#it just struck me when rotating situations in my head

[andr0nap-wf]

realization: loid doesnt have a surname

cant refer to him as entrati when theyre not married (yet)

[tokiro07]

Another thing that bothers me about the Earth Flames being so rare is that they have no bearing on anything

The Tri-ni-sette are the Vongola Rings, Mare Rings and Arcobaleno Pacifiers, and together they maintain the world's balance (somehow), but the Simon Rings, which are of supposedly comparable power to the Vongola Rings, just...exist independently? For no purpose?

Then I started thinking about how Mare means "Sea." Why did the Tri-ni-sette use so much water imagery (clams, the sea, rainbows) when it represents the Dying Will Flames? It just doesn't line up very well conceptually

If I were to reboot Reborn, I would recontextualize the Tri-ni-sette specifically to represent the Dying Will Flames of the Sky, Earth and Sea

Sure, having 22 different Flame types would be a lot, but I don't think that's much worse than the 15 we already have, especially when you consider that Amano didn't care enough to elaborate on them anyway. What's another seven for her to ignore?

Anyway, here's my ideas for the Sea Flames

Sea Flame: Adaptation; as a sort of reversal of the Sky Flame's Harmonization ability to make other flames like itself, the Sea Flame changes its own properties to best match the situation, like liquid filling its container. To continue my spear example from a previous post, a Sea Flame-coated spear could become flexible to keep from breaking when hitting a particularly tough target, sturdy to block attacks, or fluid to maneuver around barriers; the Sea Flame is a deep but clear blue

Wave Flame: Conduction; like sound traveling through a medium, the Wave Flame can enter and travel through objects, though its speed may be affected by the properties of said objects. A Wave spear could be made temporarily intangible to bypass defenses or could allow the force of its strikes to propagate through a struck target; the Wave Flame is a billowing green (for the green room of a tidal wave)

Current Flame: Direction; with fluid properties, the Current Flame always flows in one direction at the user's will, able to drag anything caught in its wake in said direction. A Current spear could be thrown and controlled from afar by altering the flow, leave a trail that would force others who cross that trail to move along it, or be manipulated precisely during close-range combat; the Current Flame is a pale and somewhat cloudy yellow

Vortex Flame: Rotation; immediately upon production, Vortex Flames begin spinning around their point of origin, and similar to Current Flames can affect the movement of objects caught within, albeit in a much more specific and localized manner. A Vortex spear can be spun along its center to convert its head into a drill or spun along its length to convert its pole into a helicopter, as well as inducing a spinning motion onto whatever is struck; the Vortex Flame is a spinning, frothy orange (because I came up with its color last and orange was all that was left, though it coincidentally brings to mind Naruto)

Geyser Flame: Explosion; requiring a charge to build up pressure, the Geyser Flame creates explosive force when released. A Geyser spear can have its flame concentrated on the back to propel itself forward or on its tip to explode on impact with a target; the Geyser Flame is a boiling, glowing red

Surface Flame: Distortion; like the surface of water, the Surface Flame refracts light, allowing the user to deceive an opponent's senses by altering the position and proportion of an image. This is distinct from illusions as new images cannot be introduced, the extant image can only be warped. A Surface spear can be made to seem to disappear, teleport, become intangible, or any number of other optical tricks so long as the user is clever and skilled enough. The Surface Flame is a shimmering, rippling light blue

Depth Flame: Compression; by applying pressure from its edge towards its center, the Depth Flame's density increases inwardly. Objects that enter the Depth Flame's radius are drawn to the middle and are met with increased resistance and pressure. A Depth spear can increase the density and efficacy of its blade, draw foreign objects to itself, or create crushing pressure on the struck area; the Depth Flame is a gradient, opaque purple

With this, the Vongola, Mare and Simon Rings make up the Tri-ni-sette while the Arcobaleno are their own thing distinct from them. Kawahira says that the Arcobaleno are so massively important that the Vongola and Mare Rings are basically irrelevant anyway, so who cares if the Pacifiers aren't part of the Tri-ni-sette anymore?

[eenkleinleven]

cant wait to hear your thoughts about the play!! know i am living vicariously through you and i hope your emotional recovery is going well!

Oh, I won't ever be okay again. It was great. A woman in the audience had an episode of vasovagal syncope in the first hour of the play because of the blood. She almost staggered onto the stage and they had to pause to get her medical attention. Majd got to ask "is there a doctor in the audience?" And the luckiest man alive got to get up, and say "I am". I was so tickled by that. Is this not the sort of thing doctors aspire to do?

Because my brain is rotted like wooden support beams after a decade of flooding, I thought "he's certainly going to be comfortably situated in his Andy oats for the rest of the night".

Here's some other things that struck me, though.

In no particular order:

Ramsey Nasr does a great job of capturing the fact that Jude is sort of adorable. There were moments where I was caught off guard by it and thought to myself: "ah, that's cute." In the adoption scene, when he hugs Willem, he actually like... really wrapped himself around him. Like, a real leap of a hug.

The little kisses everyone gives Jude on his head! Oh, my heart!

Hans Kesting is so good at what he does. A terrifying presence on stage. Particularly as Dr. Traylor, but there is a palpable cruelty to the way he plays Caleb. Like a housecat batting around a baby bird.

Another thing: during the car scene, he tilted the light at each rotation to make sure everyone in the audience was momentarily blinded.

Oh, god! The Greene St scene with Caleb was a real shock! The whole room was bathed in this horrible (good horrible) white light. Even I felt a little exposed.

Another "oh, god" moment was during the moment with Caleb showing up at Greene St and forcing Jude to undress and Jude calls out to Ana and asks her to take his watch. Something about that made me sob.

There was a moment where Ana was watching--I believe--Willem and Jude having sex, if memory serves. And while, you know, I could say more important things about that, the only thing that came to mind was this:

JB was so... Flamboyant. Sort of this:

I noted that they changed his dialogue to deprive me of something I thought was funny which is that they made him Syrian, which makes sense! But White JB is funnier.

They had someone other than Steven van Watermeulen playing Harold. I'll say this: highly effective. Absolute law professor energy. The long strides, pacing around the stage, the tone of voice, the expressions! All perfect. I felt the urge to prepare myself to think about the commerce clause and standing, and if that doesn't speak to his performance, then what does?

The ending of the play really got to me, because Harold walks out into the audience and looks at the stage with us before it goes dark. I wept!

I may just be a sucker for string accompaniments, but they managed to make the air thick with tension at times.

When Jude cut himself and the screens would dissolve into a bright, hazy static, I found that really immersive.

The burning scene was an interesting one for the audience. When he lit the match, people *gasped*. To see that bright light flickering, almost imperceptible, from inside of the sink as Jude recites these rapid-fire free association memories, it is just *devastating*.

I might be a softie, but it really tugged at my heartstrings to see Jude crying. I really felt for him. All throughout, really, I often found that I could only think: it's difficult, isn't it? It's difficult to know what to do, and even harder to do it.

Certain instances of the blocking (i.e. where everyone is standing on a stage) were downright electric. Moments where, say, Jude, Harold, and Brother Luke would be standing like points on a diagonal line struck me as genius. The staging of past-present was just so neat. Lots of spatial triangulation.

I forgot that Ramsey Nasr was in the opera adaptation of Death in Venice (also ITA), so the clarity of tone in his singing was unexpected, and thus, all the more beautiful.

Oh, and one last thing: in the scene where Willem dies, there's this instant where Jude is hugging him, and as he pulls away, Jude held onto his cardigan for just long enough before letting go.

[marvelsbanner]

Part of a Team

Summary: Wanda is the newest Avengers recruit and she’s having a hard time finding her place in this new life- maybe she can find it in you?

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x y/n, you

Warnings: Brief mention of death and blood, minor language (if you squint theres kind of compromising situations? nothing outright sexual)

Word Count: ~2700

A/N: Reblogs, likes, and comments are VERY much appreciated, all mistakes are my own! xx 

**I don't own marvel and if I did Natasha would be alive**

Something was wrong. You were just in Strucker’s lab- just on the trail of one of the enhanced twins. The alarms were going off around you and your boots clanged on the metal floor- before you froze in your place, a red haze overtaking you and suddenly you were thrown into the daylight.

-

You felt tingles run through your veins and down your spine; your head throbbed. You felt vulnerable, seen. What the hell is going on-

You’re in the forest, you think. No- there are rocks. Big rocks-

Focus.

No, not rocks. Graves. Gravestones. Where the hell are you?

You drag your heavy feet over to the nearest, it takes a moment for your vision to focus.

Who’s grave? Who’s grave? Oh god.  No no no- this, this can’t be-

Natasha Romanoff.

You felt like throwing up. This couldn’t be real. You dragged yourself to another stone situated nearby: Clint Barton. Beloved husband, father, and friend.

It felt like you couldn't breathe, you were just there with them. You were just there.

Your body jerks as cold hands grab your shoulders and spin your body to face them-

Steve.

You throw your arms around his neck, “STEVE! Oh god Steve! You’re okay- you’re.. cold” you feel something wet and sticky on your hand, pulling it back and seeing red. So much red.

“Steve..” you quickly stumble back, tripping in the process. It’s then you see- it’s too late. His body was grey and lifeless. He falls onto his knees and then collapses totally. You scream and scramble backwards, head hitting another gravestone in the process.

You turn to face it, to read another name of one of the team members you’ve come to call family- but it's not one of theirs. It’s yours.

It’s your name. A graveyard for the Avengers, Earth’s mightiest heroes.

Suddenly your body jolts and you take a sharp intake of breath- your ears are pounding. Everything hurts. But you see her- the enhanced. She’s looking at you with a look you can’t describe. It’s not fear, it’s not anger.. Pity? Empathy? You can’t look away from her, the glowing red eyes capturing you as their prey.

And then there was black.

-

A few weeks later and you’re back at the tower. Things have changed- the entire world has changed, really. The battle opened up new doors- literal new doors to new realms- that the world had previously thought impossible.

The team had expanded, with Steve’s friend Sam joining the team, as well as Vision, the synthezoid that helped the team to defeat Ultron.

There was also her.

Wanda Maximoff was one of the enhanced twins from Strucker’s experiments, you eventually learned. It was voluntary, but after learning about her backstory you think you would have done the same in her place. 

She lost her brother- Pietro- in the battle and she took it hard. She didn’t come out of her room when she could help it. Clint was rather protective over her, maybe it was the fatherly figure coming out of him- maybe he was feeling guilt over being the one Pietro sacrificed himself to save. Either way, he was able to get her out of the room a few times and get her to eat. Vision also struck up a strange friendship with the girl- but then again, Vision was easy company, and rather empathetic for a synthezoid.

Everybody took a hit from when Wanda messed with their heads, some more than others.

You didn’t talk for a week.

Didn’t even talk with Clint’s kids when they wanted to play with you.

You didn’t hold it against her. She proved what a valuable asset she was to the team as she fought alongside the group. She did what she thought was right at the time, and that’s not something you could hold against anybody.

Ever since the Battle, Wanda has been staying in the Avengers facilities with the rest of the group, an official Avenger, but you could tell she was still uneasy around the team. She only talked when she was directly talked to and didn't come out of her room but for a few times a day for food and training, sometimes not even then.

And then there was you.

She seemed to avoid you like the plague. You weren’t even sure you two made eye contact for the entire first few weeks she was there.

At first you thought she just didn’t like you, that something about you rubbed her the wrong way, or something you had done had offended her.

But it was her eyes that gave it away- the same soft look that she gave you right after exploring the deepest and darkest parts of your mind that day at Strucker’s lab. She knew from the second it happened that she had hit a deep nerve, and she would continue to give you that damn look every time she thought you didn't notice her.

But you always did.

You couldn’t help it, the way you were drawn to her. She reminded you so much of yourself before joining the team, broken, and alone in your head. You wanted to know her. You wanted to be there for her, be someone to her, you didn’t want her to keep walking on eggshells around you.

And so, you told her.

You found her in the kitchen late one night. She was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a garnet tank top with a plain gray robe overtop. Her hair was a mess, roughly shoved into a ponytail and her hands were cupped around a mug. She was blowing on what looked to be dandelion tea, and as you got closer the fragrant earthy smell confirmed your suspicions.

She looked adorable.

And slightly startled to find you alone with her.

“Evening” you said as a greeting as you made your way to the counter top.

She gave a tight-lipped half smile with a timid “Hi” before going back to blowing on her tea. She made a slight movement that looked like she was going to try to slip away before you continued,

“You did really well in training the other day. Cap can’t give you enough praise” you say, taking a seat on one of the counter barstools.

She looks puzzled for a moment over your attempt at small talk before getting out a “Thank you.”

You both stood there in silence for a moment, just looking at each other, feeling the air grow thicker with each second ticking by.

“I like the pajamas” you say with a small smirk. You yourself were still dressed for the day in your leather jacket and black jeans. You could have sworn you saw flush creep up her neck before she swallowed it down with a sip of her tea.

There was another silent moment as she gave you a quizzical look, “I don’t quite understand what’s happening here.” She says with a vague hand gesture to the space between them.

You gave a slight chuckle, it was very on-brand for Wanda to be straight to the point.

“Look, Wanda,” You rotated your body on the stool to face her more comfortably,

“I see the way you look at me when you think i’m not looking. You avoid me at any given opportunity, I actually think this has been the most words we’ve exchanged in your whole time living here.”

She raised her ducked head to look you in the eyes and gave a small shake to her head, “I don’t understand.”

You don’t break eye contact, but simply offer a small smile as you reply “I’m not afraid of you, Wanda. And I don’t hold anything from that day against you. All is forgiven, and I would like to move past that. I understand you believed everything you were doing was for the right reasons, and the only thing that it shows me is your dedication and loyalty to a greater cause. Even if it was the wrong one at the time.”

She looked shocked, to say the least. Her mouth slightly opening and closing as she pondered what to say in response.

“You all should be afraid of me. You see the chaos I’ve created and you think you know what I can do,” her voice caught before she continued, “But the truth is I don't even know what i'm capable of. I don’t belong here.” she says softly.

You give a sad smile before slipping off of the stool and moving closer to her.

“We all thought that, at one point or another. We’ve got a whole freak circus here, we’ve got more baggage than Delta flies in a year- that's, that's uh, an airline. My bad.” You elaborate after she gives you a puzzled look, holding back a smile at your stuttered explanation.

“Aaand I ruined the moment.” You give a small chuckle, before continuing “But my point still stands. Nobody belongs here more or less than anyone else. We’re all just here, that's the truth of the matter. We’re just a bunch of unlucky misfits trying to figure out how to work as a team. Just give it a try, and maybe you’ll find you fit in better than you imagined you would.”

At some point during your speech you had moved close enough to take her hand, and you look down at it now, blushing before going to move it away.

Before you could, she gives your hand a squeeze before moving in to place a gentle kiss against your cheek.

“Thank you, y/n.”

And with that she slips away to her room, leaving you alone with your racing heart and her lukewarm mug of tea.

-

The next morning you found yourself awake bright and early for another morning training session with Nat and Steve- but you had a guest this time.

“Wanda” you greeted, which she returned with a timid “Good morning.”

“I’m glad you could make it” you say, sincerely.

“I decided to take your advice.” She replies with the smallest smile pulling at her lips.

The two of you stood there for a moment, just taking each other in before Steve cleared his throat, “Alright, we should get started then. Wanda, I'll spar with you to start. Nat, you take y/n. Try not to kill each other, please.” He said with a humored smile.

You make your way towards the corner with Nat on your heels. She gives you a quizzical look with a raised brow, glancing between you and Wanda. You roll your eyes and shake your head, only responding with a pointed “Later,” before your legs sweep under hers and an arm wraps around her torso, flipping you both to the ground and landing with you on top of her.

“Using my own move against me, that’s a low blow y/n.” You both laugh, and you barely respond with a “I learned from the best” before she wraps a leg around your waist and grabs your wrists with one hand, flipping you over and pinning you to the ground. She winks and replies “Damn right you did.”

It went like that for another half an hour, the two of you going back and forth battling for the upper hand. Natasha was the one who had trained you since the beginning, and you could almost say you were near her equal now. Well, you could at least give her a run for her money in a spar.

The two of you were panting and glistening with sweat, cheeks flushed from the exercise when she gave you a mischievous wink and called out to the other two, “Hey grandpa, I think I’m done getting my ass kicked by y/n for the day. I want someone easy, come spar with me”

If looks could kill, the look you were giving her would have the assassin dead on the floor.

Steve only looked amused, grabbing a towel to wipe his own sweat as he responded “Bring it on, Romanoff. Try not to break anything, though. I’ve been told they want my bones for the Smithsonian” Nat rolled her eyes and gave a pointedly fake laugh before they made their way to the other side of the gym, leaving you and Wanda alone.

“Hi” you greeted. She responded with a small smile and a “Hi” in return.

She looked as though she were still catching her breath, the rise and fall of her chest was noticeably fast and her face was still adorned with a glisten of sweat and pretty pink flush.

The same flush you saw from her last night, standing in the kitchen with the dim light around her.

Oh God you were in deep now.

“Nat and I were just wrestling around, hand to hand combat kind of stuff, but I see you and Steve were boxing so it's up to you what you’d like to do.” you say quickly.

“Well.. I do have this,” She waves her hand to show her flicker of red powers “for missions, so I don’t think I really need that kind of training.” She says with a smirk, “But I admit, you seem like a good teacher. Maybe.. some basics?”

She was pushing it. Pushing at this, the same way you were pushing last night. Alright, maybe you could run with this.

You give her a teasing smile, “Alright then. We’ll start slowly. May I?” You ask, reaching out for her, but not quite touching.

“By all means” she says, and you can feel the familiar flush creeping up your neck again. You release a puff of breath and shake yourself out of your thoughts before stepping closer to Wanda, and in one fluid motion you had one leg behind hers, your left arm resting against her upper chest and your other at the small of her back, pushing her flush against yourself.

You could hear the small gasp she let out, smirking to yourself.

“This is a simple take down, easy to get out of, but good for beginning. Now i'm just gonna pull you down as slowly as I can-”

You bring her left leg out from under her and carefully let the two of you sink to the floor, leaving you straddled on top of her and pinning her arms to the ground. The air suddenly felt a lot warmer.

You meet her eyes, breath hitching as you feel her pulse quicken beneath your touch.

You clear your throat and begin again, “Like I said before, it’s easy to get out of, but you want to keep the element of surprise. Use your opponent's body weight against them, if you can twist your wrist to slip it out of their grip and use your hips to to flip-”

Before you could even finish she had you pinned beneath her, wind knocked out of you from the impact.

“Like that?” she said, looking down at you through hooded eyes, thick accent teasing- flirting?

You were suddenly very aware of your close proximity and compromising position- flush against each other with her hips straddling your waist; close enough to feel her rapid heartbeat. 

