#maybe it’s described as there being ‘a glint of silver/white’ which at first seems like maybe the stars shimmering in the pelt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

smoochkooks · 5 years ago

Text

— lost stars, part 1 (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

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

⟶ word count: 20k

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

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

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

PART TWO (FINALE): HERE!

Jungkook can’t sleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What can I get you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“You like Korea?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it didn’t look like that!”

“Just let him be. He’s drunk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you feel better now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Crazy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needs to smoke a cigarette.

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

“I quit.” you say curtly.

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

“Is smoking even allowed for you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why is that?”

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

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

You snort loudly. “That was terrible.”

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

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

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

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

“Fine. You can crash at mine.”

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

“What?”

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

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

You’ve always been too good for him.

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

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

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

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

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

“So, how have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know damn right what I mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.”

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

Jungkook smiles apologetically. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook smirks. “Very much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook frowns. “What are you doing?”

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

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

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

“I’m what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“___?”

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

“I cannot sleep.”

“Not my fault.”

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

“Jungkook…”

“Pretty please?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I was taking about four freaking body temperature!”

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

“Go to sleep, Jungkook.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quarter past your dick poking my ass!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

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

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

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

“And... five, six, seven, eight!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[21:08pm] me:

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

Few minutes later, his phone buzzes.

[21:11pm] Miss Grumpy:

you’re welcome, buttercup

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A beer it is, then.”

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

Jungkook only grins in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lead the way, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He decides not to press you about it any further.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Agreed.”

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

His brows furrow slightly. “Why is that?”

“That’s my secret for now.”

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

“It’s fine for me, Namjoon-ah. The bridge is great, stop worrying so much. We still have a lot of time before the deadline.”

“Thanks, hyung. Jungkookie, have you spoke with Hyowon-hyung about your solo?”

“Kook-ah? We’re talking to you.”

“Jeon Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks up from his phone at the sound of Seokjin's harsh voice. He sends his older friend a clueless look. “Hmm?”

Namjoon sighs. “I asked you a question, Jungkook.”

Jungkook puts away his phone. “I’m sorry, hyung. I wasn’t listening. Can you repeat it?”

“Of course you weren’t, you’ve been staring at your phone for the past twenty minutes instead of paying attention to us.” Seokjin scoffs, digging his chopsticks in the kimchi he's eating.

It’s a little past seven and they are having late dinner at their dorm after a whole day of schedule. Jungkook doesn’t even know what type of commercial they were recording. He just kept reading everything from the monitor behind the camera as he always does, trying to make it seem as unnoticeable as possible.

Truth to be told, Seokjin's right. He hasn’t been paying attention to their conversation, although he definitely should have. Telling them he was texting you this whole time is a pathetic and dumb excuse, he knows that. He doesn’t want them to ask him questions about you. Not yet.

“I asked if you talked to Hyowon-hyung.” Namjoon repeats after a moment.

A hint of realization crosses Jungkook's face at that. “Yeah, I did. He played me the first draft and told me to work on the lyrics.” he says, reaching for his chopsticks.

Namjoon nods, humming. “Do you want me to help you with that?”

Jungkook shrugs. “No, you don’t have to. I’m just waiting for the inspiration to kick in.”

And he hopes it’s going to enlighten him soon. He has a few songs written on his own but creating music for an album it’s different. The standards are higher, expectations bigger. Restricted time always makes him jittery, too.

Taking a mouthful of his bibimpap, a smile flashes across his face. He glances if anyone is looking at him now but his friends are busy talking about something regarding the next release. He reaches for his phone and writes a message to you.

[7:16pm] me:

do you remember the time when you cooked a bibimpap for my goodbye dinner at home?

Not even a minute later, he receives a response from you.

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:

yeah I do

why are you asking me this tho

[7:17pm] me:

I’m eating it know and it reminded me of that day

sorry but god, it was awful

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:

excuse me????

He remembers probably every second of that day. His mother’s tears, your extremely undercooked meat and his father’s affectionate hug.

Smiling to himself, he taps another sentences.

[7:18pm] me:

I couldn’t tell you that. you looked so proud of yourself

I just ate everything like it was the most delicious course on this planet

best acting of my life

[7:19pm] Miss Grumpy:

you asshole

i poured my heart into this

you’re right, that was your best acting. definitely better than war of hormone playboy jungkook

He rolls his eyes. The amount of times you joked about this particular moment of his career is neverending.

[7:19pm] me:

can you please stop

[7:20pm] Miss Grumpy:

fuck off. of course I won’t

how was it?

ah I know.

I’m a bad boy so I like bad girls

showstopping. truly

He tries to muffle his laughter but there’s no use for that. He snickers under his breath, hoping no one have noticed but he was oh, so wrong. Because as soon as he looks up from the phone screen, all eyes are on him.

Namjoon clears his throat. “You’re not eight anymore, Jungkook, so I won’t lecture you like a father but please, don’t use your phone while we’re eating.”

“Who are you texting this passionately anyway? You never put anything before food.” Hoseok adds, frowning.

“My hyung.” Jungkook answers casually.

In the corner of his eye he sees Taehyung leaning to whisper something in Jimin's ear and they both giggle quietly. Jungkook sends them a glare.

They stop but few seconds later, Taehyung breaks into his signature boxy smile.

“What is this, Taehyung?” Namjoon asks, frowning.

“It looks like our Jungkookie is lying.”

Jungkook grips the edge of the table tightly. He searches for Jimin's eyes but he looks away quickly, as though almost guilty.

At the other end of the table, Yoongi puts away his chopsticks and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Care to elaborate on that, Taehyung-ah?”

“He isn’t texting his brother. I think Jungkookie might be in love,” he sing-songs, giggling to himself.

Jungkook’s first instinct is to smack his friend's in the head. And so does he. “What the fuck, Tae?” he snaps.

“Language, kid!” Seokjin says automatically.

“I'm twenty-two!”

“And I’m twenty seven, so shut your mouth and listen to your elders. What is Taehyung speaking about?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

“Oh, stop bullshitting us. I looked at your phone screen when it was lying on the table. You don’t call your hyung ‘Miss Grumpy'.” Taehyung says, his fingers doing the quotation mark in the air.

“You’re not supposed to look at my phone! It’s called privacy!” Jungkook exclaims, however it’s pointless. Everyone now is focused on him and you.

“Can someone tell who the fuck is ‘Miss Grumpy’?” Seokjin asks, looking around the table.

Jungkook runs his hand through his hair in a nervous manner. He screwed up, and now they won’t let him breathe for at least five more days. “Her name is actually ___. She’s my childhood friend from Busan.”

He hears Taehyung chuckling next to him. “Oh, come on. You can tell us you’re sexting her. We won’t judge.”

“I’m not!”

“Shut the fuck up, all of you!” Yoongi says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t we for once eat in peace? Jungkook, please, kindly explain us who this girl you’re texting with is.”

Jungkook pursues his lips. “I told you. She’s just my old friend. Why would I lie to you?”

Seeing their uneasy expressions, he realises he said the wrong thing. He has lied to them before about many things. It isn’t anything shocking that they doubt his words now. They have all rights to do it.

Namjoon is the first one to break the uncomfortable silence. “Jungkook, you know the rules. We can't freely date like we would like to. I suggest you should end things with this girl, whatever you're both doing, before it escalates into something more serious. Before you hurt her and yourself in the process.” he says.

Hoseok nods at his friend’s words. “Namjoon is right, Jungkookie. Serious relationships are just going to make everything more complicated.”

Jungkook grits his teeth. “We aren’t dating.” he spats.

“Sleeping together also isn’t a good idea.”

“We aren’t having sex,” Jungkook's eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you tell the same thing to Yoongi-hyung when he was seeing that blonde girl? He sneaked her into his room one day and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t just playing her his music.” he scowls, shaking his head.

“Hyung's older than you. Besides, he ended things with her some time ago.” Namjoon counters.

“It’s true, Jungkook-ah. Namjoon is right. No matter what you’re doing with her, you should always be careful.” Yoongi adds.

Something breaks in Jungkook at that. All of the pent-up frustration seems to leave his body at once. “You know what? Fuck off, all of you. I’m not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions and they are none of your fucking business.” He stands up from the table abruptly.

“Jungkook, wait. Let’s talk without fighting now,” Namjoon pleads but he isn’t listening to him anymore.

Jimin, who was silent this whole time, puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder. “Jungkookie–” he starts but his immadietly cut off by Jungkook's harsh tone.

“Stop calling me that!” Jungkook snaps and walks away, slamming the door to his room behind himself.

There’s a knock to his door an hour after.

This pattern feels familiar. He messes something up, they give him some space to think and reflect about it on his own and then, it’s time to sit together and discuss it openly almost like a peace treaty. Jungkook says sorry, promises he will be a better person and everyone moves on.

He doesn’t bother getting up until he hears a voice behind the door speak up. “It's Yoongi-hyung. I’m not here to force you to apologize. I just want to talk.”

Jungkook's brows furrow. He stares at the door, imagining Yoongi standing behind it with his hands in pockets and eyes glued to the ceiling. He debates whether he should open the door and let him in or keep sulking just a little more until the atmosphere will loosen up on its own.

Somehow, his thoughts wander to you. You would probably tell him that communication is the key to solving problems, or something along the lines. That he can’t shut himself from the world because he feels like no one really gets him. You would also call him childish but he doesn’t dwell on that more.

“Jungkook-ah? Please, open the door. I promise I won’t patronize you.”

He exhales loudly and gets up from the bed. If there’s one person in this house whose words he can trust wholeheartedly, it’s Yoongi. He twists the handle and walks back to his bed.

The door clicks shut a few moments later, mattress dipping where Yoongi makes a room for himself next to him, clearing his throat. “Listen,” he begins but Jungkook cuts him off with a scoff.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t give me patronizing ted talks.”

“Yeah, I did. But I won’t stare at the wall in silence either,” Yoongi says. Few deep breaths later, he continues. “Jihye was a nothing but a good friend to me with whom I had sex sometimes, no strings attached. Until one day I realised our relationship stopped being solemnly based only on physical attraction. That’s why I decided to end things with her.”

“Did you fall in love with her?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. But I could. And that’s what scared me the most.”

“Why?”

In the corner of his eye, Jungkook sees him smiling sadly. “It's simple. Because being together would only lead us to heartbreak. I cared about her too much to make her hurt like that due to my selfishness.” he says. “This is the same reason why Jimin didn’t continue his relationship with our make-up noona even after she left the company. And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t get any hard feelings involved with that friend of yours.”

Jungkook pursues his lips. He understands Yoongi's concerns but his situation is different. Jimin was in love with that woman. He was ready to buy an apartment for them and move out from the dorm. If someone from the company hadn’t found out about their secret relationship, he would have still been sneaking around with her.

Jungkook though, doesn’t have any feelings for you. He’s gone past his silly crush when you were younger a long time ago. Besides, you have a boyfriend and he doesn’t chase after taken women. At least not intentionally.

“She’s just a friend, hyung.” he says finally but it sounds more like he tries to convince himself, not Yoongi.

Yoongi pats him on the shoulder. “I know. Just be careful, okay?” And with that, he leaves Jungkook's room.

Jungkook knew it was a bad idea as soon as he stepped into the club and loud, thumping music filled his ears.

He knew it when he ordered a round of shots and gulped them down one after another. When he found himself in the middle of the crowd of sweaty bodies, head buzzing and arms around a nameless brunette, his tongue between her lips.

And he knows it right now, when he’s sitting in a booth, her ass placed directly over his crotch where he’s already sporting a hard-on. The girl (Eunbi? Or maybe it’s Eunji? He hasn't registered when she shouted it to his ear because he was too busy staring down at her cleavage) grinds herself with eagerness against him and he lets out a groan, leaning to plant kisses on the side of her neck. And in that exact moment, when his chapped lips meet the porcelain skin of her throat, he locks eyes with you.

(And he’s once again reminded how stupid it was to go to the club where you work.)

After his conversation with Yoongi he felt like he needed to prove something to himself. That he’s not the one to fall in love impulsively, that he can fuck and not get feelings involved. He could have gotten himself drunk in in any other place yet here he is, a random girl straddling him while he blinks his bloodshot eyes at you.

Your gaze trails down from his face to his palms splayed on brunette’s bottom and you scoff to yourself, averting your attention somewhere else. If he’s disappointed, he hides it pretty well, sucking yet another purplish mark on the girl's neck she accepts with another roll of her hips.

Whimpering into his ear, she moves herself faster against his hardness but he doesn’t pay mind to her anymore, not when he catches you looking at him again in the corner of his eye.

The girl leans to kiss him and he obliges, tongue darting to lick into her mouth but his eyes remain trained on you the whole time. You see him slipping his fingers underneath her skirt and smirking when he feels the evidence of her lust between her thighs. He wants you to watch him making her come undone on his lap, he craves to relish in the sick thrill of having you witnessing what he’s capable of doing. But when he’s about to pull the girl's lingerie to the side, you’re turning away and disappearing from his sight.

His fingers stay pressed to the flesh of brunette's thighs, unmoving, until she purrs into into his ear. “Oppa, please. Want you so bad.”

Jungkook tsks to himself, rolling his eyes at her saccharine sweet, high-pitched voice. “Not here.” he mutters.

Minutes later he’s in the club's bathroom, his head thrown back and grunts escaping his lips. He looks down at the mop of her hair as she swallows around his cock, bringing him closer to the release. She peeks at him from between her eyelashes, teary-eyed and already fucked-out.

He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls hard, until she moans around him. “That’s it, baby. Gonna fuck your mouth now.” He pushes himself deeper, feeling her choke. She welcomes the pain without complaint, tears flowing down her cheeks and palms pressed obediently on his thighs. Jungkook clenches his jaw, focusing on his pleasure until he groans lowly and comes down her throat.

He pulls away from her mouth, tugging himself back into his pants. She stands up from her kneeling position on wobbly legs and wraps her arms around his neck. “What about me, oppa?” she giggles, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Won’t you fuck me now?”

He sighs, staring down at her. There are smudges of mascara underneath her eyes, her cheeks are wet with tears and her lipstick is smeared. He reaches with his thumb to wipe it, and she leans into his touch.

He feels guilty telling her to be quiet and hiking her skirt up. He feels it when she climaxes around his fingers with a cry of his name on her lips. He feels it too even stronger, cleaning her up and leaving to fix her make-up in front of the blurry mirror, but that’s all he can do. That’s everything he can provide.

Later that night, when he's finally in his own bed, your face flashes behind his eyelids. He's sick of himself, of his actions, that he let his weaknesses got best of him again.

Before he could even think of it, he types a message to you.

[3:45am] me:

I’m sorry. I was drunk and couldn’t think straight

Few bits of silence later, his phone buzzes.

[3:47am] Miss Grumpy:

I know you were

Did you at least thank her?

He scoffs to himself, thinking about proper words to answer you but strangely, he recalls your wide eyes transfixed on him and the way you held his challenging gaze when his lips kissed another woman. He’s never seen you looking at him like that before. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t affect you even the slightest.

[3:48am] me:

don’t worry. she had a good time

[3:48am] Miss Grumpy:

goodnight, jungkook

[3:49am] me:

sleep tight, ___.

There’s something apprehensive in the perpetual ticking of the clock when it's silent in the room. It almost feels like the sound keeps getting louder and louder as the time passes by, as if it’s expecting a storm to occur and shatter the calm.

“___?”

You’re brought back to the reality from your thoughts by Minho's voice. He has a questioning look on his face, watching you with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I was lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

“I could see that,” Minho reaches for his tea cup and takes a sip. “Is everything alright?” he asks, but you shake your head with a smile.

“Just university stuff.” you say vaguely and he doesn’t press you about it any further, nodding in understanding.

Minho left his work earlier today, coming straight to your flat. It’s Wednesday and Wednesdays are dedicated to spending your time together on dates. Today, you’re going to the cinema and to your favourite sushi bar. For the second time this month.

“I’m going to use the bathroom now and then we can head out, okay?”

You answer him with a nod. Standing up, you gather your cups and place them into the sink but right when you’re about to wash them, you hear Minho's phone buzz with single notification.

You bite your lip. You know you shouldn’t look but you push it to the back of your head for now, sparing a quick glance at his lockscreen.

Sooyoung: when you will be free next time?

You frown. You’ve never heard him taking about any woman from his work with a name like this. The message sounds ambiguous but it doesn’t have to mean anything to worry about at the same time. You just have to ask to be sure. That’s what couples do, right? They communicate.

Taking a deep breath, you wait for Minho until he comes back from the bathroom.

“Are you ready to–”

“Who’s Sooyoung?” you cut him off before you’ll lose your courage and let the anxious thoughts consume you without asking him first.

He furrows his brows but then his eyes land on the phone lying on the table. He pursues his lips. “You’ve been snooping through my phone?”

“I didn’t have to snoop. I just looked at the screen when you got a notification.” you say as calmly as possible, trying to hide your nerves. “I just thought it’s a little weird that some other woman is asking you when you will be free next time.”

Minho's eyes narrow. “What are you insinuating?” he asks.

“I’m not insinuating anything. Just tell me who she is, it’s simple.”

He looks uneasy, tongueing the inside of his cheek but nevertheless, he’s still as composed as ever, gauging you with tentative expression. “Sooyoung is my friend from work. She’s a new recruit and we go to the shooting range to practice once a week,” he explains. “And before you will ask: we aren’t there all alone. Kihyun accompanies us. So you don’t have to worry about anything. Can we go now, honey?”

You lower your eyes to the ground, nodding. When you try to move past him, Minho catches your wrist. “Do you have anything more to add?” His voice is stern and you gulp.

“I'm sorry.” you almost whisper.

“It’s okay. Just don’t jump into conclusions next time, okay?” he says, hand still wrapped tightly around your hand.

“Okay.” you repeat and he releases you.

A smile appears on his face after that, and he cocks his head at you. “Let's go.”

You exhale a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding and follow him.

There are some things in our lives that we cannot predict.

Like the heavy traffic on the way to work because of the car crash happening somewhere in the city or meeting your ex you’d rather forget about in a shopping mall months after break up. And when they do happen, we can only confront what the faith has in store for us, no matter how much we resist.

You certainly couldn’t predict that after sending a ‘god I want to get drunk so bad’ message to Jungkook he would actually appear hours later on your doorstep with grocery bags in one hand and pizza box in another, grinning broadly when he saw your genuinely surprised expression.

That’s when the surrealism kicks in, when you’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, one empty bottle of suju on your account and the second almost drained to the half. When Jungkook is right by your side, tomato sauce on his chin you wipe out for him with a grimace, talking about some dumpling incident that caused a huge fight among his friends.

But no matter how much you try, how much alcohol you pour into your system, you’re unable to fully get rid of the anxious thoughts sitting at the back of your head.

It’s been a while since your argument with Minho and even though you want to believe him, the creeping feeling that something’s off won’t leave you. It’s easy to say to always trust your intuition, but what if it prompts you scenarios you wouldn’t like to become real?

Jungkook must have sensed that something doesn’t feel right because he stops his rambling mid-sentence, clearing his throat. “Are you even listening to me now, buttercup?” he asks.

You snap out of your thoughts at that, mustering an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was but–”

“But you zoned out for a moment,” he finishes. “It’s okay. I know you since we were kids, I can tell when there's something bothering you. It’s all in your eyes.” he says, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“What’s in my eyes?”

“They look sad.”

You shy away from his piercing stare, looking at your lap instead. You’ve always proud yourself that you can read people like an open book. That’s why you can so easily hide your true emotions at bay before the whole world. But if there’s only one person who is capable of seeing through you, it’s Jungkook.

You can open up to him, you remind yourself. You’re safe, he’s been your friend for such a long time, he won’t hurt you.

You take a deep breath and say, “Minho and I have some trouble. I mean, it’s nothing serious but he’s been acting weird lately and few days ago we got into a fight, so yeah. I’m just... a little stressed, that’s all.”

“Should I kick his ass?” he suggests and knowing him, he might as well be serious so you brush it of with a chuckle.

“Maybe not yet.”

You reach for the empty pizza box between you, putting it to the side. You debate taking another shot of soju but eventually you refuse, placing the bottle next to the carton. You’ve had enough alcohol for tonight anyway.

“Are you happy with him, ___?” Jungkook asks suddenly, and you feel like all the air in the room has been sucked off.

You turn to face him, heart rickocheting faster in your ribcage. If you’re truly shocked he’s had an audacity to ask this, you hide it pretty well. Something in your head is telling you that the best defence is attack, so you aim.

“Are you happy?”

Your question stirs something in him. You don’t know what you expected but you could never imagine him actually catching the bait and answering you with honesty. Yet he does.

“You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question a lot lately,” he says, smiling lopsidedly. “There are days when I’m the happiest person on this planet, when I feel like I can do everything. But sometimes, when I step down the stage and lights go out, it just gets harder.” There’s a slight crack to his voice at the end and when you look him in the eyes, they’re glassy. “If I knew it could be so lonely, I wouldn’t have signed up for this. Ever.”

Some things in life we are able to predict. We know the road leading to success and accomplishment might be bumpy, yet we cannot truly be prepared for the outcome of all the difficulties we come across along the way. Jungkook was aware of the consequences his popularity may cause in the future, but he simply didn’t think it could be so overwhelming.

You scoot closer to him, your hand finding his amid your bodies. He looks down and intertwines his fingers with yours with a hint of smile in the corner of his lips. “You have all rights in the world to feel the way you do, Jungkook, remember that. But you’re not alone in this. I’m always here, okay? I’ve been for the past three years and I’m not going anywhere soon.” you say firmly, closing the distance between you.

He accepts your hug with eagerness, wrapping his arms around your frame with desperation, pulling you closer. It’s been so long since you’ve talked like this, since you’ve comforted each other and shared deepest fears.

Jungkook buries his face in the crook of your neck, where you feel him breathing out shakily. He rests his palms on your back, tracing soothing patterns over the material of your hoodie and that’s when you realise he wasn’t the only one who needed to be held like this, even just for a moment. It’s exactly what you’ve been missing, the sheer intimacy of a simple hug.

“Sometimes I just wish it was different.” he whispers into your hair and you close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Me too.”

Somehow, it seems like the most honest thing you’ve said.

Even when you pull away, you’re still mere inches from him. You feel his breath on your skin, his hands travelling from your backside to your hips. Jungkook's eyes are focused on your face but there’s no sadness or melancholy in them now. In his deep brown orbs you recognize something akin to longing.

And maybe the alcohol running in your veins is deceiving you, but when his gaze drops to your lips, you can’t do anything; you’re paralyzed, barely breathing. It’s electrifying, crawling in your skin. His right palm finds the apple of your cheek, thumb stroking your bottom lip until he releases it and tilts your chin. The moment your eyes meet his comes with realization that maybe you were right - you see the yearning in them. But it’s mixed with desire.

The first touch of his lips on yours feels almost exploratory. He kisses you so softly and carefully you might believe it’s his first kiss, but you know this is only a false inkling. Truth to be told, his experience in this area is incomparable to yours. With the shy press of his lips on yours he’s only testing the waters, sensing if you want to push him away. Yet you don’t.

You succumb to the way his chapped lips move against yours, like they’ve always belonged there. You want to be as close to him as possible, feel the heat radiating of him on you. Nothing else matters beside you and him right now, the reality outside doesn’t exist as long as you’re in the confines of your small bedroom, lips colliding and rational thoughts gone.

