like many of them before, Jungkook doesn't wait helplessly.

A sigh and a minute later, he kicks off the sheets and stands up from his bed, walking to the nearby closet. He puts on the first pair of black jeans he manages to find and replaces his worn out t-shirt he wears to sleep with a new, fresh one. He flicks the lights on for a brief moment to examine himself briefly in the mirror. He needs haircut, loose strands are falling on his forehead and he swamps them off, running his fingers through the black locks. He looks even more tired in the artificial lighting of his room, definitely not like the marble sculpture, certainly not like the spot-on idol this country loves and admires. The skincare products his stylists have given him to put on his face everyday are doing a quite good job, but not good enough to fully hide the bangs underneath his eyes. This kind of magic only stage makeup can provide.  

Now, Jungkook looks painfully ordinary. He isn't Jeon Jungkook of BTS, he doesn't want to be during nights like this one. That's why he fishes out of the drawer his black mask and puts it in the pockets of his denim jacket. There is probably too cold outside to go out dressed like that, but Jungkook doesn't falter.

He doesn't falter opening the door to his room and stepping into the dark hallway of the dorm. He doesn't falter putting on his shoes as silently as he can. He doesn't falter reaching for the knob to the main door and twisting it. Even if he has promised he won't do that again, that the last time when he came home at ungodly hour, smelling of sleazy bars and cheap alcohol, with faint reminiscences of the touches of nameless lovers on his skin, was truly last.  

Even if the pang of guilt is still there, at the back of his head, when he exhales the air of the night, it fades away.

If someone ever asked Jeon Jungkook to describe freedom, he would say it smells like Bongcheon Underground Station.  

He’s never been there before or at least he doesn’t remember doing it. The sign indicates it’s the line number two, a green one to be more exact. He doesn’t know in which part of the city he is, maybe half an hour away from the luxurious housing estate he lives in with the rest of the boys, maybe further. At some point during the train ride he's lost the track of time.  

It’s probably irresponsible, careless, unwise and stupid to be a widely-known figure using public transportation in the middle of the night completely alone, but this run-down underground station in Jungkook's head is his own manifesto of mock freedom, consequences to be damned.

Jungkook knows he's risking a lot right now. The sick thirl is already there, boiling the blood in his veins. This is all he has; the mirage of liberty, his own revolt against the unfairness of the world. His testament of lost youth.

Before someone will see him standing on the platform and staring ahead of himself with blank eyes like a mad man, he decides to walk out of the station.  

A young couple around his age passes him on the stairs and he can’t help but spare a glance in their direction. They aren’t aware of his presence, holding onto each other and giggling drunkily. Something squeezes in Jungkook’s chest at the sight. It’s not any kind of jealousy, no. He’s grown up from being a rebel teenager. He’s grown up from the dreams of college parties, going on dates with pretty girls and having late-night snacks with his friends after gaming sessions.

Now Jungkook is just angry. Someone may say he doesn’t have the right to, he has everything an ordinary twenty-two year-old can desire. Yet, Jungkook is the one calling the world unfair while being on top of it.

There is a poster with his face hanging just above the entrance to the station. He stops in his tracks, scoffing cynically. Poster-Jungkook, spot-on idol from the biggest boyband in the country smiles at him, showing a row of blindingly white teeth. He has a face cream in his right hand, the softness of his photoshopped face and boyish glint in the eyes trick thousands of people into buying whatever he recommends.

What would Poster-Jungkook say seeing him now, Jungkook wonders. Barefaced, with mask covering half of his features, ruffled hair that he should have hidden underneath a cap. Poster-Jungkook probably wouldn’t like to make friends with someone like him. Poster-Jungkook is here to sing his heart out, to entertain fans and make his parents proud. Poster-Jungkook has never been at Bongcheon Underground Station.  

With one last glance, Jungkook exits the station, stepping into the streets of Seoul.

The clock on his lockscreen reads 1am, Saturday, March 21th. He reaches to his face, pulling the mask down a little to inhale the chilly air. The smell of nearby Chinese restaurant reminds him it’s definitely a terrible idea to drink on an empty stomach but he shrugs off this thought, walking ahead of himself, with no plan in mind.

It’s not everyday he uses underground to travel around the city like most citizens do. Ironically, this mundane thing is a luxury he normally can’t afford. But nighttime has it’s own rules.

Using his car isn’t a debatable option when he knows he's going to distract himself with numerous sips of alcohol later. He cannot use taxi as well. Not when he hates having small talks with middle-aged men while being half-wasted, half-asleep on the backseat, head buzzing, world spinning. In worst case scenarios, the said taxi driver might be a dad of one of his fans.  

(Yes, it happened before. It caused a lot for Jungkook's intoxicated brain to make up some silly story and convince the poor man he was coming home from his friend's birthday party, not running away from his one night stand's place.)

Asking one of their personal drivers to lift him up somewhere won’t do any good too because one: it definitely isn’t an emergency situation, although Jungkook would most likely argue it kind of is and two: going out in the night is too risky and most importantly, strictly forbidden for him since the last time Jimin found him unconscious on their doormat.  

He wants to laugh at himself, remembering the very first time he tried to sneak out of the dorm without permission.

He was merely eighteen back then and his friend from Busan came to Seoul to celebrate his acceptance into the university. Of course, teenage Jungkook had asked for approval like the well-raised young man he was. That’s impossible, Jungkook, was the answer and I really hadn’t seen that friend for a long time, please, wasn’t enough to change minds and melt hearts. And that was when eighteen-year-old Jungkook decided it was the final straw. He had enough of watching snapshots from his friends, living their teen years to the fullest. He wanted to live too.

He had planned everything in details. Namjoon and Yoongi were at the studio, Hoseok was visiting his family in Gwangju, Seokjin went to sleep early, Jimin and Taehyung were playing video games in their room. All occurrences seemed to be on his side. Until they weren’t.

He announced to everyone he wasn’t feeling well and locked himself inside his room. He waited for the right moment, then opened the door and peeked his head out. It was dead quiet, beside muffled bursts of laughter coming from the other end of the hallway where Taehyung and Jimin were still playing. Holding his breath, Jungkook tiptoed to the entrance.

It felt so electrifying back then, when he took the handle into his hand and pushed, doing something that he wasn’t supposed to. When he found himself taking the cab to his hyung’s place, fingers drumming the unknown rhythm of excitement on his jean-clad thighs.  

It doesn’t feel like that anymore. There’s a rush of adrenaline but not the good kind. What was once a silly rebellion of a boy with romantic soul, is now nothing but a routine.

That night didn’t turn out as he wished. It ended with him getting wasted to the point he had to call Seokjin to pick him up. He still remembers the furious scolding the older one gave him. He remembers how he promised it was a one-time thing, how he regretted his childish actions and irresponsibility.

But it happened again and again. And it got only worse over the years.  

Jungkook keeps marching ahead of himself, looking around the unfamiliar neighborhood. It's a more industrial part of the city; it doesn’t look like leafy, peaceful area he lives in. He can only imagine how the flats inside those buildings look like - cramped, cluttered. Maybe they look just like their old dorm when he was merely sixteen, with head full of dreams, sleeping every night on a bunk bed underneath Taehyung.

Upon seeing a fluorescent, red neon sign, he stops in his tracks. The club looks nice from the outside and even though it stopped being an indicator for Jungkook some time ago, he decides to step inside with the same goal in mind as usual: get drunk and then leave.

Loud, thumping music fills his ears as soon as he enters the building. He passes the mass of nameless silhouettes, heading straight to the bar and slumping down on one of the stools.  

“What can I get you?”  

Jungkook looks up, meeting the eyes of friendly-looking bartender who seems not to recognize him or just doesn’t give a fuck. Both options are more than anticipated when you’re a well-know celebrity who decided to get drunk on a Friday night.

“Doesn’t matter. Just give me something strong.”  

Bartender nods in understanding and Jungkook sees him reaching for the bottle of whiskey and pouring the substance into a glass already filled with ice cubs.  

I don’t even like whiskey, Jungkook realizes. But at the same time he knows he hasn’t come here to sample. He’s here to let loose, to taste the bittersweet freedom this umber alcohol provides and represents. Each sip burns his throat stronger, yet it’s always welcomed.

After the third glass, his head starts buzzing. The world spins a little when he closes his eyes; everything becomes a blurr of colors, shapes and sounds. It’s should be a sign to slow down but Jungkook automatically raises his hand to bartender, ordering another glass.  

He hasn’t even registered he’s not alone by the bar anymore.  

She’s pretty. Maybe not exactly his type, whether he has one or not, but he can’t help but spare a glance anyway. Even in his drunken state he notices she’s a foreigner; blonde locks are cascading down her back and shoulders, milky skin glowing in the fluorescent lights. He doesn’t see her face clearly yet, but he observes in the corner of his eye as she bites her plump, cherry-coloured lips, while staring down at her empty glass.  

Then, his eyes wander lower, to the smooth column of her throat, her provident collarbones and rich  décolltage. Her black dress doesn’t do quite good job covering her cleavage and Jungkook has to swallow at the sight.  

He’s fucked, buzzed and that irritating, tiny voice at the back of his head is telling him to get his shit together but every rational thought is wiped off his mind when the girl whirls around and faces him fully now. She smiles at him, or his blurry eyes are deceiving him already. Nevertheless, he smiles back at her dumbly, doing his best to maintain the enigmatic façade.

“Hi.” he says.

It’s not the first time he’s hitting on a foreign woman. It’s very much asshole of him, but he thinks it’s easier to get laid that way. In most cases he’s not the one to start a conversation, yet this time, here he is.  

“Hi, stranger.” she answers and licks her lips languidly. The raw eroticism dripping from it makes Jungkook shift on his seat. If she wants to play this game, he’s ready to make another move.  

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks. It’s so goddamn blunt and brusque, but always works. Something about his flat English and the way he subtly smirks saying it makes women intrigued.  

She contemplates for a moment, batting her eyelashes at him until she eventually agrees. “Yes, sure.”  

He waves at the bartender, slurring his words a little. He hears the girl giggle and somehow, his next words leave his lips without a second thought.

“You like Korea?”  

She’s very talkative when she’s drinking, Jungkook notices. The question seemed to elicit something in her and she started babbling, spitting her words so fast he couldn’t catch up even if he wasn’t drunk (and knew English better). All this time he smiles at her, nodding his head and occasionally muttering “yeah” and “oh” whenever he feels like it’s the right moment.  

At some point his eyes wander to the other part of the club, where the sign shows the way to the bathroom. The girl takes a sip of her drink, showing a row of her perfectly white teeth when she catches him staring at her. And at this moment, Jungkook decides is time to interfere.

He leans closer to her, his hand ever so slightly brushing the place where the material of her dress meets her thigh. She bites her lip, waiting for his another move. Jungkook is now mere inches from her face, lust swimming in his orbs when he whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”  

She says something to him but he doesn’t register it. His hand is now fully placed on her thigh and when he opens his mouth to ask if she would like to dance with him, he feels a pair of strong hands placed firmly on his shoulders, pulling him away from her.  

“What the fuck, man? What are you doing with my girlfriend?” He hears a male voice saying behind him in English.  

Jungkook blinks, trying to comprehend what have just happened. His head spins from the sudden motion and he feels like throwing up any second. He lifts his head, meeting the terrified expression of the girl he talked to just seconds ago.  

“Are you deaf or something? I’m talking to you.”  

Someone pushes him forcefully again and that’s when he turns around with reluctance, standing face to face with very much pissed off white guy. He’s taller than him and the deep furrow of his brows tells Jungkook he’s in for a trouble.  

“James, it’s okay. We were just talking.”  

“Well, it didn’t look like that!”  

“Just let him be. He’s drunk.”

Jungkook feels like his soul has left his body and now he’s staring at the whole scene from the side. The muffled voices reach his ears but he cannot fathom anything. He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes.  

Another shove at his shoulder coerces him to regain his senses a little.  

“I’m not letting that fucker go that easily until he apologies. Hey, shithead!”  

Jungkook feels hands grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket. And then, when he thinks this is it – Jeon Jungkook of BTS is going to get hammered in some sleazy club by a foreigner because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, because he’s useless peace of shit instead of the It Boy of his country, everything stops.

He knows this voice. Maybe his drunken brain is deceiving him, maybe he’s hallucinating or dreaming because he’s already lying bruised on the floor and unconscious. But he hears you and feels you, touching his arm and saying, “It’s alright, sir, he’s here with me. He doesn’t feel well. I apologize for his behavior.”  

Your grip is stronger than he remembers to be. It hurts like you’re mad at him. But is it really you, dragging him across the room, away from those people through the crowd of sweaty bodies? He squints his eyes, focusing them on your silhouette, but what he sees is merely a blurry sideprofile of a young woman.

“I can’t believe the first thing I do after not seeing you for three years straight is saving your ass.”  

There’s a wave of fresh air hitting his face. He inhales it greedily, hands extending to stabilize himself until he feels the rough texture underneath fingertips. He leans his head on the wall, eyes squeezed shut. Seconds pass, maybe even minutes, until something nudges him on the side.  

“Do you feel better now?”  

To be completely frank, Jungkook is scared to open his eyes. His sanity is slowly coming back to him and he hears you now loud and clearly. Maybe he’s really dreaming but if that’s true, why does he feel like he has a full control on his next move?  

It’s really you. Three years older than he last saw you, arms crossed over your chest and evident frown on your face. He doesn’t know why but he wants to smooth the crease between your brows. It doesn’t suit you. Your hair is shorter, your features sharper and more mature.  

You’re definitely not dream-__. His dream-___ would have scratches on her knees and some fantasy book in her hands. She sometimes visits him at dead hours of the night, asking why he hasn’t answered her calls and messages. Sometimes she stares at him from the photograph he carries in his wallet because he cannot bring himself to get rid of it.

He probably should hug you, run into your arms and thank for saving his reputation. He should hug you because it’s been three goddamn years and you were his best friend once. One of the most important people in his life, his partner in crime (and professional math tutor in primary school). God, you were his first, silly crush when you were merely ten, hair braided and pimples on your cheeks. His shoulder to lean on when he needed to cry. The girl who played football with him because there was no boys in your neighborhood with whom he could do it.

Instead, he asks, “Did you cut your hair?”

The first thing you do is raise your eyebrows, as if you’re genuinely confused he’s able to form full, coherent sentences. Next, you scoff. “Seriously? We meet for the first time in three years in a club where I work because I need to save your ass since you’re completely pissed and tried hooking up with taken woman, and that’s the only thing you have to say?”  

He doesn’t like how you sound already. Your tone matches your expression, stern and slightly irritated. But at the same time, he’s not surprised you’re acting like this.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” he hesitates. He’s just what? Pathetic? Stupid? Reckless? Or maybe–

“Crazy?”  

He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. That’s a good word.”

You take a step closer, standing right in front of him. “So are you going to tell me what are you doing in this part of the city, getting drunk while being a freaking idol?”  

“Isn’t it what all celebrities do?” he asks sardonically.

You roll your eyes at that, and he takes a moment to look at you more carefully now. Your cheeks are rosy from the cold and he notices a smudge of mascara underneath your left eye. And there’s another thing he remembers about you; the weird habit of staring at him intensely whenever he wasn’t aware because you were terrible at keeping eye contact.  

But it seems like a lot of has changed in that department and now you’re meeting his eyes without a hint of shyness.  

“Yeah, maybe they do. But not when they have a reputation to take care of.” you counter.  

Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes for a second. It’s still hard for him to produce logical thoughts but he knows he’s slowly sobering, the chilly air clearing his mind. You hug your coat tighter against your body and he wonders for a moment if it’s really that cold outside and he just doesn’t feel it because of the alcohol swimming in his veins.  

He’s not capable of having this kind of conversation with you under those circumstances. While you’re outside of some niche club in a part of the city he doesn’t know, reunited after three years of silence.  

You have that look on your face, the one you used to wear every time he got on your nerves and he was in for good scolding. His head pounds too much to bare with it now.  

He needs to smoke a cigarette.

He fishes a pack, placing one between his lips. He feels your eyes on him the entire time and after taking the first drag, he offers you to light up one as well.

“I quit.” you say curtly.  

“Okay.” The smoke swirls around his features and you take a step back, cringing. You never really could stand the smell.

“Is smoking even allowed for you?”  

He snickers, shaking his head. It’s funny, how you’re asking him this now, when you were the one he used to smoke occasionally with at the docks every time he visisted Busan. Eighteen, listening to Arctic Monkeys and Coldplay on his old iPhone and watching the sky burning when sun was hiding behind the horizon.

Jungkook smirks. “Out of sight, out of mind.”  

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t smoke often. It’s more like a sporadic trespass when he’s out for the night than a regular craving. Leaving aside his favor for cigarettes, he shouldn’t let himself become addicted, not when it might easily influence his lungs capacity. And Jeon Jungkook's velvet voice can’t have a hoarseness to it.

“So, you work here?” he opts to ask you, avoiding the set of questions probably already itching to leave your mouth all at once.

“I do. I actually ended my shift few minutes ago. I had some work to do at the storage room and when I walked out, I saw that guy ready to beat the shit out of you,” you say, grimacing. “To be honest, I didn’t recognize you at first. You looked… different.”  

“I guess that’s what they call the magic of stage make-up.” he jokes but his comment doesn’t make you laugh. If anything, you look even more puzzled.  

Then, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his jacket. He pulls it out just to be met with tens of notifications, mainly texts and unanswered calls from Jimin. He must have found out somehow he’s been gone.

“Fuck.” Jungkook mutters under his breath, locking his phone.  

“Something’s wrong?” You always could read him like an open book. He wasn’t very talkative kid back then and you, somehow, found a way to communicate with him on non-verbal level.  

Jungkook scratches the back of his head, smiling lopsidededly. “You’re going to laugh at me,” he sighs.

“No, I’m not.” you promise. There’s sincerity in your voice but he knows better. You’re definitely going to.  

“I’m scared to come home.” Jungkook says, entirely serious. His doe eyes widen for emphasis and you’re sure he’s shitting you yet you decide to play along.  

“And why is that?”  

He leans closer, smelling of cigarettes and his musky cologne and you almost wince. “Because I’m gonna have my ass whipped.”  

He waits a moment, and then breaks into a grin. It’s his drunkiness still speaking through him and maybe a tiny bit of curiosity how you were going to react.

You snort loudly. “That was terrible.”  

“You smiled. I saw the cornes of your mouth moving.”  

“You’re wasted, Jungkook. I’m surprised you’re standing on your own feet right now,” He pouts and you sigh, shaking your head. “So are you going to tell me what is it really about?” you ask.

He shrugs, blowing out the fume from his cigarette. “I just don’t wanna go home drunk. It will be worse than coming back in the morning, believe me. I’ve been there before.”  

Something flashes across your face hearing his last sentence but it quickly disappears, replaced by your usual, unreadable expression. You seem to think about what he has said, until you exhale loudly, making him look at you with raised eyebrows.

“Fine. You can crash at mine.”  

Jungkook knows he might have misheard you. But you’re still staring at him as if you’re waiting for him to respond. He feels dumbfounded.

“What?”  

“I saved your ass today once, I can do it again. That’s what friends are for, right?”  