“Yeah- that was- that was good” you sputtered out, barely able to hear yourself over the rapid beating of your own heart. Or maybe it was hers- you aren't sure you could tell the difference between up and down right now.

She gave a proud smirk and opened her mouth to say something before a certain synthezoid floated through the gym walls, clueless to the moment he was interrupting.

“Mr. Stark requests a team meeting and would like you to meet him in the conference room.” He said simply before turning and leaving through the wall again.

Wanda gave you a look that seemed to say we’ll finish this later and moved off of you. You missed the heat of her body immediately.

She offered you a hand up and you gladly took it, the two of you walking side by side in silence to the meeting, shoulders bumping and small smiles shared between you two as you think to yourself that maybe you could get used to this. 

[thatgoblin]

Chris Redfield and Leon Kennedy x Rookie Reader Headcannons

Leon

At first you were in awe of your lead. THE Leon S. Kennedy was showing you the ropes and helping train you for the job you'd dreamed of. Hero worship was common in this line of work, but you did your best to keep it to a minimum. You didn't want to embarrass yourself after all.

In place of that hero worship came this insatiable need to make Leon proud. Whether it was memorizing and nailing every written exam or physical test, you wanted to earn his praise.

You worked hard, harder than almost everyone it seemed. Leon never saw you slacking and saw how serious you were about the job. Protecting people was what you had always wanted to do with your life.

So when the grades came back that you weren't doing so hot, you were mortified. How could you let this happen? You didn't slack off, you studied everything you could get your hands on, hell you watched instructional videos on YouTube before bed! But you still weren't making a passing grade.

You thought you would be okay with the physical part, but no matter how hard you trained, no matter the extra hours you put in, you just couldn't seem to get what everyone else did. The moves were simple, why couldn't you just grasp them?

The only thing you thought you had going for you was the firing range, but even that was less than acceptable. Every time you tried to do something the pressure got to you and you messed up. You were so busy trying to make sure you didn't fail Leon that you were failing yourself.

It was when you were called into your commanding officer's office to speak about your grades that you were sure you were done. You were given two weeks that were used for break to study and practice and retest. But you'd already had nearly four months and the best you could do was subpar.

You were in your room, packing your bags because you knew you were going to be kicked out of the program when Leon showed up.

"Hey, Kid, you leaving for break?" He asked as he leaned against the door frame of your dorm.

"Uh. . . No," you said, hanging your head in shame. "I'm flunking out. Figured that it would just be easier to pack my bag now than wait later till I was officially asked to leave."

"What? How are you flunking?" Leon asked, straightening up. "I watch you every day and you're one of the hardest working cadets I've seen."

"Hard work doesn't mean much when you can't apply it correctly," you said. "I can't get the fighting technique right, the written exams are all a bust, and I can't even shoot a gun right. I don't deserve to be here."

"Have you asked for help or for someone to tutor you? That's what I'm here for, you know," he said, moving into the room to sit on the bed next to you.

You stared at the floor as you took a deep breath, feeling all the insecurities come rushing through to the surface.

"I didn't want to disappoint you," you said. "I mean, I wanted to do it all myself without help. I wanted to make you proud that you were my lead. If I was always asking for help, what good does that do? It shows that I can't do something on my own and need my hand held like some baby."

Leon sighed as he folded his hands together between his knees.

"I get it. I do. Wanting to make your leader proud and show how good you are, but we're a team here. No one is by themselves. You're only so good as your team is and if you're not doing well then that's a reflection on us," he said.

"Oh god, are you guys getting in trouble because of me?" You asked, looking at him horrified that you were possibly making things hard for your team.

"No, no, I mean. . . We're a team for a reason. You have to lean on us and trust us so when we need to, we can lean on you and trust you. If you need help studying or practicing outside of classes, I'll help you. That's why I'm here. It can be hard to ask for help in any situation cause it means you're admitting to a weakness, but that's okay. That's how we get stronger as individuals and as a team," Leon said.

You nod with a sigh. "I have two weeks to get better before I officially am asked to leave. I don't know if I can do it on my own," you said. "Can you help me?"

"Of course. I've got your back, Kid," Leon said, giving you a soft smile.

Chris

The B.S.A.A. was not for rookies, but they needed recruits so here you were. They provided training on weapons, protocol, how to work the gear, basically everything. Because they wanted everyone to be a well oiled machine out in the field, they made sure if you couldn't cut it that you didn't make it out of training. It was life and death and while they needed the hands, they weren't sending people out to die.

The trainers rotated to take classes of trainees. You were lucky enough to get the legendary Chris Redfield for your class leader. He would be teaching everything and making sure that everyone was ready. You had heard of him before, knowing that he was a weathered agent and could almost do anything was daunting.

Which was probably why you tried to avoid him at all costs in one on one situations. He wasn't mean or an ass, but he was intimidating. His stature and history were more than enough to show he knew exactly what he was talking about. You didn't want to feel stupid or embarrass yourself, so you kept him at a distance as you worked almost on your own.

Sure there were classes and work that you were trained in, but just the fear of being the weak link in front of others was hindering you. All of your tests and physical training was mediocre at best. Sure there were people that weren't going to cut it obviously, but you were much closer to their end of the spectrum than the other end that was running circles around you.

It wasn't that you couldn't do it. You could, but sometimes you froze up because your hands did something your mind didn't want to do or nerves made you stutter and stumble over your words. Everyone in the class at least had a background in the military or the police force or FBI or CIA or some other group that was similar to this.

You on the other hand did not. You came from a more technical background rather than a physical one. While you were miles ahead on the written tests, the physical ones were going to kill your career.

So when the notice went out that you were on the chopping block to be let go unless you could prove you were capable of being in the field, you weren't surprised.

Half of you wanted to keep trying, but the other half was telling you to pack up and go. You weren't unique or special, so why bother to continue to try?

It was when you were were working with one of the large guns by the shooting range, that Chris approached you. Before then, you two hadn't said a word to each other outside of the classes or even directly to each other.

So when his large frame took a seat across from you, folding his hands on the table after setting a file next to him, watching you with the gun, you weren't sure what to think.

"Hi," you said, freezing as you looked from the gun to him.

"Y/N, right?" He asked. You nodded as you set the pieces of gun on the table. "Why are you here?"

Oh Jesus, no. Why now? Why here?

"Uh," you said, blinking rapidly as your brain tried to come up with an answer. "Because I wanna help people."

"That's usually the answer I get," he said, sitting back to let his hands drop into his lap. "That or 'to kill bio weapons.' That's also a popular one."

"Yeah?" You said, unsure of what he was getting at.

"But I don't think it's why you're here," Chris said. "Because I think you don't know why you're here." Opening the file, you could see it was all information about you. Your background, schooling, family, credit score, even online usernames. They had everything. "When I was looking through the potential trainee's info, you struck me as odd. It's not exactly an every day thing that we get people who are more tech inclined rather than have a police or military background, but it happens. Usually they wash out though and end up in our research department."

"But I don't want to be in the research department," you said, frowning. Was he going to push you over to that section of the organization? You didn't want to be there though, otherwise you would have applied there.

"Every time I talk to someone and they have the chance to go to research after speaking to them about it, they take it," Chris said. "They figured out they can't cut doing the ground work so they move to a different field, but not you. I see you everyday in training, working your ass off to keep up with everyone and you almost make it. Not quite, but almost. Almost isn't going to cut it out on a mission."

"I know, I just. . . I'm working on it," you said, trying not to sound hateful or rude as your hands started to move on autopilot, putting your gun back together. "I'm really trying and I just can't get over this stupid hump that's holding me back."

"What's that? What's holding you back?" Chris asked.

"Me. I'm holding myself back," you said with a sigh. "I second guess everything because everyone around me has the experience that I don't, but I know I can do it. I just choke when it's time to act."

"I know you have some experience that they don't," Chris said. You nodded, understanding what he was talking about.

"I was a kid when it happened, I could barely call it working experience," you said, pushing the empty magazine into the gun.

"It was for Sherry Birkin," Chris said. "Raccoon City for a 9 year old isn't something to sniff at. From what the reports said, you were by yourself for three days before you made it out."

"Yeah," you said, nodding as you moved to the handgun next, disassembling it easily. "Hid in my apartment till I saw military trucks driving by then ran out."

"You lost your whole family to what we're training you to fight," Chris said, keeping his eyes on your hands as your fingers moved without faltering as you put the gun back together. "You were a kid when that happened. I say it still counts for experience that no one else really has. You know what you're doing with the infected and you know what it's like in the aftermath. We need people who know what it's like so that we can stop it from happening again."

"So what do you propose?" You asked, looking up as you finished putting the handgun back together. "After school training? Tutoring? Or do you want me to be counselor for survivors or shove me off to R and D?"

Chris chuckled as he closed the folder to look up at your face.

"I'm not gonna cut you," he said. "You know what you're doing and you're right. You're hang up is yourself. I'm gonna work with you to get over it. It's probably one the easiest things to work through really."

"You mean I can stay?" You asked, relaxing back into the chair, not even realizing you had grown so tense.

"Yeah. I just watched you take those weapons apart and put them back together in record time without even pausing," he said, pointing to the guns in front of you. "I want to work with you, Y/N. This isn't going to be an easy fight, but I really believe you have what it takes to be a good B.S.A.A. agent."

"Thank you, Sir," you said, smiling softly. "I appreciate that."

"You're welcome. We'll start some one on one combat training tomorrow before class. You're going to be working double what the others are, but it'll be for the best in the long run," he said.

"Whatever it takes, I'll do what I need to," you said.

"Glad to here it. Now, while we're here in the shooting range, let's test your aim."

[dizzydennis]

Sonic x Rouge Cover Story (Part 2)

Translator note: Thank you for checking out Part 2 of Rouge’s cover story. I have no idea why it was separated like this, but it’s fine in the end. I am not fluent in Japanese and I am still learning how to be a better translator. Please note that there will likely be mistakes in my work here, but I hope you enjoy the story. Also, I am busy with work and didn’t have the luxury of working on my laptop for this one. While riding a Shinkansen, I typed this out on my phone. If there are any mistakes, please forgive me.

Within the center of Eggman Land, there is a deep vertical hole deep in the ground that goes over 100 meters down.

This was the site of the “Gaia Temple.”

The temple, which once stood for the "healing" of this planet, was tucked into the underground of Eggman Land, but emerged during a big battle and is now sleeping deep in the depths of the planet.

At the bottom of this hole was a figure that landed silently. After looking around carefully, this person said in an overly satisfied tone:

"Huh. It seems that all those robots that gathered together to get Sonic. All for little ol’ me! ♪"

This person was Rouge the Bat. When she looked at the radar she was carrying she could see Sonic was a ways off; just as planned.

"Everybody should get a friendly little hedgehog friend!~"

It seemed certain that she pushed the enemy towards Sonic and to drive them as far away as possible. Then, on the contrary, Sonic was heading for this very spot.

Soon after reaching the deepest part of the tall rock spires of the temple, Rouge found a stone that was dimly shining through the darkness, picked it up, and gracefully pressed it against her cheek.

“I finally found you! And you’re just such a cutie!”

"... Who are you talking to and what are you saying?"

When asked from behind, Rouge looked blankly forward with the stone still on her cheek.

"Oh ...? Did you abandon your work? That’s pretty naughty, Sonic."

Rouge's expression, as she slowly looked back and asked, returned to her usual graceful smile.

“Well, I know you’re the worst kind of lady and I couldn't help it," Sonic answered with an obnoxious grin.

Knowing the location of the Chaos Emerald with the energy detector, Sonic noticed Rouge's plan to use him to allow her a chance to take the gem and so… he quickly showed up here.

The communicator that was informing her of his position would still be spinning on rotation.

"So, what are ya going to do with that Chaos Emerald?"

Rouge smiled and returned without any fear.

"Well, I was thinking that I’d bring it home … What do you say to that?"

Rouge continued, shifting her gaze from the ring on Sonic’s left hand to the Chaos Emerald.

“You’ll soon realize the value of a better gem when one comes around.”

With that said, she slammed a smoke bomb, that she took out from in-between her breasts, on the ground.

<< BANG! >> >>

The area was covered with white smoke.

"Hey! What about our deal earlier!?"

When Sonic shook off the smoke, Rouge had already grabbed on to a large escape balloon and was rising into the sky.

"... Well that takes care of that! My investigation has already ended ♪ You were very useful for the time being, so I will share my intel as promised. Eggman Land’s power restarted because of that seven-colored shooting star ... and the Chaos Emerald accidentally fell here. "

The setup was a little crazy, but Rouge got the Chaos Emerald anyway. She began talking to earn time to escape.

“Well look at that, the Gaia Temple that was previously here was also a power spot for the Chaos Emeralds, right? Perhaps because of that, it seems the underground temple responded to all that Chaos Energy and began to spread energy around the area.”

Sonic didn’t seem to move at all.

"Well, I gave it some thought... If I were to come down here then I might happen upon a Chaos Emerald myself.”

So that was it. Sonic began to speak back.

"OK, but the Chaos Emeralds don’t really belong to anyone. They’ve just been used by some of us when the world was really in a pinch.”

It didn’t matter to Rouge as she let out a soft, “But…"

"But what?"

“But… isn’t it just great to be able to dig in and steal it?”

The next moment Sonic grinned as he dashed towards Rouge.

"!?"

Sonic used the slopes of the rock pillars to spin dash into the sky. As he crossed by Rouge, he grabbed the Chaos Emerald right from her hand.”

"Oh! You thief!"

With a wink, Sonic fell to the bottom of the vertical hole with a huge smile across his face. Rouge was at a loss for words and swooped down to catch up to him!

<< RUMBLE ...! >> >>

Suddenly, all the lights in Eggman Land shut off and the planet shook violently.

A plethora of dazzling streaks of light rose from the very bottom of the vertical hole. The lights shot out in countless directions, and the entire place was engulfed with light once Sonic landed.

The five Chaos Emeralds that Sonic had in his possession started to shine brightly as if they were responding to the lights below.

"What is this......!?"

A glow returned to the darkened and drained Chaos Emeralds.

Maybe it's because five Chaos Emeralds were gathered in the same place where the Gaia Temple used to be. Perhaps it was because Sonic has a deep connection with the temple. Either way, some slumbering power had “found” the Chaos Emerald.

Rouge, who was watching this from the sky, was completely awestruck at such a beautiful scene.

Moreover, the darkness that has spread across the entire temple was washed out as huge particles of light seemed to cut out through the engravings along the side of the large hole. They became even more gorgeous as they shined in seven bright colors.

It looked like a fancy jewel placed on top of high quality black velvet fabric.

"...!"

Rouge glanced at its beauty with longing eyes as she let out a sigh.

For the realist that Rouge was: gems that are unobtainable are truly worthless. However, the hint of "better jewels" still being out there made Rouge happy.

... She could hear Sonic calling from far below her feet.

"Hey! Are you going to come back for it?”

Sonic was shouting with the Chaos Emerald in his hand. It was if he wasn’t going to put up a fight at all.

Of course, she wasn’t going to give up on this real jewel. Right now, no matter what went down in Eggman Land, people’s hearts don’t change. Rouge squinted her eyes and made a confident smile. She pretended to give up and assessed her chances for a surprise attack.

“Well… I lost. I don’t need a sneaky hedgehog’s emerald anyway! Besides—”

<< Crack ...! >> >>

As Rouge flew, the circumference of the hole began cracking apart as the planet shook again.

<< RUMBLE ...! >> >>

"What!? What’s happening this time!?”

A vertical hole that was originally struck in an unnatural shape ... I couldn't stand the torrent of light. The vertical hole couldn’t withstand the barrage of light. The buildings and attractions of Eggman Land fell as if they were caught in an avalanche. The whole thin collapsed.

...... Now’s the time to strike!

If Rouge could get off a surprise move now, she could possibly get all five of Sonic’s emeralds! However, Sonic was able to avoid a giant Eggman statue that had collapsed and fallen in. Sonic slipped back and fell into the smoke.

Sonic would be fine in a situation like this. Rouge, however, concentrated all of her cunning towards an overhead surprise attack once the smoke settled.

But then ...

"I'm sorry to have kept a lady waiting, but I can’t give much more of an apology, right? By the way, what were you trying to tell me earlier?"

Rouge was hearing Sonic's cocky voice from the communicator.

Rouge dropped her head in sadness. Sonic had already escaped. Also, his communicator must was very far away from where he was ... Rouge realized that it was impossible to catch up with him.

Really, this guy does every single thing he wants to, doesn’t he?

"It's so annoying. I now have nothing!"

Saying that, Rouge got rid of her communicator and let her escape balloon go too. She then angrily flew into the sky.

Sonic, on the other hand, almost instantly returned to his usual demeanor with a cheeky expression. Before running off, he left a last message on his communicator despite the fact that nobody would hear it.

"Well, Rouge. Did you enjoy yourself today?"

The night was soon erased by a wave of light. Morning had come to Eggman Land, the place for hopes and desire.

The amusement park, which welcomed two guests during its bustling night of resurrection had collapsed and fallen completely silent. Now, it seemed nothing more than a set of ruins. Casting a dark shadow onto the new morning.

With that in mind, Rouge, who ended up going home empty-handed, was flying in the sky with horrid thoughts in her mind. However, she suddenly went silent when she thought about the jewel of light she saw.

Even so, it was overwhelming. That unrealistic beauty it had... What if Rouge could just know how valuable it was?

"... Well, you’ll just have to find it for yourself then!"

"Motivation" is the "ideal jewel". Maybe there was some value in this, depending on how you think about it.

Let's leave things as they are. Rouge was in a good mood as these thoughts raced through her mind. She then flew off into the sunrise.

“I'll definitely get all the jewels I want anyway! All jewels in the world are my mine to keep! ♪”

[munsonsduchess]

Got a prompt!

29. “Uh ... how long were you standing there?” 

Summary: A phone call with your mom ends with a situation you never thought would happen between you and your roommate.

Warnings: Kissing, fluff, overbearing parents

A/N: For the 200 Follower Sleepover and chosen from this list. Come and join the sleepover! It’s happening until the 30th!

»»————-　♔　————-««

It was something as simple as a phone call to your mom that broke the fragile peace. You would always remember that phone call as the one that finally made the damn burst and changed the way you and your roommate acted around each other.

Bucky was at work and you were at home folding laundry on your day off. You’d decided to call your mom while doing it since you hadn’t spoken in a while and it was always good to hear her voice, even if she was nagging you about settling down.

Your cousin had just gotten married a month before and everyone had kept looking at you and Bucky, who you’d convinced to come for the free food and drinks, with knowing smiles and couldn’t help but coming up to congratulate you on finding such a ‘handsome boy’ to take care of you.