When your fingers almost hesitantly thread into the locks at the back of his head, Jungkook deepens the kiss. Your body is moving on your own accord, knees sinking onto the floor on either sides of his thighs until you’re straddling his lap. You taste the desire on his tongue as he runs it through the seam of your lips, seeking entrance you provide.

His hands find purchase on your hips and when he nips on your bottom lip you let out a silent moan, leaning your forehead on his. “What are we doing?” you whisper, breathing heavily down his flushed cheeks and parted mouth. You’re trying to grasp the meaning behind all of this: of your quickened heartbeat, of the evidence of his desire where you groins meet.

“Something we are going to regret later.” It’s the answer Jungkook gives, connecting your mouths once again in a searing kiss.

Everything seems to crush around you. Erupting volcanoes, cascading waterfalls, tsunamis consuming the land. It’s dangerous, Jungkook thinks to himself, kissing you like that, nibbling on your bottom lip and eliciting a moan. But he can’t help but drown in it.

You’ve never felt quite like this; consumed by the flames of forbidden desire, ready to burn into ashes. Jungkook’s palms shift underneath your hoodie and you’re surprised how warm they feel against your skin, caressing your stomach and underside of your breasts. He’s touching you with ardour, like he doesn’t believe you’re in his arms, like you’re going to disappear the second he lets go of you.

You place sloppy kisses on his cheeks, jawline, down his neck, relishing in the way he seems to be affected by your caresses, tightening his grip on your waist with every press of your lips on his skin. He grasps the hem of your hoodie, looking for any sign of discomfort in your eyes but when you nod your head, he doesn’t hesitate to lift it off you, uncovering your bare cleavage.

Biting your lip, a sudden wave of insecurity washes over you but it quickly vanishes as soon as his palms engulf your breasts almost roughly, thumbs brushing your nipples until the peeks harden under his ministrations and you can’t help but gasp. He trails kisses down your throat, teeth grazing your skin almost feather-like and you know what’s that for. He doesn’t want to live a visible mark there.

In one, swift motion, Jungkook puts his hands underneath your thighs and stands up from the floor, lifting you up with ease and placing gently on your bed. He hovers over your half-naked figure, eyeing you with the carnal hunger that makes your chest raise and fall with heavy intakes of breath, core pulsing with want.

He takes off his shirt and tosses it somewhere on the floor, and now you understand why all these girl are so drown to him. Jungkook's probably the most good looking man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Everything in him is crafted with perfection, from the prominent outline of his jaw, through the column of his throat and collarbones, to the sculpted expanses of his chest and abdomen.

Your fingerstips are itching to map every ridge and deep of his body but you remain still, anticipating his next move with rapidly beating heart. Dominance and power radiating of him nearly make you squirm underneath his scrutinizing stare. His dark eyes are telling you to obey him, and you give yourself to him without resistance. You’ve never felt this way, not with anyone. Yet here you are, stripped from the innocence and bared to the pleasure.

Jungkook reaches to the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down and leaving you with nothing but your underwear on. He straddles your thighs, his palm pressed flat to your stomach until he slides it lower, to the dip of your body where you drip with the need of being fucked until you forget your own name.

The first press of his fingers on your pussy makes your limbs jerk uncontrollably and he smirks at your reaction, seeing the material of your panties dampening with his small, teasing strokes. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly it wounds you up, blame it on your uncontrollable celibacy or maybe something else entirely.

“What do you want me to do, doll?” His question makes you whine, hips raising to feel more of his touch on you but he only chuckles at your apparent eagerness, patting your folds in reprimand.

“Anything,” you breathe out in response, looking at him with frenzied eyes and hoping he will be merciful to you.

Jungkook tsks, his fingers leaving your cunt and grasping your jaw tightly. “Be a good girl and use your words.”

You gulp, a humiliating blush reddening your cheeks. You’ve never really been a vocal person during sex, nor were people you had slept with but you can’t deny how much of a turn on is Jungkook's commanding voice.

“Please, Jungkook. Want you to touch me.”

“Where?” His other hand wanders down your body until he cups your center. “Here?” he asks in a mocking tone, making you nod silently. “You want me to touch your pretty pussy with my fingers?”

“Yes, please.”

He grasps your underwear and shruggs it off your legs, smirking when he sees you so affected by his words. He then shoves his index and middle finger into your mouth and watches as you obediently lap your tongue around them, looking at him with hooded eyes.

“Fuck.” he curses, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

You look so pliant and submissive lying naked underneath him, so willing to let him do with you whatever he pleases. His cock throbs in his pants at the thought. He’s had girls at his beck and call before but it’s a different kind of lust with you. A strong yearning, consuming him from the inside, a desperation to be as close as two humans being submerged into carnality possibly can be.

Your back arches when his calloused fingers finally make contact with your bare pussy, slipping between your folds to gather the wetness dripping from your hole. You gasp at the feeling of his thumb circling your clit, biting your lip until you taste iron. He easily finds the right way to make you moan, to make your legs shake with want.

You cry out his name when he pushes the first digit inside. He swears under his breath when he feels your warm walls flattering around him. “M-more,” you whimper, hips lifting of the mattress and seeking friction.

Jungkook smirks at that. “You’re so wet, baby. You like it, don’t you? Such a greedy slut.” You’re mewling at his words, grasping his wrist when he roughly plunges another finger into your cunt and starts shoving them in and out, not sparing even a second to let you adjust to the punishing pace he sets.

He leans his body closer over yours, eyes focused on the way your face writhes in pleasure while his fingers are abusing your pussy. You’re dripping, your arousal coating the his palm and the insides of your thighs. When he sees you reaching to squeeze your breasts, he swears he’s never seen anything sexier than this in his entire life.

“Jungkookie–nghh, please,” You’re a blubbering mess, moaning incoherent sentences. You could sense your orgasm approaching, you’re feeling it warming your body from the tip of your toes all the way to your core where you’re gushing around his long fingers.

“Come on, doll. Be a good girl and cum for me.” Jungkook murmurs. With his words and his thumb flicking your bundle of nerves with practiced ease, you’re pushed over the edge, tears spilling from your eyes and coating your cheeks. He watches with parted mouth as you come with his name on your lips, your velvet walls deliciously tightening around his digits. He gives you a moment to ride out your high, stroking your side with his palm soothingly.

Pulling out his fingers, he places them in his mouth, humming lowly at the taste of your arousal on his tongue. He wants nothing more than bury his face between your thighs and lick you clean but right now, he needs to fuck you.

He stands up from the bed, taking off his pants and boxers along with socks and catches you peeking at him from the corner of your eye. Your chest is rising with laboured breaths, lips swollen from the way you’ve been biting them to stop yourself from letting out any loud noises that could potentially be heard through the thin walls of your apartment.

He digs one knee on the mattress, his other hand wrapped around his thick cock. You lick your lips at the sight, nails digging crescent moons into your palms.

“On your fours, baby.” Jungkook commands and you oblige with flushed cheeks, maneuvering your body onto your hands and knees. You feel him behind you, his palms stroking the skin of your bare ass. A sick thrill runs through your body at the prospect of being taken in such a humiliating position.

Groaning, Jungkook rubs the mushroom head of his cock through your folds, collecting the juices spilling out of you. That’s when you come back to your senses and your whole body stiffens. “Wait,” you call out, making him pause. “We need a condom.”

“I’m clean. Besides, I never fuck anyone else without protection.”

“Fine, just–” Closing your eyes, you release a shaky breath. “–you need to pull out, okay?”

Jungkook leans over your body, placing a kiss on your shoulder blade. “Relax, ___. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” With one hand on your waist and the other on your hip, he positions the tip of his cock at your entrance and pushes agonizingly slow inside, making you moan at the stretch. You’re grasping the sheets underneath between your fingers, knees threatening to give away after another measured stroke that leaves your heat pulsating.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. When was the last time he fucked you?” he grunts, digging his fingers into your flesh. At the mention of Minho, your body tenses. You breath heavily, trying to push the unwelcomed thoughts aside.

“A m-month ago?” you utter, recalling the last time you had sex. Or rather when you sucked him off and he didn’t bother reciprocating the favor.

Jungkook shoves his cock deeper, scoffing to himself. “His stupid for not appreciating this enough.”

You bite your lip, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. His words sound affectionate, too affectionate for your liking and you don’t want to think about this moment like it means more than what it is. Your hands tremble and lose balance when he fucks into you harder, until he’s filling you to the brim. You’ve never felt so deliciously full. A few bits of ragged breaths later, you mumble, ‘’You can move.”

He tightens his grip on you, bottoming out. He sets a steady pace, fucking you slowly but deeply, making you cry out into the pillow at the sensation of his cock dragging through your walls, making sure you feel every inch of him. “You feel so good, doll. So wet and tight. I’m gonna make a mess of your pretty pussy.” he says lowly.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo through the room with the promise of merciless fucking. Jungkook is relentless, pounding into you faster and faster, like he wants to ruin you, imprint himself on your body to make you remember how easily you can give into vulnerability. His hand slips underneath you and he lifts your upper body up, pressing your back into his chest. The new found angle causes him to hit the spot inside you that has you putty in his arms.

“Don’t–nghhh–stop, fuck!”

He grunts into your ear in response, sweaty bangs ticking the side of your neck. He sneaks his other hand around your throat and you gulp. “Is this okay?” You hear him whispering and you’re nodding, tears gathering in your eyes from the immense pleasure he is bringing to you with every snap of his hips that threatens to make you lose it on his cock.

His fingers apply a slight pressure against your neck, enough to make you lightheaded with unfamiliar yet ecstatic feeling. He overwhelms you in every way possible and you’ve never felt like this; so powerless yet alive at the same time.

Jungkook releases the grip on your throat but he’s hand still remains there as if in warning. “Look at you, taking my cock in your slutty cunt. You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna cum all over me?” he growls, fingers rubbing your clit in fast circles until tears are spilling down your cheeks and you’re keening.

“God–yes, fuck! Please, I want to cum so bad.” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re on cloud nine, trembling in his arms. He tightens his hold on your throat again and with one last, final flick of his digits on your pussy you’re reaching your second orgasm this night.

Jungkook releases his hold on you, helping you lay down on your back after riding out your high to the brick of oversensitivity. His palm caresses the length of your body soothingly, calming you down. You’re eyes are still closed when he bends and kisses you. Surprised by his sudden gentleness, your breath hitches in your throat. He coaxes a small moan out of you when you finally relax, wrapping your arms around his neck blindingly and pulling him close.

You break away the kiss, feeling his stiff length pressing into your stomach. His cock is covered in your slick, thick and hard against his toned abdomen. Biting your lip, you sit up and enclose your fingers around his sex. Looking up, you're met with his dark orbs watching your movements. With his raven hair falling down on his face and sweaty chest, Jungkook looks painfully beautiful.

He lets out a hiss when you lean down and take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his velvet tip. “Fuck, just like that.” he murmurs. Gathering your hair in his hand, he makes a makeshift ponytail and stares down at you bringing him closer and closer to the edge with every drag of your pink muscle on his cock.

Feeling him twitch in your mouth, you take him deeper, ignoring the ache in your jaw. “Gonna cum.” Jungkook grunts and moments later he releases his seed down your throat. You swallow the bitterness of his arousal, lapping your tongue around his tip until he pulls out of you, wincing with oversensitivity.

Silence takes over the room. You don't dare looking at him, staring at your naked lap instead, thoughts screaming in your head. You know you’re going to feel the aftermath of your rough fucking tomorrow, and it won’t be only physical pain. You sit up, ready to go to the bathroom but a hand on your wrist stops you.

“Wait, I’ll do it.” Jungkook murmurs and you nod absentmindedly.

He gets up from the bed and disappears in the bathroom. Unsure of what to do, you force your muscles to move, sitting at the edge of the bed. Jungkook comes back a minute later, carrying a dump towel.

Your head drops to the ground immadietly. He kneels before you and you desperately avoid his eyes. You notice he’s put on his boxers already and now he’s cleaning you gently off, removing evidences of your sins from your skin. You will take a shower later, the water will wash you off from each other’s scents and lingering touches. Love bites will soon disappear, bruises on your hips fade. Yet the scars you left on your hearts won’t heal that easily.

Jungkook puts his hand on your knee and you bite your bottom lip. He takes your hoodie lying on the floor and puts on your naked, marked body. Your heart clenches in your chest at the simple gesture.

“___,” he calls your name. At that, you finally look up at him. He seems worried, you must tell, millions of thoughts crossing his mind at the moment as well as yours. “Let’s go to sleep for now, okay? We will talk about this in the morning.”

You don’t say anything, nodding at his words. You crawl onto the bed, trying to create as much distance as possible between your bodies but it’s pointless. You feel his breath on your neck and you're sure his itching to hold you, but he doesn’t know if he should, so he stays mere inches from you, until you both eventually fall asleep.

Jungkook wakes up hours later with a raging headache. He grunts to himself, rubbing his face with grimace and making another meaningless promise about drinking less alcohol. When he open his eyes, he realises he’s staring at the fluorescent stars attached to the ceiling. Your ceiling.

When he turns his head to the left, he finds the other side of the bed empty. It’s almost bright in the room, which means he’s stayed overnight again. And he didn’t do just that.

Bits of memories flash behind his eyelids: him coming to your flat to hang out, your conversation, the kiss that led to naked bodies and breathy moans. He fucked up royally this time.

Throwing the comforter off his body, he feels a sudden rush of coldness raising goosebumps on his skin. Frowning, he picks up his discarded clothes from the floor and starts putting them on. The door to your bedroom are cracked open, just like you haven’t closed them to not wake him up.

Jungkook raises from the bed once he’s fully dressed, and pushes the door. He finds you standing by the fully opened window in your kitchen, staring outside.

He understands now why there was so cold before. The fluffy, blueish robe wrapped around your body is probably doing little job at providing warmth, but you don’t seem to mind it at all. You don’t see him yet, your back facing him until he takes another step and the floor creaks underneath his weight.

He sees your shoulders raising and falling, as if you’ve just let out a sigh. Then, you turn around cautiously, a greish puffs of smoke swirling over your features. Jungkook raises a brow.

“I thought you said you had quit.” It’s the first thing he says, his voice still groggy from sleeping.

You shrug at that, averting your gaze to the view behind your opened window again. “I always smoke after making a bad decision.”

It sounds bitter coming from you. A testament of your recklessness and weak hearts. He could read the regret straight from your face. It’s all in your posture: you look broken. And he is the reason why you’re hurting. The guilt is almost eating him up from the inside. He needs to try fixing this before you will push him away and he’ll lose you again.

“I think we should forget about that.” you speak after a moment of silence, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your voice trembles and he feels it stabbing him right in the middle of his chest, depriving him of hope to make things good between you. “It’ll be for the better for of us if we act like nothing ever happened. We got drunk, we let our emotions get the best of us. That’s all.”

You and him both know it wasn’t just alcohol which made you let him touch you like that, fuck your worries away for a few bits of pleasant oblivion. It meant so much more but you’re too afraid to confront this. You aren’t ready yet.

When you close the window and finally look at him, Jungkook's shoulders are slouched. Defeated. Something aches in your heart at that. “I’m sorry. For everything,” he tells you. He’s clenching his fists by his sides and you know he’s hurting too, more than he could ever let anybody realize. “I should get going then.”

He exits the kitchen with one last, small smile reserved only for you. You didn't mean to handle the situation like that, like you’re quickly ripping off the band-aid, but you couldn’t think of a better way. Closing your eyes, you let your emotions decide once again. “Wait,” you call out after him, stepping into the hallway. “Maybe you will stay for breakfast.” you propose and Jungkook shakes his head.

“No. It’s okay. I don’t want to keep you busy.” he says, putting on his jacket. Reaching for the handle, he turns to you and smiles. “Take care, ___.” When the door close behind him, you let out a long exhale.

What Jeon Jungkook couldn’t predict, is that he will be the one doing walk of shame out of your flat.

#jungkook smut #bts smut #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #maknaesmutsociety #btsbookclub #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #my writing #lost stars

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hannibard · 4 years ago

Text

I recently got second hole earrings and it inspired me to write this!

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Read on ao3

“Do I really have to do this?” Geralt asked as he got inside his ex-girlfriends car.

“Yes.” Yennefer answered without looking at him before turning the engine on and exiting the parking.

“Hm. Can’t I just buy you a meal instead?”

“No.”

“What about one of those unicorn dildos you wanted?”

“Tempting but still no.”

Geralt sighed and raised his hand to run it through his hair before remembering that it’s up in a bun and doing so would ruin it, so he placed it back on his lap instead.

Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“Can you maybe chill a bit? You’re the one who bet that you could eat 80 hotdogs in a row without puking and you agreed that if you lost you’d get your ears pierced.” She said, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. “A deal’s a deal, you can’t just back out now.”

Geralt let out a frustrated grunt. “In my defense I was wasted at the time, but I know.”

“Then stop being a little bitch. What are you even worried about anyways? Don’t tell me you’re scared. It doesn’t hurt much, you’re barely gonna feel it.”

“Fuck no Yenn. I don’t mind a bit of pain, you know that.”

Yennefer turned to wink at him. “That I do.”

They were both silent for a moment as they reminisce some of the better parts of their previous romantic entanglement.

Yennefer cleared her throat and asked again. “Then what’s the fucking problem?”

“I just… I’m not sure how earrings would look on me.”

Yennefer hummed and Geralt chuckled softly. “That’s my line.”

Yennefer laughed but then turned serious. “…I personally think they’d look very sexy on you and fit with your general rocker/bordering on too much leather vibe but if you really don’t want to do this then I can find another equally torturous way for you to settle this bet but without any permanent changes to your appearance.”

Geralt was somewhat shocked to see her yield this easily but he probably shouldn’t have been. He knew how good of a person she was underneath her cold exterior and he also knew that even though things didn’t work out between them she still cared a great deal about him, the same way he still cared about her. It’s the reason they became such good friends after their inevitable separation, and she would never push him to do something outside of his boundaries.

He smiled softly even though she can’t see it with her eyes on the road.

“It’s fine. I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”

…

They arrived at the piercing/tattoo parlor soon after, Yennefer telling Geralt about a new sushi restaurant she and her girlfriend, Renfri, went to last weekend as they enter the building. They walked up to the counter where a clerk with shoulder-length curly chestnut hair was waiting to assist them. “Hello and welcome to ‘Yellow Lotus Body Art’, my name’s Triss. Do you have an appointment?”

Yennefer nodded.

Triss smiled politely. “Great, could you please give me a name?”

“Geralt Rivia.”

“Oh, for the ear piercings right? Please wait a moment while I go check if Jaskier’s ready.” She said before disappearing behind a door.

Geralt side-eyed his friend. “You made the appointment in my name?”

“You’re the one requesting their services so isn’t it natural?”

Geralt was about to reply with something snarky when suddenly the backdoor opened and the most attractive guy Geralt had ever laid eyes on walked out.

He was a little bit younger than him, maybe in his mid-twenties and he had short brown hair in a teen Justin Bieber type hairstyle, that while long out of fashion looked really good on him and gorgeous cornflower blue eyes that seemed to look right into his soul.

He was wearing an oversized dress shirt with wide pink and white stripes which was messily tucked into his skinny ripped jeans that were folded at the bottom. Several of the buttons at the top of the shirt were left unbuttoned, revealing pale skin covered with a thick patch of chest hair that made Geralt’s mouth go dry.

For shoes he was sporting a pair of brown leather oxford boots that were short enough to show his ridiculous SpongeBob patterned socks. He had various jewelry on, such as a black choker and a simple silver necklace around his neck, rings on his fingers and also several piercings on his ears as well as his nose, eyebrows and one single silver stud on his chin and his arms and collarbone were covered in tattoos depicting yellow flowers (buttercups maybe? Geralt wasn’t sure), music notes and many other random designs. Last but not least, wrapped around his wrist was a bracelet with the bisexual flag on which Geralt was especially happy to see and it made his heart soar with hope.

The man looked at both Yennefer and Geralt up and down with a glint in his eye and grinned widely. “Hello there! I’m Julian but everyone calls me Jaskier. I do both piercings and tattoos here and I’m very happy to make your acquaintance.” He clapped his hands together. “So! Which one of you is Geralt?”

The pair gave him a dry look, or at least Yennefer did because Geralt’s was closer to smitten more than anything else.

“What? I didn’t want to make any assumptions.” Jaskier said sheepishly and bit his lower lip. Geralt’s eyes were immediately drawn to the gesture.

Yennefer leaned on the counter and nodded towards her ex with a roll of her eyes. “It’s him.”

“Perfect! Please follow me.” Jaskier said and led them down a hallway and inside a room. There was a tattoo chair in the middle and the younger man motioned for Geralt to sit on it.

“Triss mentioned that it’s your first time getting a piercing correct?” Jaskier asked while putting on some plastic gloves.

“Yeah.” Geralt answered and avoided eye contact trying to not stare at the guy too much, something which was proving to be quite hard.

Jaskier sighed and looked up dreamily.

“I remember when I first had my ears pierced.” He said and started taking various small packages out from a drawer and arranging them neatly in a surgical stand next to Geralt’s chair.

“I was in middle school and the guy I liked at the time had earrings so I asked him where he got them just to start a conversation and he told me and then offered to come with me if I ever wanted to try it out so of course I said yes and after I did it I became obsessed with piercings so here I am today.”

Yennefer snorted from the doorway where she was standing with her arms crossed. “Wait, so you basically just did it for some guy?” she asked in a judgmental tone which Geralt was confused about since she literally brought him here for an even stupider reason.

Jaskier just chuckled unoffended. “Not just some guy! I lost my virginity to him not long after.” He said and started opening the packages and taking various metal tools out of them. “And I’d blame it on the fact that I was a teenager at the time but even now when I fall in love it’s always fast.” He turned and winked at Geralt. “And hard.”

Geralt’s eyes widened and he blushed. He cleared his throat trying to feign nonchalance “Hm. That doesn’t really sound fun honestly.”

Jaskier made a thoughtful sound. “Sometimes it is and other times it isn’t I guess. Depends on how the other party will respond.”

He seemed to want to say more on the subject, but he was done with the preparations and he had no reason to stall. “Before we start, I must inform you that all the tools I’m gonna use have been sterilized and sealed in those packages you saw earlier to avoid infection so you don’t have to worry about that.”

He picked up a marker and came close to Geralt to mark the place where the holes on his ears would be made. Once he was done he held a mirror in front of his client. “Is this ok?”

The older man just nodded and Jaskier put the mirror back.

“Have you thought about what sort of earrings you’d like?”

Geralt had in fact not thought about this at all. “Not really.” He answered honestly.

“Whoa seriously? How do you even come to a place like this without deciding that first?”

“…I lost a bet.” Geralt grumbled while Yennefer laughed.

“Well I’ll have your friend here tell me all about it while you go back to the counter and choose something with Triss. Come on now, off you go!” Jaskier said and kicked him out of the room.

Geralt was worried that his newfound crush was more interested in his ex-girlfriend than him so he wasn’t really paying attention to what Triss was saying, basically letting her pick the first thing she suggested before hurriedly making his way back to the room.

As he got closer, he could hear Jaskier’s beautiful laugh and he quickened his pacing. He was about to open the door when the question the tattoo artist asked Yennefer stopped him dead in his tracks.

“So are you guys together or…?”

