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thetravelerwrites · 4 years ago

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Bashir (Troll) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Human/Male Troll (World of Warcraft Design) Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Troll, Fake Dating, Hired Boyfriend, Fake Boyfriend Content Warnings: Stalker Ex-Boyfriend, Stalking, Mention of Guns, Brief Violence Series: OkCryptid Words: 6365

A commission for @floral-and-fine! A woman getting out of a bad relationship has moved across her home state to get away from her controlling ex-boyfriend, only for him to show up at her job. Scared, she goes on OkCryptid to recruit a "boyfriend" in hopes of frightening him off. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

>Hi. I know we don’t know each other and this is pretty sudden, but I have a proposition for you, and it isn’t what you think.

Vague, yes, but it would catch his attention quickly enough, you thought. You were desperate and didn’t know what else to do.

>Oh, He messaged not long after. >What would that be?

>I want to pay you to go out with me for a while.

>I’m not a prostitute. Lol

>That’s not what I mean, You replied, rolling your eyes. >I know this sounds weird, and if I had more money I’d probably just hire a bodyguard, but I don’t.

>Why would you need a bodyguard?

You sighed. >I have a stalker ex-boyfriend. I dated him for about five months, but he was really possessive and crazy so I broke it off, and now he won’t leave me alone. I moved here last month from across the state and he followed me. He showed up at my work today.

>Ah, I see. So you want me to rip his arms off?

>No, I just want him to see me with someone who is big enough to rip his arms off. Maybe it’ll scare him away. You’re the biggest guy I could find on here. Well, I did find a cyclops that was pretty big, but she wasn’t interested.

>Have you gone to the police about this?

>Yeah, but they said unless I get proof he has intent to do harm, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even get a restraining order unless he hurts me or causes property damage. It’s like he has to beat me up before they’ll do anything, and I’d rather not let it get that far.

>Gotcha. Why don’t we don’t meet for coffee tomorrow and talk it over?

>That sounds great. I’m free at lunch.

>Me too. I’ll meet you at Leo’s Diner, you know that one?

>No, but I can Google it. See you tomorrow at 11.

Bashir arrived right on time at eleven the next morning. He was a large troll, dark blue in color, with large, off-white tusks jutting out from the sides of his mouth and his long red hair braided in several placed and pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was muscular, thick in the waist, and around nine feet tall. He wore a suit, which was finely tailored to his body. You raised your eyebrows: his profile was sparse, so you didn’t know what kind of job he did; you’d only chosen him because of his picture. But dressed like that, you were surprised he even agreed to take this “job.”

“Hi, you’re the one I’m supposed to meet today, right?” He said, extending his hand.

“Yes,” You replied, standing and shaking his hand. Your hand was dwarfed in his. “Thanks for agreeing.”

“It’s no trouble,” He said, gesturing for you to sit back down as he took a seat opposite you. “So tell me about this boyfriend of yours.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” You said. “His name is Jake. I met him at work; we worked in the same department. He seemed nice, so when he asked me out, I didn’t think anything of saying yes. The first two months was fine, and were got along really well. As soon as we decided to be exclusive, he got really clingy really quickly. Every time I’d try to pull away, he’d clutch at me tighter. He started pressuring me to put distance between me and my friends, he wanted to know where I was all the time, he was constantly texting and calling and got mad when I didn’t respond right away. I got sick of it and broke up with him.”

“When did the stalking start?”

“Almost immediately. It didn’t help that we still worked in the same department, so I had to see him every day. He’d show up at my house after work and on the weekend. He’d either be super angry and demand that I let him in, or he’d be there with flowers and candy and cry and tell me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him, that he was sorry and he’d do better. He kicked my door in a couple of times and I had to call the police. I finally managed to get a restraining order against him, but it didn’t really help. He couldn’t come within five hundred feet, so he would stand on the curb exactly five hundred feet from my house and just watch the house. I was scared for my life. So I quit my job and moved across the state with just my savings. I found a job and I started last week. And yesterday, they said I had a new client, and it was him.”

“What did you do?”

“I freaked out and called security, telling them I had a restraining order against him. He mistakenly thinks the restraining order is void because I moved, but I called and that’s not the case at all.” You sighed in aggravation. “I really hope this asshole doesn’t get me fired.”

“Hmm,” He said. “So what’s your offer?”

“Hmm?” You asked.

“You said you’d pay. What’s your offer?”

“Oh,” You said, surprised. “Uh, fifty bucks per date, plus the date expenses. I can’t really afford more than that.”

“That sounds fair. Okay,” He said. “I’ll do it. You just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

“Really?” You replied. “You’ll take the job?”

“Sure,” He said. “I’ve got some free time, and the extra money will be nice. I could buy a new suit in a month.” He grinned and plucked at his own, no doubt worth several months of dates.

“That’s great, thank you,” You said, sighing in relief. “So, Friday night? Around six o’clock? Would that work?”

“Absolutely,” He said, pulling out his phone. “Give me your phone number. I’ll add it to my contacts. That way, if you see him, you can call or text and I can head over and do the arm ripping thing.”

You laughed and took out your phone.

After exchanging information, the two of you had lunch and discussed the finer points of the job. PDAs were acceptable, but you’d prefer if he didn’t kiss you. He had a nine-to-five job, just like you, but his position was flexible and let him leave the office for errands, as long as he didn’t abuse the privilege. You left the lunch feeling a little safer.

Friday night, you met him at a nice Greek restaurant, and he wore another nice bespoke suit. He offered to pick you up at your home, but you didn’t really want him to know where you lived. You were still pretty paranoid about Jake finding out.

“I’m surprised you chose this place, considering you’re footing the bill and everything,” Bashir said, looking around. “It’s pretty fancy.”

“It has to look believable,” You reasoned. “And I do like Greek food. If you like, you can pick the place next time.”

He chuckled. “Have you ever had Mediterranean troll food?”

“No, I haven’t,” You said, interested. “What’s it like?”

“It’s very similar, except there’s no bread of any kind.”

“So what do you eat the hummus on?”

“You drink it like sauce.”

“You’re not supposed to drink sauce!” You protested.

He snickered.

“I feel like you’re making this up.”

“Maybe, but you’ve never met any Mediterranean trolls, so you don’t know.”

“Are you a Mediterranean troll?”

“I am, actually,” He said. “My parents came over from Morocco when I was a tot. I don’t remember much about Morocco, but I’ve always dreamed of going on a trip there, I’ve just never had the chance.” He gave a cursory look over the menu. “Maybe that’s what I’ll use this money for.”

“Sounds nice to me,” You said. “If we both get something good out of this, then that’s a plus.”

“What do you get out of this, other than getting rid of a bothersome ex?”

“Security and peace of mind,” You said, picking up your own menu. “That’s worth the price.”

He looked at you seriously. “This guy really shook you up, didn’t he?”

You set the menu back down and sighed. “He’s never hit me or threatened me verbally. The most he’s ever done is break my door, but…” You looked out of the window. “I feel like… it wouldn’t be hard, you know? It wouldn’t be that much of a leap from breaking my door in to doing something worse. If he gets mad enough, if he gets obsessed enough, who knows what he could do. All I know is that I don’t want to find out.”

“I understand,” He said. “I’ve never had to deal with something like that, because… well, look at me…” He gestured at his massive body. “But I do know people who have, and it sounds terrifying. I’m glad I can help, even if I am getting paid to do it.”

You smiled. “Well, it helps that you’re good company.”

“You don’t have to flirt with me, you know,” He teased. “That’s not part of the deal.”

“I will throat-punch you,” You said with a grin, and he laughed.

The next date was the following Saturday, and he chose to go to a concert. He wore a black v-neck shirt and a pair of black slacks, which was as dressed down as you’d seen him, but still very business-casual. It was a showcase of up-and-coming local bands, and they were all pretty good. You didn’t know that he liked Djent and progressive metal, too, but you were happy to have a common interest.

In truth, Bashir was pleasant to be around, and you were relieved that this entire thing wasn’t as awkward as it could have been. It definitely helped make this “dating” business look real from an outsider perspective. He held up his end of the bargain really well over the next dozen dates, holding your hand and putting an arm around you as if it was perfectly normal to do so. Thankfully, it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable when he did it, as he was very warm and the height difference meant he couldn’t be too cuddly naturally. You hoped that if Jake was watching, he believed you’d moved on and had no thoughts for him.

Unfortunately, if he was watching, he didn’t take the hint.

One night, as you were turning off lights and getting ready for bed, you looked out of your bedroom window and there he was, standing on the curb across the street, Jake stood in the shadow of a tree, vaping, and looking toward your house.

Panicked, you didn’t your best to stay calm while you were at the window, not wanting him to know you had seen him, but as soon as you walked away, you turned off the bedroom lights, snatched up your phone, dashed downstairs, and frantically checked the windows and doors, making sure they were all locked.

You meant to call the police, but instead, you dialed Bashir’s number. He answered immediately.

“What’s up?” He asked, sounding caught off guard. You weren’t surprised, you never called or texted him unless it was about the next “date.”

“Jake’s outside,” You whispered. “He’s across the street, I’m looking at him right now from my living room window.”

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“I’d recognize that stupid snakeskin vape box anywhere,” You said.

“Okay,” He said. “I’m heading over. Stay on the phone with me until I get there. Do you have a landline?”

“Yeah,” You replied.

“Get it and call the police. Don’t tell them he’s stalking you because, well frankly, they won’t care. Say you’re a concerned member of the neighborhood and there’s a suspicious man hanging around outside and you’re worried about a break in.”

It wouldn’t have been a lie. “Okay,” You said, picking up your cordless phone.

After calling the police, you waited with your heart in your throat, listening to Bashir get into his car and drive. He’d heard you tell the operator your address. He arrived before the police did, his vehicle a nondescript SUV, and he got out wearing sweat pants and a tank top and pulled a duffel bag from his passenger seat. He didn’t acknowledge Jake at all, simply walked up to your door and knocked. You went to open the door for him.

“Hug me and kiss my cheek,” He said in a low undertone. Gulping, you did as he said with him turning so that your display of affection was clearly visible to anyone watching from the street. You let him in and closed the door behind him, locking it.

“What now?”

“Let’s turn on the lights and make some coffee while we wait for the police,” He said.

“Okay,” You said, your voice shaking. You went to go into the kitchen but he stopped you by taking your hand.

“Hey,” He said gently. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here, and the police are coming. You’re safe.”

Tears came to your eyes and you nodded, wiping them. He released you and you went to the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on.

The police arrived. You and Bashir watched covertly from the breakfast nook. Eventually, Jake walked to a car and got in it, driving away. The police followed him.

“They let him go?” You asked, worried.

“Well, they may not have know he has a restraining order, and even if they did, he looked plenty far away enough to not have violated it. He wasn’t breaking any laws other than loitering, so they couldn’t arrest him. At least they made sure he left.”

You held your head in your hands. “God, I don’t want to have to do all this over again.”

“It’s okay,” He said. “I’ll stay the night to make sure he doesn’t come back tonight.”

“What about tomorrow? Or the next day? You can’t be here all the time,” You said, your voice shaking.

He sighed heavily. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

You scoffed in disgust. “I don’t want a fucking gun.”

“Okay,” He said. “Then, I’ll put up a security system. I brought one with me; it’s in my bag. I’ll set it up tonight while he’s not here.”

“It’s late,” You said weakly.

“Do you want to sleep or do you want peace of mind?” He asked you levelly.

You scrubbed your face, took a deep breath, drained your coffee cup, and stood up. “Okay. Let’s do it, then.”

It took a few hours, but he managed to get several security cameras fixed to the building, focused on entryways and the front and back yards. You helped him by holding the equipment and tools for him as he worked, handing up what he needed as he needed it. By the time the two of you were done, it was three a.m. and you both had to be at work in mere hours.

The two of you fell into an exhausted sleep on your bed. You didn’t even have the energy to be affronted by the fact that you were sharing a bed with him. The next morning, before he left to go home and get ready for work, he downloaded the security camera app onto your phone and showed you how to use it.

You went to work, checking your phone surreptitiously to see if Jake was outside of your house. So far, he hadn’t reappeared.

>Today’s Friday, You texted him. >I know you’re probably tired after last night, but do you want to have a date today?

>What about a home date at my house? He replied. >I’ll cook dinner and everything. I don’t want you to be at your house at the moment.

>I can’t argue with that, You said in return. >Sounds good to me. What are you cooking?

>I was thinking a kefta meatball tagine with couscous on the side, and a snake pastry for dessert.

>That sounds amazing. Thanks for putting me up. I know this all is a huge inconvenience, and I really appreciate it.

>It’s no problem,” He said. >It’s what I’m getting paid for, right?

You sighed. Well, this wasn’t exactly what he was getting paid for. How much would an overnight stay cost you?

He sent you a message with his address and you went home after work to shower and pack a small overnight bag. You snickered, pulling out your pretty underwear and a sexy negligee, wondering if you should pack this, too, before putting it away and just throwing some pajamas in your bag.

Checking the cameras before stepping outside, you left the house and hurried to your car, heading to Bashir’s house. His place was a two-story, bungalow style house with a dark brown cliffstone brick pattern and a detached garage. It was charming, and a lot cuter than your tiny yellow ranch-style house. The yard was well kept and three were full flowerbeds next to the wide porch. You wouldn’t have imagined he lived in a place like this.

You knocked on the door and he answered it quickly, wearing a comfortable t-shirt and pair of tight jeans. You tried not to stare, but it was difficult. His clothes left very little to the imagination. His hair was also down and cascaded down his back and shoulders.

“Come in, come in,” He said, taking your bag for you.

“Thanks,” You said. “Your house is really pretty.”

“Oh, thanks!” He said. “It was actually condemned when I bought it. I basically had to rebuild it from the ground up. I’m not quite finished with it yet, but I’m happy with the progress.”

“You should be, it’s amazing,” You said. “I’d never have guessed it was a fixer-upper.”

He grinned at you, showing off his sharp teeth. “Come on, dinner will be ready soon.”

“It smells great,” You said, inhaling the savory smell of lamb and vegetables.

“All my mom’s recipes,” He replied, heading into the kitchen. “She owns a restaurant three towns over.”

“I’ll have to go and visit it sometime,” You said.

“Maybe I’ll take you myself one day,” He said, smiling as he stirred the couscous. Your heart fluttered a little.

How long were you going to have to keep this up? “Dating” Bashir was fun, but it wasn’t going to last forever. Either Jake would give up or get arrested, so either way, it would be over. Maybe you could stay friends. He was nice enough, and you enjoyed hanging out with him. But still… why was he talking about things that might happen in the future if there was no future for the two of you?

Dinner was delicious, and so was dessert, and afterward the two of you went to the living room to watch a movie. He even put his arm around you, since the window was uncovered and anyone could look in, he said, and you felt comfortable enough to relax into his side. It almost did feel like a real home date.

After the movie, though, you both decided to sleep, since you were still tired from the night before. You decided that you were both adults and could share a bed without it being awkward, and besides, his bed was huge and could fit five of you easily. You both fell asleep almost immediately.

Sometime during the night, you got a ping from the motion detector on your phone, but when you checked the security system, it was just a raccoon in your trashcan. You sighed and put your phone down, rolling over.

Bashir was on his back, asleep, with his face turned toward you. He was breathing deeply and relaxed with one hand on his chest and the other on his stomach.

You couldn’t help but stare. He really was an attractive guy, and if circumstances had been different, you might have dated him for real. But… until Jake left you alone, you didn’t want to drag anyone else into it. Bashir didn’t have any emotional connection to you, so Jake couldn’t affect whatever “relationship” you had.

But maybe things could be different after? You weren’t sure. He hadn’t expressed any interest in you other than what he had to to make the job believable. He hadn’t been flirty or more affectionate than he needed to be. You couldn’t afford to develop feelings for Bashir, not right now.

Even still, you brushed your fingers gently against the skin of his arm, feeling the hairs that covered it, and followed the curve up to his hand, allowing yours to rest on top of his for a moment or two before retracting it and trying to fall asleep again, sighing heavily.

The next morning, Bashir recommended that the two of you spend the day together, to keep up the weekend stay appearance.

“How much is this ‘weekend getaway’ going to cost me?” You asked dubiously.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, today’s a freebie, since I suggested it. You still have to pay for last night, though. The normal fifty bucks is fine.”

“Mm-hmm,” You hummed flatly, fishing the money out of your wallet and handing it to him. “Well, what do you want to do?”

“Ah, it’s a freebie day, right? You get to choose this time.”

You smiled. “Well, let’s start with breakfast. I’ll cook it. I can cook breakfast blindfolded.”

“If you like,” He said, sitting at the bar in the kitchen and watching you putter around, looking for cooking tools.

After breakfast, you decided you wanted to go to the local botanical garden, which you hadn’t been to in some time.

“Your flowerbeds outside reminded me of this place,” You told him, walking slowly through the rows of Japanese maples. There was a beautiful and an extremely rare Chinese Red Maple behind a gate at the end of the row, the centerpiece of the garden. “Did you plant them yourself?”

“Yep,” He said with a smile. “I helped my dad do a lot of gardening when he was still alive. He had a landscaping business, but he was really passionate about it. I actually inherited the business. Gardening helps me keep his memory alive.”

“That’s really sweet,” You said, smiling softly. “Is that what you do for a living, the landscaping job? I’ve never actually asked what you do for work.”

“No, actually. I mean, I own the company, but I don’t work for it. My actual job is something else entirely.”

“What is it?”

He laughed. “Honestly, I don’t think you’d believe me.” Before you could ask, he took you by the hand and said, “Let’s take a break and get a coffee. I have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay,” You said, letting the subject drop. For now.

You got to the food court outside of the botanical gardens and sat down at the outdoor cafe.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” He said, putting some money down on the table. “Can you order me a large black coffee?”

“Yeah, sure,” You said. He smiled and headed off. You got up and put in your order, then sat back down at the table and opened the security app, looking through the cameras and checked to see if anything was out of place.

The chair opposite to you was pulled out and he sat back down while you were still looking at your phone.

“The coffee should be out soon,” You said.

“I didn’t order coffee,” A voice said. It wasn’t Bashir.

You jerked your head up and saw Jake sitting across from you. You stood up so fast that you knocked the chair over.

“Get away from me, Jake,” You said.

“Look, just talk to me,” He said, standing up and advancing on you. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“Get away from me!” You shouted. “Bashir!”

“Are you calling for that monster?” He sneered. “You could do so much better than him. Besides, you’re not even really dating him, you’re just paying him to keep you company, you slut. You think I wouldn’t figure that out?”

“Fuck you!” You back up. “Bashir!”

Jake was snatched back and slammed down onto the cafe table. Bashir had him pinned down with a single hand. It wasn’t hard to do: Bashir was almost twice the size of Jake in height and weight.

“Let me go!” Jake said, struggling against Bashir’s iron grip. “I’ll have you arrested! My brother’s a cop!”

“Ah, that explains how you got her address so quick,” Bashir said. “I don’t really care if your brother’s a cop. Actually, I think I do, I think an internal affairs investigation is warranted. Regardless, you’ve just violated a restraining order.”

“What does it matter to you?”

Bashir snorted. “I’m FBI, dickless.”

You gaped at him.

“Bullshit!” Jake said. “I’ll fucking sue you! I’ll ruin your fucking life!”

“Whatever you want, you’re still under arrest,” Bashir said, pulling out a set of handcuffs from an inside pocket of his jacket.

“You’re kidding,” You said slowly, staring at Bashir.

“I told you you probably wouldn’t believe me,” He said, grinning at you sheepishly. He jerked his head at his jacket. “My ID is in my pocket.”

You reached in and fished it out, opening the leather fold to reveal a… rather official looking ID and badge.

You laughed in disbelief. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have.”

The police arrived to detain Jake and took him to the station. Bashir drove you to the station, as well, so that you could make a statement.

Later, Bashir drove you back to your house.

“I’ll bring your bag over later,” He said. “He’ll probably get ninety days in jail for violating the restraining order, and hopefully you won’t have to deal with him anymore. Although, if you hear from him again once he gets out, let me know, and I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” You said. “Really, thank you for everything.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here,” He said, handing it to you. Inside was all the money you had given him for the dates, plus some. There had to have been almost two thousand dollars in there.

“But this is…”

He laughed. “I’m a federal official, you know. I can’t take bribes. I’d get fired.”

“This wasn’t…” You started, but stopped yourself. This could absolutely be seen as a bribe. “What do I do with all this?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you like. Go on a trip. Buy something nice. It’s your money, after all.”

You sighed a little sadly. “I guess this is it, then.”

He sighed, too. “Yeah, I guess so.” He leaned forward, bent down, and kissed you on the cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

Jake did end up getting three months in jail, which made you feel a lot better. You were worried that he would come after you, but the three months passed and when he was released, he moved clear across the country and you never heard from him again.

Finally free of him, you thought you might try actually dating again, but you could only think of Bashir. You and he had only spoken a few times, mostly him checking on you, but you hadn’t seen each other since Jake’s arrest. You missed him, but you couldn’t tell him that. He didn’t have any feelings for you, anyway. If he did, wouldn’t he have asked you out after Jake was out of the picture?

Even still, you wanted to see him again. So once Jake was gone, you texted Bashir.

>I have something for you, You told him.

>Oh? What’s that?

>I want to give it to you in person. Would it be okay to come over this weekend?

>I’m free now. Why don’t you stop by?

>Okay. I’ll be there soon.

Before leaving, you hesitated and decided to throw on your best, sexiest underwear. Just in case.

You arrived at his house to find him out in the front yard. He was digging a hole in the yard with a sapling sitting in a bucket, ready for planting. There were also stones and gravel he was going to use for a decorative barrier. He stood up and waved as you drove up into the driveway.

“Hey!” He said, pulling you into a hug. Well, as well as he could, being so tall. “It’s good to see you!”

“You too!” You said. “What kind of tree is that?”

“A Chinese Maple,” He said. “I got inspired when we went to the botanical gardens that time. It cost a pretty penny and I had to wait for the cutting to grow, but it’s finally ready to plant.”

“That’s so cool,” You said. “Can I help?”

“Really?” He said, grinning. “Yeah, sure! There’s a pair of gloves over there on the porch. They might be a little big, but it’s better than blisters.”

You ran to retrieve them, and picked up a trowel. “Why did you decide on the maple?”

“Cause it reminds me of you,” He said, digging. “When I look out my window every day and see it, I’ll think of you.”

Your heart beat faster, but you couldn’t look at him.

It only took about an hour to dig out the hole, plant the sapling, fill the hole with soil, lay the stones, and spread the gravel. Thankfully it was a cool day and you didn’t sweat too much. The two of you caught up on what had happened in the three months since you’d seen each other. You wanted to ask if he had started dating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“It looks great,” He said, standing back and grinning. “Thanks for your help! We got it done in record time. Let’s get cleaned up and have a drink.”

“Okay,” You said. “Let me grab my purse from the car.”

“Oh, right, you had something to give me, right?”

“Yep,” You told him, grabbing your bag.

He laughed. “Sorry I side-tracked you.”

“It’s fine, I had a good time,” You said. He opened the door for you and let you go into the house before him.

You went to the bathroom to freshen up and when you looked down, you realized your toothbrush was in the holder, the one you had forgotten when you’d stayed over. You had bought a new one and figured he’d just throw it away when he found it. Why had he kept it? Why was it in the holder with his?

You went back out into the kitchen and found him shirtless, water beading down the muscles of his back, and you stopped in the doorway, staring.

“Oh, sorry,” He said, laughing and throwing on a clean shirt. “Needed a quick wash. I felt a little grimy after the yardwork.”

“It’s okay,” You said, your heart still hammering in your chest.

“Iced tea?”

“Yeah, sure,” You replied, sitting at the bar. He poured you a drink and sat at the bar opposite you.

“So, what was the thing you had for me.”

You swallowed your tea a bit too hard and reached into your purse, handing him an envelope.

“This isn’t the money, is it?” He asked, smiling.

“No, it’s not money,” You said. “Open it.”

He grinned playfully at you, but it slipped from his face when he looked inside the envelope, pulling out two plane tickets.

“Morocco?” He asked, looking up at you in surprise.

You nodded. “Those are good for a year, so make sure you get some vacation time soon,” You said, anxious.

He stared at them. “There are two.”

“Yes,” You replied. “In case you wanted to take your mom. Or maybe a girlfriend or boyfriend or something.”

You kept your face as neutral as possible, but he was staring at you.

“The extra ticket is for you, isn’t it?” He asked softly.

You looked down and away. “If you don’t want me to go, that’s okay. You can take whoever you like. I just wanted you to have the trip you always dreamed of.”

He got up out of his chair, came around, and got down on his knees, so that he was face to face with you. He leaned forward and kissed you. It was firm and testing, and you responded, throwing your arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around you as well.

“I missed you,” He murmured against your lips.

“Why didn’t you ask me out?” You asked him, pulling back to look at his face.

“I thought you weren’t interested in a real relationship,” He said, pulling you against him. “If I had any inclination you did, I would have asked you out on the spot.”

“I thought the same thing,” You said. “I never expected you’d actually like me.”

“I do,” He said, kissing you again and standing up. “I like you very, very much.”

He walked you into his room and lay you down on his bed, stripping your clothes off your body.

“Pretty,” He said with a grin as he came across your lacy black underwear. “Did you wear this for me?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“Well, it would be a shame to take it off so soon, then, wouldn’t it?” He said, palming your breasts over the fabric of your bra. He touched your slit over your underwear, and you gasped. You lifted your leg and rubbed him through his pants, and he grunted. You felt him harden under your touch. He was… uh… large.

You pulled off his shirt and ran your nails down his chest. He moved his hand away and pressed himself against you, still clothed, grinding himself into your clit, and you moaned. You reached for his belt and unbuckled it, unbuttoning it, and pushed his pants down with your toes. Because of his long tusks, he couldn’t bend down to kiss you in this position, so he picked you up as if you were a doll, kissing your body. You were always a little self conscious about your weight, being a big girl, but he seemed not to notice.

He lifted you all the way up to his face, kneeling down so that you weren’t so high up, and licked the cloth covering your slit, putting your legs over his shoulders and his tusks under your body. Using just his tongue, he moved your underwear out of the way and teased your clit. His tongue was long and thick. You whimpered and rocked your hips against his tongue. He pushed it in side of you and thrust it back and forth, and you writhed in his grip.

Carefully, he pulled you down and eased you into his lap, pressing himself against your entrance. You pressed your hands against his stomach and watched him disappear slowly inside you. He couldn’t go all the way in, but once he reached the back and knew where the limit was, he pulled back out slowly and thrust in again slowly, easing you into it. He must have had a similar size problem in the past and had learned how to overcome it in these situations. You were glad for it.

He lay you on the edge of the bed and pressed your knees back, thrusting a little faster, and you reached down and touched yourself, rubbing quickly as he sped up. He pulled the cups of your bra down so that he could grasp your breasts, squeezing gently, and grunted. You held his hand there with your own, pulling up your head and sucking on his pointer finger, looking up at him through your lashes. His breathing was erratic and he watched you hungrily, his sharp teeth biting into his lower lip and pricking the skin.

“I’m so close,” You moaned. “I’m going to cum.”

He nodded as if in agreement, squeezing his eyes shut. He grimaced as if in pain, but then shouted, roaring, and released inside of you. It was a torrent, spraying out of you. Another few hip thrusts and circles around your clit, you came too, your head thrown back against the bed, crying out.

He pulled out and turned his head, resting it against your stomach as his arms gripped your sides, breathing hard. After a moment, you both sat up, and you realized that his legs were covered with his own release.

“Wanna get cleaned up?” You asked him.

“Yeah,” He said dreamily, standing up and leading you into the bathroom. You took a shower together, helping him clean himself. He did the same for you, kneeling down and washing your body. The way he knelt in front of you combine with the way he looked at you, it almost felt like he was worshiping you. Honestly, you didn’t mind that at all.

Your underwear would have to be washed, but he said you could borrow one of his shirts, if you wanted to. Honestly, you were happy to lounge in his bed naked. He seemed happy with that, too.