No matter how many times you told aunties and grandmas you and Bucky weren’t a couple or that you weren’t together in any way shape or form. They just smiled and walked away whispering to one and other behind their hands,

“Honey you’re getting older now don’t you want a nice boy to settle down with?” your mom asked making you roll your eyes,

“Mom I get by just fine on my own. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve got a job, an apartment, a life. I don’t need a man to come in and disrupt all that”

“That’s not what I mean” she huffed, “your father and I would just like to see you looked after. The city is a dangerous place!”

This launched your mother’s famous lecture about how dangerous the ‘big city’ was and how it broke her heart when you moved so far away and wouldn’t you not consider moving home? Followed immediately by the list of single men in town whether they were your age or not.

“Mom I’m not gonna start dating someone just because they’re single. I don’t want to date anyone right now!”

“It’s that boy you live with isn’t it? You brought him to the wedding and I knew something was going on, if you’re dating him you can just tell us. Your father didn’t mean what he said about owning a shotgun”

“I know he doesn’t own one Mom and Bucky and I aren’t dating!”

Not that it hadn’t occurred to you in the past. When you’d been looking for somewhere to live after moving to the city you’d found the advertisement in a laundromat a block from where you’d been staying. The advertisement was asking for a roommate, someone your age, non smoker, all the usual pre requisites and you could hardly believe it when you’d called the number and been told that the place was still available. You’d looked at the address on google and it seemed to be in a really nice neighbourhood so how was it that no one had snagged the roommate position yet?

You weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, the temporary lease you’d signed originally was about to run out and as long as the guy you spoke to wasn’t a mass murderer you were ready to sign anything he put in front of you.

It didn’t help that Bucky was hot. Like hot, hot. Like ruin your life hot. He’d been so affectionate with you from the moment you signed the lease, calling you little nicknames, getting your favourite soda on his way home from work, paying for pizza when he knew you had a shit day at work. Perfect boyfriend material honestly, if he wasn’t also a massive ladies man.

He wasn’t what you’d call a player or a fuckboy but he did have a steady rotation of girlfriends and women who seemed to fall at his feet for the smallest thing. You didn’t want to be one of them, didn’t want to ruin a good thing by messing around with your roommate,

“Well Melissa says that he’s head over heels for you and he was so nice to your Aunt Helen at the wedding”

“Maybe Aunt Helen can date him, she and Uncle Roger are divorced now after all” you suggested, “besides Bucky has never once said a thing to me about being ‘head over heels’ or anything else”

“Well that’s cause you never asked” a male voice cut in and your head whipped around to see Bucky standing in the doorway with a grin plastered across his face, “if you’d have asked I’d have told you”

“Mom I gotta go!” you didn’t even wait for her response before you ended the call. Your face was burning and you could tell it was beet red, but Bucky was still grinning at you. Perfect, he probably thought you were another love struck idiot mooning over him in your free time, “Uh how long were you standing there”

“Long enough sweets” he responded, “head over heels huh, i don’t think that’s what I said but I guess it’s still accurate”

“You, wait, what?” your brain was struggling to keep up with whatever was happening in that moment, “Bucky what?”

“You know for someone so smart you can be really dumb” he teased, “why don’t I just show you?”

Bucky crossed from the door to the couch where you’d been sitting and leant over the back to place his hands either side of your face before bringing his lips down to connect with yours. You were initially startled, sure, you really really hadn’t expected your roommate to be kissing you today but after a second to get used to the idea you were grabbing a hold of Bucky’s t-shirt and dragging him closer to you.

When you finally broke the contact because your lungs were screaming for air all you could do was smile dreamily and stare up at Bucky,

“You know what? I think Melissa was right. Head over heels is definitely the right phrase”

»»————-　♔　————-««

Taglist: @doasyoudesireandlive @metalbuckaroo @calisamcro

[provokedgoalie]

→ pairing: bucky barnes x reader

→ warnings/tags: shooting, the winter soldier, (somewhat) major character death

→ summary: you and bucky were called out on stakeout, only to be ambushed. something drastic happens.

→ pic edit ©: me

→ A/N: the words in bold are poems of mine. the links will send you to my poetry tumblr!

when my lungs collapse and I take my final breath, will the world cease to rotate and mourn for its once lively inhabitant?

gunshots filled the still night in a frenzied symphony; bullets hitting home, while others missed their target to litter haphazardly on the ground.

this wasn't supposed to happen – bucky wasn't searching for trouble, but it always seemed to find him, instigating the winter soldier to emerge from the shadows.

what should've been a normal stakeout, ordered out by fury, turned into a deadly ambush; one of which neither of you predicted the outcome.

bucky noticed the firm set of your jaw, as you raised your gun and pulled the trigger in rapid succession – the pained grunts of your targets an indictation that it made its mark. with bucky's back against yours, you fired off your weapons, leaving heavy bodies in your wake.

both sides weren't letting up, “barnes, I don't know how long we can hold them off. should we call in for backup?“ you asked, chest heaving in exertion. “just follow me!” bucky yelled over the commotion.

you trailed behind him, sticking close enough to hear his ragged breaths. shouts and running footsteps were all around you, white noise in your ears drowning everything out. he led you to an abandoned building, shoving you into a corner. ”wait here, I'm going to check if there's a clear shot we can take,” he remarked. he skirted around in silence, mask situated high upon his face, weapon tucked under his metal arm.

what were only minutes felt like hours; anxiety gripped you, your fingers twitched to do something, instead of waiting like a sitting duck. with a quick exhale, you whispered, “sorry, buck,” and sprinted into the wide opening. with no cover and an examination of your surroundings, you cursed yourself at your lack of common sense.

a sudden scream erupted out of you, when you felt a growing pain in your abdomen. glancing down, you realized you've been hit; scarlet blood began fanning out, your black shirt taking on a bright sheen. pressing your hand to the wound, your knees wobbled and struck the ground with a thud.

in that moment, it truly felt like the world was put on hold.

you could hear bucky howling as he spots you, your name screeched to the moonless sky. in a fit of rage, he fired off at everything that moved; none of them were prepared for the once calculative soldier to go on a rampade like a man unhinged.

when the last one pleaded and sobbed for mercy, bucky sauntered up to him, pressed his gun in between his eyes, “did you show my friend mercy?” and released the trigger. blood coated bucky's face, yet he made no move to wipe at it.

he spun around when he heard you utter his name from your chapped lips.

★

I’m holding on, but I can feel myself slipping away; three fingers gripping the ledge of my sanity.

“oh, dear god,” bucky wailed into the crook of your shoulder. he held your limp body in his arms, “please, no!”

apologizes repeated like a broken record, and his flesh hand smoothed over your cheek as he rocked you, back and forth – as if he were lulling you to sleep.

his whole frame trembled, long hair obscured his vision. you brought a shaky hand up to brush it away, tucking a piece carefully behind his ear. “it's... not your fault,” you croaked; you had a mighty urge to cough, but even in this state you didn't want to upset bucky.

“if I hadn't left you alone, maybe–” your wet sputtering cut him off, blood splatters coated your hand, and his eyes widened in fear.

“just... keep talking to me, buck,” you breathed, “I love hearing your voice.” he peered down at you, and with a slight shake of his head he lightly chuckled, despite the situation at hand.

he sniffled, wiping his nose impatiently, mask long forgotten next to him, “of course, doll. anything for you.”

you concentrated on his ramblings: memories of when you two first met at stark's tower, sparring matches with the avengers as an audience, playful digs at steve; it was a neat distraction against the inevitable.

your wheezing grew short, and bucky understood he was running out of time.

with a gasp, you gazed into his downcast eyes, a single tear marking a path down his face. you graced him with a crooked smile, one in which he returned, a touch of sadness tingeing the corners of his lips.

your eyelids fluttered for a moment, and in the last possible second, your head lolled to the side. he took in your vacant stare; with his index and middle finger, he brought your eyelids down.

in a solemn whisper, he said, “rest easy, my friend.”

after your death, he would often visit your grave with fresh flowers and small trinkets he knew you would appreciate.

his gloved hand roamed your name etched in stone, thumbing the heartfelt message he chose.

he found solace in these moments; the noiseless space around him brought him peace he hadn't felt in ages.

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

CSI Characters as Ancient/Medieval Fantasy Warriors (title is tentative)

I WROTE THIS ALL IN ONE SITTING!!!!!  CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???????

*ahem* This is speculation about what powers and skills the CSI characters would have if they were warriors in an ancient/medieval fantasy setting, amongst other things. This was probably inspired by my recent wallowing in medieval fantasy (specifically Songs of War {if you don't know what that is, it's okay}), and I thought, why not entertain the idea? And after writing it out, I can say that it was fun toying around with it. If this inspires anybody to add on anything, or write fanfiction, or whatever, by all means go ahead.

@addictedtostorytelling @bartramcat @buildinggsr @davesdude80 @dobbyofearth @fandomismymiddlename @originalpinkranger @panchostokes @space-helen @stokes-theorem

All the people written about here are humans with powers.

Gil:  He has enhanced eyesight, and is a sniper archer. If I may draw your attention to the ending scene of season 4 episode 2, All for Our Country:

Bonus shot because it reminds me of his Will Graham days:

He is canonically a deadeye. So, I am extending that to be a superhuman power. I'll put it this way: he can aim and shoot at the same target a contemporary sniper with a scope could; he does not require (or have, for that matter) a scope. Because he is not so able as his younger teammates, so he cannot be in the direct area of battle and fend off opponents. But he has excellent eyesight, so he hides up in a tree or on the edge of a cliff that overlooks the area or wherever is applicable, and shoots any targets he can.  He uses a crossbow, since not as much strength is needed to pull back the cord as compared to a bow.  He also has a light wooden staff which he uses to help him walk up inclinations. It's also his defensive staff; if an enemy manages to sneak up on him, he can point the staff at them and shoot a forcefield that will blast them back. But this is only effective at close range, hence why he has to use the crossbow for opponents further away. He wears a hooded cloak which is green on one side and a dusty brown on the other, so that he can camouflage himself, turning the cloak to whichever side he needs to match his surroundings.  He is not the only one to wear a cloak however; Catherine, Ecklie, Jim, DB and Finn wear cloaks (more details when I get to each) as well to show they are of higher ranking, but only Gil's is hooded for practical purposes.

Warrick: His power is that he can jump really high. He can jump over a small hill and land on the ground on the other side. He's the one who helps get Gil to his perches if needed; he puts him over his shoulder and jumps, holding him with one arm and his war hammer in his other hand. He is strong enough to carry Gil. And Gil trusts him and is comfortable enough to let himself be borne in such a way, never struggling or crying out in fear when he is suddenly brought off the ground at such a high rate. In tandem with being able to jump high, he can strike his hammer on the ground when he lands and cause a quake. His hammer's enchantment depends on how high he jumped. On the ground, he swings his hammer at an opponent and sends them flying back (at a much greater distance than Gil's forcefield).

Bobby Dawson: He's the archer who is in the direct area of battle. He uses a small hunting bow, and also has a gladius in case any opponents manage to get close to him. He has enhanced reflexes, so he is able to turn around, draw weapons, and load and shoot his bow faster than normal.

Catherine:  She is telekinetic.  She does not use weapons because she prefers to have her hands free to gesticulate and help her focus on moving the objects she is controlling.  Her cloak is a beautiful royal blue.

Heather:  Mind control + reading minds + telepathy.    And invisibility.  Aside from turning the team's opponents against each other, mind control is useful for helping friends escape from dangerous situations; sometimes, it's easier than telling them what to do.  She needs very strong concentration for her mind control, which is the ability she uses the most, so she makes herself invisible and keeps out of the way, but stays where she can see the person she is manipulating.  Like Gil, she has the defensive staff in case anyone finds her.

Nick and Sara: They are what I like to call the speedster twins. It is very satisfying to wash them nyoom about and quickly kill any opponent in the path of their run. Typically, they start out standing next to each other at the same point, and then run on one side of the battlefield each. So they take out the opponents on the skirting of the battlefield. Sara has a cutlass while Nick has twin daggers.

Greg: He can talk to nearby spirits and ask them to help his team in the fight. With the power of this necklace that he has, he can conjure a protective invisible dome-shaped barrier around himself, which is invulnerable to any and every form of attack. Except if somebody were to dig their way up from below him of course. However, he has to stay in the same spot when he is inside this barrier, and has to deactivate it if he wants to walk (or run or whatever) somewhere else. The spirit of the person who gave him the necklace follows him everywhere, and stays by his side on the battlefield to protect him from any opponents who manage to get close.  Greg has a curved cleaver in case he needs to fight.

Al:  Aside from being a healer, he can freeze time.  Sort of. He can freeze the movement of anybody who is coming at him, no matter how many there are. He does not wield weapons. He has wooden legs (which are enchanted to be completely painless for him) and a staff, but without the power that Gil's and Heather's have. To heal someone, he just has to touch them, for as long as it takes for the wounds to completely heal. **I was thinking about making him have something to do with necromancy, but I thought that that's too much like Greg's power.

David:  He is the other healer, and is the one who kills the people that Al freezes. He just makes them fade out of existence. It is completely painless, and that way they don't have any bodies lying around the healers' area. Also, while Al heals physical injuries, David actually cures illnesses. So he has to touch his patient for as long as it takes to eradicate the infection.

The two healers typically stay in one spot, ready to head out into the battlefield if any of their teammates are injured.

Archie: He is the cryokinetic guardian of Henry, Wendy, Mandy, and Hodges, who are not combatants. He does not use weapons.

Henry:  He is a blacksmith, in charge of repairing the people's weapons, and making new ones if necessary. He also makes the arrows for Gil and Bobby.

Wendy: She is an enchanter who imbues weapons with offensive powers, such as the quake and blast effect on Warrick's hammer, or the enhanced sharpness of the speedster twins' blades.

Mandy: She enchants weapons with defensive powers, such as Greg's necklace, or Gil's and Heather's staves. She is also the one who made Al's wooden legs painless.

Hodges: While Al and David are physical healers, and while Wendy enchants weapons, Hodges is the one who restores the powers of other people. He is not really drained when he does it, but it is better for him to stay still and rest while other people fight. It works exactly how Al's and David's healing does.

These five people typically stay near the healers.

Jim:  He can control the weather.  That also means he can summon lightning.  And hailstones.  And rain (creatures that are made of fire or lava are susceptible to rain).  Like Catherine, he has his hands free to focus whatever he's bringing down from the sky onto wherever his target is.  His cloak is pitch black in colour.

Conrad: He can clone himself; up to five clones of himself can exist at a time.  It's alright if they are hurt or killed; so long as he is still alive.  He wields a scythe.  His cloak is a really dark grey, almost black, but not really.

Morgan:  She can fly. This is not a power which requires restoration. Since she does not use wings, she can fly in rain. She uses twin swords.

Sofia:  She is a shapeshifter.  But she can not only turn into other creatures; she can turn into objects like a boulder or something. In such forms, she is invulnerable to like, say, a fist striking her, but if someone were to try and blow her up, she would have to turn into something else and run away. You know those fire creatures I mentioned? If she turns into one of them, she can harness their powers. Basically, she takes on the abilities of anything she turns into.

Riley: She can turn into any of her opponents, whether she has killed them herself of if they are standing right in front of her. Heather would be aware that this in fact Riley (telepathy yo), and Riley will work together with the person Heather is controlling. Unlike Sofia, while she becomes the mirror image of someone, she cannot have the skill level of the person she turns into. She herself is proficient with a club; if she turns into someone who was a swordsman, she would be wield a blade as well as them, and will continue to use her own weapon. If she turns into one of those fire creatures, she might be able to use their fire, but she doesn't have as fluent control over it as the original person. In fact, it is much safer for her to not turn into such creatures.

Ray:  He has enhanced strength, which enables him to rotate his huge double-headed battle axe about his wrist above his head.  And by "huge", I mean that the stick is almost as long as him, and the blades are bigger than his head. The stick is also quite thick; it has to withstand the weight of the blades, and the impact with which it is struck. By "rotate", I mean Ray is able to hold the handle at the very base, and pivot it perfectly around.

DB:  Teleportation.  This son of a bitch randomly popping up out of nowhere?  Yeah.  His weapon is a really small but especially sharp dagger, easy to conceal, and a quick and effective killer.  He appears, quickly pokes his opponent, and then teleports to the next one.  He can teleport anywhere within his viewing distance; he has to be able to see where he is teleporting to to go there. His cloak is silver in colour.

Finn:  She is pyrokinetic.  Her cloak is typically orange, yellow or red, but it can change colours to whatever fire she is wielding, which includes green, blue, purple, white, and even black fire.  She does not use weapons.

Additional idea: Gil and Sara are soulmates. But they were not fated from birth; rather, their soulmate bond formed when their connection deepened. Before they met, their soulmates could have been anyone else, or they could have gone without a soulmate for the rest of their lives. Even when they met and fell in love at first sight (I'm one of those who hc that they did; ymmv), they were not yet soulmates. It was when they really got to know and understand each other implicitly and became unbreakably steadfast in their connection, of their own accord, that their soulmate bond formed. The physical manifestation of it was when their soul marks appeared; Gil has a butterfly on the right side of his neck, close to the back of his neck, and Sara has a rhinoceros beetle on the underside of her left wrist. Being soulmates, they can heal each other and restore each other's powers. The most soothing times for them to do it is when they can lie down somewhere private and hold each other close.

When their marks first appeared, everyone kept congratulating them; there was a lot of friendly teasing from Warrick, Nick, Greg and Hodges. As for themselves, they remained passive until they were in the privacy of their bedroom.  They sat down on the edge of the bed, embracing and leaning their foreheads on each other's, uncontainable smiles on their faces as they had a little heart-to-heart.  They did not really have to vocalise much; they had always been able to understand each other with just a few words.  Then, they leant back from each other, but remained close.  Sara lowered her head and slowly, reverently kissed all over Gil's mark; he closed his eyes and let her do it, enjoying how it felt, moving his head to one side so that his skin on the right of his neck was stretched flat and easier to kiss.  When Sara was done, they leant back again.  Gil lifted Sara's wrist to his mouth and kissed all over her mark, with as much care and adoration as she had done his.

[mypersonmyg]

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante​ <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight,  tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine​

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns  just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon. 

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent. 

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece. 

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.” 

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?” 

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.” 

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin  to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?” 

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.” 

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art. 

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks. 

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway. 

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now. 

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you,  Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek. 

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust. 

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts. 

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded. 

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.” 

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms. 

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due. 

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit. 

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure. 

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze. 

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you. 

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with  a countering taunt. 

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots. 

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe. 

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses. 

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves  to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest. 

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.” 

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling. 

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete. 

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.” 

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

 Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from  the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity. 

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas. 

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms. 