“No no, we’re just friends currently. Tried the whole relationship thing out long ago and it didn’t work out. Though I must inform you that I’m dating someone else at the moment but Geralt’s single if you wanna shoot your shot.”

“I just might.” Jaskier was saying as Geralt re-entered the room.

Two pair of eyes looked back at him and the piercer shot him a charming smile. “Welcome back big guy! Come here and show me what you’ve chosen.”

Geralt handed him the earrings and sat back down.

“Black studs huh? Not a bad choice for your first time.” He said and picked up something that looked like scissors, leaning over Geralt.

“You ready?” he asked and Geralt took a deep breath which was the wrong thing to do because his lungs filled with Jaskier’s scent and it was intoxicating. If he had to use words to describe it he’d say it was a pleasant mix of lavender and something citrusy with a hint of sweat coming through as well.

His heart started beating faster and he looked at Yennefer all panicked. She just raised an eyebrow in return. “What? Need me to hold your hand or something?”

Geralt growled and looked back at Jaskier. “Just get it over with.”

Jaskier shrugged and got to work. It stung a bit, but it didn’t bother Geralt in the slightest. He actually barely noticed it with Jaskier’s close proximity and the sound of his gentle humming as he worked being all he could thing about.

After he was done, Jaskier picked up a few cotton swabs and poured some sort of clear liquid over them before using them to wipe at Geralt’s ears.

“All done!” He said after stepping back to admire his work. He gave Geralt the mirror from previously to look at the earrings himself as Yennefer came over as well.

Geralt was pleasantly surprised to note that he really liked what he saw. They were very noticeable with his hair being white and all but they didn’t make him look any less masculine as he secretly feared. Plus, they fit quite nicely with his all-black outfit that consisted of black jeans, black combat boots, a black t-shirt and a black leather jacket.

Yennefer whistled appreciatively. “I don’t know about you but I love them.”

Geralt shook his head. “No no, I feel the same way. Thanks for convincing me to do this.” He turned to Jaskier who was smiling back at him. “And thank you for everything.”

“Just doing my job.” He said in a sing song voice and turned around, bending down to rummage through one of the lower drawers and giving Geralt a very nice view of his ass. His shirt rode up as well, making the tramp stamp of a dragonfly he had tattooed on his lower back visible and Geralt felt himself getting hotter by the second.

Yennefer noticed him looking and smirked but didn’t comment.

Jaskier stood back up and handed him a piece of paper and a small card. He pointed at the paper. “This one has instructions on what to do after you go home, though the gist of it is clean the holes with a cotton swab drenched in saline solution two to three times every day for 2 months and then you’d be able to take those earrings off and try on others.”

He then pointed at the card. “And this is the warranty for the black studs.” He said and took the gloves off, throwing them in a trash can.

“If you somehow happen to lose them, come by and we’ll just redo the process ok?”

“Yes.” Geralt answered and cursed himself for his bad social skills. How does he keep the conversation going?

“Oh, and I also think I should give you my personal number, y’know, just in case something happens.” Jaskier added and looked up at him expectantly.

Geralt was quick to take the chance that was given to him. “I’d like that.”

Jaskier beamed at him relieved. He took back the paper and quickly scribbled his number down before handing it to him. “Have a nice day Geralt. And Yennefer too.”

“I’m honored you remembered me. Come on Geralt, let’s go pay.” Geralt smiled and gave Jaskier a small wave as he was dragged outside by his ex.

“Goodbye Jaskier.”

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskier #the witcher #fanfiction #text #mine #julian alfred pankratz #gerlion #dandelion #geralt x jaskier #my writing

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elderbwrry · 4 years ago

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Even if he doesn't say so - Chapter 2/?

Kylo/Hux/Poe Witcher AU

Chapter summary: The trouble with trinkets is they make people jealous. Or maybe that's just Kylo.

Chapter 1 here, 2 below or on Ao3, 3

Wordcount: 2029

Kylo raised his sword and brought it down fiercely on the horrible carnivorous vines he'd been hired to clear out of the local village's moor edge. The things had already munched their way through a cow and half a sheep, and the villagers were worried a child would be next. Perhaps to his own detriment, Kylo wasn't really all that interested in the reasons why he'd been hired; he was far more interested in the coin he'd get out of the experience, and the opportunity to really let loose some destructive energy.

Of course, Kylo had been trained well in fencing, dagger fighting, stave fighting and in hand to hand combat, but for his typical work, he favoured the longsword. The weight of it felt so right in his hands, the swing of it, the sharp edge or the blunt hit, the way it gleamed red after drawing blood. For most monsters, it worked perfectly well, but even then the necessity to dodge or force down some kind of potion usually took the pleasure out of the pure heft behind it. These vines, however, were easy game. They thrashed, shot out poisonous barbs, but mostly they stayed in one place. That meant Kylo could swipe the metal through them with abandon, and still be assured he'd meet his mark.

He hacked and slashed, let a furore course through his veins and out into his surroundings, over and over and over through whatever fleshy leaf, woody stem, fibrous buds he could reach with metal and intensity. When finally he let his sword drop to trail its point through the under-brush at his side, it was carnage. He went around the area, plunging the blade as deep as it would go into each root stump until he was satisfied that nothing was living, before stalking away from the destruction.

Chest heaving, he found a flat, dry piece of ground and lay down, looking up at the clouds and basking in the feeling of action still tingling through his arms, into his fingers, out into the earth and the air around him. He felt connected – to the ground he was lying on, to the source of his own power, without being worried he was lost in the force of a potion. This was all him.

Back in the village, when they'd described to Kylo what he was out to fight, Hux had listened carefully and given a fancy academic name for the vines. Kylo stuck with the common name, shrugging and standing to head off immediately. Hux had reprimanded him and delayed him until he'd found an anti-toxin potion to order Kylo to take before engaging the things, which Kylo had ignored. Now, looking down at his legs and seeing several barbs sticking out of them, Kylo again heard Hux telling him, “They have poisonous thorns, you know,” in exactly that tone that could piss him off just as much as it could make him want to pounce on Hux and make his annoyance known by ripping a few tunic seams in the process.

Still, the mage was right, as per fucking usual.

Kylo hauled himself up to sit, drew the potion out of a pocket and downed it, picking the barbs out while he waited for it to take effect. The pricks tingled a bit, but it wasn't anything too bad, certainly not to the severity that Hux's wariness had suggested. Though it was nice that he'd given him the potion. It felt like being looked out for.

He let his mind drift to how Hux and Poe would be doing. The mage was likely offering common-sense medical advice to the villagers in the most deadpan delivery possible, or flicking through one of the books he'd brought with him in his seemingly bottomless bags. Poe had been eager to do his usual thing and perform a little in the tavern. His voice was so wonderful, Kylo found himself thinking, the sparkle in his eyes as he reached the punchline of a bawdy tune, and the way he could command a room, tell a story better than anyone else before...

Well, Kylo should be getting back.

He stood, gave the area one last cursory look for any vines he'd missed, and, seeing nothing, turned to go. He was just sheathing his sword when he stopped, eyes catching on a clump of cheerful orange and white flowers which had managed to survive his visit, just on the edge of the carnage.

“Hmm.”

When Kylo returned to the village tavern and gave Poe those same flowers, Poe's face lit up with a smile. “Well, don't I feel special.”

Kylo noticed Hux eyeing them. Shit, had he done something wrong? “They're not poisonous too, are they?” he asked.

Hux seemed to snap out of some kind of reverie. “No, they're... they're just normal flowers. Excuse me,” he stood from the table he was sat at and made for the stairs.

If Kylo didn't know better about Hux's taste in “useless gestures” like flowers, he would have thought he should have brought Hux some as well.

[break]

They stopped at the next city. Kylo wasn't sure they should stay – there were no contracts of the style he took, and, in his opinion, staying pointlessly at a place like this was a recipe for trouble – but Poe wanted to get some supplies and try out a some new material with a more cosmopolitan crowd, and Hux claimed he had someone he wanted to visit, so stay they did.

Hux disappeared off into the bustling crowds early in the morning, and, later, Poe dragged Kylo off to the market. Kylo started to suspect he was only there so that Poe could make him carry things, which would grate on him usually, but he found didn't mind all that much, since it meant he got to spend time with the bard.

Poe was a people person, a fact which Kylo had always known, but it was never so clear as when he was not trying actively to entrance people as he did when performing – somehow not putting it on made it all the more obvious this was just him. He would flash charming grins to the women and manoeuvred through the crowds with an ease Kylo was jealous of.

For his own part, Kylo always felt the need to keep his hood low, to keep out of sight, even going so far as to cast a glamour some witch had taught him years ago. It was a weak thing, but eyes slid off him like water droplets off a bird. With Poe, however, he didn't need it; the man was so magnetic as it was, there was barely anyone who would bother to stare at anyone else. (Kylo included himself in that number.)

Finally, they came to a stand selling all sorts of gold and silver jewellery, pretty trinkets, gemstones on cords. One brooch caught Poe's eye – a dragon. “This is some amazing craftsmanship,” he noted, striking up an easy conversation with the stall keeper. When the man had to tend to another customer, he turned back to Kylo. “I'd love to fly. Do you think I'd be a good dragon?”

“You'd be great,” Kylo told him honestly. He was certain Poe would command the skies, given half the chance, and push back against the hunters until the entire Continent was dragon territory once again. The mental image morphed into one of Poe in front of a victory banner, the name of a great flying lizard no more than an epithet used by the forces he'd become leader of. It was a good look in him; he may not want to be in charge of his home kingdom, but with a cause like that, and people to follow him, he could be formidable. Lost in the daydream of Poe as some kind of dragon king of the skies, Kylo pointed at the brooch. “Do you want to get that?”

Poe looked at it thoughtfully, enough that Kylo could see the conflict in his thoughts. “Nah,” he said eventually, “it's expensive and... I have stuff at home.” He began walking away, and Kylo trailed after him, thinking it was a pity – the brooch would look so wonderful on him. “Maybe I could get Hux to transfigure me or something,” Poe mused, a glint of humour in his eye as Kylo blanched.

“I'm not sure that's how it works...”

“Imagine it though. Flap flap, blagh, I'm a dragon.”

[break]

A day after they left the city, they made their first camp at the edge of a copse. Kylo was checking over his armour while Poe and Hux were sat on a log opposite him, Poe cooking a fowl on the fire and Hux watching him do it. Kylo had let himself fall into a somewhat meditative state as he worked everything over, but a glint of silver and amber across camp hooked him out of it.

Hux had withdrawn a small pouch from his pocket, and withdrawn from that again a brooch. Another second let Kylo confirm – it was the very brooch from the city market. How had he known? Then he was handing it to Poe with a smooth, “I saw this and thought of you.” Bastard.

Poe was speechless for a second. “You shouldn't have,” were the first words out of his mouth.

“Well I can always-”

“No, I'll...” Poe reached to take it from Hux's hand. Kylo's jaw clenched as Poe's fingers lingered for too long. “Thanks, Hux. This is... wow.” He put it on, pinning it over his heart.

“It isn't straight.” Without waiting to be asked, Hux reached up with deft mage's fingers to fix it, smoothing out the fabric more than was necessary. “There.”

The leather armour in Kylo's grip creaked. Poe didn't hear it, but Hux shot him a look and... was that a smirk?

Then it hit Kylo; those flowers he'd given to Poe weeks ago must have made Hux jealous. It did not enter into Kylo's conception that Hux could simply like seeing Poe happy – happiness could be a part of it, certainly, but Hux was too cunning, too driven by ulterior motives for it to be that simple – or that Hux's feeling at seeing Poe like another person's gift could be any different to what Kylo himself was now feeling at seeing the same.

Well, if this was to be a game of one-upmanship, Kylo was sure he'd find a way to win. To make Poe smile like that, run a hand through his curls self-consciously as he now was – Kylo could do that just as well as Hux could. The rest of the evening, his mind was spinning with things he could give to the bard, trinkets of affection he could source the next time they crossed a place which dealt in such things.

The fire burned down and Hux retreated into his tent for the evening, Poe and Kylo settling on their bedrolls. They ended up facing each other, so Kylo, with his Witcher eyes, was not spared the view of Poe's finger fiddling with the brooch as he smiled to himself.

“He shouldn't have got it for me,” Poe mumbled again, as if sensing Kylo's train of thought, “It's probably gonna get broken.” Then, quieter, “I worry enough about whether you two will stay in one piece, I'd rather not worry about tiny things like this as well.”

Kylo thought about that for a minute. “You worry about us?” He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Out of all of them, Poe was the one who should be being worried about – Kylo himself was nigh on destructible, and Hux would probably survive anything out of sheer spite, even discounting his magic.

“Shut up,” Poe chuckled.

Kylo watched him smile up blankly at the canopy. And... if Poe could be happy like that without being showered with gifts, if it would please him more to worry about them less, maybe Kylo didn't need to compete with Hux. Perhaps the three of them were good enough as they were.

#darkgingerpilot #armitage hux #kylo ren #poe dameron #kylo/hux/poe #kylux #darkpilot #gingerpilot #my writing #fanfiction #witcher au #fantasy medieval au #star wars #even if he doesn't say so

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hanniebvnnie · 4 years ago

Text

Operation Miroh

trigger warnings: none

written + edited by: 🥺

pairings: hwang hyunjin x oc

summary: A string of murders lead Detective Yang Nami down the winding streets of Seoul’s maze district, searching for the Vampire Slayer. But what happens when her digging leads her far closer to home than she could have ever thought? What happens when it’s someone she’s supposed to trust?

Prologue

There are lots of rules when it comes to vampires.

First, they must be invited into a house before they can enter. I'm not entirely sure why--they aren't usually portrayed as the most polite of people, not when they're plunging their fangs into your neck and sucking you dry. But it's a rule, and they have to abide by it.

Second, they must avoid certain things such as sunlight, garlic and anything remotely holy. Supposedly, it's because they're devil incarnates and anything too potent or bright or religious can harm them. I just think it's because they have weird allergies. Kind of like how I'm allergic to oranges, which is really inconvenient because they look like they taste good. It sucks.

Finally--not that it's the last rule, but it's the final most obvious one--they can only be killed by certain methods. Some of these include the use of silver, fire (they're insanely flammable), decapitation and a stake to the heart--the most famous and popularly used of them all.

All of this is purely hypothetical, of course. Just myths formulated by people with better things to do than tell stories of bloodsuckers and the threats they pose to us poor, helpless prey.

At least, that's what I thought.

I had read enough stories and watched enough movies to know the basic rules about vampires, but not enough to blindly believe my boss when he told me they're real.

"You're kidding, right?"

He's kidding. He has to be. Maybe he's crazy, or maybe this is a prank.

I searched Captain Park's face for signs of amusement or maybe some sort of twitch--a crack in his demeanor to tell me that he wasn't being serious. His face remained completely flat.

I glanced around the room for cameras, wondering if I was on some kind of prank show, or that one TV program What Would You Do?. It would have been a really shit prank, because I was definitely not buying it, but you never know. Maybe they'd run out of ideas. I might have been payed more for not falling for something so stupid.

The same security camera that had been in the office since I began working there blinked back at me, red light flashing. I'd seen security footage from it before--for a security camera at a literal police station, you'd think that it'd have better resolution. Apparently not.

Which meant it wasn't a prank show, at least not one that valued it's camera quality. Which meant my boss was crazy.

He stared at me silently, not bothering to answer my question. Yep, definitely crazy.

"I'm serious, Detective Yang." He did look serious. Since when did he start taking acting classes? I thought. I mean, I took drama for 3 years and even I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face after spilling that level of bullshit.

"So you're telling me," I said, picking at my finger nails, "That not only there's been a series of killings around this area, but that they're all down to Vampires."

"A Vampire. And yes, we don't know for sure, but that's what it looks like."

"And what evidence do you have that it's a-" I waved my hands around in the air, as if summoning some common sense for the man. "-An actual Vampire and not just, I don't know, a regular serial killer. Which would be so much easier to deal with."

He clasped his calloused hands together and leaned back in his chair. He had an air of distaste surrounding him as if I was the one who was speaking crazy, but maybe that was because he always looked like he'd just smelled something revolting. Wrinkled skin scrunched up unlike the smooth sheets of paper stacked on his desk; lips pursed as if he'd sucked on a lemon for four hours; small, black eyes squinted despite the large, square glasses balanced on his nose. He had a habit of looking down on people even though he was 5'6 at most. Most people would describe him as intimidating but, to be fair, most people hadn't been told by him that Vampires exist.

"I understand your disbelief." Yeah, no shit. "I, too, was skeptical at first. But the evidence I've been shown convinced me that this is no joke. I know you like to believe that we humans know everything about our world, but the truth is that we simply cannot. You're going to look into this case whether you believe it or not."

Fighting to ward off the compelling urge to sigh and tell him again how stupid this is, I nodded curtly. "So I just have to find this..." God, I can't believe this is actually happening. "...Vampire. And bring them in."

A failed attempt at a smile passed over his stern features. He must have thought he'd won. "Precisely. I'm glad you're picking up on this."

"Can I think about it over the weekend and get back to you?"

I definitely would not think about it and I definitely would get back to him--to tell him that I was absolutely not doing it.

But of course, the universe seemed to be against me all of a sudden. Or maybe it was just him. "No, you can not," he stated plainly. "I've given you this case and you must take it. It's that simple."

"But Sir, there are loads of other Detectives who can do this job. I'm sure there are more... believable cases you can give me," I argued, trying my hardest not to sound in control and totally not like I was pleading him.

He leaned forward and his chair whined under his weight. "You're right." Wait, really? "There are plenty of other Detectives who can do this job and do it far better than you can. However, I am asking you to do this, and like the fair and just man I am-" (I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes at that one and, instead, just stared at the side of his desk). "-I will give you a choice: You do this case or you're out."

"Hold on," I began, gaze snapping up from the corner of his desk to those hard, black eyes, "I'm out as in... fired? For real?"

He nodded nonchalantly, not a word slipping past his thin lips. You have to be kidding me.

"That's ridiculous. This entire thing is ridiculous."

"I'm giving you a choice. Make it." He shrugged.

It wasn't really a choice, just the illusion of one. I'd worked under this man for two years by that point. He knew how much I loved that job and all that it meant to me. He knew how much I threw into it. He knew everything I'd given up to be there. And now I had to choose between discrediting my career with a Vampire hunt or losing it altogether. Options, options, options.

"You know what my answer is already."

The corners of his mouth curled up into a smirk. "I do." He reached for a pencil with a sharpened, pointy edge and twirled it around his fingers. "But I want to hear it from you."

God, I hate this man. Trying to hide my seething rage, I gritted my teeth and swallowed. "I'll take the case."

He barely reacted, just continued to play with the pencil. That doesn't mean I didn't notice the triumphant, cocky glint in his eye, though. "You are more like me than you think, Nami."

I looked at him curiously. That couldn't possibly be true. The only similarity that we shared is both working there, and we didn't even do the same job. So yeah, apart from the massive age gap, gender difference and literally everything else about us, we were totally the same.

"How so?" I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer or not.

"We're both intelligent, dedicated, hard-working." And not the slightest bit modest, clearly. "And like me, you know your place in this world and you will stubbornly defend it." He dropped the pencil onto the desk and it landed with a muffled clatter, then rolled until it hit a framed photograph of him with who I could only assume were his wife and two children. It reminded me that there must have been some remnants of a kind, young man beneath his cold, commanding demeanor--in the worst way possible, though.

He reached over to pick up a file and flicked through it until he settled on a page. I watched as his eyes scanned the paper. Just as I thought he was about to provide me with some tangible evidence of the wild claims he'd made that meeting, he spoke; "You are dismissed."

I found myself glued to my seat, my limbs weighing me down like anchors. "That's it? Are you not giving me a file on this?"

He glanced up from what he was reading for a brief second before continuing. "I'll email the main pieces of evidence to you digitally. You will be given a file tomorrow morning, once all of the necessary data has been compiled."

I didn't reply. Was I supposed to leave just like that? This man had told me that he thought the serial killer rampaging our region was a Vampire and that he was willing to fire me if I didn't take the case, all in the span of 30 minutes. And I was supposed to just soak in all that information with barely an ounce of explanation or evidence? Apparently so.

Hesitantly, I stood from my chair. A searing pain shot through my back, reminding me that I'd been sitting in a wooden chair for the past half an hour.

Captain Park regarded me for a second as I crossed the room. Hand on the doorknob, I faltered, waiting for him to say something, and when he didn't, I left the room, shutting the door behind me as gently as possible--despite the desire to slam it in frustration.

It was almost dark by the time I got home. The cerulean blue sky was stained with bright white dots, and the streets were bathed in the orange, artificial glow of the streetlights. With flushed cheeks, a running nose and icy hands, I fumbled with my keys until my apartment door unlocked, making a mental note to take a scarf or gloves in to work the next day.

I had stayed later than usual that night, finishing off any write-ups and looking through evidence relevant to a few other cases. After the meeting, I hadn't seen the Captain around, but that was for the best. I might not have been able to control my instincts for much longer.

Warmth swept through my body as I stepped in to the living room. I discarded my satchel on the floor and shrugged off my coat, folding it over the back of the couch. It was unusually empty and unusually quiet. Just as I went to search the apartment, a voice sounded from behind me.

"You're home late."

I whirled around to see Soyeon, leaning against the threshold where the living room and kitchen met. Her blonde bob was pulled into a short ponytail, revealing her pointed chin and signature smirk.

"I texted you," I said.

She retrieved her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen, the blue light illuminating her face. "Oh, you did. Sorry, I didn't see. My phone is being weird at the moment."

"You gonna get it fixed?"

"Eventually."

I rounded the couch and plopped onto it, the cushions sinking beneath my weight. "Where's Jeongin?"

"In bed," she answered, following suit, "I think he has a cold."

"You should have told me, I would've brought some soup."

She waved her phone in the air as a reminder. "Again, dodgy phone. And it's alright, I got some anyway."

"Stupid school kids," I grumbled. I sighed and sunk further into the couch. Soyeon glanced over at me, concern gracing her features. "Bad day?"

I chuckled humourlessly. "Weird day."

"Not allowed to talk about it?"

I faced her and nodded. She repeated the action without a word of protest. It was different at first; Soyeon was always so eager to be involved in every part of my life, and when I told her that I couldn't disclose information about the cases I was working on for legal reasons, she got upset. But after a while, she understood that it was out of my control.

Instead, she extended an arm out to me. I shuffled closer and pressed myself into her side, inhaling her familiar scent of acrylic paint and chai tea.

"You must be tired," she mumbled.

I hummed in response, unable to muster up the energy to force words out. Her head leaned on mine, the way it always used to, except this time was an act of friendship rather than romance.

With every passing moment, my body grew weaker and my eyelids heavier, and after a while, I was unable to resist the tempting call of sleep.

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jamkookies · 5 years ago

Text

Rings on Sale

Description : A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word count : 2.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If there is one thing worse than being chased it is the effect it leaves on you afterwards. You couldn't make one step without thoroughly checking your surroundings, ears perked up at the smallest sound.

There was no avoiding it.

The best option for now was lying low.

You both made sure you kept in the shadows, trying to make yourselves as unnoticeable as possible. And for some reason Jungkook had gone back to being his clingy self, not letting go of you for a moment.

You were not complaining, though. You were enjoying the warmth coming from him a little too much to tell him off.