He hates how bitter it sounds coming from you. He knows it’s very much what he deserves. You don’t own him anything after all he’s done to you yet here you are. Offering him help even though you don’t have to do anything.

You’ve always been too good for him.

You cock your head at him, a small smile dancing on your features he wishes was genuine. Maybe you still have a sentiment for him, after all. “You coming?” It’s what you ask, and he tosses the half-burnt cigarette, following you without a word.

And that’s how your story starts again, with reckless decision, cigarettes and underground stations.

Ironically, Jungkook ends up at the Bongcheon Underground Station for the second time that night.  

You led him wordlessly out of the building, taking a turn into direction he was familiar with. On the whole ride back to your home, you were silent. You didn’t utter a sentence to him, even when you reached your stop, you just stood up from the seat and he followed you like a lost puppy.  

Walking from the station to your flat, Jungkook decided he’s had enough of this awkward silence, breaking it first.

“So, how have you been?”  

It’s such a stupid question to ask someone you haven’t talked to for such a long period of time. Of course you can’t catch up all that have happened in last three years during ten minutes-long walk. Jungkook bites his lip, peeking at your side profile.

“It’s actually funny you’re asking this now. I’ve been good, and you? Or actually… wait! You don’t have to answer that because I know you’ve been good too, thanks to your mum who is updating mine about everything what’s going on in your life,” you say sarkily. “Oh, not to mention I also have Internet and it’s really hard to avoid news about nation’s favourite boy group, right?”  

Your harsh words make him grimace. He knows he fucked up royally and your bitter attitude towards him is the effect of his wrong doings. Yet, he can’t help but feel a little bit irritated.

“You know I’m sorry.” he mutters under his breath.  

“Oh, are you? Was it really that hard to call an old friend once in a month?”  

Jungkook looks up at the sky, as if he was wishing it could give him strenght and fill his mouth with words that will make your stony façade break just a little. “I was busy,” he answers, regretting it as soon as it slipped of his tongue.  

He hears you scowl. “Busy? Doing what? Drinking and hooking up with women?”  

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Are you really patronizing me right now? We just came across each other and I’m trying to be civil here. We’re not thirteen anymore, loose up.”  

You stop in your tracks abruptly. “I see. You don’t need my help anymore and you’re okay with sleeping under the bridge, fine.” you spit and turn your back on him, quickening your pace.

“What? Wait!” Jungkook calls after you because one: you might be not joking and two: he’s too startled to react in time and now he has to jog up to you. “You aren’t serious, right?” he asks after catching up with your hurried movements.  

You sigh, taking another turn. “God, I can’t believe you’re still that childish.”  

Jungkook frowns. “What does that suppose to mean?”  

“You know damn right what I mean.”  

You’re now walking through a typical, industrial looking neighborhood. He used to live with other boys in an area like this, back when their name meant nothing to the world and industry, when you used to talk practically every single day on the phone.  

Suddenly, you stop in front of one of the buildings, digging in your purse and pulling out the keys.  

Jungkook silently follows your figure when you enter the tenement house you’re living in. He squints his eyes, trying to remember the street name and building number. For some reason he feels like this information might be useful for him sometime in the future.

You quickly climb up the stairs until you reach the forth floor, Jungkook running out of breath with mouth hang open, and that’s when you turn around to face him.  

You don’t say anything to him. You just stare, expression stern yet unreadable at the same time. Your gaze is challenging but eventually you give up, sighing and opening the door to your flat, letting him in.  

The first thing he notices is that your flat is tiny.  

There’s barely enough space for one person in the hallway when you hang up your coat without a word, bumping into his unmoving figure when you’re trying to walk into what is probably the smallest kitchen he has ever seen.  

You pour yourself a glass of water, chugging it greedily while he still stands dumbly three meters away from you, fully dressed, unsure of what to do.

He jumps, hearing you put the glass on the counter loudly. “So, welcome in my humble abode, I guess,” you say. “Are you going to stand there the whole night?” You cock your head into his direction and Jungkook shakes his head, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes.  

“I know it’s small but the rent is cheap,” you add, referencing to the size of your apartment. You don’t need to explain, he wants to tell you but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes wander to the other part of the flat where your bedroom is, as he assumes.

“Ah, yes, that’s my bedroom. And living room, and bureau,” you confirm, voice laced with apparent sarcasm. “Make yourself comfortable.”  

Jungkook hesitantly enters the room. There’s nothing much there beside your bed, wardrobe and a small desk with your laptop and other belongings on. One thing he realises is that you keep everything clean and tidy, despite the limited space you have here.  

“But the view is nice, isn’t it?” you ask suddenly, startling him a little. Jungkook, encouraged by you, glances out of the window and he has to admit that yes, indeed, the view is beautiful. You can see the city quite clearly from the forth floor. “I’m still surprised when I look out of the window and see rooftops instead of brick walls. I guess I’m kind of lucky.” you chuckle.  

That’s when he realises just how much more you deserve than you have. It hits him how privileged he is now, living in a luxurious area for rich snobs and celebrities who look out of their windows and see green hills. And one more time, his anger for the unfairness of this world only boils stronger in his veins.

“I gotta go the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”  

You leave him alone again, and now he has an opportunity to look at the corkboard you have above your desk. There is plenty of photos and polaroids pinned to it and he finds himself examining them without a second thought.

It seems like you have them organized chronologically. They start with you as a little kid standing in front of your house in Busan, front teeth missing and clutching your favourite doll. Next, you’re in school and surprisingly, he finds himself present on most of these photos along with you. Playing football at the backyard, eating ice cream at your favourite parlor (he has smudges of chocolate on his chin but he smiles to the camera like it means nothing). He recognizes a photo he took of you when you where in middle school, dressed as Anne Boleyn for some history project he doesn’t remember what was exactly about.

As years pass on your polaroid timeline, his face is slowly disappearing from your captured memories. He smiles when he sees his favourite photo of you, the one he also carries snuggled deeply in his wallet. It was taken by your mum on your seventeenth birthday. You went on a picnic by the sea and Jungkook surprised you with an unexpected visit, coming home back from Seoul. He gifted you a bracelet bought with the first money he had earned in his life.  

He wonders now if you still have that bracelet somewhere, hidden among many other things reminding you of your past together, just like the creased photo in his wallet he still hasn’t thrown away.  

Then, Jungkook eyes land on the most recent picture. You’re grinning to the camera while being hugged from the back by a man he doesn’t know. He presses his lips to your cheek in a fleeting kiss. An affectionate one.  

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.”  

Jungkook jolts a little hearing your voice. You come up to him and he notices you have changed your clothes for something looking much more comfier. “Remember this one?” you ask, pointing at the photo of you sitting on a beach next to the sand castle you built.  

Jungkook smiles apologetically. “Yeah.”  

“Ten seconds after taking this photo, you decided to ruin my sand castle and made my cry.”

He can’t help but share your grin when your eyes lock. There’s the same sympathy in them he’s grown to known. It feels familiar, almost domestic. He likes it.  

“So,” He nudges your side, pointing with his chin at the corkboard, “care to tell me who is this guy?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and you roll your eyes in response at his antics.

“That’s my boyfriend Minho.” you answer.

Jungkook doesn’t know why but for some reason, he feels uneasy now. He’s mad at himself he’s been really missing out what’s going on in your life. He shakes off these thoughts quickly though, mastering an amusing attitude.

“That was a very poor introduction, ma’am. Come on, you can do better than this. Tell me more about him.” he teases, making you sigh loudly.

“Minho is five years older than me. He’s working as a police officer. We’ve been together for almost a year. Are you happy now?” you grumble.

Jungkook smirks. “Very much.”  

“He doesn’t sleep over here so I don’t have any of his clothes you can change into,” you add awkwardly.  

He furrows his eyebrows. What are you talking about now?  

You shift on your feet, turning to face him properly and now he realises why did you say it. The clothes you have on are actually your pyjamas. Right, it’s almost two. You’re probably sleepy after your night shift and he’s keeping you up. And you’re kindly reminding him it’s time for him to rest as well.

“It’s okay, I can sleep naked.” Jungkook says. Your eyes widen almost comically at that. “Relax, love. I’ll stay with my boxers on. Unless you want to see my without them.” He raises a single brow in question.

You grimace. “Jesus, Jungkook, you’re still drunk. Go take a shower. You can use the blue toothbrush and white towel.” You slump down on your bed  and he leaves the room without another word.

Jungkook has been in many bathrooms in his life but yours can only be describe as microscopic.

He feels almost claustrophobic when he’s standing underneath your shower. The water is splashing on everything and he panicks for a moment if you will be angry at him for the mess but then he realises it’s practically impossible to keep everything around dry when he’s showering without any curtain or glass door around him.

He uses your shampoo and body wash, cleaning himself as fast as possible. They smell nice, flowery and exotic and somehow like you. Quick shower definitely has drained him from most alcohol he has in his system. He can now think through the situation he’s in with clear mind.  

After drying himself up and putting on his boxers, he stands in front your sink. He wipes off the moist on the small mirror, just to be met with his blank, tired eyes staring back at him. He really should use some good sleep. He uses the blue toothbrush just like you told him to and in the middle of the second round of brushing, he chuckles to himself at the surrealism of this whole situation.

He’s met you for the first time in three years after not speaking to you at all. You don’t own him anything and here he is, already having enormous, unpayable debt because you saved his life from the embarrassment and possible scandal.  

You were always like this, ready to put on your superhero cape and save him. Just like years ago when you stood up from your seat in math class and told the teacher you didn’t feel well right before she was about to check his homework, or rather the lack of it which was going to result in another low grade on his account. You, scaring off his fifth grade bullies. You, paring up with him for every school project and doing most of the work selflessly and without a word of complaint because you’ve always liked working alone.  

Jungkook spits the rest of the toothpaste and water mixed together to the sink and splashes his face. He really doesn’t know why he deserves you.  

The question is simple. He doesn’t. Not after being a total prick to you. But in some strange way, you took him back again, like nothing ever happened.  

When he exits the bathroom, he sees you kneeling on the floor and putting a bunch of pillows on the carpet that lies next to your bed.  

Jungkook frowns. “What are you doing?”  

You look up at him. Your eyes widen visibly when they land on his exposed chest but you quickly compose yourself. “What does it look like? I’m setting up a bed for you.” you reply, patting the pillows, still refusing to meet his stare.

“Am I not going to sleep with you on the bed? We slept together before and it wasn’t a problem then,” he says with furrowed brows.

“Are you kidding? My bed is for one person only! And you’re… you’re–“  

“I’m what?”  

“You’re big! Bigger than you used to be.” you breathe out, standing up from your kneeling position and sitting on the bed instead. There’s a tingle of barely noticeable rednees on the apples of your cheeks and he fights an urge to tickle your sides just to see you trying not to break into laughter so he could get away with your stubbornness.

“Okay, Miss Grumpy,” he grumbles, kneeling on his make-shift bed. Upon hearing that, you freeze on your spot and then he realises what he has just done.  

He called you the old nickname he’s made for you. He hasn’t done that in years.

You bite your lip, acting as if it hasn’t affected you even the slightest. Clearing your throat, you reach for the lamp on your bedside table and switch it off.  

Twenty minutes after that, Jungkook finds himself lying on his back in complete silence and staring at the ceiling. You have a few fluorescent stars attached to it, the ones that shine when it’s dark. You had probably ten dozens of them in your old room in Busan, too. A whole constellation.

Jungkook won’t lie, it is a little uncomfortable to sleep on the floor. He tells himself he’s fine with that, though. It’s what he deserves for being an absolute asshole to you. The sleep will come eventually.  

Another minutes pass and he’s still very much awake. Then, Jungkook thinks ‘fuck it’ and decides to shoot his shot.  

“___?”

You hum sleepily in response after a short while. “Yeah?”  

“I cannot sleep.”  

“Not my fault.”  

He bites his lip. “Can I sleep with you?”  

“Jungkook…”  

“Pretty please?”  

There’s a long pause before you say, “Fine.”  

He hears you shifting on the mattress, making a room for him. The bed creaks under his weight when he places himself right next you, back to your back. He wonders if he isn’t squishing you to the wall right now.  

“Are you okay?” he asks, just to be sure.

Your comforter ruffles when you try to move but there’s no use for it, not when he’s practically pressed flush to you. “Yeah. I’m good. You’re just really hot.”

“Thanks, love. No need to flutter me like that.” Jungkook murmurs, a hint of smug smile on his lips you cannot see.

“I was taking about four freaking body temperature!”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend you didn’t mean it.”  

“Go to sleep, Jungkook.”  

There’s mute between you for a while. Nothing but deep exhales and inhales and occasional sounds of cars or wind coming from outside of your window.  

It’s been really a long time since he’s slept in the same bed with other person. He's not the type to stay over after casual fuck, he’s never done that. But when he lies next to you, he can’t help but longe for someone to just hold him; nothing more, nothing less. He wonders what would you do if he turned around and snuggled into your backside. Would you yell at him? Kick him out?  

But you used to be so close together once. He won’t find out unless he tries.

Carefully, with limited space, he changes his position, mattress protesting under his weight but he rolls to his other side anyway, until he’s facing your back. He feels your body tensing a little when his breath fans over your neck but you don’t say anything, letting him cuddle up to you.  

It feels intimate this way, perhaps even too intimate for both yours and his liking but Jungkook can’t help but relish in your close proximity. When he senses you’ve relaxed a little, he shuts his eyes tightly.  

“___?” he murmurs. It's barely a whisper but you heard him loud and clear.

“Mhm?”  

“I’m sorry for ruining our friendship like that.”  

You’re silent for a moment and he thinks you might have fallen asleep but then, you let out a long sigh that sounds awfully audible in the small space of your bedroom. “You still have time to fix this, Jungkookie.”  

You haven’t called him that in three years. It’s good to hear that again.

He smiles to himself, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You don’t protest. If anything, he feels you breathe out with relief.  

Next morning you wake up feeling like the temperature in your room has risen to fifty degrees. You’re still wrapped tightly in your comforter and facing the wall, which means you haven’t moved even an inch in your sleep. The cause of it being a very much large, male body practically crushing you with its weight.  

You let out a shaky exhale. Jungkook’s front is not only pressed flush to your back but somehow, his muscular leg is thrown over yours, successfully trapping you in.

You wiggle, trying to free yourself from his hold but when you hear his quiet groan, you abruptly stop your movements. And then, you feel it. An apparent hardness poking your backside.  

You can’t help but blush, reminding yourself not to make this situation even more awkward than it already is. It happens sometimes, you tell yourself, it’s completely normal for men to pop a boner when they’re in such close, intimate position with another warm body.

But when you feel Jungkook unconsciously seeking friction and pressing himself even firmer against your bottom, you can’t help but yelp in response, throwing off the material covering your body and elbowing Jungkook's unsuspecting face in process.

“Fuck! What time is it?” he mumbles groggily, narrowing his eyes when they’re met for the first time with the sunlight gradually slipping through your unveiled curtains.  

“Quarter past your dick poking my ass!”  

Jungkook furrows his brows but when his eyes land on his crotch, he smiles sheepishly at you. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just been a really long time since I slept next to someone like that.” His cheeks are flushed in pink and he rubs the back of his head in a bashful manner.

“What about your one night stands then?” you can’t help but ask.

He shrugs in response. “I never stay over.”  

“Oh.” You don’t even know why you’re strangely surprised. Maybe it comes from the fact that you’ve always pegged Jungkook to be the rather romantic type. People change, they say. Or sometimes your assumptions about someone you thought you know like the back of your hand happen to be wrong.  

You clear your throat. “Anyway, get up. It’s time for breakfast.” you say and disappear from his sight but he still hears you fumbling in the kitchen, popping the kettle on.  

He raises from the bed with reluctance, bending to lift the puddle of his clothes he left on the floor last night.  

“Hey, what do you want to–“ you begin but your voice involuntarily trails off, seeing him in rather exposed state now in broad daylight. “–to drink?” you finish almost breathlessly.

You’ve been aware Jungkook's good looking. He’s started attending gym long before you stopped keeping in touch with each other. You just didn’t know he is that ripped. It’s not a surprise that his fans go nuts every time they see even a small glimpse of his muscles.  

You really shouldn’t be staring but it’s too late when you see a sly smirk on his face. “Like what you see, buttercup?” he asks like the cocky bastard you didn’t know he’s capable of being. “I would like a black coffee, please.” he adds.

There’s a roll of your eyes in response to his teasing tone. “Oh, stop with these nicknames.”  

Jungkook grins. “Why? Hyung used to call you that and you blushed every time.”  

“Because I had the biggest crush on your brother when I was eleven, dumbass.” you scoff, shaking your head. You leave him, heading back to the kitchen to finish preparing food.

“I know you had a crush on him,” Jungkook shouts after you, putting on his pants and t-shirt. “I’m just curious why him, not me.”  

“Seriously? You had emo fringe and pimples back then!”  

He laughs, making his way to the kitchen where you’re standing by the counter and mixing something on the frying pan.  

“Hope you don’t mind eating scrambled eggs,” you say, sparing him a quick glance. “It’s probably the only edible thing in my fridge right now beside instant ramen.”  

Jungkook settles himself on the stool by the small, wooden table situated right by the window. This time, the view is a greish wall of another building. He takes the coffe cup from you and adds a generous spoon of sugar. “I don’t mind. It smells really nice.” he answers, calming your concerns. “So, am I not crushable in your eyes?” He takes a sip of his drink, peeking at you curiously.  

You take out the plates from the cabinet and start putting the food you’ve prepared on them. “What kind of word ‘crushable’ even is? Beside, you have millions of fans gushing over you, I’m unnecessary in this equation.” you say, placing the plate in front of him.

“But you aren’t saying no,” he counters.  

“Jungkook.”  

“I know, I know,” he chuckles. “I’m just teasing you.”  

You look at him then, observing thoroughly for the first time since you saw him last night. He’s indeed handsome, there’s not a hint of doubt about that. His features are more mature, the baby fat on his cheeks gone and replaced with chiseled jawline. But if there’s one thing which stays the same, it’s his eyes. Still gleaming with misheviousness when he laughs and holding starry skies in them when he’s astounded by something.  

“Didn’t know you were such a great cook, ___,” Jungkook’s voice brings you back to the reality. He sends you thumbs up with his mouth full and you can’t help but crack a smile at his goofiness. Old habits die hard, they say. “Aren’t you eating?” he asks, staring at you with wide eyes.

You glance at your untouched eggs and opt for taking a sip of coffee instead. “I’m not that hungry.” you respond. He shrugs his shoulders at that, taking a bite of the toast.  

You nip the inside of your cheek, hesitating, before asking him a question that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue since last night. “What are you going to tell the rest of the guys when you come home?”  

Jungkook's expression immadietly shifts after registering your question. “The truth.” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world.  

You don’t even try to hide your puzzlement, repeting after him, “The truth?” in bewildered tone.

“They aren’t going to buy that anyway. But believe me, it’s better if I came back in the middle of the night completely wasted.”  

Something’s telling you not to dread that conversation longer so you don’t press him about it any further, instead focusing on changing a topic. “Do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?”  

He nods, swallowing. “We have a dance practice later.”  