“When would you like to go?” You asked him, laying on his chest and playing with his chest hair. “To Morocco, I mean?”

“Soon,” He said, entwining his fingers in your hair. “I’ll put in for vacation time as soon as I get back to the office. I don’t really take vacations, so I’m sure my colleagues will be surprised.”

You smiled and kissed his skin. “I’ll have to put in for time off, too,” You said. “Although, I only just started working there six months ago, so they may not approve it.”

“Let me know when they do and I’ll schedule for the same time,” He said.

“Sounds good to me,” He said, sitting up and crossing his legs, looking down at you. You posed a little for him and he grinned, running his hands up and down the soft skin of your torso and belly. “You know what I’d like to do right now, though?”

“What’s that?” You asked.

“I want to take you on a date,” He said, smiling softly. “A real one. I'll pay and everything. And I want to be able to kiss you.”

You smiled back at him. “Deal.”

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littlemisskookie · 5 years ago

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Piss Off Your Parents

Piss Off Your Parents Ship: BadBoy!Jungkook | RichGirl!Reader Description: Roommates!AU | BadBoy!AU | FakeDating!AU | In an effort to piss off your parents you move in with their worst nightmare- a boy with tattoos, a rock band, and an irresistible charm. Warnings: Dom!JK, Daddy Kink, D/S Themes, Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Intercourse, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Creampie, Fingering, Oral, Multiple Orgasms, Squirting, Size Kink, Hair Pulling, Praise Kink, Lots of Pet Names, Angst, Fluff, Drug Use (it’s just weed) Word Count: 16,411 A/N: Based on the song 18 by Anarbor! This ends my hiatus! I’ve been writing this for literal months so I hope you guys like it. Happy Early 3rd Year Anniversary!

"Oh, you must visit us in Morocco! We got a summer home there not too long ago, and it's absolutely divine!"

"You don't say? We were thinking about visiting there! It was between there and Budapest."

"I went to Budapest not too long ago, actually. Remember when I was telling you about Belgium?"

"Belgium? I remember Prague..."

"Oh yes! Prague, that's it. Well, it was the trip after-"

You rolled your eyes, internally groaning as you listened to your mother speak with the Senator's wife. You hated going to these. The senator loved to host "intimate" parties, which mainly compromised of the 1%. Everyone knew it was because the next election was coming up, and he wanted to raise funding. As if he needed it, you mused to yourself, admiring the interior of the mansion. Spilling wine on a nearby couch would cost as much as some student loans.

Still, you were the daughter of a wealthy family, trust fund baby among other things. Your college was paid for, not including the bribing, and you were the darling among many. Daddy's little jewel, and one of the few brats who wasn't forced under the scapel at 16.

You couldn't stand the boys in that circle. They were all the same, figuring that a man of their "status" should have a trophy equally worthy. Or perhaps they wanted an arranged marriage, no bullshit, simply in hopes of linking the family businesses together and gaining your father's support. Often times they were just men who had never heard the word "no", and didn't like hearing it, wealth be damned.

You feel sick to your stomach, seeing one of your "suitors" eyeing you when he enters. He's different from the others, no suit adorning his figure. Instead of a suit and tie, he wears all black, leather jacket and combat boots. The graphic tee is tucked into his ripped jeans, accentuating his tiny waist. You peak at the tattoos on his hands, and the jewelry he wears. Lots of rings, some earrings, and a chain necklace, with a matching one on his pants. He had long hair that hung around his ears, making it where he had to flip his hair to see what was in front of him.

You felt as though the world had stopped, holding your breath as you simply stare at him. He gives you a charming smile, surprisingly cute dimples showing up on either cheek. It felt as though the breath had been knocked out of your lungs, and your stomach was doing flips.

"Oh, that boy! I told him to dress for the occasion," the Senator's wife scowled. She smiles towards you and your mother. "If you'll excuse me."

As soon as she scurries away, you turn to your mother, eyes wide with wonder. "Who's that?"

Your mother gives a judgemental stare to the boy as he's approached. "The Senator's son- Jungkook. You grew up with him when you were about toddlers."

"The Jeons created that?" You couldn't believe it. Those two had sticks shoved so far up their asses you were sure you could see the end whenever they opened their mouths. You would've remembered growing up with a specimen like that. "How come I haven't seen him until now?"

"His parents sent him off to boarding school in Switzerland, hoping it would whip him into shape. It didn't. After he got his degree in college he decided to make some rock band. Apparently he's back in town to work with this new record label- or was it to own his own guitar shop?"

"So he's some baddie rock star?"

"Dear, I told you to speak properly. Like a lady." Your mother sighs. "But in other words, yes. Figures the Senator would make the living embodiment of teenage rebellion- though I'm surprised it's lasted this long."

"I'll say." You hadn't been able to do anything of the sort. Your parents were strict to whip you into the shape, not allowing any form of rebellion, though you have your tiny ways. You learned to appreciate the little things. So when you looked at the Senator's son, in all his indie-rock glory, you couldn't help but admire him.

"I'll see you in a bit, Mother. I do believe I have to acquaint myself," you say, sliding away with ease.

"Y/N!"

You're long gone, though, the lecture Jungkook was surely hearing now over as his mother stomps away, shaking her head. You combed your fingers through your hair, hoping you looked good. You wore a tight red dress, though it wasn't too revealing, as well as a matching set of diamond earrings. Don't even mention the carats on your necklace.

"Hey," you say, giving the coy smile you had mastered so long ago. "Jungkook, right?"

"That's me," he says, taking your hand to bring it up to his lips, winking at you. "And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"Meeting?" You feign slight offense. "Don't you remember me? Y/N. We grew up together as toddlers." Before he has time to take it seriously, you let your expressions melt back into a smile. "Though I wouldn't worry too much about it- it was long ago."

"I don't think I'll be forgetting you again any time soon," he says, a smirk on his lips.

You giggle at that. "So what brings you here? Doesn't seem to be your kind of scene."

He shrugged. "My dad's the senator, as I'm sure you already know. He figured I'd be able to bring in a few dollars with promoting to our 'friends', along with getting me on the 'right track'. AKA his track. Y'know, politics and that sort of stuff."

"I get that," you nod. "My parents have been pushing me most of tonight to find myself some new boyfriend here."

"And why haven't you? I'd figure a gorgeous girl such as yourself would have no problem."

"The problem isn't with me, mind you," you say, sighing. "Let's just say that most of these guys aren't exactly my-" You nod to the suitor who had been eyeing you the entire time, though he now glares at Jungkook. "-type."

"They aren't my type either," Jungkook jokes, waving in acknowledgment to the man. He leans in close to whisper in your ear, and you can't help but feel your knees go weak at his scent. Was that cologne or did he naturally smell good? "What exactly is your type then, hm?"

"I'm talking to him."

He smiles at that. "Good move, princess."

"Who do you think you're calling princess?"

"Oh? What would you like to be called, then?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? You already have too much power over me. That would just be my one-way ticket to doom." You let your fingers twirl around a lock of his hair, admiring how soft it was. "My name will do for now."

"Fair enough," he chuckles. "Do you want to get some fresh air on the balcony? It's just that wonderbread over there seems like he wants to pick a fight, and I'd rather not get blood on that white shirt of his."

"Is that why you're wearing black? So the blood won't show up?"

"You're wearing red- it'll do just as well."

"Touché. No fighting tonight, though. Wonderbread can't even handle a nosebleed."

"Lead the way then, Y/N."

You're happy to do so but already find yourself cringing as Wonderbread catches up with you before you can leave. "Hey! Y/N! Where are you going off to? The party's just started"

"Jungkook and I are just going to get some fresh air," you assure him, trying to smother the rising feelings of annoyance as well as the urge to groan.

"Jungkook, huh?" Wonderbread looks him up and down, eyes squinted, glaring at his appearance. "The senator's son?"

"That's me," Jungkook says in response.

"You don't look like the type," Wonderbread mutters.

"You mean boring?" Jungkook snorts, giving his own dirty glance up and down Wonderbread's form.

"What are you insinuating?" Wonderbread's face was already getting red. It was always so easy to offend these sorts of guys. They could dish it, but not take it.

"I mean black is slimming. You should dress in a way that flatters you, y'know?" Jungkook plasters on a fake smile that could rival your own. He reaches for Wonderbread's tie, toying with it between his fingers for a few moments. "But judging from your choice of baby blue, I don't think you do."

"Why I oughta-"

"I think now's a good time to get that fresh air!" you say, pushing Jungkook off in the direction of the balcony. "Right, Jungkook?"

He simply shrugs, taking the hint before stalking off in that direction. You're about to follow him when Wonderbread yanks on your arm, a scowl on his face. "I thought you had better taste, Y/N. That you were smart."

"Let go of me, please."

His grip tightens. "Didn't your parents tell you to stay away from guys like that? He'll just get you into trouble- they always do. What with their piercings and tattoos and drugs- stay away from that. He had a choice and could've been like that, but it's clear he wants to be a rebel and get himself in jail."

"I said let go of me." You try to pull your arm back, but he stays firm.

"Why don't you just listen to me and stop for a second. Guys like that will just hurt you. They hurt everyone around them, including themselves. They're scum-"

"I said-"

"Don't be an idiot and stick with your own kind."

"If you don't let go of me right now, I'll scream. I don't care," you grit.

Wonderbread scowls again, muttering to himself as he finally lets go of you. You rub your sore arm, glaring at him. He simply scoffs. "You'll be the laughing stock when you go crying back to your parents."

"Have you ever considered I don't want to be like you people? Like us? Look around, Wonderbread. None of us are happy. You clearly aren't because you can't get laid, at least not by 'your own kind'. I haven't done anything with Jungkook, I just met him tonight and we're getting air, and even if I did, it'd be none of your business. So stop staring at my rack like you have been for the past hour and get a life."

You turn on your heel, marching over to the balcony, leaving Wonderbread far behind you. Jungkook's waiting for you, leaning on the railing.

"Are you ok? I saw some of that back there. I wanted to help, but I didn't want to go all 'Alpha Douchebag' like other guys. Besides you seemed to be able to handle yourself at the end."

You huff, brushing your hands through your hair. "I'm able to defend myself once in a while. I'm not some damsel in distress."

"Never said you were, princess. And trust me when I say I'm no white knight."

"That's why I'm here with you instead of Wonderbread."

"No one with a personality spicier than flour would want to stick around with Wonderbread," he responds.

"You've got a point," you huff. "Guys like him are hard to shake off."

"It's not hard to see why. You're gorgeous and rich, double whammy," Jungkook winks.

You groan. "God, not you too. Besides, you're one to talk. You waltz in here, dressing like sin, son of the senator no less, and you don't expect girls to fawn over you?"

"Who said I didn't expect it?"

"Plus, it's different for guys and girls. In this sort of society guys just want a trophy wife. The girls want a trophy too, though. The hottest guy, the richest guy- a provider," you state. "The gender roles of the high class still stay in the 50s, I'm afraid."

"So you followed me out here because you see me as a provider, huh?"

"Did you invite me out because you saw me as a trophy?"

"No." He shakes his head, his locks bouncing as he did so. It was strangely attractive.

"Well if I just wanted a provider I'd stick with Wonderbread. He'd be more than willing to 'provide' for me."

"The only thing softies like that can't provide is an orgasm," he bluntly says.

You burst out laughing at that. "Oh my god, don't-"

"I'm just saying," he chuckles. "Besides, it's not all that bad. So you're hot and rich- boohoo. First world problems, am I right?"

"I know, I know, I'm privileged but- God, it's annoying."

"It's just a few guys who want to marry you- what's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal?" You hold out your hand, tallying off the reasons. "My parents are pressuring me to marry young, wanting to trust their wealth to a man they don't even know rather than the daughter they raised. I'm constantly sexually harassed, and most of the time when I reject the guy he either doesn't take the hint or just says I was fat or ugly to ease his bruising ego. Everything I do is perceived as a ploy to get a man, and the other chicks go as far as to slut-shame me or say I think I'm better than everyone else because I'm some SJW who doesn't want to get boob surgery to please a man, despite the fact he'll probably be sleeping with an 18-year-old when we're 50 and hating ourselves."

"If it helps, I think your tits are great as they are."

"Did you listen to anything I said?"

"Of course I did, baby. But you have to keep in mind when a guy hears the words 'boob surgery' he tends to tune in more," he jokes. "But yes, I get your struggles. I grew up in the same environment, for the most part."

"Why aren't you out here trying to win a trophy, anyway?"

"Didn't you hear? I was sent off to boarding school. It's good to see an outside world that doesn't cater to your every need," he shrugs. "You know, a world where women are more than trophies and guys are more than the thickness of their wallets."

"Instead the thickness of their cocks?"

He winks. "Now you're thinking like me."

"So you got outside perspective and chose to follow that instead of a life that would've provided you with everything?"

"What can I say? I've got passion for things outside of elections and sexism."

"Let me guess- you're in a rock band, ride a motorcycle, and play guitar," you roll your eyes. "Color me impressed."

There's a moment of silence, and you turn to him, finding him bashfully stunned. "No shit! You're actually all of those things?"

"I'll have you know I own a guitar shop along with the band. Have to pay the bills somehow."

"Oh my god- you're like every teen girl's wet dream! The living embodiment of a Harry Styles fanfiction but without the toxicity!" You guffaw. "I can't believe this. I should've known. Leather jackets, long hair, tattoos- fuck!"

"Yeah yeah, you've made your point, princess."

"I mean, I thought I was a bit of a parent's worse nightmare when it came to youthful rebellion but you're the icing on the cake," you continue. "Fuck, you'd piss my parents off."

"Getting turned on by the thought of it, little girl?" he teases, trying to get you to back down, quirking a brow at your amusement.

"You know it," you flirt back, tugging at his belt, fueled further. "I love nothing more than showing them I'm more grown-up than they realize."

"Oh?" He starts to take you seriously, gulping. "I would've figured a Daddy's girl like you would've loved pleasing her parents."

"I guess you could say I'm a different kind of Daddy's girl," you wink. You laugh at his serious expression, knowing your little joke was in full effect. "Calm down, Jeon. I'm not going to fuck you on the balcony- despite how my type you are."

"I'm your type?"

"Haven't I made it obvious?" you snicker. "I told you I loved nothing more than to piss my parents off- and you're the embodiment of that. I could see my dad's face going red already! I mean, motorcycles, rock band, tattoos, leather, guitars- already my type, but it's the cherry on top."

"You're weird about that, huh? I knew some girls were into this whole look, but I wouldn't have figured it was for the same reason as you."

"All girls who are attracted to guys like you are attracted for the same reasons," you muse. "Daddy issues."

"Makes sense," he hums. "But I'm not all that dreamy, princess."

"Oh? Explain."

"I drink."

"Vodka I hope."

"I also smoke. Weed."

"Better than vaping like the 'cool kids'."

"I'm broke."

That's the one that takes you by surprise. "How's that? You're the senator's son."

He shrugs. "My parents cut me off after I came back from boarding school and told them I wanted to join a rock band and make a guitar shop. They hate my look as much as your parents would- though they brought me here in hopes that those my age could rub off on me in time for the election. I make enough to live in my apartment and provide for myself, but I don't think I'd be able to be the same kind of 'provider' as Wonderbread over there."

"Well, what do you think I'd use Daddy's card for?" you say. "It has been gathering dust..."

"God, you're serious about this," he laughs. "I'm on a fast track of getting a rich girlfriend and I didn't even have to lift a finger. I'll have to start calling off my other girls soon enough."

"Not quite," you say, pressing your finger against his lips. "There's one thing that'll prevent me from dating a guy like you- no matter how appealing you may seem."

His brows furrow in a state of confusion. "And what's that, princess?"

"There's one thing that's very consistent about men like you- what, with your 'bad boy with a heart of gold' persona," you say, tilting his chin up a bit. "Heart breakers. All of you. In all of the stories, fiction or reality, it ends the same. A broken heart one way or another, even temporarily. I'm guessing with you it'd be those other girls you mentioned. If not that, arguments because of how different we are. Or perhaps it'd be my parents saying enough's enough and taking me away or something- I don't know. It's the only thing that my parents and Wonderbread get right, though."

"So what does that boil down to?"

"It boils down to the fact that I wouldn't fall for someone like you."

"Charming?"

"Sleazy."

"Handsome?"

"Generic."

"Dangerous?"

"Extremely."

Jungkook chuckles at that. "I don't think you'd be able to choose whether or not you fall for someone, princess. I've been told I'm quite irresistible."

"I'm sure you are- but I made my choice the moment you stepped through those double doors," you smile, tapping his nose. "I'm not going to be another broken heart. That I guarantee."

"Oh, you read too much fanfiction. What Harry Styles fanfiction gave you this mindset? The Bad Boy's Rich Girl?" He laughs. "I see it now. I assure you, baby, I'm a lover, not a fighter."

"I can handle fighting. I was raised in it. A lover like you isn't what I need."

"Are you sure? I'm confident in my loving abilities."

"Ha," you flatly say. "Sure you are. Choke me, baby."

"Give me the safe word first, baby."

You roll your eyes. "You're no good for me."

"Poison."

"You'd break my heart."

"Like so many others'."

"You'll call me?"

"At 2 AM."

"God, you're sleazy."

"You love it, baby."

"Shut up and put your number in my phone so I can wait two days to text back."

You and Jungkook had been texting non-stop since the senator's party. Surprisingly enough, between the banter and flirting, he was a very genuine person. He was caring and sent the same memes, though you were considering unfollowing meme accounts so that you'd be pleasantly surprised. Damn him for having the same sense of humor as you.

You were in the middle of spamming the skull emoji when your mother called for you. You rolled your eyes, huffing as you put down your phone, checking your appearance once more in the mirror. Your parents told you to get dolled up for the evening, and you could only hope they were taking you to see the musical that was in town.

Once you glided down the stairs, however, you were supremely disappointed.

"Y/N," your mother beamed, "this is Jin. He's a doctor, and he's involved in-"

"Non-invasive surgery," Jin interrupted, already pissing you off. "Pleasure to meet you- your parents told me all about you."

"Pleasure's all mine," you say through gritted teeth, already absolutely pissed. You turn towards your mother. "May I talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course, sweetheart." You see her internally roll her eyes as she escorts you to the kitchen, where you immediately turn on your heel.

"This is the fifth boy you've brought home for me to date! How many more do you need to bring for you to realize I'm not interested in them?"

"Sweetheart, you have to understand-"

"Understand what? No means no. I don't like any of them. The fact you won't stop pressuring me into dating strangers isn't helping, either."

"We just want to see you settled down with a proper gentleman-"

"Settled down!? I'm in my young 20s! I'm nowhere near menopause, for your information. I've got my whole life ahead of me before I even have to think about marriage."

"Don't raise your voice at me, young lady," she fumes. "What, would you rather we bring... bring a Jeon Jungkook?!"

"Is that what this is about?"

"We know you've become affiliated with him, yes. We're trying to get you on the right path."

"To hell with that noise!" you burst. "Jungkook is no less- no, more of a man than those dweebs that walk in! You want to know why? Because he's honest! I know these guys better than you. They might act all nice and charming to you guys, but that's just because they're after your money. You can't seem to see that, however, because it's not your tits they're staring at! It's not you who's the trophy. It's not you who is sexually harassed and seen as a prize to be won!"

"Young lady, I won't stand for such behavior!"

"I'm a grown adult, and I'll date bastards like Jeon Jungkook if I so please," you huff, turning away. "Tell Jin it was so nice to meet him, but unfortunately another 'proper gentleman' is keeping me occupied."

You stomp away before she can grab you and force you on your date, and by the time you're in a secluded area, you burst into tears. You simply wish your parents could see you as an adult who is capable of making her own decisions. That you're allowed to live your life and you're different from them and that's ok. They couldn't seem to get it through their thick heads, however.

You were sick of it. Absolutely sick of it. Over 20 years of this bullshit, and now it was worse, what with them pressuring you to jump into marriage with someone 'respectable'.

There had to be some way to get back at them. To get it through to them. To get back at them for their bullshit or get them to see you're not some naive 16-year-old or something.

With a shaky hand, you pick up your phone, dialing the number to call your friend.

"Jungkook? Yeah... yeah, I've been crying. Can you, uh, do you think you could do me a massive favor?"

Jungkook had to admit, it came as a surprise when you asked to move in with him.

It really didn't register with him, however, until you pulled up in front of his building in your luxury convertible, boxes filling up every inch of space.

He had no problem with you becoming his roommate- after all, you promised you wouldn't bother interfering with his bachelor lifestyle. In fact, he was quite amused.

Fake dating. Your deep-rooted frustration for your parents was quite apparent, but he didn't think it'd go this far. You'd live with him for a while under the guise of boyfriend/girlfriend, at least to your parents. He didn't quite understand the revenge scheme or how it worked, but he understood enough. Between your choked up sobs, you had explained the plethora of men your parents have brought to your house under the guise of a date when in reality they were trying to pressure her into marriage.

Even if that hadn't been happening, Jungkook would've let you come in. You two were friends. You had insisted that you would pay your half of the rent and wouldn't become his actual girlfriend, and admittedly, Jungkook liked the thought of a roommate.

"What happens if your parents cut you off?" Jungkook had questioned you, knowing how rough it had been for him when it happened.

"Unbeknownst to my parents, I have a job," you explained.

"What? You said you just used your father's credit card when we first met!"

"I barely knew you! Now that I know you're not some creep I can tell you. If you must know, I'm the assistant to some chief executive for a fashion company."

"The Devil Wears Chanel?"

"It's The Devil Wears Prada, but close enough."

Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit worried for you, especially now that he saw you again. You lifted your designer sunglasses to reveal tired, worn eyes, a look only achieved through crying. He greeted you with a smile, however, hugging you once you stepped out of your car.

"How you holding up, princess?" he questioned, giving you a warm embrace.

"God, better now, thank you." You melted into his hug. "Thank you for doing this. It means a lot."

"Hey, I promised to piss off your parents, didn't I? I'm a man of my word," he chuckled. He stepped back, combing over your hair affectionately. "Now, here's the deal, oh precious fake girlfriend of mine. As roommates, we've got a few rules. Rule number one: No fucking after 3 AM. Despite my many escapades, I have a bedtime. Rule number two: when one person cooks, the other washes the dishes. Simple. Rule number three: Be honest. We're living together, so we've got to be honest. Lying, secrets- none of that. You've got something on your mind, you say it. We'll yell at each other for a few minutes and settle it. Sound good?"

You nod. "Sounds like a plan."

"Alright. And the fake dating rules, baby?"

"Nothing much. Drive with me once or twice to visit my parents, to show we're 'serious'. We can go into details about our story if need be. Keep up the act around rich brats."

"Sounds good," he chuckles. "Already turning into a Wattpad fanfiction, isn't it?"

You smile weakly, a light giggle escaping your lips. "Oh god, it really is, isn't it?"

"Hey, there's a reason they're popular. We've just got to do it better." He looks back towards your car filled with boxes. "Here, let me help you with your things, Your Highness."

"Why thank you, my humble servant," you say, getting a box yourself. "I sure do love a big strong man!"

"If only I weren't a peasant boy who worked at the stables."

"Indeed. You're filthy- I shouldn't even let you touch my valuables," you snicker, "but I suppose you'll have to do."

"You're right about the filthy part," Jungkook winks.

Being roommates with Jungkook wasn't what you expected.

Your work was getting more hectic, so you were arriving later than usual. It absolutely exhausted you, and you'd be stumbling in, kicking your heels off at the front door only to collapse into Jungkook's arms, who would wait for you. Every. Single. Night.

You had told him that he didn't have to wait for you. His work ended at 6, and even the nights when he'd play with his band wouldn't go too late, as they play until midnight for their usual gigs.

Still, he had insisted. Something about not wanting you to feel alone. You'd never tell him how much you appreciated it. Instead of the vast, empty mansion, you lived in, where the only thing that would embrace you was dust, you lived in a small, messy apartment and collapsed into a pair of warm arms.

On the few days you were off you were able to properly spend time with your roommate. Every other Friday would be movie night, where one of you would pick the movie for the two of you to watch, all because you believed the other was "tasteless". Nevertheless, it was time you truly enjoyed, and you were genuinely disappointed whenever you had to miss it because of your job.

Living with him was domestic in a good way. It was a friendly face to come home to every day, a warm hug to embrace you whenever you kicked off your heels. It was burnt bacon on some mornings and lazy Sunday clothing to borrow whenever you felt like it.

Sure, it wasn't always the greatest. Often times you guys would bicker over some basic chores and neatness. Jungkook left his clothes everywhere in the living room, and you'd leave all your heels in a heap in front of the door. However, you thought it'd be worse.

You were suspecting people over every other night, all as tatted and pierced as he was. Weekly bong parties where they'd try to hotbox the apartment, maybe. Women draping themselves over him every other morning, wanting to stay for the day, glaring at you because they saw you as a threat.

There was some of that, but not really. Jungkook, when it came down to it, was just another ordinary guy. Human. He'd have some of his bandmates and friends come over once in a while, and they were just as handsome and tatted as he was. They were polite and friendly, though, and didn't even leave much of a mess behind. Jungkook would get weed for the two of you to smoke once in a while. As for the women? Well, there was only one woman you had encountered.

It was a Friday night and you were able to come home at the usual hour, kicking your heels off and letting out the high ponytail you had in your hair. You massaged your scalp, making eye contact with Jungkook from his position on the couch. You strut over, plopping yourself down by his side and positioning yourself where you can lay your head in his lap.

"How was your day at work, princess?"

"Exhausting," you groaned. You'd never admit it to Jungkook, but you had warmed up to the nickname as of late. It made you feel warm inside. Special. You weren't a princess. You were his princess.

His fingers start running through your hair, giving you a gentle massage as he hums in understanding. "Want to talk about it?"

"Just the same old shit, honestly. You'd figure I'd be used to it by now."

"You'd figure," he chuckles. "Well, I'm glad you're working hard. It might be difficult, and the boss may be a bitch, and the pay lower than it should be..."

"But?"

He smiles. "But... if it makes you happy, then I'll support you."

"God, I think you're halfway to fixing my daddy issues already," you grin. You look up at him, noticing his long hair was styled, and a leather jacket adorning him. Typically when he was in the apartment he'd simply lounge around with uncombed curls and glasses, one of his baggy white shirts revealing the tatted sleeves you loved. "Hey, what're you all dressed up for?"

"Oh? This? I've got a date tonight," he shrugs, eyes back up on the TV.

"Oh," was all you could manage to say. He had said it so bluntly like it wasn't a big deal. Well, it wasn't. He was your roommate. Why should you care whether or not he's got a date? It's not like you had feelings for him or anything. That would be ridiculous. It would only complicate things.

Jungkook was your friend. He let you move in with him and comforted you in your time of need. Sure, you guys flirted a lot, and there was a lot of physical affection, from combing through each other's hair, cuddling on the couch during movie night, or tight hugs on especially rough days. But none of those meant that he liked you. Maybe you just kept thinking back to the air of mutual attraction, the first night you met. Maybe you had lulled yourself in a false sense of comfort, thinking of him as a boyfriend.

But he wasn't. You guys didn't kiss. You guys didn't have sex. You guys didn't even say anything about liking one another. For all you knew, he saw you as a sister at this point. The two of you knew each other like the back of your hand at this point.

Besides, the worst thing you could do was fall for your roommate.

Not an option.

Still, there was a feeling in the pit of your stomach that made you squirm in discomfort. You felt... unsettled, by the thought of Jungkook with another girl.

Was she pretty? Was she like you? Or was she more like him? Was she covered in tattoos and a cute septum piercing to go along with it? Did she have brightly colored hair and like punk rock? Yeah, you could picture Jungkook with a girl like that. They'd make an aesthetically pleasing couple.

"So, tell me about her," you say, realizing the two of you had been silent since you got lost in thought.

He shrugged again. "Not much to say. She's nice. She's been visiting my shop a lot recently. She's got some old guitar that she refuses to let go of, so she visits me for repairs. She visits so often I started to think she was breaking it on purpose. Eventually, she asked for my number and... well, now I've got a date."