"Are you sure you're ok?" he asks and his hand rubs the small of your back. "I kinda fell on top of you earlier. Sorry. I must've crushed you."

"It's nothing I've never handled before." you answer.

His lips twitch and he can't seem to hold the snort coming through his nose. The mechanisms of your brain finally click into place and you dramatically roll your eyes.

"I meant it as in I've held you before, not– ugh! That was one time and you were leaning on your forearms."

You slap a hand across your mouth, realizing you'd just said that out loud, but then again, no one was really hearing. Jungkook's mouth stretches into a wide smile, all of his bunny teeth on display.

"So you do remember the details, huh?" he teases.

You give him a challenging stare, not backing down for a second. "It was not exactly something you can forget."

"I know." he says and his eyes dip down to your throat. "I keep replaying it in my head ever since it happened."

"Nothing happened." you object.

"Something happened." Jungkook corrects you. "It may not seem like a big deal to you but it is to me. That was the first time you trusted me enough to let yourself go. No barriers."

You gulp as the flashbacks hit you one by one. It was true. You'd surrendered to him that night, letting him take things as far as he wanted to. Not care for once. But as much as he'd explored you, as much as he'd looked through the deepest crevices of your soul, he hadn't crossed the line. You'd seen the willingness in his lustful eyes and how he had crushed it down for you and just like that, the unmistakable love in your heart had only grown bigger.

"But I also remember quite clearly that I did let off some of my weight on you, so I wasn't totally leaning on my forearms." Jungkook continues, clueless to your train of thought.

"Yeah well, I guess I didn't feel it." you reply.

He tips his head back and laughs loudly. "Is my shamelessness rubbing off on you?"

You reach on your toes and press a soft kiss on his forehead. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He cups your face with both hands, staring intently at your eyes. "You're cute." he says in a small voice.

"You take that ba–"

The sentence, however, remains unfinished as you notice the way his eyes are fixed pointedly on the thumb that cradles your cheek. He was staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe.

"Jungkook?"

"Y/N." he breathes. "I know how to get us out of here."

* * *

"I can't believe we didn't think of this before." Jungkook says as he tugs at your interlocked hands, urging you to follow him.

"Kook, for the last time, no. I'm not letting you sell your ring. It's a gift from Jimin."

It had been a while since you'd been roaming around the streets in search of a jewellery store or he had been dragging you along was more like it. You'd refused from the beginning. That ring meant so much to him that he had even worn it for the trip here. And he never wore rings unless he was performing.

"We have no other choice." he insists. Scanning the street for any pursuers had now turned into an instinct and that's exactly what he does before crossing it. "Just trust me on this, Y/N. We'll do whatever you say afterwards."

You sigh deeply in surrender. "I'll buy you a better one, then."

His steps falter. "You would?"

"Sure I would. And a necklace. And a bracelet too. I'll get you anything you want."

There's no describing the expression on his face as it's not exactly happiness nor sadness, but something in between. Something shifts behind his eyes and you're suddenly pulled into his chest, a warm hand on the back of your head and the other one down your spine.

"I don't deserve you." he says.

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. "You're really that desperate for some jewelery? Why didn't you just say so? I would've bought them for you way earlier."

"I don't care about the jewelery." His voice is at least an octave lower. "I only care about you."

It really wasn't fair how he played with your heart like this. Throwing it around carelessly, crushing it into dust, putting it on fire. Jeon Jungkook owned this useless organ and there was nothing you could do about it. You wished you could stay like this for a little longer, you really did, but the rational side of you takes over and you remind him that the streets were not the safest place for cuddling. Not when the cursed bodyguards might still be in your tracks, waiting for the right moment to finally snatch you away and to never let you go again.

A silver glint catches your eye.

"Jungkook, there!" you exclaim in a hushed voice, still careful to keep it down.

He turns at the direction your finger is pointing and a look of victory flashes behind his eyes upon noticing the jewelery store. A few quick strides and you're inside, marvelling at the beautiful works of art reflecting brilliant light patterns across the glass. Behind the desk a young lady is seated, flipping through the pages of a magazine, the words of which you're not able to understand. She starts by the sound of the door hitting the bell and lifts her head to take a look at the two new clients entering her store.

And then she just freezes, gaping at the both of you with such raw intensity you look down at yourself to see if anything was wrong with your appearance. She flicks her eyes between you and Jungkook.

"Y/N? " She gasps. A turn of the head. "Jungkook? "

Oh great. A fan.

Now what were you gonna do?

"Oh my God!"she gasps and rubs her eyes with curled up fists, still not believing what stood in front of her. Then, as if the sight was too much, she whirls and disappears into a small room.

"Um...maybe we should go." you whisper to Jungkook.

"No, don't go!" her shrill voice is heard from inside and she peeks her head out. "Sorry. I think I panicked. Is it really you?"

Wait a second. The girl had just talked in Korean.

Jungkook shares the same surprised expression on his face.

Unspoken words pass between your eyes.

There was no escaping.

You had to face this head-on.

"Hi." you simply reply, a soft smile already blooming on the corners of your lips. You weren't worried about her being a fan, not at all. It made your chest swell with pride, if anything. But these weren't exactly the best moments to be dealing with fans right now, having been on escape-mode for quite a while.

"Do you know us?" Jungkook asks.

She fervently nods her head and her restless fidgeting makes it obvious that she's buzzing with excitement. "I'm a huge fan."

"Wow, we have fans in Malta!" Jungkook whistles. "How do you know Korean?"

"I learned it on my own." she answers shyly.

"That's impressive." you say and when Jungkook hums his agreement she all but blushes a vibrant red.

"I'm really glad." you add with another disarming smile. "Look, we're on a mission. Would you help us?"

Your words render her speechless and she points a shaking finger at herself in question.

"Yes, you. What's your name, if i may ask?"

"Ħilda."

"Okay, Ħilda.The staff divided us into teams and our mission is to survive for one day with our own money, but without using any credit cards. We want to sell Jungkook's ring over here. Do you think you can do that for us?"

She stares at the said piece in Jungkook's thumb. "S-sure." she stutters.

"Good, because I was thinking Taehyung's team would beat us." Jungkook says.

"Are the others here too?" She turns her head to the front door, searching with her eyes for any other members.

"They're in the city but we split up." you quickly explain. "It's every man to himself right now."

She giggles.

"So, how much can you give us for this?" Jungkook slides the ring off his thumb and puts it on the glass counter. Ħilda marvels at the silver piece and she reaches with a hesitant hand.

"Just the fact that it belongs to you makes it ten times more valuable." she says.

"Oh no, please. We just want a regular price." you intervene.

"If it were for me, I would give you the whole store's posessings," she says, earning a chuckle from both you and Jungkook. "–but the thing is I'm just responsible for the desk. My dad is the one who deals with the actual trade. I'll be right back." she continues and disappears into the room once again with such speed she almost trips.

For some reason that reminded you of the times as a kid when you'd have friends over and that trip to the kitchen would be fast as lightning, for fear of leaving them alone with your mom.

Not a moment later, Ħilda's dad appears, or so you think, judging by the fine white roots of his hair. He nods a greeting at the both of you and you do the same in return. Ħilda takes the ring from the counter and practically shoves it in front of his face. "Araw kemm hu sabiħ, papa'!"

After that, they exchange an endless string of words, the meanings of which you find too difficult to grasp. Still, your ears manage to detect a please from Ħilda. Her father's eyes sweep a look at the both of you from head to toe. "Huwa dan il-BTS?" he says to the girl, but still looking at you.

"Iva! Aħna BTS! " you confirm to the man in excitement, joyous to the interest he had shown in knowing you. He smiles endearingly and starts to give the ring a thorough examination. After a minute or so of squinting he raises his head and looks at Jungkook.

"900 euros." he says.

Wow. Jimin sure took gifts seriously.

Jungkook's mouth gapes open in shock. "Is he messing with us?" he asks Ħilda.

She shakes her head no. Her father looked quite serious, actually and he didn't come off as the jokester type. "My dad says it's a very valuable ring."

Indeed it was.

Jungkook voices his appreciation and that makes Ħilda's dad retreat into the room, most likely to get the money.

"Thank you." You put your hand on top of hers. "If we could ever make it up to–"

"Oh no, no, don't worry! I won't ask for photographs. I know you're not allowed to."

This girl was a true gem.

You almost sigh in relief. The last thing you needed right now was for pics of you to leak all over the internet.

"Still, I think it won't kill us if we sign an autograph." Jungkook looks at her curiously. "If you want to, of course."

The girl's eyes sparkle in anticipation and she hastily grabs a pen laying on the counter.

"This is the best day of my life."

* * *

"You got a four poster bed?"

"Thought we'd get ahead of things a little bit."

Jungkoook wheezes when your fist connects to his stomach but he quickly regains composure and smacks your arm. "What's the point in getting separate rooms, anyway?" he whines.

He had a point but that didn't stop you from getting at least a little bit annoyed. This boy kept making decisions on his own, without even acknowledging your opinions.

After getting the money, the first thing you both did was treat yourselves to a nice hot meal. The wild adventures of the last couple of days had made you forget the last time you'd put anything on your stomach. After that, you'd gone straight to a hotel, leaving the booking of the room up to him.

And look where that had gotten you.

"You know what, I don't even care anymore at this point." you huff and close the door behind you, slumping face-first into the comfortable, artificial whiteness of the sheets on the bed. But from the moment you turn sideways and your shoulder leans heavily on it, a groan escapes your lips.

"Hey, you okay?"

The bed creaks in protest as you feel it shift under Jungkook's weight.

"My old wound is starting to hurt again." you answer half-heartedly.

"Let me see."

Too tired to put up a fight, you obey and get in a sitting position, leaning on the heels of your hands. He guides your shoulders with each palm but then his hands hover mid-air.

"Um...how do I.... the shirt–"

"It's okay. I have a tank top underneath." you say and try to pull the shirt over your head but fail miserably as the pain only gets more intense. "I"m stuck." your muffled voice is heard.

Jungkook is quick to help, slipping the shirt off entirely.

This feels way too intimate.

You hear his sharp intake of breath, as subtle as it is upon landing sight on your now exposed collarbones. Then, as if mentally scolding himself, he shakes his head and moves on to your wound. A reddish hue has formed around the small circle, marking the once trapped bullet underneath it.

It looks irritated.

"This brings back old memories." Jungkook says and his fingers trail a path in its wake.

"The roles are reversed." you add.

He chuckles lightly. "You took good care of me back then."

"And you also didn't let me drown."

"I kinda regret it, though. You talk way too much."

Silence.

"Do you really regret it?" you ask, eyes staring directly into his, waiting for an answer.

"I was kidd-"

"No, I mean do you actually regret it? Coming after me? Going through all of this trouble?"

His expression suddenly turns serious and those dark orbs of his bore into you with an unfaltering intensity.

"No."

He leans forward and his lips lightly brush your shoulder. "And I would appreciate it if you stopped asking me the same question because I'm not changing my mind." he mumbles on your exposed skin and you can feel every vibration reverberating through your whole body.

He doesn't stop.

His lips now travel from your shoulder to your collarbone till they rest against your throat. "You need some medicine." he mumbles again and just like that, those sinful lips retreat from your skin, making you feel empty and hollow.

"I'll go ask for some downstairs." he says and makes to leave but your hand shoots out and grabs his sweater.

"Wait!"

He pauses.

"I'm sorry, Kook. Don't leave."

85 notes · View notes

crewhonk · 6 years ago

Text

Of The Line (4 2/2)

WARNINGS: This is very dark. Warnings for blood, gore, horror, bugs, dark!Bucky, fears of isolation, fears of loss, fears of loneliness, ANGST!

Chapter Summary: In which Giovanna, Steve and YN take the brunt of Wandas rage and power

Words: 2.5K (short, I’m sorry omg)

A series collaboration with @nomadsgrogers where she writes for Giovanna as the reader! We’re just projecting onto our writing, its FINE

Series Summary: Steve watches YN Banner grow up before his eyes– from a shy, dorky sixteen-year-old to a fierce, brilliant woman who never fails to keep him on his toes. He knows that she’s untouchable, but that doesn’t stop him from being completely wrapped around her finger for the rest of his long life.

Series Warnings: Mutual Pining, age gap, gun use, these two are idiots– seriously they’re so dumb, slow burn

Pairings: eventual Steve Rogers X Banner!Reader, eventual Buky Barnes X OC!Stark

AN: PLEASE, PLEASE COMMENT AND LIKE AND REBLOG OUR WORK! We’re getting a little discouraged due to the recent lack of notes on this series!

Till The End Masterlist / Of The Line Masterlist

_______________________

“Thor,” Steve couldn’t hide the anger from his voice— nor did he care to. “Status.” His eyes landed on Giovanna and YN who had since landed and were staring, open-mouthed up at the gaping hole in the ceiling by which Ultron and Tony had left. Natasha was somewhere— he heard her grunts and cries of men, Clint was also nearby, judging by the number of uncollected arrows in his area.

“The girl tried to warp my mind,” Thor growled irritably, a crash sounded somewhere in the distance. “But fortunately, I am mighty. Take special care, I doubt a human could keep her at bay.”

YN and Giovanna’s laughs could be heard from all around the ship— they had always loved Thor’s dramatics— his Shakespearean way of living and breathing and shitting. It settled Steve knowing that they were okay. His relief was short-lived, however, when an impact like a train sent Steve flying ten feet and into a railing, knocking the breath out of his lungs. The last thing he saw before his vision went blurry was a flash of silver hair and a cock-sure smirk.

_________________________

It was a flash of red and light, and Steve was back in the 1940s. Familiar garb on men's shoulders and pretty dresses on wide hips. Curls loosened with spins and messy with sweat. The heady scent of cigarettes pungent in the air, making Steve’s lungs ache on the right side of painful. There were banners dropping confetti— ‘Victory!’ They read, but for some odd reason, Steve didn’t feel that victorious. There was a horrible copper tinge to the air, a man laughing on the floor with a wine stain that looked too much like a bullet hole, a woman screaming as a man flipped her over his head— a sound that sent a chill down his spine.

Steve stumbled through the crowd, the flashes of camera bulbs and red lipstick leaving him disoriented among the crowded room. ‘Too much red,’ Steve thought, 'I’m gonna drown’.

A grip, too tight on his shoulder with nails too sharp startled him out of his seemingly drunken haze. He spun around too quickly, trying his best to focus his dizziness so he could see who was smiling at him.

It was Peggy— or it was supposed to be. Her smile was too tight, too turned up at the corners. There was no glint in her eye, no shine that made Steve’s heart race. There was an obnoxious flower in her curls and the ruffling of her dress was tasteless and tacky— nothing his Peggy would have worn.

“Are you ready for our dance?” Her accent was similar, but the tone of it rather robotic and Steve wanted nothing but to run in the opposite direction of this stranger. “The war is over, Steve.” She pulled him to her— another action Peggy would have never done. Steve made to pull away but her grip was too strong.

“We can go home.” There was a sudden flash of a tentacle and a skull at her words and he wrenched himself away from her, spinning back to find a very empty ballroom. There was a moment of silence before a slow, sad piano melody began to play. Steve looked for the source, but all the instruments were gone.

Then, he saw her, sitting in a soft golden dress that seemed to blur under the lights. He walked to her, placed his hand lightly on her shoulder and sucked in a pained breath when YN look at him. Her eyes were dark, black mascara smeared around her eyes which lacked the magical green that entranced him whenever he got two feet close to her. There were tear tracks leading to the corners of her lips, light pink lipstick smudged messily. He didn’t need to ask to know that he was the reason her heart was broken.

“Why’d you do it?” YN’s voice was weak and hollow. “Why would you leave me?”

“I didn’t— I could never leave you, YN.” He tried, but she just let out a single, heartbroken cry.

“You said you would be back in a minute— or, maybe dad did— but all the same. When they tried to bring you back you weren’t there. You left— you always do.” Steve could feel her very soul shatter as she spoke and he wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness. For what, he didn’t know, but he would beg until the very end of time.

“Please, YN, baby. You have to forgive me.” He wanted to cry but instead of releasing itself, the lump in his throat only expanded, threatening to tear his throat in two.

“I couldn’t,” She whispered, and it was then that he noticed the silver glint on her ring finger. “I never could. That’s why I moved on. I don’t need you anymore, Steve. I’ll never need you again."

__________

“Hey, maybe we will actually make it in time to get Chick-Fil-A.” Giovanna cheered as she watched the last of the robots fly into the air— presumably to go and defend their leader who was surely taking one hell of a beating from Tony. Go, dad.

“Oh, come on!” YN groaned and threw the empty clip from her gun to the floor, reloading it and placing it in her spot on her waist. Betty never failed YN. “You know I just watched that cow documentary— plant-based diet for me from now on.” She swore, making a cross over her heart with her finger. Giovanna rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, but that’s cows! We all know chickens are the devil’s spawn.”

“Yeah, maybe but even demons have feelings.”

“Are you sure?”

“We feel things, don’t we?” YN turned, launching herself over the railing and landing on the balls of her feet on the floor below, heading towards the door. There was a blast of heat before a metal clunk that signified that Giovanna had followed her down.

“I mean, sometimes but—�� Giovanna’s sentence was cut off by a crashing sound, and YN whipped around in time to see her best friend fall to the ground, a misty red gleaming in the usual dark brown of her iris.

“Gio, No!” YN cried out before she too fell to her knees in a hazy fog.

___________________

Giovanna woke to the rising gold sun drifting through her small apartment. It was humble— from humble beginnings come humble endings, she remembered someone say. YN, maybe— or Bruce. The apartment was nothing more than a single room. There was a mattress on the floor and pushed into a corner— thick blankets making it a soft nest for two people. The kitchen was small and messy and everything that made Giovanna content— satisfied— just out of reach of happy.

The shower in the even smaller bathroom stopped, and the door opened with a blow of steam, revealing a beautiful, daunting man. He was the definition of dark beauty— YN would have described him as ‘Beauty and the Beast Beautiful’, long, deep scars marring his body and skin torn over his left shoulder, hanging from it a shining metal arm. Giovanna never tinkered with it— never felt the need to. No need to be smart when you could simply be domestic.

“Want to go to the market, today? I’m down to my last few plums,” His voice was deep and husky and sent a jolt to her stomach— just barely swollen. She stood from her place in the bed, walking barefoot over to the man and wrapping her arms around his neck, placing kisses over his glistening chest and feeling his happy hum on her lips.

“Let me get dressed, and we’ll go.” She whispered, walking back to her closet. One shelf, hangers long forgotten, plain clothing crumpled on the floor. She heaved the closet open, and let out a long, drawn-out blood-curdling scream.

Three bodies piled out, one each more decayed than the last.

First, and most rotted was her father, dark veins trailing from the Arc Reactor on his chest, moving up his neck and over his face, twisting it into something ugly and horrible and turning his bright eyes black. Giovanna squinted, crying out when a sickly green spider crawled out from the place his ear used to be.

Natasha had fallen on top of him, a deep slash of a knife which had been cut right through her spine. There was a shining liquid seeping from it that smelled similar to lake water and soaking her hair. Her skin looked pale and blue and waterlogged, eyes white and rolled into the back of her skull.

YN had rolled out after them— she had been the freshest. A copper scent filling the room and making Giovanna’s stomach heave. There was a knife slash across her face, marring her smile. Her blood, now green in decay, soaked her clothes, limbs twisted at horrendous angles.

Giovanna whipped around, stumbling, hoping to find the man who was standing still in the kitchen.

“Bucky— we need to call or help, I can’t—“ Giovanna sobbed, clutching at his shoulders and spinning him to face her. There was a glint in the light and a sharp pain in her lower stomach. In shock, she looked down, hands clutching at the deep wound in her tummy. She became weak suddenly, hands falling away from the gash-- falling open with a babies cry and sludge of dead grasshoppers and beetles falling to the floor.

“Buck— what?” She looked up at the man she had found and saved and let him make her something so far from what she used to be. The gleaming knife in his hand was soaked with fresh blood— her blood— their Childs blood.

“Cute— how you thought you could save me.”

___________________

When YN woke up, there was a single person in the cold room with her. YN was chained to the cold floor, the ice seeming to seep into her bones. She pulled at the chains, but they too were frozen to the floor.

“Stuck, Little Bird?” The woman’s voice was unfamiliar, and YN squinted to see who it was. She could only see shapes— a nose similar to her own, hair the same texture.

“Mama?” She asked weakly. The cold was beginning to make her drowsy and she fought the drooping of her lids. She needed warmth— something slow and gradual to stop the hypothermia but also not send her body into shock. There was a family waiting for her.

“Family? Oh, sweet bird. You have no family left, didn’t you know? Everyone followed my lead, eventually. I was the right one— leaving you alone in the jungle on your monster of a fathers doorstep.” The woman voice was colder than the metal sticking to YN’s skin.

“No, you’re wrong. I have Dad and Uncle Tony and—“ YN’s voice faded as if all the hope and joy in her body was being sucked out with each passing breath. “— and Gio, and Steve, and Nat.” Her voice cut itself off— too weak to continue.

“Oh, haven’t you heard, sweet thing?” The woman leaned in closer— no features arose, but something akin to eyes pierced YN’s soul deep down. “Your dad left you. He’s missing. Has been for a while now. Some people say he finally did the world a good deed and managed to killed himself, others day he was abducted by aliens, but all the same.”

YN felt her eyes well up with tears. Surely, she would have felt it— a loss that great. This couldn’t be real.

“The Starks and Natalia? Well, that one was easy. It was only a matter of time before they realized how utterly average you were. How much of a freak you were. An abomination amongst men, YN. Even science turned its nose up at you. The girls -- Giovanna and Natasha-- are best friends with themselves and themselves alone— God, that had started long before they left you, though. Talked about you behind your back and everything. What a show that was when they got going.”

YN let out a choked sob which echoed around the room, the echo itself growing louder and louder until the woman shifted back and continued to speak.

“Steve wouldn’t leave me. He’s, he—“ YN cried. She could feel her body slowing, could feel her skin and the metal becoming one.

“He loves you?” The woman laughed shrilly, clapping her hands in joy at their revelation. “Always the stupid one, huh? Foolish, naive girl— he jumped ship the moment he knew he could go back to that woman— the one in his compass? Margaret!” The woman snapped her fingers. “Peggy, I believe was the name she went by. They have a family now, a white picket fence and a dog and a newborn on the way. And you know what they all have in common?” The woman sneered and leaned in close to YN’s face. YN, in all her strength, looked up to face the woman she thought to be her mother— find out who she was. How much she looked like her.

Instead, with a great cry of the most pungent pain, YN came face to face with herself.

“They are all better off without you, YN. All happier. All living better lives because they left. I mean, look at me— I’m the best version of you there is.” The woman— YN’s mother, or YN herself, or whoever she was, stood from her chair and turned, opening the door to reveal a barren wasteland of snow and ice. YN would surely die here.

“Oh,” The woman said, mocking pity in her voice. “You won’t die. You can’t. Instead, you’ll rot here, alone for the rest of time. Nobody will hear you, and even if they did, who would want to save a poor, unfortunate soul like yours?”

____________________

Whatever was left of YN’s consciousness recognized a few things in the next few hours. There was a shift in her weight— a grunt and a soft whisper that sounded safe.

“YN? You with me, Lamb?” A man’s voice sounded and she could only furrow her brows in response, still shivering from the cold in her bones.