You raise your eyebrows. “New comeback?” you smile teasingly and he sends you a wink.

“That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”  

“Oh, come on. You know I can keep my mouth shut,” you pout.  

He rolls his eyes at first but then a small smile appears on his lips. “I know you can. You’ve been covering for me in school all the time.” he murmurs. At that, something warm spreads in your chest. “Come on, buttercup, I’m not spilling anything until you start eating.” he warns, pointing at your untouched food.

When you grin at him and he reciprocates the gesture, it feels like you’ve turned back the time.

“And... five, six, seven, eight!”  

Jungkook doesn’t know how many times he has repeated the same sequence of movements but he feels like passing out anytime soon. He asked Hoseok to help him practice but it looks like his older friend is in rather bad mood today and he seems to lose patience even quicker.  

“...and spin–no! Jungkook, you’re not supposed to do it like that.” Hoseok sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

Jungkook grimaces, collapsing on the floor. “Give me a few moments, hyung. I’ll do better, I promise.” he mutters.  

Hoseok crunches down next to him for a moment, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly. “You did good, Kook-ah. We can call it quits for today.” he says.  

Jungkook doesn’t even have strength to answer him verbally. Instead, he shuts his eyes tightly and nods. He hears Hoseok walking away and talking in the distance with Namjoon about something.  

“Are you okay?”  

Jungkook cracks an eye open. It’s Jimin this time. He kneels on the floor, observing him with worried look on his face.

“Yeah. Just need a minute to catch a breath.” Jungkook responds.

Jimin nods but Jungkook knows him well enough to sense that there’s another question at the tip of his friend's tongue. And he’s not wrong.

“Jungkook, you know you should stop doing that.”  

Jungkook sits up, turning his head in Jimin's direction, eyes narrowed into slits. “What, hyung?” he asks, not hiding is irritation. He’s heard it too many times not to feel it already blubbering inside his chest.  

“You know exactly what I mean. Partying, getting drunk, sleeping around like a–“ Jimin stops himself in time, seeing Jungkook's expression.

“Like who?” Jungkook scowls. “Come on, hyung, end the sentence.”  

Jimin shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just worried about you. We all are.” He puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder and squeezes.  

“No need to. Besides, you’re the last one to lecture me about smart life choices.” Jungkook spats harshly and gets up, leaving Jimin staring at his disappearing figure with defeated expression.

Back in the confines of his room, Jungkook finds himself lying on his bed again. At some point, his thoughts wander back to you. He had to leave your flat quicker than he wanted because of the scheduled practice (and the hint of guilt he felt for his hyungs).  

He wonders if you can still be friends together, just like the old times. He needs it. Needs you by his side. He didn’t even know he’s been craving it unconsciously. But then he realises he didn’t even ask for your phone number. Maybe you still have the same one?  

He reaches for his phone and unlocks it, searching through his contacts. He has you saved under ‘Miss Grumpy'. It makes him smile involuntarily. His thumbs hover over the screen before he starts typing.

[21:08pm] me:  

hi, it’s me Jungkook. I don’t know if that’s still your number but I decided to give it a try. I wanted to say thank you once again for yesterday. and today’s breakfast. 

Few minutes later, his phone buzzes.

[21:11pm] Miss Grumpy:  

you’re welcome, buttercup  

Seven days later, Jungkook is at Bongcheon Underground Station again. This time, it’s not his recklessness and cynicism that led him here. He climbs up the stairs and walk into the half-asleep streets with purpose in his mind.  

He remembers exactly the path to the club you’re working in. Now he can only hope you have a shift tonight as well. 

You haven’t talked a whole week. He felt too insecure and scared to call or text you. What if you don’t want him to keep in touch? What if your last meeting and sleepover at your flat was just a favor for old times’ sake?  

That’s why he needs to see you in person. He thought about visiting you in your flat but his intoxicated brain betrayed him and he couldn’t recall your address even if he tried and he did, sitting in front of his laptop and wandering through the streets on Google maps.  

When he enters the club he’s met with the familiar buzz of electronic music and the smell of sweat mixed with nicotine. It looks like it’s his lucky day though, because here you are, talking with a client behind the bar.  

Jungkook can’t help but smile to himself. He observes you for a while from afar, watching you listening to someone’s tipsy rambling with a polite, yet forced sympathy. He decides to save you from the uncomfortable situation, marching to the bar and sitting on one of the stools.  

He sighs to himself, remembering the pieces and bits from his memory of the last time he was there, making a total fool of himself. If it wasn’t for you, his foot would never step here ever again.

You excuse yourself and leave the drunk man, just to be met with Jungkook's smiling eyes. Somehow, his brain short circuits and he sends you a wink.

You roll your eyes, approaching him. “What can I get you?” you ask. “Although after last time I suggest a glass of water.”  

He chuckles, pulling his face mask down. “When do you finish?”  

Sparing a glance at the watch you have on your wrist, you answer, “In forty minutes.”  

“A beer it is, then.”  

You hesitate, reaching for the glass. “And you’re just going to sit here the whole time, waiting for me?” you ponder with a surprised expression, just like you’d never thought he could do something like that.  

Jungkook only grins in response.  

For the next half an hour he watches you work; serving drinks to clients, polishing glasses, occasionally giving a love advices to some teary-eyed girls in a short, black dresses. Just when he’s chugging the last sip of his beer, you come up to him.  

“I’m done for tonight. You can wait for me outside.” you say.

When his in front of the bar, he pulls out his cigarettes and lights up one to pass the time. He wouldn’t call himself addicted. He smokes rather sporadically, mostly when he’s out getting wasted or when he’s stressed about something. Or just like now, when circumstances are conducive.  

Few minutes later you appear by his side. He takes one last drag and whirls to face you. “So you really quit, huh?” he asks, making you nod curtly. “And you don’t smoke even when you’re on a party?” He's almost astonished.  

“Nope, even then.” you confirm, hearing him mutter a ‘Wow’ under his breath. “Well? What now?” You cross yours arms over chest, eyebrows lifted in question.

He tosses the cigarette to the ground and tramples it with his foot. “I thought we could go to your flat, eat late night ramen and just talk.”  

“So we're hanging out now?” There’s a slight sarcastic lilt to your voice and he worries for a moment you are going to tell him to fuck off but then, your features soften. “It sounds nice but I know a spot not far away from here when we can sit and talk. If that’s okay with you.” you say.

“Lead the way, then.”

You didn’t lie when you said the place you were taking him wasn’t far away. What you didn’t tell him though, was that getting there meant climbing up the fire escape all the way to the rooftop of a run-down tenement house.  

“Care to explain me how do you know about this place?” Jungkook asks once he’s seated comfortably on an old, emerald sofa next to you. It’s a mystery to him how this peace of furniture was brought here but nevertheless, it was someone's good idea.

You were right. It is nice here. You have a full view to the city from up there and he’s sure it would be easy to see the green hills in daylight or watch how the sky burns during sunsets.

“Minho took me there first,” you explain, answering his question. “His police department is few blocks from here. One day they got a call from some angry, old lady, saying that someone was playing music very loudly nearby. When they arrived, they found out a group of teenagers had organized a party on top of the rooftop.”

Jungkook hums. “He’s quite romantic,” Upon seeing your clueless expression he adds, ‘’Your boyfriend, I mean.”  

“Ah, yeah,” You crack a smile, although he thinks it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “He is. Sometimes.”  

He decides not to press you about it any further.  

He leans his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment and inhaling the chilly, pre-spring air. Then, he feels you nudging his side. “So, what do you want to talk about?” you ask, staring at him in anticipation. Jungkook lets out a groan in response and runs his hand down his face. You chuckle, “Hey, we didn’t come here to sit in silence. Entertain me a little, would you.”  

He sighs your name. You aren’t prone to giving up easily, he knows it. You’re probably the most stubborn person he’s had a chance to encounter and that is also one of the main reasons he came up with the ‘Miss Grumpy’ nickname when you were in fifth grade.

“I’m pretty sure the golden maknae of BTS has more interesting life than me,” you snicker and he knows it was meant to sound playful coming from you, but he feels something heavy in his chest hearing your remark.  

He musters up a small smile. “You would actually be surprised if I told you that my life isn’t as exciting as it may look.”  

It hasn’t missed your eye how tired Jungkook seems. No matter how much he tries, he can’t possibly hide fully the bangs underneath his eyes or the greish complexion of his skin. It’s weird seeing him in person like this; without stage make-up and plastered smile reserved for the fans. Seeing him so humane.

For the last three years, you only watched him on your phone's screen. But it wasn’t really him. Your Jungkook is sitting right next to you and silently observing the city during the night. Your Jungkook smoked cigarettes with you by the beach in Busan and got you an autograph from one of your favourite artists he had met personally at the backstage after some award ceremony.

Your Jungkook would never got himself drunk to the point of unconsciousness, risking his reputation. But again, you might only think you know him.

“Let’s talk about you instead,” Jungkook says suddenly, pulling you out from your thoughts. “What do you do beside working in that club?”  

You sigh. “You know I don’t like talking about myself either,”  

“I know, but we haven’t seen each other for so long. I need to catch up with you.” 

You fight an urge to scoff, “And whose fault is that?” but you’re not in the mood to argue. Nor is Jungkook, as you suppose. “I’m studying journalism. Bartending is my part-time job. I had to start working because I couldn’t afford to pay for rent just from my poor scholarship. Prices have increased so if I wanted to stay in Seoul, I needed to work, whether I wanted or not.”  

Jungkook knows there’s no words that could somehow lessen your struggles. It’s been a long time since he worried about money. Now, he can have everything he’s ever wanted yet something’s always missing. And he still hasn’t discovered how to fill that void.  

“You’re still writing?” he asks instead, referring to your hobby you’ve picked up when you were kids.  

“Yes, I am. That’s actually what most journalists do, Jungkook. We write.”  

He laughs boyishly, high-pitched and you recall that pleasant sound from the back of your memory. He used to be embarrassed of it when he was younger and often hid his mouth behind his hand to muffle it. You’re glad he doesn’t do that anymore.  

“What’s so funny in that?” You sound slightly irritated, although you’re trying hard to stop yourself from smiling too. It just comes naturally when you’re around him.

He takes a deep breath and then says, “Nothing. I’m just thinking,”  

You raise your eyebrow. “Thinking? About what?”  

“Remember how you’ve always dreamt about becoming a writer when we were teenagers?”  

You nod. That’s still very much your goal. Albeit you’re aware it might as well not come true, sadly. “I do. And what about it?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he places his arms behind his head and leans back on the couch with a coy smile. “Maybe you will write my biography one day.” he says after a moment.  

“Only if you pay me shit tons of money for that.”

“Agreed.”  

You find yourself coping his position and slumping on the couch as well. His eyes are closed, and you watch him from the corner of your eye. Despite the dim lighting, he seems glowing in the darkness like a single, silver spot on the noir sky.

“I think I know how would it be called.” you say suddenly.

“Hmm?”  

“Your biography. I came up with the title.” you clarify.

“What is it then?” Jungkook hums with his eyes still closed.

You take a moment to answer, looking up at the blackboard night sky above you. Smiling to yourself, you reply. “I would call it ‘Lost star’.”  

His brows furrow slightly. “Why is that?”  

“That’s my secret for now.”  

“I don’t know. I think this song needs something more.”  

“It’s fine for me, Namjoon-ah. The bridge is great, stop worrying so much. We still have a lot of time before the deadline.”  

“Thanks, hyung. Jungkookie, have you spoke with Hyowon-hyung about your solo?”  

“Kook-ah? We’re talking to you.”  

“Jeon Jungkook!”  

Jungkook looks up from his phone at the sound of Seokjin's harsh voice. He sends his older friend a clueless look. “Hmm?”  

Namjoon sighs. “I asked you a question, Jungkook.”  

Jungkook puts away his phone. “I’m sorry, hyung. I wasn’t listening. Can you repeat it?”  

“Of course you weren’t, you’ve been staring at your phone for the past twenty minutes instead of paying attention to us.” Seokjin scoffs, digging his chopsticks in the kimchi he's eating.  

It’s a little past seven and they are having late dinner at their dorm after a whole day of schedule. Jungkook doesn’t even know what type of commercial they were recording. He just kept reading everything from the monitor behind the camera as he always does, trying to make it seem as unnoticeable as possible.

Truth to be told, Seokjin's right. He hasn’t been paying attention to their conversation, although he definitely should have. Telling them he was texting you this whole time is a pathetic and dumb excuse, he knows that. He doesn’t want them to ask him questions about you. Not yet.

“I asked if you talked to Hyowon-hyung.” Namjoon repeats after a moment.  

A hint of realization crosses Jungkook's face at that. “Yeah, I did. He played me the first draft and told me to work on the lyrics.” he says, reaching for his chopsticks.

Namjoon nods, humming. “Do you want me to help you with that?”  

Jungkook shrugs. “No, you don’t have to. I’m just waiting for the inspiration to kick in.”  

And he hopes it’s going to enlighten him soon. He has a few songs written on his own but creating music for an album it’s different. The standards are higher, expectations bigger. Restricted time always makes him jittery, too.

Taking a mouthful of his bibimpap, a smile flashes across his face. He glances if anyone is looking at him now but his friends are busy talking about something regarding the next release. He reaches for his phone and writes a message to you.  

[7:16pm] me:

do you remember the time when you cooked a bibimpap for my goodbye dinner at home?

Not even a minute later, he receives a response from you.  

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:  

yeah I do  

why are you asking me this tho

[7:17pm] me:  

I’m eating it know and it reminded me of that day

sorry but god, it was awful

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:  

excuse me????

He remembers probably every second of that day. His mother’s tears, your extremely undercooked meat and his father’s affectionate hug.  

Smiling to himself, he taps another sentences.

[7:18pm] me:  

I couldn’t tell you that. you looked so proud of yourself  

I just ate everything like it was the most delicious course on this planet

best acting of my life  

[7:19pm] Miss Grumpy:

you asshole

i poured my heart into this

you’re right, that was your best acting. definitely better than war of hormone playboy jungkook  

He rolls his eyes. The amount of times you joked about this particular moment of his career is neverending.

[7:19pm] me:  

can you please stop  

[7:20pm] Miss Grumpy:

fuck off. of course I won’t  

how was it?  

ah I know.

I’m a bad boy so I like bad girls

showstopping. truly

He tries to muffle his laughter but there’s no use for that. He snickers under his breath, hoping no one have noticed but he was oh, so wrong. Because as soon as he looks up from the phone screen, all eyes are on him.  

Namjoon clears his throat. “You’re not eight anymore, Jungkook, so I won’t lecture you like a father but please, don’t use your phone while we’re eating.”  

“Who are you texting this passionately anyway? You never put anything before food.” Hoseok adds, frowning.

“My hyung.” Jungkook answers casually.  

In the corner of his eye he sees Taehyung leaning to whisper something in Jimin's ear and they both giggle quietly. Jungkook sends them a glare.

They stop but few seconds later, Taehyung breaks into his signature boxy smile.

“What is this, Taehyung?” Namjoon asks, frowning.

“It looks like our Jungkookie is lying.”  

Jungkook grips the edge of the table tightly. He searches for Jimin's eyes but he looks away quickly, as though almost guilty.  

At the other end of the table, Yoongi puts away his chopsticks and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Care to elaborate on that, Taehyung-ah?”  

“He isn’t texting his brother. I think Jungkookie might be in love,” he sing-songs, giggling to himself.  

Jungkook’s first instinct is to smack his friend's in the head. And so does he. “What the fuck, Tae?” he snaps.

“Language, kid!” Seokjin says automatically.

“I'm twenty-two!”  

“And I’m twenty seven, so shut your mouth and listen to your elders. What is Taehyung speaking about?”  

Jungkook shakes his head. “I have no idea.”  

“Oh, stop bullshitting us. I looked at your phone screen when it was lying on the table. You don’t call your hyung ‘Miss Grumpy'.” Taehyung says, his fingers doing the quotation mark in the air.

“You’re not supposed to look at my phone! It’s called privacy!” Jungkook exclaims, however it’s pointless. Everyone now is focused on him and you.

“Can someone tell who the fuck is ‘Miss Grumpy’?” Seokjin asks, looking around the table.  

Jungkook runs his hand through his hair in a nervous manner. He screwed up, and now they won’t let him breathe for at least five more days. “Her name is actually ___. She’s my childhood friend from Busan.”  

He hears Taehyung chuckling next to him. “Oh, come on. You can tell us you’re sexting her. We won’t judge.”  

“I’m not!”

“Shut the fuck up, all of you!” Yoongi says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t we for once eat in peace? Jungkook, please, kindly explain us who this girl you’re texting with is.”  

Jungkook pursues his lips. “I told you. She’s just my old friend. Why would I lie to you?”  

Seeing their uneasy expressions, he realises he said the wrong thing. He has lied to them before about many things. It isn’t anything shocking that they doubt his words now. They have all rights to do it.

Namjoon is the first one to break the uncomfortable silence. “Jungkook, you know the rules. We can't freely date like we would like to. I suggest you should end things with this girl, whatever you're both doing, before it escalates into something more serious. Before you hurt her and yourself in the process.” he says.

Hoseok nods at his friend’s words. “Namjoon is right, Jungkookie. Serious relationships are just going to make everything more complicated.”  

Jungkook grits his teeth. “We aren’t dating.” he spats.

“Sleeping together also isn’t a good idea.”  

“We aren’t having sex,” Jungkook's eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you tell the same thing to Yoongi-hyung when he was seeing that blonde girl? He sneaked her into his room one day and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t just playing her his music.” he scowls, shaking his head.

“Hyung's older than you. Besides, he ended things with her some time ago.” Namjoon counters.

“It’s true, Jungkook-ah. Namjoon is right. No matter what you’re doing with her, you should always be careful.” Yoongi adds.  

Something breaks in Jungkook at that. All of the pent-up frustration seems to leave his body at once. “You know what? Fuck off, all of you. I’m not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions and they are none of your fucking business.” He stands up from the table abruptly.  

“Jungkook, wait. Let’s talk without fighting now,” Namjoon pleads but he isn’t listening to him anymore.  

Jimin, who was silent this whole time, puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder. “Jungkookie–” he starts but his immadietly cut off by Jungkook's harsh tone.

“Stop calling me that!” Jungkook snaps and walks away, slamming the door to his room behind himself.

There’s a knock to his door an hour after.  

This pattern feels familiar. He messes something up, they give him some space to think and reflect about it on his own and then, it’s time to sit together and discuss it openly almost like a peace treaty. Jungkook says sorry, promises he will be a better person and everyone moves on.

He doesn’t bother getting up until he hears a voice behind the door speak up. “It's Yoongi-hyung. I’m not here to force you to apologize. I just want to talk.”  

Jungkook's brows furrow. He stares at the door, imagining Yoongi standing behind it with his hands in pockets and eyes glued to the ceiling. He debates whether he should open the door and let him in or keep sulking just a little more until the atmosphere will loosen up on its own.

Somehow, his thoughts wander to you. You would probably tell him that communication is the key to solving problems, or something along the lines. That he can’t shut himself from the world because he feels like no one really gets him. You would also call him childish but he doesn’t dwell on that more.