"Cool," you nod. "What time do you have to leave?"

"I'll probably leave to pick her up in about 15 minutes," Jungkook says, looking down at his phone. "Actually... I think I have to leave now. I lost track of time."

You raise your head to let him up, and he checks himself once more in the reflection of the microwave in the kitchen. You chuckle, walking up to him and straightening out his clothes, fixing his hair a bit.

"There we go, now you look... maybe presentable," you smile.

He laughs a bit at that, ruffling your hair. "I promise we can have movie night tomorrow. If not, you can pick. We can even watch that god awful Fifty Shades movie you've been bugging me to watch."

"It's for the irony! We'll be watching it to make fun of it!" you exclaim, part of your usual banter about the series.

"Uh-huh. Just don't get horny based on that garbage, or I'll have half the mind to kick you out," he jokes. He grabs the key to his motorcycle and grabs the extra hot pink helmet- the one the two of you had picked out together once you started riding with him. "Don't bother staying up for me, ok? You need your beauty sleep."

"Is that your way of saying I'm ugly?" you say, quirking a brow in a comical manner.

"Absolutely hideous," he grins, kissing the top of your forehead. "Sweet dreams, princess."

He shut the door behind him, and you felt your heart sink in your chest.

Maybe you did feel something for Jungkook.

She wasn't exactly what you were expecting.

To be fair though, there was no way for you to expect waking up to a nude woman in your kitchen.

Typically you would've ignored Jungkook's suggestion for you to go to sleep, instead opting to head to bed once he left. You had been completely wiped from the workday, and could barely keep your eyes open. Maybe your body simply had pity on you, choosing to put you in REM sleep before you had to hear the two of them having sex.

Maybe you thought Jungkook was the type to do it at the girl's place. Maybe you thought he was the type to kick the girl out as soon as the deed was done. However, he was neither.

You had woken up to go to the kitchen, prepared to make your morning cereal when you heard the sizzling of bacon on a pan. Ah, Jungkook must be making breakfast. No doubt he's burned it again by now- something about not liking the bacon to be too fatty. The two of you really knew it was because he couldn't cook anything other than ramen.

"Jungkook, are you- oh shit!"

Instead of your edgy roommate, you were greeted by a woman wearing nothing but an apron. Literally nothing. She had been turned away from you, and you had gotten a full view of her ass and sideboob through the apron.

Out of instinct, you cover your eyes, hearing her shriek.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know someone else lived here. You're not his girlfriend, are you? He told me he was single!"

"What? No, no! I'm his roommate, Y/N," you say, slowly peaking through your fingers. She was facing you now, and though she couldn't change at that moment, the apron covered up everything. You let out a sigh, lowering your hands.

"Oh, well nice to meet you, Y/N!" She smiled brightly, offering an awkward hand. "I didn't know Jungkook had a female roommate."

You shake her hand, quirking a brow. "You didn't see all the shoes by the door?"

"I was a bit... preoccupied, so to say," she chuckled awkwardly. "I'm Solji."

"Nice to meet you, um, Solji," you say. "You're Jungkook's date from last night, right?"

"Yeah." Solji tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, and at that moment you completely get it. She's pretty in that natural kind of way. The kind of pretty that looks gorgeous without makeup, but would probably look good either way. Anything she did could be done with grace.

Jungkook walks into the kitchen in only a t-shirt and briefs. "What was that scream about- oh."

"Hi, Jungkook." Solji's voice is breathy, as though even seeing Jungkook again made her dizzy. You knew that feeling all too well. "I-I'm sorry. You were asleep and I couldn't bear to wake you up, but I thought it'd be rude to leave, so I thought I'd make breakfast! And then your roommate..."

"Y/N," you help, noticing she had forgotten your name already.

"Y/N! Right, sorry." She smiles apologetically. "And then Y/N walked in..."

"We're good now though, I think we were both just startled," you say. You look between the two awkwardly, an air of silence hanging over the three of you. "I, um, need to... pee."

You exit the situation as quickly as you could, holing yourself up in your room for the majority of the day. It isn't until later that day, when you lounge in the kitchen, stuffing your face with pop tarts after doing your best to avoid social interaction that you see Jungkook.

"Hey, Kook," you say, wiping the crumbs off your face. You probably looked like a mess right now, from lounging in your sweats. You couldn't care less, though. You were starving, and Jungkook had seen you worse. "Where's Solji?"

"Hm? Oh, she left."

"She left? But she seemed so happy to be here."

"Well, then I guess a more blunt way to put it is that I kicked her out," Jungkook shrugged.

You're stunned by his clarification.

As though sensing your shock or judgment, Jungkook quickly changes the topic. "So, movie night tonight? Since we missed it last night? I can make the ramen."

"I... yeah. Let's do it."

He grinned. "Great! I'll get alcohol too, and we can take a shot every time they say some cringy dirty talk."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back the smile that tugged at your lips. "You really want to destroy my liver, don't you?"

The two of you didn't speak of Solji again.

You still hug on tightly to Jungkook's waist as he rolls up to your parents' mansion, clinging even after his motorcycle comes to a complete halt.

"You know, I'm pretty sure your waist is smaller than mine," you note, finally loosening your grip. You had seen Jungkook shirtless plenty of times- the man child had a tendency to prance around the apartment half-naked. Still, his abs were rock hard- and you felt so squishy in comparison.

"That's just because I work out, baby," he chuckles, taking off his helmet and giving his locks a dramatic swoosh of freedom. He grins boyishly at you, helping you take your helmet off as well. "It wouldn't kill you to get out of the apartment for something other than work, you know."

"Excuse you! I work out plenty in the confines of my room," you fume.

"Sure- like those little girl weights do anything," he jokes.

"Well, I oughta-"

"Miss Y/N."

The two of you look up at the front door, the butler looking at you with that usual scornful expression of his. He glowers at you and your fake boyfriend, giving a sneer. You'd figure after all these years the man would show a little warmth towards you- but then you remembered it was your parents who were paying him, not you.

"I do believe your parents are expecting you and your... boyfriend, miss," he says, eyes scanning over Jungkook with clear disdain.

Jungkook only grins in response, putting the helmets up and helping you hop off, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "Lead the way, chump."

The butler scoffs at that, turning on his heel to follow Jungkook's orders as the younger man giggles. One of Jungkook's favorite hobbies, as it turns out, was pissing off rich people. Must be the socialist in him.

"Chump?" you question, raising a brow. "What century are you from?"

"Oh, don't say that. Besides, I highly doubt I would've been let in if I had called him a cuck."

"I'm surprised we even got this far."

Jungkook, determined to help you piss off your parents, had decided to wear a plain black t-shirt that revealed as many tattoos as possible, as well as chains and hoop earrings. His jeans were ripped, his sneakers were scuffed, and he was the most handsome man to walk the earth.

Your parents had insisted that you finally visit them. You had never been away from home for this long, and they had suspected you'd be on your knees groveling by the first week. Still, you held your own and seemed to be doing well for yourself. So naturally, they had to see the boy who agreed to take you in, who they were sure would break your heart by this point. Perhaps they'd beg for you back while they were at it.

They didn't do that, however, instead greeting you with a hug.

"Darling," your mother says, giving you that familiar tight embrace that left you unable to breathe. "We've missed you."

"Missed you too," you grunt. "How have you two been?"

"Fine, fine, the usual," she says. Her eyes glance over the two of you, and Jungkook quickly locks his hand with yours, fingers interlocked as he gives a tight squeeze of support. "And... you two?"

"Thriving," Jungkook interjects. "She really takes care of me. I don't know how I got along without her."

"I don't do much- he's the one who usually stays up to make sure I'm home safe, as well as help me with the dishes... Or at least tries." The two of you exchange a small smile at that.

"I see..." Your mother's mouth goes small, and at that moment you have a hard time reading her. Or maybe she was having a hard time reading you. Maybe she could sense something was off. That the two of you weren't real.

Your heart started racing in your chest, and you silently prayed to yourself that she wouldn't be able to see through your ruse.

Before you could overthink further, however, she smiled. "Lunch, then?"

Your father claps his hands in delight. "Dear, you'll be glad to know we have your favorite! We had the cooks make it especially for you."

The four of you walk to the dining room to eat, and Jungkook leans in. "Wait, what's your favorite?"

"It's literally just spaghetti."

Surprisingly, lunch went better than expected. Your parents asked you and Jungkook exactly how you two came to be, and you had your story under lock. Most of it was the truth- you had reunited at the Senator's party and gotten to know each other through becoming friends. Eventually, the two of you began to form feelings, dating a bit before you decided to leave your parents and move in with him. You explained a lot about the living arrangements between you two, aside from the fact you two were just roommates. You'd explain small things like movie night and how you'd leave your shoes by the door, or how he'd burn anything that wasn't ramen and how he'd wait for you to get home every night without fail.

Before you knew it the lunch was over and you had to leave. Jungkook was getting the motorcycle started, making sure everything was in order while you hung back to speak to your parents at the front door.

"So..." You trailed off, unable to start.

"So?" Your mother looked at you quizzically. "Dear, remember what I told you about finishing everything you start. That includes sentences."

You take a deep breath. "So you're not going to insist I move out of Jungkook's apartment?"

Your parents exchanged looks before turning back to you.

"That was our original plan, however," your father sighs, "it appears that this isn't a situation we can put in our own hands. We'll let you two stay together."

You furrow your brows, confused. "Wait, what? You're letting me stay with him?"

"Of course, darling. We know you may think of us as evil capitalists, or whatever the liberals try to convince you of-"

"Father."

"-but we aren't evil enough to stand in the way of love."

"...Love?"

"Yes, love," your mother sighs. "We were prepared to demand you move out the moment you got to the door, but you look at that boy the same way I look at your father, and the way he looks at me. I suppose you reminded me of how we were in the old days."

"Besides, you do seem very comfortable with the boy. More sure of yourself. Perhaps it is beneficial for you to be living away from your parents- after all, we won't be here forever," your father says.

"Don't say that," you say, frowning.

"It's true, dear. Not that we want it to happen any time soon, or to be morbid, but we're simply glad there's going to be someone to take care of you after we're gone." Your mother looks back to Jungkook, who is now looking at the three of you with curiosity. "He might not be the most dignified boy, despite the fact that he comes from such a prestigious family. However, he loves you, I can say that much. I don't think he'll break your heart any time soon."

"If he does though, I'll kill him," your father threatens.

"You won't be killing anyone," you assure him. "Jungkook treats me well."

"That's all we ask." Your mother gives you a kiss on the forehead. "Love like that can't be faked, my dear. Who are we to step in the way?"

You give the two of them a tight hug, tears springing in the corners of your eyes. You wipe them away quickly before looking back at Jungkook, who was still waiting for you patiently. "Well... I should get going."

"Remember we love you."

"Love you, too."

You put down the hot pink helmet, silent. You and Jungkook had just arrived back at the apartment, and neither of you had said a word about your parents.

"So..." Jungkook trails off. "What'd your parents say? Right before we left? It seemed pretty serious."

You were silent as Jungkook continued.

"Let me guess- 'You can't go out with that boy! He's a good for nothing, disgrace-'"

"They said they liked you- us." You cut his impression short. "They said love like ours couldn't be faked. They're letting me continue to live with you."

"...Oh." Jungkook clearly didn't know how to respond to that. He was stunned, a deer in the headlights.

The two of you are silent, awkwardness hanging between you two.

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" you say with a nervous chuckle.

Please say it isn't.

"Yeah, totally," Jungkook laughed along, his smile matching yours. "Must mean we did a good job of faking it, huh?"

I wasn't faking it.

"Maybe we should go into acting," you smiled. "Prepared to have me live with you forever?"

"Always, princess," he grins, ruffling your hair. "You know I can't have a moment go by without you by my side."

"If only my parents could've heard that."

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Love like that can't be faked- little do they know."

"Yeah." You wave it off with a laugh, putting an end to the awkward discussion.

Little do they know.

Tonight was the night you were finally going to see Jungkook's band, Obsidian Chaos, perform.

Sure, he had many other performances, but you were never able to make them because of work. Your boss, however, seemed to have an extreme case of the swine flu, and therefore was unable to perform her duties. Code: Day off.

So here you were, in a bar that would have any other girl of your social standing shriek in horror. Everyone here looked something like a freak show in a conservative's book, and the place reeked of weed and liquor. You were living for it.

You were singing along to one of the band's newest songs. You knew the words already, having listened to the songs on repeat using your Spotify Premium.

Jungkook looked good on stage- his skin shiny with sweat as he poured his heart out into the songs. He was really revving it up on the guitar, the bassist and drummer both keeping up in stride. They were truly something special, and you found yourself glad that they were a bit more underground. It made you feel like you could keep them to yourself.

It wasn't until they finished you were able to meet the bandmates.

You had never met them before, as they were always practicing in the drummer's garage. They didn't have much need to go to Jungkook's apartment.

They were similar to him, though, also dressed in dark clothing with piercings and tattoos. Equally as hot, in your opinion.

The drummer greets you. "So you're the girl our precious guitarist is going on about!" He picks you up and gives you a hug, twirling as he did so. "I'm the drummer, Jimin!"

"Hey, Jimin!" You didn't even mind how affectionate the guy was, as it didn't seem perverted in the slightest. Perverted hugs were something you had to get used to at a young age, sadly. You shuddered to think back to your father's friends who would give you tight, lingering hugs at 14, all in hopes to feel your developing breasts against their chests.

"Ignore him, he always acts like a puppy whenever there's a pretty girl," the bassist says, extending his hand for you to shake. You did. "I'm Yoongi, the bassist. If I had known Jungkook's roommate was so gorgeous, I would've smoked some of his weed a long time ago."

"I could've just brought it to you, dude," Jungkook says, rolling his eyes.

"I don't trust your shit, man."

"You guys were great up there," you compliment, grinning. "I seriously think Obsidian Chaos is my most played artist on Spotify. The name's pretty neat too- both pretentious and edgy."

"Well, thank you. Jungkook here wanted our name to be ReBex- but luckily seniority rules. We've got a new album coming up soon- Jungkook's gotten a lot of inspiration to write, as of late," Yoongi says. "I wouldn't have thought a girl like you would be into our music, though."

"What's that supposed to mean?" you say teasingly, feigning offense.

"You don't exactly fit in here, sweetheart. You stand out," he chuckles.

"How could she not, though? She's hot!" Jimin exclaims.

"So I'd blend in a bit more in something like this?" You yank Yoongi's beanie off, messing up your hair before sliding it on. You pose in it, wiggling your brows as though to get under Yoongi's skin. "I think I look better in this than you do."

"I agree," Jimin says, smiling.

Yoongi only smirks at that. "I agree too- but I think you'd look better in nothing at all, personally."

"Is that so?"

"Hey hey hey!" Jungkook jumps in before the sexual tension can jump further. "Rule number four! I'm adding this now- no fucking the members of Obsidian Chaos!"

"Wouldn't that include you too?" Jimin questions.

Jungkook thinks for a moment. "Revision! No fucking my bandmates."

You all laugh at that.

Jungkook wasn't sure what was keeping you so late.

Today you were supposed to be out clubbing with a few of your friends. You definitely deserved a night of fun, and seeing as you weren't lounging around a mansion anymore, your preppy friends hardly got to see you. Jungkook told you he thought it was a good idea for you to be dragged out, and despite the fact he wished he could've come with you- just to keep an eye on you, of course- he had to tend to the shop and write songs with Obsidian Chaos.

Still, this was a ridiculous hour. He had gotten used to staying up this late for you- your job was an abhorrent one, in his opinion. No one should have to stay at work for that long.

The only thing that was keeping him awake was the worry that wracked his brain. Even he didn't club this late- and he had been to quite a number of clubs.

His heavy lids stayed pried open as he wondered where you were. Were you all right? Was everything ok?

What if you were hurt?

What if you had gotten into an accident on the way there? Or the way back home?

What if some creep roofied you? What if your friends had left you at the club?

He shook his head, running his hands through his hair. No, he had to stay optimistic. You were a grown woman, you could care for yourself.

Right?

He began biting his nails as he read his messages to you, asking when you were coming home. It was a nervous habit he had picked up as a kid. He couldn't believe he was regressing back to these habits, yet, here he was.

He huffed, grabbing a jacket, on his way to the club, when suddenly he heard the rattle of the doorknob.

You burst through the door.

With someone else.

The stranger was all over you, his hands roaming up and down your skimpy dress. You awkwardly kicked the door shut, your eyes firmly shut and mouth pressed against his. You moaned when he pinned you against the door, your wrists trapped in his large hands as his mouth began to travel to the nape of your neck, leaving marks in his wake.

Jungkook was frozen, immobile as he watched you hook your leg around the stranger, drawing him closer, pressing his body impossibly closer to your own. The stranger let out a husky growl that had you shuddering beneath him.

There was something oddly familiar about the stranger, though Jungkook knew he had never seen him before in his life. Maybe it was the tattoos that peaked out from beneath the sleeves of his leather jacket. Maybe it was the combat boots or the multiple ear piercings, or even his shaggy hair.

Jungkook couldn't help but realize the man's alternative style was eerily familiar to his own.

It was at that moment you finally opened your eyes from the pure bliss, only to come face to face with Jungkook.

You gasped in surprise, quickly pushing against the stranger's shoulders to pry him off you. "Taehyung," you said in a serious tone, though you sounded breathless.

The man grunted, confused as to why you wanted to stop. He got off of you, turning around to lock eyes with Jungkook.

"Oh, sorry man, didn't see you there," Taehyung chuckled. "Was occupied, you know?"

Jungkook finally found the words to speak, though his mouth felt dry. It felt as though his tongue were too big. "I- yeah, no worries, dude. I'll leave you two to it."

"I- Jungkook," you said.

"Shit, is she your girl?" Taehyung questioned.

"No, my roommate," Jungkook answered. "I was just waiting for her to get home- make sure she's safe and all."

"So you wouldn't mind if we...?"

"Just, um, keep it down. I'll be heading to bed."

"Sweet, bro," Taehyung grinned, turning back to you, leaning in to give you a kiss.

Jungkook finally unfroze, quick to turn on his heel and retreat to his room. He could go to bed now, seeing that you were home safe and sound. He should have no problem falling asleep, what with the anxiety and worry no longer plaguing him.

Despite this, however, as well as the soundproof headphones he had on his ears, he wasn't able to get a wink of sleep.

It was probably apparent the following morning. He had bags under his eyes and kept looking as though he'd faceplant into his cereal.

"You look like shit this morning," you remarked, reaching over to tousle his hair.

Jungkook noted that your new boyfriend was nowhere to be found. You seemed well put together. Your hair was pulled up in a bun instead of the bed head he had been expecting, and you wore the same pajamas as always. Maybe it was the post-sex glow that made you seem so lively.

"Don't worry about me," he yawned, stirring his spoon around in the cereal. He usually loved Lucky Charms, but he found his appetite... absent. Addressing the elephant in the room, he sighs. "So, where's your boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" You looked at him quizzically before a look of realization painted your features. "Oh! You mean Taehyung?"

"That's the fucker."

"I kicked him out once you went to bed," you shrug.

"Huh?"

"We... Well, we didn't do anything. I wasn't in the mood to have sex last night, I guess," you clarified.

"I... um..." Jungkook didn't know what to say.

"Yeah, so... sorry if you put on those bulky headphones of yours. Knowing you, you just played Waterparks at full blast in an attempt to block out noises that weren't being made," you chuckled nervously.

"You didn't have to kick him out on my account," Jungkook said, scratching the back of his neck. "It's still a bit before 3. It's not against the roommate agreement."

"No, no, don't worry. I wanted to," you said, offering a weak smile. "I was just... tired."

"You sure? I mean it- you don't have to stay abstinent on my account. I've brought someone home before. It'd be hypocritical of me being upset with you doing the same."

"I mean it, Jungkook, I wanted to. I just wasn't in the mood."

You seemed to be in the mood before, Jungkook thought. Had he not walked in, he had no doubt the two of you would've gotten more hot and heavy than earlier.

Jungkook felt guilty for ruining your potential hook up. "Alright, well, if that's what you wanted, my guy."

Your smile faltered a little. "No princess?"

Jungkook chuckled warmly at that, reaching forward to pull you in. "My bad, princess," he said properly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I was just relieved that you were here and safe. I won't lie when I say I wasn't worried- I was just about to head out to look for you."

"Thank you for staying up so late for me."

"Anything for my princess."

"I'm pretty sure your father would send a SWAT team on my ass if he found out I was letting his little girl do this," Jungkook laughed, watching as you coughed after taking a hit.

"Shut-" cough "-the fuck up, Jungkook."

The two of you were sitting on his couch, smoking weed. It was the first time you had ever smoked pot with Jungkook, as the moment you got home after a long day at work, you asked whether or not you two could smoke together. Well, demanded was a more accurate term. Jungkook didn't question it though, instead giving you that same, obnoxious, amused smirk.

"Is this your first time smoking weed, baby?"

"I haven't smoked since I was 16," you say, taking another hit, letting it settle deep into your lungs before coughing numerous times. "It was only twice with some guy who thought I'd blow him if I got high enough. My first time I didn't feel anything despite four hits. The second time I took 6, but his weed was so weak I didn't feel much. Man, was he pissed."

"A guy like Wonderbread, I'm guessing?"

You laugh. "Alas, even commoners feel privileged. I'll let you know though I didn't even touch his little cheesedick."

"You just used his pot and took advantage of him, huh?"

"Oh please! That's not it at all. Either I take advantage of him than the other way around. His intentions were totally sketchy, hoping I'd become inebriated enough to fulfill the lewd fantasies he had garnered. If he was willing to waste weed on a girl, he should've left it at that. I didn't owe him anything. No matter how much shit guys give, whether it's weed or Lamborghinis, you don't owe them anything. You don't owe them love, sex, or a relationship. It's their choice whether or not they want to buy your affections, but those feelings cannot be owed. Women are not in debt to men because they fool themselves into thinking that they deserve blowjobs because they're 'nice' or 'waste shit' on the woman."

Jungkook whistled. "I sense a lot of pent up anger today. I gotta say, I never expected you to demand my stash. Wait, no, I did. But I expected it sooner."

"My boss is a bitch," you mutter. "She's great at her job, and I admire her, but God, she's a cunt."

"What'd she do?"

"She's just-" You let out a frustrated groan, taking a deep inhale from the blunt before puffing it out. "She's so condescending and demanding. She expects me to be little miss perfect and thinks I'm lazy because I'm privileged. It's like no matter how hard I work and prove myself she still can't see me as anything other than a spoiled rich brat. Every tiny mistake I make confirms it, and every big accomplishment goes ignored."

"Are you unhappy enough to quit?"

You sigh, taking another hit. You could feel it setting in now. Your limbs felt lighter, but your head a little heavier. One thing was for sure- this shit was a lot stronger than what you had at 16. "No. I love my job, and I still respect and admire her. I may complain about it a lot, but I still love it."

"You complain about me a lot, though, princess," he laughed, nudging his thigh against yours. "Does that mean you love me?"

"Well, yeah."

Jungkook tenses up at that. "You do?"

If your head wasn't as cloudy as it was now, you wouldn't have opened your trap. You felt uncaring, however, speaking freely as you took another hit. "Yeah, I do. I love you. We've lived together for months, Jungkook. You're one of the people I'm closest to. You mean the world to me."

You lean your head against his shoulder, fluttering your lids as you shut them, concentrating on his breathing. The rise and fall of his shoulders lift your head along with them, and he lets out a chuckle. His fingers comb through your hair, doting. "I love you too."

You take a hit, playfully blowing some of the smoke in his face. "I'll always be your princess, right?"

He smiles again. "Didn't figure you as the affectionate stoner. Usually, you're acting like a brat, y'know."

"What can I say," you hum, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck, planting a small kiss there. "Pot gets my panties wet."

Jungkook freezes underneath you, and you continue, sucking lightly on the skin to leave small pink and red marks, nipping a bit. You put your blunt in a nearby ashtray and find yourself climbing into his lap, his blown-out pupils locked with your own.

You wouldn't be doing this if you were sober. But right now you were releasing every pent up frustration you had- whether it was anger towards your boss or the sexual attraction you felt to Jungkook.

Jungkook's silent, only staring at you, waiting for your next move. You place your hands on his chest, feeling how quickly his heartbeat raced. You wondered for a moment if yours was doing the same.

And then you stopped thinking.

Your hands slid up from his chest and around his neck, tangling into his long locks as you close your eyes and kiss him. He kisses you back after a few seconds reaching behind you to put out his blunt before gripping onto your thighs, tugging you closer to his body.

You two were completely intertwined, wrapped around one another like ivy, a small, intimate moment that felt so grand in the scheme of things.

And then it stopped.

Jungkook pulled back, gripping your arms to push your chest a few inches from his, ending the kiss. "We can't."

"Why not?" You weren't angry, but rather curious. Your voice didn't even show a hint of confusion, instead instantly accepting it. Maybe it was the sober part of you that knew what you two were doing shouldn't be happening.

"I just... We're roommates."

"I don't remember not hooking up being one of the rules."

"It's an unwritten rule not to sleep with your roommate, I think," Jungkook says, his cheeks turning red. It was as though he were admitting he wanted to sleep with you.

"But you flirt with me all the time and act like you want to..."

"Fuck, I do, princess, I do." Jungkook brushed your hair out of your face, looking into your eyes with as much sincerity as he could muster. "But I don't want to be like that asshole you met at 16, or Wonderbread, or any other asshole you met. I don't want you to think I had ulterior motives or I'm trying to take advantage of you in this state. For all you know I'm exactly like the asshole before but with better shit."

"But you're not, Jungkook. You respect me, I know that."

"Just trust me on this, ok? Nothing changes between us." He presses a kiss against your forehead, as though to further confirm it. "I still love you, of course. You're my roommate, after all. It makes living together a lot easier. I just don't want you to wake up and see me as another douche who saw you as nothing more than a status symbol."

Your voice is quiet, like a child who's parents were disappointed in them. "Ok."

"You did nothing wrong, Y/N."

You nod your head. "Mhm."

Jungkook sighs, gripping onto you tightly before standing up, walking you to your room. "C'mon. Let's get you to bed, princess."

Usually, when something was up between you and Jungkook, you'd resolve it quickly.

You guys had been roommates for what felt like forever, now. Of course, you had issues. Of course, you've gotten into arguments. Typically you'd resolve it quickly.

After the encounters with Solji and Taehyung you guys talked about it immediately. Even the smaller things. One time Jungkook accused you of hating a new song he was working on, and you guys argued about it then and there. Another time he had been lazy and forgot to do the dishes, and you had been in a bad mood and lashed out over the small detail. Another time you were just looking to fight for the sake of fighting, and Jungkook called you out on it, resulting in, what do you know, more fighting.

This time, however, was different.

The two of you were barely talking, mainly speaking in grunts and noncommital nods of the head. Neither of you really even used the living room anymore, simply going into the kitchen to make food and eating in isolation in your rooms.

Jungkook still waited for you to get home, though. He wouldn't greet you, however.

You two still kept up with your dishes and cooking, sometimes leaving the food for the other on the countertop.

You started lining up your shoes instead of kicking them to the side, as though to be more mindful.

Both of you hated it, though.

A week without interacting with the person you lived with? Who treated you as a best friend? Agony.

Jungkook was the one who acted on it.

He knocked on your door before opening it. "We need to talk."

Clearly he had just gotten back from hanging out with his bandmates, what with the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and his locks looking particularly unruly. He hadn't even bothered taking off his leather jacket. You could only guess that he marched directly from the front door to your room. It was such a stark contrast from you, who was only wearing pajama shorts and a tank top.

"Why?" You felt shame and embarrassment, your cheeks burning red. Every time you looked at him you could only think of when he pushed you away. When you had made a fool of yourself and climbed all over him. When you made him uncomfortable and overstepped your boundaries. When you ruined everything.