“She’s going to be okay. Set her down by Bruce— throw the blanket over her shoulders so she can warm up a bit.” Uncle Tony, maybe? Clint?

“How is she so cold, anyway? It’s like, 104 degrees out.”

“Must have been something to do with what the witch did.”

“Scary. We should set Cricket down beside her. She seems a little restless.”

“What about Steve?” The man grunted as she was set down, a warm body pressed to her side and an even warmer blanket pulled over her shoulders. Warm. Safe.

“Get him and Natasha closer to these guys. It’s time we made them actually lean against each other for once.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.” There was a chuckle and a sound of a dragging body and a weight over her thighs. Heavy. Not Natasha. Steve. Safe. Grounding.

“Where to, Clint?” Tony spoke, his voice sounding less and less far away. There was a shift of the weight on her lap and two, trunk-like arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. Safe.

“Safehouse.”

Safe.

______________________________

Tags (open, send an ask): @i-am-always-famished / @filia-sapientiae / @somekryptonitewriting / @fashionlive15 / @godlymissbalor / @fanfictionjunkie1112 / @nerdy-bookworm-1998 / @songforhema / @army-crawl-andersen / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @shynara51 / @deathofmissjackson / @a–1–1–3 / @liffydaze / @shymarvelfannanni / @freakpotterfan / @callie-bear15 / @sunflower-borhap-boys / @criedwolfwritings / @vxidnik / @captainomad / @lazinessisalliknow / jjlevin / @gwlaxygirl

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starfaring-princelotor · 6 years ago

Note

Mermaid Lotor when?

Hook

Summary: You bait a mermaid and find he is a little more terrifying than you heard from stories.

Warnings: None.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

At first, you thought it was a trick of the light. Maybe the setting sun had gotten in your eye or there was sand stuck in there, causing you to blink at the most inopportune moment. But no, that couldn’t be, because what you thought was a shimmering, triangular black tooth was surely just some…fossil that washed up on shore, right? That made much more sense than the idea that a mermaid had saved you from a vicious wipe out.

Try surfing, they said. You’ll get hooked to it, they said.

Your foam board was snapped in two, but that could have been your spine. Sitting up on the shore, water still lapping at your feet, you squinted to stare hard at the distant waves. Sure, your chest still hurts a bit from swallowing gallons of seawater. Your muscles ache from surfing so unprepared. And those scrapes from brushing against the coral? They hurt, but nothing would hurt more than not knowing the truth.

You blinked and saw the tail fin of…a dolphin?

The next time you went to the beach, you were ready. Or, at the very least, more prepared. Calm winds today, so no chance of being swept away suddenly due to poor forecast. Poor forecast and poor judgement, you reminded yourself. This time, you weren’t really focused on catching a wave. This time, you just wanted to see how far you can go. Past the break, past that safety net which kept the fish out.

And this time, you brought bait with you. Nothing fancy, but very smelly. The odor would no doubt be extra potent under water, attracting all manner of dolphins and other marine life near you. That was the plan, to catch that mermaid, because that was definitely what you saw. Well, catch is more or less the right term. You just wanted to see one. You wanted to believe they were real.

They had to be.

But when you waded beyond comfort and the shoreline was but a mere blur in the distance, suddenly maybe this wasn’t a good idea. It was getting dark. The sun had set, but the leftover remnants of the day was still decorating the sky. You had been holding the fish in the water for at least an hour now, but you hadn’t seen fin or scale or even heard a splash -

A spray of water had slapped the back of your head, making you yelp in surprise and drop your slippery bait. Turning around quickly, you saw the disturbance in the water already begin to settle back into a natural pattern. Maybe it was there? This time for sure, you were not going to look away from that spot. Blindly, your hand reached where you dropped the fish, hoping it hadn’t drifted too far away.

Then, you felt something rough brush against the palm of your hand.

“Hey!” you shouted, quickly switching your gaze to the side of your board after yanking your hand back to safety.

There was a faint purple glow beneath the surface. A line of them, illuminating the dark, deep waters below.

The locals had taken to calling you a plank, for the sole reason that you always seemed to just sit out in the water instead of ride the waves. Sure, they laughed, and many other surfers even came by to ask if you needed help, to which you only shook your head no. Maybe you didn’t know how to use your board properly? Or you were too occupied with being one with nature?

No. You were too curious for your own good. And, you will admit, too ambitious.

The plan tonight was going to be different, much different. You tossed the fish a few feet away from you and played the waiting game again. However, you didn’t have to linger long. The fish plopped and disappeared after a few spare minutes. Then, throwing another, it was plucked under within a second. Now, knowing that the mermaid was here, you took a deep breath.

And dove right in.

Your trusty board floated away, not too far that you couldn’t swim back to it, but would you even really need to? The knowledge that a real life mermaid was here was way more important right now. Plus, logically, you knew this was the one that saved you long ago. Why would a mermaid change their mind now? Why save someone to only eat them for dinner?

The current underwater was the first thing you felt change as you kicked your feet in a steady rhythm to stay afloat. But still, you saw nothing, except the moon, the clouds, and the stars hiding behind them. Did your heart picked up its pace in your chest? Yes. Did you regret this decision? Not quite yet. What was it that folklore said about mermaids? They were sirens of the sea? Lured people with their disarming voice? Ate poor bewitched humans as they dragged them to their watery grave?

And suddenly, the light from the moon became shadowed. That presence? Was behind you. Looming over you. Watching you like the curious little, wandering prey you are.

Swiftly turning in your spot, you were finally graced with what many believed to be the demons of the ocean. They were all wrong. All the stories. All the gossip and the myths and boastful claims of “I killed a mermaid before.” That was simply not possible because the one right in front of you was too extraordinarily beautiful for both land and sea.

And, oh, you were mesmerized. Enchanted. Captivated.

What drew your breath to stop was not his luminous, silver hair cascading like streams of moonlight over his collarbones. Nor was it his wine, almost grey, shade of skin, but rather his eyes. Inky blackness harboring a ring of nebulous blues and purples, glowing with intimidation and power right back at you. He was studying you, that much was certain if you had been aware of yourself at the moment. But you weren’t. You were trapped, ensnared, unable to bring your mind to think about anything else except those dual-toned irises belonging to this beast of a man.

The mermaid’s head tilted, soft locks giving way to expose those gills along the column of his neck. Markings, he was covered in them. They greatly contrasted against his wet skin in sharp curves, highlighting his handsome assets even more. Along his cheeks, his jaw, those broad shoulders, his well-developed muscles covered in aged scars, all the way down to his dripping waist and below. His…other half.

It was a little different, now that you think about it, that the art depicting mermaids to be remarkably close to, well, a human. But he had no rounded ears or smooth, glistening skin, or even the same row of pearly whites like you did. They were…black and glinting at you dangerously with a smile. A smirk? A grin. He was grinning at you, eyes hooded with lax silver brows and a look one could only describe as deliciously amused.

“Are you lost, little guppy?”

You wouldn’t exactly say his voice was deep. It was more of a growl, a rumble, a warning disguised as nothing more than a simple question. No alluring magic there, but it did give you a shiver colder than the chill of water.

When you didn’t answer him, that grin spread even wider, “I thank you for the fish, but I do not think you should be out here this late.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Hm. And so, you have.” An order, a tone of finality, and before you could add more to your answer, he waded closer. And closer still, “Now, it would be wise to return you to land before you drown from exhaustion, no?”

The mysterious mermaid had ushered you to your board, the firm plastic nudging your back, “But - no, wait - “

Despite your defiance, you found yourself climbing up on the safety of your surfboard. He swam effortlessly to the rear, getting ready to push you and guide the wandering human back to shore. The man - he was chuckling. At you? Your stutter? No, none of that. He was deviously delighted at this small human who he could easily break in a soul-crushing hug. This mermaid was no small shark, after all.

“I’ll see you again, right?” facing him, not once daring to look away lest the illusion wear off, “Right?”

“No, I do not think you will.”

That is for me to know and for you to find out.

Your face fell slightly at the prospect of never witnessing this marvelous man in all his mythical glory ever again, “Then…then can I at least know your name?”

The name of the one who saved me. The name of the one who will bless my dreams every night from now on. The name of the mermaid with black teeth and the unknown cosmos in his eyes.

“My name is Lotor, dear,” he winked, your heart stuttered, and your mind came to one conclusion.

You wanted, no, needed to know more about this mermaid who so easily trapped your heart in his jaws.

You were hooked.

#asks #lotor x reader #spacestories #da #ddy #sh #a #rk #do #doo #dooo #d #o

135 notes · View notes

larksinging · 6 years ago

Text

alright it’s @rumtumtuggers birthday today!!! happy birthday hunter, now you can finally leave middle school,

but no really im so glad we’ve started talking more?? honestly being able to bounce ideas off of you and hearing all the great and creative ideas you come up with has made me feel so much more creative and i cant possibly thank you enough for that. thanks for joining rwby hell with me! im so happy we started talking more and really became friends. anyway! i hope you have a good year coming up....

in honor of rwby hell, here is some actual rwbies from “hell”, aka some random white rose scene from demon au

“Do you dream?”

“What?” Ruby rolls over to face Weiss, who just glances at her demon and then back up at the canopy.

“The way you were talking before. It sounded like you didn’t know. Do you actually dream?”

“No,” Ruby admits. That’s not entirely true. She thinks she used to, once. But it was so long ago that she’s forgotten. “What’s it like?”

No matter how many contracts Ruby takes with mortals, she’ll never get used to the mind numbing boredom of waiting for them to finish sleeping. And they get so fussy if she tries to wake them, too! It’s sooo annoying. And sure, she could sleep too, but that’s boring and unnecessary and she has much better things to do during her limited time in the mortal world.

Sometimes Ruby just wakes up her contracted human and bothers them until they entertain her, but she won’t for Weiss. She actually likes Weiss. So instead she’s lounging on the luxurious couch on the other side of the room (Weiss got all huffy the first time Ruby tried to lay on the bed, so exiled to the couch it is).

The tip of her cape lays on the floor while she sprawls on the fancy pillows and holds the “tablet” above her to play the silly fruit game Weiss showed her. The screen and the moonlight filtering in through the windows lights the room up silver and blue.

She just beats level 945 with a soft “Oooh yes!” when Weiss makes a choked gasp and sits upright in bed.

Ruby glances up lazily to make sure that Weiss isn’t actually dying, but she’d be able to sense that. Contract stuff -- it’s no good to contract to a human who ends up dying. It kinda stings. But no, she can tell Weiss isn’t dying. Cool. It’d be inconvenient if Weiss died, and also a little sad.

“Good morning,” Ruby drawls.

At her voice, Weiss nearly jumps out of her skin. “Wh...?” She blinks at Ruby, and then the clock on her bedside table. “It’s... it’s not morning,” She stammers. “It’s two am.”

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” Ruby swipes another combo on the screen. “Then it’s morning. Let’s go!”

“I didn’t wake up for you,” Weiss hisses. “I just... woke up.”

“Noooot seeing a difference.”

“I had a nightmare, okay?” Weiss’ voice pitches up in a strange way. It’s enough to get Ruby to put the tablet down and look over. “It’s not important. I’ll go back to sleep in a minute.”

“Oh. That’s rough. I think.” Ruby offers helplessly. “I know some demons who eat nightmares. Nightmares are the bad ones, right? Or maybe they cause them, and it was that one angel who eats them. Or...”

“You-- Never mind. I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself.” Ruby fumbles around the couch to find where she threw the Scroll, until she hears a low whining noise. She looks up, but Weiss is looking at her hands clenching the blankets.

For all her impatience, this time Ruby knows to simply wait and watch. And just as she expected, Weiss eventually unfurls.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Weiss says, her voice soft and almost wavering.

“I’m right over here,” Ruby replies with a shrug.

“That’s not--” Weiss frowns. “Just... come over here. Please.”

Even if Ruby doesn’t totally get it, she obeys and wordlessly crawls onto the bed. There’s plenty of room for both of them, but Weiss still scoots over to make space for her. Taking the cue, she lays back against the pillows, even if she’s still on top of the blankets. Weiss doesn’t say anything and Ruby just stares up at the canopy.

“...Am I supposed to be doing something?”

“Just be quiet for one second, you dolt.”

“Oooookay. One--”

Weiss smacks her shoulder and Ruby just grins, but she’s quiet after that.

“Do you dream?”

“What?” Ruby rolls over to face Weiss, who just glances at her demon and then back up at the canopy.

“The way you were talking before. It sounded like you didn’t know. Do you actually dream?”

“No,” Ruby admits. That’s not entirely true. She thinks she used to, once. But it was so long ago that she’s forgotten. “What’s it like?”

Instead of answering her immediately, Weiss stares up at the ceiling. “It’s like…. Watching a movie. No. It’s like someone telling you a story, but you’re living it, except everything’s kind of hazy. Like... a cloud?”

“Hmmm.” That sounds strange and alarming, the way lesser demons describe being bound by their true names, but Ruby can’t quite imagine it. “I love stories. Yang used to read them to me.”

“Very old stories, I imagine,” Weiss adds. “Like ‘The Death and the Farmer’?”

Ruby laughs loudly. Weiss frowns at her. “What’s so funny?! That’s one of my favorites!”

She has to wipe the tears from her eyes, but eventually Ruby manages to settle down. “Yeah, Yang told me that one, sorta. A veeerrry different version than the one you know, I bet.”

“The version I know is probably better,” Weiss rolls her eyes. “But... maybe sometime we can compare notes.”

“Mmm, alright. If you’d like that.”

Weiss wraps her arms around one of Ruby’s arms and rests her head against Ruby’s shoulder. Ruby blinks up at the mild darkness, but allows it.

They fall into silence again. She hears Weiss’ breathing start to slow, so she must’ve fallen back asleep.

With Weiss so close, Ruby’s reminded of just how warm humans are. They’re a good few degrees cooler than Ruby herself -- though even Ruby doesn’t run as warm as Yang -- but there’s something charming about human’s more gentle warmth. It’s soft and radiating, like an old memory.

“Goodnight, Weiss,” She murmurs gently, and closes her own eyes.

Ruby doesn’t dream, of course. That much wasn’t a lie. She’s not in the business of lying.

When she does fall asleep, it’s usually either empty blackness or a swift drop into a different plane of existence. Mortals might call it a ‘dream realm’, which is nice if she and Yang want to meet up from halfway across the world (if they can sync up right).

But sometimes, if she lingers just on the edge of the darkness and the drop, she remembers things. Faded bits and pieces.

Even though she hasn’t said anything, she can tell that Dad knows what her decision is going to be. The way his smile doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes, the sad glint in his gaze when he thinks she isn’t looking. Ruby wishes she could tell him that he’s wrong. He’s not.

Technically she’s not supposed to tell anyone yet. Ancient rules and all. On sundown of her ...th birthday, she must choose. She can’t live with one foot in two worlds at once. Mortal or demon. Such is fate for halflings like her.

Dad’s been sad ever since Yang left .... years ago. And Ruby loves her dad, but she loves and misses Yang too, and she wants to see her and Mom more than once a year.

At least she’ll get to see them today before she decides! That’s the benefit of her birthday falling on ... (In the future they will call it All Hallow’s Eve, and then Halloween, and many other lost names). It’s the one time Mom and now Yang can visit.

Dad kisses her forehead when they leave the house. It’s a small farm house in the middle of the ... forest, on the island of ...., but Ruby loves it. She’ll miss it. Zwei barks and circles her legs as she picks up basket of food. The most morbid picnic ever.

They trek through the forest turning red all the way up to the cliffside meeting place. The meeting place is beside a marker stone, older than the town, which reads:

............... .................... Death knows this place .............

When they arrive, it’s close enough to dusk that Mom and Yang are already waiting for them there.

There’s something different about Yang now. Even if it’s been ... (Two, yes, two years), Ruby’s still not used to it. It’s a sharpness in her eyes or the way her hair almost glows. Her laugh seems to echo. It’s that unreal quality that Mom’s always had, she just never thought about it before because it was Mom.

Yang immediately runs to hug her. Ruby nearly suffocates in her grip, but wraps her arms around her sister anyway. Summer doesn’t, of course, because there’s only one time she can touch Ruby or Dad. Still, she laughs and smiles and tells Ruby how much she loves her.

They all sit down to watch the setting sun and have their own feast. Dad and Ruby eat the pastries they made this morning. Summer takes an apple and watches it disintegrate in her grasp, which is like eating for her. Yang eats some of the dried meat they brought in a single bite, and Ruby thinks she sees sharp teeth. She shivers, and only most of it is excitement.

Then the sun finally sets and everyone looks at her. She smiles sadly and says, “Sorry, Dad.” Because, to be honest, it was never a question which she would choose.

He hugs her tight and says goodbye, and then he and Zwei alone go back to the forest and towards home. She’s left on the cliff with Mom and Yang. Mom smiles, but Yang looks apologetic.

“I should warn you,” She says, “This is gonna hurt.”

“I… okay,” Ruby says, lightheaded from the realization of what she’s done. “Why?”

“The human part of you has to die,” Mom answers, with the infinite gentleness she’s always possessed. “I’m sorry. But we’ll be here for you.”

They’re not lying. About any of it.

“I thought you didn’t need to sleep.”

Ruby blinks away to white hair tickling her nose. She sneezes and Weiss reels back with a yelp of disgust. Eventually Ruby sits up and rubs her eyes.

“I don’t need too,” She yawns, “I just choose to sometimes.”

“Well, choose to be awake right now.” Weiss puts her hands on her hips. Ruby deliberately moves slowly just to annoy her. “We need to be at a dress fitting in an hour.”

“Uuuugh, why? I’m pretty sure I’m older than, like, the concept of dresses. Why do I have to do this?”

“I highly doubt that.” For all her huffing, Weiss does offer Ruby a pastry she must’ve stolen from the kitchen. How rebellious! “We have that ball to go to this weekend, and we need to get appropriate attire. Mostly for you.”

Ruby devours the croissant in one bite. “Why do I have to go?”

“Father insists on it. It’s customary in Atlas to show off a bound demon.”

At first, Ruby rolls her eyes. She’s not really bound, even if she won’t tell Weiss that. It might spook her to know that Ruby’s not chained here by anything more than own amusement. The enjoyment she finds spending time with Weiss is a much stronger spell than anything else mortals try to use on her.

What she does do is narrow her eyes at Weiss and then grin wolfishly. “Aaaaand you want me to keep you company around all those stuff Atlas folks.”

Weiss frowns and looks away briefly. “...Perhaps.”

“Awww, Weiss, it’s okay, you can admit that you like m--”

Luckily for Weiss, her Scroll beeps. She promptly ignores Ruby, who flops back onto the bed. She waits until Weiss finishes typing out a message and come back over to the bed to glare at Ruby before pestering Weiss. “Who was that?”

“My fr-- that pen pal of mine. You remember.”

“The one with the blue hair?” “No! Not him. The one with your sister.”

“Oh.” Ruby sits up. “Oh! Did she mention Yang? How is she?”

Now it’s Weiss’ turn to roll her eyes. “She sounds fine. We’re just commiserating. She’s got a stupid event for work the same day as the ball.”

“Misery loves company!”

“Just get moving. Please. I am begging you.”

Pouty Weiss isn’t as fun as Cheerful Weiss, so Ruby does eventually get up. She smooths out her cape and watches at Weiss moves around the room to get some appropriate clothes for going out. She side-eyes the jacket Weiss is approaching with.

“If you don’t make me wear that, I’ll tell you demon secrets,” Ruby watches with a feral glint in her eye.

Weiss hesitates and lowers the jacket. “You need to look presentable.”

“No I don’t. I’m a demon. And most of the ones roaming around here look way worse than me.”

Eventually, Weiss sets the jacket down. “Alright.” She turns to leave and Ruby, automatically now, falls in step beside her.

“How about I tell you how wrong your version of ‘Death and the Farmer’ is?”

“That’s not a very good secret.”

“But it's fun.” Ruby folds her hands behind her head. “But first you’ve got to tell me the version you know.”

There’s a moment of silence as Weiss frowns and struggles to remember. “Once upon a time there was a farmer who lived in the middle of a forest on a lonely island. He had two daughters--”

“Nope.” Ruby pops her lips on the p sound. “Only one daughter.”

“What? Every version I’ve heard, he has two.”

“Oh, he does. Just not yet.”

Weiss furrows her brow. “If he only has one daughter before Death comes, then who’s the other daughter’s mother?”

“Did they seriously write that out?” Ruby laughs. “I guess they didn’t want to encourage people to date demons.”

“Death is her mother?”

Ruby just smiles.

#my writing #this kind of went all over but WHATEVER #rumtumtuggers #im tagging their writing blog because w/e

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peaches-of-1 · 6 years ago

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(BTS) Golden Lover: Chapter 4

Namjoon x Black!Reader

High Fantasy, Magic, spells, gods and goddesses

Mstrlst in bio!

Everyone was dressed up for the festival today. The stage had been built and tested all day yesterday. You, Jimin, and Hoseok were dressed in the traditional wear of both your cultures. What you wore was a stylized hanbok as did they. The word felt fun on your tongue. Hanbok. The fabric was heavier than you had expected, but you’d change into your regular celebratory clothing soon after the performance.

It was a stunning display of flexibility and skill from the three of you. Every once in a while there would be a collective “ooooo” or “ahhhh” from the audience. Bare feet moved to every perfect rhythm and every beat. You smiled with every turn and every leap. Your heart started to pound with the drums. Then it was over with a solid pose, a grin, and heavy breathing.

There was applause as the three of you bowed. That was just the opening of the festival, so your father announced in his regalia that it had officially begun after all the ritual rites had been completed. There hadn’t been much joy in the kingdom for what has felt like years.

Your hair had been taken down from their twisted state and had shrunk to its usual size. You put on your more free flowing outfit and your crown which featured cat ears. Your people tended to call you by your middle name, and you smiled at them as they did. Even as your eyes searched for one prince in particular.

They had all dressed so nicely today. Of course they would have.

“Princess!” An overactive voice called you. Prince Jin bowed. “May I have the honor of spending this evening with you?”

“Maybe not the whole evening, but you shall have my attention for the next hour. I have an important decision to make.”

He smiled, “Then I hope to be a part of it.” The oldest prince offered you his arm.

Jin took you to a stall where the two of you were served large mahshi alongside koshary. The two of you shared the meal while he described each bite in detail. He told you about the Korean dishes these would go great with and that he would love to make it for you sometime, perhaps have it served at your wedding.

“Wedding. Jin--” You started.

He looked up at you with cheeks full and an eager glint in his eyes. You had to tell him the truth.

“Prince Seokjin, my heart is not with you. I refuse to marry someone for the simple purpose of financial gains and protection.”

The disheartened prince swallowed, “I see. Is it with my brother Namjoon, then?”

You looked at the plate in front of you, “...I believe so.”

“Then I shall make sure you have his, too. Let’s finish our meal, Princess.” He smiled at you kindly.

Jin became more of himself than an heir, telling you jokes every chance he got. Sometimes it got lost in translation, but the way he told them made you laugh along with the goofy prince nonetheless. Once the meal was over with, you two walked. Seokjin told you several childhood stories about Namjoon.

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you were grateful the prince was being more open. It made you feel closer to him. Still, your heart was not with him as much as you tried. And you wanted it to be for your people. How much would it hurt your heart, though? To be married to the brother of the one you truly loved?