“Jungkook-ah? Please, open the door. I promise I won’t patronize you.”  

He exhales loudly and gets up from the bed. If there’s one person in this house whose words he can trust wholeheartedly, it’s Yoongi. He twists the handle and walks back to his bed.  

The door clicks shut a few moments later, mattress dipping where Yoongi makes a room for himself next to him, clearing his throat.  “Listen,” he begins but Jungkook cuts him off with a scoff.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t give me patronizing ted talks.”  

“Yeah, I did. But I won’t stare at the wall in silence either,” Yoongi says. Few deep breaths later, he continues. “Jihye was a nothing but a good friend to me with whom I had sex sometimes, no strings attached. Until one day I realised our relationship stopped being solemnly based only on physical attraction. That’s why I decided to end things with her.”  

“Did you fall in love with her?” Jungkook asks.  

Yoongi shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. But I could. And that’s what scared me the most.”  

“Why?”  

In the corner of his eye, Jungkook sees him smiling sadly. “It's simple. Because being together would only lead us to heartbreak. I cared about her too much to make her hurt like that due to my selfishness.” he says. “This is the same reason why Jimin didn’t continue his relationship with our make-up noona even after she left the company. And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t get any hard feelings involved with that friend of yours.”  

Jungkook pursues his lips. He understands Yoongi's concerns but his situation is different. Jimin was in love with that woman. He was ready to buy an apartment for them and move out from the dorm. If someone from the company hadn’t found out about their secret relationship, he would have still been sneaking around with her.

Jungkook though, doesn’t have any feelings for you. He’s gone past his silly crush when you were younger a long time ago. Besides, you have a boyfriend and he doesn’t chase after taken women. At least not intentionally.

“She’s just a friend, hyung.” he says finally but it sounds more like he tries to convince himself, not Yoongi.

Yoongi pats him on the shoulder. “I know. Just be careful, okay?” And with that, he leaves Jungkook's room.

Jungkook knew it was a bad idea as soon as he stepped into the club and loud, thumping music filled his ears.

He knew it when he ordered a round of shots and gulped them down one after another. When he found himself in the middle of the crowd of sweaty bodies, head buzzing and arms around a nameless brunette, his tongue between her lips.

And he knows it right now, when he’s sitting in a booth, her ass placed directly over his crotch where he’s already sporting a hard-on. The girl (Eunbi? Or maybe it’s Eunji? He hasn't registered when she shouted it to his ear because he was too busy staring down at her cleavage) grinds herself with eagerness against him and he lets out a groan, leaning to plant kisses on the side of her neck. And in that exact moment, when his chapped lips meet the porcelain skin of her throat, he locks eyes with you.  

(And he’s once again reminded how stupid it was to go to the club where you work.)

After his conversation with Yoongi he felt like he needed to prove something to himself. That he’s not the one to fall in love impulsively, that he can fuck and not get feelings involved. He could have gotten himself drunk in in any other place yet here he is, a random girl straddling him while he blinks his bloodshot eyes at you.

Your gaze trails down from his face to his palms splayed on brunette’s bottom and you scoff to yourself, averting your attention somewhere else. If he’s disappointed, he hides it pretty well, sucking yet another purplish mark on the girl's neck she accepts with another roll of her hips.

Whimpering into his ear, she moves herself faster against his hardness but he doesn’t pay mind to her anymore, not when he catches you looking at him again in the corner of his eye.  

The girl leans to kiss him and he obliges, tongue darting to lick into her mouth but his eyes remain trained on you the whole time. You see him slipping his fingers underneath her skirt and smirking when he feels the evidence of her lust between her thighs. He wants you to watch him making her come undone on his lap, he craves to relish in the sick thrill of having you witnessing what he’s capable of doing. But when he’s about to pull the girl's lingerie to the side, you’re turning away and disappearing from his sight.  

His fingers stay pressed to the flesh of brunette's thighs, unmoving, until she purrs into into his ear. “Oppa, please. Want you so bad.”

Jungkook tsks to himself, rolling his eyes at her saccharine sweet, high-pitched voice. “Not here.” he mutters.  

Minutes later he’s in the club's bathroom, his head thrown back and grunts escaping his lips. He looks down at the mop of her hair as she swallows around his cock, bringing him closer to the release. She peeks at him from between her eyelashes, teary-eyed and already fucked-out.  

He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls hard, until she moans around him. “That’s it, baby. Gonna fuck your mouth now.” He pushes himself deeper, feeling her choke. She welcomes the pain without complaint, tears flowing down her cheeks and palms pressed obediently on his thighs. Jungkook clenches his jaw, focusing on his pleasure until he groans lowly and comes down her throat.  

He pulls away from her mouth, tugging himself back into his pants. She stands up from her kneeling position on wobbly legs and wraps her arms around his neck. “What about me, oppa?” she giggles, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Won’t you fuck me now?”  

He sighs, staring down at her. There are smudges of mascara underneath her eyes, her cheeks are wet with tears and her lipstick is smeared. He reaches with his thumb to wipe it, and she leans into his touch.  

He feels guilty telling her to be quiet and hiking her skirt up. He feels it when she climaxes around his fingers with a cry of his name on her lips. He feels it too even stronger, cleaning her up and leaving to fix her make-up in front of the blurry mirror, but that’s all he can do. That’s everything he can provide.  

Later that night, when he's finally in his own bed, your face flashes behind his eyelids. He's sick of himself, of his actions, that he let his weaknesses got best of him again.  

Before he could even think of it, he types a message to you.  

[3:45am] me:  

I’m sorry. I was drunk and couldn’t think straight  

Few bits of silence later, his phone buzzes.  

[3:47am] Miss Grumpy:  

I know you were  

Did you at least thank her?  

He scoffs to himself, thinking about proper words to answer you but strangely, he recalls your wide eyes transfixed on him and the way you held his challenging gaze when his lips kissed another woman. He’s never seen you looking at him like that before. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t affect you even the slightest.

[3:48am] me:  

don’t worry. she had a good time  

[3:48am] Miss Grumpy:  

goodnight, jungkook  

[3:49am] me:  

sleep tight, ___.

There’s something apprehensive in the perpetual ticking of the clock when it's silent in the room. It almost feels like the sound keeps getting louder and louder as the time passes by, as if it’s expecting a storm to occur and shatter the calm.

“___?”  

You’re brought back to the reality from your thoughts by Minho's voice. He has a questioning look on his face, watching you with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I was lost in my thoughts for a moment.”  

“I could see that,” Minho reaches for his tea cup and takes a sip. “Is everything alright?” he asks, but you shake your head with a smile.

“Just university stuff.” you say vaguely and he doesn’t press you about it any further, nodding in understanding.  

Minho left his work earlier today, coming straight to your flat. It’s Wednesday and Wednesdays are dedicated to spending your time together on dates. Today, you’re going to the cinema and to your favourite sushi bar. For the second time this month.

“I’m going to use the bathroom now and then we can head out, okay?”  

You answer him with a nod. Standing up, you gather your cups and place them into the sink but right when you’re about to wash them, you hear Minho's phone buzz with single notification.  

You bite your lip. You know you shouldn’t look but you push it to the back of your head for now, sparing a quick glance at his lockscreen.

Sooyoung: when you will be free next time?  

You frown. You’ve never heard him taking about any woman from his work with a name like this. The message sounds ambiguous but it doesn’t have to mean anything to worry about at the same time. You just have to ask to be sure. That’s what couples do, right? They communicate.

Taking a deep breath, you wait for Minho until he comes back from the bathroom.  

“Are you ready to–”

“Who’s Sooyoung?” you cut him off before you’ll lose your courage and let the anxious thoughts consume you without asking him first.

He furrows his brows but then his eyes land on the phone lying on the table. He pursues his lips. “You’ve been snooping through my phone?”  

“I didn’t have to snoop. I just looked at the screen when you got a notification.” you say as calmly as possible, trying to hide your nerves. “I just thought it’s a little weird that some other woman is asking you when you will be free next time.”  

Minho's eyes narrow. “What are you insinuating?” he asks.  

“I’m not insinuating anything. Just tell me who she is, it’s simple.”  

He looks uneasy, tongueing the inside of his cheek but nevertheless, he’s still as composed as ever, gauging you with tentative expression. “Sooyoung is my friend from work. She’s a new recruit and we go to the shooting range to practice once a week,” he explains. “And before you will ask: we aren’t there all alone. Kihyun accompanies us. So you don’t have to worry about anything. Can we go now, honey?” 

You lower your eyes to the ground, nodding. When you try to move past him, Minho catches your wrist. “Do you have anything more to add?” His voice is stern and you gulp.  

“I'm sorry.” you almost whisper.  

“It’s okay. Just don’t jump into conclusions next time, okay?” he says, hand still wrapped tightly around your hand.  

“Okay.” you repeat and he releases you.  

A smile appears on his face after that, and he cocks his head at you. “Let's go.”  

You exhale a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding and follow him.

There are some things in our lives that we cannot predict.  

Like the heavy traffic on the way to work because of the car crash happening somewhere in the city or meeting your ex you’d rather forget about in a shopping mall months after break up.  And when they do happen, we can only confront what the faith has in store for us, no matter how much we resist.

You certainly couldn’t predict that after sending a ‘god I want to get drunk so bad’ message to Jungkook he would actually appear hours later on your doorstep with grocery bags in one hand and pizza box in another, grinning broadly when he saw your genuinely surprised expression.

That’s when the surrealism kicks in, when you’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, one empty bottle of suju on your account and the second almost drained to the half. When Jungkook is right by your side, tomato sauce on his chin you wipe out for him with a grimace, talking about some dumpling incident that caused a huge fight among his friends.

But no matter how much you try, how much alcohol you pour into your system, you’re unable to fully get rid of the anxious thoughts sitting at the back of your head.

It’s been a while since your argument with Minho and even though you want to believe him, the creeping feeling that something’s off won’t leave you. It’s easy to say to always trust your intuition, but what if it prompts you scenarios you wouldn’t like to become real?  

Jungkook must have sensed that something doesn’t feel right because he stops his rambling mid-sentence, clearing his throat. “Are you even listening to me now, buttercup?” he asks.  

You snap out of your thoughts at that, mustering an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was but–”

“But you zoned out for a moment,” he finishes. “It’s okay. I know you since we were kids, I can tell when there's something bothering you. It’s all in your eyes.” he says, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“What’s in my eyes?”  

“They look sad.”  

You shy away from his piercing stare, looking at your lap instead. You’ve always proud yourself that you can read people like an open book. That’s why you can so easily hide your true emotions at bay before the whole world. But if there’s only one person who is capable of seeing through you, it’s Jungkook.  

You can open up to him, you remind yourself. You’re safe, he’s been your friend for such a long time, he won’t hurt you.  

You take a deep breath and say, “Minho and I have some trouble. I mean, it’s nothing serious but he’s been acting weird lately and few days ago we got into a fight, so yeah. I’m just... a little stressed, that’s all.”  

“Should I kick his ass?” he suggests and knowing him, he might as well be serious so you brush it of with a chuckle.

“Maybe not yet.”  

You reach for the empty pizza box between you, putting it to the side. You debate taking another shot of soju but eventually you refuse, placing the bottle next to the carton. You’ve had enough alcohol for tonight anyway.  

“Are you happy with him, ___?” Jungkook asks suddenly, and you feel like all the air in the room has been sucked off.  

You turn to face him, heart rickocheting faster in your ribcage. If you’re truly shocked he’s had an audacity to ask this, you hide it pretty well. Something in your head is telling you that the best defence is attack, so you aim.  

“Are you happy?”  

Your question stirs something in him. You don’t know what you expected but you could never imagine him actually catching the bait and answering you with honesty. Yet he does.

“You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question a lot lately,” he says, smiling lopsidedly. “There are days when I’m the happiest person on this planet, when I feel like I can do everything. But sometimes, when I step down the stage and lights go out, it just gets harder.” There’s a slight crack to his voice at the end and when you look him in the eyes, they’re glassy. “If I knew it could be so lonely, I wouldn’t have signed up for this. Ever.”

Some things in life we are able to predict. We know the road leading to success and accomplishment might be bumpy, yet we cannot truly be prepared for the outcome of all the difficulties we come across along the way. Jungkook was aware of the consequences his popularity may cause in the future, but he simply didn’t think it could be so overwhelming.  

You scoot closer to him, your hand finding his amid your bodies. He looks down and intertwines his fingers with yours with a hint of smile in the corner of his lips. “You have all rights in the world to feel the way you do, Jungkook, remember that. But you’re not alone in this. I’m always here, okay? I’ve been for the past three years and I’m not going anywhere soon.” you say firmly, closing the distance between you.

He accepts your hug with eagerness, wrapping his arms around your frame with desperation, pulling you closer. It’s been so long since you’ve talked like this, since you’ve comforted each other and shared deepest fears.  

Jungkook buries his face in the crook of your neck, where you feel him breathing out shakily. He rests his palms on your back, tracing soothing patterns over the material of your hoodie and that’s when you realise he wasn’t the only one who needed to be held like this, even just for a moment. It’s exactly what you’ve been missing, the sheer intimacy of a simple hug.

“Sometimes I just wish it was different.” he whispers into your hair and you close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat.  

“Me too.”  

Somehow, it seems like the most honest thing you’ve said.

Even when you pull away, you’re still mere inches from him. You feel his breath on your skin, his hands travelling from your backside to your hips. Jungkook's eyes are focused on your face but there’s no sadness or melancholy in them now. In his deep brown orbs you recognize something akin to longing.  

And maybe the alcohol running in your veins is deceiving you, but when his gaze drops to your lips, you can’t do anything; you’re paralyzed, barely breathing. It’s electrifying, crawling in your skin. His right palm finds the apple of your cheek, thumb stroking your bottom lip until he releases it and tilts your chin. The moment your eyes meet his comes with realization that maybe you were right - you see the yearning in them. But it’s mixed with desire.

The first touch of his lips on yours feels almost exploratory. He kisses you so softly and carefully you might believe it’s his first kiss, but you know this is only a false inkling. Truth to be told, his experience in this area is incomparable to yours. With the shy press of his lips on yours he’s only testing the waters, sensing if you want to push him away. Yet you don’t.  

You succumb to the way his chapped lips move against yours, like they’ve always belonged there. You want to be as close to him as possible, feel the heat radiating of him on you. Nothing else matters beside you and him right now, the reality outside doesn’t exist as long as you’re in the confines of your small bedroom, lips colliding and rational thoughts gone.

When your fingers almost hesitantly thread into the locks at the back of his head, Jungkook deepens the kiss. Your body is moving on your own accord, knees sinking onto the floor on either sides of his thighs until you’re straddling his lap. You taste the desire on his tongue as he runs it through the seam of your lips, seeking entrance you provide.

His hands find purchase on your hips and when he nips on your bottom lip you let out a silent moan, leaning your forehead on his. “What are we doing?” you whisper, breathing heavily down his flushed cheeks and parted mouth. You’re trying to grasp the meaning behind all of this: of your quickened heartbeat, of the evidence of his desire where you groins meet.

“Something we are going to regret later.” It’s the answer Jungkook gives, connecting your mouths once again in a searing kiss.

Everything seems to crush around you. Erupting volcanoes, cascading waterfalls, tsunamis consuming the land. It’s dangerous, Jungkook thinks to himself, kissing you like that, nibbling on your bottom lip and eliciting a moan. But he can’t help but drown in it.

You’ve never felt quite like this; consumed by the flames of forbidden desire, ready to burn into ashes. Jungkook’s palms shift underneath your hoodie and you’re surprised how warm they feel against your skin, caressing your stomach and underside of your breasts. He’s touching you with ardour, like he doesn’t believe you’re in his arms, like you’re going to disappear the second he lets go of you.

You place sloppy kisses on his cheeks, jawline, down his neck, relishing in the way he seems to be affected by your caresses, tightening his grip on your waist with every press of your lips on his skin. He grasps the hem of your hoodie, looking for any sign of discomfort in your eyes but when you nod your head, he doesn’t hesitate to lift it off you, uncovering your bare cleavage.

Biting your lip, a sudden wave of insecurity washes over you but it quickly vanishes as soon as his palms engulf your breasts almost roughly, thumbs brushing your nipples until the peeks harden under his ministrations and you can’t help but gasp. He trails kisses down your throat, teeth grazing your skin almost feather-like and you know what’s that for. He doesn’t want to live a visible mark there.

In one, swift motion, Jungkook puts his hands underneath your thighs and stands up from the floor, lifting you up with ease and placing gently on your bed. He hovers over your half-naked figure, eyeing you with the carnal hunger that makes your chest raise and fall with heavy intakes of breath, core pulsing with want.  

He takes off his shirt and tosses it somewhere on the floor, and now you understand why all these girl are so drown to him. Jungkook's probably the most good looking man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Everything in him is crafted with perfection, from the prominent outline of his jaw, through the column of his throat and collarbones, to the sculpted expanses of his chest and abdomen.  

Your fingerstips are itching to map every ridge and deep of his body but you remain still, anticipating his next move with rapidly beating heart. Dominance and power radiating of him nearly make you squirm underneath his scrutinizing stare. His dark eyes are telling you to obey him, and you give yourself to him without resistance. You’ve never felt this way, not with anyone. Yet here you are, stripped from the innocence and bared to the pleasure.

Jungkook reaches to the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down and leaving you with nothing but your underwear on. He straddles your thighs, his palm pressed flat to your stomach until he slides it lower, to the dip of your body where you drip with the need of being fucked until you forget your own name.  

The first press of his fingers on your pussy makes your limbs jerk uncontrollably and he smirks at your reaction, seeing the material of your panties dampening with his small, teasing strokes. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly it wounds you up, blame it on your uncontrollable celibacy or maybe something else entirely.

“What do you want me to do, doll?” His question makes you whine, hips raising to feel more of his touch on you but he only chuckles at your apparent eagerness, patting your folds in reprimand.  

“Anything,” you breathe out in response, looking at him with frenzied eyes and hoping he will be merciful to you.

Jungkook tsks, his fingers leaving your cunt and grasping your jaw tightly. “Be a good girl and use your words.”  

You gulp, a humiliating blush reddening your cheeks. You’ve never really been a vocal person during sex, nor were people you had slept with but you can’t deny how much of a turn on is Jungkook's commanding voice.

“Please, Jungkook. Want you to touch me.”  

“Where?” His other hand wanders down your body until he cups your center. “Here?” he asks in a mocking tone, making you nod silently. “You want me to touch your pretty pussy with my fingers?”  

“Yes, please.”  

He grasps your underwear and shruggs it off your legs, smirking when he sees you so affected by his words. He then shoves his index and middle finger into your mouth and watches as you obediently lap your tongue around them, looking at him with hooded eyes.

“Fuck.” he curses, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.  

You look so pliant and submissive lying naked underneath him, so willing to let him do with you whatever he pleases. His cock throbs in his pants at the thought. He’s had girls at his beck and call before but it’s a different kind of lust with you. A strong yearning, consuming him from the inside, a desperation to be as close as two humans being submerged into carnality possibly can be.