"You know why." It was clear Jungkook was in a confrontational, no-nonsense mood now, having finally mustered up the courage to face this head-on. "We need to talk about that night."

"We were high-"

"No, it was more than that. Otherwise, we wouldn't be in this... this funk."

You could feel tears springing up in your eyes. "Yeah? So?"

"What do you mean so?"

"I mean so?" You let out an exasperated sigh, still unable to meet his eye. "Who cares?"

"I care!"

"I don't want to have this conversation."

"Well, I do." He kicked the door behind him, crossing his arms. "Why're you acting so weird?"

"What? I'm not the only one acting weird, you know. It's a two-way street," you seethe.

"I've been making attempts! I have," he insisted. "I tried talking to you just yesterday in the kitchen when you were washing dishes. You just ran away to hole yourself up in your room. We need to move past this."

"I'm sorry, ok!" You fume, crying out the words. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Sorry for avoiding me?"

"Yes- No-" You bury your face in your hands. "I'm just... I'm embarrassed, ok? You wouldn't understand."

"You're embarrassed because of that night? Because- what, it's me?" Jungkook tilted his head, as though wanting you to meet his eye. "Any other guy and you wouldn't be acting this way."

"Yes, partially because it's you. You said nothing would change between us but clearly it has," you sighed. "I fucked everything up, Jungkook."

"No, you didn't. I told you that you didn't do anything wrong."

"But I did! You respected me at least, and stopped it from going further because you knew that I wasn't in the right mindset or wasn't capable- I don't know, but the point is that you put in my feelings and thoughts for if I'd be sober and such, especially with that big monologue I had given. But..."

"But what? I don't get it. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't. I'm glad you respected me. But I didn't respect you." You wiped at your eyes, frustrated with yourself. "You were also smoking that night. Yet you thought of me and if I was in the right headspace to consent or think about things, but I didn't think about you. I of all people should've been able to realize that."

"Oh." Jungkook seemed stunned, as though that wasn't the answer he was expecting. "Y/N, it's ok. I've got a lot more resistance than you do, and I'm a lot bigger. I wasn't nearly as affected as you were."

"It still doesn't take away the embarrassment of climbing all over you. I feel stupid," you huffed.

"You're not stupid-" Jungkook stood in front of you and reached out, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Shut up," you hissed. "You're not the one who made a fool of themself."

"Don't lash out at me, princess. You didn't come off as stupid or anything else- you're just overthinking as always."

"As always?!" you mimic. "You're full of it, you know that? God, I hate you sometimes."

You try to push at his chest out of annoyance, but it grabs your hand, keeping it there. "Say that again, I dare you," he growled.

You gulped, able to feel the deep vibrations against the palm of your hand.

You were quiet, whimpering as he towered over you, with you still sitting on the bed and him standing before you. Your eyes lock with his, finally, his hard glare making you cave in on yourself, all of the rage dying within you, leaving something else in its wake. Sensing your submission and the shift in the air, Jungkook only lets out a dark chuckle, leaning in.

You lean back, falling onto the bed as he climbs over you, one leg between your own. You brace yourself, feeling your muscles get tight as he hovers over you, not touching you. You feel the anticipation build as his nose grazes the side of your neck, similarly to how you did that night. His scent overwhelmed you, despite the fact you should've gone nose blind to it after all this time. Still, his cologne and natural scent overpowered you, enveloping you completely.

"You know, I'm getting real tired of your attitude, little girl."

You stiffen at that, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Have you had any alcohol, or smoked anything, or taken anything that might affect your senses?"

"Huh? No?"

"Do you want me to touch you, princess?"

"I..."

"Be a big girl and tell me what you want, baby."

Baby. Princess. Little girl. All names he had called you before, but tonight they hit differently.

"Yes."

"Do you want me?"

"Jungkook..."

"I want to hear you say it, Y/N."

You took in a deep breath. "I want you, Jungkook."

He smirked at that. "That's a good girl."

Before you had time to process anything, he was positioning you where you were lying on your stomach beneath him, with his knees on either side of you as he straddled the backs of your thighs.

"Jungkook-"

He yanked down your shorts, exposing your panties before giving a sharp spank to your ass.

"You know, it's really unfair that I call you so many pet names and don't have a special one of my own," he says, his voice hot in your ear. "Don't you think so, princess?"

You shuddered beneath him. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Another spank.

You groaned at the sensation, burying your face into the mattress as you muttered the words.

He pulled your hair, lifting your head so you couldn't hide your face. "What was that? I don't think I heard you. What did I say about using your big girl words?" There was a rain of spanks with those last few words. You could feel your ass start to warm up now.

"Yes, Daddy," you said, biting on your lip from the pain of the slaps. The pure irony of the daddy kink being used, no doubt because of your daddy issues. Your revenge against your parents using Jungkook had finally come full circle.

Jungkook grinned, giving you two more slaps, this time as a reward. "Now was that so hard?"

You feel his fingers go down to the wet spot on your panties, now sticking to your folds, evident from your arousal. You shook your head, gripping the sheets. "No, Daddy."

"Mm, I think my princess liked her spanking," Jungkook hummed, twirling the pads of his digits around your clit, watching you squirm beneath him. "Did you like being put in your place for being such a brat?"

"Fffffucckkk." You couldn't think straight, your hips raising from the bed to buck at his hand, needing more friction.

"Such language, princess." He gives a quick swat to your pussy, watching you twitch and yelp in surprise. "I would've thought a little rich girl like you was taught to avoid such language."

Jungkook was generous as always, giving you what you needed as he continued to pet your folds and rub your clit. He seemed to know exactly how to touch you, drawing small circles as he admired how you squirmed and panted into the sheets. You'd wiggle beneath him, your skin still red from his earlier ministrations.

"I-I'm gonna-" You bit into the sheets. You've never cum this fast with anyone before, and over such a small thing. Jungkook was just rubbing you over your panties and you were losing it. You'd never live this down.

"Oh? Gonna cum in your panties like the disgusting little girl you are?" Jungkook let out a dark, sinister chuckle, leaning down so his lips could be felt at the shell of your ear. "Go ahead and cum, dirty girl."

You felt yourself come undone, thighs shaking as you moaned into the sheets, knuckles turning white from how hard you were gripping them. Jungkook rubbed you through it, letting you see the orgasm until its end.

You panted as he flipped you onto your back, petting your hair as you came down from your high. He pressed his hand against your cheek, letting you feel the cool metal of his rings against your hot skin. "How're you doing, baby?"

"I-I'm good," you murmur, eyes drooping and fluttering. "Thank you, Daddy." You turn your head to the side, capturing his thumb in your mouth, sucking on it lightly as you twirled your thumb around it, tasting the metal against your buds.

"Fuck," Jungkook groaned. "You're gonna be the death of me."

Slipping his hand away, he pulls your clothes off, one by one, until you were completely bare beneath him. Your panties are the last to go.

"I think you've ruined these," he chuckles, pulling on the waistband of your underwear to let it snap back against you. "Now it's your turn."

You don't bother covering up, comfortable with him and in your own body. Jungkook grins, leaving a trail of kisses down your chest as he descends further down.

He spreads your legs, arriving at his destination. You let your fingers gravitate to his silky hair, tugging to bring him closer to your goal. He chuckles at the action, answering your request as he lets his mouth finally meet your folds, laving his tongue over the area to help you relax.

You gasp at the feeling, arching as he gets quick to work spreading you open with two fingers so he could have easier access to the area. Your thighs twitch as his tongue finally brushes against your clit, and upon noticing how sensitive you still were, he runs his tongue over it, again and again, a smile evident as you let your thighs tense with every movement.

It wasn't until his lips finally suctioned around it that you felt his finger slip into your entrance as well. It was easy, no friction necessary from your copious arousal, and the feeling overwhelmed you. He crooked his finger up as he pumped into you, finding the bundle of nerves with ease as you found it harder and harder to contain your moans. Before long he had to insert another finger, scissoring the digits to stretch you out.

"So fucking tight," he panted, breathless as he continued to place sloppy kisses against you, rubbing your g-spot in an effort to see you squirm. "Gotta stretch you out to take me. You're so small, I'll probably break you."

"I want you to break me," you reply immediately. "Please, please, please, Daddy!"

Jungkook let out a smirk at that. "Seems like that bitchy attitude is finally replaced with manners. Since you asked so nicely..."

His mouth returns to your cunt, french kissing and sucking harshly on your clit has his hand hammers into you, rough and sloppy thrusts helping catapult you towards your high. Before long your eyes were rolling back, hips rising into the air as you feel your high overpower you, and you were cumming against Jungkook's tongue.

He eased his ministrations, slipping his fingers out despite your whine at being empty. He let his tongue run over your folds, soothing them before he came up for air, lips meeting yours with a sloppy kiss. You realized the two of you hadn't kissed at all since this whole ordeal, and you pulled him closer between your legs, pulling him closer as you let your tongues dance together.

He breaks away again, but keeps his forehead against yours, as though to assure you he doesn't intend on ending it just yet. "How're you holding up, baby?"

"Mm good," you hum, still high on bliss. You reached down to his crotch, palming it, pleased to feel the stiffness beneath the material of his pants. "Want Daddy's cock."

"How can I say no to that? You just can't get enough, can you? C'mon then, take me out so I can get inside that dirty cunt."

You do as you're told, finally able to get his cock free as you hook the waistband of both his pants and boxers around his thighs. As you do so he takes off his leather jacket, tossing it to the corner of the room.

He pumps himself, jerking off into his hand as you watch. He was about as big as you expected- then again you always fantasized about Jungkook having a big cock. One by one he was fulfilling all of your fantasies, and creating even more.

He pressed the head of his cock against your pussy, rubbing up and down the slit for lubrication. You ogled his size, wondering how much the stretch of his girth would burn. As though reading your mind, or just the expressions on your face, Jungkook stops. "Are you sure you want me in this messy cunt of yours, baby?" he questions. "We can wait. I can eat you out some more if you want."

"No, I need you inside me," you immediately respond.

He can't help but grin at that, cooing at you with a condescending, sickly sweet voice. "No please? So demanding. Spoiled little princess, used to getting what she wants." He pushes inside of you inch by inch, and you hiss at the stretch, loving the slight burn.

When he bottoms out inside of you your foreheads are pressed together, hot and sweaty, but oddly intimate. A single tear runs down your cheek, and he reaches up to wipe it away, cradling your cheek.

"Look at me, Y/N."

You do so, eyes locking with his. "I'm ok," you confirm before he can ask. You were able to read his expressions as easily as he could read yours. "Move, please."

He nods, doing so, starting a slow rhythmic pace as he pumps into you. You groan at the feeling. You couldn't remember the last time you had been intimate with someone, especially someone who fills you up so completely, unable to even avoid the sensitive parts within you.

Soon Jungkook was picking up the pace, the thrusts becoming harder and quicker, more precise as he lifted himself up onto his arms to look at you, admiring how your eyes would roll back every now and then. He reached between you two, spreading your lips apart with two fingers to properly look at how well you were taking him.

"Fuck, you're just sucking me in baby," he hissed, doing his best to compose himself. "This pussy was made for me, wasn't it? No one else."

You moaned at that, biting your lip. "D-Daddy..."

"That's right- Daddy. This pussy was made for Daddy, all for him," Jungkook went on, now beginning to rub your clit with your thumb, feeling you clenching down on him with his words."Remember that. Who am I again?"

"My Daddy."

"That's right. Yours. Who's the only person who can fuck you this way?"

"You. Fuck, Daddy, I'm gonna cum. Let me cum for you?"

"Good girl. And who are you going to cum for?"

"You Da-Daddy- ffffffuck-"

"That's right, cum for me. Give me one more, I know you can. Be a good little girl and cream on my cock. Get me as nice and messy as your dirty little cunt."

Your eyes rolled back as your third orgasm shook through you, more powerful than the first two. Droplets of cum sprayed out, getting all over both you and Jungkook. You moaned, shaking as Jungkook groaned in satisfaction.

"Fuck, you just squirted everywhere," Jungkook said, his thrusts getting sloppy. "You're so perfect."

"Cum in me, Daddy. Use me," you asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Use my body."

"Shit, shit, shit-" Jungkook grabbed your wrists, roughly pinning them to either side of you as he thrust into you like a mad man, using your body to jerk off before finally, he was erupting inside of you, filling you to the brim as he bottomed out inside of you. He panted, hands squeezing your little wrists like a vice. You were positive there would be bruises by the morning.

Soon he collapsed on top of you, sweaty and out of breath. He rolled over, chest heaving as he stared at you, grabbing you and tugging you close so he could bury his face in the juncture of your neck, acting as the big spoon as you two cuddled.

You slowly regained your breath, reaching back to comb through his hair.

"Just stay like this for a minute," he said, eyes closed and voice soft, a stark contrast to his dominating demeanor before. "Let me just hold you for a few minutes and then we can go take a bath, ok? I'll take care of you."

You let him do exactly that.

The morning after didn't feel as awkward as you had expected, Instead of the uncomfortable air that had been left after the two of you made out, it was oddly comfortable. Not the kind of comfortable that was there before, with you two bickering and joking with each other, but rather a far more affectionate one.

The two of you had been waiting for months to be able to touch each other how you wanted, and now you had the opportunity. You weren't able to keep your hands off of Jungkook, and not even in a sexual way. You'd let your hands roam freely over his body, whether it was combing through his fluffy hair or feeling the broad expanse of his chest, and the hard muscles beneath his band tees.

Jungkook wasn't much better. You'd be doing as simple as making yourself a bowl of ramen and he'd press up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your hair, breathing in your scent. It was like nothing was between you anymore, and it felt so right. Jungkook was your best friend, your roommate. The man you had lusted and pined after for what felt like forever. He just got you.

Or that's what you thought at least.

The two of you were watching a movie again, as always, but instead of the casual arm draped around your shoulders you two were completely intertwined, ignoring the movie as you two shared small, slow kisses. You let yourself melt in the moment, the taste of him addictive.

He gives you that look that you love, the one where his gaze is deceptively soft and solely focused on you.

"You know," he says between pecks, "I meant what I said before."

"Meant what?" you smile.

"That I love you." He pushes a lock of hair behind your ear, staring at you. "I think I've been in love with you since my father's little party."

You stiffened.

In love?

That was very different from the love you had interpreted.

You plaster on a fake smile, hoping he didn't notice how you had tensed up. "Is that so?"

"Mhm," he hums, pressing a small kiss on the tip of your nose. "Did you mean it when you said you loved me?"

"I did," you tell him, burying your face into his chest to avoid looking at him, focusing on the vibrations of his chest as he hummed with delight, wrapping his arms tighter around you as he pressed his lips against the top of your head.

That night you slept in his bed, his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. You didn't get a wink of sleep that night, and the moment he rolled over to his side, you knew what to do.

When Jungkook woke up, you were gone.

You had seemingly left no traces. Your bed was neatly made, your dresser drawers were empty. It was like you didn't exist.

Jungkook was absolutely distraught. He had the shop closed down for a bit, instead choosing to lay around in the apartment you once shared, playing the same few chords on his guitar.

He was angry. He was sad. He was pissed and frustrated and miserable and confused. He felt so stupid for fucking everything up. He wondered if what you said was a lie. Was everything between you a lie? It had to be. How else could you just cast him to the side like that? Like he meant nothing to you?

In the end, it seemed you truly were just using him. He should've known any affections you had for him were just some phase. You were just indirectly lashing out at your parents and using what you knew would piss them off. He knew that since the beginning, and still let himself get fooled.

That didn't stop him from sulking, however.

It wasn't until Yoongi barged into his apartment that Jungkook was forced to do something.

"What the hell man? You've been skipping out on practices- where have you been?" Yoongi looked around, seeing the apartment a mess. Jungkook didn't look much better, sitting upside down on his couch in sweats and greasy hair, strumming on his guitar. "Jesus Christ, dude. I got you were a mess from the lyrics you've been sending me, but this takes the cake."

"What do you want, Yoongs?"

"I want you to pick your ass up and get out of this funk! I've noticed you haven't been running your shop for a little bit, and it seems clear to me that you've just been sulking around. Where's that roommate of yours? I would've thought she'd tell you to get over whatever it is you're sobbing about and do something about it."

"I don't want to talk about her," Jungkook muttered, striking a chord that had many of the notes clashing.

Yoongi winced at the sound. "I always thought that you two weren't just roommates. She always looked at you how a puppy looks at their owner- and you weren't much better."

"Well, she's gone now," Jungkook said bitterly.

"What happened?"

"She didn't love me, simple as that."

Yoongi shook his head. "That's a lie, dude. That girl was crazy about you."

"Well, that's what happened. I told her I was in love with her and the next thing I know, I wake up and she's gone."

"Maybe it was something else," Yoongi shrugged. "Then again, you knew her better than me. But you can't let some girl keep you cooped up in your apartment. Sulking isn't going to bring her back. Obsidian Chaos is going to be releasing the next album in just a month- you need to have your shit together by then. Don't tell me that you want to quit the band."

"No," Jungkook sighed. "It's just... I miss her. And I feel confused and-"

"You feel about a million emotions, my man, I know. And none of them are exactly helping to motivate you," Yoongi finished. "Do you really want her to see you in this state, though, when she comes back? If she comes back?"

"No," he admitted.

"You can't expect her to come and save you. You've got to save yourself first. She was never responsible for your happiness- remember that. Pick yourself back up and who knows, maybe she'll be waiting for you."

Jungkook did pick himself back up after that. He took a shower and opened the shop, going day by day, and though he still felt heartache and longing for you, he was able to pull himself together a bit more with each passing moment.

Obsidian Chaos released their next album, Oblivion, shortly after. Jungkook wrote most of the lyrics, and every single one was about you. Maybe it was like a siren call, trying to call you back to him. Luckily for them one of the title tracks blew up on a few websites and apps, giving them a lot of coverage and publicity. Their popularity had blown up overnight, radios constantly playing the hit song, making it impossible to escape their sound.

It was a rainy day, about a week after the release of Oblivion when there was a knock at the door. Jungkook thought it was a bit too early for him to have stalkers, but he was precautious, looking through the peephole.

To his surprise, it was you. Your hair was soaking wet, your designer clothes sticking to your skin. Your makeup seemed to be running a little.

Jungkook immediately swung the door open, shocked. You were here. You were really here.

"Hi," you said, your voice meek and small. "Can I come in?"

Jungkook stepped aside to let you in, closing the door behind him. He was speechless. There were so many things he had wanted to say to you, weeks of planning some long monologue for nothing. It felt strange seeing you in his apartment, despite the fact you had been there countless times before and lived there yourself. You seemed foreign, out of place, even though it hadn't been that long.

"Congrats on your success, by the way," you said, filling the silence. "Oblivion seems to be a big hit."

"You heard it?"

"I stayed up all night waiting for the release. Besides, your song plays everywhere I go. People love it. I couldn't escape your voice even if I wanted to."

"The song was about you."

"Yeah... I know." You wiped your wet face, taking in a deep breath.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" Jungkook finally asked.

Your breathing was shaky. "I came to apologize. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but... It was wrong for me to flake out like that, to leave without explanation."

"Why did you?"

You seemed unable to look him in the eye. "Every time a guy told me he loved me, that he was in love with me, it turned out to just be to use me. It was a way to get on my good side and use me for... Well, ulterior motives. When you said you loved me, I had spent so much time convincing myself that you didn't see me that way that I assumed you only meant platonically. Even if I wanted it to be in a romantic sense. When you confirmed, though, that you were in love with me, it just sparked so many memories of guys before. I was stupid. You've proven time and time again that you're honest and genuine, and that you respect me in a way those boys never could, but I couldn't handle it. I needed time away to figure my shit out. So I left and went to my parents', and I told them everything. The fake dating, the roommate situation, the job, that you were in love with me- all of it.

"My parents have been wrong about a lot of things. About what I should be, about what kind of guy would make a suitable husband, but they were right about one thing." Your eyes finally locked with his. "I was stupid to let you go, especially when I'm as head over heels over you as you are for me."

"So..." Jungkook didn't know what to say, overwhelmed with your speech. "What does this mean?"

"It means I love you too, Jungkook. I'm in love with you. I meant it when I said it back then, the same way you meant it. I took a taxi and ran over here as soon as I realized that. I've been in love with you for God knows how long, and I want to be with you, for real this time. That is... if you'll take me back."

Jungkook couldn't help but melt at that, smiling as he pulled you into a tight embrace, despite how your wet form began to dampen his clothes. "Always, princess."

#jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts #bangtan #jungkook #jeongguk #bts jeongguk #jeongguk smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #jeon jeongguk #smut #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #jeongguk fanfiction #jeongguk scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfiction

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abbysfreckles · 3 years ago

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But I Knew I Was (Not) Out Of Luck – Yelena Belova x Reader

Morocco, 2016. Reader and Oksana are protecting the Red Dust, while Yelena and other Widows are on a mission to kill the two traitors and recover the mysterious substance. Oksana does not die. Neither does Yelena or Reader.

Word count: over 3,200

Warnings: canon typical violence; mentions of blood, guns and knives; swearing; angst; fluff and angst; angst with a happy ending.

A/N: this is an alternative ending for the But I Knew I Was Out Of Luck fic (to the anon who requested a part 2: hope this fits your request!!). same as before, no beta readers, so there might be mistakes (i did fix the mistakes i found in the previous fic tho). i think i took some liberties while talking about the Red Room’s mind control and similar stuff. i tried to revisit what was established in the movie but i gotta admit i didn’t fact check everything i wrote. is this what the kids call poetic license? sorry for taking so long, btw! i kept rereading this and didn’t know if i liked it, but decided to post anyway. if i made any mistakes or you have any suggestions, feel free to message me/ leave an inbox! but, if you do, please be nice. still g/n reader, i think? that’s it, i hope you have a good time reading this!

– They’re here! – Oksana informs. She takes the package, grabs my arm and tows me towards the exit.

In the corridor, where there are no windows and the Widows can’t see what we’re doing, I stop her.

– What are you doing? We have to go now! – She’s trying to conceal it, but I can tell she’s scared. So am I.

– No, you have to go. I have to buy you some extra time. – I free my arm from her grip and walk past her, taking my gun from its holster. I take a look around the corner: the hallway is empty.

– Have you lost your mind? They’re going to kill you!

– Oof, do you really think that little of me? I can put on a good fight. – I smirk, but she doesn’t seem to find it very funny.

She takes a step forward and touches my shoulder, serious expression forcing me to look her in the eyes.

– We need to complete the mission. You and I. – She lifts the package and pointedly looks at it. – This is the only thing that matters. It’s our responsibility to free them. She chose us because she knew we could do it.

– No, Oksana. She chose you. I just tagged along.

– Because I chose you to come with me and help me complete the mission! I need your help.

I smile and place my hand over hers.

– You don’t. You really don’t, Oksana. You’re more than capable of doing this on your own. She knew this, that’s why she chose you. I know it too, and I believe in you. – She looks sad. It doesn’t seem like she wants to do it on her own. – I am very honored to have been chosen by you, though. Thank you for trusting me.

– Y/N... – She opens her mouth, but no words come out of it. I smile reassuringly and take her hand off of my shoulder.

– Goodbye, Oksana. Take care. – I turn around the corner and run down the stairs. Silently praying for whoever’s listening to watch over her, protect her.

When I reach the street, I slow down my pace and try to blend in. Wouldn’t want to draw unwanted attention. I look back, to check if I’m being followed. Out of nowhere, something hits me and pushes me into the street. And because I’m the luckiest person ever, a car is passing by at the same fucking time. The impact throws me on the ground and I wince in pain. The car speeds away, almost running me over.

– For fuck’s sake. – I say, getting up. Where the fuck is my gun?

– I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. – Someone says, not sounding sorry at all.

I freeze. I knew Dreykov was a fucking asshole, which is a very generous understatement, but I never thought he had sense of humour. Yet, sending the person I love the most to kill me seems very fitting.

– Yelena. – I say, voice shaking, unable to mask all the feelings running through my head.

Before I can say anything else, she launches forward, knife in hand. Acting on pure reflex, I punch her in the face. Unshaken and now maybe a little angry, she moves her arm swiftly, leaving an ugly cut on my thigh. This isn’t going well. I try to put some distance between us, but she is quick to follow me. She tries to stab me, but the move is too broad. Almost careless and sloppy. It allows me to grab her arm and push her down, subjugating her. She cries out and looks up at me, eyes big. I hesitate. What the fuck am I doing?

Taking advantage of my hesitation, Yelena acts. She drops her knife, catching it with her other hand, and slits my arm. I let go of her and step back, trying to ignore my feelings and focus. I can’t let her mess with me like that, I have a mission to complete. I have to win Oksana as much time as possible. Just then, I see my gun where it must have fallen when the car hit me. Unfortunately, Yelena follows my gaze and sees it too. We both make a run for it. Desperately, I throw myself on the ground, reaching for the gun, hoping I don’t have to pull the trigger. Yelena does the same and we wrestle on the ground.

Here’s the thing about the mind control the Red Room has over the Widows: it makes them ruthless. Removes all doubts and distractions, leaving only heartless strategy and lethal training. It doesn’t matter how hard I’m fighting: I don’t want to harm Yelena. She, on the other hand, doesn’t have much of a choice. I manage to grab the gun and she hits my nose, hard. It’s definitely bleeding. She then climbs on top of me, keeping me down effortlessly, and tries to reach for the gun. As a last resource, and more desperate than I’d like to admit, I point the gun at her.

Her expression changes and she stops. She leans back, sitting on my stomach, and attently watches me. My hands are shaking, my finger on the trigger. Then, she laughs. But it doesn’t really sound like her. It’s cold and mean, a look of disdain on her face.

– C’mon now, love. We both know you would never hurt me. – She moves, knife hovering just above my chest, but without actually touching me. – You don’t have the guts to do it.

I look at her. I wonder how much of this is the mind control and how much is actually her. I think for a moment and toss the gun away, as far as I can. There really isn’t anything left to do but accept my fate. After all, she is right: I would never hurt her.

– Go ahead. – I gently put my hand over her’s, bringing it forward, placing the tip of the knife right above my heart.

Her eyes go big and she frowns. Behind them, I can see the shadow of doubt. Maybe she expected me to try and resist her? To fight back? Well, I can’t. I really can’t. She narrows her eyes and leans a little bit closer.

– I’ll rip your heart out, then. What do you think of that?

She says it with conviction, but it seems a little fake. Or I’m just seeing things my own way, trying to convince myself she wouldn’t hurt me either.

I stare into her eyes, thinking a hundred thoughts and feeling a thousand emotions. Fuck it. If this is the day that I die, if this is the moment when it all ends, then at least I’ll be honest. I’ll die anyway, sure, but at least I’ll stay true to myself.

– My heart is yours. It’s always been yours to do as you please. – Her eyes widen again. She definitely wasn’t expecting me to say that.

It feels weird to say these things now, especially considering she probably won’t even care. It is the absolute truth, though. I’d willingly give it to her, if she asked. I huff out a little chuckle and smile sadly.

– And honestly? I’d rather die by your hands than anyone else’s. I’d rather your green eyes be the last thing I’ll ever see. That is, if you’d allow me that luxury.

Her eyes are hard to read. I can’t tell if she was touched by what I said or if she’s still trying to process my lack of resistance. But at least I can tell she doesn’t seem to be pleased.

I raise my hand tentatively towards her face, but stop midway.

– Can I? – I ask for her consent. It seems to be more important than ever now.

She doesn’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure I could see tears starting to pool her eyes. Or I was just imagining them, trying to make myself feel better about being murdered by the mind controled version of the love of my life.

I start to bring my hand closer to her face, slow enough so she could stop me if she didn’t want me to touch her. Again, she doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me. When my touch finally reaches her skin, she closes her eyes and her expression seems to relax ever so slightly.