It’d be a pain greater than death.

Yoongi approached with a lion cub in his arms. He had visited earlier, and Muharib had placed this little girl in his lap. Seemed so very small, perhaps the runt of the litter. The prince asked for information in taking care of the tiny beast in order to let her grow up nice and strong.

“Please excuse me, Prince Jin.” You bowed to him.

He did the same, “By all means. I know how much these cats mean to you.”

You and Yoongi spoke in a hushed tone as to not wake the sleeping lion cub. He asked if these things extended to real children which made you laugh.

“It seems as though you’ve heard about my reputation here.”

“Healthy babies and less maternal deaths. I’m sure whoever gets to wed you will be most grateful for those gifts having come from you.”

You smiled, “I have an odd question.”

“What about?”

You bit your lip, “I am simply curious, but has Prince Namjoon ever been involved with anyone before?”

“Once, but she married a rival nation in order for there to be peace among their nations. They wrote until she ended contact with him. It’s been nearly 6 years, but he knew his love didn’t lie in someone so close to him. It would’ve been the smart marriage. Not the right one.”

“You speak as though you know what the right one would be for him.”

He grinned and his eyes did that silver gleam, “I have an informed notion.” Then Yoongi bowed. “I am glad that the black cat made it back safe with Namjoon the other day.” and he left to prepare proper transportation for his pet.

Your dance partners soon met up with you once more and spoke of the praise they had been receiving from the performance. There had been such words said to you throughout the night, but most knew what this night meant and let you be courted in peace. You asked about Prince Namjoon’s whereabouts.

Hoseok spoke, “Not sure where he went, but I saw him earlier. He said you looked quite beautiful in our traditional garb.”

Despite you knowing better, you let yourself blush, “Did he now? I hope I someday get to see him in mine.” You covered your mouth. “By that, I mean that I think he’d fit the look quite well or that he’d...oh my.”

Jimin laughed, “You’re quite adorable, Princess. A part of me does wish that we were a better fit for one another, but my eye does tend to wander from time to time.”

The three of you passed a group of young men with their dark chests bared to the outside and covered in sweat to the unending heat. White skirts were clasped at the hips in gold. Prince Jimin made unwavering eye contact with them as he brushed his hair back and licked his lips, unable to hide the smile they formed.

“This seems like the place where they do it the most, Jimin.” Hobi laughed. “Or what was the nickname that man from earlier gave you?”

“The one at the river?” The smaller man asked.

Hoseok nodded, and you listened with intrigue.

“Chim Chim.” Speaking of which. He waved at a tall man with cleancut curls.

A past suitor of yours.

“Tony!” He called out and left you two to join him.

Hoseok and you then saw Taehyung who showed you his painting that he began of the boat and the river. The three of you sat with each other and watched Jungkook sing a song he had prepared for today. Again you asked the location of Kim Namjoon. Your heart cried out for him so much more than your mouth did.

His younger brother replied, “He’s performing next, so I’m guessing he’s behind the curtain there.”

You looked for the outline of the tall gats the princes wore but could not see it. Namjoon was not behind that curtain. He couldn’t have been. You ate your words as he walked onto the stage in outfit similar to what your father wore. Many men wore this type of outfit. Shirtless with heavy jewels imbedded into a wide golden collar, but this was the first time you ever truly enjoyed the person wearing it. You swallowed.

His eyes darted across the audience, “I was asked by the Princess herself to prepare something for this night of festivity. I truly hope this pleases her…” He made eye contact with you. “I hope this pleases you, Princess (Y/N).”

He unrolled a piece of parchment and began to recite the words in a rhythm your ears did not know but loved all the same.

Is this love? Is this love? Sometimes I know Sometimes I don’t The next line What should I write? So many words are circling me But I don’t like a single one I just feel it Like the moon always rising after the sun Like nails growing, like trees shedding their leaves When winter comes You’re the one To turn my recollections into memories Before I knew you My heart was only in linear motion I’m just a person, person, person You erode all my sharp edges You make me Into love, love, love We’re people, people, people Among all of those countless linear lines My love, love, love When you sit on top, you become a heart I live so I love I live so I love Live & love, live & love Live & love, live & love I live so I love I live so I love Live & love, live & love If it’s love, I will love you You make I to an O I to an O I found out because of you Why “person” and “love” sound similar You make live to a love Live to a love I found out because of you Why a person must love as they live The distance between I and U is far but Forget JKLMNOPQRST I went past all those letters and reached you See, “me” and “you” are the same too Though that doesn’t mean I am you I want to be a part of your page I want to interfere in your story As your lover I’m just a person, person, person You erode all my sharp edges You make me Into love, love, love We’re people, people, people Among all of those countless linear lines My love, love, love When you sit on top, you become a heart I live so I love I live so I love Live & love, live & love Live & love, live & love I live so I love I live so I love Live & love, live & love If it’s love, I will love you What if I went away, what would it be like? If I leave, would you be sad? What if I wasn’t me, what would I be? Would you leave me? A blowing breeze, breeze, breeze Hoping it’s not like that A passerby person, person, person Hoping it’s not like that I feel so blue, blue, blue Do you know how much I How much I You’re my person, person, person You’re my breeze, breeze, breeze You’re my pride, pride, pride You’re my love My only love You’re my person, person, person You’re my breeze, breeze, breeze You’re my pride, pride, pride You’re my love My only love

He had confessed his feelings for you in his poem, his spoken song. You knew for sure this was the truth. The pounding of your heart and the shortness of breath at this reveal made if hard for you to think. Your feet were moving before your mind. To him. You took the ankh necklace you wore for this occasion and put it around his neck.

“Kim Namjoon, will you be my King?”

“Of course, my Queen.”

You felt so happy that you could cry. Instead you got on your tip-toes and kissed your future husband on the lips as he held you around the waist and cupped your face at the same time. There were cheers all around. Iset and Asir hugged each other, glad for their friend. You’d be marrying for love. You’d be marrying the one you loved.

And so would he. It was as if he’d hadn’t loved anyone before.

#BTS #Bangtan #Kim Namjoon #RM #RM x Reader #Reader x Namjoon #Black!Reader #ambw #bwam #bts ambw #Ancient Egypt #Trivia: Love

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chuckling-chemist · 6 years ago

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Now Give Me Some Figgy Pudding (4/14)

((It’s lacking a “name of song” title because I ran out of clever ideas, very fast. Also, the song I imagined for this sequence was Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2))

“Goddammn Val, you realize they serve dinner too, right?”

Valeba glanced down at her small plate of food grabbed from the buffet tables, absolutely filled to the brim with fancy slices of raw fish and other small appetizers. The extravagance of the food matched the extravagance of the whole venue perfectly: it looked richer and more expensive than Valeba would ever be able to afford on her own, and was largely enjoyed by the masses, but she knew in her head it wouldn’t quite live up to what she imagined and would probably need some soy sauce.

Okay, maybe this analogy needed more thought.

Could anyone blame her? After being swarmed by press eager to get the first major look at the up-and-coming Heiress -- never mind not only had she been here last sweep, just not in any sort of specialized area -- neither of them had a chance to breathe, let alone get any food. They hadn’t been able to sit down for some time, not until they finally made their way into the VIP area. And despite Mayola’s numerous attempts to help Valeba dip out, the press were so interested in a fuschiablood not just having a lowblood quadrant, but a lowblooded quadrant she wanted to take with her to a formal event, escaping to their little table for two against the wall was next to impossible.

“What?” She popped a scallop wrapped in bacon in her mouth. “I’m hungry now. Besides, it’s only about seven-forty-something. We’ve got twenty minutes before our food gets here and I can’t wait that long. Besides,” she paused and grabbed a piece of lox, “it’s free. I’m poor. I’m taking advantage of this guy shilling out as much money as possible to feed us.”

“Mm. Fair.” Mayola’s hand snuck up to the plate, but Valeba caught it first. She planted a dining knife square in between her the fuschia’s forefingers.

“Get your own damn plate,” she growled.

Mayola’s eyes glinted against the hazy blue lights. “You sure you wanna go down this path?”

“Maybe later.” She retracted the knife in an instant, quickly pocketing the knife. Not like it was hers, but Mayola didn’t need the upper hand. She carried enough knives on her. “If you gotta slobber over me, I’d like to think it can wait until after dinner.”

“Before or after they’re done with the uh...fuck I dunno what song this is so I can finish the thought.” She stopped, scrunching her whole face. Soft piano arpeggios filled the room. They almost sounded familiar, a chord set she must have heard somewhere else even if she didn’t quite recognize the current song. “Maybe you and your highblood fuckery recognizes it?”

She paused all motions to stare at Mayola, incredulous. “Highblood fuckery?”

“Oh come on, you know.” She folded her hands underneath her chin, letting her shaggy hair fall in front of her face. Valeba had to admit, Mayola probably shouldn’t have cut it right around Night of Frights for a costume, but telling her otherwise would have been an impossible mission. “Me. That awkward blue boy. Some fish--”

Valeba gasped. “I don’t pail my goddamn moirail you--”

“Relax!” She cackled loudly, clapping her hands against the table. “I was talkin’ ‘bout Niehea’s current fling. Coulda sworn he mentioned you once. Or maybe that was some other lowblood. Man’s pailing lifestyle is a goddamn revolving door that Niehea just kinda...stands in the center of.”

“Good to see you really think all lowbloods are the same,” she remarked dryly. The corners of her lips curled into a smirk. “Knew it’d come out of you eventually that you’re just playing.”

“I most certainly aren’t!” Her fins and eyes went equally wide as she pointed a sharp claw in Valeba’s direction. “Ain’t! Fuck. Damn it. I’ve been fancy for too long.”

“It’s only been forty minutes since we walked in.” She leaned back in her chair. “You’re probably just getting affected by the area around you.”

“It can’t be that fancy.”

Valeba rolled her eyes. She hadn’t been able to look very well at the whole VIP room, not after their dash into the room only a couple minutes before the servers came in to get dinner orders. That being said, between actual having an actual troll stationed to take her coat (and failing to notice the sheer volume of weapons she carried) and having two cobaltbloods push a red carpet down a snowy road already indicated this event was at least on par with similar events Careen held, the same parties she seemed eager to remind Valeba weren’t for “her kind” when she thought Dontoc wasn’t listening.

“Sure. I’ll just check to just confirm that’s stupidest thing to come out of your foodchute yet.”

She caught Mayola’s mouth opening to rebut, but Valeba was already twisting around in her seat. She’d been looking for an excuse to get a thorough look around the room since sitting down and this gave her the first proper excuse to gather her bearings and see what she was theoretically up against.

True to her belief, the whole place looked like a textbook definition of fancy. The room itself was a more reserved, upscaled version of the larger ballroom, complete with a second - albeit smaller- musician pit and elegant bar stocked in liquors she’d barely ever seen. Instead of the large tables set for eight present in the main room, most of these ones were all smaller tables for twos, threes or fours. Each mahogany table was covered in rich cloth of the color and accent representing the VIP guest in question. Valeba’s own table was covered in tyrian pink with a glass vase, but just a cursory glance revealed abstractified sculptures of everything from violins and television props to dangerous looking lusii and glass symbols propped on stands. Most of the table cloths were in cool colors, but occasionally she’d catch a hint of brown or red that felt like sucker punches to the face. Soft lights wrapped around garland and silver tinsel hung from the white walls accented in gold walls to give off an ethereal glow. It matched the potted evergreens and purple flower bushes precisely positioned around elaborate glass tables covered in appetizers.

And to say nothing of the people. She hadn’t quite yet gotten the chance to observe all the trolls in the main area, but in the VIP area showcased the absolute most famous and pompous of the bunch she’d never be able to see anywhere aside from idly watching television with Ardeen. Highblooded women in tight corsets and long, flowing gowns mingled with seadwellers in smoking jackets holding champagne flutes of what she figured - unless VIPs got special privileges on alcohol, which she wasn’t willing to throw out - were no more than sparkling juice currently. The real surprising thing about the whole event were the sheer number of seadwellers: Dontoc and Mayola both complained endlessly about how rarely seadwellers came to landdwelling highblood events. For them to come to a formal event on the mainland ran by a landdweller - a midblood no less, if all the pre-preparation she did holds any merit - was a testament in and of itself. It made her wonder how many of the seadwellers were actually VIPs interested in going and how many were just high-society dates to landdwelling celebrities. It’s not like she could much tell the difference between the two anyway.

When she turned back around, she popped a small cheese-covered cracker in her mouth. Her plate seemed...emptier than it should have. Either Valeba was hungrier than her thought, or Mayola stole a couple pieces. “This is literally the most extravagant, most elaborately designed room I’ve ever been in. I fail to see on any singular level how you could mistake this for being ‘not that fancy’. Unless you’re fucking with me.” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I dunno.” Mayola clasped her hands on the table and gave her a sharp, toothy grin. Valeba could see the small pieces of raw fish stuck between her teeth. “I think I might be.”

Valeba scooted up to sit on the edge of her chair, elbows on either side of her plate. “You’re an ass.”

Mayola leaned further on the table, gaze quite pointedly not on the plate, but on Valeba. “You can’t share your goddamn food. Think that makes you the true ass.”

“Says the troll stealing from the poor.” She leaned in further. She could feel the light breeze from Mayola’s twitching fins. “Even if I’m the true ass, you’re not too good yourself.”

She smirked, eyes dark with what could only be described as pitch adoration. “But you hate every fuckin’ second of it.”

“Hate it so much I’m getting my goddamn food back.” She leaned further in for a kiss, cut off only by a loud cough reminding her of where they were. Valeba shoved herself back into her chair, grinning sheepishly at the yellowblooded server standing next to the table, deftly levitating their food with psionics. “Sorry for making you wait,” she said.

“Flirting - pitch, pale or flushed - at such an affair’s not uncommon. You get used to it.” The yellowblood gave them a cool smile. “I imagine the dignity of the Heiress would prevent it from getting too out of our fronds.”

Mayola laughed awkwardly, flipping her hair back behind her shoulder. “Yeah...no. I am fuckin’ shameless. Hungry and horny do start and end the same way after all.”

Valeba sighed. “Mayola that makes no sense.” She looked back over to the yellowblood. “Also sorry about her. Seadwellers, ya know?”

“I do indeed.” The smile that came over him as he placed the covered silver platters to the floor felt more genuine than before. The lid on Valeba’s lifted first. “The bronzeblood asked for our breaded gamefowl resting on a mat of rice, seasoned in our finest herbs and served with a side of tangy, yet spicy, grubsauce.”

The next lid raised. Mayola stared down at it, licking her lips like a starved hyena all the while. “And for our Heiress, just as you requested: steamed oversized scuttlebug stuffed with yolk from our cluckbeasts and brandy, served with a side of green stick vegetation and risotto. Otherwise known to seadwellers as ‘lobster thermidor’. A heavy dish, but perfect for warming you in the weather.”

“Hell yeah it is.” She stretched her arms over her plate. Valeba could hear nearly every single one of her fingers crack. “Hey, goldie. Indulge me a little.”

The yellowblood froze in place. The plates he held up with psionics shook. It wasn’t a stretch to say the poor troll was probably terrified. She wished it were possible to telegraph that of all seadwellers, Mayola was the least likely to harm him anymore than a sympathetic smile. “Yes...my Heiress?”

“You guys allowed to accept tips?” She frowned. “I forget if that’s technically a no-no. Swear to fuck tippin's different across the ocean.”

He relaxed instantly, so much so Valeba actually thought she might have to steady him. “Yes. Yes. It’s allowed,” he said as he took both the lids out of the air, stacking them over each other before tucking them under his arm.

“Good.” She shoved her hand into her pocket, pulling out wrinkled pink dollars. “Sorry for the appearance, but I don’t like fru-fru fucking little handbags.”

“Not a problem,” he said politely. He opened his free hand to allow Mayola to drop the dollars and he tucked them into the pocket of his vest without another thought. The yellowblood gave the two a short bow. “Enjoy your food, ladies.”

“Oh we will,” Mayola said. She winked at Valeba. “We fucking will.”

#12th perigee ball #fantroll #homestuck #fanfiction #a tale of 12th perigee #not a starter #my writing #mayola #valeba

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thestargirllll · 7 years ago

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Always our Little Star (Eggsy X Reader)

((This is my first Eggsy one shot. I debated on putting it up but I thought “why not?” The story takes place shortly after the events of The Golden Circle and the reader is Whiskey’s younger sibling as well as a Statesman agent. Before becoming an agent, they were highly involved in dancing, possibly wanting to make it their career but their parents are killed, leaving the reader and Whiskey alone which leads them to becoming Statesman later on. Eggsy tries to comfort the reader after the loss of Whiskey and a special necklace during the last mission.))

Enjoy!

You often found yourself reaching for the invisible chain around your neck multiple times throughout the day, only to find a growing pain of disappointment in your chest. The once existing necklace your parents had given you was lost forever. You missed the gentle weight of it as it brought comfort to you throughout your day to day. You would fiddle with the delicate rose gold star that hung at the end of it between your fingertips, feeling every corner leaving indents on your skin…How exactly did this treasured object get lost forever? Well, you could blame your job but really you wanted to put blame on the asshole you fought against on your last mission. You would have much rather had him pull your hair to get you within his grasp than him snagging you from the chain of your necklace and breaking it apart in the process. As much as it shattered your heart to see it fall apart before your eyes, your priority at the moment was to disarm the guy and carry on with the mission. Which is exactly what you did. And of course there is no time to dawdle looking around for a broken necklace when the fate of the world is resting in your hands.

You remember the moment your parents had given you this gift very vividly and often played it over and over in your head…

It was the night of the last dance recital you ever did before your parents were…well…taken from this world. Your mother was cupping your face, praising you for your performance and your father gently put his hand on her shoulder, initiating her to pull away. “You never disappoint, Honey. We could watch you dance for hours.” His deep southern drawl always comforted you and your mom nodded in agreement to his words. “You’re gonna make it in this business, baby girl, I just know it. That’s why…” She looked over her shoulder at your father and he dug in his coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. “We got you this.” You took the box from your father’s hand and slowly opened it and you awed at the star inside. “You’re our little star. Always.” You looked up to their beaming faces and your heart was so full in that moment.

It was a Sunday afternoon and you found yourself doing a bit of “spring cleaning” around your place. This was your way of dealing with stress sometimes, even when there was nothing to really clean. Losing your necklace sucked, yes. However, losing your older brother in the same day quadrupled your heartbreak. And learning about the shocking fact that he was against the mission all along really tore you up inside. You were always a team. Side by side. More than ever after your parents passed. So to see the hero in your life become the villain in 0.5 seconds flat was the biggest plot twist of your life…And you definitely didn’t blame anyone for his death but himself. However, your new work partner couldn’t help but give you sympathy glances every time he saw you. That partner was Eggsy. Even though you knew damn well the only option in that moment for him and Harry was to kill him. Jack was so damn stubborn and heartbroken from the death of his woman, there would be no changing his mind. They were doing their jobs. And you assured Eggsy of this after the debriefing of the mission when he kept apologizing profusely.

While lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized the burning smell traveling from your kitchen to your room. You rushed over to your oven and was greeted by a cloud of smoke as you angrily snatched the baking tray full of cookies out and plopped them on the stove top. Maybe baking today mixed with cleaning wasn’t your brightest idea. You also hadn’t realized the several missed phone calls on your phone since you were blasting your stereo, filling your place with your favorite Motown and 80’s hits. Out of habit, you expected to see your brother’s name flashed across your screen but instead you saw Eggsy’s…

He never really calls you that often…

Suddenly your doorbell rang, making you jump. Dammit, Y/N. It’s just the damn doorbell. You went over to the door peephole and caught a glimpse of Eggsy, hands in pockets, swaying softly back and forth awaiting you to open the door. Shit. You walked over to the nearest mirror, studying yourself, fixing the mess that was your hair quickly and exhaled before opening the door. “Hey, Sorry I missed your calls…I was a bit tied up…is everything ok?” You asked as you greeted him. He presented you with a nervous smile, slightly throwing you off guard. “Yeah! Yeah, Just thought I’d check up on ya…I haven’t seen you since…you know…” His eyes began to travel to the floor. “We saved the world?” You finished, even though you know that wasn’t going to be the end of his sentence. “Erm…yeah. That. Are you having a party for one in there?” A small smirk was present on his lips as your music was still on full blast and you felt your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. “Depends on what you describe a ‘party for one’ as.” You joked. He chuckled and you moved to the side. “Did you want to come in…or?”

Being around Eggsy was something you discovered you enjoyed more of lately. He seemed to pop up more and more in your life after the mission. It was nice how naturally you two had seemed to work together. It was as if you had been fighting along side each other for years. Harry commented on this during the debriefing of the last mission. He stopped you as you were about to leave the conference room, a gentle glint of concern burning in his eyes but he wanted to see if you were ok. “Y/N, excuse me if this comes across as too forward but I have a proposition for you.” You turned to face him, locking eye contact with him. “Yes, Harry?” He swallowed the hesitation in his throat before continuing. “I’ve been thinking…with half our agents gone and the impressive qualities you have as a Statesman agent…I would like to extend an invitation to become a Kingsman.” Your face must’ve portrayed dislike because Harry quickly felt the need to reassure you. “We would give you proper living quarters. You wouldn’t have to face any struggles with residency there. And of course, the job comes with many other benefits.” You still didn’t speak. You didn’t know exactly how to respond. “It was just an invitation. I wouldn’t be extending it if I thought it wasn’t a necessary thing to do. We just like to approach greatness when we see it.” A warm sensation burned in your chest and you felt tears stinging your eyes but you blinked them away. You really did respect Harry. “Harry, I don’t even know what to say…Thank you. But I think its best I stay close to home right now…” He gave you a warm smile followed by a nod. “Of course.” He put a hand on your shoulder, before beginning to walk out of the room. Just as he hit the doorway, he stopped and turned back around. “You and Eggsy work well together…Partnerships like that are a rarity to find now. It reminds me of the partnership that his father and I had…” You sent him a genuine smile. “Take care, Y/N.” “You as well, Harry.”

“So when are you and Harry leaving?” At this point, you were shamefully scraping your burnt cookies off the baking tray and tossing them in the trash while a slightly amused Eggsy sat at the dining room table, watching you. “Dunno, actually…He says he’s waitin’ on an answer on somethin’.” This struck you a bit odd but you didn’t question it. You didn’t really need to know all the specifics of Kingsman protocols. It wasn’t your business. You finally finished and joined Eggsy at the table, resting your face on the palm of your hand. “I’m usually not this much of a mess, I swear.” He smiled that Eggsy smile that you’ve grown to like. “S’right, luv. I think it’s quite refreshin’ seeing a polished woman be real for once.” You snorted lightly, the warmness burning your cheeks again. “So why are really here?” Your question caught him off guard and suddenly it was his turn to feel the warmness in his face. “Well…I’m not real good at this kinda stuff…but…” He stood up now, digging in his jacket pocket and pulling out a small wrapped box. You could tell he wrapped it himself, as the tape job was a bit messy. The wrapping paper was stripped with silver and white. He hesitated a moment before speaking and handing it over to you. “I hope this isn’t awkward…I just…I just happened to come across it and I felt it was somethin’ you would maybe find helpful? I dunno…maybe you won’t like it but-“

“Eggsy…I haven’t even opened it yet.” You giggled. “Right. Sorry.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets nervously. You never thought you’d receive a gift from him and you couldn’t imagine as to why he felt the need to get you one. You gently tore apart the wrapping and found a velvet jewelry box inside. You were a little nervous now to find what would be in it. You could practically feel Eggsy’s nervousness radiating off of him which was odd for him. He was always confident in everything he did. “You’re not proposing to me are ya,?” You joked, a smile lightly tugging on the corners of your mouth. Eggsy’s cheeks burned a light pink, eyes widening. “Bloody hell, Y/N. No! No, it’s not that, I swear.” You giggled again. “I’m just messing…” You finally opened the box and you felt your heart stop for a few seconds. You stared at the shiny object in front of you for what felt like ages. You didn’t think he had remembered how important this was to you but he did. The rose gold star glimmering in the box may not have been the one your parents gave you but it looked pretty damn close to it. “Wh-Where did you…” You slowly pulled the necklace out and placed it in your hand, feeling the chain dangle from your fingers. “I was out and about the other day and happened to see it in the window of that old jewelry shop down the way from the Statesman Headquarters…and I remembered that story you told me about your parents giving you that necklace you had before…on the night of your last dance recital.” Your eyes were fixated on the star the whole time he spoke. “I also remember why they gave you a “star” out of all things…turn it over…” You furrowed your brows and did what he said and you saw small lettering engraved in the back. At first you couldn’t read it but once you caught the right lighting the words revealed themselves to you.