Your back arches when his calloused fingers finally make contact with your bare pussy, slipping between your folds to gather the wetness dripping from your hole. You gasp at the feeling of his thumb circling your clit, biting your lip until you taste iron. He easily finds the right way to make you moan, to make your legs shake with want.  

You cry out his name when he pushes the first digit inside. He swears under his breath when he feels your warm walls flattering around him. “M-more,” you whimper, hips lifting of the mattress and seeking friction.

Jungkook smirks at that. “You’re so wet, baby. You like it, don’t you? Such a greedy slut.” You’re mewling at his words, grasping his wrist when he roughly plunges another finger into your cunt and starts shoving them in and out, not sparing even a second to let you adjust to the punishing pace he sets.

He leans his body closer over yours, eyes focused on the way your face writhes in pleasure while his fingers are abusing your pussy. You’re dripping, your arousal coating the his palm and the insides of your thighs. When he sees you reaching to squeeze your breasts, he swears he’s never seen anything sexier than this in his entire life.

“Jungkookie–nghh, please,” You’re a blubbering mess, moaning incoherent sentences. You could sense your orgasm approaching, you’re feeling it warming your body from the tip of your toes all the way to your core where you’re gushing around his long fingers.  

“Come on, doll. Be a good girl and cum for me.” Jungkook murmurs. With his words and his thumb flicking your bundle of nerves with practiced ease, you’re pushed over the edge, tears spilling from your eyes and coating your cheeks. He watches with parted mouth as you come with his name on your lips, your velvet walls deliciously tightening around his digits. He gives you a moment to ride out your high, stroking your side with his palm soothingly.  

Pulling out his fingers, he places them in his mouth, humming lowly at the taste of your arousal on his tongue. He wants nothing more than bury his face between your thighs and lick you clean but right now, he needs to fuck you.  

He stands up from the bed, taking off his pants and boxers along with socks and catches you peeking at him from the corner of your eye. Your chest is rising with laboured breaths, lips swollen from the way you’ve been biting them to stop yourself from letting out any loud noises that could potentially be heard through the thin walls of your apartment.  

He digs one knee on the mattress, his other hand wrapped around his thick cock. You lick your lips at the sight, nails digging crescent moons into your palms.

“On your fours, baby.” Jungkook commands and you oblige with flushed cheeks, maneuvering your body onto your hands and knees. You feel him behind you, his palms stroking the skin of your bare ass. A sick thrill runs through your body at the prospect of being taken in such a humiliating position.  

Groaning, Jungkook rubs the mushroom head of his cock through your folds, collecting the juices spilling out of you. That’s when you come back to your senses and your whole body stiffens. “Wait,” you call out, making him pause. “We need a condom.”  

“I’m clean. Besides, I never fuck anyone else without protection.”  

“Fine, just–” Closing your eyes, you release a shaky breath. “–you need to pull out, okay?”  

Jungkook leans over your body, placing a kiss on your shoulder blade. “Relax, ___. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” With one hand on your waist and the other on your hip, he positions the tip of his cock at your entrance and pushes agonizingly slow inside, making you moan at the stretch. You’re grasping the sheets underneath between your fingers, knees threatening to give away after another measured stroke that leaves your heat pulsating.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. When was the last time he fucked you?” he grunts, digging his fingers into your flesh. At the mention of Minho, your body tenses. You breath heavily, trying to push the unwelcomed thoughts aside.  

“A m-month ago?” you utter, recalling the last time you had sex. Or rather when you sucked him off and he didn’t bother reciprocating the favor.  

Jungkook shoves his cock deeper, scoffing to himself. “His stupid for not appreciating this enough.”  

You bite your lip, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. His words sound affectionate, too affectionate for your liking and you don’t want to think about this moment like it means more than what it is. Your hands tremble and lose balance when he fucks into you harder, until he’s filling you to the brim. You’ve never felt so deliciously full. A few bits of ragged breaths later, you mumble, ‘’You can move.”

He tightens his grip on you, bottoming out. He sets a steady pace, fucking you slowly but deeply, making you cry out into the pillow at the sensation of his cock dragging through your walls, making sure you feel every inch of him. “You feel so good, doll. So wet and tight. I’m gonna make a mess of your pretty pussy.” he says lowly.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo through the room with the promise of merciless fucking. Jungkook is relentless, pounding into you faster and faster, like he wants to ruin you, imprint himself on your body to make you remember how easily you can give into vulnerability. His hand slips underneath you and he lifts your upper body up, pressing your back into his chest. The new found angle causes him to hit the spot inside you that has you putty in his arms.

“Don’t–nghhh–stop, fuck!”  

He grunts into your ear in response, sweaty bangs ticking the side of your neck. He sneaks his other hand around your throat and you gulp. “Is this okay?” You hear him whispering and you’re nodding, tears gathering in your eyes from the immense pleasure he is bringing to you with every snap of his hips that threatens to make you lose it on his cock.

His fingers apply a slight pressure against your neck, enough to make you lightheaded with unfamiliar yet ecstatic feeling. He overwhelms you in every way possible and you’ve never felt like this; so powerless yet alive at the same time.  

Jungkook releases the grip on your throat but he’s hand still remains there as if in warning. “Look at you, taking my cock in your slutty cunt. You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna cum all over me?” he growls, fingers rubbing your clit in fast circles until tears are spilling down your cheeks and you’re keening.

“God–yes, fuck! Please, I want to cum so bad.” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re on cloud nine, trembling in his arms. He tightens his hold on your throat again and with one last, final flick of his digits on your pussy you’re reaching your second orgasm this night.  

Jungkook releases his hold on you, helping you lay down on your back after riding out your high to the brick of oversensitivity. His palm caresses the length of your body soothingly, calming you down. You’re eyes are still closed when he bends and kisses you. Surprised by his sudden gentleness, your breath hitches in your throat. He coaxes a small moan out of you when you finally relax, wrapping your arms around his neck blindingly and pulling him close.  

You break away the kiss, feeling his stiff length pressing into your stomach. His cock is covered in your slick, thick and hard against his toned abdomen. Biting your lip, you sit up and enclose your fingers around his sex. Looking up, you're met with his dark orbs watching your movements. With his raven hair falling down on his face and sweaty chest, Jungkook looks painfully beautiful.

He lets out a hiss when you lean down and take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his velvet tip. “Fuck, just like that.” he murmurs. Gathering your hair in his hand, he makes a makeshift ponytail and stares down at you bringing him closer and closer to the edge with every drag of your pink muscle on his cock.  

Feeling him twitch in your mouth, you take him deeper, ignoring the ache in your jaw. “Gonna cum.” Jungkook grunts and moments later he releases his seed down your throat. You swallow the bitterness of his arousal, lapping your tongue around his tip until he pulls out of you, wincing with oversensitivity.

Silence takes over the room. You don't dare looking at him, staring at your naked lap instead, thoughts screaming in your head. You know you’re going to feel the aftermath of your rough fucking tomorrow, and it won’t be only physical pain. You sit up, ready to go to the bathroom but a hand on your wrist stops you.

“Wait, I’ll do it.” Jungkook murmurs and you nod absentmindedly.

He gets up from the bed and disappears in the bathroom. Unsure of what to do, you force your muscles to move, sitting at the edge of the bed. Jungkook comes back a minute later, carrying a dump towel.

Your head drops to the ground immadietly. He kneels before you and you desperately avoid his eyes. You notice he’s put on his boxers already and now he’s cleaning you gently off, removing evidences of your sins from your skin. You will take a shower later, the water will wash you off from each other’s scents and lingering touches. Love bites will soon disappear, bruises on your hips fade. Yet the scars you left on your hearts won’t heal that easily.

Jungkook puts his hand on your knee and you bite your bottom lip. He takes your hoodie lying on the floor and puts on your naked, marked body. Your heart clenches in your chest at the simple gesture.

“___,” he calls your name. At that, you finally look up at him. He seems worried, you must tell, millions of thoughts crossing his mind at the moment as well as yours. “Let’s go to sleep for now, okay? We will talk about this in the morning.”  

You don’t say anything, nodding at his words. You crawl onto the bed, trying to create as much distance as possible between your bodies but it’s pointless. You feel his breath on your neck and you're sure his itching to hold you, but he doesn’t know if he should, so he stays mere inches from you, until you both eventually fall asleep.

Jungkook wakes up hours later with a raging headache. He grunts to himself, rubbing his face with grimace and making another meaningless promise about drinking less alcohol. When he open his eyes, he realises he’s staring at the fluorescent stars attached to the ceiling. Your ceiling.

When he turns his head to the left, he finds the other side of the bed empty. It’s almost bright in the room, which means he’s stayed overnight again. And he didn’t do just that.  

Bits of memories flash behind his eyelids: him coming to your flat to hang out, your conversation, the kiss that led to naked bodies and breathy moans. He fucked up royally this time.  

Throwing the comforter off his body, he feels a sudden rush of coldness raising goosebumps on his skin. Frowning, he picks up his discarded clothes from the floor and starts putting them on. The door to your bedroom are cracked open, just like you haven’t closed them to not wake him up.  

Jungkook raises from the bed once he’s fully dressed, and pushes the door. He finds you standing by the fully opened window in your kitchen, staring outside.

He understands now why there was so cold before. The fluffy, blueish robe wrapped around your body is probably doing little job at providing warmth, but you don’t seem to mind it at all. You don’t see him yet, your back facing him until he takes another step and the floor creaks underneath his weight.  

He sees your shoulders raising and falling, as if you’ve just let out a sigh. Then, you turn around cautiously, a greish puffs of smoke swirling over your features. Jungkook raises a brow.

“I thought you said you had quit.” It’s the first thing he says, his voice still groggy from sleeping.

You shrug at that, averting your gaze to the view behind your opened window again. “I always smoke after making a bad decision.”  

It sounds bitter coming from you. A testament of your recklessness and weak hearts. He could read the regret straight from your face. It’s all in your posture: you look broken. And he is the reason why you’re hurting. The guilt is almost eating him up from the inside. He needs to try fixing this before you will push him away and he’ll lose you again.

“I think we should forget about that.” you speak after a moment of silence, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your voice trembles and he feels it stabbing him right in the middle of his chest, depriving him of hope to make things good between you. “It’ll be for the better for of us if we act like nothing ever happened. We got drunk, we let our emotions get the best of us. That’s all.”  

You and him both know it wasn’t just  alcohol which made you let him touch you like that, fuck your worries away for a few bits of pleasant oblivion. It meant so much more but you’re too afraid to confront this. You aren’t ready yet.

When you close the window and finally look at him, Jungkook's shoulders are slouched. Defeated. Something aches in your heart at that. “I’m sorry. For everything,” he tells you. He’s clenching his fists by his sides and you know he’s hurting too, more than he could ever let anybody realize. “I should get going then.”  

He exits the kitchen with one last, small smile reserved only for you. You didn't mean to handle the situation like that, like you’re quickly ripping off the band-aid, but you couldn’t think of a better way. Closing your eyes, you let your emotions decide once again. “Wait,” you call out after him, stepping into the hallway. “Maybe you will stay for breakfast.” you propose and Jungkook shakes his head.

“No. It’s okay. I don’t want to keep you busy.” he says, putting on his jacket. Reaching for the handle, he turns to you and smiles. “Take care, ___.” When the door close behind him, you let out a long exhale.  

What Jeon Jungkook couldn’t predict, is that he will be the one doing walk of shame out of your flat.

[mythicamagic]

As usual... I can never just choose one... soo here are my top choices you choose one. Lol

1. Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?

2. The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I’m still in love with you.

3.that ship has sailed. i’ve had my one great love already

4. we’re just…friends.” “friends don’t do this type of shit!

5. Did you just slap my ass?” / “Actually, I firmly grasped it.” 

Why did I decide 2 of the hurt/sad/angst.. idk.. i suppose im glutton for punishment. Dont hurt me too bad if you choose to do one of them myth.

Decided to do a part two for - this ask. 

I chose;  The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I’m still in love with you.

---

The air felt crisp and clean, biting at Kagome's cheeks as she wound her scarf tighter around her neck. Winter markets were so much fun. The vast array of cute little items on display made warmth light up her chest, even as the candy and children's toys reminded her of a certain fox she'd left behind in the past.

Kagome smiled at Ayumi as she prattled on about something or other.

She shouldn't feel guilty. Shippo had barely visited the village in the last year she'd been there. Everyone had moved on. Including herself, somewhat. She'd been so wrapped up in her whirlwind romance with a certain Daiyoukai- the feudal era had been irreparably damaged as a home for her the second they'd broken up.

But she missed her friends. Dearly.

She shook herself. It was too late to go back on her choice now. The well had sealed shut for good.

Ayumi stopped to grab some hot chocolate from a street vendor, allowing Kagome a moment to warm her hands, rubbing them together.

Snowflakes gently danced about like powdered sugar, kissing Kagome's face as she turned- almost bumping face-first into a muscular chest. Fresh scents of wild forests and thunderstorms filled her nose, and she stiffened.

He smells the same.

Kagome bit the inside of her cheek, blue eyes narrowing. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"Haven't the faintest idea of what you mean," he arranged his features into mild innocence, which was near impossible due to his smiling eyes.

"Riiight," she muttered, wishing Ayumi would hurry up.

Sesshoumaru gazed down at her, a pink gift bag in hand. Kagome grit her teeth, hating that she wondered who it was meant for.

"I did not intend to run into you here, before you accuse me of anything," his silky voice caressed her hearing once more. It sounded so lulling, designed to draw her back in. "Did you take my gift home with you or did you throw it away?" he asked, deceptively casually.

"Home. But don't think that means anything- it's not the plant's fault you're trying to worm your way back into my life."

The Daiyouki smiled to himself, obviously absurdly pleased. He began pursuing the street vendor's items right beside her, gazing at children's toys with a touch of gentleness in his steady gaze. Kagome was prepared to ignore him- until he leaned down, breath fanning 'accidentally' over her cheek as he picked up a doll and straightened.

"Do you remember Rin? And the other children-"

"Don't," Kagome said, unable to move away. She hated the thrumming of her skin so much. The way it cried out. Hated him.

Her skin flared alive, body humming with hunger. Like a shot of adrenalin to the heart, Kagome dipped her chin into her scarf to try and mask her escalating breathing due to his proximity. When they'd had sex- so many years ago- it hadn't been like human lovemaking.

He'd wired new pathways within her system via his youki. Sometimes she felt like it still lived inside her, having made a home for itself. They hadn't mated, but she felt irreversibly changed by it.

Kagome made a faint noise, squeezing her eyes shut.

Resist him-

"Kagome?"

Oh thank God.

"Ayumi, let's go," she said abruptly, facing her friend with an urgent look in her eyes.

Ayumi tilted her head slightly, eyeing Sesshoumaru curiously. "A-alright?"

"You do not need to leave," he turned, exuding a magnanimous air. "I am the one who intruded on your time, please continue," he gestured to the market, ensnaring Kagome's gaze with his own. Unblinking, unable to hide his more animalistic habits even after so many years.

"I hope to see you some other time when my presence does not disturb you," he said softly, walking away.

---

When entering work that Saturday, Kagome could already sense the buzz in the air. Someone had generously donated some priceless artefacts to their museum. The previously undiscovered finds that shaken everyone due to their rarity and mint condition. No one could stop talking about it.

Kagome's blood ran cold the second the items in question were described to her. Pushing through the crowd that had gathered, she stared in horror at the display case.

Itching for a fight, she immediately stormed to his office downtown, opening the door to reception and letting herself in. "Is Sesshoumaru here?" she burst, stopping in front of the secretary's desk.

"Mr Taisho?" the woman blinked, obviously thrown by the petite, angry miko currently glaring at her and using his name so informally. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No. Just tell him Kagome is here."

She was let into his office soon enough, trying to keep a lid on her crackling reiki. Sesshoumaru glanced up from his computer. "Miko? What a pleasant surprise."

Kagome slammed an article atop his desk. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped.

He raised a brow, briefly flicking his attention to the contents. A photo of red and white silks, coupled with polished spiked armour sat in a display unit. "Something wrong? It was just a donation, given in good faith."

"Donated to my workplace!" Kagome seethed, groaning and burying her face in her hands. "Don't you realise I'm going to have to see your things now every day? I've worn those clothes! I've slept in them as pyjamas! Are you trying to mess with me because you want me back?"

"That's a little dramatic, dear one, I'm not trying to 'mess with you.' It was just a donation," he rose from his seat, face inches from hers. "And if I wanted to romance you, I'd go about it much differently."

"Don't 'dear one' me," she snapped. "You could've donated that stuff years ago- or to a different museum. But no, you had to give it to mine."

"My gift was not meant to distress you, but," he rounded the table slowly, fingers dragging over the wood. "It does make me worry, seeing you so worn thin. Is something else going on? Separate from...us?"

Kagome stiffened, avoiding eye contact. Things with her boyfriend had been strained as of late, and the Daiyoukai's sudden appearance back into her life wasn't helping matters.

"There is no 'us.' I'm frustrated and exhausted, that's all. Don't make things even more complicated by asking about that stuff."

Sesshoumaru lingered close, and Kagome didn't shy away. The one person she couldn't bear to be near was also the only being who could offer some semblance of comfort to her due to his familiarity.

"This one meant to give you something," reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card, handing it over. Kagome immediately froze, staring at the name. "You miss him," Sesshoumaru murmured. "The kit lives in Kyoto now with his wife and children. Call him."

Tears pricked her eyes, and Kagome bowed her head. Full lips crumpled into a wobbly line.

"If there is something I regret more than our parting, it is that you felt compelled to leave. The fault lies with me."

Shaking her head, a saddened laugh bubbled up her throat. "It was my decision to break up, and it was my decision to leave the Feudal Era. Don't...blame yourself for that part."

"You did not do anything wrong," a long-fingered hand reached out, blunt nails losing their glamour. Sharp claws stroked dark curling hair back from her neck. Kagome's breathing hitched. "When we were together- you did not do anything wrong. We were both so young. It was foolish of me to act as I did, but I think it is now... that we are in the right place for something more."

Kagome shivered, body warming to him. Intuitively, the brush of fingers on her neck made her foolishly anticipate a kiss- sorely disappointed when it didn't come. "I'm not," she forced herself to say. Seeing the disappointment darken his brown eyes, she sighed. "I miss you," Kagome admitted quietly, turning away to escape from his touch. "I miss how... we were. I'm terrified of that, though. I was...under the impression we'd be together. Permanently. Then you had to go and tell me you needed 'pure' heirs to continue the family bloodline."

She laughed bitterly, loosely holding her arms. "The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I'm still in love with you."

"You are frightened that I will hurt you again."

Kagome nodded mutely. She then forced a giggle, giving a weak smile. "Besides, you may not like me as I am now. I'm more jaded than before."

"I like what I see very much," moving closer once more as though experiencing a gravitational pull, he stopped inches away. "I have missed you too," he muttered quietly, genuinely. She could feel him inhale her scent through her hair. "Very much."

Her mouth suddenly became dry. "I'm with Natsuki-"

"Leave him," a rush of passion entered his voice as Sesshoumaru swept closer, backing her into the desk. The wood dug into her thighs, their hips meeting. "This one is not interested in being 'the other man' in an affair. Nor am I interested in watching you remain with someone less than ideal," he snorted, resting his hand over her wrist and grazing his thumb over it.