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence. 

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival. 

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you. 

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord. 

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink,  already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile. 

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity. 

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door. 

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance. 

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.” 

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--” 

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you. 

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation. 

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” 

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”  

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting  Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil. 

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission. 

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat. 

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago.  “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?” 

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks. 

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down. 

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with  a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans. 

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion. 

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space. 

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud. 

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning. 

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe. 

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?” 

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.” 

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?” 

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.” 

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop. 

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown. 

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it. 

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay. 

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.” 

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.” 

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest. 

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

 It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare. 

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed. 

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above. 

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo. 

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find. 

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.” 

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end  and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work. 

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.” 

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf. 

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a  rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent. 

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine. 

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix. 

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied. 

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.” 

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum. 

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.” 

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays. 

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips. 

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!” 

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.” 

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry. 

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute.  “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.” 

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him  painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth.  “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?” 

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!” 

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place.  In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation  over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside. 

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud. 

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work. 

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so. 

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of  pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.” 

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face. 

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders. 

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?” 

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?” 

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles. 

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.” 

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?” 

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.”  Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago. 

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin. 

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff. 

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.” 

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk. 

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.” 

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.” 

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.” 

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest. 

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance. 

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job 

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner  

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello. 

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance. 

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page. 

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you. 

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here. 

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you. 

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf. 

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.” 

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” 

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour. 

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor. 

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving. 

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance. 

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk. 

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length. 

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.” 

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.” 

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.” 

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?” 

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again. 

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take. 

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran. 

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?” 

“What do you know about my meeting?” 

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits. 

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him. 

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?” 

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded. 

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids. 

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest. 

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.” 

“Scared of needles?” 

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.” 

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier. 

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you. 

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.” 

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived. 

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him. 

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from. 

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?” 

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.” 

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him. 

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?” 

“Hm?” 

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly. 

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more. 

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.” 

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…” 

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…” 

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind. 

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.” 

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye. 

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern. 

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken. 

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you. 

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…” 

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?” 

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much. 

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.” 

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!” 

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold. 

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture. 

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…” 

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…” 

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.” 

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth. 

“Why are you opening a tea shop?” 

“What?” 

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?” 

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.” 

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.” 

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?” 

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.” 

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?” 

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules. 

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.” 

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.” 

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?” 

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.” 

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.” 

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes. 

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible. 

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange. 

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung. 

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you. 

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.” 

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom. 

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home. 

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils. 

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.” 

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.” 

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.” 

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away. 

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up. 

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response. 

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone. 

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time. 

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa. 

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening. 

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.” 

“You think so?” 

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…” 

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago. 

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.” 

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.” 

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space. 

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?” 

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.” 

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.” 

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner. 

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you. 

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.” 

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.” 

“I don’t yell at Jimin!” 

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.” 

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk. 

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going." 

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.” 

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…” 

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.” 

“You guys didn’t have to.” 

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous. 

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.” 

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.” 

“Or...you could come?” 

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence. 

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.” 

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud. 

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.” 

“I promise I won’t be long.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

And now, we smile. 

[whump-a-la-mode]

I’m back here again😭 you can’t just leave it in suspense ahhhhh one more please ? Pretty please? Magician one of course ahaha

No worries! With how this one ends, I won’t be surprised to see you right back in here =￣ω￣=

I will make a masterlist for magician’s assistant eventually I promise. Last part is here.

CW//Haphephobia, mitts, collars, missing whumper, manhunts

Someone was touching them.

It was to that, terrifying, startling thought that Villain awoke the second time. It wasn’t that they weren’t used to being touched-- their status as a prisoner made their captors feel to have the right to lay their hands on them whenever they so wished. But that didn’t mean they had to like it.

And it didn’t mean they should be waking up to it, either.

There was no bleariness, this time, to the way their eyes shot open, their body jolting upwards. It was their hands-- their mitts-- that were being touched. Defensively, they drew their arms to their chest, eyes fixing upon their attacker.

To Villain’s surprise, Civilian looked just as startled as they.

That didn’t stop the villain from shaking, of course. They were already so vulnerable...

Without their collar, their cone, there was nothing to protect them. Just the mitts.

Tightly, they wrapped their arms around their chest. Supplying their own affection.

“So-Sorry, sorry about that.” Civilian sputtered, once they had recovered from their own shock.

Lips quivering far too much to allow speech, Villain’s gaze cast downwards.

“I didn’t realize you were going to wake up like that.” Seemingly realizing the extent of the situation, Civilian stood, backing away a few feet from the couch that served as the villain’s current residence. “I was just looking at your wounds. I figured it would be better cause you wouldn’t be scared and- Sorry.” Nervously, they chuckled. “Sorry about that. Really.”

Villain knew full well that a response was expected. Yet, as their fingertips dug deeper to the meat of their arms, they became aware that none was going to be produced. Not at the moment.

They wanted their collar they wanted their collar they wanted their collar they-

They looked up, meeting Civilian’s gaze. A pitied expression danced upon their countenance, yet, in their eyes, there was no such resemblance.

“Well.” The civilian rolled their shoulders back, taking a breath that displayed their insecurity more than anything else. “It’s been two hours, now. Just about. How are you feeling? I’m sure you’d like to rest a bit more, and you can, but... we’ve gotta talk first.”

Certainly, a deep fatigue had buried itself within Villain’s bones. Yet, presently, its profoundness made it irrelevant. Instead, the shock of their surprise awakening had dried their current exhaustion, leaving them with little but shakiness. 

So, in a way, they supposed they had slept well.

With considerable effort, a single sound allowed itself to slip from their pursed lips:

“Okay.”

“Great.” Civilian clapped their hands together. “Also, how are you feeling? Having some food should have helped flush that tranq from your system.”

At the very least, that was a true statement. The forced weariness the gas had imposed upon them had been, for the most part, banished, leaving behind only normal exhaustion.

“Better. I’m feeling better.”

“That’s good. Before you, um, woke up, I was just looking at your wounds. Do they hurt at all?”

Villain had almost forgotten about the bruises and cuts that had been adorned upon them during their escape from the Heroes’ HQ. Slamming into a wall as they had certainly hadn’t done them any favors, and neither had crashing through a glass door. They hadn’t observed their own wounds as of yet, but they could only assume the various throbbing patches along their body could be explained by their brief stint as the human equivalent of a piece of driftwood, washing through an angry river.

“A little bit.”

“Well, if you want, I can get you some Tylonel. You want some Tylonel?”

“No. No thank you.” They’d had more than enough drugs.

“Alright. Well... If you’re up for it.” They rubbed their thumb and forefinger together in a nervous gesture. “We need to talk. Me, you, and Spouse. Is that alright?”

The way they spoke, Villain couldn’t help but feel that there was little actual choice involved.

“Okay.”

“Great! Do you think you can walk? Or would you like a little help?”

“I can walk.”

With the effects of the tranquilizer worn off, their legs no longer felt like jelly. Though pins and needles swarmed them as they stood, they held strong. Civilian ghosted a hand over their shoulder, leading them from the living room and into an adjoining kitchen area. There they gestured for them to sit.

Spouse was already seated, rather silently, across from them. Once Villain settled, Civilian joined at their partner’s side.

As soon as they sat, they quickly swiped an item from the table’s surface-- a cellphone that, to Villain, appeared oddly familiar. Yet, they dismissed it, allowing their nerves to occupy their thoughts.

“You want to start, honey?” Civilian diverted to their partner, who nodded.

“Of course. I guess this is all still a little bit- Well, surprising is the least of it. To start from the beginning, I’m not sure how much you remember of meeting me. A pretty strange way to meet someone.” They giggled. “I was out walking Hydro along the riverside when I saw you, on the bank. It’s lucky that the tides threw you out when they did.

You didn’t want me to call emergency services-- I think you remember that part, probably. I understand why, now. I didn’t understand just how much the Heroes are involved in all that stuff. But, I couldn’t just leave you there. So, my partner being a doctor and all...”

“They carried you all the way home. Now, imagine my surprise!”

“We don’t exactly have much in the way of equipment, here, but you didn’t seem terribly hurt. Just out of it. It’s been... Maybe 24 hours since you escaped?”

“Pretty much exactly.”

“And, we know that you escaped.”

Villain couldn’t help but squirm in their seat.

“I’d heard of you before.” Spouse continued. “On the news. But last I heard you’d been captured. If you’d been in that river just a little longer... Or if someone else had found you...”

“They’re looking for you.” Civilian took over in a low pitch. “It’s all over the news, every channel, practically. All the info’s started to get mixed up, but they’re saying you’re dangerous.”

“We know you’re not.”

“Yes. But, that doesn’t mean that everyone else does. As far as they know, a dangerous villain has escaped, and could be anywhere, now. They say they can track you, based on the signature left behind by your powers.”

All the effort, just to bring them back.

To put them back on stage.

“But,” Civilian sighed. “We want to help you, Villain. As much as we can. But, our house isn’t going to be safe forever.”

They glanced to their partner, who returned the look. The two grasped hands.

“We have two options worked out.” Spouse murmured.

“Mhm.”

“The first one... You stay here for a little longer. One or two days, at the most. But any longer, and it won’t be safe. Then, you have to go. We have supplies you can take. Food, water, money. Though the last one...

We’re close enough to the border, and we have a car. We can take you across the line. But then, you can do whatever you want.”

There was a somber tone, to their voice, and an equally sorrowed pit developing in the depths of Villain’s stomach.

Left alone...

They couldn’t do whatever they wanted, because they didn’t want anything. Their aspirations before had been so simple. A bit more slop for dinner. Being left alone for a day. Not being struck.

Now...

They shivered at the thought.

“The other option.” Civilian took over. “Might be a little less daunting, though it’s your choice. This is all up to you.

The second option is... I have a lot of friends, you see. Friends with medical know-how, just like I do. They live all around the city. You could stay with each of them, for a few days. On a rotating cycle. That way, none of us would arouse suspicion. Then, you’ll have more time to think, and maybe... I don’t know. Rebuild.”

“Even if you want that, you can stay with us for another day, too.” Spouse added.

“Mhm.”

Then, all eyes were on Villain.

“So...” Civilian began. “What do you want?”

When was the last time they’d been asked that question?

“I-Um- I- I-”

“They might need some time, honey. Do you want some time to think, Villain?”

“Y-Yes. Please.”

“Okay.” Civilian sighed. “Think on it, okay? But, you need to choose by tomorrow.”

“O-Okay.”

Spouse looked upon them with a gaze that showed no faux pity.

“They’re stressed, honey. We’re stressing them out. Come on, Villain. Let’s go down something to calm down, okay?”

Just like Hero used to.

Though their idea of calming down was usually putting a hood over their head.

“Okay.” They dipped their head.

“You two have fun, then.” Civilian placed a faux smile upon their countenance. “I have some phone calls to make.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“How about board games? Do you like board games?”

“Um... Maybe?” Villain bit their lower lip. “I can’t really move the pieces- If they’re tracking my powers...”

“I could take those mitts off for you?” Spouse suggested, cocking their head to the side.

“No! Um. No. Please don’t.”

“Okay. No worries. So, no board games.”

They closed the cupboard in which they had been riffling, pushing around boxes of weathered games. Stretching their legs, they stood, scanning a tabletop.

“Hm... What about a book? We have Lord of the Rings...”

A book? They hadn’t read in so long... Yet, the other villains had always teased them for being a bookworm. It hadn’t been since their childhood that they had read much in the way of high fantasy, but-

“Yes!”

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” Spouse smiled. “Books it is. Here you go.”

They handed Villain a thick novel, bound in weathered hardcover that had clearly seen many days since its last dusting. The villain gripped it in shaking fingers, glancing at the cover-

And throwing it to the ground.

Dogs don’t fucking read, idiot. Don’t look at that.

Hero’s voice stabbed at them, a strike of lightning in the back of their mind.

Dogs don’t read.

“Villain? You okay?”

“I- I- U- Uh-” They were hyperventilating. Oh, god, they were hyperventilating. “I can’t read?”

“Oh.” Spouse seemed surprised for a moment, before they nodded with understanding. “Well... How about I read to you?”

They’d really take that kind of time?

“You really mean it?”

“Sure! We have to wait for Civilian to get off the phone, anyways.”

Excitement consumed Villain as the two prepared for their storytime. They settled upon the couch, a blanket draped over the villain’s lap.

It was such a grand excitement, that they did not so much as notice the sound, bleeding from Civilian’s phone in the other room.

Had they been paying attention, they would have recognized Hero’s voice anywhere.

[lunar-jimin]

life goes on, it gets so heavy; the wheel breaks the butterfly

Pairing: Jungkook x fem!reading

Rating: 18+

Genre: smut, angst, fluffy ending, ceo!jungkook, secretary!reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: cheating, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, using pulling out as a protective method (don’t do this kids), dom!jungkook, sub!reader, cumming in pants, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, daddy kink, degradation, lovey-dovey sex, impreg kink

Summary: Despite being the golden heir of a wealthy empire, Jungkook is incredibly unhappy with life he’s been handed. When you show up in his office one morning, you change his life in the way he least expected, but in the way he needed the most. 

a/n: This is an anonymous commission for my BLM fundraiser!! If you would like to request something yourself, you can find the link to my official post here! I would also like to thank the lovely @nightowls388​ for beta reading!!

| masterlist | moodboard | playlist |

The air was too hot. Uncomfortable. Sticky. Jungkook loosened the tie around his neck in a desperate attempt to free himself from the confines of his suit. He hated August. It was always too warm, too sunny. He preferred the dark winter days where the snow silenced the universal white noise. Black suits weren’t as suffocating on forty degree days.

He glanced out the window of the Rolls Royce, taking in the pedestrians struggling not to melt in the intense gaze of the sun. He sympathized with their struggle. Even the blast of freezing draft from the air conditioner did little to spare him from the heat. He enjoyed watching people. He was fascinated by the little idiosyncrasies that formed them into unique individuals, each essential to making the world work. Besides, everyone’s life seemed more interesting to him than his own.

There was a point in his life when he was content with the plan his parents had laid out for him before he was in diapers. He looked forward to one day taking over his father’s company, marrying a nice girl, and starting a family. It was a simple plan and one that gained the approval of the adults in his life: something he was constantly vying for as an adolescent. It was what he was raised with. When he went to college, everything changed. For the first time in his existence, he wasn’t being inundated with his parent’s doctrine and found that there was more to life than running Fortune 500 companies. His parents were less than pleased to discover that he had accompanied his business major with a minor in photography. 

But despite the longing that had bloomed in him for something more intriguing than sterile offices and mundane board meetings, he still found himself back home where his parents once again instilled in him the desire to be the golden heir. A year after his return as the prodigal son, his parents set him with the woman who was now his wife. Three years after that, his father decided that he would rather spend his days on the golfing green rather than in sky-high conference rooms, so he handed off the company to Jungkook. Ever since Jungkook had been locked inside stuffy black suits and boring ties. And he absolutely hated it. 

He squirmed in his seat, his desire to escape increasing with each second he was locked in the back of the car. God, why was it so hot? He felt like crying- a feeling that had become increasingly common during the past six months. His brain felt like a bubbling volcano waiting patiently to explode. Sometimes, Jungkook imagined what would happen when it did. He would divorce his wife, leave his job, and move to some island in the Caribbean where he would spend the rest of his days taking pictures. It was a nice dream, but it was only that, a dream. 

He shook his head, trying to contain his runaway emotions. As the car came to a halt in front of the office building, Jungkook tightened his tie and grabbed his briefcase before exiting out into the scalding heat. If inside the car was bad, outside was absolute hell. It was so hot, Jungkook swore he was on fire. He frowned, rushing into the safety of the air-conditioned skyscraper in front of him before he broke out in a sweat. 

He sighed in relief the second he made it through the rotating doors. He had never been so grateful for the large air conditioning bill in all his life. His relief was so immense that it took a full minute to realize something was wrong. Normally, the second he walked through the door, his secretary greeted him with an iced coffee and a pastry, but as he looked around, his secretary was nowhere to be found. Yet another sigh escaped his mouth as he stepped into the elevator. Why of all days did today have to be the day his secretary magically disappeared? He shook his head. 

He noticed her the minute he arrived at his office floor. She was bent over a box, all her attention focused on searching for whatever object was eluding her. It took her a moment to notice his presence, but when she did, she bolted upright before scurrying in front of the desk, hands behind her back. Jungkook looked her up and down, transfixed by the beautiful stranger.

“Can I help you?”

His voice came out harsher than he meant it to and he cringed when you tried to disguise a wince. 

“Um, yes, I’m your new secretary, Mr. Jeon.”

His brows furrowed. 

“New secretary? What happened to the old one? He was perfectly fine.”

He didn’t remember any emails about his secretary leaving, although to be fair, he hadn’t been paying attention to much these days. He might physically be at work, but more often than not, his mind had drifted to far off places. Mostly island paradises. 

“He moved away.”

“Ah,” he gave you a once over, “and what is your name, new secretary?”

You answered him. He nodded as if you had given him the right answer on a quiz.

“And I don’t suppose anyone has told you how things work around here.”

“No sir.”

His hands clenched at the name, a picture of you on your knees before him (with much less clothing) popped into his head. He shook it off, trying to stay the least bit professional. He had a wife for god’s sake. 

“I see. Well, for future reference, I expect you to meet me each day in the lobby with an iced americano and a pastry,” he paused when he realized how demanding he sounded before softly adding, “No cherries though, I hate cherries.”

You nodded, grabbing a sticky note and jotting down his instructions.

“For now, just get settled in. Do you happen to know if I have any meetings today?”

You nodded again, “You have a lunch meeting with the Samsung marketing director at one, sir.”

There it was again. That damn formality. It was really going to get the better of him. 

“You will accompany me. I expect you to take notes, but don’t contribute to the conversation. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jungkook nodded before making a beeline to his office before he got a boner. He let out a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him. His heart pounded in his chest and despite his desperate attempts, he’s chubbed up a bit in his pants. 

He didn’t want to admit that it’s because you might be the most attractive woman he has ever seen. He didn’t want to admit that he hasn’t been this turned on in months. Instead, he passed it off on the fact that he hadn’t had sex with his wife in three months which left behind quite a bit of built-up tension. 

The hours ticked by and Jungkook attempted to bury himself with the neverending stack of paperwork. He remembered there was a time when he loved to show off his signature (there was a reason fifteen-year-old him never had a girlfriend), but now he wanted to chop off his hands so that he could never sign a contract again. He was thankful when the clock struck eleven, releasing him from his office, even if it meant being stuck talking shop for an hour while eating expensive but flavorless food. 