Always Our Little Star

You weren’t the crying type, especially in front of people you didn’t feel comfortable crying in front of but in that moment, you felt the tears sting the outer corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry if it’s a bit much, I just thought it would make you happ-“ He was cut off by your body being pressed to his, your arms wrapped around under his arms, holding him in a tight embrace. The side of your face was pressed against his shoulder and you felt the tears finally fall down your face. “Thank you.” You whispered, your voice slightly quivering. You felt him relax and he returned your embrace, moving a hand to lightly stroke your hair. “I’m glad you like it, luv…” Your tears were falling onto the soft material of his jacket and you finally pulled away, wiping them profusely. “Like it? I love it. Eggsy…you didn’t have to…seriously.” He shrugged and made another one of your favorite Eggsy faces. “Who said I had to? I wanted to…You deserve a reason to smile again, yeah?” You smiled at him and it sent a wave of happiness through Eggsy. He couldn’t quite place this feeling exactly but it felt right to him. Seeing you smile in that moment was like winning the gold. And he desired to make you smile again just to see it over and over again. You fiddled with the necklace to clip it around your neck when he walked up to you, reaching a hand. “Allow me.” You stopped and handed it over and you turned around, holding your hair up, exposing your neck to him. You felt him put the necklace around you and secure it in place and you let your hair fall back down. You looked down at the twinkling star now hanging from your neck and you felt yourself beaming. Eggsy had brought your parents back to you.

“You know I do quite like this song…” You stopped and remembered your music was still playing softly in the background. The Spinners “Could it Be I’m Falling in Love” was playing. “I’m glad you approve of my setlist.” You joked. He smiled and nodded, his shoulders starting to move to the tune. “I know I don’t hold a candle to your skills but…may I have this dance?” You chuckled, shaking your head in embarrassment but you took his hand and he pulled you to him. You two began slow dancing in a circle, moving along to the slow ballad. Eggsy of course tried making you laugh as he would twirl you and dramatically dip you. You haven’t had a genuine laugh in days and it felt good. The sound of your laughter warmed Eggsy so much, he didn’t think he’d ever tire of it. After witnessing seeing the heavy dread hiding behind the steady front you had going on, he couldn’t help but try and bring back some sort of light in you. Mostly because he knew what that dread felt like. He felt it when his father passed and he felt it again when he thought he lost Harry. And dammit, he just couldn’t help that he thought your smile was beautiful.

“What?” You asked him. He was staring at your face for quite sometime and it wasn’t until you said something that he realized it. “Oh…nothin’. I’m just thinkin’.” You pursed your lips. “About?” He bit his lip, shaking his head. “It’s a secret.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Sorry, Luv. You know how the spy thing goes. If I told ya…I’d have to kill ya…” You rolled your eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone, Ghalahad.” He smirked at you calling him this and he gave you one of his signature winks. And it was in that moment, you realized something…

You were falling for Eggsy Unwin.

And you were becoming very sad at the thought of seeing him go back to London with Harry…and not knowing when you’d see him again. The thought pained you more than you cared to admit to yourself. You were enjoying every single minute of this moment and longed to have many more just like these. You also suddenly realized maybe your home wasn’t “home” anymore…Maybe a fresh start was something you desperately needed. And then it dawned on you…

You knew exactly the answer Harry was waiting on…

A flash of excitement sparked through you and you finally spoke. “Eggsy, I need to talk to Harry.” He stopped mid dance and frowned. “For what?” You smiled and pulled away from him, grabbing his arm and pulling him along towards the door. “I have to give him the answer he’s waiting for.”

#eggsy unwin #eggsy x reader #i'm still new at this #but i'm kinda satisfied with it?#eggsy #fluff #eggsy imagine

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spacebrick3 · 7 years ago

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WHG: Sadie’s Death

The Official Story:

Tribute #3 from District 6, Sadie Hintzen, was crossing through an open area in the approximate direction of north-northwest when Aurum Calius, Tribute #1 from District 8 began to fire a Proxen Model 3 (tm) crossbow at her. Her first shot missed, but the second shot hit Hintzen in the right leg and the third caught her in the head. Approximate time of death was 11:38 AM. She was the 12th tribute to be killed.

That’s what the Capitol says happened, anyways. But is that what really what happened? Let’s see what Aura and Sadie had to say about the experience, shall we?

@ratracechronicler

Aura’s Experience

She was starving. She hadn’t picked up any supplies, anywhere - all she had found were weapons. She had two daggers and a crossbow strapped to her belt now, but no food or water. And it was the second day now. She’d need to find something fast, to avoid becoming too weak. She headed towards the edge of the forest, eyes scanning. There must be a few tributes in this area of the arena, and at least some of them must have supplies.

She reached the beginning of the mountains, then hesitated. Where to go from here? There’d probably be more tributes in the forest, but the mountains were much more open, and she’d be much more likely to find one there. Maybe she could compromise. She scrambled up to one of the outcroppings that was on the closest hill, surveying what she could see from there. A fair portion of the mountains were spread out behind her, and the same view of the forest in front. As long as she was alert, this would be the best position to try and find somebody. And it didn’t require her to do any more walking, which was a blessing on an empty stomach.

She settled down to wait.

It didn’t take long for a tribute to appear. It was the girl from District 6 she had teamed up with, briefly, last night, still clutching her yellow backpack of supplies. She was heading for the edge of the forest, almost directly towards Aura. It was the perfect opportunity.

She loaded her crossbow, then tried to sort through her thoughts. Could she really kill somebody? Was she willing to end another tribute’s life just so that she could stay alive for what might not be much longer? Was she really going to give the Gamemakers what they wanted? Because by doing this - by killing Sadie, whose name she remembered now - she’d be playing the game they wanted her to play.

Well, she wanted to live. Sadie had supplies that she needed. She’d killed pirates and brigands as a dye trader for District 8. She could do this. There’d be time to debate morality later. Jaw set, she rose from where she was crouched and fired the first bolt.

It missed. She swore under her breath, trying to reload as fast as she could. It had been almost a year since she’d used a crossbow - evidently, her skills had atrophied slightly. Sadie spun around, breaking into a run back towards the edge of the forest. Aura scowled and raised the crossbow again, this time making sure to sight properly down the spine of the bow. She wasn’t going to get away.

Her second bolt hit Sadie in the leg. She stumbled and fell, the backpack dropping from her shoulders and scattering its contents across the rocky ground. Aura hesitated, then reached for another bolt. Sadie wouldn’t make it anyways like this - either she’d starve, freeze, or another tribute would find her and kill her. The least she could do now was put her out of her misery, right?

Still, it was a lot harder to sight down the crossbow this time. Sadie looked frantic, fumbling with something small in her hands. It glinted silver, but that was all she could see. She gritted her teeth. She could do this. The crossbow wobbled slightly - her hands were shaking - but finally, Sadie’s head appeared in the sight. As soon as it did, she pulled the trigger. The string twanged as the bolt was released.

There. It was done.

Or it would have been, if not for what happened just as the bolt neared Sadie. A small black circle appeared in her hands, then quickly widened to fill the space around her. It seemed to warp the light that passed around it, skewing depth enough that Aura had to look away, her eyes watering from even her glimpse of the sphere.

When she looked back, Sadie was gone. There wasn’t a body, or anything like that. She was just…gone. There was already a Capitol helicopter hovering over where she had lay, but it looked as confused as she did. “Hey!” she shouted at it, even though it was unlikely she’d get an answer. “What the fuck just happened there?”

No answer.

Sadie’s Experience

It was a new day, and Sadie still hadn’t made it to the mountains like she had promised Syl she would. But she could make it today. Make it to safety. It would provide a relief from this constant feeling of dread that soon she’d meet a tribute who hadn’t been as friendly as the ones she had seen until now. It would happen sometime if she didn’t get to the mountains. She didn’t think she was ready now to face someone like that.

She was able to pack up her camp quickly, “camp” in this case just being a blanket that she had curled up in for the night. Breakfast was a simple nutrient bar that she had chosen simply because it was on top in the backpack. It was bland and tasteless, but at least it was food. The metal of her token was cold - she had taken it off during the night to stop the pins poking her - and she rubbed it between her hands to warm it up before slipping the chain over her neck again.

The edge of the forest was only a mile away. She could make it there in no time, and be able to set up camp in the mountains well before dark fell. She wished she had a weapon, though - maybe she wouldn’t know how to use it, but it might stop other tributes from accosting her as frequently as they had yesterday. Oh well. Once she was in the mountains, then hopefully that wouldn’t happen anyways, weapon or no weapon.

After maybe half an hour, she reached the line where the trees ended and the mountains began. The forest was clearly artificial - there was no natural fading of the trees, just a straight border where the dirt ended and the rock began. Mountains rose up in front of her, grey and imposing, and as she walked out of the forest her mind began to wander. How high would the border actually be into the mountains? More importantly, what did the border look like? If it was invisible, that might be a problem - after all, she’d heard that crossing it would-

A crossbow bolt whipped past her head. She stumbled backwards, trying to trace where it had come from. There was a glint of sunlight, and she saw Aura, the golden-haired girl from District 8 standing on an outcropping above her. The same hunger that Sadie had seen yesterday night was still there, but now it was focused with a burning passion. Focused on her.

Turning away, she started to dash backwards for the cover of the forest. It wasn’t that far away. She could make it. She could survive. This couldn’t be it. She couldn’t die right here, right now. There was still so much she could do. The forest was closer now. She was going to make it-

The second bolt stabbed her through the leg. She screamed and fell to the ground, the backpack sliding off her shoulders. The pain was incredible - she had heard that being shot was like white-hot fire, but that couldn’t come close to this. But she had to keep going. Maybe her leg was gone, but there might be one last thing she could do. If she was right. Please - if there was anything other than the Gamemakers watching, let her be right.

She pulled out the token Kjiersten had given her, turning it over frantically in her hands. The blue light - she knew that blue light. There had to be something, somewhere that - there. Nestled amongst the circuits and blobs of solder, there it was: a switch. With trembling hands that were only half shaking from the pain, she fumbled for a second before managing to flip it.

The token split open with a whine, revealing a mess of wires and tiny fluid links. She stared at it, dumbfounded for a moment. It was her work, she was sure, but shrunk to an amazingly small size. The blue light that she had seen last night through the cracks in the cube was pulsing alarmingly, and she didn’t even have time to drop the cube before a shimmering black sphere formed around it.

The Connection Project.

The sphere grew rapidly, warping space and light around it in a dizzying and disorienting display before enveloping her. She had never been through the Project before, and she could tell immediately why those who had seemed at a loss for words when asked to describe it. It was darkness and light all at once; crushing pressure and empty space; omnisicience and blindness in the same instant flashing before her eyes.

She didn’t know how long it was; the Project seemed to change how time flowed inside of it, and the pain still shooting up her leg made it hard to focus on anything. It could have been hours or it could have been seconds that she stayed, curled up and shaking, inside the Project - all she remembered was it fading, eventually, and a familiar room - her old labs - swimming back into focus.

As soon as she could feel the ground beneath her feet - feel that it wasn’t the same ground she had fallen onto after being shot - she broke down completely. Her injured leg gave way under her, and she collapsed to the floor, sobbing. It was over. She had made it out of the Games. And she was still alive. Somehow, someway, she was still alive. Still there. Still feeling. Still thinking.

Still alive.

#writeblr hunger games #hg: sadie #hg: aura

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thatsrightdollface · 7 years ago

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Only Sort of Haunted - Kamisama Hajimemashita Halloween Event Entry!

There was a lake people hurried past, in that place, because a man had walked into the water there and never come back.

Summary: Mizuki has become part of a ghost story, whether or not he knows it. Also, Nanami takes her daycare class to visit the lake that used to be Yonomori Shrine. Ships: Mostly this is just about Mizuki and Nanami’s friendship, though Nanami/Tomoe features for a couple paragraphs.

This takes place between Nanami’s wedding and the epilogue. I’d probably rate it somewhere between G and T. It’s about 2,000 words.

Ao3 link!

There was a lake people hurried past, in that place, because a man had walked into the water there and never come back. A group of school girls having lunch together saw him, peeking out from between the brambles, chopsticks balanced loosely in their hands. One of them, a brave girl, called, “Hey! Hey, you! What’re you doing?” but the man didn’t seem to hear her. He had a soft face, beatific and calm, and hair bleached very white. Whiter than bone just picked clean, whiter than the frozen sky. The way that cold, watery daylight hit him made it seem as though there were scales crawling up his neck, for just a moment, one of the girls said. Another girl, of course, swore he was human as anyone. She said he was crying, and muttering something she couldn’t quite hear. It reminded her of a spell, although she couldn’t say why.

They searched for a body, those cops with their caution tape and their pasted-on reassurances. “Nothing to see here, Miss. Move along, move along.”

Nobody found anything, of course. A man had walked into the water, and there was no sign of him anywhere. There were the remains of a small shrine at the bottom of the lake, though, drowned and rotting and almost – but not quite – forgotten. Fish darted through that shrine, glinting silver like flipped coins. People whispered. Yonomori Shrine and its goddess had meant to save people from drowning, but now it, too, had drowned, and a strange pale man with it.

The lake had been a new thing, then, only ever around at all because the city planners had decided to build a dam. It had been a novelty for those girls to picnic there. But no picnics came, not anymore.

It was very cold and quiet around that lake, and by the time Nanami Momozono took her daycare class visiting on a field trip nobody talked about it much at all. Except around Halloween or other especially eerie nights, maybe, when kids would dare each other to creep up close to the water. It was just understood that the lake was haunted, and that it might drink you up so no one would ever find your bones. Or maybe the pale man would watch you, lips curving up ever so slightly as his eyes blurred over with tears. Maybe. And who knew what he would do then, if you stayed too long?

It was an old story, and the people of that town had a lot of other more practical things to think about.

Nanami was a bright young woman with a ribbon in her hair, that day, and nobody she was working with knew any of her secrets. She had a once-fox husband waiting for her at home, yes. She had known what it was to tie fates together the way another god might, and she genuinely thought it would be fun to bring little sailboats and sketchpads and visit the lake on a nature hike. She sent home permission slips and plotted a course – she planned to stop for ice cream, and at a small museum. Her class rode into town in a bus, chattering and scribbling with crayons. She had appointed chaperones in neon vests and the whole deal. People said Nanami had an infectious enthusiasm, and she had seemed dead sure none of her little charges could fall into that particular lake. Something, she hinted, wouldn’t have let them.

So maybe Nanami just loved nature and was happy to help plan adventures. Maybe. That might have explained it all. Really, she wanted to show an old friend that she was thinking about him, but nobody could have known that part. She wanted to stare out over the water and remember waking up beneath it, in a bubble of perfectly preserved time. A pale man had puzzled down at her, then, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to talk to living things anymore but was so, so desperate to try. The shrine had been polished and warm, so different from the lake around it.

She hadn’t known Mizuki was a ghost story, at first, and by the time she figured it out she felt sorry for him. Mizuki would later tell her that if he had been hearing the story from her perspective, knowing everything she knew, he would have expected her to be afraid. She’d just been taken away from her home, after all. He’d wanted to be with her forever and they’d only just met. Of course someone so clutching could have been dangerous. Of course he would have wanted her to keep herself safe, normally, and respected, and able to feel the sun on her skin if she wanted to. He hadn’t liked what he was becoming there in the dark without his goddess.

Mizuki looked very self-conscious, for a second, then, guilty and drunk and remembering back through a haze. He had been so different, beneath his lake, than he became when they were living together like family. Desperation and emptiness warped people in awful ways. Part of why Mizuki loved her so completely, he had said, was that she helped him wiggle out of that bitter, aching self and become who he was supposed to be again. He wanted to be the guy she trusted.

He hadn’t remembered what he told her, by the time morning came. She’d made sure he ate breakfast, and Tomoe teased him for drinking too much.

That same Tomoe, the once-fox, said, “Tsk,” with a little smirk when Nanami told him about how she was going to the lake. He’d reminded her that she wouldn’t be able to see Mizuki without Mikage’s godhood, at least not so far from the shrine they’d shared together. Nanami said she knew, sure, yeah, but that he’d be able to see her, if he was still around. Still monitoring the shrine of his first goddess that had dreamt him into being. He’d probably want to know he hadn’t been forgotten.

Tomoe was doing up a tie in the mirror, about then. He tossed her a velvety glance over his shoulder and murmured that she might be right this time. The fan by the bed was whooshing past him every few seconds, ruffling his hair. Without any fox ears nestled in it, now, but all his expressions were so much the same as they had always been. He told her he would have dinner ready when she got home, and she followed him to the door to kiss him slowly on his way out and into the world again.

None of Nanami’s students knew to be afraid of Mizuki’s first home until they stopped at the town’s little museum and one of the guides stretched her eyes wider and asked why they’d want to go to that lake. Spirits might have been angry, there, and people made up stories about stuff that floated up along the shore. Bones and old jewelry, engraved stones and stuff like that. Stuff for stories. Only maybe they didn’t make it all up – who could say? Maybe that lake really was hungry.

A little boy started crying, then, mouth scrunching up and arms tucked tight around himself. A little girl dropped the souvenir picture book she’d been holding, and one of the pages got crinkled up on the floor. A haunted lake? Their teacher was taking them to a haunted lake? Why?

Nanami had learned to think fast, working at a daycare. No, she’d learned to think fast working as a land god, and as her deadbeat father’s daughter. She’d always been able to innovate, to take knotted threads and sort them out tenderly between her hands. She scooped up the picture book; she pulled tissues out of her purse for the crying boy like she was performing a magic trick.

And then she flopped down on the floor of the gift shop and told a story about a flooded shrine, to whatever kids wanted to hear it. She talked about a lonely place that was still very beautiful – she talked about how many interesting fish and bugs would be around that lake, because not a lot of kids came by there anyway. She talked about how strange it was to know there was a whole place under the water, like a sunken Atlantis, like a pirate horde. When she offered to turn their bus around and hit up a neighborhood park instead, her class was mostly too busy talking about catching fish in their hands and which ones among them would have made decent pirates to answer her. They were brave, they said. It was still so light out, and they were going to have fun and be braver than that guide lady.

There was a low, sick feeling deep inside Nanami, thinking about Mizuki and his lake as haunted, as the kind of frightening that would have conspiracy theory blogs posting about it online. This same Mizuki had read the romance novels she’d brought home, lounging around the shrine. He’d held her arm walking together, like he was scared to lose hold of her. His voice was so often bubbly and warm, slender fingers flashing around as he talked. He wore his calculating, venom-soaked smiles, sometimes, but in his defense they’d been pretty close to dying a bunch of times there. Mizuki’d planned her whole wedding, too, even though no one could send him a decent RSVP. As a snake – because yes, his other self was a snake, and he did shed his skin around the shrine every now and again ticking Tomoe off to no end – it had always looked like he was smiling. Snake mouths curled up like that, sometimes.

She sort of hoped none of her class would talk about the drowned specter of that lake too loudly, as they spent a little afternoon there. When the woman at the museum had described Mizuki like that, a stranger who dissolved to water and rubble in the dark, Nanami thought she could imagine the exact expression he would have been wearing as he gave himself to the lake. Giving up, going home. He would have been determined and resigned and furious beyond belief. Maybe he knew people had seen him and told stories, still, or maybe he would smack himself on the forehead and hiss through his teeth if he found out.

Nanami played pirates, and she helped kids collect nature collages from the area around the lake. They pasted leaves and twigs and smooth stones down on cardboard paper, and she helped them sign their names at the bottom with all the right kanji. Once, she thought she saw fresh bone-white scales sharp against the mud, twining close to her foot and then – as if shy, as if reconsidering because of all the people around – away and into the water. Another time she thought she saw a flowering tree reflected deep inside that lake where no tree could rightly be. And both those times she smiled, and she tasted tears in the back of her throat. The air was crisp and not quite cold, then. She had to keep sending chaperones back to the bus for extra sweaters. The sky was heavy and silver-grey, like it was always thinking about rain.

It could have been one of the chaperones who wrote “It’s so, so good to see you” on the back of Nanami’s notebook when her back was turned. It could have been, but she really didn’t think it was.

#khh2017 #kamisama kiss #Mizuki #Nanami Momozono #fanfiction #HAPPY HALLOWEEN #this event looked fun #and I've been thinking about this manga since I finished it earlier this month?

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floweryfandomnerd · 7 years ago

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@thelazyfanartist look, look, I finally wrote that request (after two months, I can’t believe it took that long! Sorry about that. Thank you for being so patient) but in compensation this is 5k+ so another chapter in the modern school boy au

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Baking was definitely not a skill of Daryun’s, so when Arslan posed him the question “Do you know how to make a cake?” he was inclined to say no. However, the pleading look on the kid’s face was one that could easily sway him. Daryun shook his head, rocking on his heels he hummed in thought, “We could probably look up a recipe. Although I have no idea why you don’t just buy a cake?”

Arslan shrugged at him “I want cake and something to do, two in one!”

Daryun nodded, tapping his chin “Alright then, can we make it caramel flavour?” Arslan instantly agreed. That settled it then, Daryun wandered into the kitchen as Arslan went typing into Google “How to make a caramel cake” and pulled up a recipe. Haphazardly stacking them on the bench, Daryun pulled random bags of ingredients out of the pantry; he had no idea how to make a cake. Flour, eggs, butter, sugar… that was it right? He set the open bag of flour down with a thump, recoiling as the white powder sprayed up into his face.

Flour cloud still hanging in the air, Arslan walked into the room with the now printed recipe only to choke on it. Through his coughing fit, he made a face at Daryun - an expression of suffering and confusion. “Are you…” another cough “trying to…” a hefty pat to the chest “to kill me or something?”