"Y-you don't know anything about it!"

"I could smell your scent. It was not bright and cheerful even before I re-entered your life the other day. His feels...murky on you. Unhappy."

Kagome swallowed thickly, glancing away. "Observant as ever," she admitted softly.

"Or perhaps you did a poor job of hiding it," backing off a little- he rested his hip next to hers beside the desk, remaining near but barely touching. And yet everything felt so close. "You've changed. But you're still the same at your core, miko," hot breath fanned over her neck, teeth ghosting over the shell of her ear. "If you permitted me, I would not be reckless with your heart again, as I was in my youth."

Her palms traitorously slid up, sliding over firm muscles- running across his chest. He felt warm. His heart was beating fast. Was he nervous? Such a thing sounded impossible.

She bit her lip, secretly longing for the sensation of silks under her hands again instead of the modern cotton of his shirt.

"I don't know that I believe you," Kagome met his gaze, rewarded with the golden glow of his eyes instead of human brown.

"I've gotta go," she said reluctantly, forcing herself to pull away. "I need to be at work."

"Very well," he hummed, unmoving. "But if you...need something. You know where to find me."

He sounded almost desperate for an excuse to talk with her. Giving a curt nod, she let herself out of his office with a long breath, shaking her head. Sesshoumaru's static youki haunted her steps for the remainder of the day.

[noonmutter]

Introductions

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 12: Ball/Gravestone

"It's gonna be a quiet meetin'. They're not...th' most talkative people, these days."

"No, I know, love, of course. I absolutely still want to do this. You're so brave for this and I'm so proud of you."

Leon couldn't hold in a chuckle at that. Valarin's open, whole-hearted support of him for what was, admittedly, a trip that Leon had made dozens of times by now was all but impossible to ignore. The reassurance wasn’t necessary, but he wasn’t about to ruin Val’s fun. He simply set a hand on his wee love's shoulder to momentarily silence him, and bent to kiss his forehead.

"Thank you, love. It's okay. I'm not gonna collapse, it's just...a li'l tense, sometimes. Bringin' somebody new..." He let himself trail off as he inspected the kit they'd brought with them. Valarin had brought the supplies for their lunch, and he'd brought a bag of gardening tools, along with a couple bouquets of marigolds at Val's insistence. Asking about the marigolds had opened up the floodgates, not that he minded; listening to Valarin get himself going about something he was passionate about was one of Leon’s favorite things.

"The marigolds are traditionally very important! You see, the land of the living can be confusing and difficult to navigate for spirits. We try to help them by providing strong sensory things to guide them. The marigolds have a strong smell, but I think their color is quite strong too! And the candles are a little lighthouse..."

The flowers had been a bit of a trick to avoid crushing once they'd left the road that would've led them across the border into Stranglethorn, but they'd managed. He still wasn't sure if mum and dad would actually like the marigolds, but he understood the importance of it being this specific kind of flower, now. It was both like and unlike the little ceremonies the Gilnean was familiar with.

"This is such a lovely area, too. I’m honestly so excited to see where your parents rest. I’ve not really seen many human gravesites. I’m interested to see how similar they are. I’d like to learn about Gilnean customs regarding it. I know that the Day of the Dead is more widespread now, so I’m sure your parents will enjoy the offerings all the same. And--Hey, are you doing okay? You’ve been a little quiet."

Leon paused, then gave a short shake of his head. "Just tryna make sure we don't get lost, hey?" It was a lame excuse for letting his mind wander, but Val let it pass, since they were tromping through an awful lot of dense foliage. Valarin was aware there was a moonwell not all that far from where they wandered, and though there was a ceasefire, it was still Alliance territory and he was still visibly not a night elf. The tension wasn't really there like it'd been during their trip to Aerie Peak, though; they were alone and nowhere near a proper settlement.

He almost asked another question before Leon stopped, pointed at a small cluster of bright purple blooms hugging the forest floor, and said, "We're 'ere." It was hard not to get excited all over again, but he wanted to be respectful of Leon's feelings, so he kept himself from squeaking and simply gave Leon his best 'I'm here for you' smile. Leon answered it with another kiss on his forehead. Val liked those kisses, even if they were usually Leon filling in a silence when he couldn't figure out what to say.

He watched Leon pull a ton of vines and push a ton of branches aside like a very sturdy set of curtains, and after a moment, rushed to assist. Together, they opened up a relatively worn footpath to a small clearing. Val couldn't help but gasp softly at the sight; it seemed like every square inch of the ground was covered in lilacs! Little purple flowers were everywhere, and the scent was almost overwhelming. Butterflies fluttered from blossom to blossom in every direction, and small clouds of them seemed to erupt every time he or Leon took a step. He found himself tiptoeing to try and avoid crushing anything almost immediately.

"Oh, Light, it's absolutely beautiful, Leon. You did this?" The thought was enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he tried not to let it, at least not yet. He knew he'd do plenty of crying before the day was out and he'd really rather not start again so soon. It was a little embarrassing, even if Leon said it wasn't. Just focus on not snagging your pants on anything, Valarin…

"Well, I mean, th' flowers did it on their own, mostly... flowers do tha'..." Leon looked sheepish as he deflected praise, "All I did was plant a couple an' leave 'em be. Lilacs 're 'ardy, easy thin's. Part o' why mum liked 'em so much." The Gilnean made his way carefully but quickly through the dense growth, well used to the path he took and not worrying overmuch about whether he was stomping flowers or butterflies; the flowers were going to be cut back anyway, and the butterflies were quicker than he was. Reaching the apparent edge of the clearing, Leon bent to set his hand on a particularly tall lilac bush, then abruptly tore away a few branches to reveal the carved wooden grave marker underneath it.

It was not a professional job, this marker, but it had definitely been a work of diligence and a high degree of effort. It was sanded down to a nearly glasslike smoothness, and it would probably shine like it once it was cleaned up. The uneven top edge of it suggested it had originally been a chunk of driftwood, but it’d been stained so dark that it was hard to be sure. Valarin was privately glad he’d gotten better at reading Common lettering; hand-carved stuff like this was a little tricky. “Bettany Marie Ambroce” caught a bit of light and practically glowed. 

“Right. ‘Ere we are, then.”

“Oh, Leon,” Valarin said, “This is so lovely. This is your mother?” He knelt down beside the wood and brushed his fingertips over the lettering. “Hello, Missus Ambroce. I’m happy to meet you.”

“Yeah.” Leon didn’t really know how else to answer, but felt like that was woefully insufficient. “This’s mum.” Okay that was almost less helpful. He brushed his fingers along the lettering in much the same way Valarin had, mulling over a few things before he settled on a simple, “...You r’member Val’rin, right? I’ve talked about ‘im b’fore…” He risked a glance at his little love, offering a weak smile. “Only th’ good stuff, though. Promise.”

“It better have been!” Val flashed a playful grin and tossed his hair. “I am a perfect angel, after all.”

Chuckling, Leon set down the bag of tools and took out a pair of hedge trimmers, offering them to Valarin. “I’ll take care o’ th’ bigger messes, you clear out th’ stuff all over th’ ground, okay?”

“Wait, are we doing this entire clearing?”

“Course. Otherwise th’ lilacs’ll grow way too far an’ get completely outta control. It’s already bad enough cuz I waited longer’n I should’ve, I norm’ly come by ev’ry month or so.”

Valarin looked out across the small expanse of purple with a tiny bit less wonderment than he had the first time. This was a bit more work than he’d realized, but, he had to admit to himself, Leon had warned him. And he was bound and determined to help, regardless, so! Nothing for it but to roll up his sleeves and get to work. Leon had to restrain himself from grinning at the look of almost militant determination that Val got before he started clipping away.

“Cheer up, at least y’ don’t ‘ave t’ make it look pretty, too, hey?” He waggled his own pair of much smaller clippers, and gestured toward the high-piled bushes covering the pair of markers. “I’ll prune these down an’ then we’ll both tackle th’ rest of ‘em. It only takes about an hour if there’s two of us.”

“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“‘Ow d’you mean?”

“Well I’m going to end up killing most of these by cutting them back all…all willy-nilly, aren’t I?”

“Sure, but tha’s kinna th’ point. They can’t all keep growin’ or they’ll overtake more’n th’ forest kin afford, see? S’why I come back an’ clean it up at all. Can’t just plant whatever, wherever, or it throws th’ ‘ole balance outta whack. I’d be a worse druid than I already am if I just planted a bush an’ left it.”

“You are not a bad druid!”

Laughing, Leon pruned away, and Valarin attacked the rest of the lilacs with gusto.

Once they were roughly halfway through the clearing as a whole, Leon mercifully called for a break. Valarin was not at all accustomed to Leon in work mode, at least not like this; he knew the man could get lost in his leatherwork for hours, but that wasn’t quite so physically demanding as this. It was impressive, if a bit exhausting to keep up with.

They both sat down with a satisfied sigh, and Leon stretched his legs in the much more visible grass by the cleaned-up gravestones. Once properly polished, the lettering on both gleamed like it had been painted with gold:

Bettany Marie Ambroce Beloved wife and mother I’ll take it from here

Graeme Iain Ambroce Beloved husband and father I’ve got this

“Dad would’ve liked you, y’know.”

“You think so?” 

“Yeah. Anybody ‘o kin keep up with an Ambroce’s bullshit is worth keepin’ an eye on, somethin’ like that.” Leon chuckled with a subdued smile, thinking back on various times when he’d heard that. Naturally, Graeme had been talking about his own wife, but still. It had merit. “‘Especially th’ wee ones.’ Mum was about yer ‘eight, I think.”

Valarin’s ears went back just a little. “I’m not that wee.” After a moment, though, he let himself chuckle, too. “Although I suppose it’s still a compliment. You said he was a mountain, anyway.”

That made Leon laugh, and he threw his arms out wide. “Oh yeah, an absolute fuckin’ behemoth, was dad. ‘E wrestled with steer at th’ yearly fairs, sometimes, an’...”

As much as Leon enjoyed listening to Valarin give impromptu dissertations, Valarin loved listening to Leon tell stories of his family and his home. Knowing that he’d never get to see either of them the way his boyfriend did, he clung to every word to try his best to imagine it, and let the farmboy ramble as long as he was willing to. He only dared to interrupt long enough to break out their picnic, which thankfully didn’t stop the flood at all.

Once they’d eaten and Leon had run out of tales to tell--some of which Valarin was sure had to be at least exaggerated, if not totally made up, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out which ones--they’d gotten back to work. It was almost agony to start over again, since they’d had enough time for their hands to start hurting. That only seemed to spur them to get done quicker so that they were able to put the tools away after what felt like no time at all.

While Leon was raking the detritus into a corner of the clearing, Valarin set to work by the markers.

First, Valarin set up a small collapsible bed tray in front of the markers themselves, and covered it with a white cloth. He set out a few candles and arranged the marigolds all around what would become their ofrenda. Upon the tray he left portions of the favored foods they had brought; raspberry tarts, beef pasties, fried taters, all sorts of things. Though they had no pictures of the deceased--Leon couldn’t bring himself to risk losing the only image he had of his entire family--it was the thought that counted for this.

Obviously, Leon wanted to help, but he also didn’t want to do things wrong (despite Valarin’s many and constant reminders that there was no wrong way to arrange an ofrenda), so he hung back until it was almost finished. At Valarin’s urging, Leon took up a long match, and they each lit a candle at the same time, one for each parent. Finally, a small bundle of marigold petals was pressed into Leon’s hands, and he awkwardly scattered them in a rough line from the ofrenda to the graves themselves. Valarin had already made one out of the clearing itself, and with Leon’s contribution, there was a complete path.

When he returned to Val’s side, Val immediately curled both arms around his waist and tugged him down till they were both seated in the grass before the ofrenda. There, Val could finally get the cuddles he so cherished. Leon smiled softly and dragged the insistent thing into his lap, the better to hug him close and rest his chin on top of Val’s head. 

“So… what ‘appens now?”

“Now, you tell me more stories about them, and cuddle me, and I’ll tell you stories about mine, and cuddle you.”

“All night?”

“All night.”

“I think I kin do tha’.”

Though they couldn’t leave everything behind, the next morning, a pair of marigold-and-lilac wreaths hung from the wooden gravestones.

( @daily-writing-challenge​ @valarin-sunstorm​ )

[corruptedconfessions]

????Shigaraki x reader

Thanks @shorkbrian for letting me write your idea!

Day 8???? I think. This was meant to be either a sleep paralysis demon work or a incubus work, but uh, im indecisive so he could be either uwu its up to your interpretation!

This is another gender neutral one! Be prepared for a male reader tomorrow~

Warnings: noncon, sleep paralysis, just general gross creepy Shigaraki vibes

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft hum of your vibrator filled your room along with your soft gasps and moans, your body was stretched out across your sheets, legs spread slightly as you rocked down onto the toy buried deep inside of you. It was on low for now, you were exhausted, worn down and strung thin from a long stressful day, you weren’t in the mood for higher vibrations. You were enjoying the soft headspace you were in, nuzzled deep in your pillows with gentle thrums of pleasure rolled through you, soft and sweet.

You gasped, moaning softly as you rolled your hips down, gasping and arching off the bed as you trembled softly, riding out your orgasm. Even while rocking down onto your vibrator, gasping and whining that soft warm feeling never left you, leaving you loose and relaxed against the sheets.

You were so comfortable you didn’t even notice the figure slinking out of your closet, sliding across the room to the foot of your bed as you melted back against the sheets, mewling softly as you rode out the gentle aftershocks of pleasure.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your hand drifted down, reaching down to turn the vibrator off and fully fall asleep. Only to jump in surprise, gasping in shock when a cold clammy hand clamped around your wrist, another grabbing the base of your vibrator, shoving it deeper inside of you as the vibrator was turned all the way up to the highest setting.

You squealed loudly, trying to jerk away, trying to open your eyes, to do anything, but you found yourself frozen. Unable to move away from the touches, unable to open your eyes and look down at your attacker.

More cries and gasps fell from your lips as the freezing cold hand around your wrist tightened, the other hand twisting the vibrator deep inside of you as it started fucking you hard with it. You couldn’t even shake or squirm away from the pleasure as you were pounded open, the vibrations feeling so good against your already sensitive and abused walls.

It was only a few minutes before you found yourself whimpering, crying out sweetly again as you came a second time, tightening down on the vibrator and squealing when it only made the vibrations against your sensitive walls all the more pleasurable. You were fucked through your orgasm, left feeling raw and on edge as it kept going continuing to fuck your sensitive and trembling hole as you cried out and whimpered desperately, wanting it to stop but unable to lift a finger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.

You weren’t sure how long you were left like that, crying and whimpering through orgasm after orgasm, held tight and fucked silly. You must have blacked out at some point since the next thing you knew you were waking up, groaning weakly against the rays of light shining in your face.

You glanced down at yourself, finding yourself fully clothed again, tucked into your blankets perfectly…too perfectly. Your gaze slid to your bedside drawer where your vibrator sat innocently, sitting in the exact place you always put it when you were finished and ready to pass out.

Had it all been a dream?

You pulled your blankets back, stumbling out of bed, groaning softly. Your entire lower half felt sore, insides still twitching and pulsing like they usually did right after cumming, not hours later. Maybe you had gotten too worried up and fucked yourself silly before dreaming up that weird dream?

Your eyes drifted to your closet, the door was slightly cracked open, and a cold chill ran down your spine. Still, you had to get ready for work, you didn’t have time to stand in one place and daydream about what might or might not be hiding in your closet. You had a job to do and you needed to focus!

At least, that’s what you told yourself. Despite saying you needed to focus you found yourself drifting the whole day, mind drifting back to the night before with a red face, squeezing your legs together as you tried to get back to your task only to find your mind drifting again only moments later.

The day seemed to drag on and race by at the same time, before you knew it you were crawling into bed. You had briefly eyed your vibrator from the night before but quickly shook your head, you were still so sensitive from the night before that despite the throb of need that pulsed through you. You felt so sensitive the idea of cumming again almost felt painful, so you curled up into bed, pulling your blankets tight around your shoulders as you closed your eyes, willing yourself to fall asleep.

Only for your eyes to snap awake when you felt a hand wrapped around your ankle. You gasped, jumping out of your skin, trying to jerk your leg away from the touch, sit up, do anything! But you found yourself frozen, staring down in shock as a figure melted out of the darkness, climbing up your bed with an unsettling grin. Greasy light blue hair hung in front of his face as bright red eyes stared up at you.

You whimpered softly in confusion as he pulled your blankets back, cracked dry hands grabbing your hips, lifting them off the bed as he pulled your pajama bottoms and panties off. You could only watch in confusion as he lifted your legs up, spreading them wide, eyes locked onto your still puffy hole.

“Slut.”

You jumped gasping softly in shock when he spoke, briefly lifting his eyes to meet your gaze before they fell down to your entrance. He let go of one of your legs just to slide it down to his own pants, unbuckling his belt and fumbling with his jeans. You could only watch with wide eyes as he pulled out his already hard cock, stroking it for a moment before his hand roughly grabbed your thigh again, pushing your legs up higher as he lined himself up.

“Thanks for the meal~”

His rough raspy voice felt like sandpaper against your ears as he pushed in, popping inside you easily. You gasped in shock, twitching and clenching down on him as he purred, grinning down at you in a way that had your stomach rolling, anxiety spiking as he pushed your legs up higher, starting to move.

Despite the fear and adrenaline pouring through your body pleasure crashed through you, loud moans and squeals pouring from your mouth as he fucked you.

You’re face was hot in shame as you stared down at him, unable to look away or move at all just like the previous night. You were shaking and moaning, practically falling apart at the seams and he was just watching you with a bored expression, staring intently at you as he thrust his hips deeper. The slightest hint of a smirk crossed his face when your eyes rolled back for a moment, a loud squeal echoing through the room.

You hadn’t even cum yet and you were falling apart, it felt like your very bones were shaking as you whimpered and cried up at him, head spinning. Every smack of his hips against yours felt like a physical hit to your head, energy draining out of you rapidly. You whimpered, groaning as your stomach rolled with neasua as red eyes eyed you, an irritated scowl crossing his face.

“Out of juice already? Damn low level, you need to up your stamina stat.”

He clicked his tongue angrily, pulling away from you, ignoring your weak whimper as he pulled out, unceremoniously dropping your legs back to the bed. You grunted softly in pain, still unable to move from where he had just thrown your legs down. Everything was spinning, white spots dancing across your vision as your body trembled. It felt like your limbs had been replaced with lead, like every single ounce of energy you had ever had had been sucked right out of you.

“At least you taste good.”

You flinched whimpering as he leaned down, dragging a tongue across your cheek, patting your hair lightly before turning around.

“Make sure to rest up, ill be back tomorrow night for the rest of my meal~”

[ayanna-wild]

A Place To Call Home

Word Count: 1557

Pairings: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Warnings: angst, possible trigger, fluff

A/N: Request from anonymous, And thank you all so much for being so supportive, screw the haters, you guys are amazing and I truly couldn't ask for better readers!

Tag list and Request are open!