I gently cup her face, running my thumb over her cheek. My other hand still over hers, over her knife above my heart. I try to memorize all the little details of her. The tip of her nose, the curve of her lashes, the arch of her brows, the color of her lips. Her mouth agape, the same way she’s always done it when anticipating something. Her hair was in her classical hairdo, pretty blonde hair carefully tucked in pretty Dutch braids. I’ve always loved the way she braided her hair. Mindlessly, I tuck in behind her ear a little rebel strand, something that was more muscle memory than conscient action. My fingers brush past the piercing at the top of her ear. A stupid smile dances on my lips. She’s still using the jewelry I gave her. When I look back at her face, her eyes are open and she’s carefully watching me. I’ve always loved her eyes. Before meeting her, I wasn’t that big of a fan of green. But now it was my favorite color. Not just any green though, no, the specific shade of green of her irises. It’s so fucking beautiful. I sigh and smile, looking at her like she’s the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen my entire life. And it does feel like I’m out of breath. I don’t know if it’s because of the tears I’m trying so hard to hold back, the terrifying realization that I’m probably about to die or the overwhelming love I feel for her, but it feels really hard to breathe. I take one last look at her face.

– Yelena. – I say her name with all the softness and adoration I have in me. – I love you. More than anything in the entire world. And if there are other worlds, other universes after this one, I will love you there too.

Her breath hitches and for a fraction of second she seems vulnerable. Then, something breaks the moment. She looks up, as if someone had called out her name. She covers her ear with her hand and looks around, searching. Then she looks at me.

– I have one of the targets. The other one got away. – Oh, so that’s what she heard. She listens very closely to whatever she’s being told and then nods. – I’ll neutralize this target and meet you there.

Yeah, this will definitely be the day that I die.

She looks down and I feel the tip of the knife digging into my chest, a light sting on my skin. But it doesn’t go any deeper. She looks back up at me. Unsure and maybe even unwilling. I know that if she tries to resist the mind control she’s probably going to be eliminated. I can’t let her die too.

– It’s okay. – I say, trying to sound reassuring. – Just let me take one last look at you, yeah?

As much as I’d love to just forget the world and let this moment drag on forever, it would be a very selfish thing to do. So I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what’s about to happen, and nod, giving her permission to finish it.

She sniffs softly and starts to press the knife down. Just then, I see Oksana creeping up behind her. Before I can even say anything, she sprays Yelena with the Red Dust. It takes her completely off guard. She shakes her head and grimaces, bringing her hands to her face. Fingers over her eyelids, like she’s trying to brush the Dust away. When she opens her eyes again, they shide red for a second, quickly returning to their usual green. I watch her every move, absolutely still. Anticipation burns me from the inside out. Please come back to me, the silent prayer echoes my mind. Please, please come back to me.

Then, she looks down. She seems confused and disoriented, but lucid. I think it worked.

– Y/N. – Yelena breathes.

She drops her knife and cups my face with both hands. I smile, incredulous. It worked. It really worked. Yelena smiles back and pulls me up, hugging me tight. I wrap my arms around her, holding her as close as I can. No mind control or crazy science could get her out of my embrace, not even Dreykov or the Taskmaster. She pulls back and holds my face in her hands again, looking soft and content. Then, she frowns.

– What happened to your nose? – She inquires, worried. Her frown deepens and she starts checking me for other bruises. She grabs my arm and sees the cut. – Was it me?

I shake my head and try to hide my arm behind my back, but she holds my hand, keeping my arm where it is.

– It doesn’t matter. – I answer. She opens her mouth to protest, but I’m faster. – It wasn’t your fault. You were being mind controlled and I was hurting you. You had no choice.

Judging by her expression, she’s not convinced.

– Hey, this is nothing compared to the injuries I get from training with you. I’ll survive. – I joke, trying to make her smile. She smirks, but still looks upset. – Please, Lena. I’m okay, really. You’re free to make your own choices now and that makes it all worth it. I’d have laid down my life for you, if that’s what it’d have taken.

She smiles, eyes watery.

– I’m glad that wasn’t necessary.

We both laugh.

– Yeah, me too.

She leans in to kiss me, but stops a mere inch away, letting me decide if I want to close the distance or not. I chuckle and press my lips on hers, ever so softly.

– I don’t mean to ruin the mood, but we should go look for the others. – Oksana throws an empty little vial to us. – I’m pretty sure we’ve got enough Red Dust for everyone.

Yelena looks up at her.

– And I happen to know exactly where they are.

She gets up and offers me her hand. I take it and she pulls me up. The three of us jog down the street, to where Yelena was supposed to meet the others. Yelena is still holding my hand.

We stop at an alley, a block away from the building.

– They’re supposed to be at the rooftop, waiting for me. – She says, focused.

Yelena and Oksana quickly put together a mission plan, but I just stay there, quietly listening.

– Wait. – I say, squeezing Yelena’s hand to get her attention. – Before we do this, I... I need to talk to you. It’s important.

– I’ll check our surroundings, see if it’s all clear. – Oksana says, giving us some privacy.

We watch her walk away. Then, Yelena turns to me, apprehensive.

– Is everything okay? – She asks. Her thumb is making small circles in the back of my hand.

– I’m sorry. – I blurt out. I avert my eyes, ashamed. – I’m sorry for leaving you behind. I should have brought you with us. I should have taken you out of that...

– Stop, stop. – Yelena says. She brings her hand to my chin, tilting it up slightly, making me look at her. – It would have been risky and could have backfired. And if it did, Dreykov would have the Red Dust and you and Oksana would be dead. You did what you had to do. And it all worked out in the end.

– What if it didn’t? What if something happened to you? I’d never forgive myself.

– But nothing happened, Y/N. I’m okay. – She brings our linked hands to her lips, planting a soft kiss on the back of my hand.

She looks into my eyes, lips still pressed on my skin. I can’t help but wonder what if something did happen to her. What if they had tortured her to try and discover where Oksana and I could have gone? What if they had made her pay for what the two of us did? This train of thought reaches its inevitable conclusion: what if they had killed her?

My eyes teared up for what felt like the hundredth time and I slowly opened my mouth to speak.

– What if they did something to you?

Yelena’s expression changed slightly and she let go of my hand. I didn’t even have time to miss the warmth of her touch though, ‘cause she immediately pulled me closer and held me tight. We stayed like this, in silence, for a little while. Dwelling on each other’s presence, lost in our own thoughts.

– If I’m being honest... – Yelena stopped speaking and took a deep breath.

I stayed still, anxiously waiting. I didn’t know what she was about to say, but her tone made my stomach drop.

– I was angry at first. Very angry. I couldn’t fight the feeling that you had abandoned me. That you had decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and just left. – She scoffs and shakes her head slightly. – I know that sounds stupid. You left because you had a mission. And even if there was no mission, you would’ve left because you wanted a better life. You know, not to be mind controlled most of the time. But I just couldn’t help the bitter feeling that you had abandoned me.

I wanted to say something, but I kept quiet. Instead, I hid my face on the crook of her neck and closed my eyes. If feelings could kill, the guilt I was feeling right now would’ve gotten me dead in her arms in no time. I wanted to be able to go back in time, find a different way to have dealt with this. Maybe I could have left her a note, a sign, anything that showed her how much I loved her, made her know that I would be coming back for her and, in the meantime, would be thinking of her at every step of the way. I did this for Oksana and the others, of course, but I also did it for her. It’s always for her.

Yelena moves back just far enough for her to look me in the eyes.

– The only thing that matters now is that we’re both here, alive. Whatever it was that made it all work, fate, luck, the power of love... – She smirks. It brings a little smile to my face. – What matters is that everything worked out. Things could have gone wrong, but they didn’t. We’re together now and I’m sure we can handle pretty much anything life throws our way.

I nod, slowly. She’s right. Countless things could have gone wrong. She could have killed me, had Oksana taken a second longer to find us. But it all worked out. We’re together now.

– I’ll never leave your side again. Ever. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.

She smirks again, goofy expression on her face.

– Oh, yeah?

– Yeah. You’re stuck with me, Belova.

She smiles and leans in, pressing our foreheads together.

– Sounds good to me.

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova fanfic #yelena belova x angst #yelena belova x fluff #mcu imagine #black widow imagine

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ayellowcurtain · 4 years ago

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how about them spending some time together (for whatever reason) and meeting younes who gets a bit jealous of robbe and his relationship with yasmina, maybe because he thinks there could be something between the two. So then we have a confused yasmina and robbe teasing her because he realizes that younes is jealous and that youmina both like each other. Maybe it could end with sander’s arrival and younes realizing they’re just friends.

“You look so beautiful.” Robbe says all of a sudden, and Yasmina laughs, putting her pen on the table to stare at him. He was staring for at least half a minute before saying it and Yasmina is sure he just wants her to be even more helpful with their homework, or just do everything already. He looks tired but Yasmina thought it was best to not mention it, she didn’t know why he was tired so she didn’t want to bring any worry back to his mind. But he’s in an oddly good mood which tells a lot about his tiredness.

A few months ago, Yasmina thought the honeymoon phase was real in relationships, but she doubts the honeymoon phase will ever end with Robbe and Sander.

“I’m not going to do this by myself.”

Robbe opens his mouth, exhaling a soft Yasmina, dragging the last A and she rolls her eyes at him.

“I would never ask that! You already did way too much of my homework.”

He is not lying. But Yasmina was happy to help back then because she could tell Robbe wasn’t doing well, just pretending. Now he’s just being lazy and Yasmina is just teasing them. Yasmina doesn’t even think he really needs it, Robbe is smarter than he thinks but she can’t tell him that so she’s helping, or sharing a table with him at a cafe to pretend she’s helping by giving him moral support.

“You wanna drink something?” She asks, getting up and closing her book loudly to get his attention back, staring up at her. He looks to the front of the cafe, the delicious and different goodies they have, and Yasmina follows his eyes, knowing everything good they bake better than Robbe will ever know.

“Do you have a favorite tea?” Yasmina nods her head, walking away because she’ll decide for both of them.

The waitress is standing behind the counter, no customer in sight, smiling as Yasmina walks up to them, certain of which tea they’ll have but not sure if Robbe wants something sweet or salty.

She looks back to ask, and Younes is standing right there, holding his too big of a red bag, squeezing both straps tightly, with big and sad eyes and Yasmina can’t pretend she’s not seeing him.

They haven’t seen each other in more than a week. Yasmina hasn't seen him since the movie theater incident. When he told her he gave away the tickets, Yasmina ran into him and Aïsha. She was fast enough to leave before he could catch up to her, but she saw it very well, the hands almost holding, quietly brushing against the other.

“Hi…” He exhales shakingly, and Yasmina holds herself back from rolling her eyes. It’s stupid the effect he has on her even after last time, but it still bothers her how he’s thinking his softness and good looks will erase everything.

“Hi.” She answers sharply, turning back to the waitress to ask for some of the delicious mhencha for her and Robbe to try.

“How are you?” Younes insists, still just whispering, and she sees him coming closer, standing next to her like he’s about to ask for something to eat too.

“Good.” She asks for their teas, pulling the plate the waitress gave her a little closer so she can hold it, keeping her hands busy so they won’t shake or give away how nervous she is to be talking to Younes.

“Good...good.” He says, and Yasmina almost feels bad for being so hard, she’s about to turn and ask why did he lie when she notices the cloud of hair and oversized clothes standing on her other side.

Robbe smiles at her and then at Younes even though they never met.

“Need help bringing everything? I felt bad staying there, just waiting.” He leans against the counter, finally putting some of his hair to the side so they can see his eyes.

“Hm, no, it’s okay.” Younes is looking, and he’s bad at hiding his confusion. Yasmina can see the tiny step back he took, and the frown growing, forming creases on his forehead. “Robbe, this is Younes. Younes, Robbe.” She points from one to the other and Robbe stands up again, offering his hand, happy to meet Younes, and he’s a lot more skeptical, taking a second to shake Robbe’s hand.

“Are you from Morocco?” Robbe asks right away like he’s recalling some old information he has, and Yasmina looks at him, almost giving his food back to the waitress now busy with other customers.

“I…-“ Younes isn’t following, and Yasmina needs to quickly think of something so Robbe doesn’t go down that subject.

“I have a cousin in Morocco, and I talked about him to Robbe.”

“What?” Robbe asks, and she looks at him, and he closes his mouth, deciding to drop the subject and just follow her lead from now on.

“Oh, I see…” Younes points from her to Robbe but it’s so small she’s not sure if Robbe saw it, he seems so busy staring at her, holding himself back from bursting into a laughter “Are you two…?”

“Dating? No, I wish!” He sighs in a very Sander way and Yasmina hopes he gets there soon enough. They can study some other time, now she just wants someone to drag Robbe out or there instantly.

“He’s kidding…” Yasmina tries to explain, and her voice breaks in the middle, making everything worse. She feels her cheeks burning already, and she smiles when the waitress finally gives Robbe their teacups.

“You wanna come sit with us, Younes?” Robbe points with his head to the side, showing where their table is and Yasmina looks at Younes, looking right back at her, checking if he can accept the invite or not.

“Robbe.” She looks at her friend, hoping that will work as well as it did the first time. “He’s busy, don’t you see?”

“I actually don’t have anything right now…” Younes says a little more confidently this time, and Yasmina’s heart starts beating fast. She’s not sure if because of the possibility of sitting around with this curious of a Robbe and Younes, or if only because Younes is there, trying to find a way to spend more time with her. And Robbe.

The bell at the top of the door rings again, and Yasmina turns her head a little too fast, as nervous as she ever felt, feeling the biggest relief when her eyes are quick to connect who just got inside. The cool exterior is hard to find, Sander is really a standout, not only with his style but the vibe he has. His eyes turn soft the second Robbe looks at him, and Yasmina sighs, knowing she’s good now.

Robbe puts the teacups back on the counter, and walks up to meet his boyfriend, hugging him tight, and Saner does the same, squeezing Robbe against him, kissing his cheek.

“So it’s not a date.” Younes confirms, Yasmina is not sure if to himself or to her.

“No.” She looks at him, finding a way to carry everything by herself back to the table where Robbe is already with Sander, sitting on the couch, with Sander’s arm quietly resting around Robbe’s shoulder like that’s where his arm should always be. “Dates are for movie theaters.”

“Yasmina…” Younes tries to explain, and Yasmina walks away again, quickly getting the help from Saner, getting up to help her with the hot cups.

#wtfock #yasmina ait omar #robbe ijzermans #younes el amrani #yasmina x younes #yousmina #sander driesen #sobbe

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destiniesfic · 4 years ago

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132 Hours, Chapter 15

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” I protest. “You hurt me all the time.”

Check out the fic playlist!

Read chapter 15 on AO3 or read below:

The day is bright and pleasant, but the sunlight and soft breeze are an assault on my senses after my time underground. I limp to the ambulance, which is parked on the grass, rear doors open, waiting for me. I ease myself to sit in the back, next to Cardan, who inexplicably has a blanket tightly wrapped around his shoulders. When I’m no longer standing, I sigh. I’d thought that after sitting and lying down for days I’d be desperate to move, but it turns out I’m actually very tired. When no one is looking at us, Cardan leans over and nuzzles my nose with his.

I smile at him weakly. Everything is too much and not enough. It seems to me that I am watching Madoc and Balekin talk to the detectives from very far away, like they are characters on a TV show. I just want to go back to the Amagansett house—or my actual house, hours away—and curl up in a bed that’s mine. But that fantasy leads to complications too. What will Oriana say when she learns what I’ve done? What will Taryn say?

Not wanting to spiral, I search for anything else to talk about. “Are you cold?” I ask Cardan, glancing at the blanket.

“Oh, no. It’s for shock or something.” He looks down at himself. His kitschy t-shirt is partially obscured now. “But, you know, free blanket.”

“Yeah,” I say, like that makes perfect sense. My head is spinning. “Was Balekin… happy to see you?”

He sets his jaw. “He was glad I wasn’t dead, I guess. But that’s about the only thing I did right.”

I look down as my fingers curl into my palms. I don’t examine how much I want to wrap my hands around Balekin’s throat. “My dad knows,” I whisper. “About us. I think I’ve talked him out of killing you.”

“That’s good. I’d really rather not die after surviving all of this already.”

“You’re taking this really well.”

Cardan shrugs. “If we’re bonded now, and your father isn’t going to kill me, that means I’m part of your family. Dain is dead, and Balekin will find it harder to touch me.”

“Oh,” I say dully. No wonder he wasn’t that mad at me mating him. We can’t stay in the basement forever, but he still has a way out. It makes sense. I can hardly blame him.

“Not that I’m necessarily thrilled that your dad could have any sway over me, given that he’s maybe a murderer and almost as scary as you are.”

“Right.”

He cocks his head at me, sensing my reticence. “Jude.”

I look away.

He leans over again and nudges the nape of my neck with his nose. “Hey.”

“What.”

Cardan chuckles, but it sounds nervous. “Jude, I’ve thought about mating with you since I was fourteen. And back then it made me feel panicky and trapped—”

“That’s just what every omega wants to hear.”

“God dammit. Look, I’ve always been afraid to want things—not clothes and shoes and shit, things that matter—because they’re always ruined. I always screw them up, or someone else screws it up for me. This is…” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him look down at his hands. “I didn’t want it to happen this way, because who would? But I want to help you through the next heat, and the next one. Actually do it right. I want to be your mate, Jude.”

I turn back around to stare at him, incredulous. “You want that?”

He nods, slowly.

“But you—you didn’t. For days, you didn’t. You held off and it should have been impossible if you actually—wanted me.”

“Well, it felt impossible.” He lets out another nervous chuckle. “I wanted you so bad, but more than that I wanted you to want me. I didn’t want to just go and mount you or whatever the hell I’m supposed to do. For once, I wanted to be better. Sounds crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “It does. You wanted to mate with me so bad that you didn’t mate with me.”

“Jude. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” I protest. “You hurt me all the time.”

“Yeah, I did.” Cardan looks down at his knees. “But not like that. Never like that. I may have made some off-color jokes, but I would never have done what Valerian tried to do. I mean, I hoped I wouldn’t, and now I know.”

“You made me miserable.”

“I know.”

“I definitely shouldn’t want you as a mate.”

“No, I guess you shouldn’t.” Cardan sounds resigned, and hangs his head. “Well, the pheromone marker cleansing is kind of time-consuming and expensive and unpleasant, but I guess—”

I thought hurting him might feel good, but it just feels like a hollow pang in my chest. I ask, “You want me to be your mate, though?”

He looks up at me with those dark eyes. “Yes,” he says.

I nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He stares at me, a grin that he doesn’t dare unleash just yet tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes. I hated you so much for so long because you smelled so good and you were so mean. So if you could stop being mean for a while, and you’ve proven you have, I think we could find some common ground.”

Cardan sniffs. “Well, I may have to remain a little mean. For the sake of my reputation.”

“We’ll see.”

“You don’t want me totally defanged, do you?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He laughs, then he lowers his head to nuzzle again, this time at the bite mark he left on my neck. I am flooded by his delight. From nearby, someone clears their throat. We look up to find a paramedic standing in front of us, face half-hidden by a surgical mask, patiently waiting for us to submit ourselves to examination.

“Oh,” I say. “Uh.”

Cardan, who is utterly without shame, is grinning when he straightens up. “Actually, we’re both fine, thanks.”

“That’s for us to determine,” says the paramedic. Something about him is oddly familiar, but his height and build are totally nondescript. Where could I have seen him before? “To start, we’re going to make sure you’re not concussed.”

Cardan just groans.

The paramedic bends at the waist and takes a penlight out of his pocket. “Just look into the light here for me.”

That voice. It’s the voice. I narrow my eyes at him. It is weird, on second thought, that he’s wearing a mask. It’s not like we’re possibly carrying an infectious disease. Cardan raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t move as the light shines into one pupil. “This is a surprise,” he says, without blinking. “And also, you have to admit, pretty dumb.”

“Suicidal,” I hiss through my teeth. I’m strangely angry. They had to know what a risk it was to come back. They could have gotten away clean. “What are you guys doing here? If my dad catches you—”

“Are you going to tell him?” the Roach asks. He doesn’t sound too worried, which irks me.

I press my lips together, then say, “I should.”

Another of the paramedics kneels at my feet, his sandy head bent. The Ghost. Certainly less conspicuous than the Roach, with his scars. He’s tall, sure, but handsome in a way that’s totally generic. In fact, I’d have a difficult time describing him beyond “tall” and “symmetrical.” He picks up the leg that he shot to dress the wound, once again.

“We had to talk to you,” he says. Always to the point.

Suddenly I am sure that if I turned and looked behind me into the ambulance, the Bomb would wink at me from the driver’s seat. Part of me is relieved they’re okay, and the other part is baffled and horrified at my relief. But they did take care of us through some pretty gross and awful times. They kept me fed, kept me hydrated, kept us company. Maybe it’s natural to feel some degree of attachment.

“Why?” Cardan asks, baffled, as the Roach shines a light in his other eye. “You guys should be on a plane to Morocco by now.”

“Morocco?” I ask.

“It’s pretty. Also, no extradition policy.”

“Why do you even know that?”

Cardan shrugs.

“Look,” the Roach says, “we’re short on time. Your brother and Madoc are going to come over and tell you Dain killed himself out of shame when his plan was discovered. He left a note, confessing, yadda yadda. It’s bullshit. He didn’t commit suicide.”

“What?” Cardan and I ask, in unison.

I shake my head, as if trying to shake off our now unshakeable connection. “Then what happened to him?”

The Ghost doesn’t say anything, or even fully turn his head, but without lifting his eyes from my leg, he somehow indicates where Madoc and Balekin stand, in conversation with the police.

“No,” I whisper. It sounds naive, even to me, but I don’t want to believe Madoc is capable of those horrors, even though the fear our kidnappers expressed when they spoke of him seemed real. “No, it—Dain was a client, he and Madoc were friends—”

“Do you think that would matter if Dain went after Madoc’s family?” the Roach asks.

My stomach turns. “How do you know Dain didn’t kill himself?”

“Because he wouldn’t,” Cardan says quietly. “He’s Dain. He’d think he’s clever enough to find a way out, even if everyone was closing in on him, and he’d probably be right.”

“We don’t know exactly what happened,” the Roach continues. He makes a show of fiddling with the stethoscope around his neck. “We just know that he was increasingly agitated about the way negotiations were going, and then we suddenly had no contact. I went to his office, then to his place. Coroner beat me there. Single gunshot wound to the chest, pistol with his prints on it. Seemed open and shut.”

I sense Cardan’s horror, and look to see that he’s gone pale. I lay my hand on top of his. Something tells me that he doesn’t have much of an issue believing that Balekin is capable of murder, even of a brother. And Cardan clearly didn’t like Dain, but what does that mean for his safety?

“You couldn’t have waited around and told us this in the basement?” I ask, feeling again like I am observing this all from afar, watching a scene in a movie that just happens to star me.

“We didn’t know what Dain told them before he died, so we had to clear out pretty fast. Left your stuff with the cops so you’d be found, left the door unlocked so you could leave whenever you wanted. Besides.” He raises one eyebrow. “You guys were busy.”

I flush; it’s true that Cardan and I couldn’t and wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere once we’d finally given ourselves over to each other. But all of this is too much. “Well, we can’t trust you.”

“You can’t trust your dad,” the Ghost says. “We’ve never lied to you.”

“You did shoot her,” Cardan points out. “Most people would say that’s worse.”

The Ghost just shrugs.

“Look, believe us or don’t,” the Roach says. “But you have to admit that something’s rotten here. You’re going to need help. Eyes and ears. And I also hear that one of you is coming into a very large sum of money and a considerable amount of corporate influence in a little less than a year.”

“There it is,” I mutter.

But Cardan looks delighted. “Do you guys have a business card you can leave with me or something?”

“Are you planning to kidnap anybody?” I demand.

“No, but I could use the help,” Cardan admits. “He’s right. Once I come into that inheritance, there’s going to be a huge target on my back.”

“We’ll call you. In the meantime, you’ve got a clean bill of health.” The Roach pats his shoulder. “Good for you.”

“Thanks, man.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see two figures break away from the detectives and begin approaching us. I say, “You’d better clear out.”

The Roach doesn’t thank me, but he gives me a little nod before disappearing around the side of the ambulance, whistling. That’s what passes for honor among thieves, I suppose. The Ghost remains, having drawn the short straw, his generically handsome features apparently working to render him inconspicuous.

“How is she?” Madoc asks him. I make myself look up at his face and try not to think about how, if what the Roach said is true, he might have recently pulled the trigger on one of Cardan’s brothers. The other brother stands next to him, looking less sour than before.

The Ghost stands. “They’re both good to go,” he says. “It looks like she sprained her ankle a few days ago, but it’s healing well.”

“The wound on her leg?”

“Nothing serious.”

Madoc nods, and then turns to me. The Ghost melts back into the scenery as though he wasn’t even there to begin with. No mystery as to how he got that codename.

Balekin stands at Madoc’s side, both men casting shadows across our knees. Madoc’s arms are folded, and Balekin’s jaw is set. I see his eyes find my hand resting on top of Cardan’s, but for some reason I am not at all worried about censure. Not from him.

Balekin says, “We’ve been given leave to take you back to your homes to rest, provided you return tomorrow to give your statements to the police. No one here wishes to… prolong your ordeal.”

“Wait,” I say, my heartbeat picking up in my chest. “Wait. Nobody’s told us what’s going on. Where’s Dain? How do we know he won’t try again?”

“He’s dead,” Madoc declares. “When he realized he wasn’t going to get away with it, that he had no other recourse…”

I swallow. I had hoped he’d say something else, anything else. “Oh. I see.”

Cardan covers his discomfort with a snicker. “Well, good riddance.”

“We’re hoping you can help us fill in the rest of the gaps once you’re up to sharing what, exactly, happened over the past five days,” Balekin says.

“I don’t know how much help we’ll be,” Cardan replies, shrugging loosely. “If it was Dain, we never saw him. And the guys who took us all wore masks.”

I’m surprised at how easily he lies, but maybe I shouldn’t be. I have to reevaluate everything I thought about his childhood; it probably involved a lot of lying to Balekin. Madoc doesn’t seem to notice anything, and it’s hard to get bullshit by him. He just watches me with a quizzical expression.

“Well, maybe you’ll remember something useful after you’ve had your rest.” Balekin jerks his head toward the waiting car, already beginning to walk away, assuming Cardan will follow. “Come on.”

Cardan glances at me with uncertainty, then begins to stand. I take his hand again and pull him back down. “No.”

Balekin turns around. “What did you say?”

I stand now, keeping hold of Cardan’s hand. “I said ‘no.’ I’m sure you have business back in the city. Cardan can come stay with us.” I look at Madoc and try to reassure myself that he is the safer choice. “There’s plenty of room in the house.”

“There is,” Madoc agrees, his tone carefully neutral.

“So it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Balekin looks angry. He doesn’t want to lose his influence on Cardan. “That’s very generous, but I have just gotten my youngest brother back, and I’m not eager to let him out of my sight.”

“He’ll be under Madoc’s protection.”

“You have to admit, it does seem safer,” Cardan chimes in. He seems a little dumbstruck by the way the whole situation is unfolding. Maybe no one’s ever stood up to Balekin before. Certainly

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Balekin says, trying to loom over me. He is tall, but tall doesn’t faze me. “I’m his brother. I’ve been his guardian since he was a child. I will be taking him back.”

“Well, Cardan isn’t a child anymore. He’s an adult, and I’m his mate,” I say, sticking up my chin. “And he is coming with me.”

I yank hard on Cardan’s hand, bringing him to his feet, and start off toward the car Madoc came in. Out of the corner of my eye I see Cardan, smiling, give his brother a shrug. “Omegas,” he says. “What are you gonna do?”

What, indeed. I don’t even know what I am going to do. Everything that happened in the last one hundred and thirty-two hours seems to have pushed us so much further down the road to a strange and dangerous adulthood. I don’t know if either of us are ready for what lies ahead, much less ready to defy our dangerous parental figures or negotiate the relationship we’ll have once I’m in college.

But it doesn’t matter, not right now. Because I have just pulled off a bigger heist than the Ghost, the Roach, and the Bomb could ever dream of. Because Cardan’s hand is in mine. Because his smile is, as always, contagious, so I am smiling too. Because we survived our trial, so maybe we can survive anything. Because he would choose me, and I chose him. Because neither of us is alone. Because he is my mate.