Wry smile forming on his lips, Daryun pointed up at his flour-covered, white as a ghost face then at the bag “Yeah, I need someone to haunt this place with me - there’s your makeup”

Chuckling lightly, Arslan placed the recipe on the once sparkling black island. Beginning to read off what they needed, Arslan started to organise what was on the bench whilst Daryun stared at it quizzically. He wasn’t sure whether the vagueness of the instructions he was currently staring down was a good or bad thing; he wasn’t a baker. “Sieve the flour into the bowl…” An indiscriminate amount went into the sieve which Daryun tapped at furiously to make it fall through faster. “Cream the butter and sugar together, oh, can I do this part?” Arslan carefully weighed the specified amounts then tipped them into the bowl, mashing at it to form a sweet paste. “Alright Daryun, you add the eggs and flour whilst I make the caramel”

Trusting him with this was, in fact, a mistake, he grabbed a random number of eggs to crack into the bowl. He mixed it together with any technique he might have possessed flying straight out the window. When everything had - sort of - come together he scrutinised it dubiously, waiting upon the caramel to finish whatever it was he’d made so far. After five minutes of boiling sugar and butter, Arslan poured the cream into the pan, caramel sputtering at him. Pouring it straight into the bowl, Daryun mixed it until it all seemed to form a batter. It went straight into the cake tin and then the oven.

They watched it intently, as it bubbled but didn’t rise in the slightest - slowly cooking. Caramelising sugar into a golden brown top. When 30 minutes had passed they skewered it with a knife that came back dry to indicate it was done. Taking it out, it was plain to see that the ‘cake’ was a mess. Flat, unrisen, dry. Arslan prodded it tentatively “Are you sure we didn’t make a rock instead?”

Truth be told, he wasn’t. To fully understand the extent of their failure, one of them would have to taste it. Neither wanted that honour. Sly smile curving at the corner of his lips, Daryun mused that they wouldn’t have to taste it at all. “Hey, what time is Narsus coming over? 4pm?”

Arslan nodded at him, looking at the clock “Yeah, and it’s 3:30 now so he should be here in about half an hour with Elam.”

Glancing down at the cake, Daryun grinned “Do you want to decorate it and feed it to him?”

Hesitant though he was, mulling it over Arslan did find that it seemed rather fun. Grabbing a little black wallet off the counter, he pushed it into his pocket and ran out the front door, forgetting to close it as he called “I’m buying marshmallows and sprinkles!”

Pushing it closed, Daryun gently shook his head. Then he wandered back into the kitchen to start on the buttercream. He pulled out a bowl, filled it and stirred furiously. Once it was made he spread it over the cake with a palette knife, grunting in frustration when it didn’t go as even as he wanted. Arslan walked back in to find he’d already given up and was now glaring angrily at the cake. Marshmallows suddenly being ripped from his hand, Arslan watched in amusement as Daryun tore open the bag and dumped the entire contents on top the iced cake. Grabbing the sprinkles next he poured almost half of the shaker on it. Stepping back to look at it, he regarded the cake with a wrathful pride until the doorbell rang.

Arslan answered, moving aside to let Elam and Narsus enter for their weekly games night. It was just the four of them, but even that was more than it used to be. Daryun cut the cake and handed two plates of it to their friends as Arslan set up the wii. Both viewed it with a degree of wariness. Arslan whispered into Elam’s ear not to eat it as Daryun urged Narsus to do the opposite, “Go on, we made it for you so you better damn well eat it.”

Hesitantly, Narsus cut away a piece with the fork handed to him, raising it to his mouth unsurely. Chewing a rock, he mused, might have actually been easier. He spat it back out immediately. Hating it the second it hit his taste buds, Narsus emptied his mouth leaving mush on the plate; he ignored the collective looks of disgust. “Maybe you guys should get cooking lessons… There’s a good place in the shopping centre - I’d offer my hotel’s chef to you but I think he’d cry if he saw your cooking!”

Even losing at Mario Kart didn’t leave such a bitter taste in his mouth…

Busy isn’t a strong enough word to describe the shopping centre, people squeeze past Arslan and Daryun inside of it; their scents of sweat and perfume mingling with chocolates, pastries and coffee from the nearby cafés, outside of one is a table full of samples and a lady brightly offering them to passersby. Arslan’s outstretched hand just misses the pastry he was aiming for as Daryun pulls him away, over the din of conversation, tapping of footsteps on the ground and music blaring on the overhead radio, Daryun’s voice is almost inaudible, “That’s not what we’re here for. Come on, we’ll be late.”

He reaches just a little bit further, snatching one off the table in triumph. He grins at the lady, shoving it in his mouth straight after. Daryun just shakes his head. As his head turns, out of the corner of his eye another shop catches his attention. He’d wanted to be early, that meant there was still twenty minutes to spare (punctuality is an important quality to have) - that means there’s time to go in the shop then. Unsurprisingly, Arslan glares just a little when he steps into the small shop. In contrast to the rest of the centre, inside is near enough empty and nowhere near as brightly lit. Soft lights reflect off glinting metal, jewels sparkling on the hilts of various swords.

The reasons for a (replica - or at least, he hoped they were replicas) weapons shop in the middle of a suburban shopping centre made no sense to Arslan, but the smile on Daryun’s face made him glad nonetheless. Making sure Daryun was still gazing fixedly at the sword first, he turned towards the girl behind the counter; there were lots of finely crafted bows and arrows, pretty swords and daggers to buy, none of them caught his eye. Still, she perked up at the potential customer rather than just someone browsing.

Looking at her face, there was something familiar about it. Arslan drummed his fingertips against his legs, trying to figure out just what it was. It took him a minute before he snapped his fingers together in remembrance. On her face sat an expression somewhere between a smile and a scowl, Arslan just laughed at her, “Dislike the other team that much, do you?”

She shook her head, “It’s not… I don’t dislike you guys that much - I just want to win the season,” Étoile let her chin land in her hand “Anyway, why are you here? You don’t exactly look the type who can use a sword or a bow.”

Arslan pointed over at his bodyguard - although he much preferred to call him a friend - “No, but he is.”

Étoile glanced over at Daryun, still lovingly admiring the sword - she thought he looked about ready to kiss it. “How much for it?”

For a moment she just stared unbelievingly at him, then slowly she blinked, “One hundred and fifty thousand yen.” Was he seriously planning on just buying that sword for the sake of it?

Letting out a low whistle, Arslan pulled out a card and nodded to himself, muttering, “I’m gonna be broke in a minute, but it is his birthday today.”

Étoile only just caught the words falling from his lips, she’d be close enough to broke buying something just a twelfth of the price. In his eyes though, she thought she saw genuine fondness and wondered maybe that would be worth it. “So, do you just get handed this on a silver plate or do you actually have to earn it?”

Arslan considered for a moment, “I guess you could say silver plate,” His father didn’t really care what he did as long as it didn’t cause him any hassle. So not exactly luxury, not so pampered as he could be - not a silver plate but he supposed that was the closer option. It wasn’t like he had a job or anything; his only responsibility was that of keeping up appearances.

“Rich boy,” she muttered underneath her breath.

He flashed her a fake smile in response and drummed his fingers on the counter again as he inserted his card. The transaction beeped in completion, he pulled the card out scanning the desk, eyes resting on a cup full of sharpened pencils and a pad of post-it notes. “Got a pen and paper?”

She silently handed them over. Scribbling quickly on the paper, he tapped at it when he spoke “Could you get it delivered to this address? Also, if there are any problems just call this number.”

Glancing down at the information he had jotted down, Étoile nodded at him. “Any particular time you want it delivered? We do same day delivery as long as you buy before 5pm.”

“As soon as possible, there’ll be someone in to sign for it.” Spinning on his heel, he waved his thanks at her. Then he began to pull Daryun out of the shop, though he only moved an inch. “Thought you didn’t want to be late, Daryun.”

At that, he started moving again. Outside the shop, he kept heading towards their next disaster. The cooking class Narsus had recommended wasn’t so far away. More that Narsus had booked and paid for it without ever consulting him than recommended it. He was desperate never to be tortured like that again. They rounded the next corner and found themselves outside a fairly average looking building, a sign in a cursive font hung above the door saying “Shapur and Isfan’s Cooking School.”

A bell above the glass door chimed as they walked in, no one sat behind the desk to check comings and goings - it seemed you could just waltz in without paying if you really wanted. Following the directions of an arrow on another sign they found the kitchen easily. They each grabbed a black apron off the pegs at the back of the room. It looked rather simple, white cupboards beneath cream coloured countertops. Each countertop was a work station for two with one gleaming silver sink to share. The walls were a cool baby blue; Daryun thought maybe that was because people cooking get stressed and blue is supposed to be a relaxing colour - he wasn’t sure quite how effective it actually was though.

Aside from the two men wearing unnecessarily puffy hats, there weren’t very many people in the room. At least it meant their workspaces wouldn’t be crowded; despite not being a guarantee of the quality of the classes.

One of them clapped their hands, silencing the room. The man pointed to himself, “I’m Shapur,” then at the other, “this is my brother Isfan.”

“Alright, today we’re going to start off with something easy: chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.”

The class nodded in response, some beginning to reach for their recipe sheets. “So, the first step is making sure you weigh everything out carefully, this is important guys.”

Daryun sheepishly admitted to himself that he was perhaps the reason their cake had gone so wrong. He grabbed the scales, meticulously pouring flour into a bowl until he got to the exact measurement of grams. A duly noted improvement.

Next to him, Arslan was doing the same; concentration painted clearly on his face. After weighing all their ingredients both looked to the front again. Isfan waited another moment for everyone to finish, “Moving on, put the butter and sugar into the bowl. Cream them together by mashing them with your spoon.”

Carefully following the instructions read to him, Daryun sieved flour and cracked eggs. Mixing and folding it as demonstrated by Shapur, he found that his cake batter didn’t look so bad. Shapur’s still seemed superior though.

Isfan clapped his hands again, “Okay, now spread the batter in the tin, make sure it’s even!”

“Lastly, place in the oven and cook until risen and dry when poked with a knife. Don’t open the door too much though, if you do all the hot air will escape and they won’t cook. We most certainly don’t want poor quality cupcakes. Whilst you wait you should clean your dishes.”

Arslan and Daryun each slid their cakes into the oven they were sharing, one with a hopeful look directed at their cake; the other’s face held a grimace. Crouching for a moment more, Arslan stood up starting on the dishes, doing them in silence for a fair while.

“Hey. You know that sword earlier?” Daryun absently held up a plate to the light, disappointed that it didn’t shine the same way, “Wasn’t it so cool?”

Arslan nodded in affirmation, fond of Daryun’s excitement.

“I’d love to sword fight with something as finely made as that!” He flung out a hand enthusiastically, flicking suds into Arslan’s hair and eyes, “I mean, did you see how artfully the gems on the hilt were arranged. It was such an elegant sword…” Daryun sighed wistfully.

Wiping the suds from his eyes, Arslan flicked them back at Daryun. “You know how to sword fight?” His mouth curved open in surprise.

“Yep, I’d like to say I’m fairly good at it too,” Daryun grinned proudly at him - still scrubbing dishes.

Arslan’s eyebrows furrowed a little, “Did Vahriz teach you how? He teaches me fencing even though I’m no good at it.” He tossed more bubbles from his hair.

Grabbing a handful of suds in response, Daryun ruffled his hair with them, “Yep, taught me for a few years and the quit when I started beating him. Sore loser said that he had nothing left to teach me if he couldn’t win a fight against me anymore.”

Laughing quietly, Arslan took Daryun’s tea towel to dry his bubble-filled hair with. Daryun snatched it back from him after a moment, “Hey! That’s mine-” He paused for a moment, pouting at the wet, unusable towel in his hands and placing it down “-how am I supposed to dry my dishes now?”

Quickly hiding his own so that it couldn’t be stolen, Arslan shrugged at him, “I don’t know, how will you dry them?”

Daryun narrowed his eyes at him, silently reaching for it again. He jokingly whipped the towel at Arslan, spraying him with water. Hands raised above his head Arslan slowly backed away, mischief sparkling in his blue eyes. Stopping in his tracks, Arslan sniffed at the air, “Do you smell something burning?”

Sniffing as well, Daryun thought that he could, “Definitely, something’s burning. We should check our cupcakes.”

Both turned back towards the oven, eyes widening in concern at the little bit of black smoke wafting up from it. Hesitantly Daryun bent over to open the door, jumping back at the burst of heat from a fire that should not have been there. “Crap, crap, crap there’s a fire!” Panic-stricken he began swatting at it with the tea towel; the flames swelled, growing instead of diminishing in size. Daryun jerked away from it again.

Extra smoke setting them off, the fire alarm and sprinklers sprung to life. Water fell steadily, drenching them and the rest of the class as they all evacuated the room. The ringing was so loud that Daryun couldn’t hear what Isfan was saying, nor Shapur but he could tell that they were unimpressed. He wasn’t exactly impressed to be dripping wet either…

Isfan begun guiding the students out to the front of the building, “The sprinklers should take care of the fire but just in case can those responsible-” his head snapped in the direction of Arslan and Daryun, eyeing them with clear, exasperated annoyance “-please get the fire extinguisher and put it out?”

Reluctantly Daryun pulled the extinguisher off the wall; aiming at his oven he sprayed carbon foam all over without really looking, just trying to cover as large an area as possible. Before following he turned the dial of the oven to off.

Outside everyone was assembled in a line to make accounting for people’s whereabouts easy. As soon as the stream of people exiting the building came to a halt, Isfan stood in front of them all pulling out a pen and a piece of paper. He began calling out names, ticking them off when people replied in the affirmative - it reminded Daryun of standing out in the cold for 20 minutes during a test when some idiot would set off the alarm. Back when he was in school, that is.

They stood sheepishly at the back of the line, avoiding any glares directed towards them.

“Daryun?”

“Here”

Isfan ticked his name off the list. “And finally, Arslan?”

“Present,” Arslan raised his hand in the air, waving it about a little until his name was ticked off too.

Isfan clicked his pen, folding up the paper “Okay, that’s everyone.”

Heads bowed low, the two of them trudged into the kitchen reluctantly. Whilst people filed back into the room, Arslan pulled the ruined cupcakes out of the oven. He smiled at them - just a little disappointed. The temperature of the oven had somehow ended up too high; he was certain that they’d have come out perfect if it hadn’t been. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten distracted either. He supposed charcoal cupcakes were better than becoming charcoal himself though. The charcoal went straight into the bin.

Isfan pointed towards Arslan and Daryun, “You two clean up your mess. As for everyone else I’m going to show you how to make the frosting.” Plugging in the mixer next to him, he began pouring cream cheese and icing sugar into the bowl along with a few other flavourings too. Then he pressed a button on it.

Simple enough to follow - even while Arslan unenthusiastically cleaned foam from his workbench, the oven, the floor and the cupboards; Daryun really had just sprayed wildly. It didn’t really matter though, at the end of the day he still didn’t have a birthday cake for Daryun nor would he have time to make him one when they got home. Sighing, Arslan dropped the sponge into his sink. He studied the rest of the class finishing their cupcakes slightly jealously, drying and stacking the remaining dishes as he did.

“I’m done cleaning and drying.” Arslan tugged on Daryun’s sleeve, “Can we go home? It’s not like there’s anything more for us to do here anymore.”

Daryun nodded, everyone else was pretty much done frosting anyway. Taking off their aprons they hung them up as Shapur inspected their work station. He called them over after scrutinizing it for a moment, “Okay you two are fine to go since it’s all clean,” his voice hardened, “and if you plan on making another fire don’t come back next time. If you do you’ll be banned - got it?”

“Understood” they glumly replied in unison to his threat. With one last glance they walked out the door to go home.

Elam almost had the banner up in the window when the doorbell rang, startled he dropped the unpinned side to the ground. Muttering frustratedly, he ignored it in favour of answering the door to a house that wasn’t even his.

“If you’re looking for Arslan or his parents or whoever they’re not ho-” He stopped short at the long slender box labelled with a picture of his sword being offered to him. Looking up at the offeror’s face only added to his confusion. He pulled a face, “Uh, why are you giving me a sword?”

Étoile raised an eyebrow at him, “Delivery for Arslan Parsian, he said someone would be home to get it.” She dumped the sword box in his arms then thrust a touch screen pad and digital pen at him, “Just sign here alright?”

Impatiently tapping her foot, she waited for him to hand them back to her, it annoyed Étoile how he struggled to balance both the pen, pad and the sword. After a moment he’d scribbled his name down then handed it back to her. His brows furrowed a little before he grabbed her arm, stopping her from leaving, “Wait, I don’t live here. I’m not sure I can actually sign for it…”

She scowls at him then, “If you don’t live here what the hell did you sign it for? This is my last delivery of the day,” she stomps her foot for emphasis, “I just want to go home.” Étoile snaps her fingers in his face when she notices that Elam is no longer looking at her, rather past her.

Coming through the gates of the house are Arslan and Daryun, he mutters quietly to himself, though Étoile still hears him, “Ohh, I bet he bought this for Daryun… I better go hide it then.”

Her annoyance grows when he walks away without a second thought. He’d made a fuss about not living there then just ignored her. Whatever. She just wanted to go home, and the way to getting there was cycling, because she wasn’t actually old enough to drive a car. If only her job actually had a delivery driver instead of making her deliver packages on a stupid bicycle.

A bicycle, which just happened to have a flat tire by the looks of it. Although she could scream in frustration she resigns herself to sighing miserably instead. How far would it be to just walk home? Someone taps on her shoulder pulling her concentration away from how to get home. She whips around to face that kid again, Arslan, and he’s looking at her with some look shining in his eyes that she can’t quite place.

He points to her bike, “I can fix that flat tire for you, if you want?”

Étoile thinks she knows what was in his eyes and on his face now, it was just him being kind. She’s not sure why he would be, but he is and that’s all there really is to it.

“We have a spare in the shed so I’ll just change it for you…” He looks at her again, almost scrutinizingly this time then he nods in the direction of his house, “You can sit inside whilst you wait if you’d like to. I promise your bike won’t come to any harm.”

She bites back a small laugh when he crosses his heart like a child. She hesitates just a moment, not quite sure if she should take him up on that but she’s tired and her feet hurt and he’s offering. Pivoting towards it she heads inside the house, following after the guy who had been with Arslan when they first arrived. There’s a glimpse of a fond smile on his face as he watches them, she catches it just as he turns his back to them. Behind her she can hear the squeaking of the bike’s wheels as it’s dragged off towards the shed.

There are a couple things she notices about the hall when she walks inside; firstly it’s rather ornate - easily the fanciest house she’d ever seen - secondly it’s stark inside. A strange kind of coldness to it. That impression changes when she finds the living room, and it’s not that that room is any different - it’s much the same actually - but there’s people in this one. It doesn’t feel quite so lonely. What makes it feel warmer is the birthday banner up by the window and the stack of presents in the corner, it’s all the different birthday foods on the table. She sits down, waiting as suggested, an onlooker of warm scene.

“Hey, would you like to stay for the party? Since you’re here already.”

She’s surprised because she didn’t see him come in, she expected the invitation though, it seems just like him. To herself she quietly admits that joining in wouldn’t be so bad - especially since she at least recognises most of the people there. Arslan points them out for her again just in case, there’s Daryun’s uncle Vahriz, his friend Narsus, that boy called Elam and that’s it - just a small birthday party of five people, six including her.

Elam gestures towards the birthday cake on the the table, “Alright Daryun, I baked you a cake since I didn’t trust Arslan to actually make a decent one. Are you gonna blow out the candles now?”

Daryun steps towards the cake, sucking in a breath of air before he stops for a second, raising an eyebrow at Elam, “Wait, you sent me to those cooking classes too… Were you trying to get me to make my own birthday cake?”

Elam shakes his head, retorting “Nope. Just needed you not here. Now, blow out the candles so we can eat the cake and open the presents!”

Daryun complies, he blows out all twenty six candles in one breath but doesn’t bother making a wish. He doesn’t really need one. He just cuts the cake and hands out slices to everyone there before eating one himself. Étoile gingerly bites into hers, despite what she’d originally thought it would be, the cake is actually delicious. She finishes the rest in 2 minutes flat.

When everyone is finished Elam collects up the plates and takes them to the kitchen. As soon as he’s back they move onto opening presents. Mainly it’s just a bunch of normal presents - actions films and the like - but he grins delightedly at the new riding saddle Narsus buys for him. Jet black and cushioned for comfortable riding, it’s an elegant one for an elegant horse.

“Ah, Shabrang will love this! I can’t wait to ride him with it!”

He opens another one grimacing at the painting that it reveals. Narsus puffs his chest out proudly though, so he plasters on a less-horrified face and thanks him. Daryun sets it aside, taking the last present in his hands. He lifts the lid off the box to reveal the sword. He gazes at it awestruck, almost reverently removing it from the box. Gripping the hefty sword in both hands, Daryun swings it excitedly if a little carelessly.

“Hey! Be a little more careful with that, you’re gonna injure somebody!” Elam chastises him - he’d rather not have to take anyone to the hospital in ambulance.

Daryun looks somewhat apologetic, but ultimately enthusiasm still wins over. The sword arcs through the air again making a whooshing sound, more controlled this time. Running his finger over all the jewels, he grins “Thank you so much! I can’t believe you got this for me. Damn, how I’d love to fight someone with this beauty…”

Vahriz turns to Arslan, “I hope I’m getting a sword like that for my birthday. It might just make me fight him again.”

Arslan laughs quietly, “Only if you keep teaching me how to fence long enough that I become better than him,” he nods towards Daryun who is showing off the sword to Narsus. Like always, they start bickering about something - this time it’s about who the better fencer is - the tip of the sword ends up dangerously close to the painting Narsus painstakingly made. His alarm doesn’t go unnoticed. Daryun edges it closer. In response Narsus throws his hands up placatingly, conceding that Daryun is better. He still grumbles under his breath.

Arslan disappears for a moment, reappearing with his sword from fencing in hand. Challenging Daryun he adopts the en garde stance, “Fight me Daryun!”

Daryun just shakes his head, lightly parrying the clumsy swing thrown at him (of course there’s nothing to worry about, rapiers always have a rubber cap on during practice). “Don’t think you’ll win!” He doesn’t even get to pretend to swordfight with Arslan before Elam steps in sighing. He takes the swords away from each of them, replacing them with wooden swords called bokken; he had found them in one of Arslan’s supply closet a while ago one games night.

Elam sighs exasperated, “If you’re gonna fight for fun don’t use real swords!” He leaves a couple others just in case anyone else wants to join in too.

Narsus picks one up, thinking he can take on both Daryun and Arslan, “Prepare to see the most artistic sword fighting to exist!”

Elam flops down on the couch placing his head in his hand. He blows out another breath of air and just watches them.

In all honesty, Étoile thinks they look like idiots. She bites back another laugh, she’s quite glad that her bike had had a flat tire.

In which Elam is the only responsible character

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #modern schoolboy!arslan au #when i actually got motivation for this i enjoyed writing it #like i got stuck for a while because i wasn't feeling creative #but it was fun #i couldn't keep the tense consistent though #Flings this into the abyss and hides

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squishy-wizards · 7 years ago

Text

Electric Love [Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles]

Author: @galacticstylinson

Word Count: 11.4k

Ratings/Triggers: homophobia, dysfunctional families

Summary: Louis is the most talented scholarship student Liberum Saltare School of Dance has ever seen. With flawless technique and a determination that is unparalleled by any other, he is definitely going places. Harry is a natural dancer moved up two years based on sheer raw talent. When they end up as room mates, Louis at first is less than impressed, but with time, they may grow to understand each other - and maybe on the way, fall in love.

Based on the song 'All About Us' by He Is We ft. Owl City