Summary: He seldom came to this part of the city, where the people who resided would sooner rob him then help him. But he had a favor to collect on. While he waited to cross the street, he notices a small crowd of people and there you are at the center, torn clothes, dirty, and giving away all the money you had just collected from the crowd who had bought your art. He can't help but be curious and you soon find a persistent devil tailing after you. Wondering why you gave everything when it was clear you had nothing. 

..................................................................................

Lucifer sighed as he stood impatiently on the sidewalk. This light always seemed to take so long to change, with how old it looked he was surprised it even functioned at all anymore. He'd have crossed the street already, light be damned, if he didn't think someone might run him over. He wouldn't put it past anyone in this part of the city. Most watched him like greedy vultures, waiting for his demise, so they could swoop in and collect from his misery.

A small crowd of people gathered around someone who was sitting on a blanket. He didn't think much of it, they'd been there a while. He turned his attention back to the light, just in time to see it flicker before fizzing out all together. 

"Oh bloody hell." 

Lucifer glared at the wretched thing, looking both ways to see if he could safely cross. He wouldn't even be here if the Detective hadn't asked him to use one of his favors. He was beginning to regret agreeing. He'd been seconds from stepping off the broken concrete, and onto the street when he threw one last glance over his shoulder. The crowd had dispersed, and he saw the person at the center was now gathering their blanket. He watched you closely as you walked a few feet down, handing the cup of money in your hand to an elderly woman.

The two of you seemed to argue for a moment, but ultimately it seemed you won and you draped the worn blanket you carried over her shoulders. Lucifer watched you walk away curiously before changing his direction. He approached the older woman with a kind smile.

"Excuse me, do you know who that was?" He asked politely.

She regarded him closely for a moment, almost suspiciously.

"I do. What's it to you?" 

Lucifer smiled at the woman's attempt to be intimidating.

"I simply wish to ask her a few things is all."

He held his hands up, trying to show her he meant no harm to her or you.

"Her name is Y/N, she lives not far from here." 

"And does she do that often? Give her money away like that?" 

The woman shrugged, peering into the cup you'd given her.

"Yes, sometimes to me, sometimes to other people, I always tell that girl not to worry about me. She's worse off than I am. I've got my coat for the winter, but she insists on giving away her stuff. Her hard-earned money, she's talented, if her situation was different she'd have made a name for herself by now."

Lucifer was even more intrigued now, and he glanced down the street.

"There's a soup kitchen close by, poor funding but it provides at least three meals a week. Hardly anything, but it's enough to keep some skin on her bones."

Lucifer frowned a little at that, and the elderly lady began to gather her stuff.

"It's the alley by the old deli, you can't miss it, she's draped this old blue tarp over a few crates. Bit rough, but it gets the job done." 

Lucifer thanked the woman before going on his way. He looked around the area, searching for the place she had described. He found you, placing an unused trashed bag over a hole in your tarp. You didn't notice him lingering as you taped the bag down.

"Not exactly a five-star hotel is it?"

You jumped at the sound of his voice, turning to face him with unease. Lucifer took a step into the alley, making you take one back.

"Maybe not, but it does the trick."

He watched you shiver, saw the goosebumps on your skin as you stood there.

"I don't have any drawings left to sell if that's why you're here."

Lucifer looked around the place you called home.

"You don't have much of anything by the looks of it." He hummed.

Your unease was gone, replaced instead by annoyance and you crossed your arms. 

"It's better than what I had before... where I was before." 

Lucifer frowned, tilting his head.

"Anyway, if you're just here to comment on my living situation than kindly fuck off." 

Your words were bitter, a stark contrast to the actions you had displayed earlier. Lucifer walked closer to you, but you didn't seem as hesitant this time.

"I apologize that was rather rude of me, I assure you that isn't why I'm here."

"Then why are you?" You looked at him skeptically, like you didn't trust his words.

"I suppose your act of selflessness quipped my curiosity so, I've come to ask you why." 

You looked at him confused and a little lost, and he continued, further explaining himself.

"You gave that woman all the money you made, from those drawings I'm assuming you spent hours making. Then you gave her your blanket, which by the looks of things was your only source of warmth for the winter, despite how tattered the thin fabric was. I simply wish to know why that is. Why share everything when you have nothing to give?" 

You stared at him a moment, studying him as you tried to gauge if maybe he had ulterior motive beyond his question. However, it seemed he really was just curious.

"Her name is Edrsia, she's almost seventy-years-old. She's not on the streets by choice, her son took everything she had and pawned it off. Her husband passed years before, and she couldn't afford even a shoe box size apartment. She helped me, when I first started living on the streets. So, I give her what I can, whether I can spare it or not."

You expected him to be satisfied with your answer, maybe even leave you alone, but your response seemed to have the opposite effect.

"Yes but why? From what I can tell you're barely making it yourself. I simply cannot fathom why you'd give up what little you do have. Just because she helped you once, that hardly means you should risk your own well-being to return such a small act."

You smiled a little, offering a small shrug.

"I guess because it's just the human thing to do. I don't need a good reason to help someone, just a reason."

Lucifer pondered over your answer silently and you glanced back towards your makeshift tent.

"It's supposed to rain tonight, I really should-"

"Would you like a place to stay for a while?"

You almost tripped over yourself when you heard that.

"What?"

"Not for free of course, you see I rather like your art, and my bar could use a bit of...artistic flare."

You suspicion didn't go unnoticed by the handsome man, and he gave you a charming smile.

"The choice is yours, I'm merely offering you a warm place and a small job."

You mulled it over, he didn't come off as the type of person to play a joke this cruel. Yet, you suspected he had some underlining goal to this.

"What do you get out of this?"

Lucifer grinned, your question making him like you all the more.

"It's been my experience that humans can be rather selfish creatures, very few offer any real selflessness. If nothing else you can at least teach me a bit more about this side of humanity."

The deal seemed almost too good to be true, and a part of you wanted to refuse. But your shaking hands and the numbness in your limbs told you that you couldn't afford to be stubborn, not unless you wanted to freeze to death.

"Okay."

"Marvelous! Then if we have a deal-"

You shook your head, not moving to shake his outstretched hand.

"Not yet. I'm only agreeing if you help Edrsia, she doesn't have good health, she can't survive another year out here." 

Lucifer once again seemed surprised, but he nodded regardless.

"Consider it done, now do we have a deal?"

This time you did shake his hand, and let out a yelp when he tugged on your arm pulling you to his side. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, leading you down the street.

"Goodness you're chilled to the bone darling, here take this."

Lucifer released you to remove his jacket, but you shook your head looking almost ashamed.

"I live on the streets, showers aren't a luxury I can afford."

He ignored your protest draping the material over your shoulders, despite your words you quickly pulled it tighter around you.

"I don't mind my dear, it's not your fault."

You looked up at him smiling a bit.

"Thank you... I never got your name."

"Oh dear how rude of me to skip introductions, my name is Lucifer Morningstar."

"It's nice to meet you Lucifer, I'm Y/N."

He raised an eyebrow, but the smile never left his lips.

"No last name?" He inquired.

"Does it matter?" 

He hummed a little at your answer but didn't pry.

"I suppose not, well come on love, let's get you out of the cold."

You didn't argue when he placed a hand on your back, and you fought back grateful tears. Lucifer watched you from the corner of his eye, a soft smile on his lips, his heart swelling at the hope in your eyes.

Maybe you could teach the devil a thing or two about the better side of humanity.

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Tag List: @sallyp-53 @mizzezm @adira-secrets @we-are-all-alittle-strange-here @gingernarwal @im-just-along-for-the-ride @lifeshortbro @star-trek-is-my-lifesource @measure-in-pain @emiwrites3reads

[skzluvs]

Phobia; Han jisung

Genre: angst, fluff (if you squint)

Warnings: mention of nightmares

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: Hi! I’m back from my hiatus with another angst fic inspired by the drama it’s okay to not be okay combined with a little bit of phobia I hope you guys like it!

The girl who fed on nightmares

there was a girl who woke up every night by the nightmares, demons that haunted her dreams. She was twisted inside, held back by the painful memories of her past.

panting breath, irregular heartbeat, a cold sweat dripping from her forehand. she opened her eyes to meet with the darkness of her room. Terror washed over her. frightened.

"it's just another nightmare" she said trying to calm down the thoughts that were messing up her already deranged head.

a familiar setup, you might think she grew accustomed to the feeling after the third night but that's was not true the lingering feeling of numbness grew by the time she realized there was no escape from the chains that still cuffed her up.

the morning came earlier, with very few hours of sleep, she got up and got ready for work. the days turned into a monotone.

she arrived to bookstore, pure silence made her mind feel content. A moment of peace in the torrential rain.

"excuse me" a soft voice called her, almost as quiet as a whisper that's being shared between lovers.

she looked up to meet with a boy, with black hair and a mischievous smile, he looked cheerful with an undeniable strong aura that surrounded his slender figure, definitely not the type you would see in a library at 8am in the morning.

"yes" she replied politely to the boy who carried a handful on books on his arms.

"i want to check all of these out please" he placed the books on the counter.

As she took a look at the pile, she got intrigued by the peculiar selection.

children books.

but not the kind that you read to a child unless you want them to have nightmares, and she knew damn well about that.

"you like this gruesome stuff ?" she was never the kind to question other people's interests but for some strange motive she wanted to know.

" it's a children's book how can you call this masterpiece gruesome" the boy seemed rather offended by her words.

" the pictures make me want to cry my eyes out and I'm an adult, there's no way this book was targeted for such audience" she said

" it seems like you know nothing about this books not the author , therefore I won't be engaging in a discussion, you can continue to be ignorant later just let me borrow them so I can go" he said annoyed, taping with his finger on top of the dusty cover.

The girl refused to give out response and rather continued to do her job. she sure didn't get paid enough for that.

"here" she said handing him the books along with the returning slip. "you have 2 weeks to return them unless you want more time come before the deadline to extend the borrowing period"

"thank you" he left not sparing to look at her for the last time before exiting through the door.

the browned eyed boy who just happened to be named han jisung, she found out his name through his library card. Was all she could think about, not because she was interested, but because of the of his actions. Usually she evaded social situations, she found people not worth of her time, but there was something about that boy that made her wanted to crush him like a fragile butterfly with broken wings.

another meaningless night, it was tiring to get emptied out like that. Every time she closed her fears shaped into a reality. she was stuck with the phobia.

days passed by, a body that walks through the streets without a soul. There was nothing she wanted nothing she desired more but to fall asleep. So she lived her life longing for that moment.

going through the bookshelves placing them correctly by alphabetical order. A pair of eyes stuck to the back of her head.

a boy who watched her carefully from the other side of the room, and he probably thought he was being precautious, but she knew she was being observed.

Jisung. Who came everyday just to sit as far back from the main entrance as possible, hiding in a corner reading the books he so much loved. After the first encounter with the girl he could no longer sleep the same way. His thoughts circled around her small frame and the sound of her broken voice.

there was this thing about her, he called it despondency and he was drowned right into it. like the tales had taken over a human form.

by the end of the two weeks he stood there fidgeting, over the course of the last couple of days his little instigating got him nowhere. She repeated a daily routine, there was nothing to analyze in her vague movements and worn out expressions. However he knew she hides more than the human eye can perceive behind that weary facade.

The moment she clocked out he followed her outside.

"why are you following me" the girl stopped her tracks and made a spin over her ankles, just to meet with him.

"I needed to ask you something" He said rather shy. all the courage he build up over the weeks disappearing at the strong gaze that confronted him.

"I'm not obligated to respond, do me a favor and get lost" She turned around and continued to walk.

It was an expected reply exactly what made jisung decide it was better to come up with a different plan.

every day he would put a book of his collection on top of her desk hoping she would get interested enough to read it.

but instead she would just eye the cover and place it back to its shelf.

Not until one day she meet to something different, the book had a folded edge, opening the page carefully, her fingers ghosting over the words printed on the glossy paper.

"bad memories from the past that he wanted to erase from his head"

"were replayed in his dreams every night"

"and haunted him nonstop"

"the boy was terrified of falling asleep"

a creeping feeling went down her spine, and her trembling hands made the book fall. Her own monsters greeted her with a grin. Collapsing with the wooden floor.

jisung got petrified by the loud sound. He hurried his way to find the girl unconscious on the ground. it was all his fault.

a disturbing sound came from her mouth. She woke up in an oddly unfamiliar house. Her body covered by a thin blanket, the walls were closing like the screams that got caught up in her throat.

jisung who was downstairs making dinner ran through the stairs and opened the door alarmed at the high pitched noises.

"Are you okay?" He exclaimed trying to recover his breath.

"what am I doing here? where am i ?" she asked not trying to panic even more. She felt so dizzy the room kept on spinning.

"you're at my house, you passed out at the library" He said scratching the nape of his neck with guiltiness.

"I remember now, this was your deed, you and your stupid nauseating books" by the looks of it she had been gone for a while. Not to mention the longer she was in a slumber the longer the suffering.

"not my fault you got scared by a book for 5 year olds" He said shrugging, with an unprovoked expression.

"And you dared to call me an ignorant" she deadpanned.

"Do you fear anything?" He asked out of the blue.

what is the real meaning behind fear?. Fear is tangible. Is the anxiety, the desperation to run away and hide forever where they can't find you, it means to want to stab your eyes with a safety pin to blind the pain. Is the captivity of oneself.

"You're scared of yourself aren't you?" it no longer sounded like a question but more like an affirmation.

he had figured you out in no time. You couldn't let them see the vulnerable side, not to anyone and most definitely not this stranger.

"You said it yourself you know nothing so leave alone before it's too late" She threatened.

"Anyways I'm sorry for being so persistent, never intended to make you feel uncomfortable, I'll be downstairs if you need me, dinner is ready if you want to come and have something to eat before you leave" He knew it was better not to push it if he wanted answers.

But why was he so desperate to understand the world inside her head ?

Jisung felt the loneliness of her being. He came up to the conclusion that he wanted to be the person who brought the girl back to life.

After some time he grew a step closer to her, not to the point she would stop pushing him away but at least his efforts had made a very insignificant change.

She would let him read the books to her once in a while, she fed into the words, relating to every single one of them. But things were still the same at night, she would break down to the horrifying sight.

"Jisung why are you still here ?" she asked him unable to understand why the boy remained by her side even when she treated him like a piece of trash.

"Because im trapped under your spell" he confessed.

"You’re e going to end up in so much pain" she said looking into his eyes.

"You can't go to heaven before crossing the flames of hell" He responded with certainty. “ and If I have to burn I rather do it while still holding you”

"Would you still like me if you knew the kind of monster I am, not the one you read in books but the kind that hides behind a mask and transforms at night"

" I would still like you if you were the devil himself"

" The devil wont tear your soul apart like I would trust me" She knew she would drive him into despair. But she had warned him multiple times, from here she no longer take accountability, he would meet fear. She would make sure of that.

I'm stuck with the phobia although I want to stay with you I'm scared that you might disappear in between the shadows. How can I hold you when I was made to destroy you.

there was a girl whose world was a pitch black hole and her insides were dark and twisted, and a boy who fell in love with her repulsiveness swore to never leave her, but her darkness overshadowed the fugacious happiness of a spur moment and the voices in her head claimed that she was all alone. but the boy sang to her a lullaby that lulled her into a deep sleep and for the first time in forever there were no painful memories in her dreams.

She was the girl who fed on nightmares. The one he once read about and the one he was now holding on his arms.

[queerbutstillhere]

Damian never really intended to make an announcement to his family about his courtship with Jonathan Kent.

He had, of course, asked the Kryptonian permission to court his son, and the teens mother, but he never addressed the situation to his own father. It simply wasn't necessary. Bruce never asked his consent on the dozens of women he had dated since Damian arrived, why should Damian ask him? Besides. He had an excellent judge of character, and everyone who had ever met Jon knew he was the purest person alive. He knew Damian's background and his current life, and never judged him for it. He was, in a word, perfect.

Jon had assumed Damian told his family, and with most the Wayne's and their various extended relations off on their own missions and agendas, no one ever saw them together doing anything that wasn't passed off as best friend stuff. So Jon never questioned it. He trusted, and assumed, his boyfriend has told his family members.

Only he hadn't. He had just deemed it irrelevant and then after a while, it never came up.

For three years.

They had moved in together, Jon's freshman year of college. Damian had moved to Metropolis, removing himself from Wayne Enterprises, from Batco, from everything. He made a name for himself without them, got a very nice job in Metropolis as vice president of a very well to do research company, moved into a huge loft apartment with his boyfriend and learned to live in the sun. Everyone in his family just accepted it. They never questioned the two, knowing they were "best friends" and it was only logical for the two to move in together, since they were "best friends" and knew each other's nightly activities.

It wasn't a far stretch for people, specifically the Metropolis Police, to figure out that the new masked vigilante who had suddenly appeared in Metropolis one night and started investigating crimes the police couldn't figure out was one of Batman's birds. Especially with the prior Robin, a muscular adult male, disappearing and briefly being replaced by thin teenage girl. But they soon learned that Damian was more then his past, as everyone else did.

A year or so after they had moved in together, they were planning to get married. They hadn't tried to surprise propose to each other, it would be nearly impossible, what with Damian being able to read Jon like a bold font newspaper, and Jon having super senses, and knowing Damian better then anyone else in the world. They had a talk about it over dinner, agreeing that they were ready to be wed. They briefly discussed it with the Kent's, who were overjoyed, and not a month after, sent wedding invitations.

It wasn't until a week later, they were laying in bed after a long day patrolling when Damian heard a thump. It had come from downstairs, in their living room. Jon grumbled and sat up, clearly having been on the verge of sleep.

"Its your dad," Jon stated, standing and reaching for a pair of pants.

"What does he want? He never comes to Metropolis anymore."

"Dunno. Maybe he has complaints about our wedding venue."

Damian was pulling on a shirt when he remembered.

"Oh."

"Oh?" Jon looked over, mussing up his wet hair.

Footsteps were coming up the stairs.

"Ah ha."

"Babe, what's wrong?" Jon asked, clearly concerned.

"It occurs to me. . . ." Damian said gently, knowing how Jon would react. "I may have neglected to inform my family that we were dating."

Jon's jaw dropped, eyes almost bulging out of his skull.

"We've been dating for four years!" He screeched in horror.

"Yes. I am aware," Damian said dryly, moving towards the door.

"How did you not tell them!?!"

"It never came up, and they're surprisingly oblivious."

"Holy shit, your dad is gonna kill me. And your brothers and your aunt and- oh my God."

Damian rolled his eyes.

"Calm down, Habibi, I'm not going to let anyone touch you, not this close to our wedding."

He pulled open the door and walked out, meeting the Batman at the top of the stairs.

"Father."

"Damian."

He glanced behind Bruce to spot his latest ward, the blonde haired teen looking around the apartment in amazement.

"Can I help you?" Damian asked, tilting his head to the left slightly.

He heard Jon walking over, and a hand gently touched the small of his back. Bruce reached up, pulling off his cowl, eyes flickering over the both of them.

"Can we talk?"

"Of course."

Damian brushed past his father easily on the wide industrial style stairs, jogging down the metal steps and heading to the kitchen.