The rest, we’ll figure out when it comes.

#jurdan #jurdan fanfic #judecardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the folk of the air #tfota #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

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jeongyunhoed · 3 years ago

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Past-Present-Future Black Dahlia

Two major tragedies bring Lee Mirae closer to the edge as she goes through the stages of grief in a more violent manner that would affect not only her relationships with her boyfriend Jeong Yunho and her half-brother Choi San, but also has her becoming closer with the immortal mutant Kang Yeosang. Fueled by rage, grief, and pain, along with a very rude awakening that has Mirae spiraling out of control and questioning everything she holds dear.

Group: ATEEZ Member: Yunho Pairing: Jeong Yunho / OC Genre: Action, adventure, angst, fantasy

Watch Out! : Violence, blood, death, grief and loss, major character deaths, use of weapons

Anything else? : Mentions of other idols of course as well as other characters. SuperM, Dean, Chanyeol, Zelo, soloist Park Jihoon to name a few.

Author’s Note: So, here is the end of the series! Sorry if the ending was a little blah -- I really couldn’t wait to finish this whole story already. Thank you for reading it if you have.

Listen to: All About You - ATEEZ, Halcyon + On and On - Orbital

Masterlist

Chapter 10

“Where did he go?” San looked around. The being transformed back into Mirae, whose hair, except for the streak, had also turned partially white at the ends.

“Not to be that kind of person, but as long as he’s away from here, I don’t care where else he goes,” Jongho said.

“What now?” Hongjoong turned to her, noticing the change in her appearance and the vacant expression on her face. “...Mirae, are you okay?”

She glanced at them, all of whom were looking at her with hopeful eyes. Mirae was trying to process everything that just happened. Did she really just do what she did? From the looks on Junhong and San’s faces it seemed to be the case. She didn’t feel any better, but she realized that she had come a long way from where she was. If Hyuk and Chanyeol and even Jihoon could see her now.

“I’m fine,” Mirae said. “I-I never thought I’d get to what you told me before,” She glanced at Junhong.

“Grief tends to do that to people,” Junhong replied, a small assuring smile on his face. “On the bright side, everything is fixed, save for this window,” He looked at the broken glass behind her. “And the fact that we’re in someone else’s building.”

“By now, people know who we are too,” Seonghwa spoke. “Our pictures, videos of what we did, would be going viral by now.”

“I don’t think there’s a way to stop it either,” Yunho shook his head. He held out the gem in his hand. “But we need to do something about this.”

“There’s no doubt they’ll come for that when they get around to showing themselves again,” Wooyoung said, looking at all of them and then at the gem in Yunho’s hand. “We need to put that away, that’s too powerful for any one of us to handle.”

“Where do you suggest we put this away?” Yeosang questioned. “It’s too much of a risk to keep it around here.”

Just then, the jewel glowed and after a moment, it disappeared. They stared at Yunho’s empty hand, amazed. “Well that answers your question,” Mirae pointed out. “The jewel is sentient. It knew that we didn’t want it, so it disappeared.”

“If there was a way to understand how that diamond moves, I would’ve found a way,” Junhong said quietly. “If it left us, let’s hope that it doesn’t come back, or at least is in the right hands.”

“That’s all we can do?” San spoke, a slight frown on his face.

“That’s all we can do, Sannie,” Mirae replied. “Those people outside that we tried to protect will be coming back in here now that it’s over. I hate to imagine what they’d say when they see us going home.”

“Me too. If it was anything like what happened to me in Morocco,” Yunho shook his head upon remembering. “It wouldn’t be pretty.”

Mirae sighed and looked back out the window. “It’s getting dark, there’s nowhere else to go but home, now that it’s all over, and we all need to shower.”

The rest of them laughed. “Can we get something to eat first? I know a good barbecue place,” Wooyoung suggested.

“By all means,” Yeosang waved his hand at the broken window, the shards of glass putting itself back together. “No doubt people will recognize me now, I might as well do what I want. I will need to keep myself from doing any more magic if I don’t want to feed on people as constantly as I might do so now.”

“Where do you think those guys went?” Hongjoong mused as they walked out of the office, seeing the shocked expressions of the employees who seemed to be aware of the ruckus that occurred moments ago. “Do you think they tried to make their own little world again?”

“It is possible,” Yeosang replied. “However, I must reveal that I can’t guarantee Mark won’t come back if I’ve killed him not too long ago.”

The mention of the immortal made Yunho glance at him. “We can’t really kill him for good?”

“We are immortals, Yunho. If we kill each other, we get reincarnated. It’s something I forgot to tell you,” He said. “You will never really be away from Mirae if Mark tries to go after you, same as me.”

“You mean we can’t get rid of you at all even if we tried?” San chimed in.

“I’m afraid not, I’ll always be here to torment you and ruin your day,” Yeosang replied with a sly smile on his face. “Admit it, I must have proved myself to be a valuable member of… this cabal of people.”

“And I never thought we’d have executive Kang on our side,” Hongjoong said.

Yeosang glanced at Mirae then cleared his throat when he noticed Yunho caught him. “Well, since I helped my dear Mirae the first two times, three times the charm, isn’t it?”

Mirae sighed. “Service elevator might be good for all of us to go down at the same time. We just have to figure out where it is.”

“We don’t need to,” Yunho shook his head, gesturing to a dimly-lit hallway that likely led to the store rooms and the janitor’s closet. “I don’t know where we’ll be, but at least we’re out of here,” He said, as the rest of them grabbed onto him and they vanished.

It was the ten of them in the almost empty barbecue restaurant Wooyoung suggested, with Yeosang paying the owners to allow them to stay late while they ate. The owners turned on the television, paying attention to the news that was on.

“In what was one of the most disastrous attacks since the goblin invasion five years ago, robotic machines caused chaos. While there were no casualties, there was some property damage. However, shortly after the attacks, the damages caused from the chaos were easily repaired, all thanks to ten unidentified people who risked their lives to protect the citizens that were caught in the crossfire,” the news anchor said, and photos and video footage of the attacks. The restaurant owners gaped upon seeing their faces on the television. It then switched to the news correspondent, who was talking with some of the people who witnessed the incident.

“On behalf of the citizens, we would like to thank them for keeping us safe,” One person said to the camera. “They just left like that without telling us, and they repaired everything too.”

“Superheroes! Those were superheroes!” One kid said, almost excitedly. “They saved us!”

“Just another day,” San muttered in between bites of rice. He could sense that the restaurant owners were staring at them after realizing who they were.

Yunho glanced at Mirae, hearing what she was thinking while they ate. “Do you really want to leave this place?” He asked quietly, making the rest of them look.

“I’m thinking about it,” Mirae said. “We’ve been exposed somehow, and even with those people saying thank you, I feel like I’m too dangerous to be around here.”

“They could say that about each and every one of us, even Junhong hyung,” Hongjoong said. “Was this what it was like from the train station incident? I remember Chanyeol hyung talking about it.”

“Yeah. People didn’t take too kindly to what happened even after the whole thing,” Mirae nodded. “We’ve had coffee thrown at us. They don’t like this kind of thing, that’s why I live quietly. That’s why we’ve been living quietly.”

Junhong put his chopsticks down. “You know, maybe times have changed. Maybe people who didn’t like things back then would’ve changed their minds now.”

Yeosang sighed. “I believe he is right. Times have certainly changed, there is a chance that people of our kind would be received well, but that doesn’t mean we should go around showing off.”

“Then they’ll really hate us,” Wooyoung ate a big piece of meat. “So, after this, what’s next? We go back to our homes and move on, isn’t it?”

“That is the plan, there’s nothing much else we can do, is there?” Mirae replied.

Seonghwa waved his hand and the bottles of water and soju poured themselves into their respective glasses. He raised his own glass, making them do the same. “Can I say something?” He asked, the rest of them nodding. “I haven’t been a mutant for very long. Actually, I haven’t been the type to do what we just did for good for very long, and I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I do want to say that we did well out there.”

They clinked their glasses and took sips. They suddenly heard the sounds of something cooking from the back and after a moment, the restaurant owner came back out, bringing over a large pot of ramen to their table. “This is to thank you, for keeping everyone safe out there,” They said.

They stared at the pot, then glanced at her. “You really didn’t have to-” Mirae said.

“But it is the least that could be done. All of you are owed a great debt that seems impossible to pay off by the rest of us. Please, have some of the noodles, it’ll go well with the meat you’re eating too,” They said.

“We will eat this well. But for the record, we didn’t do what we did to get something in return,” Mirae said quietly.

“That’s even more noble,” The restaurant owner said. “All of you are heroes in a world of flying men and monsters. The goblin invasion seemed to reveal to everyone that humans and animals aren’t the only living things walking the planet, this one seemed to be another reminder that we’re not alone. Please eat and enjoy. You are all welcome to return here as much as you want,” They bowed before walking back into the kitchens.

Mirae turned back to her food, as did the rest of them. Yunho kept glancing at her and he put his spoon down to hold her hand. “We’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” He whispered.

She laced their fingers together. “I know I will be, as long as you’re around, as long as San is around. I took you and San for granted all this time.”

Yunho shook his head. “You’ve been learning, and I won’t stop reminding you that you aren’t alone. You don’t have to bear the weight by yourself.”

“Jihoon, Hyuk, and Chanyeol would’ve been proud of you, Mirae,” Junhong said. “I know they would be. Just like how the rest of us are proud of you.”

“And you even got a dye job from your powers too, with your hair now being the way it is,” Mingi pointed out, making them laugh.

“It’s the mark your powers are leaving on you, through your hair,” Junhong explained to her, seeing her confused expression. “When you tapped into your ability to trap souls, that white streak on your hair appeared. When you turned into an energy spirit, even more white appeared. Who knows what else you can do.”

“Hang on, does that mean my hair’s going to do the same?” San stared at the elder.

“Well, you are Mirae’s brother, it’s likely you will go through the same changes in your appearance, mainly your hair, if you push your abilities to the fullest extent,” Junhong shrugged.

“Then there’s hope for the rest of us,” Hongjoong grinned. “We’d look cool with those kinds of changes.”

The rest of them, including Yeosang, stayed inside the apartment bases later that night. “Now that everything’s done and over with, I guess it’s back to training for the rest of you, isn’t it?” Junhong said to them.

“This place is quite plain,” Yeosang seemed to examine the interiors. “I know someone who can do wonders with redecorating.”

“Speaking of redecorating,” Jongho poured himself a cup of coffee from the kitchen. “Are we still considering the old base that we went to with those goblin corpses?”

They all looked at each other. “If I may be permitted, we can develop the place, make it nicer, I can have a clean up crew get rid of the blood and corpses but I am afraid I’m not sure where we can dispose of those goblin bodies,” Yeosang suggested.

“That place does seem like a good choice,” Junhong shrugged. “There’s room in that tunnel for some of you to train using your powers, but no more simulations, just practical training courses.”

“Good, I think we’ve learned from what happened that set everything off in the first place,” San nodded, glancing at his sister, who raised a brow at him.

“What do you think, Mirae?” Hongjoong turned to her.

Mirae looked back at all of them. They still had the same hopeful expressions. “...Me? I mean, there are all these passageways in there that are waiting to be used over and over, and since we took care of the goblins years ago, it would make sense that we’d have that place as a kind of headquarters.”

“Can we get rid of the rats too? I don’t want to have to run away in the middle of a training session because Remy and his clan are busy going back and forth,” Wooyoung spoke. “Then again, he might be on his way to some kitchen, cooking soup…”

“Someone’s watched Ratatouille for the recipe of that soup,” Jongho teased.

“So then it’s settled, we can use that place, we’ll just get rid of the bodies and the blood,” Mirae nodded.

“Now that I’ve eaten my fill and we’ve come to an agreement, my dear Mirae, it has been a pleasure working with you,” Yeosang turned to her, then paused to see the rest of them watching him. “And...I must admit, even the rest of you. With Ino gone, this whole… operation of ours will need funds, and I am happy to back this up, within reason. As always, my dear Mirae, if there is anything you need, if another investigation comes up again, don’t hesitate to come to Kang Tower. Gentlemen, it’s been nice, but not too nice,” Yeosang gave the rest of them a nod before seeing himself out.

“Well, I think it’s time for me to shower and turn in, I’m starting to feel the exhaustion sink in,” Mingi got up from the chair, making Hongjoong and Jongho do the same.

“We better get some rest now too, and I also need a shower. I’ve been in these clothes for a while, I didn’t realize how fast the days came,” Mirae looked down at her now dust and soot-covered clothes. “These also happen to be very expensive.”

“Looks like it too. Yeosang got you that?” San noticed the details on her sleeve.

“Yeah,” Mirae shrugged. She followed the rest of them to the door, seeing Junhong clear out the cups of coffee and put back the couch cushions in between waving at them. There was something she still wanted to do now that it was all over. She turned to Yunho. “Don’t wait up for me, there’s still something I need to do,” she muttered.

Yunho got the idea and nodded. “Alright,” He kissed her cheek and watched her go down the stairs.

With a small bouquet of flowers in hand, Mirae arrived at the graves of Chanyeol and Hyuk and put half of the bouquet on each of their grave stones. “I miss both of you so much,” She whispered, reading the epitaphs. “We could’ve been on this adventure together, the three of us. Then again, I realize that both of you were with me this whole time.”

Mirae’s eyes were welling with tears as she looked at the two gravestones. She heard a whoosh from the nearby tree and out stepped Yunho. “Junhong is right, you know. Hyuk and Chanyeol would’ve been proud of you, even if you destroyed some things along the way,” He said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

Mirae leaned on him as she looked at the gravestones again, and at the flowers she put down. “I hope they are.”

Yunho kissed the side of her head. “I love you, you know that, right?” He whispered, and she nodded. “I love you and I’m not going anywhere.”

“I love you too,” She said quietly, wrapping her arms around him.

Yunho kissed her. “It’s always us,” He murmured.

“Always.”

“Come on, let’s go home, hmm? We’ve had a rough few days,” Yunho held her hand, lacing their fingers together as he led her towards the tree. Mirae smiled to herself as she followed him, the two of them disappearing.

A moment later, a glittering object appeared in the space between Chanyeol and Hyuk’s gravestones.

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eleven-times-lively · 4 years ago

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A Year With Draco Malfoy - January ☃️

I thought this up one night and I am so excited for it!! The first week of each month, I’ll post one of these fics so that you can live out a year with Draco Malfoy!! (These are going to be short!) 💕

Word Count: 1009

“Happy new year, love,” Draco leaned down, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled you in for a loving kiss. He lingered a moment, you could feel the smile on his lips. “I love you.” He whispered so only you could hear amongst the crowd of drunken wizards filling the ballroom.

“Love you too, Draco.” You took in the rest of your champagne, surveying the room. Witches in ballgowns fawned over their beaus, and wizards in their pressed suits admired their lovers. Necks were adorned with pearls and jewels, the white and silver room dripping with luxury. “Let’s go home, yeah?” Happy to be getting out of Malfoy Manor, Draco nodded graciously and apparated back to your own shared manor.

The warm cinnamon scent of leftover Christmas decorations filled your nose as you stepped inside. Draco helped you remove your cashmere coat (a gift from him) before hanging it on the silver coat hook just beside the door. “Home at last.” He chuckled, removing his own coat. He snaked his arms around your waist from behind, breath dangerously close to your neck. He trailed kisses down your exposed skin as his hands explored your low-cut gown. “Let’s ring in the new year properly, yeah?”

***

“I hate doing this,” you groaned, drawing out your words. You plucked another crystal ornament off the tree, tossing it into the box.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just use magic my dear.” Draco chuckled from his spot at the stairway garland.

“Because, Draco,” you huffed, “it’s tradition. I grew up taking decorations down by hand and so I want to keep it that way.”

“Shameful pureblood.” Draco quipped.

“Hey!”

“I’m kidding, dearest.” He sauntered over to you, gently gripping your waist and pulling you away from your work. “Come relax with me my love.”

“Gladly,” you chuckled lightly, “I think I’m still drunk from Saturday.”

Draco laughed as he pulled you into his lap on the large velvet couch. With a flick of his wand the fireplace was lit and the lights were dim. The glistening snow covered every surface outside the grand windows covering the walls, and more of the white powder was coasting down. You took a deep breath in, embracing Draco’s oaky, winter scent as you nuzzled into him. His large broad chest embraced you in such a way that no bed or blanket could ever replicate. You were situated between his legs, resting comfortably against his as he pulled the large cashmere and mink blanket that had been a Christmas gift from Narcissa over the both of you. His gentle arms wrapped around you, pulling you in impossibly close. His sharp chin rested against the top of your head as his nimble fingers teased their way through your hair. It was true, everlasting peace, and a perfect way to begin the year.

***

“Draco!” You shouted up the stairs.

“Yes my love!” He sauntered down the stairs, teasing you.

“Dracoooo,” you whined, “it’s movie time!”

“Oh,” he fake pondered, taking only one step more, “did you want me to join you?”

“Draco you said you’d watch one muggle movie each month with me. Don’t be a bugger and quit.

“Is there hot chocolate?”

“Are you a little gay for Harry?”

“...yes.” He bounded down the stairs and into your arms. Placing a warm kiss on your lips he walked with you to the living room. You were snuggled onto the couch as you put the movie on. “You know for a pureblood you sure act like a muggle.”

“Blood status doesn’t mean anything, Draco. My parents made sure I’m cultured.”

“I’m sorry dearest.”

“It’s fine my love. I know you try.” You gave him a quick brief of the movie before turning it on. You debated what to play, but decided to start with something polished and classic to at least attempt to pique his interests.

“So an ashamed expat drags his wife to Morocco and then she falls in love with an estranged lover? Did I get it all?”

“Exactly! So what did you think?”

“My love, do you like that movie?”

“Oh heavens no, Draco. It’s dreadfully boring.”

“Well that’s a relief, I felt terrible.” He kissed your nose. “But thank you.”

You smiled a wide, warm smile up at him. You giggled at the bright red blush that spread across his cheeks. “We’ve been together for how long?”

“A decade my love, but you’ll never fail to make me blush.” His loving demeanour quickly changed as you felt him harden. “Now make me blush again and get on your knees.”

***

“How are you, darling!” Ginny embraced you in a warm hug when she saw you. Heading into the cafe together, she removed her coat. “How was Christmas?!”

“Great, Gin, thank you.” You ordered tea for her and yourself as you asked her about her holidays.”

“Well Harry and I-” she abruptly paused, “hold on, no ring?!”

Your brows furrowed when you realized what she meant. Looking down at your left hand you shrugged. “Guess he just isn’t ready yet.”

“Not ready!” She exclaimed a bit too loud. “You’ve been together since fourth year!”

“Just give him time, Gin, maybe he’s waiting for the right time.”

“You're not upset? You haven’t stopped talking about him proposing for Christmas since last summer!”

“I mean yeah it’s disappointing, but I can’t push him. Don’t get in my head, Gin.”

“Sorry love.” The two of you finished your teas and conversation peacefully, though her words did linger in the back of your head. You knew the last thing you’d do was bring it up to Draco.

***

You laid awake in bed that night. You were nuzzled against Draco with his arms wrapped around you. The love was undoubtable, but you still couldn’t help but think. Why hadn’t he proposed yet? He started acting differently just before Christmas, and you were sure he was going to, but now you had no clue. Trying to shake the thoughts away, you forced yourself to sleep. Maybe you’d bring it up another day.

***

That’s January, loves! I’m going to keep these short to keep them from seeming boring and repetitive. Bonus points if you can guess what movie they watched this month! Comment suggestions for next month’s movie!

#Draco Malfoy #Draco #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #a year with draco malfoy

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nylwnder · 3 years ago

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you should do an explanation of why each song is on there! i think that would be really cool ngl

hiii i love the idea of this, thank you anon!!!!! (i’m so happy y’all care tho omg 🥺✋)

it’s under the cut ✨

bubs <3

i want to give him the biggest hug.

2h 53m

frank — alina baraz

endlessly — alina baraz

okay so i absolutely adore alina and if you’ve seen me mention that i’m making an album series, it’s going to be this album! these are two songs that just give me falling in love vibez, it’s so ethereal to me. and when i see willy i genuinely play this in my head. i have more alina down the playlist so it would be the same thing for them!

yours — maye

the lyrics <3 i definitely think about the lyrics a lot and i feel like it sums up what i feel about our beautiful blonde haired boy!

want u around — omar apollo, ruel

i fucking love this song. like LOVE it. the vibes vibes vibes vibes vibes!!!!!!!!! the beat, the way it makes me feel, ugh i definitely vibe with it and i feel like willy would too :)

god is a women — ariana grande

when i picture the other party in a relationship with will, i definitely feel like he’s absolutely going to make you feel like a goddess!!!! every time he sees you, he could practically just knee down to you.

the louvre — lorde

abajzjaknskalakakk okay before i start sobbing, definitely have a strong connection to this song and i can just picture a night out, we hit the city and let’s just vibe!!! “they’ll hang us in the louvre” yes cause we would be the cutest couple hands down. <3

chateau — angus & julia stone

we’re in the car, wind blowing in our hair, and the lyrics just sum it up! the beat of this, it just makes me so happy! the whole scene i picture every time i hear this is so candid and it makes my heart flutter every time.

alone with you — alina baraz

take it home — alina baraz

i literally just picture willy every time i hear her lol.

at my worst — pink sweat$, kehlani

our love would be so powerful. these lyrics make me sob! I WANT IT.

green eyes — uncle chris

if y’all seen my fancam of willy to this, (linked here) it definitely proves that it goes so well with him. it makes me feel so warm and i picture domestic life with will on this song.

thinking bout you — ariana grande

cause i’m always thinking about him hehe.

“got me losing my breathe, nobody got me the way that you did. had my eyes rolling back, had me arching my back.” :-)

ivy — frank ocean

i know it’s a sadish song but there’s this playfulness in here from the music itself that i picture willy with. plus he has this song repeated in his playlist so i know we’d be vibing!!!!!!

coming to my senses — alina baraz

i wanna make a fic with this song about him cause i can’t get him out of my head every time i hear this song. alina baraz x william nylander supremacy.

so damn into you — vlad holiday

this is me drowning in love with will.

collide — tiana major9, earthgang

holy fuck i’m obsessed with this song. this makes me hug him, kiss him, caress him, laying down and the sunlight hitting his skin. it makes me so fuzzy like absjaksnksmzkak give me a minute- *SOBS*

comfortable — h.e.r.

this makes me feel so warm, like willy would deadass radiate this to you. “whenever i get around you, i lose it” bitch i ain’t even met him and he sends me spiraling.

tú — maye

i think of will when i’m also listening to maye, so i needed to add some of her songs! and definitely relate him to the lyrics!! this is in spanish, but basically she’s saying: you’re the only one for me. i wanna follow you around all the time. and she loves him so much cause he treats her so very well.

lighting & thunder — jhené aiko, john legend

“what kind of spell do you have me under?” so warm, so cuddly, so peaceful, i want to hug him y’all don’t KNOW HOW MUCH!!!!!!!!!

heartbeats — josé gonzález

stay alive — josé gonzález

so i found these lovely songs on his playlists and i fell in love with them and he loves them so <3

love from ngc 7318 — barnes blvd, tanerélle

again this takes me back to the goddess thing i mentioned earlier. it’s so ethereal and so good and ugh i love it. i legit cannot think of anyone else. “killing the time, building a fort, wrapped in each other as we fall in love.” lovelyyyyyy

k. — cigarettes after sex

each time you fall in love — cigarettes after sex

it’s a rainy day, idk you don’t feel well, and willy comes home from practice and y’all just melt into each others warmth and these songs play in the back as they lull you both to sleep.

take me to church — hozier

if you’ve seen, i did mention i was writing a smutty fic of willy to this song. i’m sorta insecure about it rn, but i feel with some more editing it will show what i think about everytime i hear it. “TAKKEEE MEEE TO CHURRRCHHHH”

movement — hozier

talk — hozier

sexc ;)

let me love you — ariana grande, lil wayne

willy let me love u. pls.

pretty boy — the neighborhood

this song makes me so soft and who better than to think of our lovely blue eyed baby that i love so fucking muchhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!

let’s fall in love for the night — finneas

running around and laughing and teasing each other. idk this at 3am with will, it just feels like it would slap.

esa carita — rusowsky

another spanish song! “esa carita” translates to “that (sweet) face” and the whole song it just talks about how beautiful the persons face is. so that speaks for itself! but the song idk it’s very cuddly and cute and i wanna kiss all over his pretty face.

always forever — cults

stargazing — the neighborhood

come on, omg these, at night, fuckinh vibing, and just being so happy that we love each other so much. i’d be so happy. willy where u at!!?????

tadow — masego, fkj

someone made an edit to the boys in their suits to this song and it lives in my head rent free. and he just matched it so well

blue light — kelela

why do i picture stripping when i hear this? anyways it’s either him or me so…. shsjkakakskkal lmao

morocco — alina baraz, 6lack

okay here goes my sexc stage of the playlist. just the lyrics :)

bite — njomza

this, okay y’all, the lyrics just radiate our boy willy styles. if you don’t hear it, try again. lmao “sexy won’t you undresss for me” had me deadass laughing but we’re staring facts here. “GOT ME SIGNING HIGH NOTES THAT CAN WAKE THE NEIGHBOURS. TALKING DIRTY, RIDING STURDY. I LOVE IT WHEN YOU LET ME RIDE IT LIKE A JETSKI, YOU A PRO WHEN YOU SLIDE IN LIKE GRETZKY. YOU HIT YOUR MARK EVERY TIME LIKE YOU MESSI. FUCK ALL THAT CUTE SHIT, I LIKE IT WHEN IT’S MESSY. BITE.”

ungodly hour — chloe x halle

“love me at the ungodly hour”. goals.

love 2 u — jmsn

the guitar in this, jesus take the wheel!!!!! i feel like willy would know exactly what to do to you with this song playing in the back.

versos de placer — maye

another spanish song! (ya girls spanish so you guys gotta vibe with me!!!) it makes me so happy and it’s pretty much saying you love me so fucking well pls don’t leave.

slow dancing in the dark — joji

slow dance with me willy :(

big jet plane — angus & julia stone

just running away from all our problems. just the two of us. that’s it. “GONNA TAKE YOU FOR A RIDE ON A BIG JET PLANE”

can i — kehlani

hehe :-)

tonight — summer walker

my fancam speaks for itself. watch it here!

woman — doja cat

“LET ME BE YOUR WOMAN” PLSSSSS

#you’re so sexc if you read the whole thing #if you love the songs mwah ily we should get married #g! talks music #william nylander #toronto maple leafs #asks answered #hola anon <3 #william marry me challenge #william nylander imagine

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ghosttotheparty · 4 years ago

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when everything falls into place and youre finally within reach

Abed takes another deep breath, blinking at himself in the mirror. His fingers rub on the fabric of his hoodie, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth over the subtle ribbing on the cuffs of the sleeves. Sleeves that belong to his hoodie, not Troy’s, though the hoodie he wore yesterday was Troy’s. And the day before. And the day before. And most of the days before that too. He knows Jeff and the others noticed, but he appreciates them not saying anything, not pointing it out.

He also knows it must have been hard for Britta to not say anything, to not use her master psychology skills to talk about the effect his missing Troy has had on him. (If she did talk about it, it would take hours. If she wrote a thesis on his missing Troy it would be encyclopaedia length. Pages and pages and pages and pages about him and the damn hoodies, him and the photos on the walls, the photos he took with him to L.A. for a year and then took back, because he couldn’t handle being away from a place Troy had called home.)

He’s counted the days. And the hours.

He spent four hundred seventy days, twenty hours, and twenty-four minutes in L.A.

It didn’t feel like home for a second.