He stepped out to find you arranging photos on the wall beside your desk. You glanced up when you heard the door open and flashed him a blinding smile. 

“Ready, sir?”

He nodded. The title was really going to be a problem. 

The meeting was the beginning of Jungkook’s personal purgatory. Every day you would greet him with a smile and the best pastries he had ever tasted. (He was surprised when you admitted to him that you had baked them yourself. If you weren't proving to be an amazing secretary, he would suggest that you open a bakery, but he’s selfish.) You were a good listener and caught onto his routines without a struggle. But every day you would show up dressed as pure temptation. It wasn’t even that your outfits were scandalous, just simple pencil skirts and pastel blouses, but you made them look like sin incarnate. It didn’t help that every night he went home to his wife who he barely noticed existed anymore.

There had been a point when he and his wife were, er, passionate. For the first couple of years, Jungkook even managed to convince himself that he was in love with her. But a couple of months ago, weekly dinners turned into once a month before they disappeared altogether. To make the situation worse, his mother was starting to complain about her lack of children, but he didn’t know how to break it to her that he couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed his wife, much less had sex with her. There were no bitter feelings or resentment, just indifference. He had briefly considered couples therapy before deciding against it. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to attempt to salvage the crumbs of his marriage. 

You had only added fuel to the fire. Jungkook found himself just as infatuated with your mind as he was with your body. Not only did you laugh at his dumb jokes and listen to his whining, but you had witty contributions and easily found out-of-the-box solutions. He swore this quarter’s numbers would be higher just from you alone. And you flirted. He wasn’t sure at first, incredibly hesitant to respond in fear of a scandalous HR report. But when he caught your gaze on him when you thought he wasn’t looking one too many times, he realized there was a good chance that you liked him just as much as he liked you. 

Between you, his wife, and his desperate need to escape this world of offices, limos, and quid pro quo, his life was unraveling right in front of him. Still, he tried to hold onto all the pieces before they landed in a disappointed heap in his lap. He wasn’t quite ready to let it all go to shit. He definitely was not ready to meet his parents’ disapproving faces when he lost everything they had worked so hard to ensure he had. 

Two months after you began working, he found himself at an overcrowded party praying he was anywhere but there. Sadly, being a CEO meant that he wasn’t allowed to drink away his woes, lest he make a fool of himself in front of all the investors. Instead, he was forced to stay exhaustingly sober as he watched everyone around him devolve into debauchery. He found his wife pleasantly drunk near the bar talking to one of her friends whose face he recognized but couldn’t remember her name for the life of him.

“Having fun darling?”

He grinned, trying to play the role of loving husband. A role that had become increasingly difficult to mimic. 

“It’s your birthday party, I should be asking you. Have you even had a drink? Probably not,” she turned back to her friend, “He never drinks at these things, something about keeping up appearances. I think it’s dumb. It’s his own birthday for fuck’s sake.”

He rolled his eyes. There she went again, putting him down. It wasn’t the first time she had commented on his festive sobriety. She wasn’t a fan. Maybe it was because he only fucked her after he drank. Still, he conceded to her teasing, figuring one drink wouldn’t hurt. He waved down a bartender.

“A whiskey on the rocks, please,” he turned back to his wife, “satisfied?”

She grinned at him before resuming ignoring him in favor of whatever fascinating conversation her friend was providing. He sighed before grabbing his drink and making his way out to the balcony. The air inside the penthouse was stuffy and he was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He was surprised to find you already out there, nursing your own drink in your hand. It wasn't unusual for people from the office to be at his personal parties. His father had taught him a long time ago that inviting your employees into your personal life was key to inspiring loyalty. It made them feel like they knew you and that they were important to you. But seeing as you were a relatively new addition, he had never seen you outside of the office and if you were sexy in skirts and blouses, the dress you had on should be illegal. He gulped before leaning next to you on the rail.

"Parties not your thing?"

You jumped, spilling a bit of your drink onto the dark street below. 

"Um, no, parties are fine. Rich people parties are just a whole new animal."

He chuckled.

"That's fair I suppose. Even I get sick of those fuckers. They do realize that they aren’t at the office anymore right? No need to brag about how well your stock is doing"

You smiled at him before looking back out at the city skyline. Despite having grown up with views like this, Jungkook still found it breathtaking. Almost as breathtaking as he found you. He took a sip of his drink, trying to drown his thoughts in alcohol. When he looked at you again, he felt his stomach churn. You were so beautiful that he wasn't sure what to do with himself. A sigh escaped him. You broke out of your trance and turned to look at him.

"Something wrong?"

"No. Not really."

You raised your eyebrow.

"I just- I know this sounds stupid and pretentious- but I really just don't want to do this anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"This job. This lifestyle. This life. I was raised to be the perfect CEO with the perfect family, a copy of my father really, but that's not what I want. All my family has ever seen me as is the golden heir and honestly, I don’t know if I can be that anymore."

"Who do you want to be?"

"I don't know. A photographer I guess. And marry somebody I actually choose to fall in love with. And live away from the stress of trying to please every person in my life at the cost of my own happiness."

"You don't love your wife?"

"No, I do. Kinda. I just... My parents picked her out and at some point, I was smitten with her, but we're so different and she wants success and money and, well, I don't care about that as much. She’s not a bad person, she’s just obsessed with her books and her writing, and well, that doesn’t leave much room for family. I’m not much better though."

"Oh."

"And we haven't been too hot lately."

"How so?"

"Um, well, we're really distant, and, um, we haven't had sex in two months."

You snorted and he blanched. He usually never shared that kind of thing with anyone and here he was confessing his personal problems to you, his secretary. The alcohol must be affecting him more than he thought. This is why he didn't drink at parties.

"How? Has she seen you? I would be all over you if I was your wife.”

You realized what you had said a moment too late and you looked at him with wide eyes, a faint blush covering your face. He let out a nervous chuckle. 

“Would you now?”

You nodded before downing the rest of your drink. Jungkook felt something akin to butterflies begin to flutter in his stomach. He had known that he was fairly attractive, but something about hearing someone as ethereal as you admit it made his heart do flips. 

“Yeah, well, it’s really on me I guess. I haven’t really wanted to.”

“You don’t want to have sex?”

Relief washed over your face when you realized that he wasn’t going to linger on your slip up. 

“Yeah. Well no. I do want to have sex. Just not with her.”

“I see. Well, who do you want to have sex with?”

It was a small glimpse, almost imperceptible, but he saw the recognition in your face as you watched his eyes glance over you.

“Me?”

Jungkook gulped. What was he doing? What was he getting himself into? He had a life to protect. Expectations to uphold. And yet, here he was, considering risking it all for a secretary who was making him feel something for the first time in months. 

When he gathered enough courage to look at you, he found you staring at his lips. One second he’s waging a war with himself and the next your mouth is on his. Your lips are just as warm and soft as he thought they would be and for a moment he lets himself be absorbed by them. But reality rapidly floods back, and he pushes you away. You looked at him, obviously hurt by the rejection. 

“I’m sorry.”

He’s being honest. He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he was a coward who was afraid of what people thought of him. And the things people would think about him if they knew he kissed his secretary were not pretty.

“It’s fine.”

You failed to cover up the disappointment in your voice. 

“It’s not you. It’s just I have a wife, and a family with expectations and-”

He sighs.

“Look, it’s fine. Really. I’m just gonna get going, okay? I’ll see you on Monday.”

With that, you leave him to his own devices. He watches your figure go, before turning back to face the city. 

“Fuck.”

If work was hell before, it was nothing compared to what it was now. Every day, he found himself torn between wanting to take you on his desk and wanting to never see you again. Ever since the party, the memory of your lips pressed on his had haunted him like an orphaned Victorian ghost with a thirst for revenge.  It was on replay in his mind to the point he couldn’t properly sleep anymore. He felt like shit, and he was pretty sure he looked it too, but if anyone noticed they neglected to say anything. 

You, on the other hand, seemed to be doing just fine. You hadn’t so much as mentioned the party. You performed your duties with your usual pep and continued to bring him your heavenly pastries. He resented you a little bit for being able to move on so easily. Here he was hung up on a moment he had fucked up, and there you were acting like nothing had happened. He wanted to scream. 

So he pulled back. He only talked to you if it was absolutely necessary. He never looked your way. He threw himself into his job. But you were still there, just as tempting as the first day he had seen you. His mind was being forced to choose between you alongside the island paradise he dreamed of, and keeping up appearances while pleasing his elders. A week passed and he was miserable. He was exhausted and all his will power had been depleted. 

That’s why he ended up doing what he did. Or at least that’s what he told himself. Friday rolled around and Jungkook was at his wit’s end. And then there you were, fifteen feet away from him flirting with some random guy from IT. (Namjoon, maybe?) It was harmless, but it didn’t stop Jungkook’s gut from twisting about inside of him. Why didn’t you flirt with him? Why didn’t you show him any signs of affection? He reminds himself that he rejected you, but it’s no help. Jealousy overwhelms him as he squirms in his leather chair. He barely noticed his hands clamped into fists or the way his jaw had clenched to the point of pain. When Namjoon leans over to whisper into your ear, Jungkook loses the small tidbits of control he had left. 

He pushes himself out of his chair and storms out, not bothering to say anything as he grabs your arm and pulls you away from a stunned Namjoon and back to his office, slamming the door behind him. 

“Can I help you?”

Your tone is curt and your face was twitching with displeasure. Jungkook realized that once he had you, he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with you. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He would certainly like to bend you over his desk and fuck you until you couldn’t walk, but he was fairly certain that wouldn’t go over well with you right now. 

“Umm…” 

He felt a blush cross his face as he realized he was still holding onto your wrist. He released it before turning to pace back and forth across the marble floor. 

“Well?”

You folded your arms across your chest, your eyes were alight with something dangerous. Something that Jungkook found incredibly sexy. Before his brain could register with what he was doing, he found himself marching over to you, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you in for a kiss. 

You stiffened against him, but before you had a chance to respond, he had pulled away from you. The guilt was almost immediate, drowning him in regret and confusion. You too looked confused, as you stood stock still, surprise plastered all over your face. Jungkook turned and walked back to his chair. 

“You can go.”

You seemed to barely register the words as you nodded before absent-mindedly wandering out of his office. Jungkook relaxed in his seat as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He knew he had feelings for you, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Nothing he couldn’t control. But he had lost control and now he wasn’t able to trust himself. And he didn’t know if he wanted to.

After that, things went back to normal. Well, as normal as they could be. He gathered the courage to interact with you again. But now instead of friendly glances and gestures, there were secret looks and subtle touches. Jungkook knew he was a wind-up toy one twist away from snapping, but he couldn’t help but indulge in your flirty gestures. 

He found himself growing bolder as the consequences he had once worried about seemed to be a world away. What started with the brush of a hand across the hip, grew to a hand on your thigh in the back of the car. Dark stares and lip bites plagued his day. At night, he would go home and lock himself in his private office where he would wrap his hand around his cock while conjuring up images of you in a variety of wanton states, all for him. 

He should’ve known that staying at work late with you would be a bad idea. Usually, you had the rest of the employees to keep you in check. With them gone, he found himself finding little reason to hold himself back.

“And so that’s why I think it’s a good idea to start engaging with younger consumers.”

You had been discussing ways to boost sales for the quarter, but he had stopped listening long ago, instead focusing on how your shirt was opened a button lower than usual.

“Mr. Jeon?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you listening?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Of course. Younger consumers. Got it.”

You raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“Maybe if you spent less time staring at my chest and more time focusing on these market studies, we would already have higher sales.”

“Sorry.”

“Sure you are.”

“You’re right. I’m not.”

The drop of his voice surprised even him. You looked at him with an unreadable look from your perch on the edge of his desk.

“And what is so enticing about my chest?”

Jungkook gulped. Your eyes had darkened and he felt himself start to stir in his pants. 

“It’s a part of you. And you are so sexy I can barely control myself.”

You smirked, before sauntering over to him and lowering yourself into his lap. The scent of your perfume overwhelmed him as you leaned in to whisper in his ear. 

“Then don’t.”

Somewhere inside him, a cord snapped. The control he had been trying to reign in had broken free and he was left to his own primal devices. He pulled your lips to his, finally relishing in getting to properly kiss you. You responded instantly, lips moving against his as your hands buried themselves in his hair. You tugged on the strands and Jungkook moaned into your mouth, hips bucking up into you as his hand grabbed your ass. You returned his moans and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

His brain was a mess of emotions and hormones. He was overwhelmingly hard in his pants and your lips felt too good against his. You rolled your hips on top of him and he let a growl, the need to take you battling with his need to preserve the few remaining shreds of his dignity. 

He didn’t have the chance to make a decision though when the office door swung open and the head of a very confused janitor popped in. 

“Uh…I thought you were gone,” he stuttered, “...I’ll just leave.”

The janitor blushed before shutting the door. Jungkook turned back to look at you to find a similar rosy hue had graced your cheeks. 

“Um...I should probably get going too.”

Your voice was meek and the embarrassment of getting caught was plastered all over your face. He can’t blame you though, he isn’t doing too well himself. The fear of getting caught had left him deflated in more ways than one. 

“Yeah, sure, that’s probably good.”

You moved off his lap, readjusting your skirt as you do so. You grab your purse and jacket before walking to the door. Just as you were about to open it, you turn back to look at him. 

“Good night, Jungkook.”

He looked up surprised. It was the first time you had called him by his first name. It sounded heavenly coming from your lips. 

“Goodnight.”

Before he left for the night, he made sure to track down the janitor and offer him a healthy sum of money to stay quiet. He took it happily and continued on his way.

The weekend passed slowly for Jungkook. You plagued his thoughts with images of your rumpled skirt and the feeling of your hands in his hair. His wife was out of town for yet another business trip. He didn’t care. It just gave him more time with the thought of you while his hand was around his cock.

When Monday finally rolled around, Jungkook found himself the happiest he’d ever been to go to work. As he walked into the lobby, the sight of you washed over him like the cold water of a lake on the hottest day of summer. Something about your smile seemed to relieve him of all the heavy stress he was carrying on his shoulders. 

He almost made it through the day without losing control of himself. Despite all the glances he gave you, or the way you brushed your hand against his while you leaned over next to him to explain a chart, he managed to keep it together. But when you bent over in front of his desk to pick up a pen he dropped, he lost all control. The next thing he knew, he was slamming you against his office door, lips attacking yours, while his hips rutted into you. 

Your initial shock wore off almost instantly and you groaned as you melted into him. You wrapped a leg around his waist, dragging him closer to your core. The kiss was messy and he was sure your lipstick was ruined. A fervent need overwhelmed him as he humped you like a desperate teenager. You pulled away to catch your breath, dark eyes looking staring back at his own. 

“Fuck, you turn me on so much, baby,” he growled into your ear, hips moving faster. 

Words seemed to fail you as you whined back at him, pleasure contorting in your face. You suddenly let go of him, before dropping down to your knees. Instead of going to undo his pants like he expected, you simply gave a long lick over his bulge. Jungkook’s legs immediately turned to jello and he had to brace himself on the door to keep himself upright. 

“Oh fuck, what are you doing baby?”

“I’m getting you off. Do you want me to make you feel good sir?”

For once he was happy to hear the name. He didn’t get a chance to respond before you grabbed him through his pants. He threw his head back with a moan. It briefly occurred to him that people might hear through the thin walls, but your hand on his hard cock soon relieved him of all thought. It didn’t take much to get him to the point of no return. Even with all the nights spent with his fist and a bottle of lube he still felt like a rubber band getting stretched to its limit. You were barely touching him, but there he was, on the precipice of cumming in his own damn pants. He barely had time to warn you before spurts of hot cum filled his boxer briefs with white. “Oh, fuck.”

You giggled as he let out soft groans, cock twitching in its confines. The high of pleasure was quickly wiped away as the sensation of sticky underwear rose to his attention. 

“You’re a bad, bad girl, baby. You made me cum in my pants. Do you know what happens to bad girls?”

“No, sir.” 

“They get punished.”

“And how are you going to punish me, sir?”

Jungkook had to stifle a groan. You were still on your knees in front of him, calling him ‘sir’. Despite having just had one of the better orgasms in his life, his dick twitched with interest. 

“Stand up.”

You quickly obey, rising to your full height, but keeping eye contact the entire time. 

“Take off your panties.”

Your eyes grew wide at his demand, but you obeyed him nonetheless. The second you grasped the pink lace in your hand, he snatched them from you, immediately bringing them up his nose. He inhaled, letting himself get lost in the musky aroma.

“Shit, baby, you smell so good. I can’t wait to eat your wet pussy. But not today. You were bad today and only good girls get their pussy eaten.”

You let out a whimper but kept your mouth shut, body frozen in place. He stuffed your panties into his pant pocket before walking over to his desk and taking a seat. 

“You may go.”

You looked like you wanted to say something, probably about your lack of undergarments, but you held your tongue and turned to leave. 

“Oh, and one last thing.”

You turned back to him.

“I’m going to need a new suit. It seems I’ve spilled some coffee on this one.”

He smirked and you nodded, before stepping out the door. 

He didn’t try to hold himself back after that. He would take you whenever the opportunity arose. It didn’t take long for him to fulfill his promise to eat you out. He would forever remember the way you whined his name while his mouth pulled not one, but two orgasms from your dripping pussy. And when he finally got to feel your mouth around his cock, he was fairly sure he had found nirvana. 

He wouldn’t fuck you though. He knew it was silly as if he would be betraying his wife any more than he already was by having sex with you, but for some reason, he felt the need to draw a line. To separate the boundary between the fantasy land he had created with you and the cold reality that he returned home to. His wife had become all but a ghost in his life, and as a result, Jungkook found you providing his only emotional support in addition to sexual release. He didn’t want to admit that somehow, in a few short months, you had grown from being just his secretary to his closest companion. 

He didn’t want to admit it because he was too afraid of where it would lead. He was already teetering on the edge to give it all up, even before you had shown up in his office looking like a gift from heaven, but now, now he was fairly certain that even the tiniest breeze would push him over. And he didn’t know if you would be there to catch him if he fell. 

But that didn’t stop him from starting to dream of a future with you. The island paradise in his mind expanded to include you. Flashes of laughing children, nights under the stars, and soft kisses danced through his mind. You would have your own bakery, he would take pictures, and together you would create your own little family. One that was far removed from the hassle and the stress of his painful existence.  

Jungkook was over the moon to discover that you would be accompanying him on a work trip to Japan. For one whole week, you would be one door away. Even if it was a ruse, Jungkook would be allowed to pretend, for one whole week, that you were his and he was yours alone. On the plane ride alone, he made you cum three times in the cramped bathroom. During the day, you would both try to hold it together. Merger meetings were laced with subtle glances and hidden touches. At night, you would become a whole other animal. 