"Lacey," he greeted with a nod, passing the teen now wearing the Robin uniform.

"Hi," she breathed out.

Damian went to the kitchen, starting a kettle of water boiling.

"Your siblings are on their way."

"I expected no less."

"Oh god," Jon whined, Damian looked up to see him standing at the bottom of the stairs, a hand in his hair.

Damian rolled his eyes and simply adjusted for the additional company, getting out more tea cups, as well as starting the coffee pot.

An awkward silence settled over the room, and then one by one, his siblings filed into the apartment until the sofas were full and everyone had a steaming hot mug in hand. Jon stalked over, looking anxious and snagged Damian's hand, pulling him to the furthest corner, the one that held their small round dining table that overlooked the city.

"You're not fucking with me, you never told them?" Jon hissed.

"No."

"Why not."

"It slipped my mind, and you never asked me about it."

"I assumed you had told them or they already knew! They're detectives!"

Damian shrugged. "Well, I never told them, and with our decision to keep our relationship out of the public eye, it was probably never suspected. After all, we were best friends first."

"You're telling them. I can't handle this."

Damian hummed, lightly patting his fiance's cheek.

"You'll be fine. Go sit down."

Jon obeyed, snagging his cup of tea and walking away, slumping in his armchair. Damian followed, lightly sitting on the arm of Jon's chair, looking at each of his family members, only nine of the surprisingly large bunch. Duke seemed the most amused by this situation. Lacey, the new Robin, seemed a little intimidated by being in a room with all her predecessors.

"What is the matter, then?" Damian asked finally.

"Tim?" Bruce said, looking at his third child.

The vigilante stood, reaching into a pocket and producing an envelope folded in half. He held it out to Damian, who took it, pretending he didn't know what it was, as if he hadn't designed the entire thing and would be able to recognize it on the spot. Jon gave a tiny whimper, letting his head fall on Damian's side.

"Oh quit," Damian muttered, smacking the man's knee.

He pulled the invitation out, eyes scanning over it quickly, looking for defects in the soft blue over white card. Of course there were none, he smile fondly, he had loved the design the moment it was in his hands and he still did. The invitation was well worn from having lived in Drake's belt, and he was sure it had been looked at many a times.

"And?" He said, looking up. "If you are all unable to make the date, im sure we can arrange for another time."

Jason busted out laughing, then swore as he spilled coffee in his lap.

"Don't get coffee on my sofa, Todd," Damian commented, passing the invitation back to Tim.

"Damian." Bruce was clearly displeased.

Damian arched an eyebrow.

"This is real?" Dick asked, motioning at the invitation which had been set on the coffee table.

"Why would we send out a fake wedding invitation."

"Oh, maybe because no one except Alfred knew you two were even dating!" Stephanie exclaimed.

"Oh so you did tell someone."

"Ah. No. . . I didn't. Alfred is just far more observant then everyone else."

Jon laughed bitterly and shook his head, sipping his tea.

"Damian. Explain."

"I mean, how long have you two?" Barbara motioned at them vaguely.

"Four years," Damian answered easily.

They all rightfully looked shocked.

"And you never told us?!" Dick hissed, offended.

"I didn't see that it would matter much, I wasn't dating him for your approval, and still do not need it. He never mentioned it so I never remembered to address it. You should be more disappointed in yourselves that you never figured it out in four years."

"I knew," Cassandra said finally. "Saw how you acted."

Damian nodded while Dick whirled on her, scolding her for not bringing it up. Bruce was just watching them, a mask of curiosity replacing his cowl, then he turned his gaze to Jon.

"Did your parents know?"

"From day one," the Kryptonian responded, an arm sliding around Damian's hips.

Bruce scoffed and shook his head.

"I can't believe this. Four years?!?" Jason exclaimed, looking shocked.

"I mean, its really not that surprising if you think about it," Duke inputted.

"All the signs we missed!" Tim bemoaned, slumping into his seat.

They all continued making comments and talking over each other. Damian and Jon sighed, looking at each other.

"Children," Bruce snapped and everyone went silent, looking up at the one common factor this ragtag group. Well, except for Jon. He was here for another Wayne. "Were you ever going to tell us?"

"We did." Damian gestured at the invitation.

"How the hell did you forget that you hadn't told us?" Tim asked.

"I got busy."

Jason snorted, looking away, mouthing some sarcastic comment. Damian ignored him.

"It was not an intentional act, to leave you clueless for so long. I simply forgot, to the point where I didn't even remember that you didn't know. So when we sent out the invitations I didn't think twice about it."

They didn't seem to know what to say to that, Jon finally inputted.

"I really thought he had told you, or I assumed he would, which is why I never brought it up either. We wanted to keep our relationship away from the public, and I guess you guys accidentally became a part of that group."

A little giggle came from Lacey, and everyone looked at her.

"I'm sorry, I think this is just really funny," she said. "Damian, I think its lovely that you're getting married, congratulations, mazel tov, live long and prosper and all that."

Damian felt himself smiling slightly, something he did a lot these days.

"Thank you, Lacey."

She giggled lightly, looking down as she tried to stiffle her laughs and still her shaking shoulders.

One by one, the rest of the family gave their congratulations, though still dumbfounded by the news, and made their way out, off the balcony. Bruce and Lacey were the last to leave, and he sent the teen out to wait for him.

"Damian. . . " He said with a sigh, glancing at Jon.

Damian felt something like anger, protectiveness, bubble up in him. He knew his fathers opinions of metas. He often shared them, but Jon. Jon was something else.

"Father, I'm marrying him. With or without your approval."

Jon's hand squeezed his hip.

Bruce sighed again, shaking his head.

"That's not it, Damian. You don't have to rush to be defensive all the time. I just wish you would've told me, I would have supported you the whole time, and I will from this moment on."

Damian nodded. Jon's hand moved to his back, pushing until Damian took the hint and stood. Bruce was standing at the edge of the sofa, looking at his son. Jon's foot kicked his ankle. Damian sighed and walked closer, and when Bruce moved to hug him, he wrapped his arms around his father's back. Bruce hugged him for a moment before pulling away, giving a sad smile.

"All my boys are so grown up," he murmured softly, reaching up to pat Damian's head like he was a toddler.

Then he looked past Damian at Jon. "I don't need to tell you what will happen if you hurt him."

"If I hurt him, I shall well and truly deserve it."

Bruce nodded, satisfied. He turned and walked towards the balcony.

"Damian, I love you. And if you need anything, you know you can call."

"I know, Father."

Bruce turned, tightly shutting the balcony door behind him. Damian sighed and turned back to Jon.

"Well, they know, and no one tried to kill you, satisfied?"

"Oh, no, I'm terrified that I'll wake up tomorrow with a chunk of Kryptonite in my face, but," Jon shrugged, standing and beginning to gather abandoned mugs.

"You're dramatic."

Silently, they cleaned up and then turned off lights, heading back to bed. Jon laid down and watched Damian move around, fussing with a few things in their room for a bit before finally calming and turning off the light. He came and laid down, facing his fiance.

"I love you, Damian."

"And I you, Habibi."

Jon hummed, rolling over and stretching, kissing Damian softly. In a months time they'd be husband's, and neither one could imagine life any other way. Damian secretly believed, if such things were true, they were soulmates, destined to always be lovers in every universe and timeline. He would, of course, never say this out loud, but he could think it, and he would.

[hansolmates]

urgh so i really don’t know how to say this and make it easier but im really on the fence about the recent events going on w/svt and pledis and it isn’t making anything better if i just keep it in so here it goes

i probably won’t be stanning svt the same way that i have before. i’ve given over four years of my life and love to this fandom and i realize how simultaneously wonderful and dangerous that can be. it’s so easy to fall in love with the fantasy of a group that cares for you and loves you, and they do, but as a whole fandom if that makes any sense. that love doesn’t seem inclusive, and of course we don’t know what’s going on in seventeen’s mind rn but it’s clear how apathetic pledis is being and while im not surprised their way of taking care of things has really worn me down to the point that im not excited or motivated to finish my wips for svt. i don’t feel like im in the right headspace to write for them. i feel like i’ve got a good long list of fics contributed to the fandom already so if i don’t ever finish my wips i feel like it will be okay. 

as for whether i will continue this blog that is a definite yes, i will be starting up my job again in late august and i might just be on queue but i don’t want to completely leave. as to whether this blog completely changes? well i feel like it’s changing already with my introduction to other fandoms, anime and dabbling into my writing for bts. i’m sticking with the kpop fandom but it’s best to be at an arm’s length right now. i want to be hopeful and patient but i feel like it’s been so long that its wearing thin. i’ve been w/kpop for over 10 years and seeing the changes both good and bad is a lot of transition. for july im going to finish on closing up my bts writing challenges and then as for august? who knows maybe there will be more clarity. 

regardless i just want to say to take care of yourself and if you ever need any support feel free to talk to me or find a safe person to communicate to

[tiliamericana]

Muay Thai: 1.04

Read From Start | Read Ahead | Home Site

It was amazing just how quickly Nairi got used to waking up and finding texts from Cherry waiting for her.

Cherry seemed to be up and on at all hours of the day; she was awake in the morning well before Nairi’s eleven o’clock alarm, but also worked well into the small hours of the night and put in long hours at the day job. Nairi had managed to ascertain that it had something to do with art—Cherry had strong opinions on grades of paper (something about absorbency), colour theory (people were stupid), watercolours (they were bad), and on the one occasion she’d come upstairs had informed Nairi that her walls were driving her mad and that she’d be painting something to stop the encroaching insanity.

When she wasn’t inserting herself into Nairi’s life she was sending Nairi pictures and selfies with her other friends; grad students with brightly coloured hair, a grinning bartender showing off his flair, baking with a short woman in glasses. And now this:

C: youre closed on tues y/y?? C: which means yourf free tonight right?

Nairi sent her back a quick “yes” and set her phone down before pulling herself out of bed to face the day. Not opening the dojo meant she was able to take a little longer with her morning, but she still preferred to do her prayers before she had to think about anything else, and Cherry was prone to showing up if Nairi indicated she had free time. Which she apparently had a lot more of than she realised.

Maybe she should look for a new style to start training in. This was the first time she hadn’t been focused on a new one since she… Well, for a while.

When she came back upstairs her phone was lit up again. Maybe Cherry had ideas about lunch? It would mean she’d have a reason to go out and eat something.

C: great!! C: dn you wanna come out tonight?? dinner C: on me if i need to sweeten it ;) edies just moved back fr work and if its just me her and nick im go6na die from them being old folks who disapprove all night C: also i keep talking about you at nick and he wants to meet you lol

Nairi had initially assumed ‘Nick’ was Cherry’s father, just based on the way she talked about him. But then Cherry had mentioned her father later, just calling him ‘Dad’, so maybe he wasn’t? Either that, or she was very discreet about their being gay. Or she just went back and forth between ‘Dad’ and ‘Nick’ arbitrarily. ‘Edie’ on the other hand was a name Cherry had mentioned in passing once and then never again, so Nairi had concluded she was one of the colourful grad students. Apparently not.

She sent back a “sure”, and then after a moment, asked for a place and time.

C: yay!! thank you!! C: its this fckn italian place edie loves but theres a ok bar so not all bad C: edies fatal allergic to being on time but nickll be 7 minutes early

The next message was a sticker, a little pair of eyes rolling across her phone screen when she opened it.

C: meet at 7? C: i checked the menu has good veg C: pasta heavy but good :p

Nairi smiled a little at that and sent her another “yes”. After a moment she added a “thank you”. Cherry sent her back three hearts, and Nairi put her phone down to go and get some lunch.

She didn’t think anything of it until she showed up at the restaurant. Cherry had driven and was already parked, leaning against the side of her obnoxious little two door to wait. It was bright red and nearly vintage, and she’d obviously put a lot of care into it. Nairi had half expected vanity plates, but they were a normal registration.

Nairi waved as she approached and Cherry visibly perked up with a wide, glossy smile, waving back. Cherry had dressed up a little nicer—dark skinny jeans and a pretty sleeveless shirt with a modest v-neck. The heavy Docs were gone, traded for heeled ankle boots, and she had delicate pearl bob earrings to match her golden cross. Not a paint spatter in sight.

“Hi,” she said as Nairi drew to a halt just out of arm’s reach. “Didn’t we pick an interesting night to go out?”

“We sure did,” said Nairi, her brow furrowing as she looked past Cherry to the road between them and the restaurant. “What the hell is going on?”

The stretch of asphalt was filled with a flock of young adults, all of them shirtless, yelling along together in an incomprehensible chant as they ran up and down between two unmarked points on the road. They were arguably being directed; a young woman with a reflective coat and a manic grin, holding a megaphone in one hand and an airhorn in the other, was standing on a shopping cart in the middle. Standing next to her on the ground, was another woman in reflective orange with a clipboard.

Judging by the amount of honking and the lack of anything resembling city signage, this wasn’t an official event.

Cherry glanced down at her phone as one of the women held up the airhorn to the megaphone. Charitably she waited for Nairi’s ears to stop ringing before she spoke. “Flo did a round on the facebook pages—apparently it’s some dorm flash mob from a hall at her college.”

“Which one’s Flo? Did she have the blue hair?” asked Nairi as she lowered her hands from her head and gladly pulled her attention away from a panting eighteen-year-old who had something pink painted on his heaving chest.

“Nah that’s Mason, he’s finishing up his sociology honours. Flo has the green hair, she’s doing her psych PhD,” said Cherry, craning her neck to look around Nairi. “Nick’s here! Right on time, like I said.”

She started waving, and Nairi turned to see the tallest man she’d ever seen waving back across at them. She raised an eyebrow, the muscles in her forearms tensing, and she tried not to feel too uneasy about it.

Cherry hummed happily, picking herself up from where she was leaning on the car door and reaching in through the open window to grab a thin cardigan from the seat. “Oh, and just a heads up,” she said casually, “Nick like, really hates it when people call me Cherry, it’ll probably be better if you just use my real name in front of him.”

Nairi opened her mouth to remind her that she’d never actually gotten around to saying what the was exactly, but Cherry was already halfway across the lot towards the man. “Nick!” she called out as she approached, closing the distance and leaning up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his shoulders.

He said something to her, pausing to hug her back before continuing over to Nairi. He drew to a halt next to her while Cherry returned to perching against her car. “You must be Nairi,” he said, voice alarmingly deep, hand outstretched. “Linden’s told me so much about you.”

Nairi took his hand and shook it once before dropping it, resisting the urge to take a step back once she’d done so. “Likewise. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Nicholas was close to seven feet tall and probably in his late fifties or very early sixties if she was any judge. His hair had landed firmly in the ‘grey’ zone just past salt-and-pepper, though he’d managed to keep rather a lot of it, close cropped in a very standard short back and sides. He had broad shoulders and a carefully ironed shirt that looked worn but cared for. He had a firm grip, muscle swelling ever so slightly in the lines of his shirt, and there was a furrow in his brow that made him look deeply concerned about something.

Though, from what she’d learned being friends with Cherry—Linden—if she were an older adult in her life she’d probably be deeply concerned as well. Or maybe it was the students.

“Do either of you know what’s going on here?” he asked after a moment, nodding at the crowd.

“Youthful hijinks keeping us from our dinner,” said Linden, grinning easily. She’d released some of the tension in her shoulders since Nicholas’s arrival, but at the same time seemed a little more on edge, like she was anticipating something. She took a deep, exaggerated breath, and pushed her hands into her jean pockets. “Do you know what that smell is?”

Nairi exchanged a faintly puzzled look with Nicholas, though his looked a little more exasperated. “Cheap beer?” she tried.

Linden sniggered. “Yeah, we called it ‘Eau de Freshie’ when I was in school,” she said, tossing her head to give the students behind them a speculative, almost mean look. They were still yelling enthusiastically, and she gestured at them. “It’s no longer funny, anyway. How many of these assholes do you reckon I have to beat up to let us get through?”

“I’m sure it doesn’t need to come to that,” said Nairi, her mouth twitching a little at the side.

Nicholas shot her a grateful look. “From the looks of things someone has already called the police, I’m sure they’ll be dispersed presently,” he said with a nod towards a pissed off looking woman standing by the crosswalk, phone jammed up against her ear.

“The cops always take fucking forever,” complained Linden, running a hand through her hair, foot tapping impatiently. “Come on Nick, you actually like, made a reservation and now we’re gonna miss it.”

“Linden I’m reasonably certain the staff can see what’s happening from where they’re standing,” said Nicholas, irritation creeping into his tone. “A little patience will not kill you, please do not start a fistfight with a teenager.”

Linden grinned at him, stretching her arms out in front of her chest. “I’m like, pretty certain the one with the airhorn is at least twenty.”

“Linden.”

“Well, I mean,” said Nairi speculatively, eyeing the students. “All you really have to do is be flashier than them.”

One of the running students fell out of pitch with their friends, and someone complained in her peripheral. A car door slammed and there was the crunch of footsteps on gravel followed by a huff as someone else joined the spectators. Linden turned her grin back to Nairi. “Yeah? You got an idea?”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, stepping up to Linden and reaching past her into the car window.

The other items she wanted were on the front seat, and Linden’s grin only widened as Nairi pulled them out. The baseball bat was wooden and well used, with a long crack threatening to split it clean open and letter stickers in the world’s ugliest font spelling ‘LINDE’ down the length. There was a clean spot amongst the built-up grime under the ‘E’. The bottle of lighter fluid was about half full, and Nairi held the bat out in front of her to squirt the contents over it liberally, splattering the asphalt in front of them as she did so.

She reached around Linden, extending the same familiarity she’d been receiving from her for the last two weeks, and pulled the lighter out of her back pocket.

The bat lit up easily and Nairi twisted it around to hold it upright, offering it to Linden. Linden looked at her, wide eyed, and took the bat. She placed her other hand on Nairi’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “You get me,” she said with warmth, before throwing her head back and cackling loudly, sprinting towards the crowd of students with the bat raised over her head.

Nicholas, next to her, made a faint, strangled noise. Behind her was a scoff and a loud voice. “Well. I’m guessing you must be Nairi.”

She turned and came face to face with an older woman in a rumpled men’s dress shirt and glasses who was glaring at her. She had red hair, natural as opposed to Linden’s box dye, and it was plaited out of the way to keep her tired face clear. Grey blue eyes stared down Nairi under her stern brow, and she uncrossed her arms to step forward into Nairi’s personal space. She was stocky and only a little shorter, barely having to raise her chin. “Just for reference,” she said, tone acerbic, “If I hear a single piece of news about young adult burn victims in the local urgent care facilities tomorrow? I will track you down and hold you personally responsible.”

She stepped away without waiting for an answer, glare sliding over to Nicholas. “You’re so right, Nicholas, I can see how much of a model presence she is,” she said in a way that even Nairi could read the sarcasm. “You remain a uniquely terrible judge of character.”

She strode across the street in the wake of Linden’s chaos. The students had mostly scattered with cheers and yells, and the girl with the megaphone was doubled over laughing in her shopping cart.

Nicholas was very slowly turning red, staring at Nairi with an unreadable expression. She coughed slightly and spun on one foot to follow the others across the street, trying to swallow her irritation at their judgement.