He does miss it on occasion, just specific things. The park near his apartment building that has geese. The water pressure in his shower. The nice old lady that worked at the cafe, that always handed him his coffee with a smile. But he doesn’t want to move back. It was noisy. There were always more people than he anticipated, especially at the grocery store. He ended up buying earplugs to use on his grocery runs, to muffle out the radio, the people talking and laughing, the sounds of cards squealing on the tile floors and bumping into each other, the electric buzzing of the lights and refrigerators. Overwhelming.

And it’s been one thousand, seven-hundred, thirty-seven days, nine hours, and thirty-six minutes since Abed saw Troy last.

Too long.

Abed started to ache just a few days after he left, a soft ache in his heart and in his arms. An ache he could only describe as longing, if he had described it to anyone out loud. It’s a persistent ache, and he still feels it as he takes yet another breath, listening to the voices outside the bathroom. Britta and Jeff’s bickering, Annie whining, “You guys…” and Shirley saying “Hands off,” aggressively, presumably to Frankie, who, Abed has discovered, has a propensity to sneak bites of food before it’s ready.

He feels happy, even with these aches and anxiety, happy that Shirley is back, even just for a visit. Her hugs are warm, and she always smells good, even if the scents are strong and overpowering to Abed. She squeezed him around the middle when they reunited, and he had giggled, letting her sway them back and forth before letting go and letting her pinch his cheeks.

And he’s happy Annie moved back too. He remembers saying goodbye to her at the airport, hugging and watching, unsure of what to do, as she wiped tears from under her eyes. She had been smiling as she cried, though, which only confused him further. She seemed to understand. “I’m going to miss you, Abed,” she’d said. “Promise you’ll email?” And he’s hooked his pinky around hers, nodding and pulling her into another hug, finally letting go and watching her disappear before finding his way to his gate. She’d squealed loudly when they reunited, much like Shirley, and she’d jumped, tackling him in a hug.

Abed is startled out of his memories when Frankie calls his name gently from the hallway.

“Abed? You okay?”

“Coming!” he calls back, not breaking eye contact with himself, and his mouth twists as he adjusts his hoodie, unzipping it a little, trying to look… at ease.

His heart hasn’t stopped pounding since this morning, since Britta and Frankie arrived. His therapist (not Britta) says excitement and anxiety often feel the same: racing heart, shaky hands, breathlessness, restlessness. It’s frustrating. Abed knows he should be excited; Troy is coming home for fuck’s sake. Finally.

But as he walks to the kitchen to join the others, he can’t help worrying.

What if he doesn’t like how Abed redid the apartment? (It’s the same apartment they lived in before Abed went to L.A. It’s different, though; there’s no blanket fort, the photos are rearranged on the walls, the TV is in a different place.)

What if he doesn’t like Inspector Spacetime anymore? (The thought of it runs a jolt through Abed. He doesn’t know how he would deal with that.) What if he’s just different? Over four and a half years. He must be different. They’ve emailed, of course, and Troy even sent Abed postcards, from Venezuela (Troy said on the back that he finally got the opportunity to use some Spanish), Morocco, France, and Italy (“You would love the pasta here, Abed.”).

Abed forces a smile onto his face as he enters the kitchen, looking from Annie’s beaming face to Shirley’s focused face as she rolls out some dough. Jeff and the others have given up on the whole baking can’t be a personality trait thing. Shirley’s pies are too yummy. Abed looks at Jeff’s face, and Britta’s face, and Frankie’s face, which smiles when their eyes meet. And Chang, who somehow became invited. (Abed thinks it was something like a default invitation.) They all appear to be excited, which just pulls the knot in his stomach tighter. Why is he the only one feeling nervous? Frankie doesn’t even know Troy, shouldn’t she be the nervous one? She’s at a Welcome Home party for a stranger. (Though a part of Abed disagrees. Abed loves Troy, and Abed loves Frankie, so really, they’re a family, even if they’ve never met.)

“Smells good, Shirley,” he says, leaning against the counter and tucking his hands in his pockets. “What time is it?” he asks Jeff before Shirley can respond.

“Almost six-thirty.” Jeff takes a sip from his glass of scotch. “He should be here any second.”

Abed’s stomach takes another dive and he nods as Annie squeals.

“I’m so excited,” she says, bouncing up and down on her feet.

“Me too,” Britta says from where she’s perched on the counter. “I bet he has a ton of stories of crazy adventures and--”

“He’s been on a boat for four years, Britta,” Jeff interrupts. “Let’s calm down.”

“Storms, Jeffrey.”

“Yeah, true.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Abed thinks he might throw up.

Britta and Annie both scream, and Britta jumps off the counter, stumbling as she lands on the floor, trying desperately to beat Annie to the front door, and Shirley squeals, rushing to rip off her oven mitts and untie her apron, and as Jeff yells, “Trooyyy!” Frankie moves out of the way, pressing herself against a counter as she laughs. Abed hangs back, following Shirley into the living room to watch as the front door opens and--

Cool.

Cool cool cool.

Troy is standing there, grinning with his shoulders hunched, his arms already raised slightly, ready for Annie to leap into, and Abed is sure everybody in the building can hear her high voice exclaim, “Oh my god!”

And Abed is frozen, watching. Noticing.

Troy’s hair is longer, tight curls circling his head like a halo, and he has a short beard, scruffy and soft-looking. It’s still Troy. Effortlessly beautiful.

Abed is jostled out of his trance by Shirley, accidentally pushed as she sprints to the door, shoving Britta out of the way to jump on Troy, screaming.

Frankie steps up next to Abed, and he can feel her eyes on him but he can’t look away, still staring at Troy, and everything in him is crashing together, his heart is beating and beating, and every thought he’s has in the past one thousand, seven-hundred, thirty-seven days, nine hours, and thirty-seven minutes, every beating and pulsing thought of Troy Troy Troy Troy Troy Troy Troy Troy is standing there in front of him.

He faintly hears Jeff say something, some teasing comment about how Troy is a real man now that he has a beard, about how Jeff needs to shave so they don’t match, and his eyes catch on Troy’s lips, curving into a bashful smile. Abed’s breath stutters in his throat and he accidentally coughs, trying his best to keep his heart beating because if he doesn’t try he might just fall dead to the floor.

RIP Abed Nadir

Cause of death: Troy Barnes’s existence

And then Troy is in front of him, and it’s quieter than it’s been in the apartment for hours, and Abed can feel not just Frankie’s eyes on him, but also Shirley’s, and Britta’s, and Annie’s, and Chang’s, and Jeff’s, but none of that matters, because Troy’s eyes are on him too, locked on his, soft and dark and gentle, and Abed doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey, buddy,” Troy says softly, and Abed finally exhales, feeling his heart pound away in his chest.

“You sailed around the world,” he says, in a more chipper voice than he thought he could, and Troy grins.

“Yeah, I did.”

“...Awesome.”

And then their hands are slapping together as their other hands hit their own chests, and Troy is giggling and Abed is grinning, and Troy’s hand catches Abed’s pulling him into an embrace.

And Abed sinks into it.

His arms wrap around Troy’s neck and Troy’s arms wrap around Abed’s waist, squeezing him and pulling him closer, ignoring everyone else watching them.

“I missed you so much, Abed,” Troy murmurs, just for Abed to hear, like it’s a secret, and Abed buries his face in Troy’s neck. They sway slightly, and Abed squeezes his eyes shut.

When they finally pull away, after seconds or minutes or hours, Abed doesn’t know, they both take a breath and smile at each other. Abed staps back, looking behind himself to see Frankie, looking oddly sentimental, and he says, “Oh.”

He points a finger and says, “Frankie.”

She steps forward.

“Hi,” she says, extending a hand to Troy, but he opens his arms slightly and shrugs.

“Study group family right?”

She laughs, stepping forward and embracing him, saying, “It’s so good to finally meet you, Troy.” Abed moves back, watching with a smile on his face, his fingers laced in front of himself. Everything is falling back into place. Everything makes sense.

“Oh,” Shirley exclaims, clapping as Frankie and Troy part. “I need to check my pies!”

“Pies?” Troy says excitedly and Jeff steps past him to grab his suitcases from the hallway. Shirley goes into the kitchen and ABed hears her hum a happy “Mm-hmm!”

“Hiii…” Chang steps out from the kitchen shyly and Troy points at him, confusion painted across his face.

“Uhm…?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me!” Chang says, holding his hands out in his defence. “I’m on three antipsychotics and I have biweekly therapy.”

Troy pauses, still staring at Chang in confusion (and Abed suspects a little worry), before dropping his hand and saying, “Good for you, man,” and Chang steps forward, holding his arms out for a hug. Troy obliges and looks at Abed with wide eyes and a smile over his shoulder.

“I made some yummy pies,” Shirley says as they all enter the kitchen area, Jeff dropping Troy’s luggage in the living room, “because I thought it would be a nice par-a-llel, as Abed would say--” (she shoots him a glowing smile), “to when you and Abed first moved in here. You remember, the house-warming party, and Jeff tried to trick us all with the dice, and--”

“We danced to Roxanne for longer than is reasonable,” Annie finishes for her.

“Yes, that was fun.” Shirley sets the pies down and Abed leans against a counter, sticking his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Troy stands next to him, bumping his shoulder and then resting his back against the counter, their arms pressed together. “Well, no one really ate the pies that night but I suppose I was just getting started with baking, maybe they weren’t that good.”

The others, except Frankie and Chang, exchange glances, silently agreeing to secrecy.

“They smell delicious, Shirley,” Troy says and she beams at him.

---

Jeff ordered pizza a while ago, and rather than using a die to choose who goes down to get it, Frankie volunteers. She comments on how weird the delivery man was but says it’s worth it because of how hungry she is. They eat around the dining table, and Troy sits next to Abed. As Britta asks about his “adventure,” (she wiggles in her seat as she says it), Troy’s leg presses to Abed’s. At first he thinks it was an accident, but when Abed shifts his leg, Troy’s doesn’t move.

“I mean,” Troy says, pausing to swallow a bite. “We were only captured by pirates twice, and other than that it was mostly smooth sailing.”

Britta lets out a loud “A-haaaah!” and reaches across the table to high five him while sticking more pizza in her mouth. Jeff rolls his eyes and it takes Chang a second to process it before snapping and cackling.

“Wait,twice?” Frankie says, lowering her slice and looking at him, her expression scandalized.

“Yeah, once in the Gulf of Mexico and the other time somewhere in the Pacific I think, I don’t really remember.”

“How’s LaVar?”Annie asks.

“ He’s good!” Troy’s leg hooks around Abed’s under the table. Abed almost wants to reach under the table and hold his knee or his thigh, but he doesn’t, leaving his hands on the table and letting his other leg drift until it tangles with Troy’s. “I asked if he wanted to come but he said he was just gonna take it easy tonight.”

“Do you think he’ll want to come another time?” Jeff asks. “I was thinking we could have a small party back at Greendale, at the study room. We can retake that photo we took before you left.”

“Oh, yeah!” Troy says excitedly, grinning. “Can we invite the dean too? I miss that funky little dude.”

“...Sure?” Jeff swirls his glass and takes a sip.

There’s a moment of silence as they all dig into their pizza, and Troy sighs happily.

“It’s good to be back,” he says, looking around at all of them. “I missed you guys so much.”

Shirley and Annie both let out their signature “Awww,” and Jeff jostles Troy’s shoulder like a little brother.

“What’s new with you guys, though?” Troy asks. “I mean you told me a lot in your emails but what else?”

“Shirley spun off,” Abed says, pointing a finger at her, and he revels in the way Troy grins at him.

“That’s… true, I did.” Shirley folds her paper napkin and places it delicately in her lap. “I told you about that detective I cook for.”

“Yeah. That’s so cool,” Troy says, leaning forward with emphasis.

“And Annie kind of spun off but she came back,” Abed adds.

“Didn’t you kind of spin off too?” Frankie asks, and Abed shrugs.

“I guess, but I think I kind of knew I was coming back.”

“I am still doing the internship.” Annie clarifies, bouncing in her seat. “It’s just… different. Most of it is virtual, like online and stuff, but every other weekend I go down to the headquarters to work.”

“You’re gonna save the world someday,” Troy says. “Don’t forget about us when you do, okay?”

“Troy, you sailed around the world for four years and I didn’t forget about you.” She pauses. “And you didn’t forget about us either.”

“Of course I didn’t forget about guys, I could never.” Troy looks around the table, at all of them and their greasy pizza. Chang seems more focused on the pizza than anything, but the others are listening intently. “You guys are my family.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jeff says before Shirley can get an Awww in. They all lift their glasses, and as Jeff says, “To family,” dramatically, Abed feels Troy’s fingers squeeze his knee under the table.

---

Britta suggests they watch a movie, and Troy asks if Abed still has The Breakfast Club.

“Do you guys remember the day we met, and Abed got us all to shut up by reciting a scene from The Breakfast Club?” Annie asks as they migrate into the living room.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, sitting in the middle of one of the sofas. Abed has always wondered how someone can be comfortable like that, legs out, feet planted on the floor, lap empty. But to each his own, he supposes. “Because you guys were arguing so loud the only thing that got you to be quiet was Abed saying ‘No Dad, what about you?’ like young Judd Nelson.”

“He slammed his hand on the table first,” Britta says, flopping onto the sofa next to him “That’s what got our attention.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You guys were already arguing then?” Frankie says. She sits on Jeff’s other side, crossing her legs.

“Day one,” Troy says, sitting on the other sofa. Abed hadn’t replaced the armchairs they used to sit in. Part of him wishes he had; maybe things would feel more normal. But another part of him doesn’t care, because Troy didn’t sit at the armrest, and he nods to it when Abed faces the sofa. Abed sits between him and the armrest, and his weight on the sofa makes the cushion cave, and he and Troy fall into each other. Neither of them move. “One of the first interactions we had in that room was all of us yelling over each other.”

“And you still argue to this day,” she said in wonder.

“Like a true family,” Jeff says in that I’m being sarcastic but you can take me seriously if you want voice with a matching, arrogant smile.

Shirley lets out a sweet, “Yeah,” and she grins.

Abed pulls his legs up on the sofa, his knees bent in front of him as he leans against the armrest, and Troy’s shoulder bumps him gently before staying, pressing. It stays there as the movie starts, as the others quietly talk, and Abed doesn’t tell them to be quiet, because if he’s honest he’s only half paying attention anyway, his mind too focused on the feeling of Troy’s shoulder against his.

It shouldn’t affect him like this. Before Troy left, they were constantly touching: shoulders pressed together as they next to each other like now, hands clasped as they navigate crowded hallways. Troy always went to find Abed’s hand. Once he accidentally grabbed Annie’s and despite her flustered blushing and giggling, he simply said, “Oh, sorry. Thought you were Abed. There you are, buddy!” and pushed past Annie to reach for Abed’s hand. They’d even cuddled, especially after Abed had had a particularly hard or exhausting day. There were some days he just dropped his bag on the floor and climbed into Troy’s bed, waiting until Troy changed into his pyjamas, or finished his homework, or ate dinner, until Troy climbed in next to him and wrapped his arms around him. They knew about the rumours. (Rumours that everyone in the study group had the decency not to bring up. But Abed suspected Pierce somehow never caught wind of them. Thankfully.)

But now it makes Abed’s heart beat too fast. It makes his hands shake. He clasps them in his lap.

He realises the room is dark, and Chang sits on the floor next to Annie, who’s holding a bowl of popcorn. (When did that happen?) She smiles and holds the bowl out for Chang to take a handful, and Shirley sits next to Troy.

“Abed,” Troy’s voice says quietly, and Abed is shaken into himself.

“Hm?”

Troy’s eyes are soft on him, dark and shining with reflections from the TV.

“You okay?” He’s whispering, and Abed nods, smiling. Troy hesitates, smiling back, and he leans forward, bumping their forehead together lightly before shifting in his seat, moving so he can lay his head on Abed’s shoulder.

As the movie goes on, Abed’s heart slows down until it’s somewhere near normal. He sighs, dropping his head onto the back of the sofa and letting it roll until it’s resting on top of Troy’s head. His hair is soft, and it tickles Abed’s face, but he doesn’t move. He wonders if his beard is as soft as his hair.

“Hey Abed,” Jeff calls across the room as the characters dance on top of a table. “Remember when we did that with the pizza guy?” Abed can hear his amusement in his voice, can hear him grinning.

“Vaguely,” he says back.

Troy’s breathing evens out. Abed thinks he might be asleep, and he doesn’t blame him. But after a few minutes there’s a gentle brush against Abed’s finger, his hands curled up between his chest and his legs, and he looks down to see Troy’s hand resting between him and Abed, his finger ever-so-slightly touching Abed’s. Abed uncurls his hand, extending his fingers just enough to pull Troy’s, tugging his hand into Abed’s lap and clutching Troy’s thumb in his fist as Troy’s fingers brush over the back of his hand, sending chills through his veins and down his spine.

Troy sighs, and lightly rubs the back of Abed’s hand.

Abed is almost falling asleep by the time the credits are rolling, and Jeff loudly states, “Well, I should be off.” He stands and shuts off the TV with the remote, which Abed forgot he had, and Troy lifts his head from Abed’s shoulder. “I have work in the morning.”

“Me too,” Frankie says. “You’re not special.”

“And I have class,” Britta says, standing as well.

“Me too,” Shirley and Annie say simultaneously before looking at each other and saying “Ohh,” in high-pitched voices.

“Me too,” Chang says, pushing himself up from the floor. He accidentally hits the bowl of popcorn, and it tips, spilling kernels on the carpet. Abed shakes his head.

“Ben, what do you even do at Greendale?” Jeff asks. (Troy mumbles “Ben?” next to Abed.)

“Uhm…” He finishes standing, about as ungracefully as humanly possible, and dusts his hands off on his legs. “You should ask the dean when we get there because I honestly don’t know.”

Everyone seems to collectively decide to let that pass as an answer. Annie shrugs and steps to the sofa, holding her arms out to Troy. Troy’s hand detaches from Abed’s, (who forgot they were holding hands. It feels so natural. Like it’s how their hands are supposed to be.) and he stands, hugging Annie tightly before she steps back and Britta takes her place.

“You’ll come by Greendale tomorrow right?” she asks as they rock. Jeff hands Annie her jacket behind them and he pulls his own over his shoulders.

“Yeah, of course,” Troy says, letting go of her. Shirley reaches up with grabby hands and Troy chuckles, wrapping his arms around her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Haaaaaah,” Britta, saying, tugging her leather jacket on. (Abed doesn’t think it can keep her that warm.)

“It wasn’t that good,” Jeff says, shaking his head, and she makes a face at him.

Troy even hugs Frankie and Chang before everyone leaves, after drawn-out goodbyes, I’ll see you tomorrows, and more I’ll see you tomorrows.

When the door clicks shut, the apartment is silent, and Abed takes a breath before turning away from the door, to where Troy is standing. He’s smiling when Abed looks at him, looking like he’s waiting, and Abed steps closer, hearing only his and Troy’s quiet breaths and the gentle whir of the television. Abed doesn’t realise that Troy is moving closer too, until their forehead are pressed together, and they’re breathing the same air, and Troy’s arms are wrapping around Abed again and Abed’s are wrapping around him.

Abed’s eyes close again, and he hides his face in Troy’s neck, and Troy sighs, humming quietly, and Abed wonders why people question existence, because this is it. This is everything.

They stand there for a while, holding each other like they’re scared to let go, like if they let go they might fall apart, or Troy might disappear for another one thousand, seven hundred, thirty-seven days, until Troy’s arms slide so his hands are holding Abed’s waist, gentle and strong, and Abed pulls back, looking at him.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers softly, looking back and forth between Troy’s dark eyes, and Troy smiles, a soft, sleepy, almost lazy smile, and nods, so Abed places his hands on his cheeks, gently brushing over his beard with his fingertips. He was right. It’s very soft.

Abed can feel Troy’s thumbs brushing back and forth over his waist, slow and gentle, like Abed is fragile, and he realises he’s staring at Troy. It’s probably been too long, Abed thinks, but he doesn’t stop staring. He can’t. Usually, when he stares at people for what they consider to be too long, they get weird. They make faces at him, faces that confuse him, or they walk away, disgruntled or miffed. They scoff, wave, ask What? in rude voices. Even if Abed is staring because he thinks they’re beautiful. But Troy doesn’t seem weirded out right now. He’s still smiling, and he looks sleepy. Eventually, as Abed’s fingers gently scratch over his cheeks and jaw, Troy’s eyes drift shut. His thumbs don’t stop moving on Abed’s waist.

“Troy?”

It takes a second, but Troy’s eyes open, hazy, and then they focus on Abed, and his smile grows.

“Mm-hmm?”

“Are you tired?”

Abed would understand, It is getting late, and Troy has been through a lot. Reunions with six people, and meeting a whole new person, even a person he’s heard about, would take a lot out of Abed.

“I’m happy,” Troy says, like that explains it, and Abed hums. “Do you want to sit? Hang out?” “Sure.”

Troy pulls at his waist, and they go to the sofa, and Abed is a little disappointed because it means he has to stop touching Troy’s face. Troy sits first, looking up at Abed, and Abed can’t not smile at him, because he’s finally here.

Home.

He sits next to him, facing him with a leg bent between them, and Troy looks at him, and Abed smiles.

Abed asks, “Can I touch your beard again?” and Troy says, “‘Course,” and Abed smiles.

He touches his beard, first with the tips of his fingers, before smoothing his hand over his jaw, and Troy’s eyes shut again, and Abed smiles.

Troy bites his lower lip, letting his head fall back, and he looks so happy that Abed smiles, and smiles, and smiles, and smiles.

“Talk to me,” Troy says finally, turning his head slightly so he can look at Abed, and Abed cocks his own head, thinking, brushing the back of his hand over Troy’s cheek.

“I’m officially diagnosed with autism,” he says, watching as Troy’s eyes fly open and he looks at Abed, grinning.

“Yeah?” “Mm-hmm.” Abed sighs. “I talked to a psychiatrist in L.A. Jeff was right.”

“That’s great, buddy!” Troy rests his head on the back of the sofa, still looking at Abed.

“But they don’t use Aspergers as a diagnosis anymore,” Abed continues. “Apparently the guy it was named after was a nazi or something.”

“Oh. Gross.”

“Yeah. I doubt Jeff knew that when he said that to me, though.” Abed looks away from his eyes, watching his own fingers brush over Troy’s jaw.

“I mean, I doubt anyone in the study group really knows much about it in general.”

“Britta.”

Troy furrows his brows.

“Really?” “Yeah, when I told the group she was super excited and did a ton of research. I think she knows more about it than I do.”

Troy chuckles, subtly shifting so he’s closer to Abed on the sofa.

There’s a beat of silence and Abed looks up from his hand to Troy’s eyes, and they lock. Troy’s eyes are smiling.

“I thought about giving up so many times,” Troy says. “Giving up and just coming home.” “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I know how important it was to you. That you go out and become your own person, cement your own existence. Like a coming of age film but… in your early twenties.”

Abed hesitates for just a split second, and then moves, setting his hand on Troy’s shoulder and lifting a leg and moving so he’s on Troy’s lap, his legs on either side of him. Troy’s hands wait in the air until he’s settled, and then they’re on him, sliding up his thighs until they’re on his waist, slipping under his jacket and pulling him close. Abed touches his hair, closing his eyes as he feels Troy press his forehead to Abed’s chest, just under his throat.

“I thought about you every day,” Troy murmurs, and Abed tugs softly. A rush of warmth goes through him, and he knows Troy can feel his heartbeat. “Every fucking day.”

“I counted them,” Abed admits. Troy lifts his head, looking into his eyes.

“How many?” he whispers, just a breath.

“A thousand, seven-hundred, thirty-seven. And nine hours.”

Troy exhales, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Abed’s throat, as high as he can reach. When he pulls away, the spot gets cold.

“Troy?”

“Yeah?”

“May I kiss you, please?”

“Please,” Troy breaths, his eyes dropping to Abed’s lips. “Please, please, please, please, ple--”

So Abed does.

Their mouths crash together, and Abed’s hands trap Troy’s face, his palms pressing to his jaws, tilting his head for a better angle, and he feels Troy’s hands press into the small of his back and pull him closer. Troy gently bites his lip, and he licks into his mouth, and it’s nighttime and buttered noodles and Inspector Spacetime and Pulp Fiction and a warm jacket and a pretty die and the colour blue and it’s everything Abed loves and has ever loved right on Troy Barnes’s tongue.

And all Abed can think is finallyfinallyfinallyfinallyfinallyfinallyfinallyfinally.

That this is what they should have done the night before Troy left, instead of just laying together, their arms wrapped around each other, their legs entwined, neither of them really sleeping because neither of them wanted to wake up and find that they had run out of time. That this is what they should have done before exchanging hoodies so Abed could keep Troy there with him and so Troy could bring Abed with him, before zipping up Troy’s bags.

That this is what they should have been doing for years and years, that they should have found each other in the world before Greendale, before Spanish class, before that chapter, just so they could do this sooner.

But every single thought is pushed out of Abed’s mind as Troy pulls away for a gasp and pushes back in, running his tongue over Abed’s lips, smiling gently as Abed buries his fingers in his hair, as Troy lifts a hand from his waist and places it on his face, touching him so gently, carefully, thoughtfully that Abed thinks he might cry.

He doesn’t realise he is crying until Troy is pulling away and gently, carefully, thoughtfully, wiping at his cheeks and under his eyes, murmuring “It’s okay,” and “I got you.”

Abed’s fingers are suddenly clutching at Troy’s hood, and he can’t see because the world is underwater, and there’s a soft whining sound that he realises is him when Troy quietly says, “I know, baby.”

Troy pulls at his neck until their foreheads are pressed together, and Troy is warmwarmwarm and Abed can’t stop. His mouth is talking without his brain telling it to (“Please don’t, just-- Don’t--”) and his hands are shaking, and everything is falling down and falling into place.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Troy says gently. “I’m home.”

And then he’s pushing Abed’s hair back and pressing his lips to his forehead, and his cheeks, and his nose, and then his lips, lingering until he pulls away and Abed subconsciously leans in, trying to catch him.

“I love you so much,” Troy whispers when Abed finally stops crying. “So fucking much.”

Abed slips his hands over his neck, brushing his thumbs back and forth over his jaw. He closes his eyes, pressing his lips to Troy’s before pulling away to breathe and resting his forehead on Troy’s, feeling his hands run over his back and his hips and his thighs and then back again like they’re mapping him out.

They stay there, while the stars and street lamps and stop lights shine outside, while cars and motorcycles and bikes speed by, while the wind blows and the rain falls, they breathe and breathe and breathe and exist and exist and exist.

Home.

#so imcurrently obsessed w community #i started watching it last year but its like all ive watched for the past month #and abed has become one of my top comfort characters #and im just very emotional #that is all #thank you for coming #(i might start posting more community stuff btw sorry in advance to ppl who followed me for skam #community #troy barnes #abed nadir #trobed #troy and abed #troy and abed in the morning #:)

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bonteris · 4 years ago

Text

hold on, i still want you.

redcrackle through the years through carmen’s eyes + the ending we deserved :)

The first time they meet, she’s still Black Sheep and he’s still Gray, and she nearly breaks his neck pulling him over the back of the chair he’s sitting on.

Coach Brunt is initiating the newest class of students, and for the first time, Black Sheep is among them. She’s a few years behind them, and already a head shorter than half the people in the room, so she opts to sit under the cover of darkness in the back and pretend she’s new like everyone else.

Then Coach Brunt announces that they’ll have to earn their codenames, and her gaze turns to Black Sheep. “Ain’t that right, Lambkins?”

Any hope of going unnoticed turns null as forty heads swivel in their seats and eighty eyes scrutinize her. Her insides turn to slush and she sinks deep into her seat.

“Lambkins?” the boy in front of her scoffs. “Who knew VILE had a mascot?”

Indignation moves Black Sheep’s arms for her, and before the kid can even try turning back around, she has her hands firmly planted on his shoulders. In the first second, she sees his eyes widen with surprise. In the next, his head is only a few inches above the floor and she’s glaring down at him.