You tested his limits. Dared him to give in and finally give you what you both wanted: him inside you. Every night you would knock on his door in translucent nighties that highlighted the fact you had discarded your bra. After the second night of showing up in see-through clothes, Jungkook decided to return the favor, opening the door with his shirt unbuttoned, leaving his abs out for anyone to see. While you were both visibly affected by each other’s teasing, neither of you gave in until the last moment, each of you leaping into each other's arms and making a mess of the hotel furniture. But he still didn’t fuck you. It was his line. His final frontier. 

On the last night of the trip, Jungkook suggested that they finally test out the jacuzzi on his balcony. Bad idea. When you showed up in a tiny red bikini that did little to protect your dignity, Jungkook felt himself spiraling out of control. Instead of greeting you like he usually did, he thrust a cocktail in your hand while trying to will his dick into submission. He made it through about ten minutes in the hot tub, trying to participate in regular conversation with you. But he couldn’t, not when your tits were sitting right there. He was no longer sure if the sweat dripping down his forehead was from the warm water or the pent up tension. 

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“I can’t take this anymore,” he groaned.

“Can’t take what?”

Your eyes gleamed, daring him to admit to what they both knew he so desperately needed. 

“There is nothing more I want then to sink into your pretty pink pussy right now.” 

“So why don’t you?”

It was the first time you had questioned why he refused to have sex with you, and now that you were finally confronting him about it, he found himself at a loss for a reasonable explanation. The line that he thought he was creating by refusing to have sex with you had long ago been blurred to the point of no longer existing. And here you were, with your warm body inches from him, wanting him just as much as he wanted to you and he knew that he was done for. 

“Fuck it.”

With that, he pulled you onto his lap, attaching his lips to yours for the three millionth time. He would never tire of your kisses, the way they comforted his soul, and quenched his constant need for your touch. You eagerly responded to him, tongue licking the seam of his lips. As the two of you began to explore each other’s mouths, his hands came up to the string keeping your bikini top together and gave it a quick jerk, letting the scarlet cloth fall from your body. He pulled back and groaned at the sight of your perfect tits, the water around you swishing as he rolled his hips up into yours.

You whined out, “Fuck, baby. Just like that. God, I can’t wait for you to be inside me.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook’s voice was low with lust, “Me neither, baby. You’re gonna be such a good slut for me aren’t you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Even after months of you calling him ‘sir’ in less than professional situations, Jungkook still hadn’t gotten used to it. He felt every inch of his skin tingle with sheer pleasure every time the word fell from your shameless mouth. You whined, teeth pulling at his bottom lip as you pressed down on top of him, just as desperate as he was. He moved from your mouth to your neck, kissing down to your collarbone, where he stopped to take the time to leave a rosy mark that signified you were his and his alone. Once he was satisfied with it, he continued down your chest, taking one of your pretty pink nipples in his mouth, sucking on the hardened bud. You moaned out his name, hips stuttering against his. God, he loved your breasts. 

Your hands tangled themselves in his hair, pulling on them to the point of pain. Jungkook didn’t care though. He loved when you showed him just how good he could make you feel. It made him feral. Sure, receiving pleasure was gratifying, but there was nothing quite like watching you squirm from his ministrations.

He reluctantly pulled away from your tits to pull the ties keeping your bikini bottoms intact before discarding the garment in the same manner as your top, leaving you naked on top of him. He took a moment to pull back and admire how beautiful you looked. You sat there as he looked you over, a blush rising to your cheeks. You crossed your arms over your chest in an attempt to make yourself less vulnerable to him.

“Oh no baby, don’t hide yourself from me,” he gently pulls your arms away, “you’re too beautiful to stay covered up.”

Your blush intensified. He smiled at you, wrapping his large arms around your body and carrying you out of the hot tub. Your lips reconnected with his as he stumbled his way into the hotel room, tossing you on the king-sized bed. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?”

His voice was as dark as his eyes. You nodded in response, voice escaping you. 

“That’s my baby.”

He pulled off his wet swim trunks before joining you on the bed, where your wet body had begun to soak the sheets. If he had his way, they would be much wetter by the time the night was over. He wasted no time diving into your pussy, lips attaching to your clit, drawing out your sweet moans. His fingers found your entrance, circling it a few times to collecting your slick, before slipping one in. Your back arched at the sensation and Jungkook let out a chuckled against your clit. 

Your whines grew higher and he could tell that you were getting close to finishing. After months of exploring your body, he was well acquainted with how to play your pussy like an instrument, conducting your symphony of pleasure. He slipped in a second finger, crooking them upwards in search of the spot he knew would make you scream. When you cried out he knew that he had found it and not five seconds later, you were coming all over his digits. 

“Fuck, Kook.”

“I hope you don’t think that we’re done yet,” he growled as his fingers slowed before leaving your sopping cunt, “when I’m through with you, you won’t be able to walk for days. I'll have to carry you to every meeting and explain to them that I fucked you too hard for you to function.”

You clenched around nothing at his words and he mindlessly took his cock in his hands, giving it a few quick strokes. 

“You like that don’t you? You would love for the entire world to know how much of a whore you are for my cock.”

“I would. I’m a whore for your cock, please give it to me. I’ve been a good girl.”

Without bothering to warn you, he lined himself up before sinking into you. You both groaned at  the feeling of your tight cunt stretching around his cock. After months of dreaming of what your pink walls would feel like around him, he could confirm that the sensation was much better than anything his imagination had conjured. 

He started with slow thrusts, trying to give himself time to come off the edge he had already been worked up to. Your legs came to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to you. As soon as you had adjusted to his girth, you began to roll your hips up to meet his.

“Go faster.”

“Uh uh, if you want Daddy to go faster, you have to beg like a proper slut.”

It just slipped out. Jungkook knew he had a daddy kink, but it generally stayed repressed deep within after his wife had shamed him for it. But you didn’t seem to mind. If anything, you squeezed him even tighter.

“Please Daddy, please go faster. Fuck my tight pussy.”

He conceded to your wishes, pulling all the way out, before thrusting back in. He set a tireless pace, pounding into you so hard the bed began to shake. He leaned down, meeting your lips in a sloppy kiss. Your teeth clacked together, but Jungkook didn’t care. He just wanted to be as close to you as possible. 

He pulled away from your lips and his cock twitched at the visual of the string of saliva connecting your mouths. Without him to silence you, your moans mingling with the sound of skin slapping creating a beautiful symphony for Jungkook’s ears. 

He felt himself approach the edge, honing in on his release. Luckily for him, your pussy was tightening around him, signaling that you were close too. 

“Fuck, are you gonna cum for me, baby? Are you gonna come around Daddy’s cock like a good girl?”

“Yes Daddy, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna-”

Your voice broke off into a high pitched moan as you clenched around him. You threw your head back, hands clawing into his skin. The mix of pain and pleasure sent him over the edge with you. He quickly pulled out before covering your pussy and stomach in white strands. As soon as the waves of ecstasy rescinded, he collapsed on top of you, exhaust claiming his muscles. 

He laid there for a minute before hopping up and heading to the bathroom. When he came back out, warm towel in hand, he found you passed out on the soaked sheets. His heart skipped a beat at your blissed-out face and for a moment he wished he could feel as peaceful as you looked. After making sure you were thoroughly clean, he collapsed on the bed next to you. Sleep was quick to come to him, but not before he took you into his arms, burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

A dam had burst. The two of you went at it like rabbits, he would take you any and every way could, whenever he could. He couldn’t get enough of you. He would take you in the back of the limo, in the elevator, empty conference rooms. It was to the point he was sure the entire company knew of your amorous relations, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. All he thought about was you. Even the fear of disappointing his parents was beginning to diminish. As his feelings for you grew and blossomed, his desire to please anyone else faded into a faint buzz in the background of his mind. You had him whipped. 

He knew things were bad when his five year anniversary with his wife rolled around and he didn’t feel a thing when she told him that she wouldn’t be able to be there due to some book tour. Sure, a little part of him was upset that she didn’t care enough to even try to change the tour dates, but he knew that he didn't have a leg to stand on. In fact, he was rather grateful he wouldn’t have to plan some dinner to celebrate a love that had died long ago.  

When you heard that he was spending his anniversary alone, you had offered him some company. He felt a twinge of guilt about the idea of having sex with a woman that wasn’t his wife on their anniversary, but not enough to stop him from inviting you over. So there you were, in his foyer, with an overnight bag, a bottle of wine, and a smile that could light up the heavens. He grinned back at you, taking the bottle and leading you into the living room. 

“I’ll get us some glasses, yeah?”

“Sure. Do you mind if I change? Work clothes aren’t the most comfortable.”

“Oh, yeah, go ahead. There’s a bathroom down the hall to your left.”

When he returned to the living room with two glasses and a bottle opener, you were curled up on the couch in a tank and shorts. You were flipping through the photography book that he kept on the coffee table. You were so immersed in the pictures that you didn’t notice his presence.

“So whatcha want to do?”

You jumped, startled by the sound of his voice. 

“It’s your anniversary, you should decide.”

He placed the opener and the glasses on the table next to the bottle before taking a seat next to you. 

“I don’t know. How about we just drink and talk for a bit?” he paused, “Maybe that’s stupid.”

“Nope. Nothing about you is stupid.”

There was your damn smile again. Jungkook hated the way his heart pounded faster because of it. He smiled back at you. It only took a few sips of the merlot before Jungkook had begun to relax. He had been drunk around you plenty of times, but there was something about wine that made him want to pour his entire heart out to you. 

He watched as you laughed at your own joke, strands of hair that had fallen loose from your tight ponytail danced on your cheek. The world seemed to slow down a little, time coming to a halt, making the room for him to exist with just you and no one else. It was somewhere in that warm, fuzzy space that the words came tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

“I think I love you.”

Even the air in the room stilled. You stared at him, eyes wide with shock.

“What?”

You looked like a deer in headlights. Jungkook felt like one.

“Nothing. I was just running my mouth. Don’t mind me. Go back to telling me about this dream bakery of yours.”

Much to his chagrin, you didn’t budge, eyes still fixed on his rigid body. Your surprise had evaporated and you were now looking him up and down as if you were trying to analyze his inner thoughts. You both sat frozen for what felt like ages before you moved to kneel in front of him, taking his shaky hands in yours. When you opened your mouth, your voice was soft, caressing his soul.

“I love you too.”

The world stopped in its tracks. Jungkook swore his heart stopped beating in his chest. And then your lips were on his and even though he had kissed you more times than he could count, this felt different. This felt like the collision of two planets, the implosion of a star. Fireworks weren’t enough to describe the cascade of emotions pouring through him. His hands grasped your cheeks, gently caressing the soft skin. You hummed against his mouth as he pushed you back to lie on the couch, while your legs spread to make room for him between your thighs. 

Jungkook swore he felt a tear trickle down his cheek, but he couldn’t tell if it was from you or him. He honestly didn’t care. The woman he had grown to love loved him back. He now knew that you would catch him if he fell. And so he let himself tumble over the precipice he had once been so terrified of.  He could finally admit that your embrace was home and that your arms eyes were the safety he never felt. He loved you. You loved him. The stars had aligned. 

He trailed his kisses away from your lips and to the crook of your neck where he inhaled. You smelled of the remnants of your perfume mixed with your own personal scent. He swore if he breathed it in enough, he would get high off it. Instead, he placed soft kisses on the delicate skin, before taking it in between his teeth, shamelessly marking you. The whole world would know that you belonged to him, almost as much as he belonged to you. 

You moaned as he sucked the bruised skin into his mouth before shifting lower so that his face was right between your breasts. Your flimsy tank top did nothing to stop him from tearing it in two. 

“Jesus, Kook,” you groaned as he took in the sight of your braless chest, bare before him. 

“What? I can buy you all the tank tops you want. I would buy you the whole world.”

And it was true. If that’s what it would take to make you happy, that’s what he would do. Tears glinted in your eyes at his words before Jungkook ripped a moan out of your mouth when he took a nipple in his. He sucked on it before releasing it with a pop. 

“These are the best tits in the world. I love them almost as much as I love you.”

He dove back in taking the neglected breast in his hand, rubbing the nipple. Your hips bucked up into him, desperate for more concrete pleasure than the little he was teasing you with. 

“Slow, baby, I’ll get there. Slow.”

You whined in response, head thrown back against the arm of the couch while Jungkook swirled his tongue over you. Even though he was unbelievably hard in his sweats, he found no motivation to do anything about it, his sole focus on you and your pleasure. 

He moved to kiss down your stomach. When he reached the hem of your shorts, he pulled them off, before moving to kiss over your lace panties. An obvious wet patch marked the center and Jungkook once again took the time to stop and smell you. The aroma overwhelmed him, driving him mad with carnal lust. 

“Fuck baby, your dripping, and I’ve barely touched you yet.” 

“That’s ‘cause you’re taking forever. Please baby, I need you.”

And how could he deny you when you were so sweet and all fucked out, just for him. He pulled your soaked panties to the side, groaning at your soaked, pink lips. He dove in, licking one long striped from the bottom of your cunt up to your clit. You bucked against him desperate for more. 

In response, he wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you in place. His tongue found your clit, eliciting angelic moans from you while he drew abstract shapes on your bundle of nerves. Your thighs began to quiver in his grip and he smiled against you. The thought of you coming from just his mouth had his dick twitching in excitement. 

“Fuck, Kookie, I’m gonna cum.”

“That’s right baby, cum all over tongue.”

Seconds later, you're soaking his mouth while you writhed in pleasure. But Jungkook didn’t stop. He was too blissed out with his face in your cunt. He would stay like this forever if he could. He pulled one hand away from your thigh, to sneak around to your entrance, a finger slipping inside.

“Oh god, Kook, it’s too much.”

“You can do it, baby. I know you can.”

You looked like you were about to protest before he curled his finger up, hitting your g-spot. You cried out, more slick pouring out of you, if that was possible. He knew that there was a large wet spot staining his ten-thousand-dollar couch, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Slipping another finger in you, he began to flick with his tongue, daring you to come again. It didn’t take long.

“Oh shit, Kook, shit, shit, gonna cum, shit, shit-”

He’s never heard you scream so loud in all the months he’s had the privilege of giving you orgasms. Before he could properly register what was happening, you were squirting all over him. Your hips bucked out of your control as you painted his face with your orgasm. Jungkook swore that if he had any less self-control, he would’ve come all over in his pants. 

As you came down from your high, Jungkook scooped you up, carrying you to the bedroom. He laid you gently on the bed, giving you a few moments to recover as he stripped himself of his own clothes. You sat up, watching him closely as he slowly revealed himself to you. He was well built, he knew that, but you often told him how much you appreciated his muscles, as if the way you kissed and bit his abs weren’t enough of a clue. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t started working out more just to please you. 

But he also knew that he could never step foot in a gym again and you would still love him just as much. That was the difference between you and his wife. You loved him without condition, without the need for him to be someone he wasn’t. His wife had fallen in love with only one version of him, a version that no longer existed. 

He joined you on the bed, crawling up between your legs, giving you a soft kiss when he reached your lips. You fell back on the pillows letting him take in your face, your body, you. He bucked up against you, tip rubbing your clit and you let out simultaneous moans. 

Just when he was about to slip into you, his phone rang on the bedside table. He groaned, lifting himself up to see who dared to call him when he was about to have sex with the love of his life. A flash of guilt rushed through him when he saw his wife’s name light up the screen. Of course it was her. Despite everything, this was a woman who would keep up appearances until her dying breath. And here he was, about to have sex with another woman in their shared bed. He sighed, swiping to ignore the call, before tossing it back on the table. 

This time, he didn’t wait to enter you, thrusting in immediately. He groaned at the feeling of your soft walls encapsulating him. Ever since the first time you had had sex, he had always made sure to use a condom, but he couldn’t bring himself to care that he wasn’t using one now. Being inside you without the extra barrier felt so intrinsically right. In fact, part of him was excited about the idea of going raw and risking getting you pregnant. 

“You wanna get me pregnant?”

Your voice was soft and curious. He stilled inside of you, 

“Umm…?”

His voice trailed off as he tried to come up with a reasonable response. His brain failed him. 

“It’s okay if you do. It’s kinda hot actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind having your kid.”

Jungkook couldn’t help the moan that fell out of his mouth. He thrust softly in you. So many hormones were flooding his brain that he could barely focus on what was happening. 

“Well, then I guess it’s my duty to make sure you’re nice and pregnant for me by the end of the night.”

“Yeah, Kookie,” you whined, “give it to me. Want you to cum in me. Want your baby.”

The two of you met in a messy kiss as Jungkook pounded into you, balls slapping your ass. Desperation flooded him, determination to knock you up with his child overriding every other need. He’d never had the desire to get someone pregnant like this before. There was something about you that pulled at all his primal instincts. 

You were tightening again, your moans drowning out the sound of skin slapping accentuated by Jungkook’s own grunts. Jungkook himself wasn’t too far from finishing himself, having been on edge since you squirted all over him. 

“Fuck baby,” you moaned, “you fuck me so well.”

“Yeah. Are you gonna cum for me? Are you gonna cum so that I can get you pregnant?”

“Yes, fuck, I love yo-” 

Your voice faded into a scream as tears rolled down your cheeks as you came for the third time that night. The look on your face triggered Jungkook’s own orgasm. He roared as jets of white cum covered your inner walls. His hips stuttered as he chanted your name. Your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, holding him deep within you. 

He rolled over without pulling out, keeping you tight in his arms.

“Mmm,” you hummed, “hope that did the trick.”

“Yeah? Me too,” he smiled. 

You grinned back.

“Are you not gonna pull out?”

“We gotta keep my cum in you so we make sure it does the trick.”

“Okay,” you chuckled.

“What?”

He pouted.

“You’re just cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“Sure...”

He giggled when you rolled your eyes, pressing a peck on your lips. The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the night, wrapped in each other's arms, talking until sleep carried you off into dreamland. 

Jungkook woke the next morning before you. He took a moment to admire your face, not believing that you were really all his. He softly kissed your forehead before wiggling his way out of your embrace. 

He quietly slipped on a tee and some sweats before making his way to the kitchen where he put on a pot of coffee. While he waited, he checked his phone, expecting to find a voicemail from his wife. He was surprised to find none. He opened the phone app and his stomach dropped. There at the top of his recent calls was a twenty-minute call with her. He must have accidentally answered it. She must have heard everything. Anxiety crept up on him as he began to pace the white kitchen floor. Before he knew what he was doing, the phone was dialing. 

“Hello?”

Her voice was groggy.

“Hi.”

His voice quivered. 

“What do you want Jungkook?”

“Oh, umm, I’m sorry I guess,” his voice is quiet, “For what you heard.”

“You mean listening to you moan about how you wanted to get your secretary pregnant?”

He cringed at her dripping sarcasm. 