“Only my friends call me ‘Lambkins’,” she snaps. “My code name’s Black Sheep. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”

By the time she’s finished, he’s nodding vigorously, and she feels certain she’s established a healthy bit of dominance over the class. Coach Brunt laughs, moves on, and she forgets about the kid, whose name she still doesn't know. Why shouldn’t she? He’s just another reminder of how different she is to everyone here.

She’s settling into her dorm when she hears footsteps behind her. It’s the boy from earlier, sheepishly running a hand through his muted brown hair. He holds out a hand, wincing. Out of the dark initiation hall, she can see he has two dimples that widen when he smiles. Now they seem to burrow into his cheeks. “Uh, Black Sheep, was it? The name’s Graham.”

She studies him, wondering if this is another joke. But any response she might make is cut off by another girl—Sheena, she thinks her name is?—standing by her dolls. “This where you hide your pearls, little girl?”

Black Sheep instantly stiffens. “Please don’t touch my stuff,” she says, careful to keep her voice calm but firm. Her hand curls into a fist involuntarily, but she can’t help it. She doesn’t let anyone near the nesting dolls that came with her to VILE. Anger pricks at her fingers, daring her to throw the first punch.

“What, these?” Sheena replies innocently. Her hand lingers dangerously close to the dolls now, and she knows it.

“I said,” Black Sheep starts, voice low, “keep your paws off.”

The blonde’s smile deepens, eyebrows slanting with the glee of someone who knows they’ve got leverage. Black Sheep readies her stance. She’s better than half the class already; she can take her easily.

Surprisingly, it’s Gray who cuts in, subtly pushing Black Sheep behind him. For a second she wants to barge forward, but then she realizes: he’s placating Sheena, distracting her from Black Sheep’s obvious aggression. “Play nice, princess,” he says, and though his voice is cheerful, the warning is clear. “We all have to room together.”

Sheena mutters something and walks away, but Black Sheep watches Gray. As if he can sense her, he turns, smiling, and flashes her a wink that says, Friends?

Black Sheep smiles back. Friends.

Over the next few months, she and Gray become inseparable. He’s there when they start their first classes together, and he’s there when she aces all of them. He’s there when introduces him to her monthly pranks on Cookie Booker and drags along the others to join them, and he’s there when they get caught. She’s there to see him reinvent himself in Crackle, and she’s there when he passes… without her.

And then, suddenly, he’s gone.

Black Sheep spends most of her time alone now, and she hates every second of it. She hates Shadowsan for failing her, because she knows, she knows, she knows that coat was empty. Tigress isn’t better than her. No one is.

So she follows them. Leaves the globe she grew up with under her pillow in place of her head, yanks the sewage door from its hinges and stows away in the helicopter’s closet. They’re not going to see the world and leave her behind to be failed by Shadowsan, again. He doesn’t get to do what she can’t.

She likes the surprise on his face when he sees her barrelling towards him out of the shadows. It glints brighter than the stars around them as they go sprawling over the side of the helicopter and down towards the ground below.

“Black Sheep?” he yells over the sound of the wind in their ears.

She clutches him tighter. “Don’t let go!”

It’s there, in the ruins at Morocco, that she realizes what stealing really means. It’s there she watches him raise his weapon and aim for an innocent man. It’s there she realizes what kind of person he is, what he’s willing to do.

But all she sees on his face is determination, and the knowing look that comes right before you’re surrounded, and then the Cleaners are behind her.

All of her former friends look angry. Le Cheve and El Topo’s faces are taut with annoyance. Tigress adjusts her now-broken scanner, glaring. But not him. No, Crackle—that’s who he is now—just looks sad. Pitying. She hates him for it.

I will never forgive you, she thinks as his face drags her down into the dark.

...

The second time they meet, she’s now Carmen Sandiego, and she’s just escaped the smarmy Interpol agent she left face down against his own car, still struggling to get up. The high that comes from outsmarting VILE is still following her, and she smiles as she opens the door to the cabin Player booked for her. “First class? Sweet.”

“My treat, Red,” he says through her earpiece. “You earned it.”

Carmen sets her bag down and takes out the black-fabric satchel inside, not wanting to break anything. She’s just about to open it and revel in her prize when she hears the doors slide open behind her.

“Well, well.” Carmen straightens at the familiar voice, turning.

Gray looks exactly as he did when she last saw him—give or take a few years. But the smirk he gives her is all boyish charm as he says, “Blast from the past, eh?”

He shoots the bag out of her hand and it falls to the floor. But Carmen refuses to let any emotion show; she won’t let him see how nervous that makes her. “Dude, seriously? Static cling?”

“Side effect of the directional EMP,” he responds smoothly. “So you can forget about reaching for your phone or fancy toys. They’re dead.”

Resentment shoots through her. “I know how an electromagnetic pulse works, Gray. You aren’t the only one who passed Dr. Bellum’s class.” The satisfaction she gets from seeing his jaw work when she calls him Gray is fleeting, but she keeps it close as she sits, gesturing for him to do the same.

“And you didn’t really think I’d take any of your bait without checking for a tracking device, did you, Gray?” The shock that comes over his face is completely real, and Carmen grins. “That’s right. I wanted you to find me.”

She doesn’t say any of the things she’s been dreaming about for years, such as (but not limited to) How could you almost kill someone? How could you think this is all a game? How could you be okay with hurting others?

How could you be okay with hurting me?

But if these last three years have taught her anything, it’s patience, so she lets him ask her questions, all the while gloating that he’s caught the elusive Carmen Sandiego. She winds him up, allowing him to think he’s won this round.

When she’s finished recounting where she’s been, his face softens. “We miss you, Black Sheep. VILE wants a truce.”

The way he won’t call her Carmen grates on her nerves. “They want me stealing for them, instead of from them,” she counters.

Unbothered, he taps the crackle rod absently. “You’ve proven yourself. It’s all you ever wanted, isn’t it?”

Isn’t it?

Maybe once, but not now. Not when she knows what stealing can do to others, what it can take. He still doesn’t see. Maybe he never will. Maybe all they’ll ever be is two people on two different sides of a war.

She leaves him wrapped in Cookie’s coat (it was high time she got one that didn’t stink of crime, anyways) and breaks the rod. The Interpol agent will come after her soon, so she might as well leave a mark.

Goodbye, Gray, she thinks as she watches the officer realize it’s not her underneath the hat. Then she disappears into the night, leaving the last of her connection to him behind.

...

The third time they meet, a few months have passed, and she’s in Sydney, scouting the Opera House that Dr. Bellum is supposed to be targeting. The intel Player has sent from the files she got him has been impeccable so far, but she has no idea what Bellum is planning tonight. Carmen feels blinded. Nervous.

“Nothing suspicious so far,” she tells Player under her breath, pushing back the plush crimson curtain so she can get a better view of the stage. “If a VILE operative’s here, they have yet to show their face.”

“You there!” someone yells. Carmen jerks to attention, lowering her opera glasses long enough to look up and see him. Gray.

“Scratch that,” she says automatically, surveying him. He’s in an electrician’s uniform, the kind someone working in an opera just like this would wear—some kind of disguise? A cover the faculty created?

Gray looks her up and down, mouth set in a hard line. “What are you doing back here?”

Carmen frowns. “You first.”

That seems to confuse him. She watches his face switch from shocked, to dumbstruck, then to angered until he finally says, “What? I’m working.”

“I know,” she deadpans. “‘Lights out, baby’? Come on, Gray. What job are you pulling tonight?”

The anger has bled from his face, but now he looks oddly… not-evil? She can’t place it. Her bewilderment only grows as he points to the name tag stitched to his uniform. “First, it’s Gray-ham, and second, since electricians don’t seem to intimidate you, I’ll be more than happy to have security escort you out.”

“Wait, what?” Carmen asks. “You don’t expect me to believe this innocent act, do you?”

He reaches forward and takes her arm, grip surprisingly strong for someone who relies so much on tech. Carmen is too surprised to do anything but be dragged along. “No wristband, no backstage access,” Gray informs her as they walk. “I don’t make the rules.”

She gives him an appraising look as they round a corner. “You really don’t remember me.”

It’s only half questioning, but he stops and examines her anyway, dimples amplified in the shadowed corridor. “Fashion statement aside, mate, you’d be hard to forget. If there is a next time, I promise not to make that mistake again.”

Flattery, she thinks, full of wonder. Or… flirting?

“Guess you just, uh, remind me of someone I used to know,” she lies weakly, but he seems to believe it.

They reach the door, and he says goodbye, and the door almost shuts, but she races through it as he walks away, head reeling. Le Chevre arrives, they fight (she wins) and all is well.

Except.

When she doesn’t see him exiting with everyone else, Carmen scours the famous Opera House’s grounds until she spots him in the distance. She lands her glider before he can notice it, but the moment her heels hit the ground he turns and smiles. “Hey, I remember you. Ol’ Red Sneakeroo.”

“Good memory,” she says lightly, trying not to think of how strange this all is. He doesn’t remember her. She remembers the best of him. They’re at an impasse, but he’s unaware. It’s odd, being the only one who knows the whole story. Carmen isn’t sure she likes it.

“Not really,” he sighs, and for a second he looks so impossibly sad she’s not sure what to say for once. Then it passes, and his eyes are back on hers. “So, looking to get backstage for an autograph?”

The corners of her mouth tug upwards. “No. To the outback for some sightseeing. Thought you could be my guide.”

“I wish,” he says regretfully, taking out a slip of paper to write something down. “Something fried the soundboard tonight. I have to pull an early morning shift to troubleshoot.”

Le Chevre, she thinks, annoyance lancing through her, but tamps it down. “You mentioned having a bad memory. Why is that?”

For the first time since they’ve spoken today, he falters. The pen slips in his hand. “Well, I—I kind of messed up on the job a while back, got a little ‘jolt’, as we sparkies say. Complete blackout, long hospital stay, blah, blah.” He laughs ruefully. “There’s more than an entire year of my life I can’t remember.”

“A whole year,” she marvels. That’s enough time for her to be gone. That’s enough time for VILE to be gone.

He’s still talking. “I’d say I’m lucky to have my job back, if ‘electrician’ weren’t such a dangerous occupation.”

“Oh, I can think of worse ones,” Carmen quips. He finishes writing and hands her the slip of paper. “Is this the address of an outback guide?”

“A good guide’s easy to find online. This is the address of my favorite café in Sydney. I’ll be there Friday night at 8 p.m. You?”

Carmen ignores the ache in her chest. She has him back. The Gray from before. Her Gray. “Let’s see if I make it back from my tour in one piece.” She starts walking away.

“Hey!” he calls from behind her. “I never got your name!”

“Carmen,” she replies without looking back.

That Friday, at 8 p.m. on the dot, she stands across the street from the café written on the paper he gave her. The ache that formed in her chest the night she left him standing on the Opera House’s steps has widened to a crack. She has so many questions. So many things she wants to say. How is it fair that she gets to know everything about him, and he doesn’t? Who did this?

Even as she thinks it, she knows the answer: VILE. Carmen hates them for ruining him, molding him into a killer that she cannot believe he is at heart. It’s not him, not really.

Across the street, Gray looks up, eyes lighting up when he sees her.

She can’t do this.

So when the bus drives by, she lets it take her, too.

“I can’t let VILE see me with him,” she explains to Player, once she’s a healthy distance away. Her hood is over her head and her hands are shoved deep in her pockets. Her voice wavers. “But not for my safety, for his.”

“What? Why?” Player asks, confused.

The reality hits her like a kick to the stomach. “For whatever strange reason, Gray has a fresh start now. And having Carmen Sandiego back in his life would… only complicate that.”

Carmen shuts her eyes against the cool night air and imagines she’s back at school for the first time since she left Gray on that train. I’m sorry, Gray, she thinks as she watches him get up from his seat at the table and leave.

...

The fourth time they meet, she comes to him, and it’s because she needs help. A caper involving dangerous EMP technology is worrying her, and he’s the best person she knows for the job. But the idea of dragging him back into all of this is scarier than facing off with Coach Brunt again.

It’s a perfect day, cool and sunny, and Gray sits sipping a cup of coffee as he reads a book. His eyes flick up as she approaches, and a small smile forms on his mouth. “You’re late.”

“Fashionably, I hope.” She takes the fact that he hasn’t thrown his coffee at her as a sign that it’s safe to sit. “I’m sorry I stood you up, Gray.”

He holds up a finger. “Um, it’s—”

“Graham,” she finishes, sighing. She has to get used to calling him that. “Right. Look, I was called away on business at the last minute.”

At that, he puts the book down and turns to her. “What kind of business?”

“I run an international charity for abandoned children,” Carmen says. The lie slips past her lips easily. “In fact, that’s the reason I came to see you today.”

“Oh?” He says, angling his head the way he does whenever his interest is piqued. It’s somehow both familiar and completely foreign on his face.

“I am sponsoring a big fundraiser in Auckland, New Zealand, this week. Selections from Swan Lake.”

His face shows the barest hint of recognition. “Tchaikovsky. I’ve lit a few Russian ballets at the old Sydney Opera House.”

Carmen leans back. “Fortunately for me, our lighting technician dropped out, and I’m hoping you can help.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “On one condition.” She waits, and he points a playful finger. “You have that cuppa with me afterwards.”

Carmen raises a brow in answer. “I’ll have the foundation book you a flight.”

Things go well—she has VILE’s agent trapped and gets through the grids easily, thanks to Gray’s help. For a moment, she even imagines it’s like old times, her taking the lead and him backing her up. “Player, I’m warm. How’s the ballet?”

Then she hears Player’s voice in her ear. “On indefinite intermission. Our lighting tech walked.”

“What?” she hisses, voice low despite being the only one in the room.

“Zach and Ivy are combing the grounds for him,” Player says.

“Find him,” she says. “I’m too close to turn back now.” And too close to save him if they realize he’s involved, she thinks, but leaves that part out.

She makes it to the EMP sphere, hands hovering over the control panel, when she hears a familiar voice.

“Carmen?” Gray asks, bewildered, at the same time Bellum yells, “Sandiego!”

She doesn’t wait to see what Bellum has planned. Carmen runs.

“What kind of concert hall is this?” says Gray as they round the corner, him keeping up easily.

“Experimental!”

They hit another corner and a gaggle of VILE guards—Neal included—look their way. But Carmen has Gray behind her before any of them can even see there’s a second person there, and she shoots forward.

Neal effortlessly sidesteps her punches, sliding out of reach the harder she tries to hit. Carmen rears back, foot swinging up, but he has a hold on her shoulders before her foot can hit its mark. She thinks he says something, but the words start to muddle together as he pushes her head farther than it should go. Her breathing turns ragged. Carmen sags—

And is released. Neal’s body crumples to the floor next to her, and she looks up to see Gray, holding a crackle rod in two hands.

Fear spikes through her, hot and bright. Does he remember?

Then his face contorts with disgust and he tosses the rod. “You… don’t run a children’s charity.”

She smiles. “I’ll explain over that coffee.”

Together, they sabotage Bellum’s sphere and step off the platform, Gray holding tight to Carmen, who ejects her glider. She has a sudden memory of her being the one holding tight as they fell, Gray’s eyes on hers as the ground rushed up to meet them.

Now, she hugs him tight to her as the glider loses altitude. At the last second, it retracts from her back, and they go sprawling, her head hitting the ground hard.

When she comes to, Carmen looks around, panicked, and sees him lying a few feet from her, completely silent. The woods loom around them, shielding them from VILE’s eyes, but Carmen forgets everything at the thought of him being hurt. “Gray? Gray?”

His eyes crack open. “It’s—Graham.”

She doesn’t think she’s ever been happier to hear him argue with her about something.

Later, they sit at the café he first mentioned, watching the opera house in the distance. Carmen likes the way the moon reflects off the water, a line of milky light that traces its way over the bay.

“Carmen, I have to know,” Gray confesses. “Are you a spy? Part of some kind of… secret service?”

She mulls over what to tell him for a moment. “I do provide a service, and it is secret, so… yeah, something like that.”

“But we are the good guys?” he asks cautiously.

The crack in her chest yawns open. There’s so much she wants to say. So much she wants to tell him. But would he listen? Would he care, if it turned that awful part of him back on, the part that nearly killed that man that night?

I will never forgive you.

“Absolutely,” she says, full of surety that she doesn’t feel.

Gray says something else, but she’s only half listening, and when he looks back, she’s gone. He laughs to himself, seemingly unbothered, but Carmen watches him get clear their table, wiping their meeting from the café’s memory.

I forgive you, she thinks, and though he wouldn’t understand, the crack in her chest closes over a little.

...

The fifth time they meet, she learns that he’s in Iceland from Player. He tells her the tab he’s kept on Gray was tipped off, and her heart does a little jump. It’s been so long since she last saw him. So long since they spoke. She misses the way his dimples deepen when he smiles, the way his head tilts to one side when he’s interested, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. But, still. Iceland. Player tells her he’s been arrested.

She tries working through what might have happened. That dangerous game of What If. What if VILE has found him? What if he’s reawoken some part of him… No. She won’t go there. Carmen refuses to hand him back to VILE, not when he’s been given a second chance.

When she gets there, it’s easy to remove him from their records, easy to read the file.

Easy to see he’s in jail because he robbed someone.

Her mouth tightens, but Carmen is too focused on getting him out, away, to do anything but continue on. Even when Devineaux arrives, oddly complacent considering the last time they spoke he was screaming at her as she ran away. (It seems that’s how most of their meetings go, nowadays.)

Gray sits in his cell, bent forward far enough that she can see the crease of his brows easily. He pinches his nose as if trying to remember something, and he almost looks like he’s going to cry.

Sharp as always, he hears her coming and looks up. “Carmen? How did you know I was here?”

I’m a spy, she thinks bitterly. And I can’t even keep you out of trouble. All I can do is watch.

What comes out instead is “All in good time, Gray. We need to get you out of there.”

She holds up the keys, dangling them for him to see, and he shakes his head fondly. “It’s Graham—” Then he cuts off, eyes widening. “Look out!”

It’s the cleaners. One’s hands snake around her arms to hold her in place, terribly familiar. She realizes that this—the cleaners knocking her out, Gray watching—is just a replay of that night in Morocco, and that thought forces her to bring her heel down, hard.

Instinct shoves the one holding her back, kicks the second in the chest. He spins back into the wall, and she raises her fists. She’s not losing this time. She refuses.

She staggers back and the room spins. Her hands close around the mop nearby and she levels it at the cleaners. She barely holds on to her consciousness as the world turns to a blur of red and grey. Carmen manages to fend them off, keeping her back to Gray, but before they can advance further, they get a call and retreat down the hall.

The mop clatters from her hand. “Carmen!” Gray pleads. “Are you okay? Do I know those guys? Who were they?”

“Guys who never leave before the job is done,” she says, voice paper-thin. She starts trying the locks, the sedative the cleaners gave her finally wearing off.

That’s when something cuts through the ceiling.

Gray scrambles back as a neon-green light slices through the stone. Carmen’s senses are still too slow, too slow, too slow, and Gray is stuck, and he’s yelling something that she can’t understand, and why aren’t these keys working?

The severed ceiling hits the ground with a thud, almost loud enough to conceal the metallic one that follows. But not loud enough.

The robot stands, surveying the scene before it with mechanical disinterest. Carmen’s hands move without her needing to think, flying over the lock as she tries key after key. Come on, Come on—

The robot takes Gray in one hand, ignoring his struggles. Carmen’s voice shakes, and she wonders if Gray understands why as she screams, “No!” She fires her cable towards him, but the robot catches it instantly, yanking her forward.

Pain explodes up Carmen’s arm. Nononononononono—

The cable is ripped from her hand, and Gray calls her name. There in one second, and then gone in the next.

Her voice is drowned out by the helicopter. I’m sorry, Gray, she thinks, but there’s only silence greeting her where he used to be.

...

The sixth time they meet, they’re in the Himalayas, at Bellum’s lab. She hates it here. Hates the way everything is so drained of life and color, so muted. Scrubbed of emotion. She sneaks past the robots, easily overtaking the guards, but her mind is elsewhere. Gray. What if he’s not the way she last saw him? What if he remembers? Worse, what if he doesn’t?

Carmen heaves against the door with all her might and it gives under the pressure. “Gray? We have to move.”

He doesn’t turn. “The name is—”

“Gray-ham,” she finishes, fondness bleeding into her voice against her better judgement. She’ll never get used to calling him that. “I know, I know.”

“No,” he says slowly, and stands. The click of a crackle rod being turned on registers in her mind, and Carmen’s confusion only deepens. Then she sees the look on his face, devoid of warmth, and dread starts to settle in her stomach. “It’s Crackle.”

Her mouth drops open, but she can’t bring herself to say anything. Didn’t she know this was coming? Didn’t she think over what she would say, hour after hour, because she knew at some point VILE might not want him to be so oblivious anymore?

She has no idea what to do.

“I assume you prefer I continue to call you ‘Carmen’?” he asks, raising the rod in her direction.

“Gray, no matter what they told you, you’re not that guy anymore,” she croaks.

His face, illuminated in the green light turns pitying. She remembers when he used to look like that. She remembers that night in Morocco, when the last thing she saw was his sad face before she was pulled into unconsciousness.

“But I am that guy,” Gray whispers, shaking his head. “I’ve always been that guy.”

Carmen can’t seem to make sense of this. Graham. Gray. Crackle. She’s losing him to VILE, and everything is muddy, and this is worse than Reykjavik because he’s choosing this, choosing them, and she can’t save him because he doesn’t want to, and—

“No,” Carmen says forcefully. “Sydney, the café, we’re the good guys, remember?”

He scoffs a little, but there’s no malice in it, just resignation. “When you finally had that cuppa with me.” Then his eyebrows furrow. “Being good only mattered to me because Bellum rewired my thinking, programmed me to be some sort of… innocent fool.”

“It’s never too late to change,” she insists.

He hasn’t lowered the rod, and somehow Carmen knows that he won’t hesitate to use it. “I’ve had time to reflect. Piece together the fragments. And there’s only one thing I’ve ever regretted doing for VILE.”

Carmen’s eyes flick from the rod to his. Suddenly, he powers it off.

“Trying to hurt you,” he whispers.

Her lip quivers, and she knows he sees it, because he continues before she can say anything in response. “I know you won’t come back to VILE. We’ve had that chat, on the train to Paris. But I’m begging you: give up trying to stop us, because I don’t ever want to be put in a position to hurt you again.”

The breath is gone from her lungs.

The hope is leeching from her.

She’s losing him.

Maybe he’s already lost.

“Then, apologies,” she says shortly, voice miraculously steady. “Because I won’t stop trying to take down VILE. Not ever.” Her hands tighten around the table. “And definitely not now.”

She holds up the fuse for him to see, and feels a terrible kind of satisfaction from seeing his eyes widen in realization as she presses it.

The bombs she set on her way in explode in a flurry of sparks and ash, and alarms start to ring before she’s even gotten up. Behind her, Gray pulls himself up, forward, face smeared with soot. Pain flashes across his face, but she doesn’t think it’s because of the rubble around him.

Despite the alarms ringing around them, when the words come out, they greet dead silence. “Goodbye, Gray.”

But all she can think is, Please forgive me.

...

The seventh time they meet, Carmen watches through someone else’s eyes as he smiles and flirts and acts as if everything is normal. Does he know? She wonders. Does he know I’m not in control?

She watches, as if underwater, as she takes and steals and moves on. She’s always been good at thievery, but with everything she’s learned since she left, she’s devastating once she’s fully on VILE’s side. Carmen pounds against the cage around her, but it only seems to get tighter the harder she tries to fight. A vice she’ll never be able to escape. A hold she’ll never be able to break.

She sees herself back with her old friends, not content but restless, wanting out of the easy life that’s been handed to her by the faculty. This Carmen wants a challenge, a fight. She relishes the way people resist when she comes after them. She sees only a chance to prove herself worthy in everything.

She watches this Carmen leave her friends. Watches her trick Zach into following her to the ferris wheel, the hope shining on his face. He thinks she has control. He thinks she needs his help.

She screams as she realizes why she’s brought Zach to the top of the wheel, the lights shutting off around them.

She pounds against the control they have over her as she lands a roundhouse on him so strong he barely manages to hang on to the ledge.

And as Carmen turns away from Zach’s sharp yell, she crumbles, unable to do anything about it.

She’s only half paying attention, huddled in a dark corner in her mind with her arms around her knees, drawn in tight, when she hears that familiar cry behind her.

Carmen’s eyes snap open and Gray’s shut and both of them struggle as he brings the device down on her head.

“Please come back,” he’s murmuring into her hair, even as her elbow digs into his gut, even as she slams the two of them back into the wall, even as she pulls him over her head and levels the rod, the device broken, control restored, even as she pulls off her gloves because she has to do this herself—

“You sold me out, Gray,” she hears herself say, voice gravelly with pain.

His hazel eyes widen. “No! I’m trying to help.”

Underwater, she’s underwater, she’s—

She raises the rod.

“It’s finger-print activated,” he says hoarsely. “It won’t work for you.”

“It’s finger-print activated. It won’t work for you.”

The memory hits her, unbidden. They’re standing in a train. She has the rod against his neck in warning. He’s watching her as if he’s never seen her before, because in a way, he hasn’t—Carmen is as foreign to him as a stranger. Darkness closes in—

She staggers, trying to regain control. But in real time, Carmen has barely moved. She smiles at him pityingly, mirroring the look he’s given her so many times over the years. The look of someone who knows they’ve won. “Won’t it?”

Realization dawns on his face at the same time she opens the rod, turning up the power. “Being VILE faculty has its perks.”

Underwater, Carmen screams.

“You’re a dirty traitor like Shadowsan,” she says.

“This isn’t the real you,” he pleads.

She doesn’t care. No, she does. No—

“Goodbye, Gray.” Carmen smirks. “No, wait. You prefer Crackle.”

The last hope of reaching her in his eyes dies as he reaches out a hand. “Please, Carmen—”

The rod fires.

Gray flies back, head cracking against the floor.

His hand goes limp.

His body stills.

And as Carmen walks away, she’s not thinking anything at all.

...

The eighth and final time they meet, Carmen is walking through the corridor of a train, hands rubbing her arms to ward off the cold. She’s wearing her usual red sweatshirt, and her hair is tied up in a knot on her head. The dark jeans she wears are warm enough that she’s not cold, but the breeze coming from one of the cabins is very much trying to undo that statement.

Her hands shake and she absently checks the note Chief gave her, even though she’s already memorized where she’s supposed to go. “Just in case,” Chief had said, handing it to her with a wink. ACME’s fearsome leader, it turns out, has a weakness for meddling. Figures.

Still, Carmen is grateful. Chief has been nothing but helpful regarding her true parentage, and her own side of the story from the night of her father’s death gave Carmen a sense of fulfillment she’s never felt before.

She stops in front of one of the rooms, a smile curving her lips. “First class? Sweet.”

“My treat, Red,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “You earned it.”

“Is it weird that I’m nervous to be back in Paris?” she asks absently, setting her bag down. “Be honest.”

“I don’t think so. You have a lot of history here.”

Carmen laughs. “Understatement. But you’re right. I guess I’m just thinking about him.”

“Gray?”

Her mouth droops at the mention of his name. She knows he’s fine, Chief told her so weeks ago, but the courage to visit him still eludes her. “Yeah. I wish things had turned out differently. Maybe I should ask Chief about where he is…”

“You might see him sooner than you think.”

Carmen’s brow furrows. “What?”

But the device has gone silent in her ear. Player is gone.

And the door behind her slides open.

“Well, well.”

Carmen pauses, afraid that if she turns there will be empty air. That she’ll be imagining things.

But then she sees the reflection in the window.

“Blast from the past, eh?” says Gray, and his smile is still the same: all boyish charm, now mixing with something kind, assured.

He seems to realize she doesn’t know what to say. Those dimples reappear. “In case you were wondering, you can call me Gray.”

And as the crack that has followed her since the night she saw him at the Sydney Opera House begins to close, Carmen finds herself smiling. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Carmen.”

#carmen sandiego 2019 #redcrackle #gray x carmen #carmen sandiego spoilers #im obsessed with them sorry #mine

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