“Yeah. That.”

“Don’t be.”

“What?”

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“Jungkook,” she sighed, “I think we both knew something like this was going to happen.”

“Yeah, I guess. But that doesn’t mean that it was okay for me to cheat on you.”

“That’s true.”

They both stay silent for a minute, letting it all sink in. 

“I suppose that means this is the end of the road for us then, huh?”

“Yeah, it is. But it’s okay. We weren’t meant to be. All things being said, you sound like you really love her.”

“I do, I really do.”

“And if I’m being honest, I’ve kinda had a thing for my editor for a while.”

“Seokjin?”

He was honestly surprised that he remembered his name.

“Yeah.”

They both laughed. 

“We’ll talk when you get back, yeah?”

“Yeah. Goodbye, Jungkook.”

“Goodbye.”

He hung up before leaning against the counter, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling. A breath of relief escaped as all the weight he had been carrying for so long fell from his shoulders. It was over. His dead marriage was finished and now he had the rest of his life to love you. He laughed giddily before running to wake you up and tell you the news. 

Six months later, he’s on a beach in Jamaica, trying to take a picture of you without you noticing. He’s almost successful, your nose is buried too deep in a paperback you had propped up on your pregnant stomach, but you looked up when you heard the shutter click.

“Jungkook,” you groaned, “I told you not to take pictures of me.”

“I’m sorry, baby, I can’t help it. You're too sexy carrying my baby.”

You rolled your eyes behind your shades.

“Whatever. As long as no one else sees them.”

“Of course, baby. I’m keeping you all to myself.”

You grinned before turning back to your book.

A month after his conversation with his now ex-wife, their divorce had been finalized. He’d simultaneously quit his job as CEO, unafraid of disappointing anyone else at the expense of his happiness. He had made more than enough money to support the two, soon to be three, of you for the rest of your life. Together, you had moved to Jamaica, where you were working on opening a bakery and he had begun a fairly successful photography business. And in three months, the two of you would welcome a beautiful baby girl into the world.

He sighed, overly content with his life. He glanced down to your hand to spot the sparkling diamond on your ring finger. A month ago, he had taken you out on a boat ride where he had asked you to be his wife. You had eagerly accepted. 

Now he was blissed out in that island paradise he had dreamed about all those months ago. His stress levels were an all-time low. And, sure, maybe his parents weren’t that happy with him, (all though his mother was over the moon when he announced the impending arrival of a grandchild, finally), but whenever he woke in the morning with you by his side, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. You were his whole world, and he wouldn’t give that up for anything. 

masterlist

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Hello Sorrow [Chapter Three] Run Sweetheart Run [Karl Heisenberg]

Run and hide … run and hide …

His words stayed with her like a menacing curse.

Irina ran, but she didn’t know where to go. The room was dim; air damp, reeking of iron and musk. She ran in what seemed like circles before coming to a breathless stop, regrettably aware that she had not escaped the same hole she had plunged down. How were her thoughts so unorganized? It was because of him; it had to be, watching her from above like she was a mouse in a game of find the cheese.

Her breath came out hot and heavy as she gasped for air. Was this a panic attack? Irina looked desperately around her. She yearned for a weapon; a door out of this place. But her mind was too jumbled. She could hardly think straight.

Breathe, she begged.

She needed a moment to concentrate; a moment without Heisenberg watching her to assess the situation.

Irina took a deep and uneven breath. Her throat was tender; head beating from the tension, but she felt better.

If only for a moment.

“Time is ticking away, darling. You don’t want to die at the starting line, do you?”

Irina shot a baleful glance in his direction. “Shut up.”

His voice wasn’t helping.

Laughing at her only irritated her more.

“Best of luck,” he stated.

Before he slammed the trapdoor closed, Heisenberg grinned, staring down at her scared, yet irked expression. “And sweetheart … don’t disappoint me.”

“Go to hell!”

The door came down with a bang; dust rained down with it. Thank god he left her alone.

Shutting her sore eyes, Irina took another breath and opened them, rescanning the grimy room. There wasn’t much in terms of weapons she could use; this room was void of scrap, and she couldn’t imagine tossing a cardboard box at Heisenberg.

Skip it. What’s next?

Waiting him out was an ignorant plan. Irina had no reason to trust that he’d keep his word and let her go once the game was over. Hell no. She’d take her chances trying to escape, then worry about fleeing from the village once she returned. First, she needed to find a map and locate the exits – this was a factory; there were bound to be many. Heisenberg gave her an hour; there was plenty she could do in an hour, like secure a sturdy weapon and attempt to remove the shackles from her wrists.

“I can do this,” she uttered in assurance.

There was no way he could search every nook and cranny to find her. This factory was enormous; it certainly looked enormous from the outside.

As she was pondering her next move a low rattling noise startled her. From the left, a shutter door opened, as if to welcome her into the next room. How generous of the prick to lend her a hand.

Accepting, Irina moved into the next room. But as she passed through, a high-pitched siren went off and the shutter began to come down, sealing her within. A warning light flooded her in bright red. Irina screamed in frustration and slammed her hands against the rippled metal.

“Fuck you! This is cheating,” she snapped.

The siren hurt her ears.

“And shut that damn thing off.”

Moments later, the siren went silent, but the warning light remained on – he was a comical one.

Obviously, Heisenberg wanted her to move onward. Returning back to the previous room was not an option.

Irina turned with an irritated huff and searched the room. It looked as if it were once used as a breakroom. An herb in a small terracotta pot sat on a table top in the corner; dust covered lockers and shelves rested against the walls.

And much to her relief, she saw a door.

She stepped away from the shutter and began to rummage around in the lockers. They were bare, apart from one that possessed a long-range flashlight. The lens was horribly cracked, but the battery was still good, albeit it took her several smacks against her hand to get the light to stop flashing in and out once she tested it.

It would do.

Before she progressed on, Irina uprooted the wilted green herb and stored it in her bag. Luiza taught her that the stem, when ingested, had curative properties; it wasn’t much and she wasn’t sure she’d even need it, but having it was better than not having it.

The door led her down a set of narrow steps. Irina had to use the cold brick wall as a support, because the bright red warning lights above were on, ominously blinking. She was nervous she’d miss a step and fall on her ass. When she reached the bottom and opened the door, she stood in complete shock, having been led to the beating heart of the factory.

Her stomach twisted and churned in dread; this place was much larger than she thought.

The shrill hum of the machines vibrated in her ears as suspension conveyors moved heavy materials in sharp angles from one empty station to the next across the production floor; massive pumpjacks rotated on screeching cranks in rapid succession, hissing and shooting steam.

Tears gathered in her scared eyes. It was horrific; the worst sound Irina had ever heard, like a howling mechanical beast.

I’m going to die here.

Absolutely not. She was going to beat this game.

Irina eased towards the broken railing and looked down. There was another floor beneath the one she was on; the smell of murky stagnant water below made her pucker her nose in disgust. How far did she go down?

She decided not to dwell on it long and continued across the platform to the end where the floor branched into three areas; two were sealed by doors and the other was an open lift. Her heart hammered in excitement, and to improve her mood, she saw an extensive map of the factory on the wall near the door in front of her.

Irina hurried into the lift, finding the worn service panel. B4 was lit up; a glowing circle beside it. She wondered if B4 was the floor she was on, considering the fact B5 was written on the last button.

“Please let this work,” she uttered.

Her life depended on it.

But first, the map – in case she was wrong – then perhaps she could find a way to break the shackles around her wrists.

According to the diagram she was in Materials. To leave she had to make her way up to Storage; seemed easy enough.

Irina grinned and went through the door across from the lift cart. Her keen eyes caught sight of something against the wall. It was a model of the factory – though not exact – with rotating mechanisms. Did Heisenberg make this? It was rather crafted.

She watched in wonder as the golden trolley car moved back and forth on its automated track. Reaching out to touch it, she noticed the base on which it sat was a barred ossuary that held the crystallized remains of a human inside it. Haunting, yet beautiful, Irina wondered if it were valuable.

Perhaps she’d take it and see if the Duke might buy it from her. But how would she free it? There appeared to be no button or padlock on the ossuary; nothing but a dented space made for something round.

As she was searching for other methods to open the casket, she heard a strange noise over the whisper of the machines outside. The sound was almost familiar, yet she knew she had never heard it here before. In the village maybe; a cart.

It suddenly occurred to her what it might be. Irina darted back onto the platform just in time for the cart to disappear from the floor she was on. In horror, she watched as the buttons on the outside lit up to indicate the floor the cart was being called to. At Storage it stopped, then a second later it began to descend again, passing up floors 2 and 3.

Is it time?

No damn way had an hour passed. Heisenberg was cheating.

He led me here. The entire time he knew which floor I was on, because he fucking led me here.

He lied to her; he never intended to play fair. And she was a fool to trust him.

Irina ran. She busted through the remaining door in a panic and rushed down the steps, fleeing down a hallway bathed in red. At the end of the hall, she found herself in another room. An automated door sat in front of her, red light on the hull. But once Irina tried to wrench it open, she learned that it was locked.

Why wouldn’t it move?

“Open … please open.”

She tried all she knew to do, but the door remained shut. Tears stung her eyes as she banged weakly on the metal. The palm of her hand struck the bulbous red light and a final last idea came to her. Perhaps if she broke it the door would short circuit and open. It was worth a shot.

On a mantel piece to the right of her, she found a rusted hammer. The splintered wood dug into her tender skin as Irina yanked it from its hook. Standing back, her arm extended and she swung at the light, hitting it dead center. The lens fissured, webbing out, and with one more potent hit, the glass broke, spraying sparks and hissing in protest before the metal latch gave and the door opened.

“Could have been an easier way to do that then breaking my damn door,” a voice said.

Irina jerked in fear and glanced over her shoulder. Heisenberg stood behind her, duster and hat missing from his person. But over his arm he carried a large sledge hammer; its handle was wooden, but its massive head was made of fused helical gears and metal scrap. How was he able to carry such a thing?

“Shame,” he added. “You only held out for about ten minutes.”

She gave him a heated glare. “The hour you gave me isn’t over yet. There is still time.”

“Afraid not. Your time is up.”

His hammer smacked the floor with a deafening crack; its metal face scraped the concrete, shattering it.

Irina tossed the claw hammer at him and ran – whether it hit its mark or not wasn’t her concern.

“That’s the spirit,” he taunted.

She scurried up sets of stairs; across steel grate platforms and down dark halls with nothing but her light to lead the way, until her legs ached and her breath poured out thick and hot.

It hurts, she complained.

At last, she stopped, coming to rest in a heated workroom with an x-ray film board and a furnace used to make castings.

Was there anywhere safe to catch her breath?

Irina sighed and moved around to the other side of a workbench to a door on her right. It was bolted, but with a lock pick she opened it and wondered in, locking it from the inside.

Sitting on the floor, she took an uneasy breath.

She had to rest.

Just a moment.

But something slumped to the floor near her, moving in the dark. Irina shined her light on the area and to her horror, a monster stood. It’s arm, wired to an auger roared to life.    

Irina screamed.

[neonponders]

👀 👀 👀 👀  Oh jesus oh lord. Deeper Than Skin is finished so I’ll enable another wip.

@ghostofjellyfishforgotten I hope you don’t mind me using your tags on this vampire!Billy / blood donor!Steve post as inspiration! Your brain is just too big for me not to pass up an opportunity to write vampire shenanigans.

Read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve didn’t judge people who worked as donors—

Fine, as an adult with a better awareness and compassion, Steve didn’t judge donors. He might’ve said some shitty things to Jonathan Byers when he worked to make his family extra money.

Honestly? Steve admired that. Jonathan being underage and having the guts to figure out how to get into the donation clinic, and then to let…

Steve knew he was a coward in a lot of ways. He knew it when he called Jonathan a queer who enjoyed leeches sucking on him. He knew it when he lost to the punches Byers threw. For a skinny, half empty blood bag, the guy could really hit. And Steve knew it when he almost ran away from Nancy and Jonathan fighting off the rogue vampire who kidnapped little Will Byers.

But Steve didn’t run away.

Just like he didn’t run away from the couch he sat on with his mother while his father explained…a situation that left Steve digging deeper and deeper into the gap between fear and bravery. Maybe call it disassociation. Or confused shock.

“You what?”

Harrington senior never took well to being interrupted. But he sighed from across the coffee table and reiterated, “The family is in debt.”

“No. You. You’re in debt. This is your problem.”

The man certainly didn’t take well to having his own mistakes shoved under his nose. “This isn’t for debate. This is the way things are and need to be.”

“No,” Steve repeated like a broken record clinging onto its song. “This is your fault. Who’s made me work minimum wage jobs to teach me a lesson? Who’s refused to pay for me to go to community college? Who hasn’t let me work in their company? And who made the shitty gambles with your company’s stocks? You shoved me out, so it’s definitely not my problem—”

“The contract has already been signed.”

Now his mother shifted her posture on the couch beside him. “Excuse me?”

Steve’s father moved his blunt nails over the armrest of his wingback, fidgeting. At least something put fear into the old bastard’s heart.

“There’s nothing I could do. The market has been evolving ever since vampires gained their rights and opened up their decades and centuries old bonds—”

“Vampire legislation passed over a century ago,” Mrs. Harrington purred. Sometimes the worst anger was the quiet kind. “You have no excuse. You lost the game, and you sold our son. Is that what we’re to believe?”

“That’s not possible,” Steve intercepted. “Slavery isn’t a thing anymore. Even I picked that up in history. And I would have to be there to sign the contract! It’s my—”

“Steve,” his father silenced. “When enough money is involved, anything is bought. And you’re not like anyone else.”

Mrs. Harrington fumed, “Do not talk to him like he’s a prize pony!”

“Except to a wealthy vampire, he is.”

Steve could only sit in weighted silence for a moment. He always joked to himself that he’d be disowned one of these days. For being a disappointment. For all of his bad grades. For giving his friends alcohol and cigarettes. For only being able to get jobs that required no qualifications or experience level at all. For discovering he liked kissing boys at the grimy music venues Robin took him to. Maybe living at home for too long. Or leaving the smell of burnt pancakes in the air too often because he always struggled with the first one—

“Vampire?” he croaked. For some reason it hadn’t dawned to him until now but…shit.

Holy shit.

Steve wasn’t being sold off to be some billionaire’s secretary for life. He was being…truly sold. Like…goodbye, Steve, who likes spring nights and summer mornings. His favorite food is breakfast and he wishes he kept with the music lessons his mom paid for instead of being peer pressured into sports. Whose best friend was Robin Buckley because she was brave and funny and stuck with him during his ironic and a little bit terrifying queer awakening…

Hello, Donor 0235. Blood type O. Allergic to nickel and checks off all vaccination requirements.

“Steve’s not wrong,” his mother echoed like a voice deep in a cave, drawing Steve out of his thoughts. “He is the one to sign the contract. Not you.”

“He is still classified as our dependent and on our insurance,” his father refused.

“So being an adult means nothing in this country?”

“They have our family records, Annette!” he exclaimed. “There is a dual government in this country even if nobody below upper-middle class sees it. The human government had to cede a great deal because the vampire population is massive. And they’ve kept track of all the Sanguis families! Name changes, and two World Wars did nothing to save us—”

“The what?” Steve all but whispered.

His mother rotated her hips to face him. “We only have legends about how it happened. Paleolithic gods making deals, vampires crossbreeding humans to make a certain kind of blood donor, human evolution after symbiotic deals were struck—but that doesn’t matter. The point is that there are people in this world with abilities that preserve themselves against vampires. That’s why you healed in less than two days after that silly fight by the movie theatre.”

His father intercepted, “The genes skipped your mother but fell to you.”

Steve’s eyes widened as his mother confirmed, “To protect us, girls have been promoted in the family tree for generations. Through marriage, their names could change, and make them harder to track.”

Steve countered toward his father, “So this really isn’t your place to sign my life away. Like five times over.”

“I quite agree,” his mother turned back to the man she’d married. The man who was supposed to protect her and her children with his name and promising, growing business.

At least Steve wasn’t the only failure in the family.

His father massaged his forehead and defended, “As I said. Humans’ government is far easier to corrupt our way into forgiving any debt. The vampires, however, are inconsolable. The bastard would have my business, the cars, our house, and taken his time discovering Steve on his own if I hadn’t—”

Steve took after his father, but he was his mother’s son as they both stood up from the couch, furious that this man had thrown his own kid under a vampire’s bus—

“Get out of the house, Steve.”

His head whipped around at her. “I-What?”

“Get out of the house,” she seethed, but not at him. “I don’t care where or what you do. Go.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice but he hadn’t managed to grab his car keys or his shoes before the house and his ribcage trembled with his parents’ arguing. He went in his socks outside and put the shoes on in his car.

Then…he didn’t know where to go. Running the hell away seemed like the obvious solution, but if vampires really had such a network, what was the point? And if he left, what would happen to his mom?

Steve drove on autopilot to the video rental store. Robin. All he had was Robin, who took the lollipop out of her mouth when the bell on the door twittered. “Hey, dingus, it’s your day off—Steve?”

He couldn’t really remember driving. That probably should have raised more red flags than he already had, but for now, the black and neon carpeting of the Family Video was blurring and swirling…

“I’m gonna throw up,” he heard himself say.

And Robin in that distant, echoing cave his mother had spoken from, “Outside! STEVE!”

[dinosaurtsukki]

[ traffic jams ] 

pairing: suna rintarou x gn!reader

word count: 1.8k words

contains: ‘timestamps’ in a way, some shenanigans to pass the time, slightly awkward!suna, a bit too many ratatouille references, friendship with mutual crushing

a/n: i lowkey miss the traffic jams going home and one thing that struck me when reading suna’s bio on the wiki was that he doesn’t actually live near inarizaki so i thought it would be cute to have like a suna x reader commute fic

>> 5:45 pm: 

you sigh for what was probably the fifth time that hour as you stare at the road map on your phone. the highway you were currently on was marked with red, indicating a traffic jam that stretched for kilometers. ‘estimated travel time: 4 hours’ the top of your phone screen read.

‘great, and it’s a friday night on top of that.’ you rub the side of your temple and stare out the window of the bus. you already knew what going to inarizaki, a high school all the way out in hyogo, while you were currently living in tokyo meant when it came to travel time. you often had to wake up early and get home late with the long travel time to school and back. most days, it was manageable and a one hour commute meant a good day. however, there were days when a storm was raging outside, delaying the train and bus schedules, and road accidents that led to the kind of situation you were currently in.

after leaving at five pm, you spent the past hour doing some homework in the bus and now you were fresh out of things to do. you’re also avoiding using your phone too much and draining your battery. right before you’re about to put on your earphones, your bus seatmate stirs awake. 

aside from you, there is one other student who also commutes all the way to school from aichi, the prefecture where you live: suna rintarou. you know him as one of the regulars in the volleyball team and that he’s in the same year as you. neither of you ever really interacted much but took the same bus to and from school. sometimes you’d greet each other good morning and recently had this silent agreement to sit next to each other.

you watch as suna blinks sleepily before glancing out the window beside you. “where are we?” he mumbles.

“still in hyogo. it’s been an hour,” you answer. 

“damn, really?” suna groans when he realizes just how terrible the traffic is outside. “and it’s a friday too.”

“tell me about it,” you chuckle mirthlessly. “also, estimated travel time is four hours so there go my exciting friday plans,” you add sarcastically.

“sorry you have to spend them with me,” suna smirks at you. your stomach flutters and you smile nervously. despite not knowing him too well, you couldn’t help but find him quite attractive. in fact, the reason why you got up early in the morning and tried to leave school at the same time as him was because you enjoyed your daily commutes with suna so much. even more so when you two started sitting next to each other.

“well, i don’t think that would be too bad,” you clear your throat. “we could play ‘i spy’ for four more hours.”

“or,” suna grins, leaning down and opening his backpack before pulling out his laptop. you chuckle and pull out your earphones. “we could watch ratatouille.”

“of all the things to pirate. you really chose ratatouille?”

“fuck disney, am i right?” suna smirks.

“fuck disney.”

>> 7:46 pm

“good on you for making sure that your laptop was fully charged before leaving school,” you say, stretching your arms a bit as soon as the credits roll.

“hmm, yeah,” suna sighs and leans his head back. “though, i think i made the wrong decision.”

“how come?”

suna crosses his arms over his stomach and squeezes his eyes shut. “because we watched ratatouille, i’m hungry now.”

“oh...” you nod your head, just as you feel a rumble in your stomach. “oh,” you repeat. 

“yeah,” suna groans. “do you have any food on you?”

“i have...” you rustled through your backpack before procuring “a bag of peanuts.” 

“hmm, that’ll have to do,” suna said, plucking the packet out of your hand. “say, one nut each per two minutes? just to ration it out?”

you sigh. “it’s going to be a long night.”

>> 8:10 pm

“there it is, the last two nuts,” suna says gazing at the two peanuts in the palm of his hand before offering one of them to you.

“i really, really thought they would last longer,” you sigh.

“they would have if you kept them for yourself,” suna raises his eyebrows. 

“i’m too nice for that,” you giggle. “besides, i’d feel too guilty seeing you all hungry.”

“and i might guilt-trip you just a little bit,” suna says. “like, toss you mournful looks and everything.”

“no! not the mournful looks,” you cry and the two of you burst out laughing. you lift your peanut towards him. “toast?” 

“toast,” suna snickers. you toast your peanuts before popping them into your mouth. you’re both still far from home.

>> 8:30 pm

“i spy with my little eye... something red and blinking.”

“oh my god, it’s another car taillight isn’t it?”

“... it is,” suna admits, blinking lazily out the window. “i mean, it’s all taillights out there. anyway, your turn.” he nudges your arm with his elbow.

“i spy with my little eye... “ you blink and yawn. “some really tired passengers.” 

“i’m looking at one right now,” suna snickers at you.

you two share a glance before simultaneously sighing. 

“i want to be home,” you say. you don’t even have to look at suna to know he’s nodding in agreement. 

>> 9:00 pm

“chicken nuggets.” 

“suna, please stop,” you groan.

“it’s all i can think of,” suna shakes his head. the two of you are staring up at the ceiling of bus, trying and failing to forget your hunger. “when we get out of here, i’m going to the first fast-food restaurant i see and ordering chicken nuggets. also ice cream from the convenience store. you know, the soft-serve one in the cone.”

“yeah, you only mentioned that five times for the past hour,” you roll your eyes.

“how bout you? what’s the first thing you’re getting when we finally get to the stop?” suna nudges your ribs. you close your eyes, knowing that nothing good will come out of talking about food. but then again, not thinking about it wasn’t going to make you any less hungrier either.

“strawberry yogurt drink,” you answer. “i want that strawberry yogurt drink that they always have in convenience stores?”

“oh that one,” suna hums. “you’re literally the only person i know who likes that.”

“which is great because the vending machines never run out of them,” you add. “you what else i want?” you ask after a beat of silence.

“what?”

“that mushroom remy cooked in the beginning of the movie,” you giggle. suna shakes his head as a smile blooms on his face. now that you think about it, you’ve never really seen that kind of goofy smile on him before.

>> 9:30 pm

suna wakes up for the second time during that bus ride after a short nap. it doesn’t surprise at all that he’s still in the bus. what does, though, is seeing you fast asleep with your head on his shoulder. you must have accidentally leaned on him while you two drifted off to sleep but suna was far from annoyed. 

he was never really one to approach random people to strike up a conversation, but he always enjoyed seeing you, wearing the same uniform as him, waiting at the same bus stop he took every morning. unlike suna, you were way more productive during your daily commutes by doing your homework in the bus. once or twice, he’d glance at your pretty handwriting or pick up your pencil after you accidentally dropped it.

suna noticed that sometimes, you’d pack cereal in ziploc bags to eat for breakfast. that it would take you less than five minutes to fall asleep in the bus when there are exams. that you rotated between the same five hairclips throughout the week.

the sound of the bus engine coming to a stop and passengers abruptly standing up brings suna out of his thoughts. with a start, he realizes that you’re both finally at the bus stop in your hometown.

“y/n. wake up,” suna nudges you softly. he only gets to appreciate your sleepy face for a few seconds before breaking the good news. “we’re home.”

“we are?” you wake up instantly at that and look out the window. “oh my god, we are!” you squeal. suna grins as the two of you quickly pick up your bags and leave the bus. 

“okay so the nearest fast-food place is the one a few blocks away from here,” suna says as the two of you leave the bus. god, he’s starving. he can already taste the chicken nuggets. 

“eat a whole bunch of them for me,” you laugh. suna stops and looks at you.

“i...” suna realizes with a hint of embarrassment that he was under the assumption you two would be going together. “if... if you’re hungry too you can come, if you want.”

“oh.” there’s genuine surprise in your voice and suna feels a bit of relief. “i... i thought.”

“of course you don’t have to if you really need to head home.” 

“it’s not that i just, rarely ever get invited to things,” you chuckle and hook your thumbs into the straps of your backpack. “so... shall we go?”

suna feels the corner of his lip turn up in a smile. “chicken nuggets are on me.”

>> monday, 6:00 am:

you sprint to the bus stop as fast as your legs could carry you. rarely were you ever late for your bus, especially with how quickly you went through your morning routine. but this time, your sibling hogged the bathroom for five minutes too long, thus leading you to your current predicament. 

the bus is thankfully still there when you reach the stop and you don’t hesitate before flinging yourself inside, only to be greeted with the seats full of passengers. ‘damn,’ you mentally curse. the next bus doesn’t arrive until twenty minutes later and you were surely going to come in to class late and--

“y/n.” 

you hear suna’s voice call out to your right. he lifts his bacpack off the seat beside him and gestures for you to sit. 

he had saved a seat for you.

“thank you so much,” you smile gratefully and slide into the seat while catching your breath. 

“sure thing, busmate,” suna smirks at you. “i, ah, also got you this.” he reaches into his backpack before handing you something. it’s a carton of your favorite strawberry-yogurt drink.

you have to press your lips together to keep the giddy smile off your face as you accept it from suna. “thanks... busmate.”

“so,” suna clears his throat. “i was thinking of what movies to pirate next in the event of another friday traffic jam. you got any ideas?”

“hmm, let me think...” 

maybe traffic jams weren’t going to be so bad after all. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist):

@montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart @akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan​ @therainroguefanfiction​ @atetiffdoesart @stephdaninja @oikaw-ugh​ @charliefredb​ @dramaqueenweeb1469 @tremblinghearts @applepienation @kirakirasaku @haikyuu-my-love @waitforitillwritemywayout @kattykurr @atsumusdomain​ @goodfoodxoxoxo​ @ah-kaashi​ @guardianangelswings @definitely-yours @amberalisa @whootwhoot​ @liz-multifandom-hotel @kac-chowsballs​ @procrastination-lady @miyakiyo0mi

[teawaffles]

Forbidden Games: Chapter 5

At William’s question, Alan beckoned to another of his accomplices. That man took an item from his breast pocket and handed it to Alan.

“This is the game we’ll be playing today.”

In his hands was a revolver.

With the appearance of this dangerous weapon, the two men understood the contents of the game in a flash.

“Russian roulette, indeed.”

“Quite right. I believe you had spoken to one of the club members about this a short while ago. For what it’s worth, I was the one who learned about this game and introduced it to the club.”

Sherlock turned a deaf ear to Alan’s careless self-praise, instead staring at the gun in his hands.

“A Peacemaker……? No, it’s a little different. A modified version?” [1]

Alan hummed in approval. “Bravo. This is a modified Colt Single Action Army, made specially to order. The cylinder opens to the side. The type popular in the hall is but a toy which uses rubber bullets, but—— this one uses the real deal.”

“In other words, you’re asking us to wager our lives.”

“Indeed. Defeat means death.”

“I see.”

Even in the face of the word ‘death’, the two men remained unshaken. Alan, finding their lack of reaction dull, continued his explanation.

“The process goes as follows: first, open the cylinder and load a bullet.”

He mimed the action with the revolver in his hand, and closed the cylinder.

“After closing the cylinder, give it a spin.”

He then used his open palm to strike the cylinder, causing it to spin vigorously. It made a pleasant sound as it rotated, then gradually came to a stop.

“And there you have it. By the way, this gun has a maximum capacity of six bullets. Do you understand what that means?”

He seemed a little unskilled in handling guns, but his actions thus far lacked any trace of doubt. Both William and Sherlock nodded in silence.

“Excellent. Now, I wish to take both of you on, so I’ll be adding another player to my team to make this a two-versus-two match. The game will end either when a player is shot, or when one side surrenders without firing a bullet.”

Alan chose the man who had handed him the gun earlier. The other accomplices solemnly placed chairs around the table, and six bullets on the table itself.

Sherlock walked up to a chair.

“So you’re saying that each side is going to take turns firing the gun on themselves. Then let’s get on with deciding the order.”

“Please wait just a moment.”

Alan raised a hand to cut Sherlock off.

“That would be no different from ordinary Russian roulette. Hence I’m going to add just one more rule, to make this a little more thrilling for everyone.”

The duo listened on in silence.

“The rule is as follows: the next person to fire the gun has to load at least one more bullet into it.”

“At least one more……”

William immediately understood what that meant.

In other words, if the first player loads in one bullet, then the next player will have to use a roulette with two or more bullets. In the round after that, the gun must contain at least three bullets. Therefore, the last player would naturally be at a disadvantage.

“With these rules, the game will be settled early on,” William pointed out.

Alan shrugged.

“Well then, what will you do? Will you proceed? If you pull out at this stage, it will be considered your loss by default, and I’ll be happy to give you both a concession on your forfeit, you know.”

With the revolver in one hand, he made a clownish gesture as he pressed the two men for an answer. If they finally chickened out and begged him to call off the game, he would get a windfall. And even if they didn’t take up his offer, just watching the colour of their faces drain from fear would be enough to sate his desires.

However, as for the duo——.

“Let’s proceed.”

“Fine by me.”

Without hesitation, they accepted the match.

Although he’d half-predicted this scenario, Alan still grit his teeth.

“……That courage is definitely something I wish to emulate. But let’s get on with it right away. The sequence of players is just as Mr Holmes mentioned: both teams will take turns firing on themselves. ……Well, since my team was the one to suggest this game, let’s have your team start off.”

“Playing fair now won’t earn you any gratitude. ……Liam, what’ll we do?”

“…………”

For a few seconds, William sank deep into thought.

Many things raced through his mind: the opponent’s words and movements up to this point, an analysis of Alan’s personality, how the game would unfold, and the possible situations they could find themselves in after the game ended. The predictions branched out far and wide, and he considered each of them with no omissions, selecting the actions that they would have to take—— and finally arriving at a decision.

“Mr Holmes.”

He called out to Sherlock beside him.

The detective looked into William’s eyes. They were pure crimson, of a shade reminiscent of fresh blood. Despite the fact that they were allies, a chill ran down his back, and Sherlock felt as if his entire body was being wrapped in strings.

“…………”

Strangely enough, there was no need for words or gestures. Just by meeting his gaze, Sherlock sensed that William had devised a way out of this situation.

For the sake of his game, Alan had put up an elaborate facade of this scale. It stood to reason that the game itself would also contain some kind of trick. Although Sherlock more or less had an idea about it, William had already seen through the trick, and struck upon a plan to take advantage of it.

In that case, it was time to put the plan into action.

Sherlock gave him a nod, and resolved to pay attention to William’s every movement from now on.

Seeing the other man’s response, William dropped his gaze.

The preparations were complete. All that was left was to demonstrate that his solution was correct.

——It was time to show them a real plot.

A mathematics professor, as well as the heart of the “Lord of Crime”, spoken of with fear by the citizens of Great Britain —— William James Moriarty had set up a plan to manipulate all, including his ally Sherlock.

“I wish to go first…… Would that be alright?” he suggested, in a convincingly apologetic manner.

Playing along with William’s change in attitude, Sherlock deliberately adopted a frustrated tone as he replied.

“…… So you’re leaving me the worse spot. Guess it can’t be helped.”

He sat on the chair in front of him with a thud. Taking reference from his position, the other three men chose their seats at the table as well.

The sequence of players was: William, Alan, Sherlock, and Alan’s accomplice.

However, the sequence would not rotate until the fourth person was reached.

That was what Alan and his accomplices expected, and what William and Sherlock were sure of.

As the first player, William was handed the gun. He opened the cylinder. It looked well-used, with small scratches at four locations on the body and one location on the cylinder.

Having ascertained the state of the gun, he’d proceeded to take a bullet from the table and load it in, when Alan spoke up.

“By the way, it would obviously be against the rules to point the gun at anyone but yourself. I would caution you not to try anything untoward.”

Having heard his advice, William looked around the room and found Alan’s accomplices all turned towards himself, with small-scale guns at the ready. To go this far to maintain this unilateral pretence of a game…… William was, from the bottom of his heart, speechless.

Back to the game. He slowly aimed the revolver at his own temple, then intentionally took a few deep breaths, before pulling the trigger.

——A click.

William put the gun down with a long, thin exhale.

“Although there is only a one-sixth chance of death in the first round…… you have great courage, my opponent.”

As Alan showered him in praise, William handed over the gun and replied.

“However, it will be at least two-sixths in the next round. That is to say, at least a third of a chance that death will come for you.”

“Indeed, I am fully aware of that.”

Alan took the revolver and loaded his portion of bullets. There were two, which meant he would be firing a gun with three bullets in it.

“Hey, by doing that your chances will become one in two, you know.”

Sherlock looked at him with a puzzled expression. If Alan managed to survive this, Sherlock would be facing off with at least four bullets. The risk would be too great.

“Well then……”

Alan put the gun barrel to his head, and placed his finger on the trigger.

Sherlock held his breath as he looked on.

There was a dry click.

“Safe, it seems.”

Alan muttered in glee, having easily surmounted a one-in-two probability of death. Sherlock clenched his fists.

“Seriously?”

He looked aghast, the exact opposite of his conduct before the match. Alan revised his opinion of the two, especially that of Sherlock.

——As he’d suspected, their attitude up to now was just a bluff.

All humans would lose their composure when faced with their imminent death. That was true for detectives as well. Having decided that, Alan quietly placed the gun before Sherlock.

“It’s your turn next, Mr Holmes,” he said with a provocative smile.

Sherlock stared at the gun before him, with three bullets in it.

William, who was seated across him, tapped his index finger against the wooden surface as he spoke gravely.

“Mr Holmes, please don’t do anything rash. Allow me to advance a proposition. Two chambers— don’t fill them.”

After his strangely roundabout speech, William pressed his finger against the table.

“……Is that right. So that’s what you think, Liam,” Sherlock replied after a curious pause.

Alan was ready to burst out laughing from the look on their faces. These two seemed to be downright nervous. It was precisely this disoriented attitude which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that they had revealed their true characters.

“……Dammit.”

Alan’s plan had gone wrong. Sherlock spluttered out a single swear word, then began to tremble all over.

“Aah, that’s just great. Then I’ll do the same,” he spat.

With excessive violence, Sherlock loaded two more bullets into the revolver. Watching the detective ignore William’s advice, Alan cautiously tried to explain the high risk of his outburst.

“Are you absolutely sure? With that, your chances are now five in six. It would be odd for you not to get shot. To tell you the truth, we do not want anyone to die. As such, if you were to stay your hand and admit defeat——”

“Shut up. I won’t surrender at any cost.”

However, no matter how Alan tried to persuade him, Sherlock showed no sign of stopping.

“Are you crazy, Sherlock Holmes……”

Alan unwittingly let out a word of sincere amazement.

Indeed, if he managed to come out alive, the next player would be left with a fully loaded revolver. At that point, the duo’s victory would be secured. The chances of that happening were one in six. It was not exactly impossible.

However, any normal person would flinch from the five-in-six chance of death. Perhaps not, if one had nothing to lose, but this man had already built a reputation and gained the public’s trust as a detective. Having known the fear of loss, Sherlock’s choice was not one Alan could easily accept.

——But his desperation had worked against him.

Yet on one hand, due to a certain reason, Alan knew for a fact that the gun wouldn’t fire. Moreover, he also realised that at this stage, his side had lost all hope of winning the game.

Right as his enemy had sunk into disappointment, Sherlock swiftly finished his preparations and pulled the trigger with all his might.

“…………”

The result was—— no shot.

The room became enveloped in silence. William remained quiet, while Alan was silenced from the frustration that his plan had failed.

“……So things like that do happen, huh.”

Amidst the jumble of everyone’s thoughts, the first person to speak was the very man who had surmounted a five-in-six chance of death.

At first, Sherlock appeared to be staring into space in sheer relief. Then he yelled at the fact that the game had ended with their victory.

“All right! With that, the next guy will have to use all six bullets! Since he would definitely get shot, it’s our win! We did it, Liam!”

He stood up from his seat in pure excitement and raised a fist to William across him. To that, William responded with a joyous smile.

Immediately after that, the gentlemen in the room began clapping in unison.

“Wonderful. Both of you possess a rare courage. I was thoroughly moved.”

Although he’d suffered defeat, Alan wore an indiscriminately cheerful expression as he heaped praise on the duo. While this aroused William’s suspicion, he followed Sherlock and rose from his seat.

“It’s our victory, so please proceed to release this young man——”

“——With that, let’s move on to the next game.”

Footnotes:

[1] The revolver looks something like this: Wikipedia